#like it almost implies that he's misplaced her somewhere (in another universe)

[sallysellsseashellssundays]

Sitting here thinking about that scene in Partners in Crime where Donna asks about Rose and the Doctor says “still lost” 

The way he momentarily freezes at hearing someone else mention her name

And my heart swells up with affection for lovely, kind Donna for remembering after all that time that Rose is important to him, for how she’s already started to look out for him

We really missed out on having a Ten, Rose and Donna TARDIS team didn’t we?  😭 😭 😭

[sconnie-doesnt-know]

Chapter 1

Characters - Ransom, assorted OCs, Reader

Word Count - 3100

Warnings - Drinking, language

A/n - Welcome to my Ransom series! I am so excited to play with this character. Long term, there will be angst, and fluff, and smut, which you won’t need to wait long for, I promise. Here’s the intro. I hope you like it. There’s mostly set-up this chapter and of course, an unforgettable introduction to our sweater-loving heartbreaker. 

I appreciate feedback. If there are errors, please let me know. Line dividers used were made by @firefly-graphics​

Series Masterlist 

Job hopping isn’t at the top of your to-do list, but if life had shown you anything lately, it is that you need some changes. 

Whitney leans hard into the bar in front of her, elbows resting just right to push her tits together as she tries for the bartender’s attention. She doesn’t look at you as she talks, but so far she seems to still be paying attention, “So how late were you to the interview?”

The lump in your stomach had still not settled after the disaster from the afternoon. 

“I was almost an hour late. I got off on the wrong exit and still have no clue how to circle back through the construction the way you do.”

“Yikes,” she says as she waves and gets a nod from the bartender in return. 

At last there’s hope and liquor finally on the horizon.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have even bothered. I think he still gave me the interview as a joke.”

“Well. Fuck it.” She shrugs and handles the drinks.

She pays the bartender, throwing in a wink for good measure, then hands you your glass. She does a slow spin as she takes in the scene, nodding to herself. 

“You know what? I like this place!” Whitney shouts into your ear, hopping from foot to foot in a drunken attempt to dance to the pop ballad blasting through the speakers. 

You look around the unfamiliar bar, not really focusing on anything, but trying to find some point of interest. The evening so far has been a dull combination of mixed drinks and bar hopping as you and your friend look for a place with a “good vibe” as Whitney described it. She zeroed in on this place that looks like a misplaced supper club and dragged you in.

“Yeah!” you agree, honestly not caring enough to have much of an opinion.

“Stop it,” Whit hisses.

“Stop what?”

“You’re pouting. We’re supposed to be having fun and you’re pouting!” Whitney whines before jabbing herself with the straw in her glass. 

You’re supposed to be her fun, party friend and you’re doing a terrible job of filling the role as of late.

“I know. I just hate that on top of everything, I have to avoid our bar because of The Ex.” You didn’t dare speak his name.

“You wanna go back? Fight for it? We can go there, I don’t care,” Whitney looks at you with barely concealed excitement, always anxious to stir up shit.

“Nope.” You stare into your drink, watching the level go down until you start to slurp on nothing but air. “More drinks.”

“More drinks!” Whit shouts, arms flailing and barely missing a passing cocktail waitress. “Whoa! Sorry!”

The blonde turns around, her face quickly changing from annoyance to surprise, “Whitney?!”

“Michelle!” your friend squeals before pulling her into a clumsy hug. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

You block them out as they catch up, not having any idea what they are going on about. It’s weird to be somewhere different, a new crowd, different atmosphere, brighter lights and lighter drinks. Just like starting over, like moving. Again.

At least you hadn’t lost Whit in the break-up. Shit, it wasn’t even really a break-up. It was you finding out how things were and being unwilling to put yourself in the middle of that shitshow. It wouldn’t lead to anything but emotional eating and long fights. 

So, as Whit suggested, on to new hunting grounds.

“Yeah! We’ll be there,” you hear her say as you tune back in to their conversation.

The waitress, Michelle, looks you over, “Oh? Yeah, you come too.”

You give her a quick smile back then look to your friend to find out what she just agreed to after she walks back to the bar.

“Alright, so I knew her in school. We’re gonna go with her to another friend’s place. She’s texting me the address now.”

“Okay,” you answer, though she misses your lack of enthusiasm as she checks her phone for the info. You make your way to the bar for a refill and start to hope the rest of the night goes quickly.

It’s a small party in a spacious condo, more of a gathering really because that’s what adults do, you remind yourself.  Michelle arrived at the same time as you and Whitney so she guided you inside.

Entering into the bright kitchen, a small group surrounds a kitchen island holding drinks and bottles. A few of them turn as the three of you enter, surprise showing on their faces and assorted exclamations of “No shit” and “Where the hell you been?” being shouted to Whitney and Michelle. You stand back to let them share hugs and flick your hand in an awkward wave as you get introduced to the group, names being called out without any real way for you to identify who’s who.

