#like make use of the addiction background. don’t just stick it in there to pretend to be ‘elevated’ or whatever

[devilsskettle]

mad at the guys in hellraiser who are like “i have experienced every single possible physical sensation and i need something more transcendent” only to get mad when the cenobites show up. like maybe you should’ve tried heroin or something first idk

[sukirichi]

sweet lies [03.final]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. toxic! megumi, SEXY TOXIC MEGUMI 🥵, toxic college settings, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, explicit smut, car sex, biting, scratching, sukuna is a sex god, MEGUMI WITH A LIP RING, slight angst

note. FINALLY FINISHED THIS SERIES AAAAHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS I HAD A LOT OF FUN WITH THIS SERIES TYSM FOR EVERYTHING! lotsa lub lub for each and everyone of you! anyways let me just say...sweet lies sukuna can politely rail me.

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

It’s…a different story when you have to move back and forth between your newly made acquaintance slash fuck buddy, Sukuna, to your actual fuck buddy and crush, Megumi.

Sukuna’s polite enough to not meddle into your business as he’s promised, which you’re extremely thankful for, but you should’ve known the bubble of happiness would pop the moment you stepped out of your apartment. You’ve left your phone unattended and on silent, earbuds always placed inside to ignore Megumi’s calls.

It’s funny, actually, that he’s never replied much to you before other than occasional dick pic and ‘you awake baby?’ but ever since you’ve been…pre-occupied, suddenly you’re on top of his contacts.

You grumble at the vibration of your phone, Megumi’s name flashing on the screen. Back then, you would’ve soared and jumped to pick up the call, voice sultry and toes pointed at the ceiling as you try to keep in your giggles. Now, you’re dreading it, glaring at his annoyingly handsome contact icon that used to make your heart skip a beat. You’re studying in the library and have been doing a terrific job at avoiding him so far, and today won’t be any different.

With a sigh, you completely flip your phone upside down and turn back to your book. You’re on the second line of the paragraph when you feel large, warm hands caress the back of your neck, tilting you upwards to meet his curious – and certainly annoyed – blue eyes.

“Babe,” Megumi drawls out, minty breath fanning your cheeks.

He looks absolutely stunning today, plain and casual yet so handsome in just a black hoodie and sweatpants, his dark hair slicked back to reveal his forehead. For a guy who sure pounded into your skill he had no interest in you that went beyond sexual, he sure did know you well enough, the slight tugging of his lips a sign he could easily read through you. It makes you huff away from him, scooting – trying is the keyword – away from his touch. Megumi’s persistence leads him into you placing you right above his lap and cages you between his arms, chin on your shoulder and his breath floating over your ear.

You can’t help but squirm in embarrassment. Half of the students in the campus library have turned to look at you, and Megumi merely smiles at the attention, audacious enough to kiss the shell of your ear.

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him! In reality, you really do want to fuck him.

“Why have you been ghosting me?”

“I wasn’t ghosting you, Megumi, it’s called being busy. You ever tried doing homework?”

“You’re so mean to me today,” he pouts, but that pout soon brightens into a smile when you scowl at him. Megumi, albeit never really paying attention to you, your facial expressions have registered as second nature to him now. It doesn’t take much before you soften under his hold, still as mushy as ever, and the nasty fucker basks in it proudly. “There’s a party tonight at Okkotsu’s house, said his parents were away in Greece or some rich family shit. Wanna come and get wasted with me?”

“I don’t know, Megs, I have an essay to finish…”

“Come on, it’s just one night. It won’t hurt,” he shrugs and sways you to side to side, causing your heart to sway side to side in giddiness. It’s this – moments like this – that really fools you into believing Megumi likes you. And that sweet lie only turns sweeter from his words that drip like honey, “Plus, I’ve missed you. Can’t think straight when we’ve been apart for too long, baby.”

You pretend to think about it.

That slight falter in a split second brings about a waver in Megumi’s confident you didn’t think would be possible. Not that you can blame him; you never did have to think about it whenever he invites you to fuck around with him. In fact, you say yes a lot faster than he can ask you something, but something’s been changing you lately – or rather someone.

In the end though, you’ll circle up right where you belong.

Relishing in the rarity of having Megumi coddle you with kisses and affection, his perfume still as boyish and vanilla that deluded you into his faux aura of a sweet boy, you melt one more time. Hopefully, it would transition into a one last time before Megumi’s completely wrapped you around his finger.

“Fine. I’m leaving if it’s too noisy though.”

“Awesome,” Megumi chirps, pulling you in for a long, solid kiss. It takes you back by surprise that you end up wide-eyed above him, stiff hands on his shoulders as you feel him smile through the kiss. Then, just as you’re about to kiss him back with the same passion, Megumi separates himself from you and squeezes your ass. “Promise we’ll have fun, babe. I’ll even bring extra condoms.”

You’re not surprised he left afterwards.

But are you hurt? Most definitely so.

Fuck Fushiguro Megumi.

You were going to leave him, block him, ignore him, avoid him, and carve him out of your heart for good. It’s what you deserve – to be freed from such a toxic guy like him. His pretty face shouldn’t be an excuse for you stick around any longer. That party…well, it would be your last one, you’re never going back!

Still, it’s not that easy to let go. Years of following him around with puppy eyes and spreading your legs open for him like it’s the most natural thing to do isn’t just going to disappear in a day.

It’s for closure, you lie to yourself. That’s all it is – you just need closure. So for one last time, you’ll fuck around with Megumi, then you’d leave him. For good this time.

And yet – your mind still races back to him. His throaty, boyish laughter and the stupid way his eyes crinkle into half moons, his large hands slapping his knees when you tell him a really silly joke. Okay, he didn’t really laugh that much because he’s already passed out in the times you crack jokes after sex, but the few times he did, though? It’s magical, beautiful, phenomenal.

He’s so awful yet so irresistibly charming it’s a huge tug of war between your rational mind and foolish heart.

You couldn’t focus anymore in the library. If you wanted to pass your exams, you need to be somewhere that won’t remind you of him, in a place where a stronger aroma would conceal his lingering scent. The best option was to hang around in a local café closer to your apartment than on campus, and you’ve completely ditched your usual get up to just opting for lookinglike a complete shut in – bags under eyes, heart torn over a stupid boy, the usual Iced Vanilla Latte with the condensation sticking to the wooden table and soft lofi music playing in the background – it’s just the perfect atmosphere for you to wallow in self-pity.

And wallow in self-pity you did, your cheeks squished against the pale furniture while you sighed for what seems like the hundredth time that day. At the back of your head, Megumi is still giving you one of those slow, long kisses reserved for only when he’s half-sleepy, your heart doing insane back flips as you reminisced whatever moments you once had.

You’re so lost in your own train of thought you fail to hear the scraping of a chair, followed by a heavy body plopping across you. “Well, this is kind of gloomy…”

At the sound of that awfully familiar, deep voice, you sit up straight in a frenzy. Sukuna smirks at your reaction as he loudly sips from his matcha latte – which you would’ve never thought he likes – and sits back at his chair, legs crossed against one another. Unlike Megumi, he doesn’t seem to pose any other malicious intent, so you bury your head in your arms, wishing for the ground to just open up and eat you already.

“I’m sleep deprived and haven’t eaten anything except Red Bull and coffee,” you try to explain, “I look horrible.”

“Don’t say that. You’re gorgeous all the time.”

From under your arms, you scowl at nowhere in particular, ignoring the heat rushing from the back of your neck. Sukuna didn’t seem to be flirting with you, and one peek at him swirling his straw inside his cup proves your theories.

However, the offhanded compliment falls so naturally from his lips it takes you a back, and not in a good way. Defensively, you cross your arms against your chest. You knock your toes against Sukuna’s knees under the knees to get his attention, the taller man peering at you under his lashes, tongue innocently swirling around his straw.

I fucking hate men! – is what you want to say, but something different comes out. “Why are you even here? Aren’t you asleep in the morning because of work?”

“It’s my day off,” he sets his cup down, placing his chin on both of his palms. Sukuna’s gaze travels from your face down to the abandoned papers before you, a scowl immediately making its way to his face.  “Got too bored to cook so I came here for a light snack. As for you…ew, are you doing essays? I hated that shit in college.”

“Yeah, I hate it too,” you numbly agree, “Can barely function right now.”

Sukuna’s eyes lit up the moment you nearly fall on the table again, his palm quick to caress your cheek. If he can feel the intense heat of your skin from the sudden gesture, he makes no comment about it. Instead, Sukuna hauls you from your seat, nodding to your bag and papers before he rushes you out the door.

When Sukuna said he could make you feel better, the last thing you thought of was going to the nearby park. Now, you find yourself sitting comfortably with him, aggressively licking on the vanilla ice cream he’d gotten you from an ice cream man that passed by. It’s a great way to kill the time – or just to enjoy the day despite the rough start – because the sunlight feels warm on your skin, the trees above you shading you from extra shade.

Next to you, Sukuna is surveying his ice cream with the least interest, his brows furrowed as he notes, “Your crush is toxic. I suggest you cut ties with him and get it all over with.”

In part of making you feel better, Sukuna’s subtly given you clues you could tell him whatever’s going on in your mind. It makes you wonder if maybe you’ve been that obvious that even Sukuna could read you, but you’re thankful that he understood, because you really did want to rant about it. Your friends are just a one call away, but they’re not any better. They’ll keep claiming ‘Megumi just needs time’ because they know it’s what you want to hear to make yourself feel better. Though, every once in a while, you needed to talk to someone who could actually slap the harsh reality at your face, and who else would be more suitable than a mature adult like Sukuna?

Looking at him now, the contrast between your roommate and your crush is immense. Where Megumi is all bark and no bite, all needy and never giving, Sukuna’s silent and compliant, an extremely good listener with the patience of a monk.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yeah it is. Just block his number and avoid him. He’ll get the answer soon enough.”

“You don’t understand,” you groan in defeat. Sukuna faces you with worry written all over his face, seemingly tender in comparison to the tattoos marking his skin. Sometimes, it’s so easy to forget he’s actually a lot more decent than Fushiguro fucking Megumi, but you end up slipping anyway, turning to the sky just as tears prick at your eyes. “I…I love him, okay? I’ve always been in love with him even though I know I’m just someone who warms his bed. I know that much and yet…I can’t seem to let him go.”

Sukuna is silent for a full minute. You thought he’ll offer you some adult wisdom only people like him would now, but Sukuna simply snorts, happily licking at his ice cream as if you didn’t just break down in front of him. “Shit’s tough then.”

“You’re great at comforting, you know that?”

“Oh, I wasn’t comforting you,” he smiles and pats your knee, “Come on, let’s go home. I know just how to take your mind off things.”

With the way he’s caressing your thigh and his voice turned an octave lower, you chastise yourself for feeling aroused when you wanted to cry just seconds ago. But his fingers are inching closer and closer to your inner thigh, and he’s warm and strong – so fucking nice too that perhaps fucking him wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

But like always, Sukuna never fails to surprise you.

You expected he’d take you right to his room the moment you’ve crossed the door, but Sukuna dashes for the TV before carrying a huge blanket and heaps of pillow. You watch there, stunned. He makes quick work of fluffing the pillows before grabbing your wrist and pulling you above him the same way Megumi did a while ago.

The only difference? Your heart doesn’t skip a beat. You’re not intoxicated by his scent. You’re not trying to squirm away from him nor do you feel like a silly little schoolgirl who’s fallen in love at first sight.

Where Megumi is deceivingly charming, Sukuna is more like a strong pillar to lean on, which you do exactly. Your head rests on his shoulder, both of your legs tangled under the blankets he’s covered you with. He’s blinking as Tangled plays on the TV, the faint sensation of his fingers playing with yours comforting and way too comfortable. It should feel weird to hang out with a guy like this without him wanting to shove his dick deep inside you minutes later (your movie marathons with Megumi never really finish as previously planned) but with Sukuna?

It feels natural. It feels great. It feels like home.

You’re gaping at him long before you realize it, one of your hands absentmindedly playing with the strings of his hoodie. Sukuna hums along to I Have A Dream with a small smile on his face, one that forms into a playful glare as he catches you staring at him. “Don’t look at me like that. Disney is a classic.”

You fight back a smile. “Wasn’t complaining,” burying yourself deeper into his warm embrace, you’re lulled into an early slumber with Sukuna’s humming combined with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

His plan worked efficiently – for a moment, you forget your heart was aching to begin with.

After screaming internally for a good hour and a half, you arrive at the party anyway. The stench of weed, alcohol, and sex hanging thickly in the air is more than familiar to you by now. You ignore the catcalls you receive as you make your way to Megumi and fuck, he just had to look even sexier tonight.

He’s ditched his e-boy getup with a plain white shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, a Converse, and that black leather jacket he always refused to wear. Megumi really woke up and chose violence today, the minimalistic silver chain around his neck only adding to his appeal. You should’ve run away then – he literally screams trouble – but you’ve never been one to shy from that. Truth be told, you’re only pulled in harder, swaying your hips side to side as you sashay to where he’s laughing along with his friends.

Clearing your throat to get his attention, Megumi finally lays his eyes on you.

You’re glad you took the extra time to dress in your best outfit today – a lace orange mini dress that accentuates your cleavage just enough for a tease, paired with black combat boots and a white purse slung from your shoulder. Pride pumps through your veins when Megumi steps away from his friends, his hands encircling around your waist almost possessively. He smirks through your hair, those addicting lips trailing lower and lower down to your neck until, “You smell like another man.”

Now that you weren’t expecting. He doesn’t seem to be mad, perhaps a little jealous judging by how he’s grinding his crotch to your abdomen and tugs you closer, but this is Megumi in the question. He never gets jealous, so you flatten your palms onto his chest, eyes daring and red lips upturned into a smirk as you ask, “Why do you care?”

Megumi raises a brow – which really shouldn’t have been such a sexy thing – at your spunk. Normally, you’re too sweet and submissive to him, never would’ve even dared to dress something as revealing like this, but maybe you’re tired of being sweet.

Maybe this time, you wanted to match Megumi’s spice, fight fire with fire.

Megumi chuckles above your lips and swipes a thumb over your lower lip, humming when the coating doesn’t stain his fingers. He’s mentioned before he hates washing the lipstick off his dick, and the fact you remember that has him groaning at your ear. Unsurprisingly, Megumi’s already hard. He nibbles at the shell of your ear, possessive hands brushing over your collarbone as a silent promise of what he’ll be doing to you tonight.

“Like I said, this pussy is mine.”

You should say no. It’s evident in the darkness of his eyes he’s daring you to say no, but it’s too much. The cramped space that diminishes space until it becomes a myth, his hands rubbing circles at your hip, the glint of his new lip ring under the disco lights and anything, everything about Fushiguro Megumi just makes you feel so weak you can’t say no.

Satisfied with your silence, Megumi sweeps you upstairs. There’s already a round of Truth or Dare going on with a bunch of drunk and half-high college students, the lights red and the aroma of weed thick in the air.

It bothers you so you stick close to Megumi, nose stuck at the collar of his leather jacket. He’s not satisfied with just you sitting next to him; Megumi is territorial. He makes sure you’re comfy and using his lap like a throne, clasping both your hands in your lap while he boredly stares at his friends. Okkotsu Yuta, the host who used to be super shy in his freshman year but became one of the most sought after guys in his junior year, sits across from you in the circle. He’s already giggling in his drunken state while Nobara Kugisaki makes the mistake of choosing dare, flinging her bra straight at a very enthusiastic Yuuji.

They spin the bottle and it lands straight at you. Megumi hums in anticipation at the crook of your neck, his little sounds mixed with his heated touches sending fire straight down your core. It’s inebriating to have him this close, but you need to keep a straight head if you want to survive.

Fighting the arousal pooling at your stomach, you offer a flat smile. “Truth.” As expected, the crowd isn’t pleased. They holler, “Booooo,” with their hands cupped around their mouths, the others snickering at you, though you’re quite satisfied with the safety of your choice. You could be crazy with Megumi, but being crazy around others isn’t something you’re comfortable with.

Thankfully, Yuta shushes the crowd dramatically with a threat he’ll kick them out with his infamous Katana that’s been passed down by an ancestor. Once everyone’s calmed down, Yuta smirks at you, eyes wiggling as he asks, “Who’s the best dick you ever had?”

You don’t think twice about it. Someone else’s face pops up for a split second, but it’s so natural, so obvious that you would say – “Megumi.”

“Speak louder, baby, they won’t hear.”

“It’s you,” you suddenly grow shy at the attention, whatnot with Megumi shamelessly trailing hot kisses down your neck now for everyone to see. He’s shameless as he rocks you back and forth on his thigh, all the while keeping eye contact with the other guys whose eyes are zeroed in on the swell of your breasts that are an inch away from popping out from your dress. It’s the best time to submit, the perfect time to give him what he wants, and his expert hands prompt his name out of you with a single suck at your neck.

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Damn, Megumi, you’ve trained your bitch well.”

“’Course I did. My dick does all the disciplining,” Megumi cups your jaw to tilt your face at him, cooing at you as you flush embarrassed from everyone’s snickering. “Aw, don’t pout baby, it’s all just harmless jokes. You know I treat you like a goddess when we’re alone.”

“Yo, man, get a fucking room!”

Megumi ignores Yuuji’s comments and makes an offhanded comment the latter is just jealous because he hasn’t had his dick wet in days, ensuing a close dog fight between the guys. Maki has to step in and kick the strawberry haired boy back to his seat, scolding her cousin to back down. Meanwhile, you cling to Megumi like a scaredy-cat, head empty with nothing but the way he’s never hold you this close and proudly before.

Just one last time.

“Megs, your turn.”

“Dare.”

Yuuji slaps his palm over Yuta who usually gives the dares. The older guy rolls his eyes but lets it slide, knowing that Yuuji could also let loose with his dares. Megumi isn’t afraid though, he stays docile around you, leaving little nibbles at your ear and even squeezing your boobs at one point. You know he’ll never back down from Yuuji’s dares, even as his eyes darken with mischief. Now, Yuuji is a nice guy, but something doesn’t quite feel right with the way he’s staring Megumi down.

“I dare you to kiss the hottest girl in the room.”

Megumi freezes.

Time must’ve stopped because everyone is chanting, “KISS, KISS, KISS!” but he makes no move. You stay there, staring up at him wide eyed with your arms looped around his neck. Your heart is beating a mile a minute in your chest the moment Megumi’s eyes gaze down to your lips, smirking as he leans closer, leans down lower, and you close your eyes, waiting for the salacious kiss that would sear at the back of your mind. But it never comes and a gust of wind flies by through you, and before you know it, Megumi’s leaned over your shoulder, his hand cupping the cheek of this girl named Alicia who you’ve heard about from your friends before that she’s Megumi’s current pick.

Alicia was never supposed to kiss him back. Your friends told you, they promised you she wasn’t the type of person to fall for the likes of Megumi, and yet she’s smiling through the kiss. You’re still in Megumi’s lap but your vision is of the audience, their jaws dropped and Yuuji slapping Yuta’s thighs. “Oh, shit! That’s gotta hurt!”

You don’t think twice.

You push yourself off Megumi and run out the room, the sounds of their chaotic laughter mocking you to no end. You know – you fucking know – you’d never quite belong in Megumi’s circle. Everyone knows you’re just another one of his bed warmers, and they also know how much you’re hopelessly in love with him, begging, hoping that one day he might return your affections.

It makes perfect sense with each step you take further from the room. This has to be staged, intentional, because there’s no way Yuuji would’ve said that if he didn’t already have an idea maybe Alicia reciprocated Megumi’s feelings.

But what about your feelings?

Does no one really care? Were you really reduced to just another body count?

Your chest squeezed uncomfortably as you pushed past the crowd, ignoring everyone’s protests from how rough you were. You don’t stop until you’ve locked yourself inside a restroom, tears freely falling down your face. With trembling hands, you fall back to the floor, dialing the only person you could trust right now.

He picks up not three rings later, voice still gruff and laced with sleep. “Hello?”

“S-Sukuna,” you whimper, pathetically wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. “I’m – can you please pick me up?”

From the other line, you can hear Sukuna shuffling for something in the background. Keys dangle and he locks the door, the sounds of his rushed footsteps so relieving to your senses. “Where are you? What’s wrong? Did someone force themselves on you?”

“No, I just…I want to go home.”

“Text me the address. I’ll be there soon.”

You text him the address and end the call. From the outside, the bass is thumping so hard it makes your head pound. You’re already feeling dizzy from crying so much, hands clutched around your chest because it hurts so much.

Stupid Megumi, fucking stupid Megumi – but aren’t you the stupider one? You’re the one who chose to keep being with him despite the warning signs. You’ve heard what everyone said about him, his reputation as a fuckboy isn’t exactly a secret, but you hoped, you sincerely hoped you could at least be good enough. But you’re not not good enough – Megumi just simply doesn’t deserve you. You deserve better and he needs to go to hell, so then why does it hurt so much the more you picture how he’s humiliated you like that?

Your dress is beyond soaked from how much you’ve cried. At this point, you just feel achingly numb. The pounding in your head is matched by the soft knocks rapping against the door, and thinking it’s Megumi or one of his lackeys, you wrap your arms around your knees.

“GO AWAY!”

“Sweetheart, it’s me. Open up, let’s get you home,” It’s Sukuna. Scrambling for the door, you push it open and jump into his arms without a second thought. Sukuna effortlestly catches you, and the dam you thought had dried up in you breaks again. He stiffens as you cry on his shoulder, fists balled around his shirt in a vice-like grip. “Who the fuck made you cry? Is it him again?” he growls, “I seriously want to knock the living daylights out of him.”

“Don’t start a ruckus, Sukuna.”

“I won’t, I promise,” he visibly softens at your state. Sukuna rubs your back soothingly and lets you cry like that, shielding your vulnerable state with his arm. He moves you to hide your face in his chest and kisses the crown of your head, so gentle and unbelievably tender. “I don’t pick on someone weaker than me. That’s bullying.”

You don’t utter another word as he leads you out of the house. He mutters under his breath on how kids are so wild these days and he really can’t imagine he was once like that. Sukuna’s car is parked on the curb, and you rush for it, eager to go home until he stops you. He wraps his jacket around your shoulders to offer you some modesty and you offer him a weak smile, allowing him to embrace you from the sides to guide you.

“Hey!” Megumi calls out, “Hey, what are you doing with her? Let her go,” his footsteps echo behind you just as you clench your eyes shit, “I said let her go!”

“Don’t punch the kid, don’t punch the kid, don’t punch the kid,” Sukuna mutters to himself like a mantra.

“Yo, steroid guy, you deaf or what? I said let my girl go—” Megumi falls on his ass. He stares up at whoever punched him, eyes wide at Sukuna’s arm raised, but his eyes are on you. “Ow! You fucking bitch, you broke my nose!”

“Shit,” Sukuna laughs beside you as you wince at the soreness of your knuckle. “That was hot.” Somehow, you find the ability to smile. You’ve always wanted to top Megumi, but seeing him below you like this, weak and clutching his broken nose while whining about it like a little bitch, it feels a lot more satisfying.

You want to scream at him, to release all the profanities that have manifested your anger throughout the years. But Megumi crawls back with something unreadable in his eyes, the edges of his lips tinted red with a smack of lipstick, probably from Alicia.

The sight has you scoffing. Maybe you don’t have anything to worry about after all – Megumi hates lipstick stains with a passion. If he ever gets with her, they won’t last long enough.

That fact is enough for you to flip your hair over your shoulder, glaring at Megumi one last time before dragging Sukuna down by the collar. His laughter ceases the moment your lips collide, your hands teasing around his neck to brush at his undercut. Sukuna moans through the kiss, the way he’s explicitly grabbing the flesh of your ass a sign he’s aware what kind of game you’re playing. You make a mental note to apologize for this later, but for now, you’ll shamelessly savor his tongue and the minty aftertaste, grabbing at his large frame that picks you up with no ease.

You leave Megumi gaping at the lawn after that, your finger middle raised right before Sukuna speeds off.

Fuck, that has never felt so good. This feeling…it bursts through you. There’s this certain satisfaction in finally having the power at your fingertips this time around, and you you’re your wicked smile through your hair, too absorbed in your own feelings that you don’t register Sukuna’s worried tone at first.

“So…do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He doesn’t pry afterwards, just shoots you a curious look. Just moments ago, you were crying and feeling like you’re on the verge of breaking down, but this adrenaline rushing through absolutely cannot fuck around anymore. The image of Megumi realizing he’s lost you is so exhilarating, and you twist your torso to face your roommate, grinning at his handsome features. He looks so delicious like this, black button up shirt left open at the top, his veiny, muscular arms driving one hand on the steering wheel and the other gently caressing your thigh. You suck in a deep breath, licking your lips as you purr, “Hey, Sukuna.”

“Yes?”

“Pull over.”

“Wait, why? We’re so close at home.”

“Pull over, I’m done,” you insist with a glare, although the animosity isn’t directed at him. Sukuna keeps his eyes on the road before he spares you a glance, smirking at how you’re already unclasping your bra from your seat.

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re going to use me as a stress reliever.”

At his words, your arms still behind you. You glance up at him with wide, worried eyes that immediately reach out for his hands in assurance. “N-No, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Usually, sex is a lot crazier when the other is angry. Use me as you will – I don’t really care,” he licks his lips and suddenly slams on the brakes under an empty parking lot, already flipping something in the engine. You’re taken aback as Sukuna discards his shirt in a second, his large arms carrying your frame to the backseat with him. Sukuna spreads your legs as he helps you get rid of your dress but it’s too tight that you just give up, leaving the material bunched under your boobs instead. Sukuna’s eyes darken at the lack of material under your dress, his fierce gaze shooting up to yours as he massages your inner thighs, his breath labored.

“What position do you want?”

“Fu-fuck, I don’t know, just fuck me,” you whine, spreading your legs farther to make space for him. He’s a tall guy with long limbs that he shrinks even with his fancy car, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. Sukuna seems a lot more focused in fucking you in that moment because he’s unhooking his belt, diving down for one more kiss that is a lot heated and rushed than the previous one for show.

“I want to get rid of his face from my mind, I fucking hate him so much,” you can’t help but bite down on Sukuna’s lip, hard enough that it draws blood. Sukuna groans into your mouth, the sound so utterly deep and sexy you drip down on his seats even more.

“You’ll still go back to him after this?”

“No…it would be stupid if I did,” you roll your eyes.

“Good girl,” Sukuna praises as his lips leave a wet trail from your jaw down to the valley of your breasts. His smile is quickly replaced with a sinister grin, one of his hands cupping your breasts at the same time his teeth dart out to playfully nip at your breasts. He really shouldn’t look so enticing under you like this, and you’re so caught by his devilishness you fail to realize he’s already rummaging through your purse. “But I think lover boy still doesn’t get the message. We’re gonna have to punch it through his dumb skull.”

He hands you your phone, Megumi’s contact right before you.

“Sukuna, what’re you doing?”

“Call him,” Sukuna moves up to fish a condom out of his wallet and slides it to his already throbbing cock, chuckling at the way your eyes widen at his girth as if you hadn’t taken him before. “Call him and let him hear how I fuck you better, sweetheart. Boys like him won’t get the message unless you tell them directly.”

His hands clutch the backseat until his knuckles turn white, aligning himself with your entrance. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily and you moan loudly at the intrusion, pretty little gasps a sign of your pleasure. Helplessly, you grip at his bicep while your legs shake from how tense you are, the tantalizing movement of his hips pulling breathless moans from you. “And what better way than to take what’s his, right? What did he call this? His pretty pussy?” Sukuna scoffs, “Fuck that, stupid little boys can’t even fuck you right, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

“Ngh, Sukuna, that f-feels good, right there!”

“Right here?” he teases with a stroke of his cock that brushes against your tight walls. Sukuna’s face contort into pleasure when your tight pussy sucks him in, falling forward just to rasp in your ear. “Call him. Then, I’ll fuck you however you want me to.”

You don’t know how you’re able to swipe on Megumi, but he picks up in the speed of light like never before. Sukuna mouths loudspeaker and you follow his commands, Megumi’s voice booming through the sex-filled air of the car. “Where the fuck did you go? The party wasn’t over yet and you’re hanging out with some beefy, tattoed guy? It’s your roommate, isn’t it?” Megumi curses at someone before continuing, the aggravation evident in his tone. “He’s such a fucking creep, I swear if he lays his hands on you again I’ll—”

“You’ll do what, kid?” Sukuna challenges, “Oh and mind you, she’s the one who asked me to fuck her. As her concerned roommate and the more mature adult, I believe it’s my duty to listen to her complaints and make her feel better, especially when she keeps whining she’s not being fucked good.”

“Sukuna!” You whine and slap his arm, but you’re smiling, the pleasure and satisfaction of slapping Megumi this harshly making you feel greater than ever.

“Are you sleeping with her?” Megumi sounds like he’s losing his shit, and you sincerely hope he does. “Gosh, Y/N, how low can you be? I thought you were my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? Since when?” you attempt to scream, but Sukuna’s gripped your thighs and pulls your lower body closer to his cock in time to meet his thrusts. Your body slides off the seat and you’re left screaming Sukuna’s name, the latter wearing a shit-eating grin at the way you’re creaming around him. Somehow, your attention reverts back to Megumi’s whining. “You’re a fucking dick, Megumi, I honestly hope you choke on your small dick!” you shout and end the call, slapping your hand on your face as you throw your phone away. “I hated saying that.”

“Because you still like him or…?”

“No, because he was actually a good fuck and his dick is huge,” you say through pants. Sukuna must’ve hated how you’re talking about Megumi’s dick when he’s literally rearranging your insides, and Sukuna grabs your leg, manhandling you into the position he likes. You’re immediately on your knees with your back flat to his chest, your arms locked between your bodies as Sukuna takes you from behind. Your head falls back to his shoulders where Sukuna leaves messy open-mouthed kisses to your sweaty skin. “I fucking hate him. He’s such an asshole.”

“Hmm, well don’t spend too much energy thinking about him anymore,” Sukuna snarls at your skin, releasing your hands just to rub at your swollen clit. “Just let loose and let me take care of you. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t even remember meeting him.”

The honest side of you wants to moan, the familiar tightening of your abdomen appearing already. He’s hitting all your sensitive spots that you can barely think, only feel, but you also feel so powerful and enraged that you cup Sukuna’s cheek, narrowing your eyes at him. You hit his thrusts by pushing back against his cock that causes him to slide in deeper, the large man groaning deep within his chest.

“You sure about that?”

“Oh, hundred percent confident, baby.”

“Let’s see what you got then,” you teased him. Pretending you’re not seconds away from coming is an even bigger challenge than leaving Megumi, but for the sake of riling up Sukuna, you would do it.

“You’re challenging me?”

“If I don’t cum at least twice, then that’s going to be a damn shame.”

“Twice? That’s not even the minimum,” he shakes his head tauntingly at you, increasing his pace until the sounds of his balls smacking your ass and both your groans are filling the dead silent night. It’s so lewd and dirty that your tongue lols out from the pleasure, eyes shut tight because you’re close, so fucking close! “You’re going to lose your fucking mind,” Sukuna said as a final warning.

You didn’t think too much of it until he pulls out of you seconds before you came. The crestfallen look written all over your face makes him laugh, but Sukuna only turns your body and goes down on his knees, hitching your legs over his shoulders. Your chest falls up and down as he dives down to your sopping, abused cunt, hands threading through his hair before he rudely flicks it away. “No. Hands to yourself. You’re not allowed to touch me,” he hissed, but his roughness is softened only by a little bit when you whimper so sweetly for him. “Don’t pout, sweetheart, you’ll get your chance when we get home. For now, since you’d so rudely woke me up and left me without inviting me for dinner, I’m starving.”

Sukuna dips between your thighs, tongue poking out to take the first taste of your juices. Your reaction is instantaneous and gratifying; head thrown back, nails dug into the seats, legs quivering and falling open wider to welcome the warm, wet muscle that licks flat from your entrance up to your clit.

“Fuuckk, Sukuna, slow down, ngh—”

“He ever ate you out this way?”

“No, I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Can you take it, sweetheart? Should I stop?” You know he’s teasing you, the sniggers muffled from your pussy lips are still heard but you can’t fight back, not when your legs turn to jelly at his ministrations.

“Keep going, fuck, please, I will slap you if you don’t make me cum tonight,” you threaten, and Sukuna smartly responds by sucking your clit into his mouth. He rolls it between his teeth, careful enough not to hurt you while plunging two fingers deep inside you, curling it into a come-hither motion that stretches you pleasurably. “Too, oh, shit!”

“You can’t even talk properly,” he chuckles, and the vibrations that come afterwards shatter your entire world. “And this is just my tongue. Feels too good?”

“Yes, yes, too good!” you cry out, “Sukuna, em coming!”

Your orgasm has no build-up whatsoever. You lay there panting with a silent scream as your nails scratch against his seats, toes curled as it comes down into you in one, hard slap. Sukuna hums as he licks up the arousal trailing down your pussy to not make even more of a mess. “Already? I haven’t even started yet,” he sighs sarcastically, “Don’t think I’m done with you. I did say you’d lose your mind, right?”

Sukuna has now joined you on the seats, flipping you to the side where he hooks one leg under his arm, your other leg extended to your side that remains flushed at the seats, his thighs squishing yours. It’s utterly challenging to move in this position and you’re completely at his mercy, the sight of his tall, dominating figure above you forcing you back into a submissive space. He doesn’t give you much time to recover before his cock is pushing past your pussy once more, bottoming out in one, swift thrust.

“’Kuna, too sensitive, mhhm—”

“You’ll take it,” he breathes out while peppering kisses at your ankle, “Come on, you’re a good girl, yeah? Give me one more.”

