#for reference: tapping is easier than it looks but this is Not

[raytorosaurus]

That part in vampires that we all thought is tapping but it's not even...he's insane

[fluentmoviequoter]

Mom and Dad are Fighting Again

Requested Here!

Part 2 Here! (#the Bradfords🩶🚓)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!wife!reader

Summary: You and Tim become Lucy's station parents, and you show your care for her in different ways.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, grumpy!Tim to softie!Tim, "mom and dad are fighting again" is a Castle reference

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

“Bradford!” Wade calls.

“Which one?” you and Tim ask together.

Wade sighs, and Angela adds, “He’s tired just thinking about the conversation. That means he needs Tim.”

“Tim,” Wade clarifies. “Let the other Bradford help Chen prep the shop. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Ooh,” Angela and Lucy taunt.

You roll your eyes, but it is a bit like being called into the principal’s office. Luckily, Tim and Wade get along well. You tap Lucy’s shoulder and wave for her to follow you. After you sign for your gear, Lucy gets hers and Tim’s. Once you’re in the garage and your bag is in your shop, Lucy turns to you with a pout.

“If a Bradford had to be my TO, why couldn’t it have been you?” she asks.

“Tim is the best there is, Luce. I know he can be grumpy and push a little too hard, but I promise learning from him is worth it,” you reply.

“At least I have you to stand up for me.”

“Ah, so that’s why you wanted to be my friend.”

“We’re cops, not friends,” Tim interjects as he walks out of the doorway behind you. “Let’s go, boot.”

“We’re not friends,” Lucy murmurs under her breath. “Says the guy who’s married to another cop.”

“What was that?” Tim asks.

“Tim,” you warn gently.

You shake your head, and he takes a deep breath before getting in the driver’s seat. As you climb into your shop beside him, Lucy rolls her window down and gestures for you to do the same.

“Dad says he loves you,” she says with a wide smile.

“Chen!” Tim yells.

“I love him too. Be safe, both of you,” you call before pulling out.

“We need to talk about boundaries, Chen,” Tim grumbles.

“Better than not talking,” she argues.

Tim leans against the side of the shop and stares straight ahead. It’s an interesting situation, but no matter how long he looks, he can’t decide what the best approach is. Lucy has spouted numerous ideas, and he’s vetoed each one.

“We could call for a lift truck,” she suggests as she paces on the sidewalk.

“Can’t get close enough,” Tim replies.

“Then you know what we have to do.”

Tim looks at Lucy, who now has her hands on her hips and a determined look.

“We have to call smarter reinforcements. Call Bradford,” she demands.

“I’m not calling my wife because we can’t- how could she even help?”

“She’s brilliant. You of all people have to know that.”

“Sounds like you should be running her fan club,” Tim complains.

“Having a hero isn’t wrong. If you don’t call her, I will.”

“And I’ll write you up.”

Lucy sighs and turns to look at the scene again. Tim runs through a few more ideas in his mind, but they all end in a worse situation than the current one. He sighs as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey,” he greets when you answer.

Lucy turns around quickly and claps quietly. Tim glares at her, but her excitement doesn’t diminish as he continues talking to you.

“Are you busy?” he asks.

“Just tell her we need help!” Lucy implores.

“Yeah, that’s Chen. And we do need help.”

Lucy pumps a fist over her head in victory. When Tim ends the call, though, she steps back and quiets.

A few minutes later, you park beside Tim’s shop and exit your car with a smile.

“Someone called for the cavalry?” you joke. “So, what’s so strange Tim Bradford had to call for backup?”

Tim doesn’t answer but grabs your waist and leads you to stand between him and Lucy. He points up through a gap in the trees and you follow his finger. Your responding “huh” does little to make Tim think you’ll have an easier time solving the problem.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” you ask.

Tim turns to glare at Lucy again, and she ducks behind you. You look at Tim from the corner of your eye and he accepts your silent reprimand and gives Lucy some space.

“Did you try to get up there?” you ask.

“No. There’s no good approach,” Tim answers.

“I thought we could climb onto the roof beside it for recon and find a way to reach it,” Lucy says. “Or maybe get a ladder truck in the yard.”

“Roof recon isn’t a terrible idea,” you agree. “Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because I don’t agree that it would get us any more information than we can get from the ground,” Tim explains.

“We can’t get to it from here, though,” Lucy argues. “This park is protected, and we can’t bring CSU out here to traipse all over it. That house is our best bet.”

“Chen, you are not in charge,” Tim snaps.

“Tim,” you warn softly. “Just hear her out.”

“She’s my rookie. I don’t have to do anything she says.”

“I’m not saying to do exactly what she says, but you’re training her, not dictating her. Give her a chance to work this.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breathes out of his nose. The situation is stressful, you know, because every element of being a cop is. But Tim arguing with Lucy will only delay the inevitable.

“Please?” you add. “If her plan to scout from the roof doesn’t work, then I will call the park service and tell them to deal with it.”

“We don’t even know who owns that house.”

“One way to find out,” Lucy says.

You let Lucy take the lead and stand beside Tim on the porch as she talks to the owner of the home. He doesn’t seem inclined to let three police officers climb onto his roof to deal with something that he can’t see.

“I’m done talkin’ to ya,” he says before slamming the door in Lucy’s face. It opens a moment later and he adds, “One more thing.”

You can tell he’s prepared to do something stupid and pull Lucy back quickly. His fist misses her face by an inch, and you move her toward Tim before turning toward the homeowner. His second hit is luckier and lands against the side of your nose, but he’s not trained like you are. When you hit him in the same spot, he goes down hard and fast. You raise your hand to your face and immediately feel blood coming from your nose. There’s likely no real damage, just a busted blood vessel or two.

Lucy begins apologizing as Tim calls for backup and another unit to deal with the issue in the park. He returns his radio to his belt and lays his hands on your shoulders to look at you.

“We’re going back to the shop. Stay with him until backup gets here, Chen,” he commands.

“Yes, sir,” she answers quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Lucy,” you offer.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Tim interjects. “Let’s go.”

Tim keeps a hand on you during every step of the short walk back to the shop. He presses a wad of gauze under your nose and uses his other hand to tip your head slightly forward. When the top of your head hits his chest, you feel him sigh.

“What would you have done? If Chen wasn’t here?” he asks.

“I don’t know, Tim. A huge, gaudy murder confession nailed to a tree in a park is a new one. Park department wouldn’t have been much help, so it may have been one to pass off. Or trespass.”

Tim looks away from you when Lucy returns. You cover his hand to pull the gauze from your face, and when you see there’s no fresh blood, you pull an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and clean the dried blood from your chin and Tim’s hand. Lucy waits silently, and now she looks like the one waiting to be called to see the principal.

“What were you thinking?” Tim demands when you release his hand. “You never just stand in front of someone’s door. If we hadn’t been there, or if he had opened the door with a knife, what would have happened, Chen?”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“You’re right it won’t! I don’t know why you refuse to listen to me or remember basic, common procedures, but it will get you killed, and I’m not going to let that happen. I will take your badge if this is the kind of police work you’ll do once you’re out on your own!”

“Tim!” you interrupt. “She messed up. We all have. Maybe let her prove that she learned something before you threaten her career.”

“No! I don’t want her on the streets alone. I don’t want to imagine what I’d hear if she was partnered with you someday.”

“Drop it,” you demand as you stand.

Your chest presses against Tim’s, and his eyes bore into yours. Lucy watches on with her hands pulled tightly behind her back and guilt in her eyes.

“Or what?” Tim asks.

“You’re making it about me. But you’re done yelling at Chen. Lucy, get in my shop, we’re all going back to the station.”

“For what?” Tim scoffs.

“To learn some human decency, apparently. And if you’re still acting like this when we get back, I’m taking Chen for the rest of the week.”

Tim watches you toss the keys to Lucy before she walks away. His brow furrows and you realize he thought you were leaving him to drive back with Lucy.

“You trust her to drive your shop?” he asks.

“What is this about?” you counter. “Because she was just in a bad place, which is the best that could have happened.”

“She doesn’t apply what she knows. Lucy is smart and she’s got instincts, but she gets excited and jumps too soon.”

“Then walk her through everything. Standing back and being a drill sergeant is only going to make her rush more.”

“When did you become an expert on being a TO?”

Tim smiles softly at you, and you pat his chest.

“Guess you’re teaching me, too.”

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio. “The guy you booked for assault on an officer is claiming that Chen harassed him. I need your body cams as soon as you return.”

Tim pulls the seatbelt too hard and locks it. You answer Wade that you’ll all be back with your cams shortly. After replacing the radio on the dash, you lay a hand on Tim’s arm and encourage him to take a deep breath.

“That’s not Lucy’s fault,” you remind Tim.

“It was her plan,” Tim responds.

“I agreed with it. Does that make me a terrible cop?”

“Of course it doesn’t, but this isn’t about you!”

“Then what’s it about?” you ask, your voice raising to meet his.

“I feel like I’m failing her and that’s why we keep ending up here!”

Tim huffs as he finishes, and you watch him carefully. His shoulders drop, and you want to hug him but know better than to try while he’s driving.

“You’re not failing her. But there is always room for improvement. Being a teacher doesn’t mean you can’t learn, too.”

“How do you trust her like this?”

“You said it yourself. She’s smart and has good instincts, but she needs a bit of room to learn and hone those skills without feeling pressured to be perfect.”

Tim nods, and you whisper an apology for yelling at him. He shakes his head, and you agree that he doesn’t need to apologize either.

When you exit Wade’s office after surrendering your body cam and making your statement, you hear Angela ask Lucy where you and Tim are. Or, as you’re referred to at the station, The Bradfords.

“Oh, Mom and Dad are fighting again,” Lucy jokes.

“About you?” Angela asks, playing along but aware that Lucy isn’t completely wrong in her phrasing.

“What else?” Lucy counters.

“Chen, a word?” Tim asks as he moves around you.

You watch as he apologizes, and smile to yourself. Angela winks at you as she passes, and you join Tim and Lucy.

“Wade said I could stay with you two for the rest of shift. What are we up to?”

“We still have to deal with the murder confession in the trees,” Tim groans. “Hey, Nolan, have you dealt with a murder confession yet?”

Nolan shakes his head, and Tim looks around for Bishop. When he sees that she’s not close, Tim steps into Wade’s office and asks him to transfer the call to Nolan.

“Thanks, Officer Bradford!” Nolan replies happily.

“No problem,” Tim says.

Lucy hides her smile as she walks beside you. Every moment spent with her requires a level of parenting, and though you’re relatively close in age, you and Tim feel responsible for Lucy. As more than a cop. You show it in your own ways, but she knows how much she means to you and Tim and feels the same.

During one of your very few days off, you want to surprise Tim with dinner. The recipe that you want has seemingly disappeared, though, and you’ll have to call Lucy to get it again. 

When her phone rings, and she answers, “Hey, Mom,” Tim shakes his head.

“No personal calls in my shop,” Tim says.

“You answer for her.”

Tim’s brows furrow until he realizes Lucy isn’t talking to her biological mom, but her station mom. He nods to let her know she can continue talking to you.

“Dad says hi,” she says, just to bother Tim.

“Dad says he needs a day off, too,” Tim grumbles.

“Don’t you dare answer that,” Tim says against your lips. “Date night, not LAPD night.”

“It’s Luce,” you argue as you reach for your phone.

Tim catches your wrist and brings it to his lips to distract you. Your phone rings again, though, and Tim’s chimes with an incoming text. He releases your arm hesitantly and pulls you so he can lay his head against your shoulder.

“Hi, Luce,” you answer.

“Put me on speaker!” she requests happily.

“Alright. Tim and I are both here.”

“I passed my rookie exam! I know you’re both off today, but Sergeant Grey knew we couldn’t wait to hear the results. Thank you, both of you, so much!”

“Congratulations!” you and Tim say together.

“We’ll celebrate when we get back,” you add.

“I knew you could do it,” Tim says. “Good job, Lucy.”

“Okay, okay, I need to call my mom and tell her that she was wrong. Enjoy the rest of your time off.”

The line beeps as she ends the call, and you and Tim lock eyes.

“She called us first, didn’t she?” you ask.

“We really are turning into her parents,” Tim says with an exaggerated shudder.

“You look pretty good for a dad,” you tease. “And you care about Lucy no matter how much you pretend not to.”

Tim looks at you for a moment before asking, “You know Lucy’s real parents set the bar low, right?”

“Let me have this. She’s my daughter and she’s no longer a boot.”

Tim groans, but before you can tease him again, he pulls you down to continue kissing you. Until your phone begins buzzing nonstop with excited texts from Lucy, at least.

[lovelyjj]

you can use any prompts but can u do reader and jj breaking up, mostly because he can't communicate well and he's to reckless ( maybe you could add something we're he flirts with other girls at bonfires when he's drunk) and she's not all for that ecspecially since they are starting to get older

Break Up

jj maybank x reader

wc: 1.1k

I chose “don’t do this” and “we’re done” from this prompt list! i’m still accepting requests!

warnings: kinda mean jj

a/n: sorry if this sucks

(not my gif)

“JJ I can’t keep doing this,” you voiced.

“Doing what?” JJ asked.

“Putting up with your bullshit,” you responded.

“My bullshit,” JJ laughed.

“Yeah your pulling guns on people bullshit. Stealing from drug dealers, and being reckless.”

“I’m not reckless I’m perfectly fine.”

“JJ, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Don’t do this,” JJ begged.

“You know what whatever i’m leaving.” You stormed out.

You were trying to break up with JJ but you just couldn’t do it. You don’t know if it was his blue eyes looking into your soul or his sad face but you just couldn’t do it. You were putting it off.

——————

The bonfire was electrifying. People were drinking and dancing, and talking it was wild. You we’re having a good time with your friends.

JJ was on his third beer and he wasn’t planning on stoping anytime soon. It was safe to say he was a little drunk. He enjoyed drinking and being drunk, it made everything easier. He could just forget all his problems and let loose.

JJ saw a group of girls by the fire and decided to go up to them. He had liquid courage, therefore went up to them pretty confident.

“Hi ladies,” he spoke.

A tall blonde in a short black dress smiled at him and said “Hello, your JJ Maybank right?”

“Yeah that’s me,” JJ gave her a goofy grin.

“I’ve heard about you.”

“Oh yeah and what have you heard?” JJ asked.

“That your a handsome guy who knows how to have a good time,” she smirked.

“Sounds about right.”

“You have a beautiful smile,” JJ laid on the charm.

JJ continued to flirt with the blonde as he drunkenly slurred compliments at her.

“Don’t look now,” Kiara warned.

“What?” you turned around and saw what she was referring to.

There was JJ in all his glory stroking hair out of some random girls face. You were livid. How dare he in his drunken state think to hit on other girls.

You were about to walk over there when something stopped you. Kiara put a hand on your shoulder holding you back from leaving.

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” she asked.

“Yeah I’m sure.”

You marched up to JJ and demanded answers. You tapped him on his shoulder and he turned around all wide eyed.

“Listen Maybank I don’t know who you think you are, flirting with other girls right in front of my face, but you got another thing coming.”

You were getting older and you didn’t have time for all these games.

“Y/N?” He slurred.

“Yep.”

“I was just talking to some friends, no harm in that right?” JJ asked.

“Wrong. You’re being disloyal and unfaithful,” you hissed.

“How do you know? I’m just having fun.”

“Right well JJ i’m so tired SO tired of having to deal with this!”

“Then go away,” JJ casted you a unimpressed look.

“Maybe I will,” you shouted.

“Go, nobodies stoping you.”

You were pissed at JJ. He was acting like a child. You were not gonna control him, if he wanted to act like that you were gonna let him. But you couldn’t promise you will be by his side through it all.

———————

The day was bright and sunny. The sky holding the sun as it shined on you.

JJ walked into the château littered in bruises on his face. He was dreading the encounter with you because he didn’t want to worry you.

You were sat on the couch with the other pogues when JJ walked in.

“Hey J- Woah what happened? Are you ok?” You were frantic and scared for your boyfriend.

“Relax I’m fine. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“JJ you have- you’re not gonna give me a explanation,” you sighed.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” JJ said through gritted teeth.

“Ya know I would really love it if you could communicate with me sometime,” you frowned.

“Yeah well we don’t always get what we want,” JJ smiled rudely.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Suck it up princess.”

You pushed pass JJ going going out the door and onto the porch. You didn’t know what has gotten into JJ but you hated it.

——————

You and JJ weren’t on the same page. Everything seem to be crashing down. It was a disaster. JJ wasn’t communicating to you at all. All he did was blow you off and dance around your questions.

You stormed up to the château where JJ was currently staying and wanted to talk.

JJ came stumbling outside when he herd your knock and shouting. He wasn’t impressed but he showed up none the less.

“I need to talk to you,” you started off.

“You want to do this here?” JJ questioned.

You sighed, “works for me.”

“Ok what do you need to talk about,” JJ cringed he hated talking.

“I think you know,” you moved your lips inside your mouth forming a line without showing your lips.

“I don’t.”

“Ok well I think we need to have a conversation about us.”

“Which entails…”

“JJ…”

“What? You wanted to talk so let’s talk,” he gritted his teeth.

“Ok look this isn’t working. You don’t treat me right and i’m tired of it.”

“So you’re breaking up with me,” JJ put his tongue to his cheek.

“Yeah I guess I am.”

“I can change,” JJ’s voice broke.

“No JJ I don’t think you can.”

“Please give me another chance,” JJ begged.

“You don’t talk to me, your reckless and you flirt with other girls, I can’t handle it. how am I suppose to compete with them?”

“Sorry I’ve been such a shitty boyfriend.” JJ apologized.

“Well you should of thought about that before.”

“I know I don’t deserve it but if you could find it in your heart to forgive me and make this work, I would be eternally grateful,” JJ expressed with a sense of urgency.

“We’re done.”

“Y/N…”

“Goodbye JJ.”

You turned around to walk away and since you weren’t facing JJ you let a tear slip down your cheek. You didn’t want to do what you just did but you had to. JJ was hurting you, hurting your heart and you couldn’t stand it any longer. You loved him more than anything and not being with him was going to be a challenge.

JJ was your first real love. He was your person for so long until he started being careless and irresponsible. On top of that he didn’t communicate his feelings or give you any idea to what he was thinking which drove you mad.

JJ had his flaws but you loved him desperately regardless. You just couldn’t let him hurt you anymore as much as it hurt you to break up with him. So, as the tears streamed down your cheeks and with a heavy heart you said your last goodbye to JJ.

[cowgurrrl]

Dawns

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: Selena Quintanilla I miss you every day

Summary: The Morning After [2.9k]

Warnings: loving descriptions of Joel Miller, a whiff of angst, I think that’s it this is literally just fluff

Joel is a heavy sleeper. You kinda knew he would be, but he proved himself when you got up halfway through the night to get water, and he didn't so much as flinch. The only thing that roused him from his sleep was you sliding back into bed and kissing his jaw. He groaned and rolled onto his back, pressing you into his chest and bringing you with him. So, you're not surprised when you wake before him once mowers start working around your apartment building. He stays asleep, and light snores leave him every so often as he dreams. It's weirdly endearing.

In the morning light, he looks like a lost Adonis. His broad chest moves with his breaths, and his muscles contract whenever he moves, showing off the strength of his body, which has been forged over years on sites and by carrying kids around. He has a tattoo over his heart that you hadn't noticed before. It's small enough to hide easily, but you make out the letters easily: initials. One is Ellie's, and you assume the other is Sarah's. His girls forever close to his heart. His curls create a halo of amber salt-and-pepper around his head, and his beard is unruly in a way that people try to emulate to get the perfect "messy" look. On him, it doesn't look messy. It just looks like him. His heavy hand rests on your waist while the other lies above his head, almost in a pose. He's so fucking beautiful. 

There are lots of versions of Joel you'd like to draw: him on his knees at the foot of your bed, kneeling in a type of worship that the church would never condone; him smiling at you from across your apartment with orange fridge light shining on half his face; him tapping a beat into the steering wheel of his truck as the wind tousels his hair. But this version with the relaxed features and golden sunlight might be your favorite. It's private and unguarded, something only you have the privilege of experiencing. It's only fair of you to try to capture it.

You manage to wiggle out of his grasp enough to reach for your sketchbook on your bedside table, the water cups and snack wrappers from last night still lingering nearby. You lay on your stomach and uncap your pen as you glance between the empty page and his sleeping face. You start with his face shape, which is undeniably kind of easy to draw, before moving on to his features. His nose crooks a certain way, and you want to make sure you get it exactly right. Your eyebrows furrow as ink stains your pinky and the page fills up, and the morning slowly rises around you. 

It would be easier to take a picture and reference that instead of looking up and down, straining your neck in the process, but you like noticing the way his face moves so subtly in his sleep. This feels more intimate than sex. Art has a funny way of doing that. Guilt pools at the base of your neck, and you're about to shut your sketchbook and get some breakfast when he shifts, his hand blindly searching the sheets for your body. 

You freeze as he rolls over and opens his eyes, blinking through the light to find you lying there. When his vision adjusts, and he's rubbed enough sleep from his eyes to see you clearly, he smiles, and the guilt is quickly replaced with that dizziness that only he can induce. You smile back and throw your sketchbook on the floor, the pen still twirling in your fingers.

"Hey," you say softly as you get closer to him. He welcomes you into his arms and pushes the hair off your shoulders so he can see you. 