“Drinks?” someone asks.

“Yes,” you hiss. “Please,” you tack on at the end to hide the desperation for something to help get you through the night.

The guy looks taken aback, but nods and goes to the fridge to grab a bottle for each of you, popping off the tops before passing them out.

“Anyway…” their conversation picks back up. Whitney and Michelle jump in easily from time to time and the group forms a loose circle along the counters and the island. You lean back, not quite completing the circle, but not outside of it either. Your eyes move from person to person as they talk and add to the stories. It sounds like they are reminiscing about what they got up to while attending the university, but no one bothers to explain and you don’t ask. 

Every now and again you find yourself nodding or tossing out a response, but otherwise not adding much to the conversation and realizing how long it’s been since you reached out to your old friends. Trying and failing to remember your last contact. Keeping in touch was never one of your strong suits.

Listening as they talk, their lives sound so far beyond where yours has stalled out, adventures past what you could imagine. That helpful inner voice reminds you that you don’t belong here. It’s more than just being a tag-along friend. There’s a twisting in your gut urging you to leave, suddenly feeling as though they are watching you, judging you, picking you apart and hating the imposter among them. 

Looking over at Whitney, she’s clearly having a great time and won’t be ready to go any time soon. It makes you worry how long she’ll want to stick around or if you can talk her into getting another ride home so you can cut out of there before you can get embarrassed.

You take a step back, leaning against the counter, zoning out of the conversation and figuring out your exit, and regretting the drinks that are now delaying said exit strategy. 

One of the guys from the group breaks away and makes his way toward you, making you press yourself further into the cabinets behind you to allow him to squeeze past, but instead he stops next to you, head tilted toward you and letting his brown hair fall over his forehead.

“Why are you so quiet?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you look at him, then quickly look away because jesus christ he’s handsome - like, model handsome, but it’s even more embarrassing to get flustered right to his face. In the extra seconds you take to answer he huffs out a laugh and settles in next to you.

“I, uh, I don’t know anyone,” you finally eek out.

“Well, talking to people usually helps.”

You hum an agreement, eyes flickering over to the group just a few feet away and catching a few people giving the two of you side-eyed glances, but not much else. “I don’t want to interrupt and I don’t really mind just observing.”

“So what? You just like watching other people talk?” he gestures with his glass to the group. You look up in time to catch two of them making lewd gestures at each other and laugh awkwardly.

“Sometimes? I just don’t feel the need to say anything if I don’t have something to actually contribute to the conversation.”

“Huh,” he responds, then takes a sip of his drink. 

You brave a better look at him, admiring his profile and talking yourself down from cartoon heart-eyes. Begging yourself to not linger too long on his shoulders, the way you can just scent his cologne and it’s delightfully masculine, his model-perfect face...and absolutely failing. No doubt if someone was looking at you they could see the awe and lust on your face from being in such close proximity to someone this good looking. Then - then he smirks. It’s a tiny lift of the corner of his mouth and it makes your breath hitch. His eyes are gleaming with excitement, then he opens his mouth, his tone and volume demanding immediate attention.

“Hey, remember when Eric fucked Whit last fall? When was that, Thanksgiving weekend?”

You whip your head over to see Whitney’s jaw drop. The guy you assume is Eric freezes with his arm around another girl’s shoulders while her face steadily grows beet red and eyes go wet with tears. Everyone else stares between you and the man next to you, looking at you as though you conspired and causing you to shrink in on yourself.

“What?” the girl under Eric’s arm whimpers. Looking between the two of them while everyone else remains frozen. “Eric, I thought you went to your family cabin?”

“Oh yeah,” the guy next to you answers, “I forgot she didn’t know.”

His tone implies he’s anything but sorry and within seconds there is more shouting and Eric charges over to shout in his face.

You slide over, attempting to avoid the fray and trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Your heart pounds and heat still burns at the tips of your ears and across your chest.

After a few moments the high-pitch screaming of the girl fades as she makes her way to the door, Eric shouting after her and following, the others shouting each other down as they try to de-escalate and yet the instigator just stands there with a smile on his face. After the front door slams he turns to look at you, catching you staring at him and he winks.

“How’s that for something to contribute?” he mutters, obviously only meant for you.

“That was a dick move, Hugh,” Whitney spits at him.

He squints with obvious annoyance. “Feeling guilty for fucking your friend’s boyfriend?” he challenges.

She stares him down, but doesn’t last long, turning back to her drink and the rest of the group, “She’s not really my friend, anyway.”

A few others agree with her, the others shrug, and you’re left gaping at the whole scene, unable to understand what just happened. The guy next to you, Hugh, moves so suddenly that you flinch, making him chuckle.

“Lighten up, sweetheart. Life’s more fun when you let loose.” He tips his head back to finish his drink and walks back to the group, leaning over the countertop and continuing like nothing odd had happened. 