“Su-kuna, it’s too much!”

“Just one more.” Sukuna elicits moans from you the harder he thrusts, leaning forward until you’re crying out from the stretch of all the muscles in your body. He’s being nice today by letting you cum more than twice in the exchange of holding back his, because he’s absolutely throbbing inside you. He picks up a rougher pace from where he left off, saying your name through gritted teeth as you tighten around him. You’re squealing and whimpering from behind your fists, overly sensitive still from your previous orgasm.

His hips roll in such a mind-numbing manner before Sukuna rams into you utterly deep, your bodies flushed so close you can feel the heat pulsing from his skin. Sukuna tenses above you before he brings you to your orgasm, with him following not long afterwards.

Sukuna pulls out with a groan and ties his condom in a knot, discarding it above his clothes. Upon hearing your soft sighs, he immediately rushes your side and pats your cheek to wake you up. “Hey, look at me,” he commands, though his voice is gentle and soft. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out through fluttering lashes, “Yeah, I’m just tired,” extending your arms to him, you wrap your legs around his waist to bring him close. “Come here. Want cuddles.”

Sukuna gives in to your request for a few minutes and stays wrapped up with you. It’s perfect to be in this state, to be held so close and not just touched, the intimacy of it all bringing about unfamiliar warmth that only ever makes itself present when he’s here. “As much as I want to stay like this, we’re sweaty and sticky,” Sukuna murmurs through your hair, his hands roaming all over your skin. There’s no other sexual meaning behind it even as his rough palms graze past your mound. His touches are more like him exploring your body out of curiosity, out of the desire to just have you this close. You’re unsure what to feel about it and your mind is uncannily clear after an orgasm, but Sukuna’s already sitting up with you above him before you could ponder about it any longer. “Let me take you home first, then we’ll cuddle. What do you think?”

“Oh fuck,” you cut him off upon seeing the flashing of your screen. “It’s Megumi. Fifteen missed calls.”

“Lover boy is crazy,” Sukuna snickered behind you.

“Good thing I’m crazier,” you shut your phone off and throw it to the passenger’s seat, beaming up at Sukuna and giving him the puppy eyes from behind your shoulder. “Can we get milkshakes on the way?”

“I think you got enough milk.”

“Sukuna!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he raises his hands in surrender. You pout until you feel something hard and wet poking your bottoms, and Sukuna smirks, gesturing to his erection that you haven’t noticed. “You do know that I’m still hard, right? I’ll fuck you again when we get home.”

“You could’ve just let me suck you off.”

“Nah,” he refuses, “I want to feel you come around me,” Sukuna cockily winks at you, and your mouth falls open, gasping in disbelief at how vulgar he could be. He steals a quick kiss then as he tugs his pants up, the sight of him rolling his sleeves back up to his elbows thoroughly…compelling that you’re left salivating at the ripples of his muscles. “I’ll just wait ‘til we get home. Right now, I need to treat someone like a princess and get her some food.”

“You should stop saying that,” you blurt out defensively, “Sweet lies won’t get you anywhere.”

“I wasn’t lying about anything. I meant every word I said.”

The tension thickens in an instant. Sukuna looks at you warily – or perhaps worriedly? – before he situates himself back in the driver’s seat, starting the car right after you’ve fixed your appearance. Considering it’s already late, he’s struggling to find any restaurant or diners open to appease your cravings, though he doesn’t complain about it.

You fiddle with your hands on your lap, unable to find a proper explanation to his behavior. “Sukuna…” you start off nervously, refusing to look him in the eye. “Do you uhm…do you like me?”

“What kind of question is that, sweetheart?”

“I meant…maybe you just like me for my body, you know?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he tilts his head towards you, “I’m too old for drama and playing with people’s feelings. Like I said, the cards are all in your hands now. If you want us to just have casual sex, I don’t mind, but if you also want to be, uhm…” Sukuna awkwardly rubs at the back of his head with a clear of his throat, the tables turned because now he’s the one who can’t meet your gaze. “…something more, then I won’t refuse that either. I’m up to whatever you want to do.”

“And if I said that…maybe I’m considering getting to know you better?”

“Then maybe I would happily say yes.”

You smile at how easily he lightens up the mood, feeling a smile already playing on your lips as you giggle. “Just a maybe?”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” he groans, averting his eyes from the road (it’s empty anyway) to get a quick peck. You whack his arm and his laugh only grows louder; he knows you’re not really angry, because he kisses really good and you like it a lot more than you’ll admit.

“I’ll be a hundred times of a better boyfriend than what you’d expect.”

“You’re really confident, huh?”

“Oh, I’m confident I can treat you well,” he nods proudly, head tipping back to the backseat. “I did just let you ruin my leather exterior and let you walk away while I have a raging boner. Do you have any idea how much self restraint a man has to have to let that happen?”

“Probably an immaculate one. Megumi would never let me go unless he’s came.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that guy,” Sukuna doesn’t even bother to try and hide his hatred for your former crush, and you’re smiling like a lovesick fool on the seat. “You’re with me now. So, since I want to spoil you, how many milkshakes do you want?”

Back then, you were always too addicted to lies that seemed so sweet that you couldn’t be able to stop. But now that you’ve met Sukuna, perhaps the blissful truth is a lot sweeter, and it’s a much healthier addiction you’ll take any day.

taglist: @thesimpsclub @uwubby-1 @expectoscamander @your-consulting-fangirl @dora-the-grownup @cosmotoic @charlie-xo @kittaliapenn @sukunas-cult-leader @flowersgirl02 @cloudsinthecosmos @90s-belladonna @averysheart-raleighsdick @generousstudentpsychic-bat @kat-su-ki @issamomma @sklycan​ @ggsmashgg​ @dora-the-grownup​ @ninefuckingoneone​ @ambiguous-something​ 

[cazimagines]

A Freudian Slip - Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Masterlist

Synopsis: While a fight breaks out Zemo asks you to run away from him, you accept leaving on an eventful journey with him

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut

Author’s note: A final 3rd installment for ‘A Freudian Slip’ I hope you all have enjoyed this brief series! Next to come out is a sequel to ‘Perfectly Exasperating’

Bucky carried Zemo back into the house bridal style, his hands gripping tightly around Zemo’s legs and chest, and dropped him onto the sofa in the midst of the room. Zemo was knocked out from when John Walker had the brilliant idea to stop Zemo from smashing all the super-soldier serum by chucking his shield at him. You could see a nasty bruise forming on the top of his head where he was struck.

You gently run your fingers over the side of his face. At this moment he looked so peaceful sleeping, his lips pulled up into a natural slight smile, parts of his hair dangled down across his forehead, his face softened and not tensed like it usually appeared to be. You brush the hair back into its usual place, running your fingers over his feverish forehead.

You turn to Bucky and Sam, whose eyes burn into yours, millions of questions flashing through them, yet they remain unspoken. “I’ll look after him,” you tell them, turning your gaze back to Zemo's peaceful form. It was easier to stare at him than them at the moment.

“You and Zemo have been spending a lot of time together,” Sam states, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Because I’ve been making sure he doesn’t betray us,” You snap back, refusing to look at them

“Sam and I have been doing that as well and you haven’t seen us giving him bedroom eyes,” Bucky argues back, stepping forward, but Sam grabs a hold of his arm to stop him from going further.

“Look y/n, we’re just concerned about you. That guy a criminal, he could easily manipulate you,”

Your eyes flash to him angrily, “You think I would be easy to manipulate,”

“No, that’s not what I meant-” Sam says but Bucky interrupts him

“Yes. I know him, y/n, that is exactly something he would do. You can’t trust him,”

“I’ve told you already, I’m just making sure he doesn’t betray us. There’s nothing else. I’d appreciate it if you believed me,”

They sigh in defeat, glancing at each other, then back to you. “Look, I will not argue with you. Go get him the things he requires. Bucky and I need to check to see if we can find Karli. I might get a chance to talk to her again” Sam says and he and Bucky turn their backs, sending one last concerning look at you over their shoulders then disappearing.

You sigh looking back to Zemo who still slept peacefully unaware. A smile tugged on your mouth, but it twisted to a frown. You all knew damn well you had been lying. Whether you wanted to admit it, you liked Zemo. Every time you saw him, the urge to kiss his lips pulled you in. You could still feel his embrace, his kisses on your neck, shoulders, collar. The sensation of him inside you, touching you. You craved it more and more like he was your addiction.

You don’t know how you hadn’t gotten to this point of being so obsessed with him, where it had kicked in. You always found him attractive, from when you first laid your eyes on him as he broke out of the prison, you felt that attraction pull to him. You never expected it would be anything more though till that one embarrassing moment when you called him daddy in the undercover mission. You could still feel your cheeks burn up in embarrassment as you remembered that night, but you could also feel your body warm up as you thought about what happened in the alleyway. How he kissed you so passionately. So earnestly.

You had tried to deny your feelings, pretend it wasn’t there, and that kiss that never happened, but Zemo would not let you avoid him. Your eyes flickered to the bathroom and your breath hitches as you remember the intimacy you two spent together there. It was there you felt you truly saw Zemo for the person he was. A man who was lonely and broken from his past. A man who cared for you no matter what Sam or Bucky says.

You felt so scared when you saw the shield hit Zemo. Panic gripped your heart as you rushed over to him. John peered down at you like you were dirt as you cradled Zemo’s head in your lap. Sam and Bucky had run up to you and were surprised you were on your knees holding his head in your hands.

As you were observing him, Zemo's eyes cracked open, and he moaned in discomfort, bringing his hand to rub his eyes. Leaping up, you shouted at him to stay still as you fetched a flannel, running it under cold water, and brought it back to him.

He smiled as you handed him the flannel, the sides of his lips curling up like a cat. “Thank you” he mumbles.

“I’ll get you a drink,”

“You’re being very kind to me y/n,”

“Don’t get used to it,”

He snickered at your sudden switch to hostility, “Will we constantly be bouncing between kindness and hatred?”

You exhale, sitting down beside him, handing a glass of whiskey to him. “I don’t hate you, Zemo, though I really should. There’s something about you I just love and I can’t let go.”

You hesitate, both of you pondering over your sudden confession. Zemo raises the flannels of his eyes and looks over at you. His eyes, which are full of wonder, scan yours. You wanted to look away, embarrassed, but you couldn’t. You didn’t want to keep running away from how you felt.

“You terrified me earlier. I thought John Walker had killed you.”

His eyes switched to concern as his eyebrows furrowed, “I’m sorry I frightened you y/n. I- I never thought I would ever get over my wife and... I still love her but you enthrall me, you drive me wild because I want to know everything about you, feel all of you, touch all of you. It’s been so long since I felt this way and it frightens me.”

You reach out your hand to grasp his and he runs his thumb over your knuckles,

“Zemo I-”

The door opens and both yours and Zemo’s head snaps towards it as Sam and Bucky walkthrough. As quick as lightning, you let go of Zemo’s hand and strode away to the opposite side of the room. Zemo’s eyes sadly glance at you, then to his hand, and he lets out a sigh. He takes a sip of his drink, then pulls the flannel back over, his eyes settling down on the sofa.

Bucky rolls his views and wanders off while Sam grabs a seat at the table to work on his laptop. The silence was suffocating. At least for you. Sam seemed to try hard to concentrate on the laptop, but Zemo relaxed, sipping his drink and you pulled out your phone, playing a silly game to waste away the time.

“Were you ever offered it?” Zemo finally asks Sam. Sam’s gaze leaves the laptop looking at you, then over to Zemo.

“What?”

“The serum,”

“No,”

You glance between them, not knowing if you should leave or not. Sam didn’t seem to want to be engaged in a conversation, but Zemo wasn’t taking the hint.

“If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you have taken it?”

Without a second hesitation, Sam replies, a harsh tone to his voice, “No”

“No hesitation. That’s impressive,” Zemo says, nodding in approval.

He raises his hand, taking off the flannel with a slight grunt, “Sam,” he says as he holds the flannel in his hand, his gaze unwavering from it.

“You can’t hold out hope for Karli. No matter what you saw in her. She’s gone. And we cannot allow her and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods among real people. Super soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

You look down to the ground, frowning at Zemo’s words, but Sam answers without hesitation, “Isn’t that how god's talk?"

Zemo’s eyes continue to glare down at the flannel, for once not speaking up.

“And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky?”

“Blood isn’t always the solution” Sam finishes as you hear a door click in the background. As Bucky walks in, you get up and walk over to Zemo again, who sits up to let you sit beside him. He gently places his hand on your knee, your eyes flickering to each other, hiding the action enough so the others don’t see. Though you both say nothing because of the present company, it’s as if you could read each other's thoughts. You were both conflicted on what path to follow and because of that, you found solace in each other.

“Something’s not right about Walker,” Bucky mutters, shrugging off his jacket.

“Like we hadn’t known that from the start,” you mumble

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy,”

“Can’t argue with that,” Sam agrees

The two argue about the shield once again and you were preparing to stop them when the doors once again burst open and John Walker and his partner storm in. All your heads turn towards the disruption and you groan in frustration at seeing him.

“All right. That’s it. Let’s go. I’m ordering you to hand him over,”

Both Sam walks out in front of John to stop him from getting nearer Zemo. You stood up to go stand by him as well, but Zemo grasps your hand as he gets up, shaking his head. Your eyebrows turn down confused, but he doesn’t offer you an explanation.

With his other hand, he hands the bottle of whiskey over to you, then picks up his glass, dragging you over to the kitchen counter. You weren’t paying attention to what Sam and John were saying till a spear flew past them, imbedding in one pillar.

Your eyes widened as you saw Dora Milaje storm in.

One of them speaks in Wakandan to Bucky, obviously pissed. “Release him to us now” she orders in English. Zemo’s eyes glance anxiously from yours to them, his mind swarming with thoughts of how to get out.

“Hi, John Walker. Captain America.” John says walking over to them. They refuse to say anything to him, so he looks awkwardly away.

“Well, let’s uh put down the pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?” he says, patronising them. You wanted to facepalm because of his stupidity.

“Hey, John. Take this easy. You might want to fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje,” Sam warns

John Walker however doesn’t listen. He proceeds to antagonise them till he finally places a hand on her shoulder and all hell breaks loose.

Both you and Zemo stand at the side watching John Walker fight them. Zemo sips his whiskey and offers you a sip. You smile slightly at his nonchalant attitude about the fight, letting him raise the glass to your lips as you drink.

Both Sam and Bucky eventually join in the fight as well, and once again you move to join them, but Zemo’s grip on your hand tightens. “Not now little one” he mutters

He peers around, watching the fight as you stare questionably at him, “Zemo what the hell is up with you today. Did that hit to the head get rid of your common sense” you whisper angrily trying to tug your hand out of his. Zemo rolls his eyes at you, clasping your hand.

“We need to go” he whispers urgently and tries to tug you towards the bathroom.

“What? Zemo, Zemo wait. What do you mean we?” You ask, grounding your feet into the floor.

He looks around at the fighting, his skin becoming whiter as he gets more worried. “We don’t have a lot of time y/n, please. I need you to come with me,”

You didn’t know where he wanted to go, or how he was planning on leaving, but you could see fear prickling in his eyes as he looked at you.

“What about Sam and Bucky?”

“They will be okay. Please y/n, I want to spend this time with you. I don’t want to do this alone,”

You stare into his eyes once more, then nod, finally making your choice.

You let him lead you back into the bathroom and close the door behind him. He quickly pushes the bath aside, revealing a passageway into the sewer.

“Ugh,” you say to yourself as you look down the hole. “Ladies first,” Zemo says, placing his hand on your back, the side of his lip curling up into a smile as he guides you over to the hole.

You shoot him a glare before grasping onto the ladder and clambering down as fast as you could, trying your best not to slip.

After a minute you reached the bottom of the ladder and Zemo arrived quickly after. It was so dark down there, but thankfully Zemo had a flashlight in his coat. Once again grabbing a hold of your hand, he guides you down a pathway.

“So this was the best escape plan you had?” you ask, your nose wrinkling at the unpleasant smell

“I’m sorry y/n, did you have a better plan?” he replies sarcastically

“Well, I didn’t know I was running away with you until a minute before,”

Zemo pauses, beaming the light on your face, making you cringe. He lowers it slightly. So it wasn’t in your eyes but still illuminated your face.

“I owe you a thank you for coming with me. I know it wasn’t a simple decision to leave your friends for a person you meet just a few days ago,”

“When you put it like that, you make me feel even crazier for making this decision,” you grumble

“But it’s okay Zemo, Sam and Bucky will be fine without me, and I wanted to be with you,”

Zemo raises his hand to cup the side of your face, his thumb running along your cheekbone. Quickly he pulls you to him, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His spare hand holding the flashlight wraps around your waist as he holds you there, moving his lips on yours, which you reciprocate.

As suddenly as it had started, it ended. He pulled away slightly, his lips still brushing against yours. “Thank you, little one”

His nickname for you sends shivers along your spine and you let out a husky breath. He smirks at you, turning around, and continues to walk down the pathway.

Eventually, you reach another ladder that you can climb up. You blink a lot as you emerge into the sunlight, finding yourself on a random road.

“What now?” you ask

Zemo walks over to a car, jumping into the driver's seat, and pats the passenger seat next to him. As you get in beside him he easily hot wires the car and gets the engine started.

“So have lots of experience stealing cars?” you ask Zemo and he chuckles, “When you become a criminal you pick up a lot of new skills,”

“I suppose aiding with the escape of a criminal now makes me one as well. You bring about a lot of surprises,”

“I’ve been told I am quite surprising,” he glances at you, smirking as he drives, “And seductive,”

You slap the side of his arm lightly, “Eyes on the road, mister”

“Mister? I think I prefer what you called me before. Hm, what was that again?”

You groan as Zemo brings up that embarrassing night for you, “You’ll never let that go, will you?”

“You calling me daddy? Of course not. I quite like it,”

“Where are we even going?” you ask trying to direct the conversation somewhere else

Zemo turns from looking at you to the road, the smile on his face slowly fading.

“Sokovia,”

Your breath hitches as he says the name of his country, bringing back the reminders of his previous family.

“I want to see the memorial,”

You nod quietly, not sure what you could say.

For the next ten minutes, you two sit in uncomfortable silence. All previous moments where you were having fun had faded. Eventually, Zemo sighed in frustration and made a sharp turn in the car, pulling into a secluded spot on an empty road.

He turns off the car and turns to face you. “It seems to me we need to talk,”

You look to him then away, “I don’t think so”

“Y/n” he growls

“I said we don’t need to talk!” you shout, glaring at him, but you snap your lips shut as you realised how much anger had suddenly built up in you.

Recognition flashes in Zemo’s eyes as he stares at you, “This is about my family, isn’t it?”

You look away, your cheeks burning as you knew how ridiculous you were being.

Zemo nods his head, looking at the road ahead as he thought over what to say.

“You are part of the reason I want to go to the memorial,” he finally admits

It was your turn to look at him, puzzled. He pushes his lips together as he prepares for what he wants to say next.

“I love my family. Every day, I miss them. But I also really like you y/n. You are someone I want to spend all my time and money on just to make you happy. Every time I look at you, I want to take you, no matter where we are. And I feel I owe it to my family to visit the memorial to pay respect and to accept that it is okay for me to move on,”

It felt like with his words he had lifted an enormous weight off of your shoulders. Tears sprung to your eyes and Zemo looked panicked noticing them but you grinned, placing your hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Zemo,”

His fingers run along your arms and up to your face, tracing your jawline. His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and slowly move forward towards you. Once again he captures your lips with his but this time it was gentle like he was trying to savior you. You grasp the fur parts of his coat and try to pull him closer, you can feel through your kiss him smirking.

“Would you prefer to take this to the back seat?” he rasps and you nod your head quickly. You pull away from the kiss, shifting in your seat so you can clamber onto the long seat at the back of the car. Zemo holds onto your waist as he follows you through the back. He sits down on the seat and pulls you onto him so you were straddling his waist. His hands grip tighter to your hips as you go back to making out with him while you ground on his lap, feeling wetness stain your pants.

You smirked into the kiss as you felt Zemo’s trousers stiffen and a bulge appear as you grinded on him.

“Let go of me Zemo,” you sigh as you pull away from the kiss, hesitantly Zemo lets go of your waist curious to see what you were planning. It was hard positioning yourself with the limited space you two had in the car, but you sat on your knees, pushing his legs apart as you settled between them. You reach up and tug down the zip on his trousers, exposing his boxers. Zemo sits back and watches you as you tug them down, exposing his member.

Already some pre-cum had leaked from it, which you gladly licked up, running your tongue along its side. You traced the vein that stuck out, feeling it pulse against your tongue. Teasing him, you flick your tongue over the tip, hovering your lips just around it but not going further.

Zemo finally moves, impatiently he grasps your hair in his hand and pushes you down onto his member, making you take all of him. He lets out a groan, his eyes fluttering shut as he rolls his head back as he felt the heat of your tongue on his member. You suck your cheeks in to give him more pleasure as he pumps your head up and down so that his member could go in as far as it could.

You grasp his tights to position yourself better. You could feel aching between your legs as you longed for more, but at the moment all you wanted to do was please him. Zemo pushed your head faster, grunting, feeling pleasure swarm over him. He then suddenly pulled you off his member, grabbing your arms he lifted you, getting off the seat and pushing you on so you were lying down on your back.

“Forgive me little one” he purrs as his hands roughly grasp at your trousers and quickly pushes them down, exposing your pants. “I need to feel inside you” He runs his finger up them chuckling feeling the wetness soaking through.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks, looking in your eyes, “We don’t need one” you gasp, the urge to feel him swarming you.

“As you wish,” he says, immediately pushing your pants aside and slipping into you.

You moan feeling him stretch you out but as soon as he was in you he drew back almost completely out of you but snapped his hips back into you. He thrusts with all the strength he has, pushing your body up and down on the seat.

You wrap your hands around his back, your nails digging into his back as your body moves up and down with him. His head settles on your shoulder, where he leaves hickies. Every time he pulls back from kissing and biting you he would whisper things in Sokovian that you couldn’t understand but you were sure were endearing.

His fingers snaked down to find your clit and rubbed it, sending shock waves of pleasure to your brain. You let out a loud moan as you felt the knot in your stomach tightening. As if knowing you were close, Zemo's hips thrust deeper into you, hitting the right spot to make you let loose, your walls clamping down on him as you came. He groans into your neck, feeling your walls flutter around him. His thrusts grew more erratic till you could feel him twitch in you and his seed spill into you.

He pants heavily, finally looking you in the eyes. “I love you little one,” he whispers

You smile, placing a kiss on the side of his face, “I love you too... daddy”

He chuckles and finally gets off you.

The car drive after that was comfortable. Zemo liked to drive with one hand on the wheel while the one hand resting on your thigh, as if reminding you, you belonged to him and only him. Hours later, you finally arrived at the memorial.

Holding your hand, Zemo walks up to the sculpture. He speaks to himself in Sokovian first, getting whatever he needs to say off his chest. After that he turns to you, his eyes capturing yours as they were glazed with tears, “The loss of my country, of my family, broke me y/n, but in some twisted way I am not as upset as I was about it before because it led me to you. I don’t blame you for any of it, I know you had nothing to do with the Sokovian attack just like Sam and James. I’m so glad I could spend these last moments with you.”

You look at him confused, “These last moments?”

You suddenly hear footsteps approaching and you quickly spin around, seeing Bucky appearing behind you. Your head snaps back to Zemo. “Zemo what the hell is going on!?”

He smiles sadly at the floor, then back at you, grabbing your hands. “I’m afraid I must ask something hard of you y/n. Please, can you leave”

The breath left your lungs; it felt as if your entire chest dropped hearing his words.

“... What,”

“I don’t want you to witness what must happen next,”

Your gaze flickers from Bucky who was standing back letting you two have your moment to Zemo who looked desperately at you.

“I’m not leaving you, Zemo,” you state

“Y/n…”

“NO!” you shout

“Y/n I-” Bucky says walking forward, but one death glare from you quickly shuts him up.

“How could you ever ask something of me like that, especially after... after everything that has happened,”

“I should have told you y/n, I’m sorry, but I needed to spend these last moments with you because you are so special to me, I didn’t want to ruin the moment by telling you what was to come,” tears gush from your eyes as you shake your head at him, He steps closer to you, holding your head in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears.

“And because I love you, I don’t want you to see this. You know there is no other way out of this. It has to happen, and it’s okay, I’m ready. Just like I could with my wife, I know you’ll be able to move on and find someone who will give you everything I can’t and never will because you deserve so much better than me,”

“I love you,” you whisper, the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. Your eyes examine every detail of his face, trying to ingrain everything in your mind.

“I love you little one,”

He pulls you into one last kiss, gentle, but the romantic moment drowned in sadness.

You pull away. Turn around. You don’t look at him. You can’t because you know if you do you won’t be able to leave. You glare at Bucky though you know as well as Zemo it isn’t his fault. You walk a slight distance, just enough so that they are out of sight, and then you collapse on the floor.

Your hands into the ground, pulling at the dirt as you let all your pain out, trying to hold in your sobs. How is it you had fallen for that man so quickly? You loved him; you had risked giving him your heart, and he was pulled so quickly from you. You felt betrayed; he didn’t tell you what he was planning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him for it either.

You don’t know how long you stayed there, but you opened your eyes when you felt a shadow fall over you. Looking up, you saw one member of the Dora Milaje looking down at you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and then you gasp, connecting the dots. “Zemo'' you whisper, jumping off the ground and running back to where you last saw him. Sure enough, as you arrived you saw him being escorted to the Dora Milaje aircraft.

Hearing your footsteps, Zemo glances over at you. Sadness flickers in his eyes as he stops walking to look at you, but they grasp his shoulder, forcing him to look forward and to keep moving. You watch as they escort him away, till you couldn’t see him anymore.

Bucky walks over to you, looking at the floor guiltily.

“I’ll see him again,” you tell Bucky

“y/n I don’t think-”

“I’ll see him again, Bucky. You can count on that”

Taglist: @sinister-sleep @cable-kenobi @faustlyaccused @chipster-21 @icarusinstatic @yallgotkik @montypythonsholysnail @bunniwritesx @checkurwindow @huntheimpossible @jayxkelsi @avgravy @prestigious-tea @wonderwoman292 @there-goes-thefighter @multiyfandomgirl40 @freyjasamael @ineffablebean @aloyssia @hannahbal-the-fannibal

(I can't tag some of you, I'll keep trying but maybe check your invisibility)

[appleflavoredkitkats]

stagnant;

author’s note: been a while! this isn't as long as my other fics, but i wanted to write this because i just like the concept of fundy in las nevadas, okay? and smoke breaks. i love writing smoke breaks. and of course, i will be writing about fundy because i am biased and he deserves better lmao. this is all written before the las nevadas arc ever occurs, so if there are any discrepancies by the time las nevadas finishes, that ain't my fault.

also! all of this is platonic! i view schlatt as fundy's other father figure. for quackity, i don't necessarily view him as 100% manipulative towards fundy and schlatt, but you're free to interpret him in any way you want. and yes, i know the situation about schlatt, and i don't support the actions of the cc, but i do enjoy his dsmp character nonetheless.

DO NOT SEND THIS FIC TO ANY CONTENT CREATOR!! be nice!!

laslty, special thanks to my good friend dany from the dsmpanalysis discord server for beta-ing my fic!

relationships: platonic fundy & schlatt (father-son relationship)

warnings: trauma, smoking, gambling, drinking, alcoholism, substance abuse, self-harm (accidentally burning oneself), slight mentions of fire, parental neglect (from wilbur), unhealthy coping mechanisms, implied depression or mental illness, mental health struggles, addiction, references to past violence, death idealization, underaged gambling, arguments (in the background), and general angst!

word count: 1878

summary: fundy closes his eyes, taps on the quartz again, and leans forward on the metal bars of his balcony. he lets out another puff of smoke as he sinks into the lax atmosphere. he gives into the fantasy, the delusion.

a second pair of footsteps are then heard behind fundy, but even then, fundy doesn’t move from his position. he knows who it is anyway— there are only two or three people who had access to the five-star suites on the last floor, and only one of them frequents his room often.

“you know, smoking’s bad for your health,” schlatt tells him with a half-smirk.

or, it's midnight in las nevadas, and fundy has a smoke break with schlatt. he reflects on the state of the server, and he reflects on himself.

( ao3 link )

a click of a lighter, the tapping of dress shoes against chiseled quartz, the rummaging of pockets to fetch another fresh pack of cigs. his paws work automatically: slicing the plastic cover with his claws, fumbling the top open, and finally selecting a cigarette from the batch, twirling it between his fingers to the sound of muffled, jazzy tunes in the background.

with the smoke in between his sharp fangs, he guides the lighter to the end of the stick. there’s a deep inhale, letting the smoke fizzle into his lungs, latching onto every feeling of remorse, regret, guilt, sadness, pain, hurt, trauma, everything— 

and fundy exhales, all of those icky sensations evaporating into misty smoke.

this cycle of mindless smoking continues as fundy stands idly on his hotel room’s balcony. up ten stories high, fundy looms over almost everything in las nevadas. despite it being midnight, las nevadas’ visitors never relent. from above, staring with droopy eyes, fundy sees all four casinos lit up brighter than a neighbourhood during the holidays. no bulbs malfunction, thankfully; all of them flicker and twinkle as if there was something to celebrate about in this place full of deceit and temporary bliss. the bars, while more mellow, have the calmest of tunes blasting from their jukeboxes. when fundy first started working here, he remembers being fond of upbeat tunes like these, but they’ve quickly grown stale, or maybe fundy’s just grown tone deaf overtime. who knows?

everything about this place grows on fundy like a terrible rash. sometimes, he does enjoy the outgoing crowds and customers, but sometimes, the noise overwhelms him— ear-piercing, annoying, inharmonious. so, he ends up in places like his dishevelled room, unkempt from all the alcohol and exhaustion and the fact that he just doesn’t  want to give a fuck anymore. but as much as his room is reminiscent of the rubble he left in his original base, he at least feels at ease with the sounds he hears from above. there is the same jazz music, the same victorious yelling at jackpots, the same rolling from the slot machines, but it’s in diminuendo. 

it’s a symphony fundy will willingly listen to because he feels like he can separate himself from the chaos present downstairs. when he is with the others, when he serves tequila shots and shuffled decks, he feels like he is at the center of his own friends’ descent but from his own bedroom, he can pretend that he is fine, that everything is fine. he can live in the delusion that his friends are shouting from a well-deserved victory when deep in the back of his head, he knows that they’ve gotten inexplicably attached to machinery that he knows is programmed to bring about their demise.

fundy closes his eyes, taps on the quartz again, and leans forward on the metal bars of his balcony. he lets out another puff of smoke as he sinks into the lax atmosphere. he gives into the fantasy, the delusion.

a second pair of footsteps is then heard behind fundy, but even then, he doesn’t move from his position. he knows who it is anyway— there are only two or three people who had access to the five-star suites on the last floor, and only one of them frequents his room often.

the guy who enters pats his back twice gently as a greeting, settling himself next to fundy. fundy averts his gaze from the saturated lights to look at the goat hybrid. with a newly tailored suit and freshly manicured horns, schlatt has never looked more dapper, but his skin was still heavily scarred and immensely graying. 

“you know, smoking’s bad for your health,” schlatt tells him with a half-smirk. fundy lowers the smoke, coughing a little before raising an incredulous eyebrow at schlatt.

“i learned from the worst,” fundy replies as his free hand shuffles through his pockets, holding out the box of smokes for schlatt to get one for himself. fundy doesn’t need to ask schlatt if he has his own lighter; he somehow always does. he’s been used to his mannerisms ever since a darkened flag with glowing, orange lace loomed over a dying country.

schlatt easily raises the smoke to his chapped lips and lights it easily. he falls into the rhythm of the scenery, slouching against the metal railings as he watches the same fluorescent bulbs fundy had been watching. 

moments like these, no matter how incredibly fucked they are, are the closest fundy can get to tasting peace. his father once described peace as a taste of freedom. it is the image of bright-eyed soldiers under swathes of redwood trees, free from the shackles of tyranny and violence their oppressors have imposed on them.

but fundy knows, as always, that his father is a liar, because at this very moment, fundy connects the concept of peace with the disgusting taste of smoke.

it is a habit he’s picked up from a man he’d once considered perfect. back when the server first hit its grayest of days, sometimes fundy’s claws had itched to strike a match, to spark stones. the scorching blaze igniting was the most colorful thing  he’d had in that wasteland of grey. he’d kept doing it more and more and more, until his own fur and skin burned and he realized that he too is graying like the place he called home. when schlatt had first discovered it, fundy remembers a lot of talking—all kind, kind words that have tarnished his perception on what a caring guardian, or a father, may be—and then, out of the blue, fundy asks for a smoke. while a confused eyebrow quirks, schlatt gives him one to try out, saying that there is a first time for everything, especially since their lives have been as mundane as they possibly can be.

and here fundy is now, able to finish an entire pack in the span of a few days as if it is a part of his diet. 

but if all this substance abuse and addiction and self-sabotage and self-deprecation have become so widespread in the server, so normalized, would one even consider it awful? if everyone is traumatized or hurt, does the concept of trauma even exist in the first place?

“you know, i— don’t take this the wrong way, but i thought that you would be much happier to see all your friends reunited,” schlatt speaks, fingers gesturing to tiny specks on the ground that move in sync with the jazz. fundy hums non-committedly as a reply, not really knowing what to say. 