"Hi." His voice rumbles in his chest, deep and gravelly with sleep, and you want to wrap the notes around you like a warm blanket. You settle for leaning down and kissing him, his hands sliding around your body in the process. "How long've you been awake?"

"Not long." You say, a smile stuck to your lips. He glances over, taps his phone to check the time, and groans as he rests his head back on your pillow. You giggle at his reaction, and he looks at you like you're crazy. 

"How can you be this happy this early in the mornin'?" He asks and you shrug as you push a curl out of his face. 

"I woke up to a view." He hums at your compliment but doesn't say anything else. Every time you've complimented him in one way or another over the past few months, he's shrugged it off or barely acknowledged it. You wonder if he's just not used to being told regularly how pretty he is or what a great person he is. You wonder how long it will take him to believe your words. 

"What were you workin' on?" 

"Nothing, really. Just had to get something out of my system."

"Can I see it?"

"My sketchbook?" You ask, that same guilt clawing its way back up your spine, and he nods. 

"You don't have to show me if you don't wanna. I just... I dunno. I like seein' your work." Well, fuck, you think. How am I supposed to say no to that? You take a deep breath and chew on the inside of your cheek.

"I'll show you a few."

"Just a few?" 

"For now," you say, and he smiles. You kiss him before you move to retrieve the Moleskine from the floor. He curses under his breath like he's hurt, and you quickly look up to see if you somehow elbowed him or something. 

"Now, that," he says as he sits up to trace the edge of the tattoo that wraps around your shoulder. "Is a pretty sight." You laugh and relax into his touch as you watch him become entranced by the ink.

"Tattoos really do it for you, huh?"

"Everythin' bout you does it for me," he says, and you shake your head, heat rising to your cheeks at the quip. "You do this one in a dorm room?"

"No, I had a friend who was apprenticing at a studio near the school. They gave me half off because she was an apprentice, but I think it turned out pretty good," you explain. His fingers follow the delicate lines around until he gets close to another one, and then he skips over and traces that one, his calloused hands much softer than any tattoo needle you've encountered. You let him follow the curves and bends of your different tattoos, but not before you press onto your elbows and lift a hand to trace the initials on his chest. "You were hiding this one from me."

"I think you were hidin' a lot more than I was." He says, and you laugh. He's not wrong. The juxtaposition of your covered skin versus his blankness is a little comical. Where you have deliberately placed art pieces, he has scars, freckles, and chest hair save for the letters above his heart. "Got it before Sarah went off to school. Figured it might be one of the last times my girls would be together."

"That's not true." You tsk.

"I know that now, but... I don't know. It's different than when they were younger. Good different, but still different."

"How so?"

"When Sarah was still home, Ellie had another woman to talk to. We were even numbers in the house. They would get to have their own days where they hung out and did whatever, which was really good for the both of them. But when she left, Ellie got really shy, like she didn't know what to do without someone guidin' her. Tommy and I tried, but I knew we weren't as good as Sarah. Nobody said anythin' bout it to Sarah, though, cause it wouldn't be fair to ask that of her. She has enough on her plate as it is, and she doesn't need us makin' her feel guilty." He says. He's so in tune with both girls that it almost blows your mind. It makes sense because you've seen him in action, and you know how he parents, but hearing him talk about the nuances of their relationships and giving them each space is refreshing. It would've been so easy to place blame on Sarah and ask her to help parent Ellie, but he didn't. 

"What changed?" You ask. He traces the lines going up the back of your neck until his hands frame your face, and he's smiling.

"This really great teacher started lookin' out for her. Changed our whole lives around." He says. You shake your head and force yourself to look away from his big, brown eyes.

"I was just doing my job."

"Don't do that," he scolds quietly. "I'm not sayin' anythin' that's not true. You helped Ellie in a way nobody else has done so far. You should've heard her tellin' Sarah bout you at Christmas. She couldn't say enough nice things."  

"I wish I could've met her," you say. "Sarah." 

"She really wanted to meet you, too," he says. "Next time." You smile at the idea of having him and Ellie around for long enough to meet this missing fourth member of their family. You hope he's right. 

Finally, you hand him your sketchbook and watch as he flips through the first few pages in silent awe. His eyes move around the page like he's trying to decipher a message when it's really just your sloppy scribbles you managed to get down between grading papers and working at the bar. To you, they're nothing revolutionary. They're just rough drawings that have this thing wrong with them or are missing that essential piece. When you look at them, all you see is what they lack. When Joel looks at them, all he can see is the art already there. He asks about certain things and points out different techniques he recognizes from Ellie's portfolio, like the hatching you did on a portrait of a stranger sitting in your bar. 

Sharing your art, no matter what medium, with anyone can be daunting. Someone you love might think you're a talentless hack but smile and tell you otherwise to not hurt your feelings, or they just don't pay attention to it at all. It's sacred. A piece of your soul materialized in the real world and left out in the open for anyone to come by and kill. Those emotions are still in the back of your mind, but as you watch Joel scan your work, you see admiration and reverence instead of disdain. He stops himself from looking at the whole book, remembering your words about only showing him a few, and looks at you when he's done.

"Baby, these are amazing." He breathes. The gentle tone in his voice makes your throat feel like sandpaper, and you have to breathe deeply to keep tears from welling in your eyes. You hide your face in the sheets, and he tsks as he grabs you and pulls you to him. You land on his chest, and then it's impossible to hide from him. Sometimes, it's annoying how strong he is. 

"Thank you," you say instead of listing off all the things you want to say about how bad the sketches are, how they're unfinished, and whatever else. He smiles as he gently puts your sketchbook down on your bedside table and kisses you. You straddle his waist as he cups your jaw and holds you close. You're vaguely aware of the sun rising higher and higher in the sky and the fact that he has a kid at home who's probably wondering where he is. His hands skate down your lower back as the kiss turns a little feverish and desperate, but you pull back before anything can start.

"It's getting late," you say. He sighs and rests his head on your shoulder. "I can make you some breakfast before you go."

"You really want me out that bad?" 

"No, of course not, but Ellie-"

"Is fine. She's with Tommy, and she's bout fifteen goin' on twenty. I guarantee you she's out with her friends at the movies or somethin' right now." He says. He's right; Ellie has become hyper-independent in the past few months and is almost always with a group of the art kids, but Dina and Jesse seem to be the ones she's closest to. Granted, Jesse isn't technically in the art club, but the bumbling basketball player always seems to find a way into your classroom despite never taking a class with you. Still, you can't shake your anxiety.

"What about when she asks where you were all night?"

"That's for me to worry bout, not you," he says. "If you really want me to go, I'll go but don't think you have to kick me out 'cause of my kid. She's fine, and even if she wasn't, I'd have already heard bout it." 

"Are you sure?" You ask, and he nods. 

"Positive," he answers. It's going to take a lot more for you to stop worrying about Ellie, but you let it go for now. If he's sure, then you have to trust his parental instincts. "Now, I think you said somethin' bout breakfast?" He says, and you smile. 

"I think I've got eggs and bacon." You say, and he groans at the thought.

"A woman after my own heart."

"You're a mess." You laugh as you climb off of him. You grab his shirt from last night off the floor and tug it over your head before grabbing a clean pair of underwear from your top drawer. Meanwhile, Joel throws on his briefs and the sweatpants you stole from him on New Year's Day and follows you into the kitchen. You get out the carton of eggs and hand him the package of bacon for him to put on the stove, a job he volunteered to do, as the coffee brews a few feet away. 

It's strangely domestic. Sharing the same space for the same goal as the dull hum of the city starts up outside. In your small apartment, you're safe from the demands of school for a few more weeks, and you don't have anything better to do than walk around your kitchen half-naked with him. He pours the perfect amount of creamer into your coffee and even pours a glass of water to accompany the caffeine. You push and pull him around the kitchen so you can reach certain things or show him where you keep plates. Any lingering doubt about your physical closeness has been dispelled and replaced with the ease of this morning. You could get used to it. 

You're in the process of making scrambled eggs when he starts playing music on his phone, a familiar explosion of sound coming over the speakers. Joel looks pleased even though he's the one who chose the music, and you laugh as he starts dancing toward you. Selena starts singing, and he sings along. Before you know it, he's grabbing your hand and spinning you into him. You struggle to match his feet when he takes steps you're not prepared for, and he laughs.

"I don't know this dance!" You defend, and he gives you a look.

"C'mon, don't tell me you've lived in Texas for this long, and nobody's ever taught you how to dance cumbia."

"Sorry to break your heart, maverick." You tease. He sighs dramatically but steps back enough for you to track his steps and copy them. Once you get the hang of it, he takes the spatula out of your other hand and takes you into his arms.

"You just do the same thing I'm doing but in a circle. It's not that hard, I promise." He instructs, and you raise your eyebrows at him.

"You have too much faith in my dance ability." 

"It's just a different kinda art," he says as he spins you. You manage to keep up with him and smile alongside him. You're not sure where Joel got so good at dancing, but you're sure it has something to do with the number of quinceañeras he's been invited to, if he's not been a part of one. He's gentle in reminding you of the steps and doesn't complain when you accidentally step on his toes or miss a step. It's fun and sweet and tinged with perfectly timed drum beats and Selena's effervescent voice.

He only lets you slip away from him once you remind him of the eggs cooking on the stove, but he's never far away after that. He helps you set the table and even makes your plate once everything is ready, so you don't have to. He refills your coffee and water without being asked and even pushes you out of the kitchen when you're done eating so he can wash the dishes. You like learning more about his little habits and nuances, and you think he likes seeing you in your own environment, too. 

You're not ready for him to go home and burst this bubble you've created. You're not ready to go back to school and reckon with possible repercussions. You're not ready for the real world to seep back in. You just want this morning with him and whatever other mornings he might be generous enough to share with you. Is that too much to ask?

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I had the worst Monday that could have ever existed. Onto Tuesday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"I trust this should be amenable to your work," Mr. Laufeyson holds open the door along the east wall of his study. One you've never opened before though you're familiar with the space within. The library also opens into the hallway and keeps you busier than many of the other rooms. "When you should require it. I expect much of your work will keep you afoot."

You peer past him, his tall figure like a second shadow. You clutch your kit tight and nod. You didn't exactly bring the tools for this new role.

"I should have a blank ledger somewhere, oh and a pen of course," he advises, "given our new... arrangement, I would require a contact point."

You nod and tear your attention from the full shelves and luxurious velvet chaise. You won't get to enjoy those but they give the space a much more welcome feel than the rest of the house. You face Mr. Laufeyson as he keeps the door propped open with his foot. He slides out his phone as if it's a task. 

"Never to worry, I wouldn't bother you much so long as you do your work adequately," he assures, "but in case of... emergency."

"Oh, erm," you sputter and reach into your hoodie pocket, revealing the tiny flip phone.

"Hm, vintage," he muses, "as you would."

He holds his phone, gesturing to it with his other hand. You teethe your lip before you recall the digits of your number. Your plan doesn't include a lot of talk minutes but he doesn't promise much of that. He keys them into his screen.

"You'll have mine," he taps his thumb and your phone chimes. "In case."

"Thanks, uh, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Mmmm," he hums again. "Suppose you would need some sort of proper device, a computer of sorts." He clucks and checks his watch, dropping his arm with a huff, "I've an important event shortly, I'll try to venture by the electronics shop before I return.”

You nod and fold your phone, slipping it away as you peek back into the library. He inhales deeply, "suppose you should begin. The list is on the writing desk.”

You accept the command easily. You’re even thankful for it. It gives you a proper reason to find distance. You go to the desk and look over the typed list. You don’t sit, hesitating as you wonder if it would seem lazy, maybe even presumptuous.

“Let me fetch that ledger,” he says before letting the door drift closed.

You run your finger over the top line. ‘Create a schedule’. Hmmm. You look over the bullets that fill the paper. You can only assume he refers to all of that. It’s straightforward, you can handle a schedule. It’s everything that comes after that gives you doubt.

“And you’ll have to review what my wife, ex that is, left in shambles,” Mr. Laufeyson interrupts as he pushes through again. “Her little folder is here. She was always fond of order, even though she left me in much less. This is what’s left of her handiwork,” he approaches coolly and sets down a plain fawn coloured ledger, a fountain pen, and a white folder with golden flowers on it.

“Thanks,” you eke out as his hands linger on the edges.

You sense his gaze, discerning and weighty. He leans forward slightly and you nearly take a step across as he points to the list. You follow the line of his arm and his extended finger.

“Another point to add, ‘acquire work attire’,” he instructs and turns his hand over, flippant flicking his finger in a gesture to your plain hoodie and worn gray denim. “I trust my pay should afford that necessity easily, however should you require a write-off, I suppose it could be argued as a professional expense.”

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you frown in embarrassment, “I didn’t…” You look down at yourself, wanting to hide behind your arms. 

“You wouldn’t think of it, just a maid,” he dismisses, “very well, I think you have more than enough to begin. I should be some hours.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you agree. He is correct, there is more than enough to keep you busy.

“I will review the schedule upon my return,” he affirms. “Should you require refreshment, you recall where to go.”

You nod and cautiously reach for the ledger, sliding it closer as he backs up. You slowly sit, hovering before you let yourself rest. He lingers by the door as you roll the pen aside and put the ledger and folder parallel. You open the former and line up the list inside the cover, resuming your perusal of the bullet points.

The door closes and you keep your attention to the paper. You don’t dare a glance up until you hear his muffled footfalls cross his study. You feel as if he’s waiting for you to make a mistake. You think you might be too.

🧹

A clunk sharply pierces the tenuous peace of the empty house. You hadn’t heard the door or his approach, not even right next door, not until the hefty thunk. You listen but keep your nose down. 

You’re just about done with the schedule. Two cleans throughout the week to spread the duties evenly. The main floor on Mondays, and the upper on Thursday. You’ll be able to fit in an unexpected tidying between your other to-dos.

You flutter through the pretty white and gold folder. The embossed suede speaks of a sophisticated owner. You wonder why she would ever abandon it, though you assume, a separation may not inspire sentiment.

You turn over another note. This one about the gazebo. A blurb on a repair. You’ll have too go out and check to see if it was actually done, there’s no confirmation of the job. You stop to admire her loopy writing, as elegant as the folder.

The door opens without pretense. You sit up and wiggle the pen between your index and thumb. Mr. Laufeyson as a flat white box in his hand, along with a smaller one on top. He does not near you, instead place his lot on the square table by the window.

“Here,” he orders shortly.

You rise and leave the pen in the centre of the ledger. You cross to him as he moves the smaller box aside and unfolds the two smaller flaps from the large one. You can’t help but watch curiously.

“This should suffice,” he shimmies out the cardboard insert, revealing a sleek silver laptop, “hmm?”

He shifts it towards you and lets you look it over. You put your hands behind you to keep from touching. You lean in just a little.

“It looks nice, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.”

“For your work, of course. These days, it is a requirement. And this,” he takes the smaller box and offers it up, “a proper work phone. It is more professional. Any calls on my behalf, you will make on this. That relic you have won’t do much.”

“Uh, yes, Mr. Laufeyson, that’s really thoughtful.”

“Thoughtful? Practical. Company property, of course,” he insists, “another point to add. Set these up. They should be functioning by the end of the day. You’ll need them to keep up with the rest of your tasks.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. I will put it on the list.”

“Mm,” he circles around you, striding to the writing desk before you can react. You follow at a few paces, not wanting to crowd him. He takes the pen and uncaps it. He adds the bullet himself. “There you are.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson,” you recite again.

He snaps the lid on the pen and his lips twitch, not quite curving, “I’ll review,” he snatches up the open ledger, your schedule open to see. You almost rush forward. You meant to rewrite it before you handed it over. It has scribbles all over it. You won’t argue.

“Go on,” he steps around the desk, waving to the side dismissively.

You return to the table and gather the laptop and phone, along with the stray box. You bring them back to the writing desk and stay standing as you free the laptop from the insert. You let your eyes edge along the top of your vision as Mr. Laufeyson sits on the chaise and browses the ledger.

You refocus and investigate the cord buried in the box as a collection of booklets fall out. You sort through them and find the one in English. You start on the front page, reading over the different buttons and features. The diagram is especially helpful. You’ve never had a computer before, not that it belongs to you.

You squint as you read the precautions. Your mind flits back and forth between your current task and everything beyond. You would go to the library sometimes and spend an hour on the PC, and in school you did all your work in the resource room. This is much fancier than any of the boxy computers you’d used before.

It says you should plug it in and charge to full before booting. You unravel the cord and search for an outlet against the wall. There’s one not far. You hook up the cord to the port on the side of the slender laptop then trail it to the wall. The little light on the side glows yellow.

Then you take the little box. A phone. The flip phone was second-hand but this is shiny and new. You’re like a kid at Christmas, not that you got much for the holiday, even when you were younger.

You slide out the small device. Your hand is unused to it. It’s not clunky like your phone. It feels easy to drop even if it’s bigger than the flip. You peel off the plastic film around the border and across the screen.

You take out the booklet and read it as closely as the first. Same thing; charge before use. You don’t want to mess up any of this. You plug it in above the computer and place it on the closed lid. You carefully sit in the chair, careful not to jostle the cords.

You peek up and find Mr. Laufeyson looking at you over the top of the ledger. His green eyes gleam and flick back down to the page. You hope he doesn’t see how clueless you are. This stuff that’s all so normal to everyone else is new to you. A job alone is a novelty still.

“You may ask it,” he says abruptly.

You wince and shrug. You don’t know what he means. His brows tweak in amusement.

“You’ve not asked about time off. I am unaware of your previous commitment, what days you had to yourself.”

You didn’t think of it but he does seem to think of everything. You twiddle your fingers on the desk. You would work as much as you need to. You still haven’t seen the final hospital bill.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I worked three shifts per week, but I was on probation,” you explain carefully, “I can work more than that.”

“How much is more?” He wonders, his thumb tapping the corner of the ledger.

You blink. You don’t know what’s appropriate. You don’t want to say too little and come off lazy, or say too much and seem ignorant. 

“Six?” You utter, “six days, Mr. Laufeyson?”

His thumb stills, “per week?”

You nod. His eyes narrow and his lips thin in consideration.

“Should do,” he accepts and his eyes fall back to the page.

You think you got the right answer. You look down at the bullet points. It seems like a lot written out but surely it can’t be. Besides, the more you think about it, the more exciting it is. This house is so beautiful and this list means you get to explore it.

You don’t sink too deep into the moment of optimism. Mr. Laufeyson stands, still intent on the ledger. He paces blindly around the library, a click of his tongue as he reviews your handwriting.

“There will be some nights,” he intones, “other occasions where I require you in the evening.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you accept as you flutter the pages of the laptop instruction booklet.

“Mm,” he hums flatly, “I do think the cook liked you, didn’t she? Suppose we might retain that service for the time being.”

You nod and make a note in the corner of the list; simply, Corissa. He shuts the ledger and grips it tight. He walks around the table then turns back, coming back to you. He lays down the book on the desk.

“I won’t know until the day in question. You understand, this would be on-call. I’ve a busy life and so will you,” he girds, leaning on the book as he bends over the desk. “You will be doing more than watching little birds flapping around the garden.”

You nearly recoil as he plucks the memory out so precisely. That was careless of you. You should’ve kept your head down and just got to work. It’s a warning you’ll remember.

“I won’t, Mr. Laufeyson, I understand,” you assure.

“Not to say that you can’t,” he stands and pushes the bottom of his jacket back, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, “but only when there are no other pressing matters.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He sighs and tilts his head back, “you must resist distractions. You are prone to it. I’ve noticed.”

You chew your lip and accept the remonstrance. You’ll take it instead as advice. He is right, you do find yourself bewitched by this place at times.

“Like that man,” he says staunchly, “don’t think I forgot. I will warn you, he is my brother… regrettably. He is well above the staff and he knows it.”

You take the hint. It’s improper of you to stare. Even if he had touched you. Or maybe, you misinterpreted an accident.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Hear me when I tell you, he is not interested in the likes of you,” he sniffs, “with any luck, he won’t be much around for you to believe anything of the like.”

You nod and pick up the pen, nervously rolling it between your fingers. His reproach scalds your cheek. To think he assumes you would ever think of something like that. That you might encourage a stranger in that way.

He watches you for a moment before he spins away. He checks the time on his wrist as you reach for the ledger.

“Very well, I must be at my own work,” he declares, “as I trust you will be diligent in your own.”

[foreverrandomwritings]

Hi can I request this [ STAKE ]  for one muse to protectively and/or possessively stand behind the other to intimidate a third party with rooster from the jealous prompts? Thanks 😊

Car Troubles

Summary: An issue with your car leads you to dealing with sexist mechanics. Will Bradley be there to help you?

Pairing:Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x afab!Reader

Warnings: Arguing, sexism, intimidation, a little angst if you squint and swearing.

Word count: 1006

Masterlist M's Hundred Celly Masterlist

Rooster had been watching you from his spot in his Bronco as you stood inside the mechanic shop talking to the guy behind the desk. Your car had been making a weird noise and had ended up breaking down. So you had taken it to Maverick and he gave it a once over telling you what was wrong and what parts you would need. He unfortunately wasn’t able to do the repairs himself because of a vacation he had planned with Penny and Amelia. 

Rooster had volunteered to do the repairs but once he got under the hood of your car everything was a lot different than his beat up Bronco. He had fixed most of the stuff in his vehicle with pure dumb luck. He didn’t want to take a chance of fucking up your vehicle with a hope of luck so he left the fixing to the professionals. You were supposed to pick your car up from the shop today. 