Whitney goes and makes herself comfortable in a recently vacated spot. Looking on for a while,  you try to sort out the dynamics of everyone there, but it’s not easy to determine who’s who in the group just yet. 

Their half-shouted stories start to wear on you, so you find yourself zoning out and deciding to take the opportunity to give yourself a little tour.

“So. Still not talking?”

“Jesus!” you hiss when the sudden intrusion makes you jump. The guy from earlier, Hugh, had snuck up next to you, a mischievous grin on his face and pink flush on his cheeks.

“Working up to it, I guess,” you breathe out, willing your racing heart to calm down. You look around, trying to find something else to look at so that you don’t have to look him in the eyes and bee-line for the bookshelf to look over the titles. They’re disappointing.

“So whose place is this? Whitney never bothered to introduce me.” You point back through the doorway, gesturing to the group at the table.

“She’s like that,” he notes.

“Yeah, she is,” you agree and step into his space, suddenly feeling too loose-limbed and loose-lipped from the earlier drinks. But he doesn’t seem bothered.

“Does it matter?” You feel his eyes scan you as he asks.

“Well, it’s not your place, is it?” you check. After he shakes his head no, you pull out a book and make a face, one hundred percent openly judging the owner on their taste. “He’s probably a pretentious snob, so I guess not.”

His eyes scrunch up and crinkle while he throws his head back in a laugh. 

“How’d you figure that?” he asks, tilting his head and watching you over the rim of his glass as he takes a drink.

“Look around. Plus, you’ve met Whitney, right?” you tease.

As though she hears you talking about her, Whitney turns around and looks at the two of you. She calls your name, demanding that you join her. Then her eyes land on the man next to you, “Ransom, you too!”

“I thought your name was Hugh,” you sigh.

“Only the help calls me that,” he says with an eye roll, “And people who wanna piss me off.”

Internally you gawk, but try to keep a calm exterior as you panic to figure out how to backtrack on your ‘pretentious snob’ comment, no doubt offending someone who says ‘the help’ in such a tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry...you know I probably shouldn’t have said-” is all you’re able to get out, though. He places a hand at the small of your back, shushing you with a finger raised to his own lips.

“C’mon,” he says as he guides you back to the group. His hand stays fixed on your lower back for the rest of the night. His warm palm pressing against your skin and fingertips flexing and gripping almost possessively. It leaves you on edge as you try to focus on anything else, basically begging your brain to focus on anything at all and completely failing. 

Sometime in the early hours of the morning everyone starts to disperse, Whitney hangs off of you as you make your way back to the car. Ransom makes his way to his vehicle. You put your hand up in an awkward wave, he nods and winks in response then closes his door after climbing inside, bringing an end to the evening.

Whitney manages to drag you out for a much less memorable night the next evening. When Monday arrives, you swear to yourself to not waste a weekend on a hangover like that again. You squint as you try to face away from the bright sun, fingers playing with a dead leaf beside you on the bench. 

The weekdays are usually reserved for being dull. For going to work, listening to your co-worker, Carrie, talk about bathroom remodeling and in-law drama. For doing adult things like sleeping normal hours, laundry, getting tires replaced on the car. Some free time is spent searching for jobs, but so far that’s still been fruitless. Anyone who didn’t know you better would assume you pass for an acceptable adult your age, not someone just barely hanging on. 

“You gotten laid lately?” Carrie, asks before sipping on her coffee. You snort at the abrupt question. There aren’t many secrets between you.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because! I have to live through you since I am an old, married broad. I don’t go out and have fun and fuck bartenders anymore.”

“Anymore? You never did,” you snort. She married her high school sweetheart, the only man she ever kissed, touched, and fucked. What a concept.

“Exactly!” she practically yells. “Sooo?”

It had been a while, well, aside from that one night you went home late with a bartender named Jeff, but he got hit with whiskey dick as soon as you hit the sheets and the night was a bust. She had laughed her ass off when you told her about that disaster.

“No. Nothing lately. Trying to be careful. You know that.” You respond less kindly than you usually would, hoping that she will drop the subject. Gratefully, she’s smarter than some and does just that, but you don’t miss the look. “I mean, I did meet a guy, but it wasn’t really anything. Didn’t even exchange numbers.”

“Good. I just worry about you, you know?” She meant well as she had listened to all your stories, from the one-nighters to the heartbreak. She’d warned you to be cautious with The Ex, but you didn’t really listen.

“Yeah. Thanks. I just...Well, nevermind. I’m not going there because it’s nothing I haven’t said before. I’m not getting into all of it right now.” You take a deep breath before you start to really ramble. You have no idea how much time has passed, but decide it’s enough, “Break time’s up. Gotta get back.”

She nods and walks with you back inside, feeling a tinge of guilt for not telling her about your next job interview later in the week, hoping you can still hang onto her friendship when she’s not your co-worker.