“well, sucks to be you, i guess. mopey ass,” schlatt jokes with the same half-smirk he uses whenever fundy is notably graying like he did in the past. fundy chuckles at it, at least, but his shoulders droop immediately after. the smallest bouts of happiness and joy make him unbelievably tired nowadays.

fundy attempts to lift his smoke again to his lips, but surprisingly, schlatt interrupts, forcing fundy to lower his arm. fundy stares at him acutely with furrowed brows. “fundy, i—” schlatt begins, and his lighthearted expression dwindles into something much more anxious and apprehensive. schlatt clears his throat and continues, “fundy, kid, i know i’m not the type to get all grossly emotional and whatnot—that’s more of tubbo’s thing—but you have to listen to me when i say that you need to leave.” schlatt grips fundy’s forearm now, firm yet slightly shaking. “kid, you’re not healthy here. it’s— you— this—” schlatt gestures towards the buildings, the lights, the entire shithole that they are stuck in, “this is not somewhere you need to be. you need to leave when you can.”

fundy blinks, and then he blinks once more before his free hand shrugs off schlatt’s grip. he returns to his original position of leaning against the railing, and through the reflection of the cold metal, fundy can see the unpleasant surprise on schlatt’s face transform into something more defeated. a pregnant silence precedes a long, exasperated sigh from schlatt. the edges of fundy’s lips slightly curve downwards.

“well, it would be easier if it weren’t for the fact that i literally have nowhere else to go,” fundy replies monotonously, as if this statement is something he’s rehearsed several times before. “i’ve hit rock bottom, schlatt. i have nothing else to lose,” fundy continues, huffing out a melancholic chuckle. he doesn’t think this situation he’s stuck in is anything comedic, but it sure is amusing how his life has continuously spiralled further and further for the past five years. he’s amused by the fact that he is still very much alive and breathing by this point despite the—fundy looks at his half-finished cigarette, the livid circles under his eyes, his furrowing ears as being exposed to multiple explosions has caused a permanent, high-pitched sound to ring in them sporadically—small, little missteps. 

it’s quiet again as schlatt stares at fundy uncomfortably. “you’re really out here wishing for god to strike you dead in front of a dead man— how very respectful of you,” schlatt replies sarcastically. fundy knows schlatt only wants to lighten up the mood. schlatt has been very persistent in helping fundy find the brighter side of things for a while, but lately, they’ve fallen flat. is schlatt’s eloquence gradually deteriorating, or is it fundy who’s only gotten more numb towards schlatt?

fundy doesn’t know, and both possibilities are undesirable, really, so fundy decides to speak. “i’m sorry,” fundy says, and he doesn’t know if it is for himself or for schlatt. maybe it’s for the both of them.

schlatt’s look softens, and he raises his free palm to grip fundy’s shoulder, thumbing it for comfort. a part of fundy wants to sob, to cry, but he chokes all his tears back with an inhale of smoke. “i’m sorry too,” schlatt murmurs, his voice the softest and the most caring it has ever been. when fundy exhales, he can feel tears prick the corners of his eyes as schlatt continues, “you deserve better.”

fundy hums and his eyes trail downwards to gaze at las nevadas’ visitors once more. he spots ranboo, possibly exhausted judging by his sloppy movements, forcefully pulling a crazed tubbo from a slot machine. fundy remembers that inside, he has seen purpled, foolish, and puffy shout over a simple card, a two of clubs, arguing on whether they should split the fifteen stacks of diamonds or not. he remembers finding sam outside the bar next to the trash bins downing his own personal bottles of alcohol, gripping tightly on a withered rose as he sobs uncontrollably. at the side, he can now see a distressed bad and ant incessantly begging the blackjack booths to accept their territory offers as they’ve lost all their possessions to far too many rounds of roulette wheels and texas hold’ems. he also spots a jovial yet sly quackity skipping through the streets energetically as a stern techno and phil trail behind him, ready to smite anyone who dares terrorize the place. 

and lastly, he stares away from the crowds and returns to gaze at schlatt—tired eyes, frayed hair, drying skin—with a bittersweet smile. fundy replies, “i think we all do.”

[221bsunsettowers]

TK/Carlos: Fire Drills, Flirting, and First Dates

Apparently TK can't wait a few hours for his and Carlos' first date, since it's the 126 pulling up to supervise the school fire drill.

This is the second part of the Found Forever on a Field Trip 9-1-1 Lone Star AU verse, where Carlo is a preschool teacher and TK is a firefighter, and they first met when Carlos brought his students on a fire safety field trip to where TK volunteers.

I would definitely recommend reading the first part of the series (which you can find here ) before this one for some background.

This story takes place just a few days after their first meeting, way before the time jump in the first story.

CW for mention of TK's canon storyline of addiction and his overdose towards the end of the story.

You can also read this on Ao3 here! And if you have any stories you would like to see in this verse, please let me know, I would love to keep writing for it!

Carlos had one child on his hip, crying into his shirt ever since the fire alarm had rung out its ear-piercing trill. Another child was clutching his free hand, sniffing back tears. "It's all okay, I promise," Carlos assured them gently as he led them and their classmates into a straight line against the fence. "Remember, we talked about how this is a drill? It's practice just in case we ever need to get out of the school quickly. But there's no real fire right now."

"Just real firefighters," a familar voice called out from Carlos' right, and he turned, unable to stop himself from grinning as TK strode towards them from the fire truck, a grin also dancing across his lips. When he saw the two crying children though, he quickly crouched in front of them, Carlos gently lowering the other child to stand in front of TK.

"Firefighter Strand!" Both children yelled excitedly, tears drying up as they cheered, drawing the attention of their classmates, who immediately started rushing over.

"Back in line please friends!" Carlos called out, quickly walking alone the line of students. "I know we're all very excited to see Firefighter Strand, but we have to stay in our safe spot."

"Hmm, does that mean you're excited to see me too?" TK's voice was low in Carlos' ear, the blush spreading across Carlos' cheeks as TK flashed him a playful smirk before making his way down the line of children, stopping to say hi to every single one.

"Couldn't wait until after work, huh?" Carlos teased back as he passed behind TK, highly pleased to see red spreading up the back of the firefighter's neck.

"We're doing community outreach here, I don't know what else you could possibly be referring to," TK grinned, leaning back against the fence, the nearest child finding a way to wrap around TK's leg without moving from their space in line.

"You aren't fooling anyone, Strand!" Marjan called out as she came around the back of the truck to the cheers of "Firefighter Marwani!". Squeezing Carlos' shoulder as she passed, she leaned in to whisper just loud enough for TK to hear her too, "It's all he's been talking about since shift started. He even made us help him choose his outfit-he seriously brought every option to the station."

"Traitor!" TK mouthed at Marjan, ducking his head and smiling shyly, cheeks now flushing pink. "I just don't want to be late for our first date, or show up looking like this." He gestured up and down his firefighter uniform.

"You can feel free to show up in that anytime," Carlos murmured in TK's ear, right before he reached a hand out to bat away a stick one child had just thrown at another. "Zoe, we don't throw sticks, okay friend?" The little girl nodded.

"Eyes in the back of your head," TK murmured appreciatively, as Marjan made her way to the last of the very excited children. Noticing the students were still occupied, TK leaned in, his voice so low only Carlos could hear. "Can't wait to see what else you can do with those hands."

Laughing, TK made his way back to the truck, leaving a sputtering bright red Carlos behind him. "Bye kids!" TK called out. "Bye Mr. Reyes!" WIth a wink, TK climbed inside the truck, Marjan shaking her head as she followed behind him.

Carlos was five minutes early to the cafe, but TK had somehow beat him there, and was sitting on the edge of a chair near the front door, fingers drumming against the table. When he saw Carlos, his face lit up, and he stood up from the chair, meeting him at the door for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"You picked a very nice outfit," Carlos confirmed, gaze sweeping appreciatively up and down TK's short sleeved patterned button down and dark wash jeans. "Remind me to thank your team."

"It was worth all the teasing from them, then," TK grinned, sliding his pinky under the edge of the sleeve of Carlos' dark green polo, giving the fabric a gentle tug. "There's no way your students helped you pick this out or it would be sequined and covered in superheroes."

"Very accurate," Carlos laughed, nodding his head. "No, my co worker Grace helped me out. She has a good fashion sense."

"She really does," TK agreed, eyes twinkling. "Definitely thank her for me." They turned towards the table, and Carlos reached for TK's chair, pulling it out enough for him to sit down before carefully pushing it back in.

"Wow, thank you," TK said softly, and Carlos could easily pick up on the awe tinging his voice. "No one's ever done that for me before."

"Well, I also hold open doors, so get ready for that," Carlos teased gently, settling into his chair. His gaze fell on the large mug in front of him, the smell of expresso and cinammon wafting into the air. "You remembered my coffee order?"

"Large coffee, extra shot of expresso, add cinammon," TK recited, a shy smile crossing his lips. "It's what you had when we first met."

"And you have the same?" Carlos grinned, pointing to TK's cup.

"I figured teachers must be experts with all the coffee you guys must consume," TK laughed, taking a sip. "And I was right, because this is delicious."

"How was the rest of your shift?" Carlos asked, cradling the warm mug in his hands and inhaling the steam before taking his own sip.

"Seeing you was definitely the highlight," TK answered with a smile, "and not just because the rest of the shift entailed a microwave fire where someone had been trying to reheat fish, and three separate cats needing to be rescued from three separate trees."

"Oof," Carlos pretended to shudder, drawing a laugh from TK. "I'll see you your reheated fish fire and cats, and raise you a child sticking play dough up their nose and an entire bottle of glitter spilling all over the rug."

"That explains this then," TK reached out with his hand, gently wiping away a piece of glitter on Carlos' chin. Carlos found himself leaning into the touch, and TK let his finger linger longer than was necessary. Taking a deep breath in, TK moved his hand away, showing Carlos the sparkle on his fingertip. "And here I thought you went to a disco without me."

"More like a rave," Carlos teased. "Do people still even go to raves anymore? Glow sticks and lots of party drugs?" But the smile quickly fell from his face as he saw the light dim from TK's eyes. "Did I say something wrong? I'm so sorry-"

"Carlos, it's okay," TK said softly, reaching out and laying his hand on Carlos' arm.

"First date and I've already managed to hurt you somehow," Carlos mumbled, his gaze on a small scratch in the corner of their table.

"You didn't, I promise," TK insisted, running his thumb along Carlos' wrist until he raised his eyes from the table to meet TK's warm gaze. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

"Sure," Carlos responded, voice still quiet as he walked to the front of the shop and retrieved two to-go cups with lids. Handing one to TK, he quickly transferred his coffee, then moved to hold the door for TK.

"Thanks," TK smiled at Carlos as he exited the cafe, but Carlos didn't smile back. Instead, Carlos stopped on the sidewalk outside the entrance, his fingers rubbing nervously on the side of his pants leg. "Carlos," TK said warmly, reaching over and taking Carlos' hand in his free one. "I meant what I said. We're okay."

This time it was TK who suddenly couldn't meet Carlos' eyes. "At least I hope we are," TK voiced softly, looking up hopefully when Carlos squeezed his hand. "I come with...baggage."

"You aren't the only one, I promise," Carlos affirmed gently, swinging their interlaced hands slightly as they began to walk. "Clearly I do too, considering I was so ready to believe you were already breaking up with me before we finished our first date."

"You definitely don't need to worry about that," TK assured him, squeezing Carlos' hand reassuringly, before dropping his eyes to the sidewalk and the volume of his voice to just above a whisper. "So no one here knows this yet, except for my dad, but I really like you, and you deserve to know all the facts before you decide if you want this to go any further."

"TK, I really like you too," Carlos vowed, placing his coffee cup on the ground, cupping TK's cheek with his now-free hand. "You're safe with me, I promise."

Leaning into Carlos' touch, TK sighed, shutting his eyes. "I'm an addict," he confessed, words whispered into the palm of Carlos' hand. "Oxycontin. I OD'd back in New York, if my dad hadn't found me, I wouldn't be here. I haven't taken since then, I go to meetings, I have coping strategies, but I'm always going to be an addict."

TK squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, as if bracing for a hard-hitting emotional blow, but instead he felt the soft brush of Carlos' lips against his cheek. "Thank you for being so open with me," Carlos murmured against TK's skin, wrapping him up in a tight hug. TK sunk into the embrace with a grateful sigh, nestling his head into the crook of Carlos' shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

"Good," TK breathed out, relief and hope tinging every word. "Because I want you to stay."

@pragmaticoptimist34 @bikingthroughhawkins @i-had-bucky @highqualitykhakis @meloingly @buddie-buddie @morganaspendragonss

If you would like to be added to my Tarlos tags, just let me know! And if you are on the tag list but changed your username, please let me know so I can make sure I’m tagging you again :)

[stoplookingupforheaven]

Another Place

rewatched the channel aid gig about a month and a half ago with some friends, and this little oneshot grew out of it. for maximum effect i recommend playing another place (reorchestrated version).

warnings: this piece contains brief sexual content. there’s nothing too explicit but if that’s not your thing, this is a heads-up.

Another Place

I am bound to you

With a tie that we cannot break

With a night that we can’t replace

He does not know the person who’s laced their fingers through his. It’s dark in the hallway, flashing red and blue and green lights filtering through the doorway. Out here, the bass is a gentle pulse, and his companion is a mere silhouette, their identity completely unattainable. Foreign lips gently press against his own, and the feeling catches him off guard, sending him stumbling back against the wall. His hands twist through locks of hair, soft and smooth, and he thinks they might be red. Or brown.

He shuts his eyes, accepting that he’s already tied to this person for the night, and he might as well go with it. After all, he is here to forget. He is here to erase the horrors of daylight, to banish them far, far away, to a place where the lights are meant to help you see and the noise is not so loud as to drown out reality.

“You wanna get out of here?” Their voice is low, and he breathes a “Yes” without a second thought, taking their hand again. The pair escape the hallway, escape the building, escape one step further towards somewhere else.

-

I'm lost but found with you

In a bed that we'll never make

It's a feeling we always chase

Someone calls an Uber. The pair does their best to keep their hands to themselves in the back, but it’s impossible to be good, not with the drinks he’s had and the joint that’s been passed around and the contact high that’s a result of being in a packed space with hundreds of people and their e-cigarettes. After a while, they give up trying to stay apart and just try to stay quiet.

He’s never been to this part of the city, he thinks vaguely as they make their way through a door and up a flight of stairs. The voice in the back of his head tells him that he needs to at least try to figure it out so he can get home, but that’s a problem for later. Oddly enough, he does not feel lost - he feels only a sense of relief. This is the last stop of the night. The road has ended. Here, he can stay for a while, wherever “here” might be.

This settled feeling isn’t one he manages to find often - he’s constantly in pursuit of it, but it slips like water through a sieve, and he swears sometimes that he’ll spend the rest of his goddamn life in pursuit of just a sliver of what having a home feels like. And no, his flat doesn’t fucking count.

-

I could write a book about the things that you said to me on the pillow

And the way you think, and how you make me feel

You can feel my mind and move my body with the fiction, fantasies

Just call this what it is, we don't pretend it's real

He listens to the gentle clink of keys in the lock, the sound winding around his skull. The door closes behind them, and he gets pushed against the wall, just as frantic as in the cab. It’s a battle to stay upright, what with the swirling haze in his brain from whatever cocktail of substances he’s consumed and the little sparks exploding every time their lips meet.

“Bed,” he manages, and his partner steers him to it in response. Clothes are quickly discarded, the world collapsing down to wandering hands and quiet sighs and smooth skin, and there’s not much rational thought after that. They move with each other, exploring this version of tonight until pleasure spins his head around, enough to pull them both over the edge, far away from the weight of the world.

It’s a trip of its own, surreal, to know that he is affecting them like this, that he’s the reason they keep swearing under their breath and shivering at every touch. It is real like the club was - a distorted, artificial kind of reality, the kind that separates his mind from his body and wonder how he got here, and how he’s going to go. Because surely the events preceding and following this moment could not exist.

-

So lie to me tonight

And pretend 'til the morning light

And imagine that you are mine

Sometime in the haunting hours between late night and early morning, they lie together, legs tangled under the sheets, the buzz of the air conditioner going in the background, endorphins still racing through his body. He lays his head on their chest for a moment, relishing in the grounding feeling of a heartbeat under his ear. The steady rise and fall of their breathing reminds him that he is not alone, at least not for now.

The alcohol, the drugs, they’ve mostly made their way out of his system. Logic is beginning to make its way back into his brain, and with it, the aching reminder that he’ll have to leave in a matter of hours. But he chooses to ignore it for now. He builds a world where the person sleeping next to him will be there the next night, and the one after that. This world has orange juice, burnt omelettes on the stove, fleeting kisses and a promise to be home for movie night. He knows better than to utter the word “forever” - even in his mind, it’s too addictive, too enticing. But he allows himself something in between “forever” and “for now”. 

-

'Cause when the sun will rise

With the truth coming out your eyes

We'll be good in another life

But he can’t stop the passage of time.

He blinks, and the rosy light of day filters through the room. It’s too soft and beautiful for the pain he feels as his partner stirs next to him, a sigh escaping their lips. He wants it to be harsher, more glaring. He thinks that would fit better.

The only words spoken between them come as he’s got his hand on the doorknob, and it’s a simple, if hollow, “See you around.” A smile that says it all - last night was fun, but that’s all it was. He is not stupid - he can see it in their gaze. Polite, kind, but ready for him to leave. Ready to move on.

He nods once and exits, pushing the dull ache away. They are not to blame for the pain.

He opts to walk home in hopes that the exercise will clear his mind a bit. The sun is brighter now, and he feels the beginnings of a headache coming on. But the air is clear and he inhales deeply, savoring the way it feels in his lungs after last night’s cocktail of smoke and sweat and escape.

-

Feels like something's special but it never felt like love

Wonder what we could be living in another life

Catch us in the mirror and it looks a lot like love

Then you stop me talking as you kiss me from above

He wonders who their best friend is, whether they call home when things go south. He wants to know if they like their coffee iced or hot, if they double-knot their shoes, whether they sleep with the windows open in the summer. He doesn’t know why this person is sticking with him - he barely saw their face, has no idea who they might be. But he wonders all the same, if perhaps in another lifetime, they might have been something more.

Last night was something. He doesn’t have a word for it in any language he knows, but it was something. The ghost of a love that might have been, had just one or two things been different. He tries to hold the idea in his mind, wonders vaguely if he should go back and beg for a change, ask to get to know them.

It’s an exercise in futility, but he seriously considers it, going so far as to walk half a block in the other direction before coming to his senses.

Some boxes are best left unopened, after all.

-

So don't make promises to me that you're gonna break

We only ever wanted one thing from this

Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away

We only ever wanted one thing from this

Oh, in another place

In another time, what could we have been?

Oh, in another place

In another time, what could we have been?

In another time

And in another place

[yeollieayheehoo]

Jigsaw Puzzle

Summary: The two of you were made to fit together

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (female)

Genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst 

Rating:  PG 

Warnings: minor mention of alcohol use

Word Count: 2.8K

This really isn’t your scene.

You adore your friends, how they make sure to invite you to things, even if they know you’ll more than likely turn down the offer. Which is probably why they just said it would be asleep over tonight and failed to mention the major rager they had planned.

It’s not that you’re straight edge or anything like that. In all honesty, it’s just that you’re too shy, too socially awkward, find your personality too quiet in the midst of the Olympian sized ones in the other room.

So instead, you snuck away, curled up on the twin side top bunk of your friends’ younger sisters’ room. It’s quiet, or well, as quiet as it could be with the music phasing through the walls like a ghost. You know that your friend has chosen to play Primary in an attempt to lull you out of your hiding hold, but you cannot bring yourself out of the safety you’ve found in the covers.

You know the majority of everyone outside of this room, see them on campus and in class. They call you a part of their group, make sure to include you in everything they can, to purposely ask you things so you never feel excluded. Especially Chanyeol.

He asks you questions the most, wide eyes always on your face as you spoke, like he was memorizing your entire being. Maybe it was because it took him an entire semester to learn your name.

The day he finally said your name without having to ask first was the day you realized you were undeniably in love with him. It was the day you realized that somewhere between asking you questions and bringing your hands to his mouth to warm them when you complained of being cold, between they way he would pull your earbuds out of your ears to replace them with his own anytime he wanted to share a song with you and the way his face lights up when he sees you, that you know you’ve fallen for him.

You know he’s out there, can hear the bass of his laughter over the bass of the music, perhaps because your ears are attuned to it. You can almost see him, black snapback with some vape company he doesn’t even know on it, ears sticking out, smile the brightest thing in the room. You know he’s making rounds, secret handshakes being exchanged, hugs distributed, inside jokes shared. It makes you sigh in disappointment for yourself.

You know that if you were to join the party, they would welcome you fondly, would pull you into hugs of your own, know someone would pull you along with them so you were never alone, know they would go out of their way to keep you included.

Because they understand.

They understand your anxiety, your social uneasiness. They take it in stride and work hard to make sure you knew you were wanted, to make sure you knew you were their friend.

And you couldn’t even join the party.

You sigh again, burying yourself in the covers, trying to make yourself less of a mouse.

You don’t know how long you stay like this, trying to will a dandelion into a tree, but when you hear the door open you freeze.

“C’mon kid. Let’s get you in bed.”

“Yeol, I may have overdone it.”

“You think so?” Chanyeols voice is teasing as he helps Sehun into the bed below you. “But lucky for you, I’m partied out, so I’m on Hunnie duty.”

There’s no response from Sehun and you know from the soft snores below you that he’s passed out. You can hear Chanyeol sigh, a soft sound before you hear movement, what sounds like jeans against carpet. You’re careful to stay silent as you peak over the guard rail to find him stretched out on the floor, elbow over his eyes.

You know from experience that the carpet is uncomfortable and the floor unforgiving. You close your eyes and muster up every ounce of courage you’ve been channeling all night.

“There’s room up here, if you don’t want to sleep on the floor?”

“Y/N? I didn’t know you were here.”

“Ah, yeah. I didn’t know there was going to be a party. I was just told it was a sleep over. I probably wouldn’t have come if I had known.”

“You could have stayed with me out there, you know I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“I know, but you know how I am. Can’t make a soloist out of a background singer.”

“You sound like Professor Harris.”

“Ah yeah, I got it from her. It’s what she told me.”

“Wait, I thought you were an English major?” It’s at this that he moves his arm, leaning on the elbow instead, looking up at you.

“Oh, I am. But I was a music major first semester.”

“Why did you switch?”

“Because of that.”

The conversation falls silent at this. The music has stopped in the living room and you aren’t sure if it’s because the party has ended or if everyone has passed out. You’re chewing your bottom lip, trying to figure out what else to say when Chanyeols face appears beside you.

“It doesn’t look like there’s a lot of room up here.”

“Oh, uh, here.” You scoot to the other side of the bed, showing him the space left. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just didn’t want you to sleep on the floor. It’s up to you.”

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make yourself small.” He tilts his head at you and you know your face is red. You shrug, unable to form words. It’s the first time someone has ever asked you that and you aren’t sure how to say you were taught to be neither seen nor heard.

“Let me empty my pockets.” He moves back and you can hear his wallet and keys against the dresser. “Is it going to bother you if I take my jeans off?”

“Not if it won’t bother you that mine are.” He grins and looks at you, something you don’t recognize painting his features. “That was funny.”

“Thanks. I channeled my inner you.” You can’t help but giggle as Chanyeol climbs the ladder. He’s’ only on the second rung and his head is already touching the ceiling. “How the hell did you get up here?”

“There wasn’t anyone else up here when I was trying.” Chanyeol huffs, and ducks as he climbs one more rung before slinging his leg over the guard rail and rolling into the bed beside you. You cover your mouth to keep from laughing any louder when Sehun moves below you. You think you’ve woken him until his snores resume.

“So, I’m up here. What should we do?” He’s on side, head propped up on his elbow as he looks at you.

“I really only called you up here so I could sacrifice you to the moon.”

“Sorry, the moon and I aren’t on the best of terms right now, but I’ll accept Satan.”

You hum to yourself in fake deliberation. “You’re too pretty to go to Satan.”

“Did you just call me pretty?”

“I did.”

“I’m flattered.”

“So how did you know about professor Harris?”

“I had her for a music elective.”

“Aren’t you a business major?”  You shift in the bed, turning on your side as well to face him.

“Yeah, it was required.” He shrugs.

“What kind of business?”

“Jongin and I have had a dream to open a record studio since we were freshmen in high school. I want to produce, but I don’t really need to go to school for something I’m already good at.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to produce.”

“That’s because I’m always asking you questions about yourself. Speaking of, why an English major?”

“I want to write. I’ve been told I have a way with words.”

Chanyeol grins and you know what’s going to come out of his mouth before he even says it. “You don’t talk much though.”

“I do too. I’m just not great with crowds.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem talking to me.”

“It’s cause you’re pretty.” You grin and bat your eyelashes.

“Lucky me then.”

It’s easy to talk to you like this Chanyeol finds. Outside of crowds, you transform into another person, one who’s all smiles, words and unhindered thoughts and Chanyeol finds himself getting lost in them easily. His eyes are on your lips as you speak, enthralled by the way they form syllables, hypnotized by the spell they unknowingly cast upon him.

It’s addicting, listening to you talk like this. Chanyeol can see the notes of your voice as they touch his ears, the soft scales climbing and falling down the lines on the music staff and he finds himself composing a song of it.

He grins at the realization, that it’s you. You’re addicting.

“Yeol? Are you okay?”

“What song is on your mind right now?”

“Nineteen by Tegan and Sara.” It says more than you know. It tells him things words cannot say, tells him things about you that you cannot bring yourself to vocalize. He can feel his heartbeat quicken and he chews on his inner cheek as he tries to subdue it, as he tries to figure out if you know that he has a playlist with your name on it, that song appearing twice. He wonders if you listen to it the same way he does, your face painted over the lyrics, senses drowned in you although you are no where near.

“What about you?”

“Are You Gonna Be My Girl.”

It’s the question that’s been on his mind for a while now. He wonders if you know that he asks you everything he can think of because your voice calls to him like a siren song, wonders if you know that he waits for you to say you’re cold so he can glue himself to your side because the coconut smell of your shampoo is intoxicating, wonders if you know that he always shows you new songs because your face interprets the lyrics along with your mind and it’s the closest thing he can get to reading your mind.

He wonders if you know that he pretended not to know your name for an entire semester because he was falling in love with the way that you said it.

You’re sure your heart is going to beat out of your chest. You know he’s naming a song, but the way the words fall from his lips turns the atmosphere in the room into a fragile thing and you’re terrified to open your mouth, too terrified to break the bubble the two of you have created for yourself.

Instead, you turn away from him, rolling over to face the wall, arm tucked under your shared pillow, eyes blinking back tears that threaten to fall as you realize you’re reading too much into his answer, the way you always do. Because truthfully, why would he ask you that?

He is Helios, his smile the sun. He is a warmth you do not think you deserve yet find yourself a glutton for. He is all laughs and words, wide smiles and crescent eyes. You find yourself wondering if he knows of the gravitational pull he has on everyone around him, or if he is simply floating through space, unaware of the beauty that is his entire being.

If this were a movie, you’d admit to your friends that you are not his type, middle too round, thighs too large and existence too small to be his because your friends would not be his friends. But this isn’t a movie, and your friends are mutual, and there is not a day that goes by that you do not see him, the small voice in the back of your head bringing you down as you try to stand in the light that he casts.

 He shifts next to you and you prepare yourself for the loss of his warmth as you assume he is leaving, and instead freeze as the pillow moves, his right arm curled around yours, fingers tracing small patterns on the back of your hand. His left drapes over your waist and you stop breathing as goosebumps raise along the soft flesh of your stomach at someone else’s touch.

Chanyeol can feel you freeze under his touch but he doesn’t stop, left hand traveling north as it searches for your own, fingers finding purchase in your wrist as he pulls it from under your chin, tangling his fingers with yours. He can feel your pulse in the tips as he lets your joined hands rest on your hip. He is unapologetic as he scoots closer to you, shifting to nuzzle his nose at the nape of your neck, one leg tucked between yours and he wonders if you can feel the way his heart races too.

He knows your mind, knows your fight or flight response is kicked into over drive as your pulse pounds from every inch of your body. It doesn’t take long for yours to sync, hearts beating as one as the atmosphere turns heavy with words neither of you dare to say. So instead he does the only thing he knows to do without ruining the conversation your bodies are having for you; he hums.

 It takes a moment for your pulse to die enough in your ears for you to realize that he’s humming your answer, humming the song on your mind right now. The vibration against the back of your neck lulls you into a relaxed state, letting your body fall into his, trying not to think about how well you fit into him. Part of you says to turn over, to face him and address the thoughts running through your head, though the other half of you says not to move or you’ll ruin everything.

His grip on your fingers tightens as he feels you relax against him, pressing his body closer to yours until you are no longer sure where he starts and you end. His voice is muffled against your skin, warm like the rest of him, “do you want me to move?”.

You shake your head, throat dry as you respond with a dry “no”.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time..”

“Give me a heart attack?” He chuckles behind you, laughing with his whole body and you feel the final shards of fear melt from your skin with the sound.

“No, to touch you without you pulling away from me.” Your heart is in your throat at his answer, mind racing as you try to interpret what he could mean.

“Why…why would you want to do that?”

He’s silent for a moment and you can hear him swallow, his hand suddenly clammy in yours. You try to think of  another time you’ve seen him this nervous, but nothing comes to mind and you wonder what you’ve done.

“Because I’m in love with you, Y/N, is it really that hard to notice?”

“You can’t be in love with me Chanyeol. You didn’t even know my name for an entire semester of our friendship.”

“Yes I did. I’ve known your name since the first time Kyungsoo introduced us. I just liked hearing you say it and the way you smiled at me when I asked for it again.” His thumb rubs circles into your skin at his confession.

“Why would you be in love with me?” Your voice is small and he hates it, hates the way you’ve returned behind your wall, hidden back in your shell.

“It’s simple, why wouldn’t I?”

He doesn’t say anything else, and soon you can feel his breaths deepen against the back of your neck and you know he’s fallen asleep. Something in you tells you to let it go, to wonder what he could mean tomorrow when the world is back to normal.

So for now, you listen and tighten your grip on his fingers as you let yourself fall asleep, body pressed and wrapped up in the boy you love and the last thought that passes through your mind is that for once, you’re glad no one told you a party was going on.

[glassbangtan]

Jungkook is Typing... {Jungkook x Reader}

Words: 21.1k

Summary: You and Jungkook met online when you were only fourteen years old. Neither of you thought meeting up would be a possibility, until you’re hired as Big Hit’s new editor. 

Genre: mild smut, angst, fluff. 

Warning: sexual scenes (but nothing graphic)

Notes: masterlist 

---

You and Jungkook met online.

   This is where most people roll their eyes, close the book and move on. It's this little pinprick of information that makes people turn a blind eye and assume the absolute worst.

   In truth, you never really blamed them for this mindset.

   You were only fourteen when you started getting into online gaming, and it wasn't like it was some massive deal at the time. Everyone was doing it; World of Warcraft, Dungeons and Dragons, Minecraft Online were all common topics of conversation amongst your year ten class, with people sharing server pins and usernames in a similar way to how they used to share sweets when the teacher wasn't looking. It was no surprise to you – or anyone else – when you asked your parents for a computer for Christmas, and quickly got hooked on the game Prisons of Terror.

    It was all you ever talked about, because – in truth – it was all you ever did. You got home from school, threw your bag on the floor and darted to your room. Some days, you didn't even bother saying hello to your mother in fear of someone logging onto the online server before you and getting all the weaponry you'd stashed away in an unlocked chest. You simply could not let that happen. Over one hundred and twenty five hours of hard work were not going to waste just so you could make idle chat with the woman who lived downstairs.

     Your parents never questioned it – as stated, this wasn't some new phenomenon, and you didn't have a problem. You were quite capable of logging out of the game when the server was quiet, and you only spoke about it when someone else was willing to engage in conversation. Other than that, most people saw you as a fairly capable, intelligent fourteen year old – normal.

     But this little passing fling with Prisons of Terror grew when GoldenJeon entered the server for the very first time. You remembered the date, remembered flicking your eyes up from your homework with the game still running in the background – hardly anyone was playing, so you'd decided to at least be a little bit productive as you waited for some of your other friends to come online. Never before had you seen GoldenJeon written across the bottom of the screen.

    You narrowed your eyes, leaned forward and quickly typed into the chat: Who are you?

    He didn't reply. You left it at that. He was probably just there to try it out, too nervous to speak to anyone until he found his footing in the game and was finally able to open up a little bit more.

  A few days later, he appeared again.

  You were quicker with your curiosity this time, barely letting his name disappear from the chat before you were repeating your previous question.

    GoldenJeon is typing...

   But then he stopped, and there was no response given.

  Maybe it was this constant game of back and forth that piqued your interest, that had you pondering over the person behind the strange username. His characters skin consisted of the gear of prisoners, which has always been a strange thing to pick when playing this game. Most people are drawn to the powerful looking players, the guards, the people with swords and crossbows slung across their backs – your own was a person in a guards uniform, your weapon consisting of two circular blades strapped to your shoulders.

  Your curiosity heightened to levels you could no longer control, and you opened up a new, private chat with GoldenJeon and started texting.

  Innocent questions at first; asking him who he was, how long he'd been playing the game, who the hell gave him the password for the server you were so familiar with at this point.

  And he texted back.

  He gave you answers, the conversation flowing so much easier than you'd ever expected it to. His silence in the beginning had unsettled you to the point where you'd ridiculously convinced yourself he didn't like you – even before he'd spoken to you. He was ignoring everything you said, so what else were you supposed to believe?