He figured it would be a simple task. You would go in, go over what the final cost of repairs were, pay the bill, get your car and be on your way. But the way things were looking inside the shop he wasn’t sure that’s how it was going. You had been in there for almost ten minutes now talking to the guy at the desk. Bradley thought for a while that maybe there was an issue with their system. 

As another five minutes went by he began to worry. He could see your toes tapping violently against the floor of the shop. Your arms were crossed along the expanse of your chest. He could tell even from behind you had to have had a look of fury on your face from the way you were standing. He debated on going inside when he saw you let out a deep breath. But he thought against it knowing you liked to handle things yourself. 

His thoughts changed quickly when he saw you throw your arms in front of you. As if asking what the fuck is this while shaking your head sharply. Turning off the Bronco he quickly made his way out of his front seat and towards the front door. Upon opening the door he was greeted by your voice. You hadn’t seemed to notice him so he remained quiet. 

“What the fuck do you mean I need a whole new engine? The car is barely a year old and has less than ten thousand miles on it. There is absolutely no way it needs an engine replacement.” You seethed out as your hands grabbed the papers in front of you harshly. 

“Miss, as I have been trying to tell you. Your entire engine has quit working. We would have to order so many parts it would just be easier and cheaper for you to replace the whole engine.” the middle aged mechanic spoke to you in a monotone voice and his expression bored. 

“My father-in-law has been working on cars pretty much his whole life and made me aware that the only part I would need is a new timing belt because my old one seemed to be faulty and possibly an oil change.” you pointed your finger at him sternly. Bradley felt pride swell through his chest as you referred to Maverick as your father-in-law. Yet his mood soured as the mechanic spoke again. 

“Well miss I’m not sure what to tell you other than the fact that he was clearly wrong. Why don’t you let us replace the engine and we'll throw in five discounted oil changes. I’m sure a young lady such as yourself could use someone else doing them.” He spoke to you blinking slowly. 

“I don’t need to replace my fucking engine. I will have my car towed from here and take it somewhere else if you don’t stop being a sexist piece of shit.” The anger in your voice scared Bradley a little as he had never heard it before. But the mechanic didn’t react at all. So Bradley finally decided to intervene. He came to stand behind you glaring at the balding man in front of you. He crossed his arms over his chest and flexed his muscles. 

Thankful he was still in his uniform from work so it gave him an extra bit of authority to his stance. The man’s face paled slightly at the sight of him. With one more pointed look from Bradley the man started to speak again.

“Actually ma’am now that I think of it, replacing the timing belt and getting an oil change should fix the issues you were having.” You let out a deep breath as the man finally seemed to have reason. But that wasn’t good enough for Bradley and he shook his head at the man. 

“I will also throw in five oil changes, free tire rotation and a discount code for a set of four tires.” He spoke quickly looking to Bradley for approval. Bradley raised his eyebrow and the man spoke once again.

“I also want to apologize for the misunderstanding that occurred today and can promise that you will be getting better service in the future.” That seemed to satisfy both you and Bradley. So he slowly slipped back out the door making sure to stare daggers at the man inside until you were done and heading back to the Bronco. You got in with a loud huff buckling the seat belt and reaching your hand out towards your fiancé. You laid your head on the window beside you as he grabbed your hand. 

“I didn't get my car today. I don't want to talk about it right now. Can you please just take me home Bradley. I have a raging headache from dealing with that bullshit.” you said as you closed your eyes. 

“I’ll take you anywhere you like sweet cheeks.” he replied to you, giving you a quick kiss on the back of your hand before pulling out of the parking lot.

A/N: Sorry this took forever darling anon! Thank you so much for the request!

Tags(open): @wkndwlff & @sylviebell

[lilacargent]

At it again, from another angle this time.

‘Old’ weapons. Or at least redundant, as a species traverses into space the new technology makes an old gun or even older sword/arrow/spear and so on useless and nearly powerless. The new weapons are ‘ray this’ and ‘beam that’ ‘plasma so and so’ .

Ofcourse this makes sense, the energy based weapons are far less wasteful and lighter, easier to carry and easier to handle. No need to sharpen weapons with a plasma blade and even then, why use close quarters weapons if you have access to stun, kill or poison rays and many more.

On top of that many civilisations prefer to forget their less then stellar past and make analog weapons obsolete. When the humans joined the council many expected them to do the same. They didn’t, production stopped yes, but interested people could still partake in lessons and the old fashioned ways were shown off in museums. Training to be part of a spaceship crew still included lessons in their old weapons as an opportunity to be prepared for going to “newer” worlds.

So with that in mind i have a few little vignettes ideas and for ease’ sake its gonna be on the same ship, the Serpentine.

Important crew:

Primoz, captain -Limoyh a four armed species-

Krag, second in command (brother of Primoz)

Kit, dokter -avian, bird like, she has feathers like a swallow-

Ortez, ASR (all species resources, human resources in space) -kiltak, insectoid species, think ants but exoskeleton-

Lugea, helmsperson (does the steering) -rock like alien-

Artex, engineer/mechanic 1 -also Kiltak-

And then our humans:

Kamari, navigator -Eritrean woman- (has cat named Sidra)

Markus, weapons expert (knows how to use them and upkeep, also shields) -Swedish man-

Petrus, mechanic/engineer 2 -Italian man-

Lilly, administrator/note keeper (learns languages for fun)-english woman-

Yes i know all of this could have also been accomplished by saying they are all from America… nope this is more fun. This is under the assumption that to get into the joint academy for space faring you need to be able to speak and write English.

Obviously there are more people on the ship but these are most important

~~~~~~~~

1. Sparring

Ortez was having a good day, the serpentine had left port and was making good progress toward their next destination on w-kl-18, referred to as deltax by it’s residents, for a routine drop off.

In port on Unity (the planet where the council resides and the universal court is) they picked up the final crew members among who a ‘team’ of humans. Pre bonded humans were supposed to be less chaos inducing and easier bonded with the rest of the crew. Ortez was rather happy the captain listened to him on this matter.

The humans had been more diverse than he expected and were currently what they called ‘settling in’. He was on his way to the rooms they had.

‘Stop it please we’ve been here less than 4 hours!’ The soft voice he recognises as Lilly’s is barely audible over the loud clanging sounds. Rounding the corner Ortez sees a terrifying scene. The two human males locked together with two sticks made of metal baring teeth at each other, with a push the olive skinned man, he remembers is called Petrus, breaks the hold and goes in low swiping at the tall mans legs making Markus fall over.

Ortez is about to intervene when without a sound the dark skinned leader of the group seemingly appears without a sound behind him and runs into the fray with a similar stick.

Whacking Petrus stick away from Markus’ throat she steps inbetween “stop it. You’re scaring our ASR. We want to make a good impression remember.” The men look right at him and both put down the sticks, Markus puts his hand up in a ‘wave’ “sorry about that, Ortez it was right? We were just sparring.’ Moving further into the room he uncurls his front two claws tapping at the metal poles “sparring with this? We usually only do body to body training, this seems rather old.” Petrus speaks up to that “ah yes those are old earth weapons, we like keeping up a bit of skill with several kinds as a side activity. Don’t worry tho, we train with blunt weapons.”

Not entirely appeased the insectoid looks to the imposing woman, who seems entirely at ease even though two people had been fighting. When she caught his eyes, she smiled that terrible toothy grin “truly don’t worry, like Petrus said they are blunt and it is a way for us to let of some steam and keep in shape. But next time we’ll do it in the training rooms… right boys?” Pinning the two men with withering stares they nodded quickly.

Ortez did not know humans released steam, but he felt right now was not the moment to go into that. Saying his goodbye he skittered to inform the captain.

This was bound to be interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~

2. “The Roman empire”

“So you are telling me that at any given moment you could be thinking about a several thousand years old society that no longer exists and it would surprise nobody?” Artex was perplexed, when he and Petrus were working on the reactor core Lilly had wandered through and mentioned this old civilisation sparking heated debate. She thought the greeks were far more interesting but Petrus had been unmoved by her arguments. The other man speaks while pushing some buttons “well yea, the empire made great strides and amazing structures, Lilly just prefers the mythos of the greek while i enjoy the focus on millitary prowess.” Shrugging he looks up “don’t you guys have something like that?” Artex stretches his legs, all 6 of them in a wave like motion “not really, when change happened the history books were changed to make it seem like it was always that way” the human makes eye contact “wait so how do you know how to play -old civilisation- as a kid? We play fought with wooden sticks, wooden swords and branches we cut to look like guns…” that horrofied the insectoid, raised with violence like it was a normal thing.

Almost like they never left their dark ages

~~~~~~~~~~~~

3. Whats in a name (bit off topic but the idea just kinda happened)

Te very first time the humans were introduced to their new crew there was a bit of a hiccup. When Kamari introduced herself they looked up a bit confused but went further down the row. After Lilly they came back around and referred to Kamari as moon. Now Kamari recognised the strange look, they had translators that only had basic human translation, which means that her name “Kamari” which comes from Arabic and is a word for moon/soft glow of the moon, is translated fully but not as name so when they speak to her it translates out of their language to English which would be moon. This is luckily easily fixed with an update, but it was something that stil spoke of how new the human race was to the cosmos.

Her cat Sidra made them laugh as that means Star so she was the moon with her star.

(Random thought about how multiple human languages could screw with translations)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soooooo kinda had a 4th story that is pretty sad but also bad ass, but this is getting too long already

Imma write that in a new post over the coming days

Hopefully people like this, if you have prompts you’d like to see with this crew feel free to ask.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

aftermath, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: The aftermath of the break-up between you and Jeon Jungkook, navigating the various stages and finding out that easy isn't living.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; it's what you think it is but also not; mentions of alcohol consumption; anger turning into angst; slow burn; yes, there are a few Taylor Swift references; smut (fem reader, heavy making out, breathplay, hair pulling, slight D/s dynamic, handjob, nipple play, edging, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - ex!JK x ex!reader, switches between Jungkook’s POV and yours, ft mystery man (less mysterious if you Google his name lol), yes, he was chosen for story reasons

--

“Stop staring at her.”

Maybe if he stared long enough, he would burn holes into the back of your skull and you would finally fuckin’ notice he was right here.

Maybe.

“Dude. You’re being creepy.”

You were smiling at your phone screen. Why the fuck were you smiling? What was there to be smiling about? Furthermore, what did you need to look so good for? Oversized black bomber jacket with balloon sleeves and an overpowering ruffle at the shoulders. Short slinky dress with red-orange flames screen-printed all over. Black thigh-high heeled boots. Fuck, who the hell were you trying to impress? The person texting you, hah? Why did your hair look so effortlessly in place and why was your makeup so sultry with that red stain on your lips and smoked-out liner? Hm?!

Jeon Jungkook chewed on the left side of his lip and watched you walk up to the service counter, ordering a…

“Lemon cake and hot green tea. No sugar in the tea.”

“Bro, just get up and talk to her.”

Jungkook felt knuckles whack the back of his head and turned around to the annoyed face of Park Jimin, who was nursing an iced coffee and glaring at him. Oh. Right. He was supposed to be catching up at with his friend, not going all National Geographic at his ex-girlfriend.

But what were you so happy for?

“Didn’t you break up with her? What’s your problem?” Jimin questioned, confused.

His teeth involuntarily slid back and ground bone-to-bone, eyes narrowing at the questions. Jungkook wanted to tell Jimin to shut up, but then your voice came back to him, if you want to react less emotionally, you have to take the time to sort through your initial reaction and the other options. So, instead, he picked up his lukewarm coffee and tapped the bottom edge against the table, thinking about the other, less emotional responses he could have.

“Yeah.”

Mmm.

Eloquent.

Came out a little gruffier than he wanted, but too late now.

Jimin frowned. “You never said why. I thought you were head over heels for her.”

He clicked his tongue and restrained himself from looking back. You would pick a table further away from the counter. Perhaps near the window. But why were you here? You used to come here with him. Conversations and dates. Who were you meeting? But if you were meeting someone, you wouldn’t have ordered before they arrived. Hm. Then there was the whole situation with the way you were smiling at your phone.

Like you were amused.

Playful.

Fuck.

“Hello? Earth to Jungkook, do you copy?”

He blinked hard and bit on his straw, not sulking but sulking. “S’nothing.” Great, he was mumbling now. Surefire sign you’re upset, you always reminded him. Everyone can tell. Just say it. “Actually, that why I wanted to talk to you.”

Those bright eyes and full lips turned into little circles. “Huh?”

Jungkook cleared his throat and glanced at Jimin under his hair. Furrowed brows and balancing his long, tattooed fingers on the lid of his ice coffee, not wanting to ask but asking anyway, because his ex-girlfriend seemed to be fucking fine visiting the places they used to visit and smiling like she was cool with not being with him anymore and that sucked, but it was easier to be mad than sad. He didn’t want to be sad in front of people.

Especially in front of people he was close to.

Especially in front of you.

So, Jungkook stayed mad.

“Did you hook-up with my ex or not?”

Jimin blinked at him.

“Hah?”

Shit.

-

You cut into the lemon cake, chewing thoughtfully.

A quick look at your nails and, shit, you should really repaint them before they started looking too rough. Two weeks was about as long as you could go before the nail growth was somewhat unbearable. This was about halfway through week three. Good preparation and high-quality polish could only get you so far before life eventually wore the manicure down.

Sigh.

Today was the first day you had decided to walk out and do something by yourself that wasn’t work, grocery shopping, or… wait, that was it. You had no other reason to go outside. Ack. You had another bite of cake. Been a while since you had this taste.

Your phone hummed on the table.

With your left ring finger, you checked your messages. And then you paused, because instead of reading a text, you were looking at a soundwave.

Voice message.

You reached over to your cup of hot tea, taking a sip and letting it scald you.

Breathed in and breathed out in a calm hiss, thinking.

Chewed on cake.

Ugh. You didn’t want to be that girl. But what were you gonna do? Almost eight billion people in this world and you were going to be hung up over one? One? And, anyway… In terms of too fast or too slow, you never knew what could happen, right? You hadn’t known with him, and you wouldn’t know with this one unless you started actually talking to him instead of skirting around with surface level shit. You hated that, so you shouldn’t do it. Your brain prodded you annoyingly with thoughts. Don’t be a hypocrite. Stop fucking around. Argh, okay. Okay. Fine.

You reached over to your phone and let it hover over the play button.

Wait.

Maybe you should listen to it in the car.

Yeah.

You put your phone back down and resumed eating and drinking.

You weren’t avoiding it. Okay, kinda. There was no point in dancing around the issue when you were by yourself. Get to the point. You came here specifically because it used to be your favorite café and it still was. It had nice memories attached to it, but then you stopped visiting it after… him. And for what? Did you combust from reminiscing? No. You were eating cake and having tea like you always did. The snack was just as tasty alone as it was with a partner. You were talking with another guy and you could bring him here eventually if you felt like it.

Maybe you should have been mad or sad about the whole Jeon Jungkook thing, but at this point it was just wasted energy and you were tired.

Tired of not feeling like yourself, tired if feeling like you couldn’t do things because you were reminded of him. So what? Everyone had good and bad. He wasn’t that bad of a guy. Faults were faults, and you had to decide if you could live with them or not.

Or he could decide, and start a dumbass argument.

Honestly, that was what you were most salty about. Yes, it was your nature to fight fire with fire, but you shouldn’t have. At least not so explosively. You were glad Jungkook hadn’t met your teenage self, that was for sure. Still, you had that habit of not mentioning when you were experiencing a bad day. Of course, they happened and without reason, same shit, different day. Those sorts of negative thoughts came in waves, after all. Mostly you didn’t want Jungkook to hover over you and try to make you feel better, because he would do so, and, if what he tried didn’t work, then he would be depressed and then it would begin, the endless cycle of you feeling like crap, him feeling like crap, so on and so forth until you felt better so he could feel better. Same shit, different day. Tiring. So, sometimes you didn’t mention bad days, but if he caught you on a bad day and acted emotionally, which did happen, it ended…

Poorly.

Jungkook was a passionate guy.

He thought a lot too.

Some things could be fixed, but some things got burnt to a crisp and then there was nothing to salvage.

Ugh.

You should have kept your temper more in check. Ah, well. You knew that now, but now was too late and you had no cake left, just a bit of hot tea and a voice message from a guy who wanted to know you.

You know what.

You actually wanted to know him too.

He had a cute smirk.

You neatly cleaned up and tossed the packaging, walking out with the paper cup, going back to your car to listen to that voice message that contained an alarmingly deep voice that surprised you with its sexiness. Well. Well, then.

Time to burn it up, maybe.

-

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Okay. Okay, he had two choices. Let sleeping dogs lie or poke them, which may or may not result in the positive outcome he wanted. It probably wouldn’t, because you were fire and burned everything in your path, and while that could be a good thing, fuck, a very good thing, but this…

This wouldn’t end well for him.

Mostly because Jungkook now realized, after finally speaking to Jimin, that he was wrong in thinking that you were sneaking around and trying to sleep with his best friend, when in actuality you were contacting Jimin repeatedly and being secretive because you were planning a grand event that included all his friends and a big party for your boyfriend’s birthday, but then he beat you to the punch and broke up with you before anything could come to fruition.

So, yeah.

You were probably really pissed at him.

Jungkook wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to set him on fire.

Ugggggggh, me, you stupid dummy!

He was sitting on his couch and slowly sinking to the floor, mentally berating himself for his pride and his overthinking, because of course Jungkook wouldn’t have thought like this if, as Jimin pointed out, he had some insecurity about her leaving him for someone else – and, unfortunately and infuriatingly, Jimin is damn right, because Jimin was kind and sweet and not nearly half as brash or annoying as Jungkook was.

Or thought he was.

And you could get anyone.

Anyone. With that body, that gaze, that confidence? No one would stand a chance. He hadn’t and he was fine with that, until he went and fucked it up, and now he knew you could go out and do whatever and whoever if you wanted, you just had to want to. And, obviously, you went out and visited your favorite café. Without him. To top it all off, you had smiled at your phone, clearly texting someone.

Shit.

Jungkook slapped his hands to his face and groaned, his ass at the edge of the couch and two centimeters away from collapsing to his abstract black-and-white living room rug that you had picked out when he moved in after he nagged you saying that he was bad at interior design and needed help, but secretly he only wanted to annoy you into making decisions for him.

He should… say something.

It wasn’t going to end well.

Fuck!

He hoped the person you were talking to was not cute. You liked cute more than handsome, he knew. You liked cute faces, deep voices, and diligent, hardworking people who knew who they were and weren’t easily swayed in their beliefs.

Which he was everything he was.

He just had the wrong belief and went way too far into the deep end without putting his pride aside and straight-up asking, thus leading to him being single and, now, angry at himself. For someone who thinks so much, you act too fast, you used to tell him with a laugh, mostly referring to his aggressiveness when playing video games.

Jungkook sadly plopped onto the floor for a good while, thinking about what he had done.

-

You were horny.

But, also, you were trying to change, so you weren’t about to coerce this guy that you were barely getting to know to drop his pants. Although he probably would. You were pretty convincing when you wanted to be and there were some telltale signs signaling that you two had some shared… interests. Yeah. However! You were trying not to go that route for once in your life.

It was pretty difficult.

He had sent you more voice messages. He even sent one he considered embarrassing, where he was singing, which would have been cringe as hell except it turned out to be the complete opposite. The stark contrast of his sweet, angelic singing voice and his deep, sultry speaking voice was shocking. Unreal. Was it possible to fall in love from just that knowledge? No. Was it possible to find your heart racing and imagining indecent things?

Possible?

Yes.

Did that make you a degenerate?

Maybe.

Hence why you simply made a comment about his talent and how impressive it was. You did not, in fact, mention the sudden intense desire to march over to wherever this guy was, rip off his shirt, and run your tongue all over his chest so you could hear the varying tones of the delicious noises that he would surely make as you teased his skin and who-knows-what-else. Mostly what was stopping you was that you hadn’t asked to see him in person yet.

Anyway.

Now you were stuck with the age-old question – jack off or distract yourself?

Or keep talking to the new guy?

No. You couldn’t do that. You were trying to change, and that meant not basing the foundation of a relationship on sex and good conversation. The latter, fine. The former? Apparently got you in trouble, apparently made you a problem, apparently was not good, and you didn’t used to care about that stuff until you lost him.

Stupid love.

You sighed and plopped down on your bed, frowning.

Your phone was laying on your pillow, having a nice nap.

You knew you should probably talk to someone about it. Anyone. But you avoided it, because you didn’t want to put Jeon Jungkook in a bad light to anyone, ex-boyfriend or not. You simply avoided everyone’s questions until they all died out and left you alone. Then you spent countless nights, much like this one, analyzing why you felt the way you felt about that thing that seemed to invade way too much of your life.

Jungkook accusing you of cheating on him.

You used to think, ah, I don’t overthink things, but even if you didn’t actively think about it, you found yourself holding back, not doing things that you would normally do, all because what if someone misinterpreted your intentions? What is there was just something about you that implied such a thought? It would have been easy to brush off if it was some random, but the person that you had thought you would spend the rest of your life with had accused you of lying.

The one thing you hated most, lying.

Which you had been doing at the time, but not about what he thought it was.

Which made it a harder pill to swallow, which made you stubborn, which made you not say anything or bother correcting him with receipts, because fuck him, fuck Jeon Jungkook for accusing you of cheating, fuck him and his, I’m breaking up with you, and you bluntly accepting it and leaving.

Ghosted him.