The remainder of the week passes uneventfully. Only Friday afternoon is broken up by a text from Whitney reminding you about going out that night. As though you’ve done anything different for the last few months. You scroll through your contacts, ignoring the nagging reminders to call your family, and that you need to send your regrets for yet another baby shower. Seeing The Ex still in the contact list stops you, a little warning voice reminding you that you are supposed to delete his number. You hover over it for a moment, debating making that leap, but decide last minute to keep it...just in case. 

Whitney tells you that you’re going to the same bar as last Friday. For a second, you wonder if the evening will end the same way, and kind of hope a little bit that it does. Your imagination ran wild over the last week thinking of the small conversations and contact you had with Ransom the weekend before, analyzing details and tones and thinking about biting onto that lip and... 

A new notification pulls you from your little daydream and you add another item to your mental to-do list: delete The Ex’s number and ask Whitney about Ransom.

[indieks]

One-Life Stand 💫 Jungkook [0.1]

🛏 Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Reader

🛏 Genre : Fluff, Humor, Minimal angst

🛏 Warnings : none for this part

🛏 Synopsis : Getting attracted to your long-time best friend, is something classical. Having a one-night stand with him though, is something alarming. While you get scared of your feelings and try to forget about it with the sake of your friendship as an excuse, Jeon Jungkook finally opens his eyes on his own and gets determined to turn this one-night thing into a real relationship.

0.1 || 0.2 || 0.3 || 0.4 || 0.5 || 0.6 || 0.7 || 0.8 || 0.9 || 1 [END]

🛏 A/N : I started to write this story in my notes and decided to take this further, so now I’m publishing it! A short texts and written series with my lovely, sexy and talented bias, the one and only Jeon Jungkook… I hope you like it, and thanks for reading! 

   "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

That's what the students' association made you swear once you arrived in front of the party's gates, and it made you laugh quietly before you resolutely took your oath with a hand on the heart. But you should have known better than thinking it would be a simple and funny Harry Potter’s reference to put you in the right and perfect mood to party, ready to go crazy till the end... As what had been supposed to be a fake oath, was really going to define all of your night.

Tonight, you shouldn't have stayed with your best friend as you always did ; you shouldn't have drank that much ; you shouldn't have left the party with him instead of your roommate ; you shouldn't have listened to him convincing you to do so... A lot of regrets and what ifs in just one night. But big school implies big parties ; a lot of people implies a lot of stories ; a lot of friends can become a lot of enemies ; and in the middle of all this mess, your best friend turned into the worst of your choices.

You entered the party with the will to kick Jeon Jungkook in the ass for having abandoned you and let you lost on your own, making you feel quite pathetic and insecure when you arrived – even if you were never going to admit it before him. You need to have pride, ladies and gentlemen, just pride.

"Ouch! Ya! You didn't have to hit me so hard!" your best friend whined, rubbing the spot your hand had smashed perfectly.

"You didn't have to be a proud asshole by leaving me!" you shrugged before greeting your friends laughing around the both of you.

"I'm going to kill you some day" he smiled, headlocking you and dragging you to the bar.

Oh god that headlock. You were so used to it that it didn't even bother you nor embarrass you anymore. Jeon Jungkook had headlocked you since the year you met in 7th grade, both of you put in each corner at the back of the class because you were listed as the "perturbing ones". What a smart move they had made, at least for the both of you, as instead of finally listening to class, you had settled a competition of the most badass one, making you hate each other at first, before becoming friendly. Opponents became true friends, disturbing and agitated loners became forever allies, and with time stupid children became young adults having walked through puberty together.

You had experienced so many things with Jungkook, from your teenager's crises, your fights with your parents, your runaways from home during night, your bad and good grades, and also your heartbreaks. Speaking of more-than-friendly relationships, you had at some point developped a crush on him and so had he, as a lot of best friends do because they feel like they can't be closer to another person, making them comfortable, making them want more just to see what it'd be, making them curious to check if love was in the air, or if definitely they only have a siblings-like relationship.

So you got curious, and you checked, during your first high school year. You had been having one of your movie nights – or more correctly anime nights –, seating lazily on Jungkook's bed with no other light in the room except for the one coming from the computer's screen. And suddenly, you had seen your best friend's chest turn towards yours, your eyes then distracting themselves from the colorful drawings moving fast before you, to land on his face that had been closer than what you had expected. And suddenly, you had kissed. It had been quick, but you still remembered his lips were soft and tasted like caramel with a tint of honey, probably from the popcorn you had been engulfing in your mouths before. Jungkook had retired and you had seen him frown, then shaking his head from the left to the right.

"Ew no. No no no. Definitely not. This isn't right." he had stated before tilting his head as he always did and he had smiled to himself, his nose crunching and his bunny teeth showing cutely.

While you had stared at his face you had been starting to find more and more attractive the past months, then in the emptiness because you, on the other hand, had been flustered. Shit.