  But the two of you texted like best friends outside of the ring of the game you'd grown so addicted to. He sent emojis, and after a few months of constant back and forth, he started sending you little pictures of his dog and the doodles he did during class, and you granted him the same thing. You were never much of an artist, but you put a lot of effort into the drawings you sent him, and also put a lot of effort into making them look effortless, just like he did.

    GoldenJeon: got bored in class again. Teacher nearly caught me this time. {ATTACHED IMAGE}

   He was talented. There was no denying that. Even at fourteen, there wasn't a sense of jealousy that came with this acknowledgement, but a simple sense of pride. You often tilted the phone to your friend, Yul, and let him see the fresh, simplistic art work GoldenJeon had sent you that day, and Yul would hum and compliment him, and you'd sit there smugly as if to say yep, he's my friend.

   After a few weeks, GoldenJeon became somebody else. He became Jeon Jungkook, a student in Busan – miles away from where you lived, but close enough to startle you. Both of you lived in Korea – that had to count for something.

     The start of it all was a bumpy road, but looking down at your phone now, you can't help but grin at the realisation that it really was all worth it. Though you and Jungkook are yet to meet in person, not a day has gone by in the past four years where he hasn't sent you some bizarre song, or some scribbled doodle on the back of his notebook. Not a day has gone by where he hasn't sent you a good morning text and asked you how you are, what you've eaten, what your plans are for the day.

     He's your best friend, but telling people that earns you a few confused glances, so you tend to refrain as far from that conversation as humanly possible.

    Jungkook: I'm bored. Please cheer me up before I walk out and fail this entire class.

   Y/N: tough day?

   Jungkook: The worst day. I forgot we had a test.

  Y/N: what a Jungkook thing to do.

    Jungkook: Fuck off and cheer me up. I'm keeping you around for one thing and one thing only.

   Y/N: to cheer you up?

   Jungkook: Exactly.

   Challenge accepted. Standing in line at Starbucks, you shamelessly lift your phone high above your head and take a selfie, sticking your tongue out and throwing up the peace sign for added effect. You hit 'send' to Jungkook and stuff your phone back in your pocket, turning round to retrieve your coffee and head back to work.

    Jungkook goes to a weekend performance club in Seoul. This much you know, as you get updates from him on the daily about how his classes are going and how life is now that he's basically an independent man who can do whatever the hell he wants; as well as being a student, he's also a trainee.

    He told you about his dreams of becoming an idol on multiple occasions, but you'd heard it all before. Growing up, every single person in your class wanted to be an idol at some point; rising stars like Big Bang and EXO inspired the youth to strive to become as rich and famous as possible – but it always died away, and that's what you thought was going to happen with Jungkook.

    You really should have known better.

  He was only fifteen when he texted you saying he'd passed his audition. Confused, you'd asked him what he meant, only for him to send you a picture – “photo credit to my mum!” - of him standing in front of a sign with the words Big Hit plastered across it. You leaped out of your chair, squealing with happiness, immediately pressing 'CALL' to continue your freak out with him on the line; he'd started crying, you'd started crying, and that phone call will forever go down as the one that cost you the most money as it lasted for over four hours.

    He was still working hard. You got the updates. You comforted him when it all got too much. You helped each other out.

    Your phone chimes, signalling Jungkook's response.

   Jungkook: Okay good. I think I can push through now. Wish me luck. Love you loads and all that.

  You grin.

   Y/N: love you too. Don't kill anyone. Xx

   The conversation disappears and you are finally able to sink yourself back into reality – work.

   Whilst Jungkook is a thriving trainee, you're an intern at a publishing house. Whilst Jungkook spends his days singing and dancing, you spend your days going through unedited manuscripts and marking them up with red pen.

     Your boss, Mr Grey, is standing by your desk when you walk in, which is already the first bad sign of the morning. His arms are folded, his grey (yes, grey) moustache freshly waxed. You swallow back a laugh, giving him your best grin as you walk past him to your desk, pretending that his presence in your office is a normal, everyday occurrence.

   You already know you're in Big Trouble. Mr Grey never steps foot outside of his office unless someone is in Big Trouble.  

  “Are you sure you need that caffeine this morning?” is the first thing he asks, as it usually is. Mr Grey is on a health kick. Even though you know it's temporary and he's been through this with you a million different times before, he will still chastise you for any and all unhealthy lifestyle choices you make in his presence whilst he is trying to slim down.

  You take a small sip of your hot beverage, clap your lips together and say, “Definitely.” You set your folder down on your desk before turning to him fully. “How may I help you this morning, sir?”

   “I need to speak with you about an important matter,” he replies. You pause, waiting for him to elaborate, but his eyes have suddenly turned shifty and there is not a single hint in his posture to reveal whatever riddle he has just spoken.

  You look around cautiously, half expecting Soobin from the next office to jump out and spray you with Silly String, or perhaps throw a can of paint in your face. You honestly wouldn't put it past Mr Grey to want to poison you somehow.

  When nothing seems out of place, you turn back to your boss and say, “Okay. Do you want to sit down?” You gesture towards the seat he is stiffly standing behind, and he nods before slowly lowering himself onto the worn out cushion. You follow his lead, shuffling a few papers around because that's often all you need to do to look busy around here. You then intertwine your fingers over a thick folder and glance at him, waiting for him to usher the conversation along.

  He inhales and rubs a single finger along one of his bushy grey eyebrows. “There has been an opportunity given to me recently that I unfortunately cannot take for myself, so I've come here to ask if you would like to take the chance in my place.”

   He says it just like that. The previous silence, the drawn out dramatics just look stupid now, and you can't help but stare at him blankly as the words settle in. You haven't been there for very long, and you're still barely full-time. You're still considered an intern by most people, and still have a lot to learn – so why is he offering you something like this when there's hundreds of other worthy colleagues who would know what to do with this opportunity so much better than you?

  “Right,” you say slowly. “I'm gonna need a few more details, I think.”

  “It requires travel.”

  “I don't really think I can aff-”

  “All expenses will be paid by the agency. They'll organise a flat and transport when it's needed. They've been very generous with this offer, which is why I think it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

   Your heart is thumping. This is real. This is serious.

  “What is this offer?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady but failing miserably.

  “A well-known company is writing up a catalogue for future employees and they want an editor flown out to make corrections on hand if they need it.”

  You blink. “That's . . . Unheard of. Why don't they just send the manuscript out?”

  “Because that takes too long, and they don't have that amount of time,” Mr Grey explains. “Plus, they're already in partnership with another editing agency, but this agency doesn't have enough staff free at the moment to take on the job. That's why they came to me.”

  “So you'll be shipping me off to another editing agency? I'll become part of another team?” You raise your brows, slowly lean back in your chair. “You could have just sacked me, Mr Grey. It would have done the same thing.”

  Mr Grey rolls his eyes – he never has any time for comments like these. It's part of the reason you find it so difficult to find even ground with him. “You'll be coming back eventually. This is just a temporary job, a favour for a friend.”

  You sigh. “This is a lot to take in, sir.”

  “I understand,” he replies, before he starts standing up. “I'll give you time to think about it, and when you-”

   You launch yourself over the desk, grabbing his wrist and dragging him back into his seat before he can get much further. “Jesus, Mr Grey, slow down. I never said I wouldn't take the bloody offer.” You grab a pen from the Worlds Worst Drinker mug on the corner of your desk. “What do I sign and when do I leave?”

  ---

  The train station is bustling with people, but you had been expecting nothing different when you were told you'd be shipped off to Seoul.

  Seoul, South Korea. A place you'd once only dreamed about stepping foot in. As you'd grown older, the idea of visiting the capital became more and more intimidating, and you've since grown quite fond of your tiny little area. You'd heard the stories, seen the pictures of the crowded streets and the smoke that always fills the air, but hearing about these details and being amongst them are two very, very different experiences.

  You step off the train at long last, shoulder immediately shoved by a passer-by who is too busy looking down at his phone to notice you standing right in front of him. You frown, quickly pull your timetable out of your pocket and look down – you're meant to be meeting your colleague. According to the timetable, this mystery person was meant to pick you up in their car and drive you straight to the building you'd be working at – which, at this moment in time, you have not yet heard the name of.

  You look around for any sign of somebody professional looking – sadly, that seems to be the majority of Seoul. You're surprised to see that half of the people bustling around look like they're on their way to work, wearing nice suits or long coats that hide whatever professional gear they're wearing underneath.

  “Y/N L/N?”

  Your eyes shoot up, heartbeat thumping because you know, just from the sound of the unfamiliar voice, that things are finally starting. There is no backing out of this. You can't just turn around and get back on the train – you've taken the offer, and you're stuck.

  You turn on your heel, placing your professional grin on your face. Standing behind you is a fairly small man with a tiny black moustache, wearing an oversized grey hoodie and a beanie. Little black hairs trickle from the edge of his hat and poke him in the eyes, but he does nothing to shift them out the way.

  He certainly wasn't what you had been expecting. He's shorter than you by a few inches. He's wearing casual clothes, even on a Wednesday afternoon. He looks like any normal human being, even a little laid back.

  “Mr Son!” you exclaim. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Please, call me Sungdeuk,” he says. “I hope the train ride wasn't too bad? I know they can get a little crowded and uncomfortable.”

  As he speaks, he grabs for your suitcase and starts down the platform. You blink, ponder over whether or not to follow him before you're nearly tripping over your own feet trying to catch up.

  “Uh, yeah. It was a – uh – experience,” you reply. “I'm just glad I got here on time.”

  “I assume you know all about the kind of work you'll be doing?”

  “Mhm!”

  You cringe even as the noise leaves your lips, because in truth, you have absolutely no idea what it is you'll be doing. What little you've been told barely seems to cover the surface, and you're still carrying around many questions in which you know will need answered eventually – when you get to that point, you'll make sure to ask, but for now, it's safer to just pretend you're prepared.

   You and Sungdeuk make your way into a large Range Rover that is parked outside the station. Sungdeuk gets in the front seat whilst you clamber into the back, and immediately a cold bottle of water is passed to you over the back of Sungdeuk's seat.

  “Kept chilled, just for you,” he says, winking in the rear view mirror.

  You smile and grab for the drink, but your stomach is reeling with nerves and you know for a fact you won't be able to keep anything down, liquid or not. And so, you mess with the lid, curling your fingers around it until the clasp bites into your palm, until the condensation is sinking into your jeans and making the leather seats damp.

  Neither of you speak for the majority of the drive, and Sungdeuk seems perfectly fine with that. He barely even glances at you, too busy leaning his head against the headrest with his eyes closed, like he's living in his own fantasy world. Even the driver is perfectly content with the silence, but it itches at your skin. You should be talking. You want your first impression to be chipper, friendly, curious. You want your new boss to think you're actually interested in whatever it is you've been signed up for.

  Cautiously, you lean forward and poke your head between the passenger and driver seat. “Uh, hi.”

  Sungdeuk creaks open one eye. “You alright?”

  “I was just – uh – I have a question.” You may as well slip a question in now.

  Sungdeuk turns to look at you. “Go ahead. I thought you were told everything.”

  “I was told most things,” you lie. “Except for – you know – who I'll actually be working for.”

  Sungdeuk stares at you, waiting for the non-existent punch line. You suddenly want to curl up in a ball, perhaps throw yourself out the window.

  He purses his lips when you stay silent, features completely straight. “You don't know who you're working for?”

  “I'm sure it was in the contract,” you hasten to say. “I might have just missed it. You know what, sorry for bothering you.” You wave a dismissive hand, already leaning back in your seat and pretending you didn't even speak up in the first place. “You carry on doing what you're doing, and I'll just sit back here and-”

   “We're here anyway,” he says, grinning at your sudden flustered state. You don't even have a chance to be embarrassed, as you lurch forward and look out the window, just as the massive gates open into the car park behind a large grey building. Lights are on in almost every single room, and there's a sign on the door that reads, in big, bold letters:

  BIG HIT ENTERTAINMENT.

  And you want to scream.

  There's no way. There's absolutely no way this is real life. You've decided. You've come to the conclusion that maybe you hit your head on the train and now you're actually dreaming this entire thing. You're in a coma somewhere. A doctor is poking at you this very minute, but you won't wake up because-

  “Y/N?”

  Your eyes snap up. “Hm?”

  “We going in?”

  You swallow thickly and gather your wits, trying to calm the race of your heartbeat. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket – you want to text Jungkook so bad, because you can already guess his reaction. He's going to be mortified. The safe little friendship the two of you have is going to be destroyed as soon as he sees you walk in them doors, because he can no longer hide behind the distance that was always such a comfort blanket between the two of you. Sure, it was a pain in the ass sometimes. Sometimes Jungkook would just go on huge rants about wanting to cuddle you because he couldn't sleep, and its them moments where the distance can honestly just fuck off – but at the same time, you have a pimple growing on your forehead that Jungkook would never be able to see.

  Not until now.

  Nonetheless, you know you can't just set up camp in the back of the Range Rover, so you gather your bags and follow Sungdeuk into the lobby of the building. He's chatting away, giving you a brief tour of the area you can see, but you're not even paying attention.

  On the wall, the posters glare at you.

  “Who is Bangtan Sonyeondan?” you ask, not even realising you're cutting the man off.

  He lowers his hand and follows your gaze to the poster you're currently inspecting; it consists of seven men, all of whom you recognise because Jungkook idolises each and every one. He texts you about their daily runnings almost every single day, and you find it kind of strange that you know Namjoon's favourite cereal to have in the morning, as well as the fact that Seokjin shrunk his favourite pink socks the other day.

  But it's Jungkook who your focus is trained upon, because you recognise him immediately. The brown hair, the dumpling cheeks and the baggy clothes. He's staring into the camera with such a serious look on his face, and half of you wants to burst into a fit of giggles whilst the other half of you wants to burst into flames.

  “They're the group,” Sungdeuk says.

  You raise a brow. “The group?”

  “The only group Big Hit is representing at the minute,” he confirms. “They've been together for a few years now. I'm surprised you haven't heard of them.”

   You swallow. You have heard of them – probably on a much deeper level than Sungdeuk can even begin to comprehend.

  He moves on with the tour, leading you through winding hallways, explaining each and every detail as he does so. You meet a few people on the way past; a few producers, a few choreographers, a few people who are messing with broken cameras and lights. The building just seems to get more and more complex the longer you walk, and it isn't long until Sungdeuk is leading you directly to the training room.

  Thankfully, it's empty for now.

  “And this is my place,” he says, stretching his arms out. The room is only small, but it's brightly lit and there's a glowing neon sign in the corner that reads BTS. Beneath it are a pair of shoes that look as if they had been discarded not long ago; with your limited knowledge of fashion, you're able to identify them as Balenciagas.

  “This is where the boys come to learn their choreographies and practice some of their old stuff,” Sungdeuk continues to explain. “I sent them on their break so I could come and get you.”

   You smile warily. “So what is it you actually do around here?”

  “I'm the production manager,” he replies. “But I'm also the lead choreographer. I come up with the dances, teach them to the boys and send them on their way. They're quite independent that way – they don't need me holding their hand through everything.”

  You chuckle. “I heard Hoseok does a lot of the training. He tends to just take over.”

  Sungdeuk laughs. “Yeah, he's a really good-” He freezes. You glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wait. How do you know about Hoseok?”

   Aaaaaand, you've already fucked up.

  Your brain runs at a million miles per hour, because there's a legible answer there somewhere. You can lie. You can come up with something – anything -  but god, your hands are now sweaty and he's staring at you with his head tilted and he probably thinks you're such a crazed stalker.

  You open your mouth to reply, to say anything, but the words are cut off by the sound of booming laughter and the door opening. It squeaks, and you make a mental note to bring some WD40 with you next time you're here.

  But until then, you have to calm down, because Jungkook is there and he's taller than you imagined, and he's captured your eye already meaning there's absolutely no getting out of this mess.

  Sungdeuk greets the other boys – all six of them, fuck sake – but Jungkook stays rooted to the floor. In his hand is a coffee. In his other hand is a water. He's wearing a bandanna and an oversized hoodie, and it takes everything in you not to melt into the floorboards right here and now.

  “Everyone, meet Y/N L/N,” Sungdeuk announces, one arm wrapped around Namjoon's waist, the other pushed towards you. “They're the new editor for the Big Hit catalogue.”

  “Ay, you found someone!” Taehyung exclaims, walking towards you with those long, intimidating legs that are neatly covered by a pair of striped trousers. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you tight against him. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I'm Taehyung.”

  “Nice to meet you,” you mumble.

  “Awk look; they're already nervous,” Seokjin teases, peeling his jacket off his very, very broad shoulders.

  “Don't worry. We don't mind a few typos,” Yoongi chimes in.

  You try to laugh, but it sounds forced and honestly not worth the effort. Even the boys seem to notice the dry, false side to the giggle as they all turn to look at you, a crowd of raised eyebrows turning to look at you all at once – but again, you can't take your eyes off of Jungkook for even a second.

  This is the person you've been talking to since you were fourteen. This is the person who calls you in the middle of the night because he doesn't know what to get from the fridge. This is the person who sends you countless videos on Snapchat of him trying to figure out how to fit the sheet back on his bed in the morning, most of which end with him saying, “Seokjin will do it.”

  He's standing in front of you, and he's real, and you're still not entirely convinced you're not dreaming.

  Until he speaks.

  “D-don't be nervous,” he says. “You'll do a great job. I know you will.”

  Oh yeah. You're definitely going to melt into the floorboards at any given moment.

  ---

  “I can't believe this-”

  “I swear to god I didn't know it was Big Hit I was gonna be working for.”

   “You're here. How are you here?”

  “I took a train, Jungkook. A train! Do you know how terrified I am of fast moving vehicles?”

  Jungkook closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall you've accidentally pushed him against in your panic. You aren't even sure how you've done it, but in your hectic panic, you've ended up basically shoving him against the wall as soon as the two of you are away from the large group of excited, older men.

  You take a step back and awkwardly rub the back of your neck. “Look, I'm being serious. I didn't even know what company had hired me until Sungdeuk pulled up outside the Big Hit building. I wasn't searching for you or anything.”

  Jungkook cracks an eye open. “You know I'm not even meant to be in contact with you.”

  This draws you up short. “What?”

  “After I joined Big Hit to be a trainee, they made me sign this massive contract thing. It said I had to cut all ties with certain people, and I signed it and said I would.” He bites his lip and looks away, as if confessing to his crimes makes him somehow not worthy to look into your eyes. “And then I texted you the same day about going online for a few hours.”

  Your chest hurts. Physically aches. “You were meant to cut ties with me?”

  “I didn't take it seriously!” he hisses, tugging at his hair. “I was fifteen, for gods sake. It wasn't until Hoseok started telling me all the things he had to do to make up his contract that I started realising I should probably be – you know – paying attention, too, but I liked texting you. It became kind of routine, so I never stopped.”

   You hollow out your cheeks. Not even a full day into business and already Jeon Jungkook is overwhelming you; you're not even surprised.

  “Okay, so we just don't tell anyone that we know each other,” you say, as if the two of you haven't already put suspicion in people's heads by basically handling each other with bubble wrap the entire afternoon.

  “But I was gonna – I was gonna ask if you wanted to go get dinner tonight,” he says. You raise a brow. He rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “As friends, you sleez.”

  “Okay, okay, I was kidding,” you chuckle. “We can still go to dinner, Jungkook. You can just tell the guys you're going somewhere else, and then we'll meet up. Although, I don't really know my way around Seoul just yet so...”

  “Do you know where you're staying?” he asks.

  You pull a piece of paper from your back pocket and shove it in his hands; written in almost unintelligible handwriting is your new, temporary address. Jungkook's eyes light up when he reads it.

  “Hey, that's not far from the dorms!” he says. “I can come and pick you up if that makes it easier. Then we can finally . . . you know . . . discuss what's going on here.”

  The way he says it makes your spine tingle, like being friends is some kind of scandal. Apparently it kind of is, considering Jungkook was meant to cut all ties with you over three years ago and just casually decided not to, as if it was no big deal. Part of you wants to be flattered by it. The other part of you wants to slap him up side the head for thinking his friendship with you was more important than living his dreams.

  “How long are you staying?” he asks, voice suddenly quiet.

  “However long it takes for the catalogue to be made,” you reply, before awkwardly stepping forward. “Jungkook, I just want you to know that I'm not here for a holiday. I have work to do.”

  Jungkook's head snaps up, eyes alert. “What? Of course. I know that. I was just – I mean, we've been friends for a long time, Y/N. I think it's about time I take you for dinner.” He raises a brow. “Unless you think this is weird. 'Cause we can always just go back to texting and sending each other stupid videos.”

  You chuckle, glancing down at the floor where your toes are very nearly hitting against his. You don't step back, simply kick a rock up onto his shoe which he kicks back onto yours almost immediately. “No. I think this is good. It's like fate, isn't it? Even the universe can't keep us apart kind of thing.”

  Jungkook scoffs. “Is this another one of them astrology things you always send to me?”

  You roll your eyes, nudging Jungkook with your elbow. “I was trying to be sweet, you idiot.”

  “You don't need to be sweet. I've seen you make a fake Instagram account to get a look at your ex-boyfriend's new page.”

  “I was fifteen-”

  He starts walking back towards the building. “I've seen it.”

  “Jungkook, I swear to-”

  “I've seen it, Y/N!”

  ---

  You shouldn't feel nervous, but you do.

  As you look at yourself in the mirror and try desperately to fix your travel-hair, you remind yourself that this is Jungkook. GoldenJeon. The boy you've known for years, the boy who knows you better than any of your real life friends do. There will be no awkward silences, because there is so much to talk about. There will be no flustered glances, because there is no reason to be flustered. There will be absolutely no tension during this dinner, because you and Jungkook have been friends for years. Just because he is now a physical form changes nothing.

  These are the rules you set out for yourself as you slip on your shoes and head for the door of your new apartment. It's small, one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a sofa. There's a generously sized television hung up on the far wall, and a picture of a house plant hung beside it; you're half tempted to take it down and replace it with a family picture, but something about that makes this place seem a little too permanent. You don't want to be getting attached when you know full well you'll be heading home in a matter of months.

  Jungkook texts you to tell you he's outside at exactly seven pm. He's on time, something you weren't expecting considering he has a habit of being late to almost every single meeting he's invited to – he tells you these things on a daily basis, claiming he slept in or he forgot, or he got too caught up in his games.

  But he's not lying. You step outside into the chilly night air of Seoul and are greeted by the sight of his warm smile and fluffy brown hair. He's wearing an oversized coat, his hands tucked into the pockets, his shoulders bunched around his ears. When he sees you exit through the front door, he picks up his pace to a penguin-like jog before jumping in front of you and bundling you into a hug you most definitely were not expecting.

  “Do you see how early I am?” he asks. You can feel his lips moving against the crown of your head, and your face heats up.

  “You're on time,” you correct. “And apparently in a very good mood.”

 He pulls away, holds you at arms length. His brown eyes look so light beneath the yellow glow of the street lamps. It's a doe-like look, and it makes your spine tingle when it's trained on you.

  “Of course I'm in a good mood,” he says. “I've already picked out the restaurant we're going to. It's called Frapuls.”

  You raise a brow, letting Jungkook slip his hand into your own as he starts to lead you down the pavement. “Frapuls? I don't think I've ever heard of that before.”

  “It's good. All sorts of food – burgers, kimchi, stir-fry – anything you want, they have it.” He looks over his shoulder. “I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked, so I just picked the one that had the most options.”

   You smile. “Frapuls sounds perfect.”

  The restaurant itself is small, sparcely populated. Part of you thinks Jungkook's decision to eat here had more to do with the fact that it isn't busy than because he was unsure of your food preferences – nonetheless, you're not complaining. Jungkook leads you into the tiny restaurant, mutters something to the man at the front desk before the two of you are led towards a table on the far side of the restaurant.

  It's dimly lit, tiny little lanterns placed all around the room being the only source of light. It makes Jungkook's eyes a little darker, making you want to rip his bucket hat off his head just so you can be given better access to the doe-like brown eyes you had seen earlier on. However, when Jungkook looks at you from across the table, there is no more wondering; you can see his eyes perfectly fine, bright and round and questioning. He looks so curious, tracing your features, trying to figure you out – you can see it in his expression. He has questions, so many questions, but he says none of them until you cough and meet his gaze.

  “You can ask me anything you want.” It's a bold statement, but you mean it.

  Jungkook pulls back, spreading his fingers across his untouched menu. He licks his bottom lip and sighs. “There's just so many things that don't make sense.”

  “Like?”

  “Like how you're here. How I didn't know you were going to be here. How we managed to meet up after years of just texting online, and it wasn't even planned.” He shakes his head. “People in our situation literally go through hell to see each other, and it just fell into our laps.”

  You bite your lip. “Would you say it's luck?”

  “I don't really believe in luck.” Jungkook leans forward, folding his arms in front of him. “But I can't really put my finger on what else it could be.”

  “A coincidence,” you suggest. “I mean, it's insane that the people from Big Hit decided to choose the publishing agency I work for to edit their catalogue. It's insane that my boss decided I'd be a good replacement for him.”

  Jungkook raises a brow. “It's not insane. You're brilliant at what you do. I've been subject to plenty of late night distressed phone calls to be able to vouch for that.”

   You scoff. “You of all people are not allowed to talk about late night distressed phone calls. I think I received at least one a week from you – I marked them on my calender.”

   “I'm not that bad!”

  “You definitely are. I have the receipts-”

  Jungkook's hand snaps out and curls around your wrist before you can grab your phone.

  “Alright, I believe you,” he says. “But that's not the point.”

  You grin, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Look, maybe it's better if we don't question why we were lucky enough for this to happen. Neither of us know how long we've got together, so we might as well focus our attention on other things.”

   Jungkook nods, looking down at his menu. “I agree. For example, you never told me how short you are.”

  You very nearly choke on the air you're breathing.

  Your eyes snap open, darting across the table to where Jungkook is now grinning down at his menu, pretending like this conversation starter is oh-so-normal, and not at all totally ludicrous.

  “I'm average!” you argue. “It's not my fault you're a complete skyscraper of a human being.”

  Jungkook raises a brow, still yet to look up from his menu. “I'm not even that tall. You're just taking the piss.”

  “Is this your way of charming me?”

  “I didn't know you wanted me to charm you in the first place.”

  You grit your teeth, shifting your eyes back to your menu.

  Jungkook, however, is on a roll. “Did you notice that I could put my chin on your head when I hugged you earlier? Is that not adorable?”

  “I'm average,” you repeat.

  “You're small. The sooner you realise it, the better. Then I can give you more chin-to-head hugs.”

  It sounds promising. That single hug outside your apartment had been enough to fill you with so many butterflies that you were convinced you would float off like a balloon pumped with helium. His arms had been warm. You had convinced yourself that he'd hidden hot packs in the front of his coat, because nobody's chest could be that warm and welcoming in two degree weather. He'd even gone as far as to press his lips into the crown of your head, and you remember that vividly, because it was that very movement that-

  “Can I take your order?”

  You look up, cheeks heating up with the realisation that you had just completely zoned out, remembering Jungkook hugging you. Looking over, you can see Jungkook staring at you, his cheeks a vivid red colour and his eyebrows furrowed. You bite your lip, looking back up at the smiling waitress who is waiting patiently at your table with a notebook in her hands.

  You order the pasta carbonara and a water, whilst Jungkook orders the steak and rice with an iced Coke to go along with it. The two of you don't mention the lack of alcohol – you don't trust yourself to get drunk in front of him yet, and if your thoughts are anything to go by, you need to keep your brain in check tonight.

   Jungkook's look of confusion does not leave his face throughout the meal, even as the conversation develops a life of its own. The two of you bicker like an old married couple, Jungkook complaining about the amount of times he has to revive your character in Overwatch and you complaining that you always have to give him extra supplies in Minecraft, even though you've totally, one hundred percent outgrown Minecraft and only play it because Jungkook still likes it, and his character would definitely die if you were not there to make sure he keeps his inventory full.

  You're not even surprised with how easy the conversation flows; it's like your texting, but with your mouths. The banter, the teasing, the sly jabs that are always so present in your text conversations do not take the back seat even when you are in front of each other – the only difference now is that you can see his expressions, can hear his laughter, can hear his scoffs of disbelief, and it makes your insides melt with each and every thing he says.

  It's so much better than texting. It's so much better than patchy Skype calls. It's so much better than you could have ever imagined.

  You speak for hours even after your meal has finished. You place your napkin over your empty meal, place your bag in your lap but neither of you move from the table; you just keep talking, shifting into a debate on whether Billie Eilish or Justin Bieber have the best new song out – Jungkook admits that he's taken a liking to Billie Eilish, but hastens to insist that Justin Bieber is, and forever will be, his ride-or-die.

  You only leave the restaurant when the shy waitress glides over to you and tells you that the table you've been over-occupying for hours is needed. Jungkook has paid for the entire meal (plus a tip) before you even have a chance to find your purse.

  You shoot him a glare once the two of you are finally outside again, subject to the cold winter air and the surprisingly busy streets of Seoul – back in your home town, the streets were basically empty at this time, but Seoul is different. Seoul is always alive, always bustling with people and chatter and entertainment. Even at this time of night, there are buskers seated on the pavement and dancers twirling through the streets, lights on in every household. It vibrates with an energy you've never known before, and it sends a ripple of excitement coursing through you.

  Jungkook ignores your glare and continues walking, a dull smile playing on his features that you find difficult to miss.

  “I don't wanna go back to the dorms yet,” he says without turning to look at you. You are forced to pick up your pace just to catch up with him, and when you do, you latch onto his arm so you don't lose him amongst the ever-thickening crowd. If it bothers him, he says nothing.

  “What else can we do?” you ask. “It's getting late.”

  “So?”

  “So all the shops are closed.”

  Jungkook raises a brow, glancing down at you as if your logic is extremely flawed. “Again, so?”

  “Jungkook, we can't just-”

  “Watch this.” He shrugs out of your grip and marches towards a nearby busker before you have a chance to even register what he is doing. You pause in the middle of the street, pulling your coat tighter to your body and watching as Jungkook and the young man with the guitar talk in hushed tones. The busker's eyes eventually light up and he shakes Jungkook's hand before the song he was previously playing is forgotten and replaced by a soft, melodic tone that you've never heard before.

  When Jungkook turns back around to face the crowd, he looks nervous. You immediately know what he's going to do, and your heart races at the idea of it; you've heard him sing before. Some mornings he'll call you just so you can keep him company as he goes through his daily routine, and you sit back and listen to him hum as he brushes his teeth, belts out solos as he picks out his outfit for the day. You've heard him sing, but never like this, and you aren't sure why the idea of it excites you so much.

  He doesn't bother with an introduction to the song. He just looks at you once, closes his eyes and starts singing, and suddenly the rest of the crowd no longer exists.

  The little girl crying over her fallen ice cream no longer exists. The bickering couple beside you no longer exists. The dog barking in impatience no longer exists, and the only sound you can hear is Jungkook's soft voice flittering through the busy crowd, meeting your ears as if he's singing for you and only you.

  The lights bring it all together. They shine behind him, illuminating the gold streaks in his hair, the outline of his jaw that has absolutely no right to be as sharp as it is. His body sways back and forth, and even though he's wearing the worlds biggest coat, zipped right up to his chin, you can still imagine his Adams apple bobbing every time he stops for a breath.

  This is Jungkook in his natural element. This is where he's meant to be, where he worked so hard to be. For years, the both of you had always joked that he was a video game obsessive, that he was most comfortable in front of the computer, or PlayStation, or xBox just losing himself in a world that wasn't this one – but now you feel ridiculous even pondering over such a crazy idea. This is where he belongs.

  Your throat closes over as the song does. Jungkook's voice fades away, and the eruption of cheers brings you back down to Earth. Everyone fizzles back into place, and you're suddenly overwhelmed with the unexplainable urge to break down into tears.

  Jungkook's eyes meet your own almost as soon as he opens them. You grin brightly, clapping along with the crowd and he blushes before he turns, thanks the busker and makes his way over to you. Almost as soon as he is in front of you, he takes your hands in his and pulls you close.

  “You look freezing. I should have kept us moving.”

  “What song was that?” you ask, pulling away to look up at him.

  He frowns. “You liked it?”

  “I loved it,” you reply. “What song was it?”

  “It's called Promise. My friend Jimin wrote it.”

  “It was beautiful,” you say before you can stop yourself. Jungkook's blush grows more prominent, looking down to the floor in his attempts to hide it, but you can see right through it. You grin, place a hand on his neck and say, “I'd like to hear you sing some more.”

   His eyes meet your own. For a moment, you think you've gone too far. His brows are furrowed, and he's silent for a moment longer than you're comfortable with, but he eventually grins and nods. “Of course.”

  ---

  The first day of work is a hectic one.

  The first few pages of the catalogue arrive on your doorstep at seven am sharp, followed shortly by a frantic phone call from Mr Bang Shi Hyuk, who you met a week ago and have still yet to hear talk in a normal tone. He's always busy, always bustling round his office, and you're certain you've never gotten through a phone call  without him having to put you on hold to scold someone. This morning, his frantic call has an undertone of desperation to it as he asks you to get the freshly edited pages back to him by five pm – definitely not an impossible goal, but you know you won't be taking any breaks today.

  And so, you set up camp at your kitchen table and get to work as soon as the coffee kicks in. Bundled in your fluffy dressing gown and a pair of slippers, you sip idly on different beverages, red pen in hand, glasses perched on the end of your nose. You order some food from a nearby delivery place, dig into it with one hand whilst the other continues to glide across the pages, correcting typos and sentences until everything sounds smooth.