Didn’t even bother asking for an explanation or reconciliation.

Be the bigger person, yeah, that was what all the self-help books and podcasts said, but honestly you didn’t give a fuck. How the hell were you going to go on, living with the knowledge of Jeon Jungkook accusing you of lying, the one thing you hated most in this world? Who cared what his reason was? Who cared what it all meant? Not you on a bad day.

You winced.

Nothing you could do about that now.

The only way to make things different was to act differently in the same situation. If you were going to see someone new, you couldn’t just seduce them and drive them to the brink of insanity so that they were begging to fuck on the first meeting. You already did that.

With Jungkook.

And we know how that one ended.

So, you were doing the whole meet-a-guy-on-a-dating-app thing, switch to texting – probably too quickly but whatever – and slowly build up to a first meeting.

Slowly.

It had been a week and he was sending voice memos of him singing and maybe you were already shamelessly flirting.

Okay, you were trying and that was the point. Also, he was making it too easy and being too cute with his reactions. Being able to hear the sheepishness in that deep voice, mmm. And he simply couldn’t refuse you when you prompted him to switch to speaking directly instead of text. He did whatever you asked, not questioning it.

Maybe you should call him.

Hm.

Your hand found its way to the pillow where your phone was having a serene siesta.

You wanted to, but there was something that was holding you back. It would be easy to be blind about it, but you had to be honest with yourself before getting to the serious playing around. You didn’t need to bring up a picture of new guy. You knew exactly what he looked like – and that was the problem.

Born in the same year.

Muscular with a cute face.

The same height.

Seriously sexy when absorbed in their interests and adorable as fuck when flustered.

Able to be flustered easily by you, the intoxicating fire.

New guy didn’t have tattoos though. Not any that you could see in his photos, anyway. Mhm, you can sit here and pretend all you want but there are too many similarities to him and Jeon Jungkook, missy. Your brain had a point. Maybe this was what having-a-type meant. Or maybe this screamed rebound, which is exactly what you didn’t want it to be, so you were holding back.

But new guy was so.

Fucking.

Cute.

Pairing the combination of his loveable demeanor with the contrast of how built he was and that was the lethal combination right there. Plus, it was obvious he liked you. It would only take a little push. You flicked your wrist and unlocked your phone with your fingerprint, immediately bringing up the last thing you were doing. His latest text, saying he was off to shower, but promising he would be back after. Your phone normally vibrated to notify you, but this time it didn’t have to.

In real time, the voice memo popped up.

You played it.

That distinct deliciously deep voice shyly murmuring, “I’m back.”

He was only sending it because he knew you liked it. You could tell by his tone. Hear the hope in it. Well, shit, you could have all these dumbass overthinking reasons to not do something risky, or you could answer the hint of anticipation in that bated breath.

Don’t, your brain said.

You ticked your head. The call button was right next to his name.

You pressed it.

“Surprised?” was your greeting.

-

Maybe you weren’t making headway. Maybe it wasn’t that serious. Maybe you were in for-fun mode, out to break hearts to protect yours. Not that Jungkook would know, because he was standing in your favorite place in the world, and you weren’t here to answer his maybes.

He jumped as the intercom buzzed and scratchily announced that the leftover bread from the bakery was being put on flash sale. Most likely because it was going to expire today.

Yes, Jeon Jungkook was standing in the savory snack aisle of your local grocery store. A lot of people preferred the sweeter snacks – that was him, he was a lot of people – but you wanted the salty ones, which meant you and him never had to fight for snacks. He would eat all the candy and you would be chomping on seaweed. Harmony.

Until he fucked it up.

Yes, we get it. You’re an idiot. Move on, me.

But Jungkook couldn’t move on, because he was moping and picking up the last bag of shrimp chips like it was the goddamn Holy Grail and hoping your communications with mystery man were not going well. Well, he didn’t know if it was a man but it would hurt more if it was and his mind was conjuring worst case scenario to terrorize him. Or guilt him. Or both.

He clutched the shrimp chips like they were his lifeline and shuffled out of the aisle.

He didn’t even really like them. Well, he did. He would eat any snack. They just tasted better when they were with you because you loved them and used to talk about how you ate them a lot as a kid. Jungkook used to tease you for not liking candy enough. Were you even a kid? And then you’d put him in a chokehold. A real one, not a metaphorical one – although you had him there too.

He shouldn’t have taught you that. Was a bad idea.

Well, he couldn’t even be regretful about that anymore.

Sigh.

-

Where the fuck were the shrimp chips?

You were staring at the label that indicated they were discounted. Right there, in glaring red ink. They were clearly sold here. You reached back, feeling around for that familiar packaging. You would recognize the ridge of the shrimp chips right away. Nothing but the turtle chips. Fuck! Who the hell bought the shrimp chips? You squinted at the cart of the old lady at the far end of the aisle.

Was it you, lady? Hmm?!

Before you could harass said old lady, she leisurely rolled off to the next aisle.

Fuck.

Not that you would fight the elderly for shrimp chips, but maybe you had put people into a headlock for less.

Not maybe, you had.

Anyway.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have come after dinner. Damnnit. You marched out of the aisle and searched the endcaps, hoping that perhaps there was a spare bag left behind or possibly another display. Nope. Sad times. What else were you craving? You came all the way over to your local grocery store to get a familiar nostalgic snack, only for them to not have it, therefore you must purchase something random so the cashiers didn’t think you’re a weirdo for leaving empty-handed.

Not that they would notice.

Or care.

Hm.

You were about to collect what was left of your shattered expectations and get out of there before you stopped, seeing a colorful display with a poster of a joyful marshmallow standing under a starry sky, beside a tent and a campfire. The stacked boxes under the brightly saturated sign indicated the product contents of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows – a s’mores kit.

Was…

Was the marshmallow going to roast himself as sacrifice?

Or… was the marshmallow going to eat these s’mores?

Before you could debate the ethics of the vaguely cannibalistic nature of this marketing tactic, you remembered Jeon Jungkook’s favorite dessert was s’mores. In fact, he nearly caused a fire on your gas stove in his desire for said sweet treat. There was a lot of yelling and smoke and throwing open the window to your next-door neighbor staring wide-eyed at you as the smoke alarm blared.

You recalled gasping that you burnt the rice and scurrying away.

What? You weren’t going to throw your boyfriend under the bus.

Er.

Ex-boyfriend, now.

You reached out to the box. A fun activity for the family, it said. You didn’t have a family. Just you and some what-ifs. You held the box, feeling the weight. It was substantial, but not that heavy. Get it together. What were you going to do? Freak out every time you thought about Jungkook? Come on. He doesn’t deserve that. The best thing you could do was have a good opinion of him, despite him being a little shit.

Hey.

You meant that in an endearing way.

… Yeah.

You sighed and tucked the s’mores kit under your arm. This was how life was. People were too complicated to fit in neat little boxes and situations were too convoluted to have a correct or right resolution. You would probably feel even shittier if you tried to act on emotions and get into his face about it. You had to take the L. Eat the damn s’mores and maybe think about finally meeting the new guy. The conversation had been nice and fluid once you got him talking about himself, something he had been reluctant to do because he didn’t want to seem arrogant.

You had asked him if he was.

He had replied with, “Maybe a little?” The self-doubt in his response had made you laugh, as if he wasn’t so sure himself. But the whole point becoming someone’s potential one and only was bragging about yourself, so might as well lay out everything you got, right?

You didn’t even like sweets.

Maybe the new guy did, though. Maybe you should try to like them a little more.

You bought the box of s’mores and went home.

-

Normally, people cried into wine or chocolate, but Jungkook was crying into a bag of shrimp chips.

Okay.

Not actually crying, because then he would ruin the shrimp chips, but pretty damn close to sobbing into the crispy snack while watching the latest popular drama and wondering what you were doing. Hopefully you were happy, doing stuff you loved. Cute stuff, like watching cat videos or those home renovation shows you seemed to have great interest in. You told him you wanted to learn about houses so that you would have knowledge when buying one with him. Smart. So smart. Oh, man, why were you so smart and why was he a dum-dum? That’s not fair, Jungkook. You’ll handle all the interior design stuff because you’re artsy, oh, wait, I’ll have to narrow down the options so you don’t buy seven different diffusers. He chomped away at the shrimp chips, sniffling at the memory.

He was being lame.

Also, a little self-centered, because this was not all about him. You had been in the relationship too and technically you were the one who was hurt. He should not be the sad one sitting here on the floor in front of his television and stuffing his face with shrimp chips as he watched the male lead and the female lead go through some misunderstandings. He should be thinking about how he could be a better person.

Jungkook frowned.

Were shrimp chips gluten-free?

He checked the label.

Yes. Whew. His doctor had warned him he shouldn’t have gluten late at night, as it would upset his stomach. Step one into being a better person, take care of one’s personal health. At least he was doing that right.

Right-ish.

Back to chomping away.

Maybe you were happier without him. That would suck, but at least you would be doing well. What more could he ask for? Besides rewinding time and boinking some sense into his own head. Something to ask Doctor Strange once they would inevitably meet. It would be awkward to ask for a favor right away, but what’s the worst that could happen? Utter chaos of the timeline and disruption of subsequent timelines connecting the various multiverses?

… On second thought.

Jungkook wondered if the female lead would just tell the male lead that she already liked him. You wouldn’t have a problem saying something like that right away. It was very cool of you, always being the first to admit how you felt. Never hiding anything.

It was at that moment that Jungkook choked on a shrimp chip and starting hacking up his lungs.

He had to punch his chest to gain some semblance of breath back. There was a lot of wheezing and scrambling for the water bottle on his coffee table. Ugh. His throat felt all fucked up.

Hmmmm.

Did you throat feel like this when he rammed his dick into it? He never asked. He had been too busy feeling good and ascending to the heavens to ask questions. He should have been more thoughtful on that front. Maybe if he had been more considerate…

You had a vibe going on here, me, and you just ruined it by thinking about sex.

Oops.

Anyway.

Back to watching drama and crying over shrimp chips despite one of them trying to end his life.

-

You opened the box of the s’mores kit and the graham crackers were all crushed.

“Fuck.”

You could roast marshmallows and top it with melted chocolate and graham cracker powder?

You struggled and made do, realizing with a quick taste test that, yes, this was too sweet, but you had tea and resilience, and your never-say-die attitude reminded you that you could do anything, including making a very messy but possibly innovative dessert. If you added some yogurt, would it become a s’mores parfait? Hey. That could be a thing… somewhere.

Well, it was a thing here in your kitchen right now.

At least you didn’t start a fire.

-

“Maybe you should do something.”

He stared off into space and answered hollowly.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Park Jimin dragged out exaggeratedly. “Talk to her? Maybe your ship has sailed, but at least you could get some closure. For my sake.” He muttered the last bit under his breath.

Jungkook did not want to hear that his ship has sailed. He wanted to hear that the ship was right here, docking to the port. Or… something like that. Whatever. Anyway, Jimin was doing a shit job of helping him figure out how to repair the gaping wound in his chest. Talk to her, yeah, like that was gonna solve anything.

Psh.

Jungkook pushed the food around on his plate. A surefire sign he was feeling like shit. He always ate. Few things could stop him from eating.

“Are you dying? Why are you disrespecting your dak-galbi like that?”

On second thought, Jungkook shoveled it into his mouth. Food comas were a thing, right? Maybe he could eat himself into a stupor. Maybe he could induce an actual coma if he consumed enough alcohol and food.

Only one way to find out.

“Oi, don’t eat that fast, are you trying to give yourself a stomachache? Oi. Jungkook!”

-

You woke up.

Heart racing, world swirling, touching your face, and there they were, tears, uninhibited by logic anymore, blurry faces and that kind of anger that was more sad than angry, but fury won, because you didn’t want to show that you were sad, burying it deep inside until your dreams broke through your subconscious and replayed it for you, the yelling, the throwing of cushions, the snatching of the keys and the furious tossing of your shoes on and then running, running, you shouldn’t have ran but you did, you ran and ran and ran and cried into the wind just like how you cried into your pillow right now and for what, for nothing, for something that was over and dead, over and dead.

It was fading.

Fading.

The memory, and now your tears, curling into your pillow, suffocating yourself in cloth, trying to close it out, breathing nothing and seeing black, in, out, in, out, until your lungs felt like they were burning.

You threw your head up, gasping.

Face dry.

Not a chance that someone would catch you crying over Jeon Jungkook.

Not that anyone was here except you.

You were still someone though.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

How could he think I was lying when I hate lying most in this world?

And no one could see you cry, no one could see you fall apart, no one could think that they had any power over you, because you weren’t weak, you couldn’t be made a fool of, you would rather tear it apart yourself then let someone else think that they could get to you.

You ruined everything, me.

And maybe you did.

Maybe you did and now what? Nothing. Nothing but bad dreams and an empty bed and shuddering breaths as you wiped your eyes with the duvet and pretended your nose wasn’t stuffy, sliding back down to the silence, breathing quietly, he used to be right here and now there was no one but you, but you were someone and not a chance that someone would see you crying over Jeon Jungkook.

You were someone.

And there was nothing anyone could do about this aftermath, nothing to do about you yelling irreversible things and him yelling irreversible things, both of you tearing apart what you built together like it was nothing, over what?

Pride.

Fear.

The usual suspects.

There was no point in asking why no one fought for anyone because everyone was wearing masks of mad and secretly sad. Yeah, you could die on this sacred ground. You could. That would be real fuckin’ easy. But easy wasn’t living. You didn’t pick easy when you picked Jungkook, and you didn’t pick easy when you walked away either.

This limbo wasn’t you.

You sighed.

Breathed out.

Held your breath for thirty seconds.

Easy isn’t living, me. Just go on a damn date.

-

You are a dumbass, me.

He was too full and too drunk and a blob on his own bed. Jimin tried to convince him that he needed someone to take care of him, but Jungkook just pushed his hyung out the door and bade him good night. Jimin kept urging him to talk about it, but Jungkook was, he was talking to his head every second of every day and it wasn’t doing anything but giving him a headache, and now he had a fat headache and a bursting-at-the-seams tummy.

Oof.

So now he was a blob.

Hopefully he wouldn’t throw up.

He felt around and found the water bottle by his bed. Okay. At least he had water. There was a packet of hangover meds in his nightstand drawer. For emergencies like this. Jimin had reminded him that he couldn’t keep doing this to himself, but joke’s on Jimin, Jungkook knew he could. Had been and quite frankly was thinking about sulking to his heart’s content, maybe even until the end of time, because everyone was telling him he couldn’t, so stubbornly he continued.

Out of principle.

Something like that.

Okay, maybe Jungkook was secretly seriously considering gathering his courage to speak to you face-to-face. Maybe. It was all his fault, after all. For not believing, for making up a narrative that tore you and him apart, all his fault for burning that bridge you two built together, and for what, for nothing but pride and fear and wasn’t he getting a little old for that?

Jungkook sighed, feeling far too sober and reasonable.

Should have drunk more.

Maybe you didn’t need the closure, but he wouldn’t know unless he asked, and he was done assuming, done thinking he knew what was what. It was clear that he didn’t. He didn’t even know if he needed closure, but the aftermath still stung even now, scorched by the everlasting fire, and maybe he was stupid for thinking some silly little words could do anything for this situation, but it was something, right, and something was better than this nothing, nothing but a bad signal flickering weakly, couldn’t connect because there were too many walls separating you and him.

Jungkook knew exactly where your apartment was, and could confirm that there were probably many walls separating you and him right now.

If you were in your apartment, that is.

You had to be. It was the middle of the night.

He should be asleep.

Jungkook resumed his blob form and waited for his dreams to take him.

Or nightmares.

That was not a choice he could make, unfortunately.

-

First dates were difficult because you had to chose the one outfit that would represent you. In the off chance that you only ended up meeting this person once, you felt that your clothes had to give off a distinct impression of who you were. Similar to that age-old question of, if you were a ghost and stuck with one outfit forever, what would you want to wear?

Morbid, but effective.

Something you could live by.

Oh, yeah, me, also perhaps you should try to impress the new guy.

You didn’t want to admit it but the truth was the truth – this was less about him and more about you and taking responsibility for whatever came, good or bad. Because, yes, maybe it wouldn’t turn out well, maybe nothing was meant to be, maybe you were driving in the metaphorical fast lane and accelerating way too recklessly, but it wasn’t like you to let up on the gas, and the only way to found out if there was any chance at all was to put on some damn clothes and just do the damn thing.

That how you were before…

No. You were someone before him and you’re someone now.

It wasn’t fair.

But life wasn’t fair, life was complicated and maybe even a little immoral sometimes, and that was how it was so you got dressed. White cropped t-shirt. You look so good in those, even if they’re simple. Big black hoodie with a cheeky-looking ghost in the back, peeking up with a mischievous little smile. I love oversized stuff on you. It makes you look so small and cute. Short black skirt, pleated, with a chain hanging off the hip. You hooked on a little keychain of a tuxedo cat to the top of the chain, something for you to know and maybe for others to find out if you took off your hoodie. I’m glad you like wearing short skirts. You have great legs and I love looking at them. Thick thigh-high black socks to block out the cold. Aw, man, sucks that it’s getting cold now but you have to protect those precious legs. You would wear your heeled boots with the big silver buckles shaped like moons. Thick soled and heavy, ah, like mine.

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

Your fashion is nice because you always match me.

You could hear Jungkook’s voice even though he wasn’t there and you just had to stand there and accept that life wasn’t fair and that you would hear it for a while until you forgot the sound of his voice and it wasn’t fair that you still couldn’t decide if you actually wanted to forget it or not.

But nothing changed if you only stood still, so you walked over to your front door and put your shoes on. Checked your black bag with a frowning smiley face icon printed on the front and slung it over your shoulder, safely tucking it by your hip.

Paused.

Glanced at the hooks by your door and picked up the thick maroon-colored scarf, lopping it around your neck as you opened the door and walked out, holding your keys in your hand.

-

Who the fuck is that?

Now.

Now, Jungkook was fully and completely aware what he was doing was wrong, even if his original intent was perfectly sensible. Completely normal. Nothing wrong with what he had initially meant to do but shit got sidetracked the second he spotted familiar legs and a black hoodie, with a cheeky ghost printed onto the back, that’s the one, and was that a man walking next to you, dark-haired and handsome, kind of close, turning his head and laughing at something you said, something Jungkook couldn’t hear because he was a block away, staring wide-eyed with his legs moving of their own accord.

Wondering what this guy had that Jungkook didn’t have.

That white sweater didn’t do much to hide the broad shoulders and muscular frame. Clean blue jeans and a very nice smile, eyes that crinkled up when he laughed, covering his mouth. It wasn’t fake. Jungkook had hoped it was a fake laugh but it looked genuine as fuck and now Jungkook was stalking his ex-girlfriend on his way to her apartment to have that talk that Jimin kept telling him to have, the talk to get out all these pent-up feelings, but now he should just turn around and try another day.

But life wasn’t fair.

He wanted to say he was simply too dumbstruck to stop himself, but Jungkook was pretty sure it was sinful jealousy that was giving his legs the strength to follow at a block’s distance.

He wanted to tell himself something comforting, like she has terrible taste but the guy was pretty good-looking actually, or he doesn’t seem that interesting but you seemed very invested in what he had to say at the intersection, so interested that you two missed the crossing signal, or he can’t make you laugh but you did, you laughed and he laughed at the missed signal and it looked like a scene of out a movie, two adults holding insulated cups of some warm drink and shyly smiling over light sips in between conversation.

And the creepy ex-boyfriend squinting at the scene from a block away.

Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.

You started crossing and Jungkook jogged to catch the light just before it changed.

This was really stupid all around, but he didn’t care. He wanted to know if this new guy knew your affinity for green tea and lemon cake yet. He wanted to know if new guy liked your oversized hoodie and skirt, because it was one of his favorite outfit combinations on you. He wanted to know how you felt about new guy, because new guy looked like he had an impressive personal best at the bench press, and Jungkook wanted to know if it was better than his, not that it mattered.

But it mattered.

Jungkook avoided the streetlamps that suddenly turned on, trying to stay out of the light. He didn’t know how recognizable he was in his massive black parka and black jeans with rips at the knees, but he wasn’t chancing you suddenly turning around and recognizing his knees.

He made sure his face mask was on securely before pulling the hood over his head.

New guy put his hand on your head and Jungkook almost skidded to a stop as a different hand fluffed your hair.

You playfully swiped at new guy’s hand and now Jungkook was close enough to hear that deep laugh at your reaction.

You used to take Jungkook’s hand and put it on your head and when he asked what you were doing, you simply told him that you liked the reassuring weight.

How did I not get it?

Jungkook watched as both you and new guy stopped, realizing you were holding his wrist.

In slow motion, you reluctantly let go and dipped your head, apologizing.

New guy waved his hand, apologizing himself, bowing even.

Night was falling, falling.

You beckoned, indicating that the walk should continue.

Jungkook followed and watched you talk to this man in front of your apartment complex. He tried to sort out the feeling, because there was a part of him that hadn’t given up yet, and another part that saw that life wasn’t fair, and the last part him thought maybe this right in front of him was meant to be and maybe his part of your fairytale was over.

The man leaned over and deliberately kissed you on the cheek, politely not going for the lip kiss.

He waved and stepped back, back in the opposite direction, but Jungkook was on the other side of the street now, circling, coming from the other way as he watched new guy wave to you and you wave back, yelling at him to be careful and watch where he was going.

“Kim Gunhak! You’ll trip if you don’t turn around!”