Anywayyyy as any good best friend would have done, you quickly suppressed your growing feelings and never thought about them again, successfully. You didn't get jealous when he had girlfriends – except for one who had tried to exclude you from his life the year after your kiss – ; you didn't look at him in a doubtful way anymore ; you ignored the numb sensation you felt when he hugged or kissed you on the forehead – convincing yourself it was due to discomfort and disgust as always.

Jungkook grew up and became even more handsome, but you tried your best on putting a blind and thick filter before your eyes so that they would still see him like the little coconut he always had been for you, and not the manly man he was becoming. Successfully, successfully. Until you both attended the same college, last year. With all its dangerous parties and gatherings, its recrudescence of new faces for your own pleasure, but also of girls to turn around your best friend, making him smile cockily like a fool and become the #1 target of the university.

Jungkook had always been good at everything, ever since he was born, from perfect homework even without listening to classes, to sports, dancing, drawing, singing – you had heard him only a few times under his shower while waiting for him, and it had surprised you it was one thing he had never showed off about. So when he arrived at the university, his excellence pushed him towards fame with a nickname following him everywhere : "Golden boy". Jungkook had always been the #1 target of girls, in every grade and every school you went to, but he used to ignore it, more interested in games and silly friendships ; yet, while he had become the #1 freshman of a whole university, he slowly was retaking the place of the #1 boy and man in your life without you being able to control it as you yourself couldn't deny how almost perfect he was. And tonight, his safe but secret place in your heart was about to blow in your face at once.

    "Wow, you sure needed time to get yourself ready like that" Jungkook suddenly giggled, shaking you out of your thoughts as you both were waiting for your drinks behind the bar.

"What? Does that mean I'm pretty?"

"No, it means I can see you've put a lot of effort because you've upgraded from a toad to a frog, that's great!"

Another kick, and another time, Jungkook winced in pain.

"Fuck. You. I'm going to dance with my friends, don't talk to me 'til the end of the party you scumbag" you spat, grabbing your order and leaving your best friend laughing behind your back.

The party went on as usual, a very good one as always with your university, as it had a good group cohesion between all the students, no one caring about the major you were taking or the year you were in. This easiness of meeting new people and the good ambiance led your friends and you to chat with a group of guys in the same year as yours outside, with one you had already spotted during classes. And for your great pleasure, you felt something was in the air between the both of you and that wasn't one-sided, as you clearly caught the gazes he gave you from time to time even when you were not talking, and it made you confident.

So confident you let yourself be carried by the flirt-thing or whatever was going on between the both of you, drinking more at the bar in his pleasant company – the guy was nice, clever and funny, how lucky – then back on the dancefloor where you danced together. Some time passed by, and you finally hooked up in some dark corner of the room, with soft kisses at first that became more passionate second by second, but without him having misplaced gestures – how luckyyy. However, in the eyes of your best friend that had spied your whereabouts and doings, it wasn't as welcomed.

So Jungkook ditched the girl he was talking to – and that, in reality, you also had left him for as you had caught her looking at him during all the beginning of the party but clearly blocked by your presence –, and he went through the crowd. He sped his pace straight to you and your crush as the latter was taking you by the hand and leading you outside where you could both be less disturbed by the people around. Jungkook was almost suffocating when he finally reached the both of you, the vision of a boy taking you somewhere still being a trauma in his head ever since the event that had happened a few months ago.

You gasped when you felt a second hand grabbing yours and snatching it from your crush's grasp, that turned around with confusion and anger in his eyes.

"What do you want Jungkook?" the boy sighed.

Oh? They know each other?

"What did I tell you last time Y/N?!" Jungkook ignored, shouting over the music and looking only at you with his eyes wide open.

Why is he bringing that up again?

You mirrored his stare but with your brows furrowed, not getting what was going on with him and more than embarrassed before your crush that crossed his arms, clearly in frustration.

"What are you doing Jungkook?" you asked through gritted teeth, pushing him slightly with your hand to signal him to go away.

"Don't you remember last time, huh? Do I have to remind you? What did I tell you?!"

You looked at your crush from the corner of your eye, pleading him to excuse you through your pupils only and, thankfully, the smart guy nodded in understanding.

"Hey, I know what I'm doing, you're embarrassing me right now!" you lowered your voice so that only your best friend could hear you.

You turned away from him and were about to follow the handsome boy once again, but Jungkook had decided otherwise, and when Jeon Jungkook wanted something to be the way he'd like it to be, it was bound to become that exact way without discussing. So he grabbed you by the arm and he pulled you behind him, leaving you speechless but mostly pissed off at him as you saw that your crush was looking at the both of you and probably making assumptions.

"I'm sorry I'll talk to him and-" you tried.

"She won't go anywhere with you" Jungkook opposed and you sighed, slapping his arm for the third time of the night but the boy didn't budge ; instead, his firm grip on your wrist only tightened to the point it started to hurt.