  You reach an area of the catalogue that describes Bangtan Sonyeondan, and put it to the side for later. You don't want to think about Jungkook right now – well, you do, but it probably won't be for the best. Any time you see something that reminds you of him, you want to stop, snap a picture of it and send it to him via your stupid little Whatsapp group – that is time wasted, and you can't afford it right now.

  Seven am turns into four pm, turns into five pm, and you're stuffing the catalogue pages into the return envelope at the same time you're pulling your jacket on over your shoulders and sprinting out the door. You don't bother saying hello to the friendly door lady at the reception desk. You don't bother to check both ways before sprinting out the door and barrelling up the street towards the Big Hit building. The only thing you can focus on is the time slowly trickling away, and by the time you've crashed into the lobby of the Big Hit building, the time reads 5:01pm and you're already planning out your new CV in your head.

  You groan, sprinting up to the front desk and slapping the envelope onto it. “Here. It's here. I wasn't late. I was just -” You pant, trailing your fingers over your rain soaked hair. “Please tell Mr Bang the pages are finished.”

  The lady at the desk eyes the envelope and raises her brows, before slowly reaching forward and slipping it into the delivery bin beside her. “Thank you, Y/N. I'll email him now.”

  “Like, right now?” you push. You stand on your tip toes and try to see over the desk. “Can I see what you write? Please tell him I was on time, I was just-”

   Hands gently grip your elbow, startling you. Jungkook is grinning down at the receptionist as he pushes you away from the desk. “Don't mind us, Gertrude. We're leaving now.”

  You shrug out of his grip, spinning around when he pushes you into a nearby hallway and closes the door. He turns back to you, raising a brow that holds so many questions, but your only concern at the minute is whether or not Bang Shi Hyuk is going to receive those pages on time.

  You try to look over his shoulder. “Do you think he'll be mad at me?”

  “You weren't even late,” Jungkook replies.

  You pull your sleeve up and shove your watch in his face. “Can you see that? Five. Oh. One. He wanted them back by five, but I lost track and-”

  Jungkook reaches up and tugs on your bottom lip. The action is so unexpected that you don't even continue speaking once his hand drops back to his side – you just watch his arm swing, eyes slowly narrowing.

  “What did you just do?”

  “Tried to calm you down,” he replies. “Or shut you up. Whichever way you wanna look at it.”

  You frown, shifting your eyes to his. “I think I'm delirious. I've been sat at my kitchen table since seven this morning.”

   “So I thought,” he says. “You weren't answering my texts, or my single phone call that I so kindly wasted my lunch break to make.”

   You wince. “Sorry. I was busy.”

  He waves a dismissive hand, but the guilt is still there; Jungkook always makes time for you, no matter how busy his life gets, and you can guarantee that his schedule is a lot busier than yours on days like this. You can see it in the way the sweat clings to his baggy black shirt, the way the ends of his hair are damp.

  “Did you eat anything good today?” he asks.

  “I had some Chinese takeout.”

  “Gross. That's not good at all.”

   “It was good.” You pat your stomach for added affect. “I had fried rice, chips, egg noodles – the whole damn heap. Ate it straight out of the bag, too.”

  Jungkook crinkles his nose, and it's the most adorable thing you've ever seen. “I swear to god, I'm going to have to keep an eye on you 24/7. You're gonna end up giving yourself a heart attack.”

  “I was stress eating,” you say. “I was burning the calories by stressing. It's like I haven't even eaten.”

   Jungkook rolls his eyes, loops his arm through yours and starts down the hallway. You follow him, a new-found skip in your step that it seems only Jungkook can rattle into your system.

  He leads you right to the training room, where the rest of Bangtan are busy doing absolutely nothing. They lounge around, some of them laying on the floor, others sitting on spinny chairs that have absolutely no reason to be there. Namjoon is leaned against the wall; if you weren't careful enough, you'd mistake him for a house lamp.

  “Look who arrived,” Jungkook announces, shoving you into the room. The other boys chorus out a “Hi Y/N,” before going back to their exhausted scrollings of social media. “One minute late.”

  Jimin fake gasps. “Fired!”

  “Don't even joke,” you grunt, slumping down next to Taehyung on the floor. He leans over and shows you his phone screen, and you immediately take over his game of Angry Birds. He lets his head drop back to the floor and his eyes promptly close, as if he had just been waiting for someone to take over his game so he could go to sleep.

  “Hard day?” Namjoon asks.

  You shrug. “Stressful day.”

  “But at least you made it. Did you edit the pages Mr Bang sent you?” Seokjin asks.

  “Barely,” you reply, and Jungkook scoffs, kicking your foot.

  “You're being too hard on yourself. One minute late isn't a big deal – Mr Bang probably won't even get to reading them before he goes home tonight.”

  “So why did the little bastard make me run down here to get them to him by five?” You raise a brow at Jungkook. “Answer me that, Oh Great One.”

  “Because.” Jungkook sits down beside you, crossing his legs. “Having a deadline looks more professional than just telling you to get them in by the end of the day.”

  “Can someone tell him that I don't care about professional?”

  Seokjin sighs. “I've been trying to tell him that for years, Y/N. So far, no luck.”

  You groan, the sound mingling with the angry chipper of a bird who has just failed to knock down a house full of tiny green piglets.

  “It's done now, anyway,” Hoseok chimes in. He's barefoot again, his Balenciagas thrown carelessly to the side. “I say you celebrate.”

  “Mm. I could always order more Chinese food-”

  “Nope!” Jungkook exclaims. “Nope, nope, no. No more Chinese food.”

  You frown. “Who made you the devil incarnate this evening?”

  “You're gonna make yourself sick,” he says. “Celebrate some other way.”

  “I wish we could join you, but I'm exhausted,” says Yoongi.

  You wave a dismissive hand. “Don't worry. I am too, buddy. I'll probably just go home and get an early night.” You shoot Jungkook a glance. “Play a bit of Minecraft.”

  His eyes light up, a tiny smile twitching on his face that he tries to hide by ducking his head down and messing idly with the drawstrings of your grey sweatpants; you didn't even realise you were wearing them. You were too busy trying to leave the house to actually pay attention to your appearance.

  “Sounds like a night made for an elderly person,” says Jimin. “Right up your alley.”

  You throw Hoseok's Balenciaga at him.

  ---

  GoldenJeon is active, and you're ready to absolutely destroy him.

  Gathering snacks and a drink of water (healthy), you settle by your laptop and start playing. The two of you agreed to meet up on a server called The Hunger Games, in which the players are put against each other until there is only one remaining player – for years, you and Jungkook have squabbled over this game, making it much more dramatic than it needs to be, but it's all for the right reasons. Jungkook will call you in the middle of the game, speaking through gritted teeth, warning you not to jump out at him because he knows you're prowling around the corner, just waiting for him to drop his guard. Neither of you even pay attention to the other players; if another player kills you, Jungkook kills them. It's how it works. You're Jungkook's only goal, and he is yours.

  Jungkook calls you after the ten minute mark. Whilst he speaks through clenched teeth, you speak through a mouthful of marshmallow.

  “Just tell me where you are, you piece of shit,” he demands.

  “Ask me nicely.” On your screen, his tiny block player is busy scrambling through some chests. It would be so easy to sneak up on him, stab him whilst he's too busy looting for gear, but you stay back.

  “Y/N, I swear to god, you're giving me anxiety,” he replies. “Just tell me where you are. I promise I won't kill you.”

  “Aren't you sweet.”

  “So?”

 “I'm not telling you where I am.” You equip your player with your new weapon. “But I just want you to know that I've just found a diamond sword with full strength still on it, so I'd watch out.”

  Jungkook groans. “I hate you. I hate this game. I hate that you're so good at this fucking game.”

  “You spend too much time worrying,” you say. “As soon as the map loads, you're trying to get away from me. Why don't you actually try and figure out where I'm going before you run off in the other direction?”

  “Because if I stay close to you, you'll kill me!”

   “That's the point!”

  Jungkook groans again, and you can imagine him tugging on the blanket he always has wrapped round his shoulders when he's on his laptop. “You need to cut me some slack.”

  “You've been looting plenty of chests recently, Mr JK. It'll be easy for you to just find me and kill me.”

   Jungkook pauses. “How did you know I was looting chests?”

  You grin. “A hunch?”

  “You son of a bitch.” His character spins around and looks directly at you. You let out a squeak of surprise at the same time Jungkook gasps, but you don't give him mercy. You dive out of your hiding place and slam the space button so many times your finger starts to hurt from the pressure; your character bashes Jungkook's character with their fancy new diamond sword until eventually the words GoldenJeon has left the server appear on the bottom of the screen.

  “Y/N!” he cries out. “You didn't even-”

  “I won, is what I did,” you holler, throwing your arms in the air, doing a little dance on your mattress. “I won again, I won again, I won again.” You put your hands back to the keyboard. “Another game before we go to sleep?”

  “No, you know what?” He sounds stern, and you're no longer sure whether to continue the teasing. “No. This is totally unfair. I'm on my way over.”

   You freeze, not sure whether you heard him right. “You're what, sorry?”

  You can already hear him shuffling around on the other side of the phone, probably grabbing his coat, or maybe a baseball bat. “I'm coming over. Get the kettle on, by the way. I have to walk, and it's fucking freezing.”

  “Jungkook, it's twelve am,” you hiss. “Stay where you are or so help me-”

  “See you in five minutes, you little traitor!” And then he hangs up, leaving you in a sudden state of panic.

  Whatever triumph you'd felt at winning the game has melted away and been replaced by an immediate sense of urgency. You jump out of bed, blankets flying left, right and centre. You don't bother going for your wardrobe – Jungkook has seen you in your pyjamas plenty of times before (thank you, Skype). Instead, you head directly for the kitchen, slapping the kettle on on your way past before you busy yourself with tidying up the mess you'd made this afternoon. Broken pens and pencils scatter the table; old takeout boxes litter the counter; your washing up basket is filled to the brim. You quickly toss a pair of underwear under the fridge and hope to God Jungkook doesn't decide to go snooping.

  You've barely emptied the bin before the door to your apartment is opening and Jungkook is suddenly there, in all of his fucking glory, with the most hard expression you've ever seen. You swivel up, drop the bag and say, “If you're here to kill me, I want you to know that it was all fun.” You pause. “But I still beat your ass in that game.”

  Jungkook rolls his eyes, and before you can process what is going on, he's crossed the threshold of your living room and is standing right in front of you. He wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into him, startling you enough for a squeak to escape your throat.

  Jungkook leans down, his lips so close to your ear, your throat, the hinge of your jaw and suddenly you want to drag him into you and lose yourself in that warmth you were lusting over only a few weeks prior.

  “I've never been able to do this before,” he says, voice gruff.

  “D-do what? Kill me?”

  He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, and Jesus take the wheel, you've had it.

  “I've never been able to just come over to your house when I want to.” If it's possible, his voice is even lower. “Never been able to call you a son of a bitch to your face, because you should have told me where you were.” He nips your collar bone. If the world wasn't spinning fast enough already, it sure is now.

  You grip the counter behind you, breathing heavy. You want to continue the teasing, to make light of this situation, but your head is running at a thousand miles per hour and holy fuck is this really GoldenJeon holding you like this?

  “Jungkook, what are you doing?” you ask, breathless.

  He stops, detaching his teeth from your throat but he doesn't move away. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No!” You're eager, and that much is clear in your words. “No, please don't. I just want to know why.”

  “As I said,” he says, leaning down to bare his teeth against your flesh again, “I've never been able to do this before.”

  “I didn't know you wanted to.”

  “Then you're very, very oblivious.”

  “Not as oblivious as you. That's probably why I was able to kill you fifteen minutes into the first match.”

  He growls. His hand snaps down and grabs the back of your thigh, hitching your leg onto his hip. You squeal, tossing your head back just as he lifts you up and props you up on the counter. You bang your head against the cupboard. Jungkook pulls back, eyes wide with that concern you know so well, but you don't let him spoil the moment. You grab onto the back of his neck and drag him forward, slamming your lips against his before you lose your god damn mind.

  Because that's what it feels like. All of this is so sudden, so unexplainable and strange, but you're going to be driven absolutely insane if it doesn't continue. Your stomach clenches. You swallow his breathy pants, acknowledge how his lips twist, how his hands hesitate before he finally clamps them on your thighs and slowly drags them up until they're teasing the waistband of your unflattering pyjama trousers.

  “Shy little Jungkook,” you whisper into his mouth. “So confident a few seconds ago, and now you can barely touch me.”

   “Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks.

  The question hits you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes flutter closed. His mouth trails hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw as he waits for your reply, but you're not sure you can gather enough air to give him one at this moment in time.

  His grip tightens on your thighs. Your legs jerk, but he holds you down. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, Y/N.”

  “Everywhere,” is your reply, because you can't think of one specific body part this is burning hotter than the others. “Just – Just stop messing around.”

  Jungkook chuckles. His tongue darts out, dabs at the hinge of your jaw before disappearing, and you want to scream with how slow he's taking this, like he's savouring every moment even though you're trying to scoot closer to him, trying to capture his lips with yours again.

  “Do you want me to touch you here?” He curls his fingers around your leg, his fingertips moulding into the flesh on your inner thigh.

  You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Somewhere else.”

   He raises a brow, slowly lifts his hand to your mouth. His thumb scrapes along your lower lip, and you resist the urge to do that thing you've seen in movies where the girl sucks the mans thumb into their mouth – is that even considered attractive in real life?

  “What about here?”

  “Not good enough.”

  He tilts his head, starts to smirk. His hand drops from your lips, glides along your chin and disappears into the front of your pyjama top. “Here?”

  He's not close enough. Your only response is a strangled groan, to which Jungkook laughs and slips his hand lower, lower, lower until his fingers are moulding the area you need to him to be.

  You groan, tilting your head back when his hand traces the underside of your breasts. “Fucking hell, Jungkook, took you long enough.”

  He leans forward and kisses you. It's desperate. Now that he's heard your response to his hands, he can't get enough. He wants to please you. He wants to take this as far as he can, and he shows this by hitching both your legs around his waist, picking you up and stumbling from the kitchen.

  “Where's the bedroom?” he asks, breathless.

  You point in the general direction he's referring to before pressing your lips to his. No more talking. He could stumble into the bathroom for all you cared, and you'd have him in the bathtub with absolutely no complaints.

  It's your luck that he kicks open the bedroom door and presses you into the mattress. His lips detach from yours for only a second as he strips off his shirt and you strip off yours; he gawks down at your exposed chest, shakes his head and says, “No bra?”

  “It's midnight,” you say. “I haven't had a bra on since seven pm.” You grab his shoulders and pull him on top of you. “Now please stop talking.”

  He laughs, peppering kisses along your jaw that leave you squirming and warm and satisfied. If he were to just spend the entire night kissing you, you'd go to sleep in bliss. His lips work like electric shocks, startling you every time he makes contact, every time his tongue slips from his mouth and joins with your flesh. You feel hickeys burn into your skin, but you don't worry about them now because God, you're too far gone. Tomorrow doesn't exist. It's tonight and only tonight, and it's you and Jungkook and everyone else can go the fuck to hell for all you care.

  He whispers in your ear. His voice is rough. The soft spoken, excitable boy you used to talk to on the phone every night has melted away into something ravenous and hungry, and his hips are grinding into yours with only his jeans and your pyjama trousers as a barrier, until there is no longer a barrier and it's just bare skin against bare skin.

  He asks if you're ready. You say you are. He asks if you're sure, and you say you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life, and in that moment, you mean it. He kisses you, and it isn't the kiss you give someone on a one-night-stand. It's soft, holding memories and feelings and his body slides against your own and your groans contaminate each others mouths. You get loud; Jungkook gets greedy. You beg for more, and Jungkook tells you you're doing so well, so, so well. You unravel in each others arms. Jungkook falls to the side of you, nuzzles his head in your sweaty neck and you hold him so close because you don't want this moment to end.

  “Tomorrow isn't real,” you whisper into his hair. He nods his agreement, panting against your flesh. His breath tickles your new hickeys. You reach up, press your fingers into the forming bruise.

  Jungkook presses a soft kiss to the skin. He's loopy. You look down and see that tired smile playing on his face, the sweat drenched ends of his bangs hanging in his eyes. He shuffles up the pillows, wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

  You don't think he realises what he's saying when he whispers “I love you,” into your hair.

  You look up. His eyes are closed, his breathing even. Jungkook is peaceful, but his words play on a loop in your head for the rest of the night.

  ---

  When you wake up, Jungkook is nowhere to be found.

  Your heart immediately lurches into your throat; this can't be happening. You know Jungkook well enough to know that he would never just use someone like that before taking off – so he's either parading around your house, or he's dead.

  You slowly sit up, tucking the quilt under your arms in a pointless attempt at sparing your dignity. The sheets are stained with sweat and . . . other stuff, and you internally groan at the idea of having to wash them; your new washing machine is complicated enough with clothes.

  You make a promise that you'll deal with them later before slipping out of bed and tugging your dressing gown on. You slip into a pair of slippers and head downstairs.

  Immediately you are greeted by the welcoming scent of cooking bacon. It's only when you walk into the kitchen and glance at the clock do you realise what time it is.

  “Six am?” you mutter, startling Jungkook. He stands by the hob, swaying his hips to a song that is playing softly from his phone.

  He spins around, face lighting up at the sight of you, even though you're certain you look nothing short of bedraggled right now. Whilst he looks fresh as a daisy in a black shirt that is tucked lazily into a pair of belted blue jeans, your hair is knotted and your breath stinks, and you have absolutely no qualms about any of it.

  “Apparently,” Jungkook replies. “I was hoping to make you breakfast in bed.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” you say. “But also, you're a guest. You shouldn't have to make breakfast.” To prove your point, you grab the tongs out of his hand and nudge him with your hip. He chuckles, giving you the benefit of the doubt by over dramatically stumbling out of your way. You roll your eyes and start poking at the mostly cooked bacon.

  “At least now you'll be able to say you helped,” Jungkook says.

  You grin. “I'm nothing if not completely useless.”

  “Only sometimes.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and it is this movement that brings you back to last night; the kissing, the sex, sharing a bed.

  The I love you.

  You'll be damned if you bring that up to him, though, because judging by the look on his face, he doesn't even remember saying it. He sways around the kitchen like he's lived there his whole life, a goofy smile on his face that has your chest constricting, because you're fairly certain it's you that has put that smile on his face. He grabs two plates from the cupboard above your head and lays them on the counter, before he goes back to watching as you poke the bacon.

  “How do you know when it's done?” you ask.

  Jungkook blinks. “It's been done for a good two minutes. I thought you just liked yours crispy.”

  You hiss, quickly turning the hob off. “You could have said something!”

    “Give it here.” He takes the pan from you and starts scooping the bacon onto the plate. You follow suit, grabbing the bowl of scrambled eggs he'd prepared earlier and adding a decent amount to each plate. Jungkook then spoons the beans and adds the toast to the side, and the two of you are prepared.

  You eat on the sofa, because of course you do.

  Jungkook eats bent over his plate. You don't know why you notice this, or why you're so intrigued by something so small, but you struggle to take your eyes off him. He presses the edge of the plate into his chest and bends forward, his eyes not leaving the TV as he struggles to rip a bit of fat from his bacon.

   You watch his Adams apple bob, remembering the feel of it beneath your lips. You regret not trailing your fingers along the column of his throat. You regret not unravelling him, completely taking over in the way you so desperately want to now; you had been so caught up in the logistics of what was happening that you didn't take a moment to focus on what you wanted to do; you realise now that you want to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head. You want to see him come apart.

  You swallow thickly and turn back to the TV, cheeks burning. You need to remind yourself that you have other things to worry about besides what happened last night; the work hasn't just stopped because Jungkook decided it was a good time to show up and completely ravish you.

  Jungkook finishes his breakfast before you. As he nibbles on the last remaining bites of his toast, he turns and glances down at your plate; it's nearly empty, and yet he still raises a brow. “You feeling okay?”

  Your eyes shoot up. “Yes. Why wouldn't I be?”

  Jungkook stares at you for a moment longer, urging you to tell him the truth. When you look back down at your plate and ignore his seemingly endless gaze, he sighs, sets his plate down on the coffee table before shuffling closer to you. “Is this about last night?”

  You let out a breath. “I really thought you weren't gonna bring that up.”

  “Do you want me to leave it?”

  “No!” You grab his arm. “No, Jungkook, of course not. I really think we need to talk about it, but I just . . . I wanna know your feelings on it first.”

  Jungkook narrows his eyes, tracing the lines of your face, the same trail he traced with his fingers last night. “I thought I made my feelings pretty obvious, considering I was the one who initiated it in the first place.”

  “That doesn't mean anything,” you murmur, looking down. “I could have been bad at it, you know.”

  A noise not unlike a croak escapes Jungkook's throat. It slowly morphs into a laugh, his hand coming down upon your knee and squeezing.

  When you don't join the laughter, his smile fades and he stares at you. “Wait. You're not serious, are you?”

  You throw your hands up in frustration. You hadn't even realised this train of thought was so prominent in the back of your head, but there's no denying it now. “Look, all of it was very unexpected. I didn't have time to – like – practice my strategy or anything.”

  “You didn't need to-”

  “Yes, I know that, but it would have helped,” you hiss, before groaning and slumping back against the plush sofa cushions. Your plate remains abandoned on the coffee table. Jungkook looks down at it, picks up a piece of bacon and takes a bite.

  “I definitely came.”

  He says it so casually that you very nearly miss what he's said at all. Your eyes burst open, cheeks burning with this news that isn't really news because you know what happened – you were there. You made it happen.

  “You made it happen,” Jungkook continues, as if reading your mind. “And you definitely came.”

  “Oh god.”

  Jungkook grins. “I think I have the qualifications to vouch for that.”

  “You're a dick.”

  His grin only grows. He leans over and presses a kiss to the space just below your ear; you hiss and pull away, hand snapping up to trace the edge of the hickey you'd forgotten was there. Jungkook pushes the hair from your shoulder and lightly touches it, biting his bottom lip to fight off the smile that is surely threatening to show on his face.

  “Lovely,” he says.

  “I'm gonna have to cover this now,” you grumble. “Do you know how difficult it is covering a hickey?”

  “No, considering you didn't give me any.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I'm missing out.”

  “Poor baby.”

  He shrugs, swings his legs round and stands up. He grabs the plates off the coffee table and starts towards the kitchen, but not before saying a casual, “We'll try again next time,” that hangs in the air even as the sound of the tap water shatters the delicate silence.

  You grin, biting down on your bottom lip. Butterflies are attacking your stomach. Memories of last night are lodged in your brain, and you know for a fact that there is absolutely no way in hell you'll be getting any decent work done today.

  ---

  Jungkook leaves for the dorms at seven. On his way out the door, he bends down and picks up a thick yellow envelope, handing it to you.

  “I think that might be the new catalogue pages,” he says.  

  You hollow out you cheeks, taking the envelope from him and tossing it carelessly over your shoulder. “Tell Mr Bang I'll get it to him as soon as possible.”

  “Mm, no,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Then the old man will know I've been here overnight, and that is awfully suspicious.”

  Despite knowing this would be the case, your heart still quivers a little. You hide it by rolling your eyes and ushering him out the door. “Fine then. Leave the hard work to me. You go and prance around your practice room for a few hours, and call me as soon as you get a chance.”

  Jungkook spins, planting his hands on the door frame. “One more kiss?”

  You narrow your eyes. “You're gonna be that guy.”

  “I believe this is called the Honeymoon Phase.” He kisses you, small and soft but it ignites something in you you've never felt before. Jungkook feels it, grins against your mouth before slowly pulling away and clicking his forehead against your own. “I'll see you later, yeah?”

  “We'll see,” you whisper, before you grip his waist and spin him round. “Now go! I'm not being the reason you're late.”

  “Alright, alright. Tell me how you really feel.” His voice and laughter fade into nothingness as he disappears down the hallway. You watch him leave, gripping the collar of your dressing gown like some kind of wife sending their husband off to war. You only turn and head back into your apartment when you hear the lift ding closed.

  ---

  You love your job. You really do. There is a power that comes with correcting other peoples mistakes, and you are not ashamed to admit that you have been thriving off it from the moment you picked up that red pen and started slashing marks into the pages.

  But this is a whole different ball game.

  You're hunched over your kitchen table, your third cup of coffee half-empty beside you, doing nothing to help the exhaustion. Your body is slowly beginning to realise that you were not made for being woken up at six am. Your muscles are sore, and your eyes are getting tired before you've even gotten through the fifth page of edits.

  You lean back, scraping a hand through your unwashed hair that is still sweaty from last nights mishaps. You told yourself you would take a break to clean up and pull yourself together, because going another day in this state is going to drive you to breaking point, and yet three pm is rolling around and you have yet to move from your kitchen table.

  The pages are littered with images of Jungkook. With Bangtan being the only group involved with Big Hit at the minute, they're using their maknae's adorable smile and doe eyes to the best of their abilities. It makes your job ten times more difficult, as you have to stop every few seconds to send a picture of Jungkook's face to your Whatsapp group with a teasing caption that Jungkook always chooses to ignore in favour of asking you how you're getting on.

  Not good, you want to tell him, but you don't. He's working just as hard as you; it would be cruel to distract him with your own pointless stresses.

  And so you lose yourself in the world of literature for a few more hours, until the last page is glaring up at you and your hand is cramping, and you're refilling the ink on your sixth red pen. Five pm rolls around, and once again you're shrugging your jacket on and bolting down the street towards the Big Hit building.

  Mr Bang is standing in the lobby.

  You freeze, one hand braced against the glass door, the other clutching the envelope tight to your chest; well, this is most unexpected. Though you and Mr Bang have spoken on numerous occasions these past few weeks, most of those conversations were had via phone call. You had convinced yourself that the small man in front of you lived in his office.

  He turns when you enter, immediately smiling an oddly cute smile that lights up his whole face and crinkles his dark brown eyes. He nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and steps towards you.

  “I was just about to call and ask where you were,” he says.

  You shove the envelope in his direction. “All done!”

   “Great, great.” He tucks the envelope into his coat pocket. You resist the need to wince; he better not crinkle those god damn pages, or so help you- “The edits aren't the only reason I was looking for you, though.”

  Your brain short circuits, and you aren't even sure why.

  Today has honestly been the day from hell. Your head aches, and your hand is cramped, and all you want to do right now is curl up on your sofa with a glass of wine and drink everything away. Instead, you place a smile on your face and say, “Oh?”

  Mr Bang sighs, looks around as if checking for anyone eavesdropping before he steps closer to you and lowers his voice. “Have you and Jungkook fallen out?”

  Okay. That certainly wasn't what you'd been expecting.

  You raise a brow, flicking a glance over the big boss's shoulder. Gertrude quickly lowers her head, pretending she hasn't heard anything, but it's obvious in the tilt of her head and the shy little smile on her face that she knows exactly what Mr Bang is asking about.

  You look back at him. “I don't – I don't think so. Why?”

  “Well, I told him I was going to offer you a job in one of the offices here so you don't have to keep running back and forth from your apartment,” he says. “Jungkook told me not to.”

  It takes a minute for you to untangle what all of this means. It's the most absurd thing you've ever heard. It doesn't make any sense, because you and Jungkook slept together and he held you, and he said he loved you and there's no way in hell all of that changed in the space of a few hours.

  But Mr Bang is serious. His eyes shift to the floor when you stay silent, and you watch as he slowly sucks in a breath.

  “I don't like it when my employees go against each other,” he says. “I asked Jungkook if everything was alright and he refused to tell me anything. He's young, so I didn't push him, figured I'd let him figure it all out on his own. But I just want you to know that whatever this feud is – you can't let it get in the way of your work.”

   “There is no feud,” you burst out. “I mean, not really. Nothing you need to be worrying yourself with, anyway.”

  Mr Bang's eyes light up. “Really? That's fantastic, Y/N. How about you come and join us for dinner then?”

  Before, the idea would have lit something inside you. The idea of sitting beside Jungkook and laughing with your friends would have excited you to no end, but you replay Mr Bang's words on a continuous loop and find yourself unable to gather that same excitement.

  You stuff your hands into the pockets of your jacket and say, “I think I'm gonna have to pass. I'm exhausted.”

  Mr Bang nods as if he understands. “Of course. I'll send the next few pages over tomorrow, then. Get some rest, Y/N.”

  You turn on your heel and exit the building. It feels permanent. You want it to be permanent. You want to walk to your apartment, pack up your stuff and never come back. You feel like a teenager, moping over some boy, suddenly willing to change the directory of life just because this certain someone slipped up and hurt your feelings.

  But that emotion is there. You grip the material of your pockets and inhale the cold air of Seoul, ducking your head down in case anyone were to notice your gritted teeth.

  ---

  It's nearly eleven when the knock echoes through your apartment.

  You're draped across the sofa, a glass of wine in your hand, the TV blaring re-runs of Friends. You've been sneering at Ross Geller for the past three hours, and quite frankly, you are in no mood to be disrupted.

  You stay silent and hope the visitor takes the hint.

  It's never that easy, though.

  The knock sounds again. And again. On repeat until you eventually throw your head back and push yourself off the sofa. You slam your glass of wine down and barrel towards the door, throwing it open to reveal GoldenJeon in all his glory.

  Your drunken state wants to spit on him.

  He's grinning from ear to ear, hands in his pockets, hair a tussled mess. Even in your state of tipsiness, you still reach out and flatten a strand against his temple; you pull your hand back just as quick, tucking it under your armpit as if to restrain yourself from touching him further.

  He frowns when he sees the state you're in. You have no idea what you look like, but you're purposefully scowling to the best of your ability, arms folded, the glass of wine bright and full on your coffee table – it wouldn't take a genius to figure out just what is going through your mind right now.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Why are you here?” you demand. “I didn't invite you.”

  Jungkook's frown deepens. A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Since when did I need an invite?”

  “Since you started showing up uninvited and interrupting my relaxation time.” You try to slam the door on his face, but he wedges his foot between the frame and pushes it open again.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” he says, poking his head through the tiny gap he's created. “Are you gonna explain to me what the hell is going on?”

  “No. Go away.”

  “I'm not leaving until you tell me why you're mad.”

  “I'll literally call the police.”

  “No you won't.”

  You purse your lips, turn on your heel and B-Line towards your cell phone. Jungkook shoves the door open and follows after you. You pick up the phone, but Jungkook is quicker; his fingers curl around your wrist and it is with barely any effort that he plucks the phone from your hand and tosses it onto the couch. He keeps your wrist in his grip, staring down at you with a set of eyes that – any other day – would have you pouncing on him in two seconds flat.

  “Let go of me,” you say.

  He does.

  “And get out.”

  “I'm so confused right now. I thought we were okay.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Is this about last night?”

  You groan. “For crying out loud, Jungkook, I'm drunk. Why can't you just take the hint and piss off?”

  He flinches. There's a tiny glimmer inside you that wants to apologise, wrap your arms around him and tell him you didn't mean it, but then you hear Mr Bang's voice in your head and your senses draw back to you.

  “You didn't join us for dinner,” he says. It's almost a subject change. Again, you want to spit on him.

  “I don't think you'd have been too happy if I showed up,” you reply. You take another swig of your wine. “Apparently you only really like me when I'm underneath you.”

   Jungkook's eyes widen. His hands twitch by his side, and he reaches up to deftly rub at this throat. “What are you talking about? You know that's not true.”

  “So why don't you want me working in the same building as you?”

  There is no way to make that sentence sound intimidating, no way to get your anger across without sounding childish and needy; you and Jungkook spent one night together. If he thought it was a mistake, you would respect that – but he didn't need to cut you off from your work, didn't need to come crawling back when he was in the mood. If he found regret in last nights endeavours, it would be so much more merciful if he just left you alone.

  His face softens. It's an expression of realisation, the fact that he's been caught out dawning on him. It's enough to make tears rise to the surface, and you blame the wine but it builds in your chest, grabs at your throat. Jungkook sees it – he lurches forward. You don't even fight when he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into his chest, his chin taking perch on the top of your head.

  “No,” he says. “No, I didn't mean it like that. Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. I said it to protect you.”

    “Protect me?” You jump away from him, stumbling but managing to catch yourself on the sofa at the last moment. “How could that protect me?”

  “We're not meant to have what we have,” he says, running his hands through his hair. He's trying not to touch you. You're trying not to throw yourself into his arms.

  “What is that, Jungkook?” you ask. “What do we have that is so special? Because last time I checked, all we've done is slept together and played a few rounds of Minecraft.”

   “That's not true. We've got more than that. You're more than that.”

  You grit your teeth, turning on your heel. Your wine sloshes, drenches your wrist but you don't even care. It triggers you to take another swig, then another, and another until the glass is empty. “You know what? I don't think I wanna play this game. I've never let a man dictate how a relationship works, and I'm not about to do it now.”

  Jungkook groans. “I'm not dictating-”

  “Telling your boss to keep me off the fucking premises so you can keep our friends-with-benefits subtle-”

  “And we're not friends-with-benefits!” Jungkook steps forward, grabbing your wrist before you can reach for the bottle of wine. You glare at him, hoping and praying that your eyes look menacing enough right now; you want him to know how angry you are. You want him to see how bad he's hurt you.

  His eyes trace your own. He's looking for forgiveness, but you won't give it to him. His lower lip trembles and he sucks it between his teeth.

  “I don't want us to be friends-with-benefits,” he whispers, fingers still curled round wrist. “I got carried away last night, but I didn't show up just to have a quickie and then leave. I want – I want more.”