And this Kim Gunhak almost did, catching himself and looking sheepish, giving you one last smile before turning around.

You waited until he was too far away to make out and then headed into your apartment complex.

Jungkook fought with himself, unsure what to do now, wondering what was right.

-

You had only just taken off your shoes when your doorbell buzzed.

The intercom was in the hallway, but you were right next to the door, so, instead of checking it, you opened it, expecting a confused delivery person who was looking for your next-door neighbor around the corner or a neighbor inquiring about a lost dog or maybe even some drunkard who had the wrong apartment, literally anyone but the person who was standing at the entrance of your front door.

Jeon Jungkook.

He looked very sober.

His cheeks were pink from the cool night.

You thought you would have something to say, something vengeful and witty and spirited with fire, but your eyes connected with those big brown ones and suddenly you were staring at him and he was staring at you, frozen, couldn’t speak, afraid to jinx it, feeling like something otherworldly was happening right now, impossible that Jeon Jungkook was right there, someone you had known so well not that long ago, but now his eyes were flying saucers from another planet.

Unrecognizable, the feeling in those eyes.

You remembered crying and that hurt.

But easy wasn’t living.

Sometimes living meant you got hurt.

You remembered every detail on his face, from his dark eyebrows to his black hair, longer now, to those expressive dark brown orbs, to the shape of his pink lips accented with a silver ring, to the mole underneath them. Little details that you loved about him. You remembered you should be mad at him. You felt like maybe you should be.

But, like ashes, there was nothing but smokey remnants after enough time passed.

Jungkook spoke first.

“I’m… sorry.”

It was cold and you should close the door, but you were stuck, transfixed by his words.

“I know you hate those words, because actions mean more than I’m sorry but…” He sucked in a shaky breath and helplessness looked right at you. “I thought of a thousand actions and none of them can take back what I thought was true, because in that moment I betrayed you, the moment when I left myself believe in something that I made up in my mind more than I believed in you.”

He looked like he was going to cry and you hated it when Jungkook cried because then you felt like crying, like you had made him cry even if it wasn’t directly about you, but this was about you.

“When I realized I could be wrong, I didn’t want to admit it.”

Pride.

“By then I said some shitty things and you were already out the door.”

Fear.

“You said I was too stubborn and headstrong for anybody, even you,” you breathed, every memory scored pain, burned into your brain.

Jungkook shook his head. He didn’t try to come closer even though you could tell he wanted to. He didn’t cry even though you could tell he wanted to. He didn’t stop his lip from trembling because he wanted you to see that he was honest, that he didn’t want to hide even though past him would want to.

“I’m sorry. You always told me to be aware of my initial reaction so I could sort through the other options and react less emotionally, but I failed you, and I failed us, and I know I shouldn’t say this, but I wish I could take it all back, the first thought about you and Jimin, and everything after, because if I just said that very first thought out loud instead of holding it in, I wouldn’t be watching you live life without me.”

Your thoughts whispered to you, cruel and unfaithful poison seeping.

It's my fault.

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Jungkook was being unfair to apply what you said to this situation and maybe he wasn’t. It was hard to tell and hard to know the answer. The funny thing about life was that there was usually no answer. There was only shit that happened and acting on too little information too much of the time. Maybe it would be apt to feel anger now, because Jungkook gave you the obscure hint that he had seen Kim Gunhak walk you home, perhaps just the kiss on the cheek goodbye part but it was spying all the same, and yet, instead of anger, you felt something else.

Relieved.

“You saw my date drop me off?” you asked quietly.

Jungkook looked away, ashamed.

“Yeah.”

Now.

Now you saw it was pointless.

Your fault. His fault. Who cared whose fault was it? You could spend all day and all night and all the time thereafter trying to decide whose fault it was, but at the end of the day the earth beneath you and him was scorched by an imperfect love, and it was fine to walk away. It was fine to tell him that he could walk away too, fine to walk away from the ashes of this fairytale.

You can walk away from our fairytale, Jungkook, me.

He raised his head, making eye contact with you again, taking a deep breath.

You gazed back.

Saw flecks of what could have been, lights still alive in those big brown eyes.

Pride.

Fear.

Not a chance that someone would catch you crying over Jeon Jungkook.

“I…”

The usual suspects holding you back.

“I… told myself I could do anything,” you said, not breaking eye contact and you saw he believed that you could; he always did. “I only had to put the effort in. Meet people and open up a little. Even if it was fake it ‘til I make it, and I almost made it.”

The world was blurry and cold, all around.

“Almost.”

Not a chance.

“I almost did, Jeon Jungkook, but then you had to go and apologize.”

The tears came down, and Jungkook instinctively reached out to wipe them away, but then he stopped, suddenly afraid. You stepped back and wiped your cheeks yourself, surprised at that suddenness. Was this what getting older and growing up meant? Allowing yourself to be in touch with your emotions?

Mortifying.

You stared at him, almost accusingly, and it was all falling apart.

“I’m tired of trying to figure out who was wrong.”

Everything was all wrong.

“I’m tired of trying to rethink every little thing, all thanks to you.”

Painstakingly re-wiring every thought so all those little things didn’t remind you of Jungkook, giving in sometimes to the memories and feeling aghast that both of you had dropped the lit match onto the bridge you built together, burning it, burning it all down.

“I’m tired of missing you.”

You didn’t want to be that one, but you grabbed him by the front of his parka and shook him hard, out of frustration and that thought that no one should catch you crying over a boy, of all things, a silly boy who had made you laugh and loved sweets and your fashion and had always eagerly listened to you talk about whatever with stars in his eyes like you his everything, and so you refused to cry in front of him so you could always look cool and tough and not affected, but now you shoved your head into his chest and cried, cried about how you couldn’t be the person he thought you were, a person worthy of his love, because the truth was deep down you were weak, deep down you were made a fool of, and deep down Jungkook did have power over you since some part of you stupidly hadn’t given up yet. If you had been worthy, why would he have any reason to question your faithfulness? You must have done something wrong. The unknown had eaten away at you all this time, prevented you from crying and prevented you from trying to reconcile, and here Jungkook was beating you to it, so the least you could do was be honest and cry.

It was the worst, letting yourself cry.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you to him.

You pushed him away, glaring, fiercely rubbing at your eyes with the bottom of your sleeves.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Shook your head, stumbling back into your apartment, swinging at the door and missing, your red scarf falling from your neck, falling, falling, warmth slipping away.

“Don’t try to make me feel better when all you came here to do was to heal yourself.”

“I didn’t come here to heal myself.”

Jungkook bit his lip, looking guilty, following you inside, but only a step.

“I came here to try and get you back. I was going to fight that guy with my bare hands.”

Your tears paused, blinking hard to clear your vision.

“What?”

His eyes shifted and he sucked on the inside of his cheek, frowning slightly. “Well, if this was a movie, I would fight him, but it’s not, because it’s unlikely you would take me back after I beat up some poor guy.”

“I would kick your ass,” you snapped, annoyance clearing the sadness. “Not to mention Gunhak is a workout maniac, as much or more than you. He wouldn’t be beaten by you so easily.”

Jungkook pouted.

You froze.

The moment hung in the air, a stillness with too much meaning.

“Well, I would already lose anyway,” he mumbled, glancing at you. “You were always my weakness.”

Those big brown eyes and you noticed his ears were red, his cheeks were flushed and even his fingers were scarlet. This moment was a choice, a moment to stop and consider the options, but all you did was follow your instinct, reaching forward and grabbing his wrist, pulling him to you, ignoring his wide eyes and confused squeak, pulling and closing the door, cutting off the cold, and now it was just you and him, you holding his cold hands and rubbing, closing your fingers around them, not knowing if this was a bad decision or not, probably, but what made a decision good or bad?

No answers.

“I hate you,” you muttered. “You watch too much drama and memorized all the good lines.”

Your gaze flickered to him and Jungkook pulled a face, looking remorseful again, except this time he seemed less sure of his guilt.

“Sorry?”

You bit your lip.

“You’re stubborn and headstrong too, Jungkook.”

He nodded, not denying it.

“But you’re my good influence,” he chirped lightly.

Then he winced.

“Were. Were my good influence.”

Corrected himself, tone pained.

Heart racing, looking at your world, holding onto Jungkook’s hands, and he stepped closer tentatively, warmth and memories, and the line of having a possibly uncomfortable conversation tomorrow was not crossed yet, not yet, and you squeezed his hands, those big brown eyes asking you if the impossible was possible, and you didn’t dare open your mouth, because the real answer was that you didn’t know, he didn’t know, no one knew, nothing was meant to be, everything was impossible until someone made it possible, and maybe that those someones could be you and him.

You tilted your head.

Familiar breath.

“You can tell me if you like him more than me,” Jungkook whispered shakily. “I’ll probably cry, but I’ll understand eventually.”

The tips of his hair touched your forehead.

“Can you shut up, Jungkook?” you hissed back. “Just shut up and close your eyes if you want me to kiss you.”

Flecks of what could have been, lights still alive in those flying saucers, and his lashes lowered, casting darkness over the stars in those big brown eyes, closing them.

What are you doing, me?

You kissed him.

-

He should have accepted what was, was, but Jungkook couldn’t and now you kissed him and his brain reminded him that you could be the one to break his heart this time, but Jungkook told his brain, I don’t care, and kissed back, trying not to cry all over your face. If this was your revenge arc, Jungkook would gladly be part of it. He had kinda been a shithead. He could understand the audience perspective.

Also, you were kinda hot in your revenge arc.

What?

Jungkook had told you many times before that he loved your legs.

You let go of his hands and placed your palms on his cheeks, exhaling into his mouth, and he never said it before, but he loved that shit, it got him inappropriately hard inappropriately fast, something about the heat and the calmness of your sweet breath that drove him crazy.

He did love sweets, after all.

“You’re so cold.”

Your kiss on his cheeks, his gasping mouth, grazing his lip ring. Soft, plush, perfect lips murmuring against his skin, familiar and sensual and comforting, and he was seconds away from crying, so instead he drew in a shuddering breath, falling into the more R-rated thoughts because if he didn’t let arousal take over, he was seconds away from becoming a motionless, emotional puddle on your hardwood floor and that wasn’t how he wanted this to end.

Yes, Jungkook was relying on sex to keep himself mentally stable.

Sorry, you’re too sexy and I want you too much.

“It’s cold outside,” and his reply came out a little more childish than he intended, too breathy and shivery, it was just so nice, so fucking nice that you were kissing him again, tracing his ears with your fingertips, loving caress, pulling him closer.

Your smile against his lip ring from his silly response.

“I’m warm. Touch me,” you breathed against his chin, hot and heavy.

Okay, maybe Jungkook knew all nice lines in dramas, but you knew all the lines to the porn videos.

Not that he was complaining.

His hands finding your waist and your teeth sinking his lower lip and he whined, the sting of pain coursing through him, a sharp detail of reality proving that this was no dream. His fingers curling into the thick fabric of your hoodie, grasping for your body, warm and getting warmer, yanking you closer. Your tongue tracing his skin, your hands framing the sides of his neck, stripped honesty vibrating in the millimeters of air between your faces.

“I always liked the sounds you make,” you purred, wisps of breath from your formation of words dancing between his trembling lips. “Like you’re desperate for me.”

“I am,” he found himself admitting. “I always am, please, breathe in my mouth, please.”

A ripple of surprise, but you wasted no time, covering his lips with yours and sighing into his throat, making his eyelids flutter and his whole body shiver, and if this was the last time then Jungkook was just going to leave it all on the table, all the things that made him feel good, he wanted them, all the things he remembered you liked, he would do them, like letting go of your hoodie and sliding his hands into your hair, turning your head to kiss your ear and suck on the space right under it, tongue and lips and teeth, your hitched breath at his touch, he missed it, the soft scent of your hair products filling his nose, he missed it, he missed the taste of your skin and the way you impatiently yanked his clothes off, cleanly unzipping his parka and pushing it off his shoulders, forcing him to let go up your head and just dump it on the ground, kicking off his shoes to a different directions, persistently keeping his lips on your neck and letting the fervor take over, insistently pushing you deeper inside your apartment.

He missed it, the way you enjoyed him.

“Can you–”

But you didn’t complete your irritated request, abruptly shoving him into the wall and making him gasp, and then the next thing he knew he was pressing his head to the wall and moaning as you bit down above his collarbone, running your tongue along that sensitive skin, your nails dragging down the sides of his neck, leaving lines of wanton fire.

“Too many layers,” you growled, tugging at the collar of his long-sleeved gray shirt even though it was the only layer separating you and him, but you were right, he agreed that it was too many layers, and Jungkook hastily yanked it up and over his head, tossing it to the side and then you bent down, your hands splayed over his right shoulder and the left side of his hip.

Pink tongue sliding out.

Licking up his chest.

Watching him as you did it, causing blood and pleasure to rush to all the right places.

He moaned, loud and pornographic.

You cocked an eyebrow.

He reached out and pulled at your hoodie and you made it crumple to the floor, then body to body again, face to face, kiss to hungry kiss, his hands going up your white crop top and under your bra, whining deep in his chest as you exhaled into his mouth again, thrusting your tongue into his lips when his fingertips brushed your nipples.

You backed off a little, taking your tongue away.

“D-Don’t stop.”

You paused, searching his eyes.

He hadn’t really confessed it before.

“It’s hot,” Jungkook panted. “When you do stuff like t-that.”

He squeezed your breasts to help get his point access but also for comfort as you scrutinized him, uncertain if he was sincere or not. Fair enough.

“Like what?” you asked, prompting him to clarify.

Heart racing, hot all over, adrenaline and fear fueling his pleasure, because there was something wonderfully dangerous about this territory. He had some inkling, but before he didn’t really bother to ask too much. You always did what you wanted to and naturally it leant to a certain power dynamic, but you never asked to take it further than sporadic, fleeting moments. And, well, Jungkook had never thought about how it would feel to admit out loud that that part of you it turned him on.

It would feel embarrassing, and yet he was enticed by that rush.

Aroused by it.

“When you treat me like you own me.”

Your eyes on his, not breaking the gaze.

Reaching up, running your fingers though his hair, sending tingles down his spine.

“Do you want me to own you a little?” you murmured.

He reached up and closed your fingers around a fistful of his hair.

“Maybe a little more than a little.”

You tugged.

The sting of pain, moan tumbling from his mouth, his hand falling, circling your waist.

Closer.

“I can take more,” he whispered to your lips.

You pulled and closed your hand over his erection fighting his jeans and Jungkook felt his whole body electrify, bucking his hips to your fingers and seeking your lips, but there was no kiss, only a controlled stream of breath to swallow, and the groan bubbled up in his ribcage. Alive. Raw pleasure. Intoxicated, driven by ferocious need, his fumbling hands undoing the button of his jeans, forcing down the zipper, everything being pushed down, and then it was your hand to his hot, taut skin, flicking your wrist by his head to deliver a shot of pain and a stroke of pleasure from the other, torn between the two sensations and the lightheaded feeling of your forceful breath pushing the air out of his lungs, forgetting that he could breathe from his nose, didn’t want to anyway, living was only living when it was on this hazy thin oxygen from your exhale.

Yes, Jungkook was pants down, shirtless, letting you jack him off and pull on his hair as you breathed into his mouth.

That was not how he thought this conversation would end but he was not taking any second of it for granted, rubbing your nipples, kneading your breasts, making sure you felt pleasure too, but the thing that seemed to make you smile most was the sounds he made, so Jungkook upped the desperation level in his tone and tucked his hips back slightly, changing the angle of your stroke.

“Fuck, yes, lower, closer to the head, fuuuuck, right there, a-ah…”

And you knew it all, the right pressure, the steady build up from slow to fast, until you had to focus and simply clutched his head, digging your nails into his scalp, panting against his shaking lips, fast and intense pressure consuming him, chasing the glorious high, closer and closer and closer.

He pinched your hard nipples and rubbed the tips, moaning unashamedly and probably too loud, keeping his lower body rigid so you could control the pace, your name tumbling out of his mouth, deep, needy, looking down to watch your hand firmly wrapped around his stiff cock, the head dark red and pleasure throbbing up his torso, you’re so good, fuck, you’re so fucking good, your breasts in his hands, perfect, groan pitching to helpless whine, almost…

You stopped.

“Fuck!”

His entire body jerked as you squeezed and simply froze at the very last second, at literally the singular point of almost no return and you stopped, and he was too far gone to be ashamed of the pathetic whimpering he was doing now, gripping your hand around his twitching length and nonsensically begging you to continue, but the moment was gone and, by the look of your devious smirk, it was all on purpose.

Fuck!

In his horny-induced haze, Jungkook attempted his best puppy eyes.

Your hand slid down his head and traced his jaw.

“I’m not gonna let you cum on the floor,” you teased.

He pulled a pout. “Come on… It’s not like floors can’t be cleaned.”

Your grip pulsed around his cock so hard he nearly gasped in pain.

“You’re not going to last if you cum once before pussy.”

Okay.

You were right, but the truth didn’t make Jungkook happy.

Not until he was balls deep into you, condom wrapper falling from his hand, you taking the moment to stretch your legs over his torso casually, adjusting your hips under him, and then he was deeper, surrounded on all sides by silky wet warmth that pulsated around him, so good his head involuntarily tipped back, his hair trickling his shoulders as he slid out a little and then back in.

Oh.

God.

He was very happy now.

“F-Fuck… I hate this position… you f-feel too fucking g-good…”

“It’s just missionary.”

He jerked his head down to see you smirking at him. Looking smug fully naked, juicy thighs flush to his abs and your body was essentially folded in half as he leaned down, sucking in a breath as your pussy clamped around his length, slow and controlled and every centimeter gripped tight like his dick owned money.

“You have the most control in this position,” he puffed.

“You wanted it,” you hummed.

Jungkook squinted in mock suspicion. Then he gave up on the act rather quickly.

“Yeah, I want you.”

Slid out and back in, shuddering.

“I don’t want anyone else but you.” Pleasure snaking through him with every thrust, breathless, slow and deep at first, but gradually adding power, harder and rougher, smacking hips to crotch, erotic electricity all over, his hair falling over his eyes, looking down, staring into yours. “I know I’m balls deep right now, but you have to believe me.”

You reached up.

And.

Patted him on the cheek.

“Jungkook, we can have the deep talk after the two minutes it takes for you to finish. I promise,” you assured cheerfully with a smile.

Hey!

He scrunched up his face and glared at you. “Excuse me, I last longer than two minutes–”

You planted your hands onto the mattress and thrust up into him. He choked at the sudden slingshot of ecstasy that pierced through him and his entire tirade about how he was going to last way longer because you technically edged him which was very mean by the way, yeah, all that was instantly forgotten as you tightened your jaw and all around him, creating an insane pace that his body immediately followed, too much carnal instinct and not enough sanity, the sound between you and him suddenly louder, wetter, rhythmic smacks and panting gasps, your mouth opening and your pink tongue licking the air, hint of a smirk at the periphery of your lips, and Jungkook felt like he should be mad about that, but it was turning him on more, fuck, he felt his cock twitch as he watched that agile tongue writhe, teasing sin, he was doomed, he was one of those freaky people that was into this stuff now.

That was what he got for admitting the truth.

Your hand shot up and you tangled your fingers in his long hair, gripping his head to get the leverage to fully fuck him from below plus add the aching pain of your nails digging into the scalp to the torrent of sensations ransacking him right now.

He groaned and his eyes rolled back, the orgasm slamming into him.

All over him, shooting out all over his nerves, potent pleasure so powerful that his hips bucked and shivered, only pure will allowing him to continue thrusting, but it appeared you had been holding back, oh fuck, skyrocketing his shivering orgasm to uncontrollable crashing waves from every throb of your walls, the slickness between your bodies painting onto his inner thighs and crotch, your name torn from his throat, low and hoarse and raw, drowning in the most concentrated bliss he knew, drenched in sex and sweat, wishing it was forever.

It always ended too soon.

Fuck.

-

“Um.”

You sat in front of him, wrapped in blankets as he was wrapped in his own cocoon of blankets, watching his lips twist and shift, looking uneasy.

“I’m super serious,” Jungkook finally settled. “About starting over. I mean, I know we just…”

“Fucked like a bad porn storyline?” you offered.

He winced, shifting his eyes. "Er. Yeah."

You dropped the jokes. “I’m serious too. Let’s start again. I learned my lesson. No more surprises.” You sharply poked his knee through the blanket. “But you have to talk to me. Whatever it is. Even if you think I don’t wanna know. Uncomfortable or not, better sooner than later. And I will do the same.” You nodded, more yourself than him, promising to hold yourself to it. Kept your gaze on him so he knew you were serious about doing so. You took it all in, messy black hair, big brown eyes, dreams of what could be. You and him could make the impossible, possible.

You and him only had to put the effort in.

“I wanna know everything about you, Jungkook.”

There was real worry reflected back at you. “What if it’s not good?”

You shrugged. “I already knew you weren’t good. I went on one date with one guy and you were already stalking me.”

His brows furrowed in indignation. “Hey, I happened to stumble onto your date by chance!”

“Oh, yeah, and by chance you followed us all the way to my apartment?” you countered.

His jaw flapped. “W… W-Well…”

You raised your eyebrows. Both of them.

Very high.

He puffed one cheek and looked away. “I just… hadn’t decided what to do…” he mumbled. “Or how serious you were, because if you were super serious, I wasn’t going to talk to you…”

You blinked in fake disbelief.