What was wrong with him?

"Okay Y/N I'll let the both of you alone for now, let's talk later…" your crush said in a monotone, annoyance and confusion clear on his face, and then he disappeared behind the doors.

"Let go of me. Before I kill you right this instant." you threatened.

"I wouldn't have to embarrass you like this if you'd listen to me!" Jungkook exclaimed, turning to you and you got surprised by the furious gaze he directed at you.

And oddly, it made your heart flutter. You felt impressed but also overwhelmed in a good way, as Jungkook was rarely mad at you but when he was, your weak girl's heart couldn't deny how handsome he was. Like that event last time. Still, you were even madder at him so you shook your arm to free yourself from his grasp, and you crossed your arms on your chest.

"I have the right to flirt with guys Jeon! You're not my father! So go and live your life!"

"NOT WITH WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME! I DON'T TRUST YOU OR GUYS ANYMORE!" he suddenly burst out, catching the attention of a few people around and you wished you could disappear into the ground.

What were they going to think? You looked like a couple fighting right now, and by tomorrow, you knew there would be rumors running in the hallways about you if he'd continue. Not like it would be the first time, no, it would be the third of the month actually, and the umpteenth since you've arrived at the university, because it looked like a guy and a girl couldn't be best friends without people shipping them or assuming things.

"Let's go home" he suddenly commanded and you shook your head from the left to the right.

However, from the way Jungkook was poking his cheek and looking at you with his chin leveled-up, you recognized his ready-to-fight face and you knew deep down that you were risking triggering his bad temper if you didn't oblige.

"It's not even three in the morning… And I saw you were with a girl before, what about her?"

"I don't care; I'm not in the mood anymore. Blame yourself. We're going to the dorms."

His shining hair was falling on his squinted eyes that were killing you more than scaring you, and it upset you to feel things just from his gaze, distracting you from your original anger against him.

"Jungkook let me live, please…" you pleaded weakly one last time.

"Not in my plans." he shortly answered in an irritated tone, before he grabbed your hand forcefully.

You were dragged to the exit with your hand in a guy's hand another time, but it felt so different. Earlier, you had been so excited to finally go outside with your crush, looking for some kind of intimacy ; now, if you had been about to murder your best friend that was walking fiercely outside, your body was curiously tingling everywhere, and your heartbeat was beating ten times faster. It probably was out of frustration, right? It should be.

Everything felt so familiar from this scene. You trailing your feet behind him but also you feeling flustered by him being mad. Everything seemed to be repeating itself, except that tonight, nothing had actually happened to you, reason why you still felt upset among your other forbidden feelings right now.

    "I don't like you playing the father or big brother with me Jungkook, I was fine!" you still were protesting as you had arrived at the dorms by foot, the party location only a few blocks away.

"You're coming to mine" he ignored, still pulling you but this time you resisted, making him finally stop in his tracks.

"I'm not! I want you to think back of how annoying you have been, and that all by yourself! Let me be! I don't want to see your fucking face for the rest of the night!"

"So what? You're going to return to him? You're more than tipsy you know, I felt it while walking with you, so no, you're coming with me because right now I can't be sure you won't do anything stupid!" he almost screamed at you.

That lecture was so familiar. Jungkook sounded like a scratched disk. The same arguments as last time, but still, one thing was different : you crush had been so nice and you were actually having a good time.

So what the fuck was happening to him?!

You looked at him with big eyes and your mouth agape, and when you felt a vibrant headache winning your brain the second his voice got louder, you knew he was right about you being drunk. You hadn't counted your drinks nor felt like it until now, too carried by the heat of the moment with your crush, but now that you were away from the party where being drunk supposedly makes the night more enjoyable, you clearly felt some weird sensations getting the best of you.

"A-And you, huh? Aren't you drunk and doing something stupid right now?! Nothing has happened to me like last time but you're still crazily mad, what's wrong with you, huh?!" you retorted in a way less convinced tone.

And as an answer, Jungkook breathed out and started walking again, not listening to you nagging repeatedly behind him as you were entering his empty dorm. You stopped before his door and he finally freed you to search for his keys, mumbling nonsense to himself and having a hard time finding them, and it signaled you your best friend wasn't in his clear mind no more.

"I don't understand why you're that mad. It happened months ago. I know what I was doing tonight…" you still were ranting on your own, waiting for him to answer the questions he had planted into your confused brain.

Jungkook slowly turned around to face you who were leaning against the wall, and you swore your heart had been about to jump out of your throat the second he landed his eyes on you. At first, they still seemed to be lightened by anger, but you quickly discovered that it was darkening into something lustful the more he was staring at you, giving you the chills and making you feel so small.

"What? What? You're going to scream at me again Jungkook oppa?" you teased as he hated being called like that, but you were more than desperate to trigger whatever reaction from him as he had given you the silent treatment for five minutes straight.