  You stare back at him, unsure of what to say. There are so many responses that are playing on the tip of your tongue, but none of them seem right. Not when his eyes look like that. Not when he slowly leans forward and presses a kiss to the flesh just beneath your ear – right over a hickey he sucked into your skin the night before.

  You shiver, wrist sliding out of his suddenly slack grip.

  “Tell me if you want more,” he whispers.

  You close your eyes, tilting your head to the side. Your drunk and angry and turned on, and at this point it's too late to turn back. You do want more – you want it all. You want everything he is offering, but you know better.

  You step away from him. He looks at you, analyses the way you're standing, the way you fold your arms over your chest because you're so scared you'll crack again, so scared you'll reach out and touch him and lose yourself entirely.

  “I want you to leave,” you croak out. The words are acidic. They're a betrayal, but you have to say them.

  Jungkook's features harden. He looks down at the ground, brushes his foot against the carpet only once before he nods and says, “So that's it then? There's nothing I can do to make this better.”

    “You can't expect me to like this arrangement,” you reply. “I'm not sneaking around with you. I've got too much going on as it is without stressing over being caught with you.”

   Jungkook nods, but you're not entirely sure he understands. Maybe he hides a ton of stuff from Mr Bang. Maybe sneaking around is his forte, but you haven't had as much experience as him in this line of work. You're not ready to put your entire career on the line to be with someone who clearly doesn't care about you enough to want a real relationship.

  And god the thought hurts. The realisation hurts. Before, you failed to realise just how much of an integral role Jungkook played in your life, but looking at him now and knowing it will be the last time you'll ever be able to talk to him like a normal human being – it breaks something inside you. Little fourteen year old Y/N L/N is screaming in the back of your head, asking you what the hell you're doing.

  You push them away.

  Jungkook says nothing when he turns and walks out the door. He doesn't look back at you, barely utters a goodbye. He certainly doesn't apologise. He leaves you numb, watching the door swing closed behind him. You listen to the lift opening, closing, going down. You force yourself to stay rooted to the spot, resisting the urge to scramble to the window so you can watch him cross the car park.

  You have to let yourself believe that he is nothing more than another chapter in your life – necessary for your story, but you have to move on to know the conclusion.

  ---

  The pages are getting few and far between.

  Months have passed. You still see Jungkook everyday, but it's not how it was. He doesn't smile when he sees you. He doesn't text you to find out if you got home safe. If he can avoid looking at you at all, that is exactly what he does.

  In the beginning, you didn't want things to be awkward. You smiled at him, asked Yoongi if he was okay, made sure to check up on him when you could, but it got tiring after a while and you lost the motivation eventually. Jungkook wasn't giving you the same enthusiasm, so you no longer saw a point in trying.

  It's your last few days in Seoul. You can feel the end approaching, even though none of the Bangtan boys nor Mr Bang himself wants to admit it. Mr Bang lengthens the deadlines on your edits just to keep you around that little bit longer. The Bangtan boys invite you out for dinner, but you decline because you know Jungkook will be there and you don't want that kind of hassle.

  All in all, you are disappointed to say your last few months in Seoul have been terrible. Full of stress and avoidance, life truly did not give you an easy time of it.

  But your days are coming to an end. You stand by your bed now, looking at the packed bags. A lump grows in your throat; you swallow it down, swiping a hand beneath your eye in any attempt to hide the tears that are threatening to rise to the surface. No one is with you – it would be easy to just break down, because God only knows when you'll next get a chance, but you don't want to. Not even within the comfort of your own company. Crying means admitting you've been affected by the sudden shift in your life. Crying means admitting you got attached.

  Stupidly, obsessively attached.

  To a boy who was meant to be nothing more than a few texts on your phone screen.

  You busy yourself by reorganising everything yet again. It's the fifth time you've done it, and each time has been completely unnecessary. Your clothes are folded beautifully, your toiletries packed away, your sheets and work gear all tucked away neatly; you just need to do something. You finished the last few pages of the catalogue yesterday evening, sent them out and fled the Big Hit building before Mr Bang could make you emotional with any kind of farewell speech. You just needed out of there. Once you get back to your actual office, back home, you'll be fine. You'll be able to start over.

   It's as your reorganising that you realise you've missed something.

  How you missed it is completely beyond you, considering you've been through this five times already. You shoot up, spin around and glimpse your laptop on your desk, untouched for three days now. You've been too busy to even think about logging on and catching up with your gaming; besides, you didn't want to game. Not if Jungkook wasn't on the phone, yelling at you for the most trivial of things.

  But now seems a good a time as any.

  You slowly open it up, press your password in and wait for the Minecraft game to load up. It's ten at night, so nobody you talk to will be active; the game will be full of complete strangers, will be no fun. You'll sign out of it in a few minutes and go back to moping round your apartment, but at least you can say you've tried. It's a step in the right direction, a sign that maybe the spell Jungkook cast over you has melted away a little bit.

  You click on the server you so frequently play on, and look through the list of people active.

  GoldenJeon.

  You should delete it. The whole game, just get rid of it. It's no fun without Jungkook, but after the fight you had, it's no fun with him either. You don't want to play at all, so what's the point of even having it on your laptop?

  Despite these thoughts, the sense of them, you're unable to do anything but stare at his name. Your little character waits for the timer to start, signalling the beginning of the game, but you're not even preparing yourself for it. You're just staring at his name, blinking in gold letters.

   And then your phone chimes.

  Even though he hasn't texted you in weeks, you know it's him. You glance over, catch sight of his name, and you ask yourself why you even kept his number in the first place.

  Jungkook: Please don't surprise me this time.

  You bite your lip. That son of a bitch; he knows exactly what he's doing. He's prodding at your competitive side just to get a reaction out of you.

   But he's done it now.

   The timer counts down from three. As soon as the sirens go off, your hands are glued to the mouse and keyboard, and you're latching your view on Jungkook as his tiny little box character makes a dash directly for the woods; fool. He has no weaponry. Whilst everyone else headed straight for the chests in the centre of the map, Jungkook turned the other direction, thinking he would be doing something good by getting away whilst everyone else was distracted.

   However, you are not one of them distracted people.

   You sprint after him, even as your brain screams at you to just turn the bloody thing off and get back to being an Adult.

   You follow him deeply into the match, your phone chiming away at the side of you; it's Jungkook having a crisis, begging you to not follow him this time. You know he's only saying this because you will – you'll follow him, you'll kill his character and then you'll be reminded of the last time you did it, when Jungkook realised he could come over and yell at you in person if he so pleased.

    His character sprints through the map, gathering supplies and you follow him until he finally comes to a stop and you calculate your chances of survival if you were to just whack his head off now. You make your character crouch, duck behind a door frame as he shuffles around an abandoned house made out of bedrock (bedrock!).

   Your phone rings. You click ACCEPT without even thinking.

   “Where are you?” His voice his gravelly. It hurts to hear it.

   “Now why would I tell you that?” you ask.

    “I don't know why I never learn,” he grumbles. “You do this to me, you know. You make my head go somewhere else, and I can't use my common sense.”

   Your heart thunders. “It works in my favour, so I don't really mind.”

    “Are you gonna pop up out of nowhere again?”

  “Would you like me to?”

   Jungkook pauses. “I would. I really would.”

   “But then you'll be out of the game,” you tease. “Poor little Jungkook, losing another round of Hunger Games because he can't think straight.”

   He growls. It startles you, distracting you for a moment too long. Your eyes snap down to your phone, and you're positive it's only for a brief second, but by the time you look back up at the laptop screen, your character is being beaten bloody by GoldenJeon's stone pickaxe.

  Y/N has left the game.

  Jungkook doesn't laugh, doesn't yell in victory like you do every time you win. There's a single breath of humour-filled air before he says, “Got you.” And then he hangs up.

  You sit there, staring at the end credits and trying desperately to catch your breath; what the hell just happened? What the hell just happened?!

  He called you, is what happened. He had the nerve to pick up the phone and call you as if nothing had been going on these past few weeks, as if he hadn't ignored you, as if he hadn't completely ripped your heart from your chest and forced you to end things with him.

    You grit your teeth. This is what he wants. He wants you to play right into his hands so he can get the control back, and you're not about to let him get away with it.

   So you stand up, grab your coat and march right out the door.

   You know where the dorms are. You've been invited over more times than you can count, have broken Taehyung's heart by declining these invites, but you can't think of a better reason to make an appearance now. You shrug your coat on as you march down the street, turn the corner and head straight for the front desk.

  You're recognised and let inside almost immediately. You don't realise your relief until you're halfway up the stairs, heart thundering in your ears – this scene is so familiar. It's been reversed, but it's so familiar, and it makes your heart rate speed up to a rate you're pretty sure is considered unhealthy.

    You had won the game last time. Jungkook has marched into your apartment.

    Jungkook won the game this time. It's only fair for you to give him the same courtesy.

    You rack your knuckles against the door and wait for someone to answer. It takes two seconds, and there is nothing but undeniable relief when it's Jungkook's grinning face that appears in the doorway and nobody elses.

  You slam your hands into his shoulders and push him backwards. “You son of a bitch. I wasn't even ready!”

   Jungkook loops his arms round your waist and tugs you into him. You're so lost. You're so worked up and he looks so good, and he's just beaten you at a game you prided yourself on winning each and every time. He did it to tease you. He did it so this would happen, and you've walked right into his trap.

  But god, he smells so good, and his hair is slightly damp from a shower, and you're honestly prepared to make a fool of yourself if it means getting a glimpse of his toned torso one more time.

    “Sorry,” he says. “But I believe I won that round fair and square.”

  “You used a distraction tactic,” you hiss. “We never use a distraction tactic!”

  Jungkook raises a brow, tilting his head to the side. “I don't remember distracting you.”

   “You being on the phone at all was distracting enough.” You bundle your fists in his shirt, debate pulling him closer. You eventually decide against it and instead flatten your palms against his chest. “And then you kept making that stupid fucking noise, and I couldn't . . . I couldn't concentrate.”

   Jungkook's eyes flare. “I can't help it if you get distracted just by my voice.”

   “It wasn't your – Stop that!” You slap his chest and groan. “The point is, we need a rematch. That game wasn't fair, and you know it.”

   His hands tighten on your hips. You want to scream.

   “I really didn't take you as a sore loser,” he says.

   You scoff. “Don't act like you didn't come marching into my apartment when I won the last round.”

  That does it. The reminder settles between you, and you don't pull away even though you know you should. Jungkook's eyes – if possible – turn darker. Your breath hitches. The world is spinning too fast. You just want him to kiss you. You don't want any of this back and forth, teasing, talking in low voices – you just want him.

  You knot your hands in his shirt again. This time, you do pull him closer, but not by much. It's a little jerk that has his chest hitting lightly against your own, but he still isn't close enough for your liking.

   He inhales deeply. “I can't believe you're here after what I did.”

  You close your eyes. “We don't have to talk about that.”

  “I don't want to just sleep with you, Y/N.” He pulls away then, rakes his hands through his hair as if trying to restrain himself. “I told you on the day we argued that I don't just want to be friends-with-benefits. I want to be able to talk about things with you.”

    There are cotton balls in your mouth. It's hard to speak, so you just stare at him, hope that gets your point across.

  He bites his lip. “Is that what you want, too? Is that why you're here?”

   Is that what you want?

  On that first night, the first night Jungkook slept with you, you thought that was what you had. You'd never taken Jungkook as the type to have sex with someone and then just . . . leave, and that isn't what he did. Waking up to him cooking breakfast and his scent on your pillows felt almost natural.

  So of course you want it. You want him – not his body, but him. All of him.

    You swallow thickly and step closer. “If we're gonna make this work, we have to sort a few things out.”

   He nods too quickly, too enthusiastically. It rips your heart out of your chest. “Of course.”

  “I'm going back home in a few days,” you say, and Jungkook's hopeful expression fades. “I don't know – I don't know what that means for you. I don't know if that will make things easier. I don't know if me not physically being here will suddenly make Mr Bang let you date me, but-”

   Jungkook groans low in his throat. “I don't care about Mr Bang. I care about you.” He steps forward and cups your face with one large hand. “I made a mistake. I was so caught up in my contract that I didn't even stop to think about how Mr Bang would take my own feelings into consideration.”

   Your jaw drops, eyes snapping up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mr Bang knows we – we talk,” Jungkook stammers.

   You step out of his grip. “He knows you went against the contract?”

  “In the beginning,” Jungkook says. “He was disappointed, but he's known me since I was fifteen. I guess he took pity on me, because I was a mess when I went into work that day and told him. I'd just reached my breaking point.”

   “And he was okay with it?”

   “As I said, he was disappointed. Thought he could trust me and all that.” Jungkook winces. You place a comforting hand on his arm, knowing how hard it must have been for him to have disappointed one of the people he looks up to. “I said I was sorry, and then he – he asked me how things between you and I were going, and I got really confused. He said it as if we were together.”

   You bite your lip. “Okay...”

   “I turned round and told him you'd ended things because you didn't want to be sneaking around, and he just looked at me like I was insane. He asked me what I was doing, told me to talk to you and then he let me have the day off.”

   You swallow the golf ball sized lump in your throat, not sure what to say but knowing for a fact that you are really gonna have to thank Mr Bang for this.

   Jungkook rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “So I went home, logged onto Minecraft to see if you were there – you weren't, but I waited.”

  “You waited.”

  “And then you came online and I took my chance.”

   “You did indeed.”

   Jungkook lowers his voice to a whisper. “And now you're here.” It's almost like he's talking to himself, even though his eyes are burning holes in your own. “You're here and you're not saying anything.”

    You don't need to say anything. There are no words that can possible portray what you're feeling right now, so you do the next best thing. It's straight out of a cheesy romance movie, but you've learned from the best and you launch yourself into his arms, kissing him with the need and desperation that has been building in your system for weeks now.

   Jungkook grunts into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist. The two of you stumble until the back of Jungkook's knees are hitting against the arm of the sofa and he's falling backwards into the plush cushions; he doesn't let go of you, and your body ends up right on top of his own.

   You kiss him again, and again, and again. Not just on the lips, but everywhere. Peppered kisses behind his ear, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. Everywhere until he's giggling and trying to push you away from him.

    “You still played unfairly today,” you pant, exaggerating each word with a kiss to his forehead. “I want revenge.”

    “I'm excited to – hey! - find out how you get that revenge,” he replies, crinkling his nose up when you go to press yet another kiss there.

   His fingers are just starting to grip onto your belt loops when the door behind him opens. Jungkook's head snaps up, his hands tightening to keep you in place. Taehyung and Namjoon walk in, side-by-side, but immediately stop and raise their brows when they see the position you are currently in.

   Jungkook wriggles beneath you. You shoot upright, struggling to find your footing again. Jungkook grunts when you're forced to shove against his chest to get off the sofa. You turn to the two members of Bangtan and grin as Jungkook flops back onto the sofa and groans.

    Namjoon is the first to speak. “Hey Y/N. . . I see you took Taehyung's invitation.”

   “I did!” you exclaim, and then quieter, “I did. It's a lovely place you've got here.”

   “Apparently we've also got a lovely maknae,” Taehyung says, wriggling his brows, and Jungkook buries his head in the sofa pillows. “I always knew something was going on with you two; you're the only person I know who can distract Jungkook long enough to break him away from his work.”

   You raise a brow, flicking your eyes down to the boy in question. He peeks at you with one eye, half of his face still pressed into the cushions, and grins an embarrassed grin. You smile right back, pushing down a laugh.

   “Come on, Tae,” Namjoon chuckles. “Let's leave them alone for a bit. I think they have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Taehyung rolls his eyes, mouths Use protection before he and Namjoon turn and leave the room. You glance back at Jungkook, raise a brow.

    “He's totally lying, of course,” he assures, voice muffled.

   You chuckle and bound back onto the sofa, circling your arms round his torso and going back to pressing loving little kisses to every part of his face you can think of.

   ---

   Jungkook presses his chin into the crown of your head and sighs yet again. “You're still so tiny.”

   “I'll literally start walking home now.”

  He groans, pulling you closer to his chest. “Don't say home. You're home is meant to be with me.”

   You close your eyes and tilt your head back. It rests in the hollow of his throat. You want to live there.

   “I'll visit you,” you say, even though it's not enough. It'll never be enough. “We managed to keep in touch since we were fourteen – this isn't anything new.”

    He sighs again. “I know. We'll make it work, just like we always do.” His arms tighten on your waist. “I'm just gonna miss this, that's all. I'm gonna miss you – you in your physical form.”

  “In what way do you mean physical form, Jeon Jungkook?”

   He leans down and nips your earlobe with his teeth. “Whatever form you're offering.”

   You chuckle and shake your head, beckoning him away. He goes back to resting his chin atop your head, the two of you looking out for the train that will soon be pulling up to take you home. Your bag is packed, but Jungkook placed it a few feet away because he didn't want to admit that all of your stuff was in there – that means permanent, apparently. Packing up your stuff means there's no option to come back. Looking at your suitcase, filled to the brim with the clothes he's seen you in, the clothes he's ripped off of you, made him uncomfortable.

    “I feel like adults are meant to handle this type of thing a lot better,” he says suddenly.

   You look up; his chin slides to your forehead as he refuses to move. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs. “Like – relationships. Love. Stuff like that. I should have grown out of my mine, mine, mine phase, but the idea of you just . . . walking away is literally ripping me open.”

    You bite your lip. “Jungkook...”

   “I get it if you don't feel the same way. I'm not asking you to.” He shrugs again, grabbing your chin and tilting your head back so he can put his chin back where he is most comfortable. “It's only been a few months and I already feel like you should just be by my side all the time.”

   “I wish I could be.”

   “You do?”

   “I don't think I've ever clicked with someone like I click with you, Jungkook. I feel just as awful about leaving.”

    He sighs. Again. If you made this into a drinking game – drink any time Jungkook sighs – you would be falling head first into the train tracks by now.

    He hugs you impossibly closer, and the two of you fall into a thoughtful silence. In the distance, the whistle of the train sounds and you close your eyes, as if in doing so, you can somehow transport somewhere far, far away, with only Jungkook to keep you company.

   But reality is a bitch, and it slaps you in the face when the train pulls up and people start piling onto the carriages.

  You turn, quickly wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing him, putting everything you can into the way your lips mould against his. He groans against your mouth – he always does – and he tightens his grip and you hope to God he just refuses to let go. You two can just live here, in this underground station, tangled in each others arms forever. You'll become statues, a part of the structure and nobody will bother you again.

   But the conductor calls a warning,and you know you have to go.

  You pull away. Jungkook's face falls, and his thumbs swipe beneath your eye. You didn't even realise you were crying until he shakes his head and says, “Soon. We'll see each other soon.”

   You nod, biting your bottom lip. You say the first thing that comes to mind, which might not be the best strategy considering this is the last thing you'll get to say for quite a while, but nonetheless, it's a perfect parting confession.

   “I love you, GoldenJeon.”

   His eyes widen. You panic, because that was certainly not what you planned on saying. He reaches towards you, but you press a final kiss to his lips, grab your suitcase and dart off towards the train only seconds before the doors close behind you.

   As the train speeds off, you turn in your seat. Jungkook is still stood on the platform, one hand raised to his lips and his eyes lowered to the floor.

    ---

  You're in your pyjamas again. Boring, stupid old pyjamas. You'd left them behind for a reason – you're wearing them now because you're trying to get back into routine. You have to be at the office tomorrow. You have to look Mr Grey in the eyes and thank him for the opportunity even though he was the one who ordered you home. You shouldn't feel angry, but you do.

  You press PLAY on your movie once again, having paused it to go and gather some ice cream and your laptop. You and Jungkook have only texted the odd time since you got home, with him claiming he wants to give you time to rest and you promising him that you were definitely, one hundred percent in bed and only seconds away from falling asleep.

   Turns out, falling asleep without Jungkook's arms around you is a lot more difficult than you'd originally anticipated.

  It's so weird. It's a phenomenon, considering you fell asleep without him your entire life. But now that you'd got a taste of just how luxurious sleep can actually feel, it's difficult to go back to square one.

   You click on the tiny little Minecraft icon and watch the screen load. It's almost instinctive when you log onto the all-too-familiar server. Again, it's much too late for Jungkook to be online – he told you he was doing some late night editing for one of his Golden Closet Videos, and you've seen him when he starts editing; he won't be looking away from that complicated editing screen for another few hours at least. His attention will be nowhere near Minecraft.

    It loads up, and of course, the little shit has lied to you.

  GoldenJeon is online.

  You narrow your eyes, hoping and praying he doesn't notice the little Y/N is online that appears in the corner.  

   But he's GoldenJeon. He notices everything.

   Your phone chimes. You wince, cautiously looking over as Jungkook's name flashes on screen.

  Jungkook: You weren't asleep for very long.

  Y/N: you weren't editing for very long.

  Jungkook: It's gonna be very difficult for me to come over and have sex if you win this match, you know. You didn't think this through.

  Y/N: i'm sure phone sex will be just as sexy.

  Jungkook: Let's give it a go.

  The match begins, and you win. It's no surprise – at this point, you're fairly certain Jungkook is just letting you win because he wants an excuse to come over.

   Or in this case, an excuse to call you.

   You pick up before the first ring is even over. Jungkook laughs at your eagerness before saying, “Miss me?”

   “More than anything. Now talk dirty.”

   “I love you.”

   You freeze.

   “Oh, did you like that one?” he teases. You can hear him grinning. You want to smother him – or kiss him. Either way, you can do neither. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

   “Jungkook-”

  “I've loved you since I was fourteen years old and you were just a weird little character on a shit, low budget game.”

   “I don't want you to talk dirty any more. Please keep making fun of me before I combust.”

  Jungkook chuckles. “Tell me you love me back.”

   “I said it first. You know I-”

   “Say it again. We're having phone sex, remember?”

   You bite your lip. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

    He inhales shakily. You can hear it, the rattle in his chest, the way he bites his bottom lip. You can imagine him tilting his head back in that way he does so often when you insist on walking downstairs in one of his shirts, or nothing at all if you're feeling particularly playful that day.

   “You're right, you know,” he whispers.

   “About?”

   “Phone sex really is just as sexy as the real thing.”

[disslve]

𝐲𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐰 & 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐲 ! this is nai and my cowboy ass is here to throw roxy @ u and also tell u bad jokes and cry over life is strange 2 because i’m still not over this game and I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT. just a heads up, i came up with roxy on a whim because this rp just looked so good,  so if it seems like i don’t know what i’m talking about ... it’s most likely the case whoops . ( this is an excuse for me bringing shitty muses ). anyway, my fake cowboy ass loves to ramble so if you’re interested in plotting feel free to LIKE this post or hmu. i forgot to mention that i’m also a fake grandma so idk anything about discord at all and i still need to set it up which will happen in the next few days dsdnsdsdn. 

ps: wanted connections/plots can be find in my wanted tag ( a link is on my blog ) and i’ll also list some below !

EDIT: discord name is nai #7158

 * [ kristine froseth + cis-female + she/her ] —— have you met roxanne ‘roxy’ bailey ? they are a twenty-two year old junior currently studying romance languages and literatures. they live on decker house and word around campus is that this scorpio is compassionate + dedicated, as well as impatient + dishonest. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive. 

basics.

full name: roxanne elise bailey

nicknames: roxy, rox

sexual orientation: bisexual

birth place: valencia, spain ( but only lived there for five years ) 

history. 

one could say that roxy had lived an easy life, though her parents weren’t distinguished by their social status, it didn’t mean they lacked money which was enough to support their daughter in whatever she wanted to do.

truth to be told, roxy was indeed a little spoiled, the type of kids who would try all kind of things on the expenses of their parents only to quit a new ‘hobby’ again. she could barely stick to anything. she was some twisted kind of golden child, good at many things but never had the patience to continue something for long enough to cultivate it. 

skipping over the part where she almost tried everything from arts, music etc. she finally found her passion ( and even roxy herself was surprised ). figure skating. she didn’t know what drew her in, she couldn’t explain it, she tried it and it felt right. roxy always describes the feeling as finding a soulmate if she feels extra dramatic that day. 

unsurprisingly, she was good at it. not that kind of good at something she was at all the other things she tried before, but that being good at which stemmed from genuine interest. maybe, that is why she managed to get so far. and it didn’t take too long that people even started to call her a figure skating prodigy. 

at this point at her life, she had it all, spinning the stars on her fingertips ( or warning bad pun ahead: spinning on the ice ). until, well, her parents company was in some crisis and they had to cut corners in the meantime. also oh so ‘conveniently’ roxy lived at the arse end of nowhere and getting to her practices was now even more difficult because as mentioned before they had to save their money for more necessary things. of course, there were more things , small and big, which totally threw her off ( which i am too lazy to list rn).

roxy tried to work part time, but a) the money wasn’t enough b) she didn’t want to cut more hours of training she managed to get. AND well, here comes the turning point and roxy thinking she was oh-so-smart without realizing that it would cost her career. oh-so-smart roxy came up with the idea to , well, just steal some stuff. after all, she trained with many other wealthy peers and she could just sell off their stuff or something. 

at the beginning she only did it to afford certain things she needed, but soon it somehow became an addiction. she felt in control when everyone else in her life was an utter mess. however, the more she took things away from others the more she felt comfortable, doing it more often and sometimes taking things which weren’t even worth that much. it was only a matter of time until she was caught. and as if she was lucky for too long, the person who caught her pressured her into either giving them a hefty sum of money (which she didn’t have) or to quit figure skating. she decided for the latter.

well, here she was and her sudden departure was quite a shock. but she had no choice and stated it was for personal reasons. 

skipping over her being devastated over it, etc. her parents managed to save their company (whatever this company is) but at this point it was already too late and roxy was accepted into holloway. 

right now she actually wants to pick up her figure skating career again, however, she’s too afraid that the blackmailer is going to expose her and also she doesn’t really know who they are (lets pretend they wrote her letters, txt messages >??) and also she’s kind of afraid due to the lack of practice she had .

personality.

okay i’ll keep this short bcs i wrote way too much for her background story. but to sum it up, roxy kind of has that perfect girl facade.  considering how many friends roxy has and how social she appears to be it is odd that no one seems to be able to describe her.  roxy doesn’t want people to know who she truly is, and she keeps her distance as she actively avoids conflicts that might cause her to say something wrong and exposes herself. 

she shields her feelings by only presenting polished version of herself, the facade of the perfect girl: kind, hard-working and polite. someone whose life is easy and someone who looks like she doesn’t have any worries. it doesn’t mean she isn’t anything of that, but it’s not as if her kindness has no bounds or that she doesn’t need to put effort into the things she does. nevertheless, she believes that she must be perfect in order to make people like her. and while, she is pretty good at masking her emotions and smile along, as soon as someone threatens to see past the illusion, she will become defensive and won’t hesitate to lie in order to preserve it.

plots.

best friends: although roxy pretty much keeps her distance from everyone else, this person had always stood by her side. maybe they knew about roxy’s sudden wannabe-thief phase ( which she is still in ) and well tried to talk her out of it ( which obviously didn’t work ). also adding some drama here and maybe they had a big argument over it and distanced from each othr because of it. however, my angst ass doesn’t want to ruin it and they’ll rekindle their friendship. they might meet again at holloway and it’s awkward at first, maybe they even have some arguments but they’ll get over it because everyone loves a good rekindled friendship story.

annoyance: someone who gets under roxy’s skin.seeing past the perfect girl face and constantly calling her out on it. maybe they just have fun annoying her and want to see what she really likes or they just don’t like roxy , thinking that beneath all of this act, she is a really unpleasant person. perhaps, they’re even doing it with good intentions and want to show her that she doesn’t need to hide who she is. whatever it is, they’re determined to expose to the world who she really is. 

pen pal ??:  muse a and roxy had been friends for a very long time, yet the funny thing is that they’ve never met each other nor do they know what the other look like. all they know is their name ( or maybe they only know each other by their usernames ) and their deepest secrets. maybe they already have crossed paths many times and perhaps even know each other but don’t like each other irl. or they never had noticed the other.

blackmailer: BECAUSE WHY NOT??? the person who forced roxy to give up on figure skating. maybe, they were a rival or just didn’t like her, or any other reason. they might as well, have noticed that roxy is secretly training again and might be back at their shit again. 

exes: GIVE ME THE ANGST, maybe muse a and roxy used to be in a serious relationship and as naive they were back then both of them thought this love would last forever. however, at some point roxy started to distance herself from muse a, constantly cancelling their dates because of their busy schedule. at first muse a tried to be understanding towards her, but as time passed things only got worse. roxy hating any kind of conflict just decided to ignore the problem instead about talking about it and eventually stopped replying to muse a messages. muse a never really got to know the real reason behind their break up and was left with unanswered questions. but anything works  

unrequited love: (this is just me throwing in my favourite way to make myself suffer) It doesn’t matter who is the one with the the one sided love because i just want some good angst.a)  muse a has a crush on roxy, yet they never told her about it. yet, muse a can’t hide it and it doesn’t take too long until roxy notices it. but instead of trying to talk to muse a about it, roxy just ignores it acting as she usually does and perhaps even give them false hope that she might like them back. maybe muse a even confessed to her and because roxy didn’t want to hurt them she told muse a she’d think about it.

b) roxy has a crush on muse a but doesn’t admit it. she doesn’t want to show their vunerable side and just plays it down. maybe they’re friends and roxy doesn’t want to lose another friend. but one day she confesses to muse a on accident, making everything awkward between them.

someone she stole from: idk i thought this would be fun ? maybe she confessed to them about it or maybe they caught her but decided to not confront her about it.

fan: someone who used to watch her perfomances on their tv and is still not over the fact that she quit.

i also have a connection page on my blog if these are too specific or none of these work 

i’m too tired to come up with more dsdsdnjsd but gimme everything !! THE ANGST, FLUFF, DRAMA PLS!!! 

[thehiraethsiblings]

Hi, I have a question, what do you suggest a little do when she doesn't have a cg and doesn't regress well without a cg? (my main blog isn't my little blog, hence the anon, I'm @babylionprincess)

@babylionprincess I can definitely relate when it comes to this. I��ve never had a CG and sometimes have trouble regressing as well. These are some things that I’ve found help me:

♡ Kids Shows/Movies - Letting yourself giggle during funny parts, smiling at happy parts, and singing/humming along to songs really helps me feel little! MLP, Sofia the First, and Disney movies are my favorites!!

♡ Kids Books - I have some picture books I read to myself sometimes with my stuffies. One of my favorite things to do is draw my own pictures based on the stories I've read! I also like to read these in bed when I'm winding down for the night.

♡ Read Alouds - If your headspace is too little to read, there are also read aloud books on YouTube you can listen to. I love listening to the Dr. Seuss ones!

♡ Coloring/Drawing - Coloring books are always super fun, especially when you use crayons! Just relaxing and doodling simple pictures is also a good way to get into that younger mindset.

♡ Stuffies - Talking to and playing with stuffies is one of my favorite ways to feel small. You can tell them about your day, hug them when you're sad, tell them stories, watch something with them, etc.

♡ Toys - Going into the toy aisle of a store and buying some toys you're interested in is great! I have 2 play-doh sets I love to use!! They're both food-themed ones so I love to pretend I'm on a cooking show and give it to my stuffies to eat! You can also always try making your own game!!

♡ Pacifier & Soft Music - I always find myself sleeping much better when I put a paci in my mouth before bed! It also helps me sleep when I put on soft instrumental Disney or Ghibli music. You can find these on YouTube!

♡ Kids Apps/Computer Games - There are lots of apps for kids out there, so try scrolling through the app store and look for something that sounds fun! My favorite app is a cute dress-up game called Pastel Girl! There are also a ton of websites like CoolMathGames.com and GirlsGoGames.com that are really fun and addictive! These make me feel super nostalgic too.

♡ Clothes - Getting together outfits that make you feel little & cute is really good! One of my favorite styles is wearing jean shorts over leggings!! Wearing cute pajamas is always fun too, and big hoodies can help you feel extra small!

♡ Food & Water - I find that eating snacks I used to when I was younger makes me feel nostalgic and happy! I think stuff that's easy to make is the best way to go, especially when you have low energy a lot of the time like I do. PB&J, goldfish, mac & cheese, and baby carrots are my favorites. Water is super important for you, and the best way to feel small while drinking it is using a bottle or sippy cup!

♡ Extra Tips

1) If you have plans and know you don't have a ton of time, it's probably best to stick with a short activity that you can come back to later, like coloring.

2) If you're like me and hate silence, try listening to music or putting a show/movie on for background noise.

It's important to remember that you don't have to have a CG to be an age regressor! Regression is all about the headspace you're in, not how many little things you have. I hope these helped!! If anyone has any other tips please let me know!

[ellanainthetardis]

Hi :) I’m know you’ve written fics where both happen but out of curiosity, in movie!verse (which admittedly I mostly ignore hahah) do you hc effie would move to 12 when Peeta moves back? Would it have been as difficult for her to live in the capitol if she was known to have been the escort that sided with the rebellion rather than the one that everyone thought was the enemy? What do you think would be her prompt to realise she’d rather be with haymitch when it’s not her PTSD like in book!verse?

MMM that’s a very interesting question I rarely touch movie!verse post MJ. I’m not entirely a fan of a “stay sober” Haymitch (at least not until a few years down the line when he might make the decision to cut out himself, bc it wasn’t his choice to get sober in MJ and I feel like he wouldn’t stick to it but I digress). As for Effie, it’s hard to tell. I love EB to death and I love her portrayal of Effie but the way they used Effie in MJ... I can’t really get behind it. She’s acting like her most flamboyant spoiled brat self all MJ 1&2 and 13 never puts her back in her place. I’d have liked to see a transposition of the scenes with the prep teams, for instance, or something that would confront her to reality, instead I got customized uniform book!13 would never have allowed and random comic relief. 