Jungkook muttered something like, I meant I wasn’t gonna try to sleep with you or anything if you were dating another guy... Mmm. You poked him. He shifted his eyes. Then ticked his chin at you.

“What about you, huh? You did it too.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t start dating you only because you’re cute, you know.”

He blinked in confusion.

You shrugged. “Fucking is important to me in a relationship. You always wanna fuck me. That’s what I want. Especially now that you admitted that you want me to own your ass in bed, making you even more appealing. Mmm. We have to explore that more.” You nodded sagely, greatly satisfied with your decision. “Therefore, I will talk to Gunhak in the morning.”

Jungkook sputtered, cocooning himself further into the thick blankets, slowly turning red. “That’s… W-Well… I wouldn’t date you unless I thought that you were the hottest woman that’s ever existed...”

You cupped your hand around your ear. “Pardon? Jeon Jungkook, are you saying that you’re shallow?”

“I’m not shallow, don’t twist my words!”

“I can twist something else–”

“Stop, t-that’s scary, don’t come under here! Hey!”

--

masterpost

[shocymer]

121U. 「 Want To Want You 」

"Accidentally crash in to the afterparty of your college football club. There's not a single thought that you end up making out with their hot quarterback."

Pairing : Baekhyun × afab! reader

Word counts : 1.5k

Contents & Warning : suggestive, university! AU, football player! Baekhyun, strangers to lovers, inspired by Day6 -121U.

× Happy late-Birthday, Baekhyun! × | masterlist | a cup of ☕

“Where? Huh? Your major’s festival? Okay okay I’ll be there, I’ll call you back later.” Hanging up the call with your bestie, you rushed up to her faculty building.

Now is 11 p.m. In fact, your best friend asked you to join her since the afternoon. But you've need to gather some reference books in the library first. Too immersed in it, you can’t believe it's almost midnight already.

Isn't it too lively at this late hour? Many tents were still set up firmly, decorated with vivid hanging lamps on each booth. There are still a lot of visitors coming in and out. Feels so different on the first time you set foot here, especially seeing the unusual views. Yeah you admit that you’re not such an update student when it’s come to campus events. Seems like what your best friend said is true, you need to have a little fun at least during your college year.

‘Ding’ a notification sound lit up your phone screen under your grasp. A simple text message showed up the second you are tapping on it.

(Bestie) bae don't call me, my phone is nearly dying. Oh I’m in the blue one! Cya xoxoxo

Ah, seriously? You thought while typing a quick reply.

(You) mkayy

Whether you’re tired or something, the first thing you do is looking for a blue tent just like what 'you assume' she said. As far as the eye could see, there’s no sign of a blue tent around. You let out a deep sigh before decided to left the festival area. Thinking that it will be easier to find those place outside rather than in there.

Once taking a few steps out of the entrance gate, you see a beam of blue light radiating in the corner of the groups of tents. You approach where the light initially came from in confidence. Hoping to find your best friend then drag her home right away. But after you are getting closer, seems like it came through from a different place, which turned out to be separated from the festival booths. However, you still give it a go. Who knows she might be there, right?

The vibe is obviously too contrast, a faint upbeat music began to be heard clearly as you slowly enter the tent. Lot of unfamiliar faces are busy talking to each other. At the time like this, you regret not to be friends with another major students long before.

Beyond your expectation, the tent is connected to a building you've never been to. The deeper you go, the blue light becomes denser. You look around, groups of supposed to be female students surrounded each of male students, having an exhilarating convo that you still unsure about. But It’s giving a party to celebrate something. A slight hint of alcohol odor is also filled the room made you so sure of it. Your curiosity is answered once you saw a pile of football helmet proudly placed at the corner along with a big trophy next to it.

Well, it looks like you got lost here. Automatically shook your head after thinking of how this party coincides with the festival outside. You intended to get out as soon as possible. Alas, the group of girls you saw earlier simultaneously ran after one of the football players, till you pushed to the side.

Hand grabbed the door handle in reflex as you tried to stand still, “crazy, how famous are these guys here?” You said irritably.

Little did you know there’s someone next to you, chuckling at your words. His long fingers covered the thin lips of his, trying to muffle the laughter. Those voice was so satisfactionaly crisp that it tickled your ears. He stopped doing so after both of your eyes met.

Breathtaking. is the first word that comes to your mind. The way those eye smile formed when he is laughing despite a few strands of damp hair subtly covered it. His tall and quite slender figures caught your eyes the most. You can’t believe with those delicate look, he is literally one of them as the game jersey still wrapped around his torso perfectly fit. You stare at him in awe, wondering how pretty his pair of orbs can be if there’s a chance to looking at it up-close.

“Are you okay?” He asked after realizing you were lost in thought for a moment.

“Y-Yeah I’m totally fine.”

Leaning closer to you, he raised his voice a little bit right next to your ear. “But you don’t seem so. Perhaps, do you need something to drink?”

You're the one who's gone crazy, the music has been this loud ever since. How can you mesmerized at this man to the point you could caught his laughter so clearly before. You tried to collect your own sanity before lean over to him,

“No thanks, there’s only booze that I see around.”

His mouth form an “A” shape for a couple of seconds, before fully suggested you something, “I have some water. If you don’t mind, c’mere.”

You nodded as following his back behind, opening the door that you held for your dear life a few minutes ago, which is the football team’s locker room. Even this room decorated with much darker blue light just to match the party vibes. At least your hearing is saved as only less loud music can be heard outside.

He handed you a black metallic water bottle, “I never see you before.”

“Uhm well, actually my faculty is 5 buildings away from here. So.. Yeah” You gulped down the water that he offer to you. “Thanks by the way.”

“Sure no problems.”

After that only silence remained, the mood’s shifting undeniably fast. Looking at how awkward both of you right now. You pay close attention to what is printed on his back. ‘Baekhyun’ and number ‘04’ are visibly written on it. Sometimes he took a glance at you only to catch you red-handed staring at him so intent. Feeling like a blood rushed up to his head, he's too shy to say anything. He decided to brush it aside by ruffling his still damped hair.

Your fingertips itching to reach his front bangs while blurting out few words under your sense, “you’ll catch a cold if you don’t dry your hair properly.”

As your hand nearly touch his hair, he grab it swift motion. “Just.. don’t touch it.”

“Ah sorry I didn’t mea-”

Before you succeed pulling your hand back, he brought it to his cheek while keeping the eye contact with you. Slowly, his lips putting a soft kisses by the end of your palm. “Can you dry it off for me?”

Without a single thought, you reach an unclaimed towel that’s neatly folded on the bench. Then stretching out your hands to dry his hair off as you positioned yourself face to face along to him. At first you actually did that heartily. But after you realized he didn't let go of his gaze towards you as if you would disappear at any moment, your rationality poofs away.

Too dangerous. Your heart beats goes up in rapid speed. If it’s not under the dim light the flushed cheeks of yours would definitely be seen by him,

“why.. you keep staring at me like that?”

“Because I want to.”

“What If.. I want you?” Fingers squeezing through the hem of slightly wet cloth that cling on top his head as you expected perhaps a rejection.

“Well, If that’s the case,” he tucked your hair behind your ear, “I will let you have me.”

His index finger lifted your chin, demanding an eye contact meanwhile his other hand busy untangled your clenched digits to be interlocked with his. Bodies lean forward, the tip of lips are nearly touching, the scent of soft linen and a hint of floral mixed into one only to tease your sense of smell. His warm breath sparked the overflowing desire,

“Please.. don’t tease me..”

He chuckled with head hanging low for a mere seconds before his deep brown orbs seeking through into yours for once again, “first I need to know your name, young lady.” While planting a quick kiss on the back of your hand.

Your lips trembled, stumbling upon the word by word of your own government name which ended up make him burst in laughter. He find you too cute to be true. “Your name is beautiful, just like you.”

He pulled you into deep yet passionate kisses. A slight of naughty smile formed on his lips, the way he felt your body shudder as soon as his fingers running from the nape of your neck down to the lower back. Moving in painfully slow motion.

Head’s going blank, eyelids are too heavy to open, you murmured between the making out session under your control. “But.. I’m not as beautiful as you Baekhyun..”

Out of everyone’s encounter him in romantic ways, you’re the one and only who’s flatter him using the word ‘beautiful’ at such timing. He couldn’t help, hiding an ear to ear smile against your shoulder. Till his soft whisper blown into your sensitive ear.

“Just wait, I will prove you wrong after this.” following by a michievous wink in the end.

a.n. I know it's a sudden baekhyun fic because I miss him lately after I rewatch exo's killing voice T.T He's my ult bias in exo and I really want to tell him that he's so beautiful, gorgeous, spectacular, amazing, breathtaking, scrumptious, immaculate + other praises following behind. Oh well, Happy Birthday Byun Baekhyun! ♡

[7ndipity]

When Your Relationship Gets

Revealed

Taehyung x Idol Reader

Summary: You and Tae discuss what to do when a video of you together is leaked. Can be read as a prequel to "Try Again" or on its own.

Warnings: angst, mentions of harassment and toxic fans, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! This went a little more angsty than I originally planned, but I couldn't really help it. This is really starting to turn into a full Idol!Au series, and I can't say I hate it tbh.

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

You were faintly aware of a low, persistent buzzing, slowly being pulling you away from sleep by what you gradually recognized as your phone on the bedside table.

Groggily, you rolled and unlocked the device, wincing at the bright glow of the screen, only to be met with multiple notifications and missed calls from your manager and several friends.

Confused, you tapped on one of the most recent messages, which included a video link. As soon as you opened the video, you felt your heart falter to stop before taking off again at breakneck speed.

The video was of you and Tae walking through the park earlier that night, him swinging your joined hands playfully and making you laugh before pulling you to him in a tight embrace. Your faces were hidden due to how dark it was and the fact that you both had on masks, but anyone who knew you both could recognize you easily enough if they tried.

"Tae." You nudged the sleeping form next to you, but received no response. "Tae!" You shoved him a little more forcefully.

"Ow! What? What's wrong?" He whined sleepily, turning over to face you.

"Somebody saw us." You said, handing him the phone as the video played on loop.

He stared at the screen for moment, before passing the phone back to you.

"It's not that bad, we can just ignore it if you wanna." He said, trying to soothe your nerves as he had when this had happened previously.

But that was part of the problem, this had happened, several times, and was continuing to happen with increasing frequency. But every time, the two of you had chosen to brush it off or ignore it, Tae saying it was easier that way, but you were becoming less sure.

"What if I don't want to ignore it?" You asked hesitantly.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"This is the third time this has happened this year, Tae, there's only so many times we can lie before people catch on." You explained. "I don't know, I'm just wondering if maybe it would be better to just say something. At least then, we wouldn't have to sneak around so much."

You glanced over at him, but he was staring down at the bedspread, silently. His lack of response causing a weight in your stomach to drop.

"Do-do you not want people to know we're together?" You asked in a small voice, afraid to vocalize the nagging fear that been brewing in your mind.

"No! I mean, that's not it." He scrambled to find the right words to express himself. "It's not that I don't want to tell people, I do, it's just... I'm afraid." He confessed.

"Of what?" You asked.

"You know what some people are like, how they attack and tear down Idols partners." He said, casting his gaze down again. "I don't want you to have to go through any of that."

You knew what he was referring to, you'd both seen too many friends and labelmates go through hell just for admitting they were dating someone, both online and in person. You understood his fear, but he seemed to be forgetting the scrutiny you lived under everyday already as an Idol.

"Tae, I'm already dealing with things like that, people already say things about me. It comes with the territory, unfortunately."

"You never talk about that." He said, looking up at you with big eyes.

"Because I know they only have power if I let them." You said, grasping his hand

"I don't know if I can protect you." He said quietly.

"You don't have to protect me from everything, we're supposed to take care each other, remember?"

He nodded. "So what do we do?"

"We'll figure something out, but whatever we decide, whether that's telling or not, we'll do together, alright?"

"Yeah, alright." He said, giving you a shy grin before pulling you a hug, kissing you temple.

"We'll be okay."

[moonlezn]

Try Hard III

punk bassist!jeno x reader genre: fluff wc: 1.7k part I & II a/n: can't believe this baby has come to an end. I had so much fun writing it. honestly, I didn't expect getting any attention, so thanks a million if you've read it and interacted in any way. once again, this is some mindblowing fluff. enjoy <33

Immediately after the boys left the stage, you handed the camera to Chenle. Finding your way backstage was easy, but you couldn't say the same about finding Jeno. Even following the unmistakable noises from the band, you only found three of them. Then, a few doors were opened and... he wasn't in the rooms.

Giving it one last shot, you ran to the back exit, finding him in the dark alley the door led you to.

"Found you." Winded, you let out a gasp. He chuckled fondly. "Heard somewhere you wanted to tell me something?"

"You did? Where?" Jeno joked, hoping to God he would relax a bit. After coming down from the performance high, he panicked slightly. So he hid, knowing you'd look for him. It'd give him sometime. You were quicker than his guts, though.

"Just... at the coolest concert I've just watched." A grin plastered your face.

The atmosphere was tense, awkward. The expectations racing faster than words made the hands tremble, the glances focus anywhere else but each other's eyes.

Enough is enough, fuck it.

"I like you." He blurted out. "Have. For a long time." It was like his shoulders were free from months of tension. His steps towards you felt right, so he kept going until you had no option but look at him. His arm supported by the wall behind you, his free hand took yours delicately. Small waves of electricity hit your cheeks, your belly, your knees.

The dim lit space made it easier to connecting your orbs to his. They were sweet, loving and God, were they beautiful. The sight of his features upclose so fluttering.

"I have, too." Your fingertips played with his, but it wasn't enough. You touched the arm supporting him. The alcohol rushing through your veins offered you some help. "I want to take you out."

"Like on a date?" He asked, feigning confusion to make you giggle. Jeno could hide his erratic heartbeat, but not the scarlet tint on his cheeks. "And where will you take me?"

The small jewelry hanging on his bottom lip spoke to you very clearly, and his skin under your digits was tingling. You lightly connected your lips for a brief minute. The urge won over your reason.

"I'll let you wonder." Pecking his lips once more, you left the alley. The feeling lingered right there as you found your friends again, not allowing to think it was just a dream.

Louise and you arrived at Renjun's party together after you'd spent the day together. You hadn't been much for parties lately, but you must admit your friend really helped you get hyped while you got ready together.

As soon as the girl stepped into the room, Renjun took her away from you. She apologized a few times, but you couldn't get mad when they had those lovey dovey eyes. Left alone, the first thing you did was scan the room looking for your best friends.

"He is upstairs, weirdo." Jisung's voice startled you, and you almost punched him. "I'm a bad bitch, you can't kill me."

"Nobody gets vine references anymore, Jisung. Let go." Chenle reprimanded, offering you some of his beer.

"Well, I do." Jisung looked at you significantly. "We do, right?"

"Yeah, totally." You answered sarcastically and sipped from Chenle's cup. Jisung sighed in betrayal.

"She does get it. She only wants to be nice to you."

"Jealous much?" You eyed the tallest. He mumbled the cutest 'whatever'. "I'll look for Jeno and meet you here later?" Chenle forced a laugh and you frowned.

"I doubt we'll see you again tonight." He said, tapping your shoulder to let you know it was just a joke. "Go get him!"

You had never felt more like a little girl than at that moment, when you found Jeno by the pool gazing at the stars with a drink in his hand. The view was so mesmerizing you wanted to tattoo it in your memories.

"Hey..." You approached Jeno carefully so as not to alarm him. "Are the stars so much better than the party downstairs?" Rhetorical question. You knew for a fact the boy wasn't a crowd person, apart from concerts.

"I have the best view now." He said as you were sitting down beside him. He heard you snorting and thought of how much time he'd lost by letting his insecurities get the best of him.

"Is that the best you got?" You asked, trying to play it off. It felt like you unlocked the dork inside him last time.

"Ouch." His hand flew to his chest, but shortly after, his eyesmile was seen.

His grin was so pretty, and once again you couldn't help being drawn to his labret. It made you weak. It wasn't until he touched it with his tongue that you noticed he had caught you red handed. Jeno shortened the distance between you a bit, allowing you to feel his breathing intertwining with yours. He licked his bottom lip slowly this time, just to watch your reaction.

"Don't try me." Your voice came out in a whisper. His eyes became little crescents again, as his face got even closer.

"Or what?"

Just like that, you kissed him for real. As slowly as you could, you captured his lips in yours repeatedly. While touching his tongue ignited you, he melted in your hands stroking his nape and shoulders.

"Gotta be careful." You teased his piercing this time, not wanting to hurt him.

"Don't be." He murmured before kissing you again. And again. And once more.

As much as you didn't want to give Chenle the victory, he was right. You didn't see your friends again that night.

After promising you'd never hear the end of this, Jaemin actually gave you some nice suggestions for a date with the bassist over text.

jaemin: just take him on brunch date lol jaemin: he loves it finds it romantic and shit jaemin: he's been blushing non-stop since you sucked face you: will do you: u mad he got bitches ((only 1

While waiting for you, Jeno admired the sun kissing sidewalks and cars outside the cafeteria you had chosen. His feet tapped the floor, his fingers played with the seat, he glanced at the door for what seemed like a thousand times.

It went without saying he was nervous. And yet, it was the very first time he looked forward to a date. He couldn't put a finger on whether it was only because of you, or also for the fact he hadn't been the one in charge of it. He really felt the pressure off his shoulders this time, and honestly he enjoyed taking steps after you.

"Have you waited long?"

"No, not actually." He broke his trance, smiling widely at you. "I already ordered, though. Hope you don't mind. They have this thing here... chef's kiss."

"It's fine!" You said, laughing at his hand gesture following his words. "Let's see if you have good taste."

"Of course I do. I like you." Bold of him. But when he saw he could make you chuckle as easily as that, he got a huge wave of confidence.

"JENO LEE!" You played around, watching him shrug. But then, he reached for your hands over the table and you blushed even more.

In fact, Jeno had taste. His order was delicious. You wouldn't forget the expression on his face when you first tried it, the smug smile and the small claps. He was proud of himself.

You talked for what seemed to be only a minute, but you shared so much. He made your ribs hurt over the simplest jokes. As a matter of fact, you had so much in common – music, series, fashion, hobbies. Every new discovery made you wish you'd been closer before.

"Wanna go for a walk? We could check this exhibit near here..." You didn't even finish your sentence and he grabbed your hand to leave.

"What kind of exhibit is it?" He questioned and you just smiled, hurrying through the streets.

"I promise it's gonna be worth it."

Jeno seemed fascinated by the immersive experience. He was never one to look into Art, however, each painting seemed to be tangled with your bodies and it was so different. Good different.

Enchanted, he watched you jog to your favorite composition. The canvases were splashed all over the walls, and the brushstrokes gained life as the aroma of water lilies and lavender wafted in the air.

He didn't fight back the urge to take pictures of you, whom was covered with Claude Monet's colors. When you found him again, he registered your precious smile in his phone.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Your eyes never stopped exploring the place. "Let me see your pics."

"They're nothing compared to real life." He chuckled, showing you the last picture of you, giggling like a child. "You'll have to teach me some photography, though." He said, seeing the blurry memories. "Good thing you're so beautiful."

"The rumors about bassists are true, then..." He gazed at you tenderly. "They're the flirty heartbreakers of a band."

"I won't break your heart."

Why resisting to kiss you when you already knew he was so into you? That crossed his mind before he swiftly took your lips in his again. It all happened so fast, but he couldn't bring himself to say he disliked it. Both of you had been holding back for so long, it was only right that you made the most of your precious time together.

Jeno desired to let you know how much of a fool he was becoming for you, so he poured his everything into the kiss. He hugged you tight just as your own hands carressed his back for support. He pecked your lips several times, smiling with those cherry lips you were learning to love. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, just as he would from that day on.

Slowly you got used to being Jeno's. Whenever he confided his sweet, sweet words to you, he knew your heart was his as much as his was yours only. Whenever you held his hands to play with his calloused fingers, or whenever you smooched his whole face in the middle of campus, shamelessly telling him how cute he was, or even when you roamed around sharing earphones, holding hands... You both knew you were safe. You'd never have to try so hard again.

[softichill]

The Sounds of Nightmares unofficial transcript

Chapter 1 - The Workers in the Walls

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

[Click]

[Shifting, Otto clears his throat]

Otto: Yesterday evening marked my first true session with the girl. Signs of significant disorder are greater than I initially thought. Her imagination is… vast. But one phrase in particular has become an earworm of sorts. 

[Click, this time of a tape being inserted]

Recording of Noone: “He was right in front of me breathing hard… That’s what I remember most. The awful smell, like when sausage goes bad.”

[Click, the tape stops]

Otto: Scent while dreaming is a rarity. An indication of sensory transcendence. She may be a fine candidate for a neurological study… but her health must come first. [Sigh] There are undoubtedly other details I missed in her recount. 

Otto: [Deep breath] From the top, then. [The tape begins to rewind] Sleep be damned tonight. 

[Intro plays]

[Click]

Otto: This is the Counselor. Herein are my preliminary case notes for tape #54, session #1, patient #1220… [mumbling] referring to children by numbers… [deep breath, normal] Our relationship goes beyond mere ethics, so I can leave that practice to the heartless quacks on the upper floors. But to remain professional, I’ll use a moniker the girl has given herself… Noone. (A/N: pronounced like noon)

[quiet tapping as a drink is poured]

Otto: Noone has been in CPI care for a fortnight. Given her rather remarkable medical history, her mental state seems relatively unremarkable. [stirring his drink] She finds herself in my ward due to worsening, though not recurring, nightly afflictions. Parasomnia isn’t uncommon among patients; not to imply she’s unworthy of treatment, only that there are others worse off. 