But you hadn't expected that kind of reaction. The one that implied him stepping dangerously closer. The one that involved him placing his hands on each side of your head, locking you into the human cage that was his toned body. The one that was followed by a deep and passionate kiss he unexpectedly gave you and that, even more surprisingly, you gave back and even prolonged.

  To be continued...

  A/N : Part 0.2 will be up in two days normally! only if you like it haha

[danandphilsecretsanta]

Where The Heart Is

To: @our-dark-dreams From: Your Secret Santa

The first time Martha sees them, she’s in her front yard. She’s just been out to collect the mail – bills, only ever bills these days – and stopped to pull some weeds peeping out of the soil between the rhododendrons, when the taxi pulls up in front of the house across the street. The house has been on the market for a few weeks now, and Martha has seen a number of people come and go from it – ambitious singles, loved-up young couples, weary parents with children trailing them like ducklings. There were even a few retirees once. These two, though – they’re different.

They unfold themselves out of the taxi, so tall they make it look like a clown car. They’re both dark-haired and pale-skinned. The one on the right stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans, a pair tighter than Martha has ever seen in her life. They’re black, like his jacket, t-shirt and shoes. The other one is also wearing black jeans, but they’re looser, and his shirt is a checked blue. He’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder and a set of brightly-coloured folders clutched in his hands.

The real estate agent appears in the doorway and hurries down the front path to meet them. She ushers them forward and Blue Shirt looks down at something in his folders as he follows her into the house. The black-clothed one pauses on the front step, shading his eyes to look up towards the second storey, and then turns to look around the street. He catches Martha’s eye for a moment but he shuffles into the house before she has a chance to even think about a warm, welcoming wave.

* * *

Martha honestly doesn’t ever expect to see them again. She notices when the SOLD sign goes up but it’s been a few weeks since the young men were there, and a few other people have looked at the house since then. But then the moving van arrives, and the black-clothed one maneuvers a car into the driveway, and there’s a swarm of people in and out of the house all day and, just like that, Martha has new neighbours.

No one really sees them the first few days but that’s hardly surprising. Judging by the number of boxes they brought with them when they moved in, they’re likely still unpacking and looking for all the things they probably misplaced during the move. Everyone is curious about them, though – they’re the talk of the street. They live on a cul-de-sac, where everyone knows everyone and no one ever really leaves. When Martha moved in five years ago, the family across the street had already been there fifteen years, and the parents only moved away when their youngest went off to university at the other end of the country.

The young men have been there a week and a half when Martha decides that it’s time to be neighbourly and introduce herself. She digs a nice pair of shoes out of the closet, layers a plate with her signature jammie dodgers and crosses the road. There’s a doorbell that chimes a charming little melody inside the house, then heavy footsteps and the door is pulled open by Blue Shirt. He’s wearing a t-shirt today, with an ice-cream on it, and a pair of black-framed glasses.

“Hi!” he says and smiles a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Can I help you?”

“Hello. I’m Martha. I live at number four.” She points over her shoulder. “I just thought I’d come over and introduce myself. Welcome you to the neighbourhood and all that. These are for you.” She holds out the plate of biscuits.

“Oh! Thank you!” He takes the plate and steps aside. “Would you like to come in? I was just about to make some coffee.”

Her mother always said it was rude to reject a cup of tea or coffee so she says, “Thank you. That would be lovely,” and follows him into the house.

She has to step around the half-unpacked boxes, labelled “Kitchen” and “Office”, lining the hallway. When she peeks into the lounge room, she sees that they’ve got the TV and various consoles hooked up, and the shelves are already mostly filled with DVDs and books and knick knacks. The priorities in this house are fairly clear.

“I’m Phil, by the way,” he says, leading her into the kitchen. He waves her into one of the brightly coloured chairs at the dining table and sets the plate in the centre. “It’s nice to meet you. We were just saying this morning that there’s only a limited window in which we can meet our neighbours before it’s too late and we have to spend the rest of our time here awkwardly avoiding people.”

Martha assumes that “we” includes the black-clothed one. There’s something in the casual way he doesn’t explain who he’s talking about, as if he hasn’t even thought about it, as if he’s forgotten how.

“Excuse me,” he says and stops to flick the kettle on, on his way to the door. He pokes his head into the hallway and calls, “Dan! Come down here! We have a guest!” There’s a muffled response from somewhere upstairs but that must be good enough for Phil because he strolls over to the cupboards and pulls one open to reveal what looks like a hundred mugs.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says and shifts three mugs onto the counter. “Tea? Coffee? Or hot chocolate? We have powder here somewhere…” He opens the pantry and starts pushing things aside.

“Tea, thank you. Milk, no sugar.”

He nods and drops a tea bag into one of the mugs, then fills the other two with instant coffee and sugar. He measures everything out thoughtlessly.