Anyway. Back to to topic. Two options, I think. Either we consider purely movie!canon and we decides they started hooking up in 13, so when he says don’t be a stranger maybe he means that but she doesn’t take it to mean “please move in ily” bc they don’t have the “history” so to speak. In which case, I will lean more toward something where she stays in the city and take a job with Plutarch, basically filling out Fluvia’s role, by becoming his Chief of Staff or something. I do think she has the skills to go into politics, maybe not as a face but as a PR or yeah, chief of staff, or something like that. Higher up but behind the throne, you see? 

Since she joined the rebellion after the Quell and was quite publicly the Mockingjay’s escort during the war, I think most rebels would be satisfied with that and maybe conclude she’s been a part of the rebellion for longer than anyone realized and she wouldn’t deny it so... She would be okay with them, maybe even well considered... I do think she would be in hotter waters with the Capitols but since Capitols invented the game, they would pretend and be very hypocretical bc they want to survive and, while she wouldn’t believe a word or a smile and watch for the knife in her back, she would go along with the charade. 

I think she could make a successful career out of that. A career she enjoys even, because her brain would be put to use for once. And since she wouldn���t be as jadded by the war, I don’t see her ambition being put in check. I guess she would be in relationship with Haymitch but it would be long distance. Holidays, the occasional week-end in 12 or the city... 

Maybe it works out well, at first, because Haymitch isn’t used to having someone romatincally around and that’s a good transition but after a while, I do think he would get in a frame of mind where he wants something more stable and it might put tensions on their relationship a few years down the line...

I’m a romantic and I love them so I want to think they would make it but I’m not sure how much a fling that started in MJ with the movie!characterisation would really work out. Either she quits and move to 12 (but she’s so ambitious and if her career is really working well, it seems ooc) or Haymitch moves to the city (which is NOT happening) or they find some sort of in-between solution where she takes a political role as a delegate in 12 or something... 

Second, option (my default when I play in movie!verse) we consider a hybrid of (what we  think is) book!canon and movie!canon for Effie. We consider Effie  has a lot of character development pre 74th and is fully aware of the states by the time Katniss pulls out the poisonned berries and isn’t as clueless during the Tour and etc as she pretends to be on screen. So when she arrives in 13 she’s DEEPLY unhappy about having been “kidnapped” (probably bc if Haymitch had asked, she would simply have said yes), really upset by the rebels failing to rescue Peeta and mostly worried because she’s not stupid enough not to see she’s not welcome. She’s basically durmped into the enemy’s den and Haymitch isn’t even around to protect her (bc he’s in withdrawals). I like to consider book!13 when I write that verse and pretend movie!13 doesn’t exist, so she would also be “a fish out of water” - as was promised when MJ1 came out. I also like to have her wear the real uniform for that reason, I think it’s important for someone like her who always means to stand out to be forced into the ranks, because it would play on her mind and that’s interesting. 

Anyway, book!hayffie do seem to have more history regardless of if you think they were having an affair before 74th or not. They have all those “of one mind” thing and conspiracy in elevators... They do seem to have a more... real equal working relationship, meanwhile in the movie, it seems Haymitch is doing all the work.... So if we take that into account, I think, in that hybrid idea, Effie would stick with Haymitch and remain his escort (and Kat’s obviously) in 13 so she’s more involved despite the hostility she triggers. Her being more involved means she gets to see more of the horrors happening in Command. She would also, I think, be tired by all the years of dead kids. That’s something that would sit heavily on her and I’m not sure book!Effie shrugs it off as easily as movie!Effie does... 

What I like with movie!Effie though, is that she develops a real nice relationship with Katniss. That, we do lack in the books. And I really like that because I think it might come to play a role post MJ. 

Of course, when we consider post MJ we have to decide what to do there too. I don’t like the movie!MJ ending XD I don’t like that Katniss isn’t hurt/addicted and I don’t like that they ship her off right after the murder. I like the whole “suicidal/withdrawal/trial” thing better. There is SO MUCH happening beyond her room during those weeks (months?) and that’s what’s interesting because I think that’s when hayffie’s fate is decided. (either they implode in book!verse - for a little while - or they seal the fact they want to be together for hybrid movie!verse)

Anyway, if we consider the hybrid version of Effie (movie!verse but with book background and the idea that the affair didn’t in fact begin in 13) I think it’s possible she just might be exhausted and disgusted by all the politics and worried about the children enough that she would just come to 12 with Peeta. To test the water. Also she knows her feelings, she’s mostly confident Haymitch does love her, she probably simply isn’t sure he’s actually ready to have her around him 24/24 in his house. 

I mean if she and Haymitch had been dancing around the casual/not so casual thing for years, she might want to take a shot at being steady, committted while he’s miraculously willing. I can see it as a natural progress of their relationship assuming they took a big step in 13 (either by openly sharing a compartment even if it’s not official like I like to hc or even just by not systematically denying when someone assumes they’re together or even - which I think is plausible - by having an actual convo where she puts it on the table that she wants more and he actually awkwardly reassures her that he does have feelings - even if the words aren’t said yet...). 

Now if they just started hooking up in 13, I don’t think she would show up with Peeta because there wouldn’t be all the developped intimacy and trust that they need. They both have huge trust and intimacy issues. Haymitch more than Effie, granted, but I don’t think she’s the kind of girl who would drop everything to follow a guy without being 100% certain he loves her without question. She’s a romantic, no questions, but she’s also pragmatic. I’m not sure we get those conditions with movie!hayffie. 

ALSO I realize this is all my hc and basically book!verse doesn’t give us much more to go on but I really do believe with all my heart the only reason Haymitch would be open to having a romantic (committed) relationship post MJ (and take a shot at sobriety on top of it) is because of Effie, of their long complicated affair and because he realized he loved her a little too late. Two things in movie verse: either they were hooking up and he doesn’t have the *gasp she’s in the Capitol’s hands, I lost her, shit I love her don’t I?” reveal (although I guess we can still have him start realizing during VT and go from there) so the knowledge he actually wants her in his life full time is slower to come OR they start hooking up in MJ and he doesn’t have the years of denial and tentative repressed feelings so I’m not sure how we go from him being a hermit to him wanting to be committed to someone he was sure he disliked even though he was fond of her. 

And she might have the same doubts. Basically a movie!hayffie relationship would have a lot of things to work out. But the thing with movie!hayffie is that Haymitch backstory isn’t explained (is it? I don’t remember. I blacked out most of the things I was disappointed about and boy was I disappointed with the Finnick reveal scene) and Effie’s background is very unexplored so it’s kind of sandbox. I’m too fixed in my own hc and visions of the characters by now but someone else might come up with very various backstories and backgrounds and make it work better than I could maybe...  

If you read all that rambling and made sense of it, I give you a golden star. Maybe I’m way off base though. It’s been a while since I watched the movies. I really didn’t like MJ1 and 2 much. There were stuff I liked, some scenes, mostly papa!H and mama!E, obviously I enjoyed the hayffie... But idk, 13 is too different from what I pictured, not strict enough, and I’m irked every time Coin gives Katniss a peptalk that should have come from Haymitch. The lack of Haymitch is also annoying to me. He’s supposed to be a key player and he’s just in the background. Even Effie is more useful, I feel. 

Anyway, see how my brain works? You ask a question and it jumps in a thousand different directions. I’m not sure I did a good job at explaining my thoughts. 

But do share yours! I’m interested! It’s been a while since we talked headcanons and meta! I’ll put this on the tag if people are feeling like reading ramblings and discussing their own vision... 

All hcs and meta are interesting! 

[milk-luvr-dot-com]

“A New Assistant” - The Thick Of It - Chapter 3

Summary: Nicola juggles a grieving redhead and a moronic, neurotic press advisor. Ivy and Malcolm have a falling out.

Word Count (this chapter): 5108

Rating: Mature (For adult situations, language)

Warnings: No Ao3 Warnings, Explicit Language, homophobic language, fatphobic language, sexist language, ablest language, implied/referenced past abuse

Categories: F/M, Gen

Tags: Falling in love, crushes, comedy, slow burn, explicit language, original  female characters, AU - canon divergence, mutual pining, friendship, friends to lovers, angst, implied/referenced past abuse, additional tags to be added

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Full chapter and Ao3 link under the cut.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510592/chapters/59509222

Ivy and Malcolm walked down the halls of the hotel, briskly, and popping along the way to say hello to mindless news people and other members of the cabinet, who were all nervously preparing and memorizing speeches. Ivy wasn't sure why Malcolm had invited her. She was gonna be like a bump on a log the whole weekend, since she was still too new to fully deal with the press on her own. Maybe Malcolm saw it as a training opportunity. Maybe he just wanted to not deal with a bunch of bullshit this weekend. Maybe he just wanted to spend time with her.

The latter was what was actually true. Malcolm just wanted to spend time alone with Ivy. I mean, it wasn't weird to invite your assistant with you to the party conference, right? It wasn't weird to get a room with two twin beds. Right?

Well, actually. Touch of a problem with that. As sitcom as it is, when they opened the door to the room, there was only one bed. A queen size bed. It's as if the fucking people who booked the hotel were trying to tell them something. It was actually pretty likely, rather, because they both had recently pissed off one of the desk jockeys in the department. It wouldn't have been hard to make a quick last-minute change.

"You're actually fucking kidding me, right?" Malcolm said, massaging the bridge of his nose as they entered.

"I'll sleep on the couch."

"What? No. No, I'll just call and ask for a room change. Hang on." He set his small suitcase down and made his way over to the side of the bed with the phone. He sunk in immediately. The bed creaked dreadfully. He cringed.

She sat about 3/4 of the way down the bed on the opposite side of him.

"Hello, sorry, is it possible we could get a room change? You see it's just that-... Jesus Christ, you're kidding. FUCK!" He slammed the phone down, rubbing his face. She whipped her head around. "Hm?"

"They're completely booked. No other rooms."

"Looks like I'm sleeping on the couch, then." She shrugged, looking back and staring at the painting hanging on the wall above the dresser. It had blues coinciding with a dash of yellow, a close-up of a field of forget-me-not flowers. "Pretty painting."

Malcolm was lost in thought, staring at the neutral carpet grain that hadn't been changed since the 70s. "Huh?"

"That painting. It's pretty. I don't know the name of those flowers. And trust me, I've seen a lot of flowers, I used to work in the funeral industry."

He turned, shifting further down the bed. "They look familiar." Ivy looked over at him, confused. "My mother used to garden. I'd help her occasionally."

She smiled, in a snarky manner. "Malcolm Tucker's a poof."

"Shut up. Right," he clapped, rising. "We've got to get a wiggle on, we've got reporters to jack off."

She stood up as well, following him. "A wiggle on?"

"You know what I mean. Come on, come on, come on."

  They met up with some press people, among other friendly faces. It was still fairly early. T minus 2 hours until Nicola inevitably embarrasses herself.

"I mean, these are the worst pictures I've seen, really, they are. I don't know who was taking them." He pointed to one of his mates' ID badge photos. The bloke picked it up, looking at it briefly. "They've got Roy fucking Orbison doing that."

"I've heard he wasn't even blind." Ivy added, elbowing him. She was purposefully trying to embarrass him, as a joke. 

"Malcolm?" The woman who's badge read Angela Heaney inquired.

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen Rob Holt's blog today?"

"Oh, yeah, of course, I read Rob Holt's blog. I read all the blogs. 'Cause basically I'm an underemployed fat fucking loser. Got nothing better to do with my time than sit in my bedroom like a fat space-hopper in a tracksuit, reading inconsequential, unspellchecked shit, fabricated by other fat, farting, fucking losers."

Ivy pressed her lips together, going wide eyed briefly to show her annoyance, albeit agreement. Angela began to explain, "Well, he's saying that the big health numbers in the PM's speech, they're from a false sample. Apparently, they're lifted from Andrew Dover's blog, not ONS."

Malcolm shot a look at Ivy, who immediately pretended to take a call, and walk off. "I wouldn't take any notice of it. There's nothing in that at all." He said.

"Nothing?"

"Nope, nothing. Catch you laters, alright?" He walked away, joining Ivy, who looked at him as soon as she said, "Whoever fucking leaked it is going to be leaking drool for the next six months after I've beat them into a shell of a human with a golf club. Fix it, or you'll hear worse from Malcolm. Right. Bye."

"Jesus. You're really hurling the colorful insults now."

She brushed past him, and began walking to their next destination. He followed. "Well, I learned from the best."

“Okay. So,” He clapped, “I need to phone the PM and tell him.”

“Uh, we could go up to the halls. No one’s up there.”

“Yes, right,” he pointed at her, “good. Get away from all these leeching journalists.” 

They took the lift up a couple levels. Ivy didn’t expect him to stay near the lifts. No, Malcolm liked pacing. She wasn’t sure if it was a nervous habit of his (because she wasn’t sure if Malcolm was ever nervous,) or if walking around just made him feel important. Either scenario was realistic.

They lurked around the halls. Ivy was pretty sure their room was nearby. Maybe she’d pressed the same button as before by muscle memory. She could hear background chatter from various rooms of important people cheersing and toasting for important causes. But it was mostly drowned out by Malcolm’s stern voice. Being honest with herself, Malcolm was more important than anyone in those rooms.

She expected to get ambushed at least once by some eavesdropping journalist, like Nicola did. Oh, who was she kidding, Malcolm wouldn’t let that happen. He’s got a stick far too up his arse for that. He was like a light sleeping soldier in a warzone with that sort of thing.

What they did get ambushed by, instead was the crack-addicted Timothee Chalamet (Or Olly, if you prefer,) and a ginger woman.

“Oh, hey, Malcolm, Ivy. How’s it hanging?”

“Like the Gardens of Babylon. Do you know where Lord Clarkham’s room is? I’m gonna go and try and stick his balls in his fucking trouser press.”

Ivy looked Olly up and down, then smirked sarcastically, “I see you’ve pulled.” She winked.

“Uh- look this is Julie Price. She is the people’s champion that Nicola is announcing in her speech.”

“Julie Price?” They both stopped in their tracks and turned, shaking hands gently with her.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Ivy cocked her head sympathetically. “It was a massive tragedy, bless you. Are you being looked after? Olly treating you well?”

“Oh- oh not bad, yeah.”

“You stick with Olly. He’s a good guy. I know he looks a bit like an anorexic Leo Sayer, there, but… Hey, could I have a picture taken with you?” He pulled out his phone, handing it to Ivy. “I’ve got a little collection of memories, you know. Mandela and stuff. Ivy, could you do the honors?”

“Mhm! Of course.” She stepped back. “Smile!” She said.

Julie flirtatiously hit Malcolm, calling him a stunner or something along those lines. Ivy took it as an opportunity to mischievously scowl at Olly. “You really are impressive. Hey, do you know who else is impressed by you? The PM.” He mentioned, grinning.

“He has a nice part in his speech where he’d be honored to introduce you and have you on. If, you’re up to that, that is.” She clasped her hands in front of her.

“B-But that might clash, a bit. Uh, you know because Nicola’s having her on.” Olly said, looking pathetic.

Julie excused herself to the restrooms. Olly clenched his fists, desperately trying to convince Malcolm otherwise. “Y-You can’t do that!”

“You gonna stamp your foot and slam the door to your bedroom next, little Timmy?” Ivy mocked.

“Boo-hoo, Olly. Can do, have done.”

“You want us to think of a whole entire new speech in 2 hours? 2 hours?”

“We don’t want you to do anything, but if you’d like to keep your reputation and probably your jobs, you will.”

“But that’s not fair!” He made a concerned face.

“Suck it up, fuckface. If she goes on with Nicola, she’ll be watched by 15 house-bound mouthbreathers. And the swelling ranks of the unemployed, who hate us, by the way. If she goes on with Tom, it’ll make 10:00 o’ clock news.”

“It’s for the greater good.”

“Yes, the greater good, thank you, Ivy.”

“Julie, hello. Feeling better?” Ivy smiled gently, yet falsely. “So, what’ll it be, Julie? Would you like to stick with Olly here, or do you want to run with Tom, or sorry-” She laughed, as if to seem sweet. “The PM, for your speech?”

“Uh.. I’m going with the big boys.”

“Great! Good, yes, the big boys.” Malcolm said.

“Oh, sorry Olly. It was lovely meeting you.”

“Right this way, we’ll introduce you to the PM.” They walked off, leaving Olly a pathetic begging loser. They walked down the hall, standing either side of Julie like bodyguards for organized crime. Malcolm began making light conversation.

“Are you in the hotel?”

“Oh yes.”

“Oh, lovely.”

“Well,” she chuckled, “I wouldn’t call it lovely.”

They laughed along. “Oh, John!” Ivy called the bearded bloke from earlier over, who looked like he was in a rush. But he was always that way, she guessed.

“This is John, the press organizer.”

“Yes, we’ve met before.”

“Oh, have you, lovely! Are you a texter?” At some point, Julie began fiddling with her phone, and appeared to be texting someone. Malcolm shot a look to Ivy, then glanced briefly at John. She nodded.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Excuse us for just a tick.” Ivy pinched the sleeve of John’s suit jacket, dragging him down the hall a bit. “Look, okay. I need you to just casually mention to Alan Dunn and…  I guess Lindsay Anorexi at The Mail, that the PM has commandeered Julie Price for his speech. Okay?”

She turned, but was cut off. “B-But that’s not strictly true, is it?”

“Yeah, and strictly come dancing isn’t strictly dancing, there’s also a bit at the beginning where an old man dribbles. So what?” She got in his face. She was going for intimidation, but it was clear John was uncomfortably turned on. So she guessed she’d settle for dominatrix.

“I-I don’t know what that means, but-”

 Just then, Glenn came hobbling down the hall like a washed-old Bradley Walsh look-alike in a Sainsbury’s cracker aisle. Ivy didn’t notice, but Malcolm sure did.

Glenn brushed past Ivy. “Oh, Glenn, I can see you’re a tad peeved.” He got in Malcolm’s face.

“I’m not having it, you’ve gone too far!”

“Get a grip, Glenn. I didn’t fucking cum in your fucking mouth.”

John began laughing, which caused Glenn to turn attention to both Ivy and him. “Are you in on this?”

“Nope, just following orders. Like a nazi guard.” He did the anti-semetic salute. “You’re not Jewish, are you?”

“...No?”

“Oh, good.”

“Ivy, can you take her?” She nodded. “Julie, if you could just step in there for a moment and have a chat with some lovely people. Have some tea and biscuits. We’ve got to deal with a um… internal issue. You do understand, don’t you? Good, go on.” She didn’t wait for a response, she just shoved her gently into the room.

“You,” Malcolm pointed at John, “fucking Henry the 8th’s lobotomized cousin, piss off and back to your sad job.”

John, did not in fact, piss off. The dank cream colored hallway slowly grew more lively with increasingly angry chatter paired nicely with erupting laughter from important people in important rooms. Like a fucking wine and cheese pairing. Malcolm and Glenn were bickering about Julie, which had an intermission with one of Malcolm’s famous quips, “Oh, shit, wow here’s the beige fucking power ranger now!”

Glenn continued, pushing harder each time. “We’re taking her back!”

Olly, John, and  Ivy began trying to diffuse the situation. She swore to herself this was the last time they were going to agree on anything. 

“Can we get a bit more sane about this?”

“Malcolm, calm down, please. Glenn, just fuck off and help glummy mummy write her new speech. Let it go!”

“Let’s not argue here!”

Glenn continued insisting, getting redder and redder with rage. Malcolm grew more and more annoyed. Ivy’s eyes widened, knowing this was going to get ugly quickly (well, actually, the ugliness had already peaked when both Olly and Glenn showed up at the same time.)

Then suddenly, it fucking happened. Ivy shut her eyes, cringing. John covered his mouth. Glenn went down, landing over Olly.

“Malcolm!” Ivy half-shouted, putting herself between Glenn and him in case it continued, her hands on his chest. He seemed to be over it, shaking out his fist in pain. 

“You hit me!” He whimpered out, kneeling on the floor.

“No! I did not hit you! You hurt yourself!” Malcolm lied, artfully. She lowered her arms, knowing the worst was over for now. “Respectfully, what the fuck sir!” She hurriedly whispered.

Glenn whined that he thought his nose was broken. “Noses can’t break, it's a myth.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

Ivy went to go help, “lean forward, c’mon, mate. I used to be a barmaid, don’t worry, this isn’t the first suckerpunch to the nose I’ve dealt with. Does anyone have a towel? Good, good, yeah. Here you go.” She let him dab the wounded area. She sucked through her teeth, “It doesn’t look good.”

Malcolm told Olly to get him back to this room. Julie was dealt with by John, not very well, but still fine enough. “No one saw that?” He asked Ivy, who was the only other person who remained, and thankfully it was just her. Anyone else would likely have received another of the same if they happened to cross Malcolm. “No, no one. Fuck, Malcolm!”

He hurried off in the direction of their room. He opened the door, letting her in before slamming it back again. “Jesus fucking tapdancing Christ, Malcolm, you broke a man’s nose!”

“Oh, he’s fine.”

“It is so not fucking fine!” She stood there, shocked, choking on words coming out of her mouth. He sat down in the chair that faced the door, looking at her stoically. “Do you know what fucking makes this worse? Hm? This didn’t fucking help anything. Glenn and Olly and Nicola are all still going to be seething with rage at us for taking their fucking star player!”

“So what?”

“So fucking what? You’re actually kidding me. You’re so fucking caught up in the moment, so fucking primal like a tiger looking for it’s next meal. You don’t even fucking think of the future.” Ivy’s voice began breaking, on the verge of tears. “Do you know what all that career hopping taught me? It taught me I was fucking wrong. I was fucking wrong so many, many times. I was so fucking wrong to waste money on schools that got me no more happiness, I was so wrong to waste my remaining teenage years bunging around the cinemas with my friends instead of being at my bedridden mother’s side. And right now, I’m thinking I’m wrong in getting involved with you.”

He slapped the arms of the chair, getting up so fast. “THEN FUCKING LEAVE, IVY! I NEVER ASKED FOR YOU! I NEVER ASKED TO BE AROUND YOU 8 HOURS OF MY FUCKING DAY!” He stood over her. She backed off quickly into the skinny entryway of the room, touching the wall almost. Her eyes widened, out of fear. Making eye contact with him, she let tears begin dripping down her face. She covered her mouth, muffling whimpers of things like “please don’t hit me.”

Malcolm bit his lip, backing up, and pressing his back against the other wise of the entryway. He could have sworn his eyes felt wet with salty droplets, which refused to fall. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“What?”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Ivy.”

She stayed quiet for another minute, wiping away her tears, and sniffling. Strangely, she began chuckling. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, you stupid old man.”

He furrowed his brow, confused. "I'm gonna go apologize to Glenn for you."

"You don't have to." He covered his mouth, looking down, ashamed.

"I know." She said as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a one-sided hug that didn't last more than a few seconds. He blushed, looking down at her, frozen. "Right, I'll be back later."

  "Jesus, Ivy!" Nicola shouted when she entered the room almost silently.

She didn't react. "You alright, Glenn?"

"I don't want to speak to you Ivy, sorry. Nor Malcolm."

"I think you should leave."

Ivy ignored her, turning to the bathroom door. "I've come to apologize, Glenn. On behalf of myself and Malcolm."

"Oh, what, 'cause Malcolm couldn't do it himself? Had to get his winged monkey to go out here and do it? Fly my pretties, fly!" Olly tacked on to the conversation, helping nothing.

She shot a look at Olly, before turning around and putting her hand on the door frame. "I'm really sorry, mate. Sorry he did that in the heat of the moment, you know? And I'm sorry I didn't stop it, it was really quite stupid and shortsighted of me. We're under a lot of pressure, right now, you know. It's a fucking war zone. We're soldiers, you gotta expect there's just a bit of friendly fire."

"Yeah."

"Good. Good. I would uh, hug you but I don't want to get any blood on my blouse. Shake on it?" She stuck out her hand, and he took it. The half-dried red liquid between their hands squelched disgustingly. She cringed.

Malcolm entered the hotel room, "How's the patient?"

"I'm fine, Malcolm. Just sore." He called out from the bathroom. Ivy ran her hand under water and dried it off with one of the fancy paper towels. "I've already apologized, sir."

Malcolm nodded, clapping and turning to Nicola and Olly. "Alright, so you've lost Julie. You've got a cavity the size of a prisoner's arsehole in your speech. Got a back-up plan?"

"We'll figure it out, thank you."

"Why don't we help you, hm? I mean, it is the least we could do." Ivy piped up.

"Yes, yes, yes, roll some tits up the flagpole and see if anyone gets wood."

"Christ. Okay, well, all we've got is Mannion's second holiday."

Ivy sat down on the couch behind Nicola's chair. Malcolm joined her. The couch was tiny, as was everything else in the room, so they were pretty close quarters. They didn't mind, but Malcolm didn't stay for long. Again, he liked to pace, and pace he did, like a caged tiger. Glenn joined the group, sitting in the remaining single seat. "He works really hard at planning his holidays." Glenn said.

"Fucking A+ quality sarcasm there that you're lobbing at 'em. Boom."

"I feel like I'm in a therapy group being run by my own rapist."

Everyone's cell phones chimed, all in sync. "Oh, shit." One of them said. "It's got out!" Another added. Olly sarcastically said, "No, I thought it was room service cold-calling."

"Who the fuck leaked it? No one saw it, right?" Ivy looked at Malcolm. He was preoccupied checking around the internet. "Fuck! It's on Rob Holt's blog! Okay, we need to get your people's champion out of this hotel, before some tabloid minge-flannel starts soft-soaping her."

"So we've got her back again?" Nicola asked.

"Jesus, don't be so sensitive about this!" Malcolm yelled.

"My fucking responsibility! Fuck the speech!" Nicola yelled also, slamming the door to the bathroom.

"Women! Women, huh? Slamming the fucking door. Where did this idea come from? Wilma! Fuck off." He spat.

She called out to him, "I'm making a phone call."

"Make a phone call, phone a fucking friend." He collapsed next to Ivy again into the couch.

"Women," Ivy mocked in a nasty tone. "Okay, Fred Flintstone."

"Shut up." He smiled, looking at her softly. She giggled.

"God, get a room you two." Olly said, without looking up, continuing to type.

"We have a room, sod off and write your mummy's speech." She squinted at him, crossly

"Ivy, we should go back and get ready for the stupid banquet thing." He touched her shoulder, which caught her off guard. Normally she instigated physical contact. "Right you are, yeah."

  They joined some reporters to have wine and break bread in fancy dress. Malcolm dawned a bow tie, which Ivy made mental note of to make fun of later. Glenn had joined them, feeling a bit better, and no longer bleeding.

"Have a bit more, Glenn, go on." Malcolm poured him a bit more. "Watch your step, though, don't go tripping up again."

"Absolutely." They laughed along.

Angela, same reporter as earlier, piped up. "D-Day. What is it, Malcolm? I thought you were one of the boxers, not the emcee."

"No, I've just got to rear my ugly head, as you would have it, at a few receptions this evening. Including the Rod Hughes do for Tom. Believe me, I'd rather slip into something more comfortable. Like a coma." Again, they laughed along.

The same woman continued, "Malcolm, you've started beating up your own guys. That has to be a bad sign."

"Oh, he didn't hit Glenn," Ivy swiped with her hand, smiling, defending him. "No, I didn't. Why would I do that? And there's no proof that I did."

"Yeah, whatever you say, Malcolm," she chuckled.

"Watch," He threw a fake punch "he doesn't flinch."

"Malcolm wouldn't hurt a fly, and trust me, I'd know, because I've had to roll up Sunday's paper and whap a few in his office for him." Ivy said, grinning.

"We're pals, I mean," He went to go stand next to him, "Look at the size of this guy, I wouldn't hit him. Look, he's a fucking man-mountain!"

"Are you calling me fat?" Glenn jokingly attacked back.

"Heh, that's the banter."

They continued for a few more moments. The conversation was slowing, like a dying fireplace on Christmas eve. Malcolm gave Ivy a look, which said "we've got to get going," and they excused themselves. Once they rounded the corner into the halls once again, they saw John, the fucking idiot, from earlier. They stopped, and Malcolm shoved him into a room. Ivy was a bit concerned, considering that she didn't know who's room that was. She figured she might follow them, eavesdropping on their conversation. Maybe she'd pick up a few classic Tucker scare tactics.

She heard something about tweezers from the twat, something about bullocks, and then finally, she heard Malcolm answer his phone, announcing that Julie was the leak. Something about Twitter.

Malcolm opened the door quickly after that, which startled Ivy half to death. "Were you listening in?"

"Of course I was, I wasn't just going to sit outside the door waiting for you like some primary schooler waiting for her mummy, all arms crossed and lunch box in hand."

He raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly, "...So, anyway, Julie's the leaker."

"I know."

"Well how'd you know, I only found out a minute ago?!" They left the room, almost running into a maid on their way out. He looked at her. "Oh, listening in, right. Sorry, I forgot."

"You're as daft as a goat sometimes, you know, Malcolm?" She teased.

"Shush."

Malcolm and Ivy went to Glenn's room, where the 3 fuckheads of DoSAC were increasingly panicking, trying to finish Nicola's speech while she memorized it.

"Squeeze my cock and call me Nancy," Malcolm announced, pushing open the door to the room and inviting himself inside. "Were you born in a barn, Glenn? Keep the door and your arse cheeks tightly fucking closed, right?"

"That's a fucking tiny kettle. Did they use your dick as a ruler, because boy, it sure fucking looks like it." Ivy said.

"Where's glummy mummy?"

"She's having a pee." Glenn delivered.

Ivy suck out her hands, "Oh, Julie!" Julie was seated on the edge of the bed, twiddling her thumbs. "How are you?" She clasped them in front of herself.

She shrugged, "Could be worse."

Nicola came out of the bathroom, jumping at Malcolm's presence. "Fucking hell, Malcolm."

"Julie, darling, could we have a wee word with you?" He said.

"...Why, is something wrong?"

Malcolm squatted down next to her, awkwardly. "Do you know a man called Rob Holt?"

"I've never heard of him, why, what's all this about?"

"Well it's just that he's one of your uh, followers, on... Twitter?" Malcolm looked at Ivy. She nodded, echoing, "Twitter."

"And we think that some of your uh...?"

"Tweets."

"The tweets that you've been doing have actually been reported, out there."

"Well." She exhaled, "What're you accusing us of?"

"We're not accusing you of anything." Nicola said.

"You all look like you're accusing us of something! You fucking sound like you're accusing us of something!"

"No, no, no, no-"

"I've seen Spooks! You have treated me like a bag of shit all day!" Julie began, standing up. "I mean, I'm a very, very patient person, but I've had it up to here with yous lot! I should've known not to trust yous lot, when you fucked over them Metric Martyrs. All I was trying to do was right by my Jason, right? And if he was here now, he'd be fucking appalled by the way yous lot are carrying on. He always said you were a useless bunch of wankers."

Olly came in, holding a bag of crisps which crinkled obnoxiously. Although nothing could be more obnoxious than whatever was about to come out of his mouth. "Oh, Julie! Oh you're back! Excellent. Every epic needs a hero. Put tiny kettle on, lad, I'm gasping."

Malcolm was staring darkly at him, arms crossed. The awkward air was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. "Uh, everything okay? What's-What's going on?"

"Uh- Malcolm, could you just come to the toilet with me, for a moment." She pushed him into the toilet. Ivy turned to look at it, making a confused face. She leaned towards the door once it shut, to try and hear some form on conversation. She only managed to pick up the gist of the plan.

Malcolm covertly told Glenn something. Ivy was too tired and too over it to figure out what. Julie left by herself in a ferocious hurry. As soon as the door slammed closed.

"Good riddance." Ivy mumbled.

"Do we have anything we can use against her?" Malcolm demanded.

Nicola rubbed her temple, crossing her arm over her chest. "Metric Martyr stuff. That's all I can think of."

"Fruit by the pound?" Ivy lifted herself off the wooden hutch, joining them near the bed. "That's it?"

"Fruit by the fucking pound. Fuck. Okay, well, we say we're dropping her for extremist views. How about that?"

The group shrugged, mutually agreeing that it was good enough for them. "Just don't go into detail, otherwise they'll crawl up your arse like a dirty little Syrian dwarf hamster all over again."

Ivy snickered at her own joke which was in her head. "How do you like them apples? By the pound?"

Olly and Nicola sighed heavily, one of them remarked, "Jesus."

  After quite a night of wine drinking, toasting, celebrating, or otherwise partying, Malcolm and Ivy said their goodbye's and goodnight's to friends and coworkers. They both looked like Hell. Well, it could be worse, but still Hell. Malcolm's bow tie was crooked and half undone (it was actually surprising to Ivy that he both knew how to tie one and had a real one, not just a pre-tied one). He had spilled droplets of dried cherry colored wine on his white button-up, which he had failed to notice in time, so it was likely that they'd leave irreparable stains. Ivy's makeup was smeared, a faint streak of eyeliner spread across her temple from a forgetful moment where she wiped the corner of her eye. Her dress was wrinkled, her hair messy. They were both half wine drunk. The clock read 12 am.

Despite looking like an embarrassing mess, Malcolm thought she was so incredibly gorgeous. He caught himself staring through the cracked door and into the mirror while she was washing her face and brushing out her curls. Good thing her eyes didn't catch his or he'd never hear the end of it. "Who's sleeping on the couch?" She asked, kneeling down beside her bag to pull out her pajamas.

"Huh?" He said, setting his tie in his overnight bag and removing his jacket.

"I said, who's sleeping on the couch?" She went back to the bathroom, this time closing the door so she could change.