[Otto shifts in his seat and sips his drink before setting it down]

Otto: Noone also displays signs of mild trauma. As such, Nightmare Disorder is possible. Given her diffidence, the focus for this session is to build rapport. I’m hopeful Noone will open up and we’ll learn what lies inside that little head. 

[Ceramic clicking, Otto says “Oh!” at the sound of papers being knocked over. More ceramic, the audio cuts]

[A door closes]

Otto: Take the big chair, Noone. Sit, lie, saddle it like a horse, whatever you please. 

[Otto pulls out paper as Noone sits down. The chair creaks]

[quiet jazz starts to play]

Otto: How’s that?

Noone: …fine I guess. 

Otto: [Walking to his chair] That look on your face says there’s more on your mind. 

Noone: It’s… it’s like the music I used to hear through the walls. In our old apartment. Before we moved into the fancy house. 

Otto: Would you like to talk about that? Your old apartment?

Noone: No, counselor. 

Otto: Alright. An easier question to start. How are you feeling today?

Noone: …Bit sad. 

Otto: For any reason in particular?

Noone: …Um… the red flower… mum and dad left. It went all wrinkled. I tried lifting a petal and… it broke off. But, then I saw why- little crawlies, everywhere underneath the dirt. 

Otto: Aphids? How unpleasant. [shift] Must be hard, here all alone. That wasn’t just a flower to you, was it?

Noone: No, counselor. 

Otto: Y-Your parents only want you to feel like you again. And we’ll see to that! One day at a time. 

[Otto writes something]

Otto: Have you been sleeping?

Noone: Yes, counselor. 

Otto: Call me Otto. Sleeping well?

Noone: …Yes. 

Otto: Noone? This is a place of honesty. The truth, please. 

Noone: …Fine. Middle of the night, I keep waking. 

Otto: And are you perspiring?

Noone: …um…

Otto: Sweating?

Noone: Oh. Uh, yes. And, my heart beats like there’s a- pecking bird in my chest. 

Otto: Did these nightmares coincide with the onset of your sickness?

Noone: No. O-only after. 

Otto: And, do you remember your nightmares or do they disappear come morning?

Noone: I remember. Everything. 

Otto: [pause, shifting] …Would you be alright to tell me about them? Now, or, later?

Noone: Yes. Um… The one I had last night, it’s still here. The feeling. But, may I have some juice? My head’s light, and mum says it helps. 

Otto: (amused) I’m not sure that’s true. Regardless, you may. 

[audio cuts]

[audio resumes. Noone is sipping a juice box.]

Otto: I see you eyeing my painting. I’ve had it since I was a boy. “The Zahir’s Gaze”, it’s titled. 

Noone: Why is it so- blurry?

Otto: It’s a hidden image. The trick is to unfocus your eyes. Try it!

[short pause]

Otto: There! Can you make it out now?

Noone: …no. 

Otto: I’ve got an idea. Keep your eyes on the painting- let your mind wander. Meanwhile, you can tell me your dream! If you’ve finished your juice. 

Noone: [sipping] I have. 

Otto: From the beginning, then. 

[pause]

Noone: …It started when I woke up. Somewhere I didn’t belong. 

Otto: Describe this place, please. 

Noone: Everything was white. Only slowly I realized snow was falling on a field. The view was peaceful looking out from so high up. Like I was… one. With the cold. 

Otto: You felt this cold?

Noone: Not like the counties in winter, but, more like watching someone who is chilled. Around me, but not… in me. 

[the music quietly stops. Ambience for the dream begins]

Noone: I turned away from the window, which was only a hole in the stone wall of the curved passageway, that stretched on a long ways. This- odd feeling, told me to get up. But I couldn’t stand because the ceiling was so low. I crawled ahead and… if not for the tiniest bit of light I would have fallen. Another passageway appeared on the floor. Its edges throbbing in the dark. Suddenly I- I heard a clinking from below. 

Noone: That same feeling told me I was lost inside a giant. A huge one made out of stone, and the only way out was to keep going through its veins. I climbed into the pitch dark,

[Dream!Noone gasps, the sound of sliding plays]

Noone: And immediately began sliding down the icy wetness, going and going, faster and faster. I thought the slide would never end and just- and-

[Dream!Noone grunts as she hits the ground. The sliding stops]

Noone: It shot me out. 

Otto: …Did it hurt?

Noone: …Not like when you fall for real. 

[footsteps]

Noone: I can see what it is now! The painting! A-a tiger, and two moons. 

Otto: That’s not quite right. 

[Noone walks back]

Noone: (with interest) I’ve never seen a tiger before. 

Otto: Keep trying! Remember to unfocus. Continue, as you wish. 

[pause]

Noone: An orange glowing came from a candle. But the light didn’t reach the room’s corners. A tiny hole had been cut out of the stone beside me. “The snow,” I thought. “How nice it would be to watch fall again.” I look through, but there was no snow. [ambience picks up] Only a room, brimming with glass jars. Light danced through them, coming from a doorway on the opposite side. Until… a figure stepped through it. 

Noone: This HUGE man. Wore a long coat and fishing hat. His face kind of… dripped as he watched me. Then he was gone. W- He was an.... I-I can’t remember. It’s the only thing I can’t remember. 

Otto: Could it have been someone you know, your father perhaps?

Noone: (immediately) No. This man doesn’t belong to our world. 

Otto: I don’t quite follow. 

Noone: That’s just the feeling he gave. 

Otto: You keep mentioning this “feeling”. Can you try to explain?

Noone: You can’t understand! Not unless you were there- you just can’t!

Otto: It’s alright, Noone. We don’t have to talk about him. Relax. Breathe. 

[Noone takes 3 exaggerated, slow breaths]

[ambience gets slightly louder. It’s faint, clicking machinery]

Noone: Turning from the hole, I spotted an exit on the far wall. That’s where the clinking was the loudest. I started towards it, when a shadow ran out from the corner, that of a child. I shouted “Hey!”

[Dream!Noone: Hey! Where are we?]

Noone: “Where are we?” But, quiet as a mouse, he climbed through the pulsing exit. And carelessly I followed. 

[Dream!Noone grunts as she hops through the exit]

[Machinery gets louder]

Noone: The room over was bigger. And the child was gone. All over the walls and floors, were more pulsing passages. Like living ant tunnels. All kinds of springs laid about, and little oil cans and strange tools. 

[Dream!Noone gasps]

Noone: Suddenly, footsteps. Approaching, matching the rhythm of the clinking. [sound of a wooden crate] Knowing I didn’t belong I hid behind a wooden box. 

[a hoard of small footsteps alongside the machinery]

Noone: Peeking up, I saw other small shadows entering the room. They step by each other silently. Most passed into different doors, but two stayed behind, searching for the springs. They were not children. Not at all. Even in dim light they remain shadows. Things not quite there, as if forgotten, not wanting to be seen. 

[Things clicking, cracking, and moving around]

Noone: They held nasty tools and… their empty faces showed they weren’t very bright. Both stood, looked down a passageway… and jumped. 

[Dream!Noone gets up and follows them]

Noone: With nowhere to go I did the same, climbing to the platform below. 

[Dream!Noone lands. The machinery is even louder now]

Noone: I finally saw what was making all that noise. Golden, spinning wheels. Fat ones, small ones, skinny ones, and they went down so deep I couldn’t see the end! I didn’t know what they were until that faraway feeling came back and told me. 

Noone: They were gears. With- teeth which locked perfectly into one another, clicking on and on in a song that never stopped. There were a hundred-hundred of the dull little shadows, working to keep the mechanisms going. Felt… without their doing, the gears would surely stop. And the giant would break apart stone-by-stone... But as I leaned over the edge, distracted, my foot must’ve knocked a wrench. 

[a quick clink. Dream!Noone gasps]

[the wrench falls a long way down]

Noone: All the shadows stared up. And a few begin climbing my way. They move separately, but… as one. [Dream!Noone breathing quickly] I panicked and tucked between a set of levers, in the tight space my dress got caught [Dream!Noone grunts] on the tooth of a massive gear, pulled me up and around until my dress tore [tearing fabric, Dream!Noone yelping] shooting me onto a pipe below, where I lost my grip only to hit another platform. 

[Dream!Noone lands, breathing heavily]

Noone: The shadows stopped chasing me, working again as… the yank* took the piece of my dress, now stuck between two gears, causing all the others to slow. 

Noone: While they were bothered, I took the chance to escape. 

[Dream!Noone running, machinery fades out]

Noone: The wall in front of me went… went down and around, f-forever and ever. Along with the mechanisms. I grabbed onto a rod, sliding on, when a big creak [metal groan] groaned above, and the gears went right back to singing their song. 

[machinery starts again]

Noone: The ripped fabric floated down before me, passing by a tiny crack in the stone. Painful cries came through it. [faint echoey scream] I shouldn’t have wanted to know what was on the other side, but… I did. 

[more screaming]

Noone: A small room with chains covering the floor. And 3 identical nun-like dresses, freshly pressed, hanging by a bed. Then, the chains jangled [Chains jingling, man gasping], and my heart stopped. [Man groans] A frail body slumped against the wall, a chain around his neck. He was right in front of me breathing hard… That’s what I remember most. The awful smell, like when sausage goes bad. 

Otto: Hold on a minute, Noone. [Noone gasps. Ambience suddenly stops] You distinctly smelt his breath?

Noone: Not his breath. Him. So rotten, it still stings my nose now. 

Otto: How certain are you?

Noone: You told me to tell the truth, no? I am. 

[Otto quickly writing]

Noone: Do you still want to hear the rest of my nightmare?

[Otto still writing]

Noone: Otto?

Otto: Hm? O-oh. Apologies. My mind was divided, and that’s not fair to you. 

Noone: [quiet sigh] Anyways. 

Noone: Looking through that crack, I realized something. (whisper) I was inside the walls. Like a rat. On the other side was an entire world. (normal) And everything got… w-worse from there. 

[very quiet ticking]

Noone: Lower and lower I climbed until I had gone- down so deep, that there was nothing but steam and darkness. And louder ticking, back, and forth. Back, and forth. Wanting to give up I sat listening. 

[ticking is more noticeable] 

Noone: I’d nearly fallen asleep, when suddenly a small shape crawled out from inside the wall below. “Another Worker came for me,” I thought. But… when they looked up… I saw their eyes. A child. For certain, this time. And… their hair was covered in goo, which made it hard to tell if they were a boy or a girl. Still, I climbed down, full of energy. 

[Dream!Noone climbing down]

Noone: Nearly the amount I used to have. 

Noone: We stood in silence, a moment. Stuck in their hair was… black liquid moving like smoke. 

Noone: “What’s in your-” [Dream!Noone at the same time] I started, [child shushing] but they put a hand over my mouth. Not until they pointed at the wall, did I understand why. Its another crack, led to yet another chamber. 

[Dream!Noone and child walking over. Metallic hammering starts up]

Noone: It was a hideous workshop. All around were… half-made… projects? Built from wood and metal, with all kinds of straps and cranks. Their shapes made my chest tighten. A collection of… masks was- on the shelves with screws and spikes on them, positioned to fit perfectly into a mouth! 

Noone: A tall woman bent over a new project, [faint humming] wearing a familiar dress. Long heavy chains coming out under its tail. [Chains scraping, more humming] She moaned, enjoying herself. I could feel she’d been at it for hours. Her presence alone told that she was the keeper of this stone giant. Of the world beyond the walls. 

Noone: Turning to a pile of scraps… I saw her face. Equally… old and young, and her s-skin stretched back so tight that… only her eyes seemed human. I wanted so badly to know what she was building, and to scream all the same…

Noone: But before I could do either my new friend pulled me away. They pointed up. 

Noone: From between the planks, a shadow studied us. The child pulled my arm but it was already too late. The Worker leapt down besides me, inspecting my body like a tool, reaching out with its wrench. The child pushed me away, [the sound of burning] letting a sliver of light shine out from the workshop to hit the shadow. Faster than fast, it tucked back into darkness, [sound stops] desperate to keep hidden. 

[pause]

Otto: Noone, why have you stopped?

Noone: I’m thinking. …The next bit is hard to describe. The nightmare- it shifted. 

[ambience picks up, earlier sound of machinery]

Noone: Steam reached around us. And we came to a place at the bottom of the gears. Between the walls. 

[whoosh, tick]

[whoosh, tock]

[whoosh, tick]

Noone: In front of us, a long pendulum whooshed back and forth. 

[whoosh, tick]

[whoosh, tock]

Noone: My friend grabbed hold as it swung by. I let it go past one, [tick], two, [tock], three times before finding the courage to do the same. We climbed as the pendulum rocked left and right, making my head dizzy. “Just a little more,” I repeated to myself, until my friend reached out a hand to pull me up. 

[Both Dream!Noone and child grunt as she’s pulled up]

Noone: We’d made it. Finally, the center of the clock. The room was round with a spiral staircase, and a machine made of little metallic fingers, tapping a violent rhythm. 

Noone: The ceiling was a white- clock face, but… all the numbers were wrong. 

Noone: We immediately ran up the stairs [footsteps] and at the top, we stepped out into a courtyard. 

[Dream!Noone and child breathing, stepping on grass. Machinery and ticking fades out]

Noone: My body began shaking as I heard them. [Faint screaming] Shouts and shrieks of pain. All I could do was stare up at the circular walls, which I had just been inside. This was the true building. There were a million rooms like the second one I peered into, all the way up, with- hands and limbs reaching out from between the bars that kept them locked in. My heart pounded like one of them. A Prisoner, trying to get free. 

[Screaming and shrieking continues]

Noone: I shouted “Wait, please!”

[Dream!Noone: Wait! Please!]

Noone: But my friend was across the courtyard. Then, a jingling. The tall woman jumped down from above [jingling, thump] and with thumping steps, she went after my friend. A chain leapt out beneath her dress, like a snake. It caught their leg and the woman dragged the child through the snow, kicking and yelling. 

[child struggling]

Noone: My friend scared to tears [child: Help!] yelled for help, and the woman spotted me. She began plodding my way and fear froze my feet. Getting closer and closer and all I could think was “Who brought me here, and why was I made to know these secrets?!” [chains jangling] 

Noone: With skin so tight her mouth opened only a sliver with blackened teeth inside, hungry for something! …Something that swelled inside me. 

[all ambience cuts off]

Noone: …Then I woke up. 

Otto: …That’s… awful, Noone. I’m sorry. The woman in particular sounds… disturbing. 

Noone: Yes. But, she didn’t scare me most. Not after I woke up. It was the Workers. 

Otto: Hm… because they were mindless?

Noone: No. Because they were hidden. Nobody knew they existed… that’s how I feel sometimes. Since getting the water sickness, (increasing distress) as if things are in my body but instead of making me tick they’re killing me, like the bugs in the flower pot- Ugh, I can feel them in my head!!!

Otto: Noone. Listen to me. I’ll do everything within the limits of my command to help you, but there’s nothing bad inside you. Nothing. 

Noone: …um…alright. 

Otto: [pause] I have… one more question, and I think it’s enough for your first day, okay?

Noone: Okay. 

Otto: Noone, have you ever heard of mutual dreaming?

Noone: Mutual dreaming?

Otto: Sharing the… experience with another person. 

Noone: How could what’s in my head be in someone else’s head? And who would I share it with?

Otto: Questions that have hounded my outer colleagues for years. Your perception of temperature and smell while dreaming is sometimes thought to be an indicator of this transpersonal phenomenon. While I’m not convinced of its ontological validity, I’ve longed to study a case like yours. Unfortunately- I’ve only known one other person to exhibit this faculty, years ago-

Noone: Who? Were they like me?

Otto: …My… (quietly) beloved Cici**... uh- not quite. In any case, my ambitions fell off, I… I lost sight, of… many things. But you’ve stimulated a part of me nearly forgotten. 

Noone: Oh. I think I see it now, Otto. 

Otto: Yes! That’s right! We’re in this together. 

Noone: No. The painting. 

Otto: Oh. 

Noone: It’s a map. Of stars and two circles around it. 

Otto: Yes! Good! An astrolabe, in fact. 

Noone: Astrolabe?

Otto: An ancient instrument, used to locate positions in time and space. Now, surely, you’re exhausted-

Noone: I don’t want to go to my room. To sleep. Will… will you walk me back?

Otto: Of course! And we can’t forget your nightly confectionary. [the sound of wrappers] Here now, take your pick. 

[Wrapper crinkling]

Otto: Sweets for my sweet. 

[ceramic clinking]

[click]

[Outro plays]

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

*It's a little hard to tell what word she says here

**I have no idea if this is how it's spelled

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

As the World Turns 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, imbalanced power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your new job takes you to new places with lots of new people.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, Lloyd Hansen

Note: I know I shouldn’t have done this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

“I might hear you out,” Mr. Hansen, or Lloyd, sits back as he slurps from a rounded class of cognac, “as long as you bring this pretty little thing along tomorrow.” 

You chew quietly on a piece of lettuce and look around. You search the table for whatever he means, confused by the statement. Your eyes flick up to meet his and you gulp, realising he’s referring to you. Oh.  

He called you pretty but it just feels off. You give a tight-lipped smile and reach for your sparkling water. He brings his hand over the top to stop you as Fowler sighs. 

“She’ll keep the minutes,” your boss grumbles. 

“How about some wine, baby face?” Lloyd leans forward. 

“Uh, I don’t drink, thanks,” you answer sheepishly. You’d already told him as much but it hasn’t kept him from offering more than once. 

“Boring,” he mutters and retracts his hand. “Gonna be a long vacation if you don’t loosen up.” 

“She’s not on vacation, she’s working,” Fowler girds as he tosses his napkin on his plate. “You’re really gonna drag this out, aren’t you?” 

“Drag what out?” Lloyd winks as he sits back, gripping one leg as his other sways. 

“The deal.” 

“You gotta wine and dine before you get between my thighs,” the other man taunts. “What’s for dessert?” 

Fowler exhales slowly, jaw tense as he eyes the other man. You glance between them then over your shoulder. Maybe the server could bring the dessert menu. 

“You know I don’t sleep well in a strange land without someone to keep me warm--” 

“Cut it out,” Fowler warns his acquaintance harshly, “we got an early morning.” 

His chair scrapes as he stands, drawing your attention back to the table. You feel like you might wilt as you meet the heat of Lloyd’s fervent gaze. He has an elbow beside his plate, his glass in his hand as he hovers it before his mouth and stares. He sips then pokes out his tongue in a way that makes you nervous. 

Your wide eyes skirt over to your boss and you push yourself from your chair. 

“Just like you to cut the fun short--” 

“I was on a plane half the day, I don’t have the energy for you,” Fowler takes out his wallet and drops a wad of bills on the plate, “dinner’s on me.” 

“And I’d like dessert on me,” Lloyd harrumphs and drains his glass, slamming it down on the stem as he lets out a heavy sigh. He stands and tugs at his belt without shame. You sidle away and push the chair in, staying close to your boss. 

“We’ll talk more. I’m not leaving without a deal, Hansen.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Lloyd slaps his chest and stifles a belch behind his fist, “guess I'll hit the massage parlour again.” He rolls his neck and winks at you, “stiff from the flight.” 

“Come on,” Fowler ignores whatever inference his colleague makes and spins on his heel, then gestures to you, “let’s get going.” 

“Oh, uh, yes, sir,” you turn to follow. 

“Mmm, yes, sir,” Lloyd mimics in a purr as you prance off. 

You tap out next to your boss as he checks his watch. He raises his hands to swipe over his face and hair. He must be just as tired as you. Your excitement has dwindled to a low thrum and you’re ready to keel over. 

“I want my coffee at six. Got it?” He demands. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Call the front desk, have them send breakfast too. We’ll be heading off early.” 

“Yes, sir,” you echo again, barely keeping up with his fast march. 

“And wear a dress,” he says. 

Again, you affirm his command. 

He stops before a pair of double doors; wood carve in intricate patterns. He faces you and exhales, “do not fuck Hansen.” 

You’re stunned by the suggestion. You raise your brows and let your mouth fall open. You sputter and shake your head, “s-sir--” 

“Just don’t,” he warns. “Flirt with him but nothing more. Trust me.” 

“I wouldn’t--” 

“I’m not asking about your preferences, I’m giving you an order,” he turns to the door and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his card, “good night.” 

“Oh, er, good night, sir,” you back off awkwardly, still scalding from his assumption. 

You click down the hall in your shoes and frown. Does he really think you would do that? He said himself, you’re on a business trip. Sure, Lloyd was forward and unfocused but you didn’t encourage him at all. To be fair, you didn’t catch half of what he meant. 

You get to your room and stop, feeling around your clothing as your heart drops. Oh no! You can see the cards in your mind, sitting on the table inside the hotel room. Oh, gosh, you’re so stupid. 

You turn and face the hallway behind you. Of course you would lock yourself out. For everything that went so smoothly on your first trip abroad, something was bound to go wrong. Well, you’d rather this than be stranded in the middle of no where. 

You push away from the door and stroll back down the hall. You find your way back to the lobby. It's eerily empty as you peer around. The high ceilings are centered by a grand chandelier and the panels between the skylight panes are painted with elaborate patterns. The night peers down at your lone entrance, making the echo of your steps even more desolate.  