There’s a thumping on the stairs and the black-clothed one – Dan, she reminds herself, though he’s dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans again – appears in the doorway. He pulls back slightly, as if he’s startled to see her sitting there, and then smiles awkwardly.

“Hello,” he says.

“This is Martha,” Phil explains, pouring the boiled water into the mugs. “She lives across the street. She brought us welcome-to-the-neighbourhood biscuits!”

Dan’s eyes drop to the biscuits on the table and then he rolls them at Phil. “You would befriend the dodgiest person in the world if they offered you a plate of sugar.” Then his eyes widen and he hurriedly holds out his palms towards her. “Not that you’re dodgy! I’m sure you’re perfectly nice. But seriously, Phil would actually follow a masked man down a dark alley if he was promised sweets at the end of it. He missed the lesson on stranger danger in school.”

Phil shakes his head. “Don’t listen to him, Martha. He’s just jealous because he knows I’ll eat more of the biscuits than him.”

He brings over a mug that’s almost too full and lowers it gently to the table in front of her, so as not to spill any. The mug is completely white, except for a black nose and whiskers near the rim. Dan grabs the other two mugs – one is black, with “Game of Thrones” written on the side, and the other has Mickey Mouse on it – and brings them to the table. Martha isn’t sure if they both just happen to take their coffee the same way, but he doesn’t seem to give any thought to handing the Mickey Mouse mug to Phil.

“This is Dan,” Phil says, when they’re all seated. “We live together.”

Obviously. But she doesn’t say that, even though there’s no further explanation. She can’t quite put her finger on the nature of their relationship, but they move around each other like they’ve been doing it a long time, like they’re used to filling each other’s gaps.

She nods and nudges the plate towards them. “Please, have a biscuit.”

Dan doesn’t need telling twice. His hand shoots out and grabs one off the top. He gives it a generous dunk in his coffee and then bites it in half.

“Mmmm,” he says and she hides a smile in her mug. “These are delicious. Better than anything we’ve ever baked, hey Phil?” He nudges Phil with his elbow.

“So what brings you here?” Martha asks. “Are you new to London?”

Dan shakes his head, because Phil currently has a mouth full of jammie dodger. “No. Well, we’re new to this part of London. We lived in an apartment in the city for years but we outgrew it. Dan needs storage!” Then he laughs a self-conscious laugh that trails off and grabs another biscuit.

“You’ll find the pace of life a bit slower here than it is in the centre,” Martha says.

“That’s part of why we like it,” says Phil, brushing the crumbs off his fingers. “We’ve had a busy couple of years and we’re ready to slow down a little bit. Live a quieter life. Try new things. And we really want a dog. But we still want to be close enough to go in when we need to.”

“What do you two do?”

They exchange a glance that speaks volumes.

“We’re editors,” Dan eventually says.

“Of books?”

“Of…films and visual stuff like that.”

“Oh! Anything I would’ve seen?”

Dan chuckles and shrugs, shaking his head. “I doubt it. How about you?”

“I’m a writer. Freelance, mostly. I like it because I get to work from home in my pyjamas, at whatever time of day or night I choose.”

Dan’s face relaxes into a smile and he nods easily. “Yeah, I can relate to that.”

They make a bit more small talk until Martha has finished her tea. It’s not awkward exactly, they’re very welcoming and don’t make any subtle indications that they’re trying to rush her out the door. But they’re edgy in a way she can’t describe, as if they’re not really used to interacting with anyone but each other. Maybe they’re not. They’ve implied that they work from home, and she knows how hard it is to meet people in that situation. It’s part of the reason her poor mother despairs that she’ll never find a husband.

So she does them a favour and swallows down the last of her tea quickly. “Well, thank you for the tea,” she says, rising from her chair. “It was so nice to meet you both but I’d better get going. I do actually have to do some work today, and I’m sure you’ve got things you want to do as well.”

She waves a hand when Dan offers her the plate, still half-filled with biscuits. “No, no. You keep them. I can’t possibly eat all those on my own.” She waits while Dan digs a clean plate out of a cupboard to transfer the leftovers onto. Then, they both walk her to the door.

“Thanks for coming over, Martha,” Phil says.

“And thanks for the biscuits,” says Dan.

“You’re welcome. Please, just come over anytime if you need anything. I’m almost always home.”

But she understands, as she crosses back over the street, that they’re not going to have that kind of relationship. Even from just the small amount she’s seen of them, she knows that Dan and Phil have learnt to meet life’s challenges together, without involving other people. Sure, she’ll see them out and about. They’ll wave at each other when they collect the mail, or mow the lawn, or tend to the garden. They’ll say hello and have a brief but polite conversation when they pass each other on the street. But it won’t go deeper than that.

It’s not like her relationship with her other neighbours but, after meeting them, Martha finds she’s okay with that. Dan and Phil exist in their own little bubble. She would hate to be the one to pop it.