You go to the counter and raise your hand over the bell, wary of disturbing the peace. You tap it lightly but the ding is deafening. You wince and cry out as a body pops up from behind the counter like a jack-in-a-box. 

“Eek,” you touch your chest as the manager appears like an apparition. 

“Pardon me,” he puts his hands on the counter, “I was only just sorting through some things. Didn't mean to startle you.” 

“No, it's…it's fine,” you giggle as your fear dissipates, “I didn't expect such a quick response.” 

“Always at your service, miss,” he address you by your last name. You're flattered he remembers you. “And so I must ask how I can be of assistance.” 

“Right, er, this is kinda embarrassing,” you scrunch up your lips and look at the wall, “I locked my keys in my room.” 

“Ah, well, that's not the end of the world,” he waves away your worry.

You notice his jacket is disposed, folded over the unusued chair on it's tall legs, and his shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows. He must be used to solitary nights.

“I'll come let you in.”  He reaches to his belt to pull out a white card, “now this is your first wish, you've only two more after.” 

You furrow your brow curiously and he gives an awkward grin, “a joke, of course. This genie does not count favours.” 

“Uh, thanks,” you murmur. 

He comes out from behind the desk and gestures you to come with him. You catch up as he strides breezily across the lobby. Your eyes wander the extravagant interior and you drift off in your imagination. What it must be like to work here every day. 

“And are you enjoying your time abroad thus far?” Jonathan asks. 

You snap back to the present and chuckle nervously, “sure, I... it’s nice so far but I haven’t been here very long.” 

“Mm, yes, well I do hope you find time among your business to explore. If you have an questions, I’d be happy to answer. I even have a few recommendations if you’re interested,” he offers. 

“Oh, thanks so much,” you swallow a yawn and flutter your lashes. He glances over at you as he strides on. 

“And did you enjoy the restaurant?” He prompts. 

“Uh yes, the food was delicious,” you chime. 

“I will let the chef know you said so,” he remarks, “if you are interested in the local cuisine, there is a shop not far from here which is a touch more genuine. Though I must warn you it is spicy fare.” 

“I love spice,” you smile blink long as another yawn nestles at the base of your throat. 

“Well, you will let me know when you try it if you like it,” he nears your door and brings the car up to slide through the slot, “you must be terrible exhausted.” 

He pushes the door open and holds it with his long arm, “just a little,” you agree, “thanks so much.” 

“Never to worry, these things happen,” he assures, “the nights are lonely and I don’t mind the task.” 

You smile as you step under his arm and turn in the doorway, “have a good night.” 

“You too, darling,” he returns, “be sure to put your key somewhere you won’t forget.” 

“Oh, yes, thank you,” you bounce on your feet and grab the door handle. 

He lets go and you shut the door gently. You give a big yawn and face the room. Thankfully, you left the lamp on. You leave your shoes by the door and rub your eyes as you stagger forward. You take out your phone to check your alarms and set it a bit earlier. You won’t be getting much sleep. 

🌍

You have Mr. Fowler’s coffee in hand as you stroll up to his door. You double-checked at the counter to make sure you didn’t misremember. You check your watch as you approach. Ten to six. You’re early. He’ll be impressed. He’s not very fond of lateness though you’re yet to test that yourself. 

You’ve done pretty well. You got yourself up, with help from a freezing cold shower to keep your eyes open, and you look pretty good. A peachy orange blouse and a grey skort. You’re ready for the day in your mary jane flats, sparing your arches the strain of heels. 

You knock and call through the door, “sir, I have your coffee.” 

You look at the cup. You had it made exactly as he always get. An americano with an extra shot. You think the caffeine is a bit much but you would never say so to him. He’s your boss, not the other way around. 

“Mr. Fowler?” You knock again as you stand in the hall, “it’s going to go cold--” 

The door opens suddenly and your fist nearly hits Mr. Fowler instead of the door. You retract and give a sheepish grin, “uh, good morning, sir,” you gulp. He has a towel crookedly clutched around his waist and he’s dripping wet. His stomach is hard and lined with muscle, tightly knotted and glistening with moisture. 

“It’s not six,” he snarls. 

“Sorry, sir, I'm early. Your coffee,” you extend your arm to offer him the cup, “they are bringing your breakfast shortly--” 

He grumbles and takes the cup. You let it go, hovering at the threshold as he keeps one hand on the towel. He inhales the scent of the espresso and tastes it with a moan of relief. He kicks the door shut and it snaps in your face. You step back and flinch. 

He’s right. You’re early. You caught him off-guard. That much is obvious. You can’t blame him for his mood. No one likes being interrupted during a shower. You back up and stand against the wall. You’ll wait. You have no choice. You know if you disappear, he’ll be even less pleased. 

Room service arrives shortly after and knock. Mr. Fowler lets them in, ignoring you as you linger, and the hotel porter leaves shortly after. You sway on your feet and check the time. 

Someone else might be annoyed but you’re too excited. The shine of the new place has yet to wear off. Even if you are working, the backdrop is enough to assuage any pitfalls. 

You check the time several times as you pace in the hall. You flatten yourself to the wall as another hotel denizen passes. You’re a bit awkward lurking there. You start to worry someone might see you and get suspicious. It is a bit strange to just be staring at a door. 

Before your doubts can get the best of you, the doors open and Mr. Fowler emerges in a white button-up and navy slacks. He forgoes his jacket and tie for the natural climate. His short hair is tidy and a light stubble trims his jaw. He checks the time on his wrist and signals with his index. 

“The car?” He demands. 

“The car,” you echo and your eyes flit back and forth. 

“The valet has the rental,” he snarls, “did you call for it?” 

“Sorry, sir, I...” you take out your phone and scroll, “I don’t see anything in the itinerary--” 

“Get the car,” he demands. 

“Yes, sir,” you wince and hurry ahead, “will do.” 

You scurry out of his sight and clamour into the lobby. You search around and see a new face behind the counter. Jonathan must be done his shift. You ask about the valet and they point you outside. 

You ask for Mr. Fowler’s car and wait near the ramp of the garage. You should’ve known. You booked the rental car and all that. You’re going to blame it on jet lag.  

Mr. Fowler appears at an easy pace, a hand in one pocket and the other around his phone. He doesn’t look up as he approaches. He stops a few feet away and sighs, once more peeking at his silver watch. 

“On it’s way, sir,” you assure him. 

He slips his phone into his pocket and squints at you. You give a shaky smile. You hate when he looks at you like that. It feels like he’s judging you. Well, he definitely is. 

“I told you to wear a dress,” he says as he reaches to touch the collar of your blouse. 

“Oh, sorry, sir,” you blanch. You must have forgot amid your late night chaos. You feel a surge of panic and quickly check your purse. You have your keys. “Do you want me to go change?” 

“It’s fine,” he turns you by your shoulders and pinches your top button. He undoes it and you try to look down at his hands, only to go cross-eyed. He clucks and undoes the next one, leaving the satin to hang low on your chest. “That will do.” 

You resist the urge to redo the button and you shrug, trying to hike fabric higher on your shoulders. You are overtly aware of your cleavage. It’s not very professional. 

“Sir,” you bring your phone up again, “I think my data isn’t working. I can’t see the itinerary.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he turns as a sleek black car pulls up before you, “just get in.” 

[tixdixl]

Was it fate that made our paths cross? Or is luck just on our side?

Groovy: [locked]

Set Home: Thank you for letting me in.

Home Transition 1: It's not often that the schools come together for a grand event like this. I'm honestly just honored to be invited.

Home transition 2: More often than not, I find myself dancing solo. It'll be a definite change of pace if anyone asks to dance with me.

Home transition 3: I've gone to many events like this, but I can't say I've ever had so many eyes on me at once. Not like this, anyway...

Home, after Login: Everyone looks so ethereal this evening.

Home Transition, Groovification: [locked]

Tap Home 1: I really hope René hasn't noticed me being here. I really don't want things to get awkward, not during an event like this.

Tap Home 2: That gentleman with the horns keeps looking my direction. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or worried.

Tap Home 3: I haven't had any opportunities to go out without having some sort of escort before. I'll admit... I'm rather nervous.

Tap Home 4: I wonder who that young lady in the Grecian inspired gown is... she's absolutely stunning.

Tap Home 5: I... think Beau is stealing the forks again. I think I just saw some white tail feathers dip behind the column over there.

Tap Home, Groovification: [locked]

Duo Magic lines (with René Lamar): Are you going to steal my night again? || Wouldn't dream of it~.

So thanks to finishing René, designing Rémi's outfit came much easier. For folks who aren't aware, Rémi is René's counter part - the White Swan expy to my Black Swan expy.

I'll also be the first to admit: I did in fact sneak some subtle references to the ballet in both of their designs and both of their lines. Since the Grand Pas D'action scene in Act 2 of the ballet is a giant ball, it only felt fitting to include both of them and to make references to the actual ballet (yes, even knowing that this is a Cinderella event.) I will also say with transparency that the choice of having René as the SSR and Rémi as the SR entirely comes from the roles that Odile and Odette play in the Grand Pas D'Action - as do their Duo Magic lines.

Glimmering Soirée created/hosted by @starry-night-rose ! This was a whole lot of fun, and I genuinely really appreciate the challenge! Thank you for hosting!!

Tag list: @cyanide-latte @simons-twsted-children @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble

@rainesol @elenauaurs @blithesharem @theleechyskrunkly

@thehollowwriter @boopshoops

lmk if you want added/removed

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

if you're interested: headcanons about tav with shadowheart as their confidant? i think she'd give good relationship advice—especially early on when tav is struggling to figure out astarion's whole deal

Astarion x Ace!Tav Masterlist (for reference)

That’s the thing, I think Tav believes they have a solid grasp on what Astarion’s “deal” is

He’s a flirt and a rake and just wants to get into their pants, nothing serious is going to happen there

The problem is, they like his flirting

They like having his attention, and being able to joke around

And at first that’s all it is, just an excuse to banter and have some fun

The thing is Astarion isn’t exactly subtle about his “desires” and so eventually Shadowheart would approach Tav like, “so I’m not sure if you noticed, but Astarion definitely wants to sleep with you and clearly you like him so why haven’t you tapped that yet”

Tav would avoid the question basically telling Shadowheart that they all have more important things to deal with than who is sleeping with who, but Shadowheart isn’t buying it, still she lets sleeping dogs lie for now

She does say that there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun, to which Tav says their definition of fun and his are two very different things

The further they get into the adventure, however, Tav starts to develop much deeper feelings for Astarion and that just makes them feel guilty for presumably stringing him along with the promise of sex that’s never going to come

They genuinely can’t tell whether or not Astarion actually cares about them or if he’s just pretending

Tav tells all this to Shadowheart, just looking for a second pair of eyes on this, are they deluding themselves?

Shadowheart can’t speak for certain about Astarion’s intentions or feelings; she does know he does spend a lot of time with Tav and actually relaxes around them in a way he doesn’t around the others, it’s possible he’s developing real feelings for Tav

However, she’s more focused on the true distress in her friend’s face and the guilt in their words

Finally she asks, “are you in love with him?”

Tav tries to brush it off, “contrary to appearances I’m not that stupid”

Shadowheart pushes it though saying, “I asked you a simple question, do you love him”

Tav finally breaks, “Yes, but don’t hold it against me. I’m a little screwy myself.”

Shadowheart is then like, “okay now that we have some truth on the table, are you planning to do anything about it?”

This is where Tav falters, because if they do something about it, it ruins the game, one they can’t help but lose every time

Shadowheart counters that they don’t know that for certain, and Tav tells her they’ve got a pretty good idea

That’s probably when they explain to Shadowheart that they are asexual and considering how obvious Astarion has been with his intentions to bed them, it can only end badly

Shadowheart is sympathetic, as she does see Tav’s feelings are genuine, but she also says then what Tav is doing isn’t fair to themselves or Astarion for that matter

They deserve somebody who is going to respect their boundaries and if they’re mooning over somebody that won’t, best they find out for certain and allow themselves to move on

Tav hears this, but it’s easier said than done

Of course, certain events speed run that long time coming conversation (read I Want It All for that story)

I admittedly need to learn a bit more about Shadowheart to say what her full opinion of their relationship is, but considering how she got a front row seat on how messily it started, I can only imagine she’s in camp, “they deserve each other because whatever shit they’ve got going on needs to be quarantined”

[lavendertales]

New eyes—Javier Peña x f!reader

Chapter 1 of the Unholy series

summary: the new colleague Javier & Steve are supposed to show around is the last person on earth Javier would want to see. 

word count: 1.9k

A/N: many thanks to @pedropascalsx for basically inspiring me to write this Lay it on me 2.0 as I like to call it. Hope you enjoy the ride!

gif: @azertyrobaz 

series masterlist | AO3 

“I hate this.”

“You already said that.”

“Well, I really do. I really, really do.”

“You already said that, too. Stop being a big baby.”

Javier throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes for what feels like the millionth time that afternoon alone. There’s nothing Steve can say that would soothe him, nor does his colleague wish to fix things.

Ever since ambassador Noonan asked them to show around a new colleague, Javier had been in a grumpier mood than usual. He believed that all of their time and resources should be spent on catching Escobar and his cartel, not acting as guides around the embassy. He’s made no efforts in hiding his displeasure, going as far as asking Noonan to remove him from this task.

“Not a chance, Peña,” she told him with a firm tone.

“Why not let Murphy take this one? Why do you need me in on this?”

“Because you two are some of our finest DEA agents, and your new colleague needs to see professionalism. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And that was it. No room for arguments or more complaints. Javier embraced the idea, though he still hated it.

“Don’t act like you’re better than showing some new guy around,” Steve tells him.

“I just think we could be spending our time looking for Escobar or his men instead of playing tourists with a newbie.”

“Come on, it won’t be that bad. We just gotta show him around a little, update him on the Escobar case and that’s pretty much it.”

“You left out the part where Noonan asked us to basically babysit this newbie.”

This time, Steve is the one who rolls his eyes upon noticing his partner’s stubbornness.

“All she said was to mentor him in his first few days.”

“Babysitting.”

“Just shut up already, it’s not a big deal.”

Javier crosses his arms and leans against the desk, eyes set on the embassy’s far entrance. Even he realizes he’s complaining loud and proud, but he can’t seem to help himself. He’s really in no mood to show some overly-enthusiastic, fresh out of the Academy boy how things are done. But what else can he do, especially since Noonan gave him no choice?

He just has to suck it up and get through the day.

It’s easier said than done, though; he checks his watch once every two, three minutes, hoping, nearly praying that nine o’clock arrives faster. He keeps staring at the entrance, waiting for the figure of some 22 year old boy with too many life goals to be crushed already.

It’s only when Steve taps him on his shoulder as he’s busy checking his watch yet again that Javier nearly tastes bile in his mouth when he swallows.

His pupils are blown out, his lungs pump an unusual amount of air and he nearly chokes on nothing. He can’t believe it. This is no boy—this is a woman, in all of its beauty and meanness alike. A woman he hadn’t seen since he was a young boy attending the Texas College of Arts and Industries—Texas AI, as many alumni referred to it—and one he hadn’t thought he’d see, certainly not under these circumstances, and certainly not in Colombia, of all places.

He doesn’t move a single muscle. He can’t—all he can do is stare as Steve goes to welcome said woman.

Time has been very kind to you: you definitely look more mature and well-traveled through life. There are many contradicting feelings going around in Javier’s mind, from reminiscing all the competitiveness between you and him, to instant attraction.

Attraction he loathes from the moment it starts consuming his whole being.

“Welcome aboard,” he hears Steve greet you, then he sees him shake your hand. “I’m Steve Murphy, one of your—ah, what the hell, let’s say guides.”

Javier hears you chuckle, a sound so crystal clear, so calming and playful, it messes with his head completely. That is not how he knows you, and that ruins him even more.

“And this—”

Steve takes a few wide steps to reach Javier, pulling him in by the arm and thus pushing him face to face with you. While his facial expression drops, yours brightens up into a cocky smile.

“This is— “

“Well I’ll be damned,” you say. “Javier Peña in the flesh. Oh, what a treat this is!”

Steve frowns. “How do you guys know each other?”

You open your mouth to reply, and so does Javier, but Steve’s frown deepens as the wheels in his mind start spinning.

“Don’t tell me you slept with her!” he exclaims and slaps Javier’s arm.

His partner throws him a deadly glare, one that cut easily cut through him.

“God no,” Javier mutters, avoiding your eyes.

“Yeah, there’s not enough money in the world,” you smile and purposely stare him down.

“So then, how do you guys know each other?”

When Javier falters, you take it upon yourself to clarify the situation. This brings you immense delight, much more than you would’ve thought.

Turns out your first day on the job is shaping up way better than you would’ve anticipated.

“We went to college together,” you say. “We weren’t… the best of friends.”

Javier scoffs mockingly. “We were very competitive with each other.”

“Academic rivals, if you will.”

Steve makes a face. “Never thought I’d hear about Javi fighting to have higher grades, and with a woman, no less.”

That particular piece of information catches your attention.

“Why with a woman in particular?” you ask, a cheeky smile still residing on your lips.

“Well… Javi’s known for being… an affectionate guy.”

“Cut it out, Murphy.”

“So he’s a man whore.”

Javier rolls his eyes and finally returns your stare. He sees the cockiness in your bright, intelligent eyes; he sees the venom in them, the thirst for affirmation, the competitiveness, everything from back then wrapped in a single lethal stare.

“Somehow it doesn’t surprise me,” you say.

“My personal life doesn’t concern you,” Javier replies dryly. “You’re here for work and that’s it.”

You raise your eyebrows, admittedly, pleasantly surprised.

“Fair point. Will you be parading any eligible ladies by the office, per chance?”

Javier feels his blood start to boil in his veins; he clenches his teeth, unwilling to let his competitiveness get the best of him, not on his territory. This is his territory, after all. He’s supposed to show you how things work over there, not the other way around.

“Should we get moving?” he asks Steve directly. “Lot of work to do.”

“I see you play your college cards well.”

Steve turns to you, oddly curious now. “What college cards?”

“Oh, he had plenty. Whenever we butted heads regarding our courses and I said something he had no answer for, he pretended like he didn’t hear you and changed the subject entirely to not make himself to look like a fool.”

That makes Steve chuckle loudly, much to Javier’s anger. “He does do that!” he laughs at the realization.

“I could say plenty of things back to you, princess,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “But I wouldn’t want to wrinkle your ego.”

You lean in towards him, your mouth unreasonably close to his own. He shudders, but he shakes it off quickly.

“Mine’s bigger than yours,” you smile.

Something roars inside Javier’s chest, something loud and big and powerful. It gets stronger as he stares you down, yet he fights his usual instincts. This is no usual woman he’d take to bed. This is his old nemesis, his academic rival and enemy in every way.

Now, an enemy in the workplace.

“Remember you said it first,” he retorts.

“So, office tour first?” Steve offers, and you nod.

Javier stays a little behind, his own thoughts drowning out every other sound.

Out of all the people available… it had to be you.

So many DEA agents capable, and you had to show up. Sure, you were undeniably gifted in the world of academics, as shown by your final GPA results, but you were absolutely obnoxious when it came to comparisons. At least that’s how you were with Javier. You two were sworn enemies from your first semester in the first year: every course you had together was motive for competition. Whoever had the biggest grade, was known to be the best. It wasn’t planned; you simply seemed to bring out that side of Javier, passionate and feisty. But never in the way might one think of nowadays.

He lets Steve guide you around, show you the offices, telling you all the details regarding the team. He watches you be introduced to Carrillo, Trujillo and eventually, ambassador Noonan herself. Through all of those interactions that you have, Javier studies you carefully. You appear like an entirely different person with everyone else. You smile brightly, professionally, revealing the same academic competence as when you were 20 years old. Yet with him, you’re feisty, arrogant, pushy, and downright unbearable to listen to. He can’t help but think the real you is the one he sees, not those surrounding you.

But he can’t dwell on it too much, nor does he care enough to do so. All he cares about is finding a way to make things tolerable at the office, now that his territory had been brutally invaded by enemies.

“I trust you’re on your best behavior, Peña.”

Noonan’s voice awakens him. He realizes they’re standing in the same spot, all looking at you as if it’s some sort of welcome party.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies absentmindedly.

She then draws attention to you again, and Javier catches a glimpse of your wide, proud smile, utterly unimpressed.

“You’re gonna be working closely with Horacio and his team. I trust you’ve met Trujillo and Ramirez, and of course, Murphy and Peña.”

“Yes, I have had the pleasure of meeting all these incredible men. Even Peña,” you smile at him directly.

His blood boils again. He swears he feels blisters forming at the surface of his skin from all that white, hot anger. It’s impossible to ignore that feeling, yet somehow he still pulls it off. He has to. Though in all honesty, he is astounded by the fact that you make no attempt in hiding your displeasure at having him around, but he doesn’t care.

He can’t. He’s never viewed as anything more but competition. Plain and simple.

“I think you’ll fit in with the team quite well,” Noonan seems to be ending some sort of welcome speech.

“Thank you very much, madam ambassador.”

Javier catches your eyes and sucks his cheeks in, making sure you know he’s just as unpleasantly surprised as you might expect him to be. He can’t let a pretty figure with shiny hair, a mouthful on her distract him from his mission. No matter how curious he might’ve once been from a physical point of view, he’s making a promise just as he keeps eye contact with you walking away with Steve: he won’t let your presence there disrupt his life in any way.

You won’t make or break him.

Not this time.

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