He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and began unbuttoning it. Malcolm didn't listen to a word she said. All he knew is that she asked a question. So, he responded, "Sure."

"Were you even listening?" She laughed.

"No."

"Whatever. Are you decent?" Ivy had finished getting dressed. So had Malcolm, apparently, since he answered with a "Yes."

She stepped out of the bathroom, crouching down once again to put her clothes away. Malcolm felt his heart skip a beat. Oh God, he thought, she's even more stunning now. She was wearing a plain black spaghetti strap tank top and soft pajama shorts. She wasn't even trying to be attractive, she just plain was. Ivy had her arms crossed over her chest, staring at his face stoically.

"Right, I don't really feel like hunkering down on the couch tonight. So I'll sleep under the covers, you sleep on top."

"What?"

She sat on the side of the bed that had the flower painting. "Do you need hearing aids? We're both adults, get over it." She said, sliding into bed and rolling over. "Just don't snore."

"Fine." He pulled the spare blanket off of the top of the armchair, fluffing it out over the bed and laying under it. "Goodnight, Ivy."

"'Night, Malcolm."

[inevitably-johnlocked]

I-J’s Top 20 Bookmarks of 2018

I’M A BIT LATE WITH THIS, but I’ve been meaning to do this for awhile. I want to start reccing more fics that people haven’t asked for, and thought this was a good way to start that :P

After I made my Top 30 Read-Again Fics (March 2019) fic list, I thought hmm, why not just make a list of my fave fics I bookmarked in 2018? Because why not? 

So here we are; it was a RIDICULOUSLY hard selection process (it was supposed to be only 10!), since everything I bookmark are amazing stories. I kept the criteria to fics I’ve only read for the very first time in 2018 and then proceeded to bookmark, so these aren’t necessarily fics that were released in 2018, just stuff I’ve read and bookmarked.

ANYWAY, without further ado, in word count order:

I-J’s TOP 20 BOOKMARKS of 2018

See also: 

Top 20 Fave 40K+ w. Fics (April 2017 ) 

I-J’s Last 50 Bookmarked Fics (June 2017) 

Last 17 Bookmarked Fics July 2017

Last 30 Bookmarked Fics November 2017 

Ten Fave Short Johnlock Fics (Easy Reads April 2018) 

25 Fave Johnlock One Shots (April 2018) 

Top 10 Fave Fics (September 2018) 

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Last 86 Bookmarked Fics (Jan 2019) || [MOBILE] 

Top 30 Read-Again Fics (March 2019)

A Study in Lace by KarlyAnne (E, 2,320 w. || Est. Rel., Crafty Sherlock, Tiny Lace Panties / Lingerie, Domestics, Experiments, Oral, Masturbation) – “Why do you suppose he was doing that?” “Why do I suppose who was doing what?” “The room. The lace. The secrecy. He was playing with fire in everything he did, and didn’t care one bit. But he had a secret chamber, carefully concealed, solely for the purpose of making lace lingerie. Obviously for personal use. Why?" Part 1 of The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes

Lingerie by Sexxica (E, 4,135 w. || Valentine’s Day, Lingerie / Women’s Underwear, Mildly Public Masturbation, Picture Texting / Sexting, Bottomlock, Body Worship, Anal Sex / Fingering, Rimming, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Est. Rel.) – It's Valentines Day and Sherlock is taking John to Angelo's for dinner. Sherlock also happens to be wearing a garter belt, stockings and a rather small pair of women's underwear under his clothes. There's no dessert at Angelo's because John needs to get Sherlock home just as quickly as he can before they both lose their minds entirely.

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

When to Let Go by KendylGirl (M, 22,109 w. || Friends to Lovers, Reverse Reichenbach, Sacrifice, Forgiveness, Angst, Love, Implied Drug Use) – What if it were John who had to die to thwart Moriarty's plans? John's supposed death shatters Sherlock, and when he returns, it will challenge the pair to forge a path of forgiveness, to peace, and to find a way back to each other. Part 1 of When to Let Go

Another Auld Lang Syne by DiscordantWords (M, 30,234 w. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Introspection, Parentlock, Christmas, New Year’s, First Kiss, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Drinking, Sherlock Whump) – There had been years of missed chances.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie's class and you won't have to share a room with a stranger?" "Exactly." Sherlock beamed at him. "Don't worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us."

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock Has a Boyfriend) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

The Unfinished Letters by SilentAuror (E, 37,391 w. || Post S3 / S3 / HLV Fix it, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Infidelity, Depression, Case Fic, POV Third Person Sherlock, Love Confessions, Pining Sherlock, Letters) – A fire at Baker Street leads John to read something he was never intended to see: a notebook of half-written, unfinished letters Sherlock wrote during his time away...

Set in Stone by SilentAuror (E, 39,309 w. || Romance, Wedding, Therapy, Fluff and Angst) – Sherlock and John are back from Ravine Valley and planning their wedding. However, as they move past the trial of the human traffickers, Sherlock can't help but wonder if he's imagining that John is becoming a little distant. Surely he isn't getting cold feet about the wedding... Part 2 of The Ravine Valley series

In the Still of the Night by SilentAuror (E, 42,234 w. || S4 Fix It / Post-S4, Sherlock POV, Angst, Drama, Romance, Virgin Sherlock, Awkwardness, Misunderstandings / Miscommunications, Case Fic, Travelling, Pining) – As locals on the Northeastern coast begin to report UFO sightings, life at Baker Street becomes significantly awkward as John brings up his desire for more than friendship and Sherlock refuses him. They embark on the investigation from the confines of the tiny cottage Mycroft has rented for them, attempting to navigate both the clues of the case as well as their own inability to communicate...

Bloody But Unbowed by BeautifulFiction (E, 43,211 w. || Abduction, John Whump, Mild Torture, Background Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Post-TRF / S3 Rewrite, Hurt/Comfort) – When a familiar argument threatens to destroy the last remnants of John and Sherlock's failing friendship, both men are left questioning their worth to one another. Before either of them has the chance to make amends, circumstance intervenes. John is left at the mercy of his abductors, and this time, he's not sure Sherlock will bother coming to his rescue.

floating through a dark blue sky by Lediona (M, 58,966 w. || Notting Hilll AU || POV John, Celebrity Sherlock, First Date / Time / Kiss, Past Drug Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending) – Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

The Book of Silence by SilentAuror (E, 60,056 w. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Virgin Sherlock, Rosie / Parentlock, Domesticity, Fluff, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, First Person POV) – As spring blooms in London, John and Sherlock begin to take new cases and cautiously negotiate this new phase of life with John living at Baker Street again. Despite how well it's all going, John struggles to forgive himself for the way he treated Sherlock following Mary’s death as well as trying to figure out how to finally put his long-time feelings for Sherlock into words. Part 1 of The Book of Silence/Rosa Felicia

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 84,945 w. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

Eyes Up, Heels Down by CodenameMeretricious (E, 107,845 w. || Sports Equestrian AU || Fluff, Angst, Humour, Rider!Sherlock, Groomer!John, Show Jumping, Slow Burn, Happy Ending) – Sherlock is a top eventing rider currently training at Baker Farms. John is the new groom who's been told to steer clear of the surly rider and his horses. Part 1 of Baker Farms

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

The Horse and his Doctor by khorazir (T, 129,003 w. || Horse / Vet AU || Magical Realism, Horses, Vet John, Horse Sherlock, Implied Alcoholism) – Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatise to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w. || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition.

[mugen-monogatari]

5 Quality Yet Accessible Tragic Anime You Should Watch

Let’s talk about tragedy in anime. Ain’t nothin’ like watching some sad anime boys experiencing sad things while I sit there and cry. I love tragedy in anime, there’s just a certain satisfaction in ‘dissatisfaction’. Sometimes, it’s far more meaningful for someone to lose a fight, to make a hard decision or sacrifice something. Maybe the hero never saves the girl, or a loved one just doesn’t make it. Yes, in a perfect world everyone ends up happy, but this isn’t a perfect world. People suffer, and sometimes it ends on a good note, sometimes everything goes to hell and the world burns. That gritty realism and human error adds a level of empathy and depth to many shows that would otherwise lack it. I personally think it’s worth talking about that, since I don’t think tragic anime get enough love.

So I thought I’d make a quick list of 5 accessible yet Quality tragedy series, ranging from pretty popular and accessible, to slightly more niche. Many of you have seen these series I’m sure, but with the continuous stream of shows being released every single season, it can be hard to either go back and watch older shows, or stay on top of newer ones. These are just a few picks that I would urge anyone and everyone to go and at least try.

I should also preface this by saying, when I say tragedy, it doesn’t mean the show has a depressing ending. By tragedy I’m referring to tragic events happening in a show regularly, be it at the end, the beginning or throughout. Simply putting something on this list, doesn’t mean it has a tragic ending, so you can rest assured there are still surprises to come when watching these.

Also, these are all my opinions, everyone is entitled to them. You can disagree or agree, it’s up to you, we can even discuss my peeps. Just don’t brutalize me for shows you don’t like or if one of your favorites isn’t on this list.

All of that being said, Here are 5 tragic series I think everyone should at least try:

1. Code Geass

Starting off simple we have Code Geass. What a show this was back in the day. Death Note, mixed with Mechs and sci-fi and chess and a whole lot of edge. For many people, they have already seen it, it’s almost guaranteed if you watched anime in the early 2000s. However, as time goes on, this series slowly falls into obscurity, many people being less attracted by its flamboyant art style and the ever growing age. It seems like Code Geass is slowly fading away with time, people online aren’t forgetting about it, but moving on, and many new fans are understandably detracted from a show like this.

But they’re all wrong. This series is incredible. It’s a fundamental “must-watch” show. Sure, it shows it’s age now, but that doesn’t detract from it’s plot and characters. With a very likeable cast, a constantly expanding story, high stakes, insane powers and mind games, politics and action, all of these make an insanely good series, one that warrants repeated viewing to this day. What starts as a boy being in the wrong place at the wrong time, blows up into a worldwide conflict. This is one of those series that sticks with you, there are scenes and moments in this you just never forget moving forward.

Some of the things I love is Sunrise’s mech designs, Lancelot as well as many of the Knightmare frame designs in the movies and show are still fun and vibrant to this day. Many old Mecha shows become redundant years later as the designs don’t hold up. This one though, certainly does.

I also really love the voice acting. Yes the sub is good, but the dub (fight me) is just mwah. Johnny Yong Bosch as Lelouch is nut worthy. Just watch the first episode where he gives his first command. Insta nut. I’m telling you.

I also love the endings of both seasons. I think the first is a really good climax, while the second season closes about as well as this could, while still coming out of left field.

Some things that I think detract people, definitely start with the art style. Sunrise’s designs for the machines and backgrounds and such is fine, it looks good, however Clamp’s character designs are definitely an acquired taste. They’re not for everyone. Everyone looks super slender, almost cartoon like in their clothes and proportions. Yes you get used to it, but they still look very “different” to the standard, even back when it first came out.

Another is sometimes, the show just goes to very strange places, for example having an episode to do with drug addiction that just came out of left-field. In the same vein, some people have very mixed opinions on season two, not entirely liking the direction it goes and some of the character developments. However, a lot of these things are subjective and I’ll leave them up to you to decide.

Spanning two, 25 episode seasons (you can definitely just pretend the movie never happened) as well as several spin off OVAs and Shorts (Those you actually can watch though), the series is a pretty long watch by today’s standards, but it’s definitely worth it.

2. Zankyou No Terror

Next up, we have Terror in Resonance. This one for sure is worth the watch even without the tragedy. This is one of those shows, which is so visually appealing to watch. It’s one of the most aesthetically pleasing shows I’ve ever seen. I guarantee anyone who’s interested in aesthetic gifs and images of weeb stuff, has seen shots from this show without even realizing it. It’s not exactly a niche show, but it’s a little less accessible than something like “Angel Beats”, with a much more serious and gritty tone. It’s not criminally underrated, but I just really wish more people had seen this, since it genuinely is a beautiful series.

Some of the things I really love about this show, is (as I’ve mentioned a thousand times) the aesthetic sense. Every shot in this series is screenshot worthy, with plenty scenes making for ‘straight-out-the-box’ gifs and icons and whatever it is you kids use screenshots for. Even the food, just like papa Gigguk mentioned, is just mwah, spicy stuff. I attribute this to the very well considered color palette, realistic lighting and designs, as well as just overall good cinematography.

On the less visible side of things, the story hold ups really well too, with some very genuinely emotional moments and scenes. Just like Code Geass above, this series has a very well considered ending, with a “Wholesome”(?) message at the end.

The only negatives I can really give for the series, is some pacing issues if you’re an impatient brat like me, as well as almost a complete lack of lightheartedness. The series can be sweet and touching, but it’s almost always dark and serious at the same time, with no time to relax or breathe throughout.

I think there isn’t as much to say about ZnT as there is about Code geass, as it’s not as subjective. It is an objectively high quality show, your own enjoyment of it is what varies. Unlike Code Geass, there isn’t many flaws, but it doesn’t take as many risks. To me, this show is a very safe bet. It looks gorgeous, is only 11 episodes (you big boys and girls can binge that) and tells a satisfying, self-contained story. A little bonus is that it’s directed by Shinichiro Watanabe, famous for Cowboy Bebop and Samurai Champloo, so hey- It has that going for it too.

3. Parasyte: The Maxim

Following on, we have one of the series that introduced me to tragedy, Parasyte: The Maxim. Let me tell you, this series is dark. And violent. Very violent at times.

When it first aired in 2014, the response was pretty good, it didn’t reach critical Acclaim, but had its own cult following, with the manga having been published from the late 80s to the mid 90s. For me, this was one of my first truly “darker” and more violent anime, having really only watched shounen and some seinen before that. This to me isn’t one of the best stories ever, the characters are fine, and the show looks acceptable. But while it doesn’t excel in anything, it does everything really well. To me, it’s the perfect bridge from Casual fan, to serious- or even as a primer for more dark and violent stories, such as Berserk or dare I say it Tokyo Ghoul (Read the manga, please don’t support the anime adaptation).

For me personally, I really Liked the main character, he drove the show on for me. Watching him develop into someone completely different from the beginning of the show, was a real draw to me. He’s likeable, relatable to an extent, and he had a complete character arc. Shinichi in the beginning is not the same character as in the end.

This character is also used to convey a deeper meaning about what humanity is and how we define the term. It’s a really interesting series about us as a race, with some genuine things to discuss and think about, which leaves a longer lasting impression than most shows. It’s the sort of series that makes you want to share it with other people just so you can talk to them about it. Ah- and it’ll hit you in the feels. This show is genuinely tragic through out, but still stays personal to the small cast, which to me, is the sign of a really good tragedy. Despite things going on in the entire world, they make you care about these few people specifically.

However, it has it’s own problems too. Art wise, it’s very faithful to the original source material, capturing the feel of it, the low key oppressive vibes. However, this also means, it can look a little… ‘Bland’? At times. The earthy colors can be a little drab, especially in an age were Studio Trigger, for example, can make an eye-gasm worthy scene using colours you didn’t even know existed.

The other problem, is some of the characters are very one dimensional. Take the love interest, she doesn’t really develop or change at all throughout the series, but I personally give this a pass as she’s not super relevant to the story anyway.

A fair warning though, this series has some strong violence, plenty of gore and mutilation, if that’s a problem for you, I suggest either giving this one a skip, or just trying to sit through it. It’ll be a good learning experience.

Spanning a fair 24 episodes, having aired in 2014, this series is both bingeable, and holds-up very well in the modern ecosystem of anime. To me, this is a pretty top tier show, a solid 8/10, it’s very good, a really well made show, It makes for the perfect bridge into far more serious and dark stories, such as maybe Berserk and Devilman, hence why I put it on this list.

4. Fate/Zero

For my second to last show, perhaps one of the most well known franchises, that is lowkey kinda niche. Fate is a series everyone knows the existence of, but not as many people have actually watched, especially not casual fans. To be frank, it’s intimidating. The series has no real easy entry point, and all the timelines are relatively interwoven, you can’t just bounce around. Everything spoils everything and it’s scary to even look at a list of fate entries.

That’s why I picked Fate Zero. To me, it’s the best entry point into the Type/Moon genre. For those of you who don’t know, it’s basically a battle royal between seven summoners who each have a servant of different classes. They all have to fight for the Holy Grail, an artifact that will grant them a single wish. Sounds simple right?

Well it’s not. The entire series is full of not only badass action, but plenty of mind games and ‘cat-and-mouse’ between the characters. It’s brutal, it’s tragic, violent and uplifting. Ufotable delivers some of the highest quality animation you’ll see in your life (they’re renowned for it), but it doesn’t just look good. The story is compelling, the characters are genuinely likeable and by the end, I wanted everyone to live and survive. Everyone has believable and compelling motivation, and even the objectively evil characters, like Caster, are still likeable, because you begin to love to hate them. The entire season honestly plays out more like a compressed microcosmic version of Game of Thrones, than a battle royal anime.

There are plenty of things I like about this series, the plot is really fun, the fights are pretty damn cool and it can be a very emotional show at times. I could talk about these aspects endlessly. However, the thing that really makes Fate for me, is the characters. Each individual characters gets some time and attention, and with the exception of a few, you really genuinely like and care about everyone. You want everyone to win, or at least survive, since all of them are either genuinely lovable, or have very compelling motivation.

The other part to it is, this is the best starting point for the rest of Fate, and I would actually argue that it enhances many scenes found in the subsequent (story wise) series, even if they aired prior to Zero. This series both introduced me to Fate, and got me attached and invested in the world, which is the sign of a good (technically) first series.

On the other hand, it has problems. First of all, it’s pretty interwoven with the later series. Those came before it and set up a lot of mysteries and ideas that Zero goes out of it’s way to explain, from character identities to events in the timeline, watching Zero will spoil a lot of those things, which may lessen the later experiences for some people.

The other flaw is despite being maybe the best starting point for Fate, it still isn’t entirely accessible. The show can be straight up confusing at times, at least for someone who hasn’t seen Fate. Many elements of the world aren’t explained and you’re just expected to go along with it, since it’s either just a part of this world, or explained in other series. Which is fine, but often lead to some rather “But wait… What just happened?” moments.

Ultimately, Fate/Zero is fantastic series for anyone looking for a really good character drama, full of magic and badass historical references. It’s not the best introduction but it’s the best you’ll get from Fate. Similarly to Code Geass and ZnT, the series has a really good conclusion in my opinion, with plenty of tragic moments sprinkled throughout.

For Fate, Zero specifically consists of two seasons of 12 episodes each, for a bingeable 24 episode series. For ideas where to go next from this, look for my upcoming Tumblr Post explaining the fate continuity.

5. Mobile Suit Gundam : Iron-Blooded Orphans

And Finally, we come to our last pick of the day. This is a series, I would urge anyone to watch. If I could make you watch one Single series from this list, this would be it. Throw away any views you have on the franchise or the genre, don’t be afraid of the name, just give this series a try.

Iron Blooded Orphans follows a small mercenary band of boys who just want to make a home for themselves in a galaxy strained by political unrest. The premise is simple, just people trying to survive and make a life for themselves.

Well what if I told you it was directed and written by the same Duo that made AnoHana, one of the most commonly acknowledged tragic shows out there. This duo write and direct stories about innocent children being put through immense hardship and this series is no different. This show is tragic, painful even. I sobbed as many times as I laughed and smiled in this show. We spend a season watching them come up in the world, only to watch everything get torn apart in the second season, and it is genuinely emotional and heart wrenching.

Something I love about this series, is the characters and how attached you become to them. Death is a genuine threat in this show, even if you don’t feel it in the beginning. When people die, it hurts, and that applies to IBO, where each death leaves resounding ripples on the people around them. It handles familial relationships really well, making you believe in these people and their emotions. When they suffer, you cry for them, and when they get brief moments of respite, you do too. I love how invested you become in this ragtag team of boys, making some of the later scenes all the more devastating when they happen.

Another thing I love is the stakes. Within the second season, the pressure to perform is on, the first season, while having threats and such, was never even close to season two. To be vague, one of my favorite moments is when a character has to land a decisive shot in the midst of a battle, and everyone’s lives are on the line. That entire confrontation is one of my favorite scenes in anime of all time. It is truly suspenseful and will take you on an emotional journey.

To top it all off, it’s made by Sunrise. If you like Mechs, well oh boy do they have you covered, and if you don’t- well oh boy, you will when you’re done. This show makes the mech Genre, and Gundam entirely accessible, you need no prior knowledge, you don’t need to be a fan to enjoy it. The fights are really fun and have genuinely cool moments, as cool as it can get for a mech anyway. The characters and story are well written and everything just comes together to make a very well produced show- Good job Sunrise.

It doesn’t go without it’s own problems though. The first 20 ish episodes, until they get to earth, are not pointless, but have some pacing issues, as well as low stakes. There are threats and people die, but you never feel that scared or intense. Then towards the end of season one, the show kicks into high gear. To counteract this slow start, the series has a phenomenal season two that I genuinely believe everyone should watch, as it’s a perfect example of character drama done exceptionally well.

The series is comprised of two seasons of 25 episodes each, totaling a measly (if you’re a big boy or girl) 50 episodes. There is several related forms of media, nothing worth mentioning though, for more Gundam, you’re better off watching other series from the franchise.

If I can only force you to watch one, please go out and watch Iron Blooded Orphans. To me, it’s 9- pushing a 10/10 series, with a undeniably slow start, but a fantastic heart felt, emotional ending.

So that’s it from me guys. Thanks for taking the time to read the ramblings of a mad man like me, but I hope this gives some people some ideas on where to go next or what they can watch now. If you enjoyed, make sure to follow me for more discussions and lists and whatever else anime related. If you have any advice, or want to discuss something with me, go ahead let me know, other than that- Leave, go outside, get some fresh air after reading all that.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2019 - 18 (Hurt/Comfort)

Setting: That Actor AU, Dragon Age II

Summary: Seriously, though... does that count as RPF?

---

Nothing like lunchtime in costume to create weird situations.

“Ugh, I need this thing off now.”

Briala grimaced as she grabbed her arm by the elbow and twisted. It went round a few times, and then popped out of the socket. She rotated her affected shoulder and sighed in relief as she placed the prosthetic on the table in front of her. It needed to charge anyway.

Across from her, Malcolm was also in costume with similar lack of fucks to give. At least this time neither of them were in armor. Talk about uncomfortable; she usually had to eat standing if they stopped at an armored scene. At least in Dragon Age plain clothes, she could sit.

Best of all? Her pants had pockets for her phone.

“We're dong that scene after lunch, so you better put it back in.” Malcolm was on his phone, stretched out in the chair so he could accommodate his larger frame. At the angle he was sitting, she couldn't see what he was reading. Part of her had hoped she could guess from the reflection coming off his head, but... no, that was just in comics.

She shrugged her shoulder and hopped into a chair to check her phone. “My shoulder is killing me. Damn thing is heavier than I remember.”

At least her phone was working. The last time she'd had it on, it had been open to one of her guilty pleasure websites. The jury was still out on if reading fanfiction about the character you played was considered weird, but she was pretty sure it was a bit off. Whatever, not like she had ever cared about what people thought. It tended to come with the territory when you were a one armed transgender gremlin.

Briala hummed as she scrolled through her fanfiction list. “Hey, question.”

“No you cannot use me to get better cell service.” Malcolm deadpanned as he kept doing whatever kept him glued to his phone. That caused the elf to roll her eyes and stick out her tongue. Not that he saw it – damn millennial kept looking at his phone.

Said the millennial. Briala was honest.

“No, I have a legit question.” She held her phone out, displaying the screen. “Would shipping Moses and Avery be considered RPF?”

Not that she did – that was her NOTP honestly. But still, did it count?

Malcolm didn't answer her query for a good minute. At least she got to watch as his face flashed through a number of emotions, the most major one being confusion. That was the one he settled on, eyebrows knit together.

“What?”

Briala nodded to her screen. “RPF. Real person fanfiction. I mean, they were both people, but we're also playing them and there's the Tale of the Champion and all. So are they characters or like... is it creepy?”

Malcolm's face journey only continued. “I'm... not sure. Why are you even looking for that?”

Because she was lonely and single and Avery Hawke had become something of a self insert for her in the last couple months?

She at least played it off with a one-armed shrug as she took her phone back. “Just curious I guess. I don't ship it. Moses was too gay for that.”

“You're damn right he was.” Was that a hint of pride in Malcolm's voice? “Is Champion stuff really that big in Database of Dreams?”

He had moved over, casting a shadow in order to look at the dirty details. Just because of that, Briala had to turn up the brightness on her phone screen. She probably would've been able to see it regardless,  but it was the thought that counted. He had human eyes, after all.

“I mean, Avery and Moses is kind of small. I fell ass first into that one. The canon stuff is obviously the most popular.” She paused, making a face herself now. “Again, can I even call this canon? Something feels weird about that.”

Navigating the waters of historical fiction crossed with biography was tricky, especially when it came to the fan-written smut penned centuries later. Briala had a feeling she probably should have been more concerned... but eh. They were all dead anyway.

“Not weird enough to keep from bookmarking a lot of Avery and Isabela, I noticed.” Malcolm had the ghost of a smirk on his face. “Which one is more popular, Moses and Fenris or Moses and Anders? And please don't tell me Cullen or Sebastian are popular.”

…

“Bri-”

“I'm not saying jack shit, dude.”

Yeah, awkward feelings all around on that one. People were weird. Like, there were better choices right the fuck there than Cullen of all people. Even centuries later, it was still clear what a massive douche the guy was. And she wasn't just saying that because she was a lesbian – she knew dicks when she saw one.

Malcolm shook his head at her reaction. “Wonderful. I can only imagine the horrors contained within those.”

“I can only imagine too because I don't read them, just judge them hardcore.” Briala kept scrolling. “And to answer your question, it's slightly edged towards Anders with some fluffy stuff and angst depending on who's writing the bird man. Fenris tends to have a lot of hurt-comfort stuff, but the fluff there is adorable.”

Made sense, given the two men's backgrounds and histories. If anyone deserved that particular genre, it was those two. Of course, H/C wasn't exactly her thing. When she wanted fanficiton, she went straight for the PWP.

No shame in the game – just good smut.

“Huh. Might have to check that out later.” He shot her a blank look. “If I get addicted to reading fanfiction about the character I play, I blame you.”

Briala chuckled as she put her phone back in her pocket. “Then you better blame Maria, because she's the one who got me started.”

“That... is surprising.” A timer went off in the background – they had to wrap things off before going back to filming. “Better put your arm back in.”

Her chuckle tuned to a groan. “Damn it, already? Feels like I just took the damn thing off.”

Back in went the arm, with the familiar pop that always caused her to shudder as the nerves connected. A few adjustments, and nobody would look too closely. Post production would cover the rest up, and then it would just be the annoying fans who minded.

And really, fuck them.

“Well, let's go pretend we didn't just read fanfiction about this scene.” Briala hopped up onto Malcolm's shoulders like a good little gremlin to get into character better. Together, the two of them headed back towards set and the rest of filming.

Later, maybe they would share recommendations with each other. While she hadn't worked with the man for very long, she had a good feeling his taste wasn't total shit. At least he wouldn't be sending her Moses and Varric.

Now that was just crack.

[sugapop-rp]

*:･ﾟƜιѕнℓιѕтѕ Oƒ Ɯιѕнєѕ

              ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ hi, hi! tis bunny anna here and i thought i would decide to make a little wishlist for my muses! i figured this might be handy for in the future because who knows right? so read below to see what i have in mind for my muse beans and if you are interested, please like this post and/or send me a message so we can chit chat about them :) 

note:you do not have to be mutuals with me to do any of this (obviously lol), you can be a random peep passing by that is curious and that’s cool with me! you liking this means i shall be sending you a message instead thus make sure there is a way for me to do that (dm or ask). this will be also updated as time goes on depending on what new idea/muse i may have at the time

Choi Ha-joon, 26 and is an elementary school teacher

“muse a sings like an angel but is really shy so they only sing in the shower. everyday,muse b, who is their neighbor, listens to their singing and thinks muse a is actually a professional singer. one day they meet at the elevator of their building and muse b really wants to ask for muse a to sing a song for them, or just compliment them. but how will they do so without making things awkward? and to top this situation, muse a is also a lotattractive.“

give me that cliche old high school lovers see each other again after school by accident, the feels hit them once again and oof. make it angsty, make it fluffy, idc just give me some of that!

ha-joon is a book lover so what if ha-joon keeps coming to this book store that also involves your muse. they get to know each other for their enjoyment of books but the plot twist of this all is that ha-joon doens’t know your muse is not only an author but one of ha-joon’s favorite writers!

you left your USB flash drive in the library computer and i had to go through your files to figure out who you are and i ended up reading the entirety of this book you’re working on and wow you’re actually really good???? 

Kris Yamada, 26 and is an assassin

so lowkey when i made kris i got a bit inspired by the video game “assassin’s creed” so would be interested to do something loosely based around that. something like say your muse is working for the enemy organization that kris’s order doesn’t like. they meet and get closer (friendship or romantic, doesn’t matter) and go from there? very basic idea i know lol but can be fun i think!

give me assasin buddies, bro this is something that kris is in need of lol. sure he can be like a grouch sometimes but he knows how to have fun! he used to live the wild life so let’s do some wild friend antics lol

speaking of used too’s...why not bring something back from the past for kris?  say maybe an old friend from kirs’s childhood? they can maybe meet on the street one day and they may want to ask questions because of kris suddenly dropping all contact? or we could do the more cliche idea of said friend is now a target and oops, now kris is stuck in an oopsie :’)

Song "Hayes" Hyeok, 26 and is an indie music producer. 

hayes doesn’t have the best relationship with his parents (this can be read in his bio here) so maybe one day his parents may want to do a surprise visit because he does have good contact with his sister and she praised alot about him. his parents (specifically father) wants to see how “amazing hayes is doing”. cue hayes trying to make things not go south because his parents are not fans of the fact that hayes likes boys...so to see him having a boyfriend/fiance/husband may cause some problems to put it lightly. this could include hayes pretending not to be in a relationship with your muse or pretending they are just roommates. a bit of a heavy idea so far in this list, i know but it is something i would like to explore for hayes. 

rival music producers, just give me some of that drama lol

a mentor type friendship where hayes could take in your muse under his wing to help them out in the music scene

“🌟–– we had a really ugly break-up and didn’t talk for a long time but oh hey, you’re at this party too and we’ve had a few drinks and now we’re kissing and … oh, all that wasn’t supposed to happen tonight but we’re sort of on better terms now and yikes!!! i might be falling for you again …”

“muse a is in an accident which leaves them without memory, and muse b had been on their way to break things off with their beloved muse a. when they arrive at the hospital the only thing muse a remembers is how in love they were with muse b, and muse b is forced to keep coming back to positive. muse b is trying to move on, trying to find a way to tell muse b that they want to leave them, but find themselves falling back in love withmuse a. muse a of course, eventually get their memories back, even the ones up until the last moments before the accident where they remember the fights and tension and out of the silence ask ‘youre leaving me arent you?’ but by this time muse b is entirely in love with muse a again, and muse a just feels hurt and decieved“

Sarla Dunnavant, 26 and is a businesswomen (no longer active)

give me that cliche idea of the businesswomen falling for their secretary or something similar, i’m weak for cliche’s and this one would be just fun as fudgecakes lmao.

enemies to lovers;your muse is a rival to sarla’s company and they sort of can’t stand each other ??? but like ??? respect each other at the same time ??? it’s weird but they think they cannot stand each other but one day during some business event, they find out they actually like each other and can get along (can be romantic or platonic)

based of this iconic post

ok hear me out...a sugar baby plot? it doesn’t have to be a schmexy plot either! it can be something like out of kindness (and boredom becuase what else can she do with her money) she will give gifts to your muse. like you want that fancy make up collection? alright, your college? paid off at the moment as we speak. want a lifetime supply of donuts? she can do just that. all she asks is to spend time with her and just chill out. 

Angelica Heartorne, 25 and is a vampire huntress

legit anything vampire stuff related. i am not going to be flippen picky. 

just because she IS  a vampire huntress doesn’t mean it has to be ONLY to vampires. she is multiverse so she can be a hunter for anything supernatural really. this can be something discussed for sure but she is versatile, she doesn’t have to stick to only human like leeches lmao.

a bit of a weird but funny idea that jsut came to mind? but what happens if angelica was dating someone right? but what if that person she was dating...was a vampire and she had no idea about this until by accident or something? please this sounds hilarious to me and would love to rp this out.

“ muse a enters a coffee shop and was in such a rush that she forgot her wallet, as she explains what happened to the worker and ask for them to cancel her order, then suddenly there’s a hand that hoovers over her head and money is slapped on the counter incoming muse b paying for her. muse a is like wHAT THE FUCK ! I AM AN INDEPENDENT WOMEN I DONT NEED ANYONE TO PAY FOR ME, but she turns around and meets eyes with muse b who is beyond attractive. muse a then stumbles and ask how she could repay muse b and he tells her to sit down and enjoy her coffee with him “

“you said you’d call me in the morning but the voicemail you left had her voice in the background”

“ Humans start out at birth with milk white blood. The more crimes they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and exposes black blood… “

based off this post

Jeong Jin-Gi, 25 and is an indie artist

“ Don’t give me one-sided unrequited love, give me two-sided unwanted love. Both sides are deeply in love with the other and both sides are like ‘fuck, really?? them??? really?’ “

“ ok so hear a sister out… i want an actual HEART WRENCHING  celebrity  &  non - celebrity thread. like muse a meeting muse b in the most random place and muse b KNOWS  muse a is famous but they’re not gonna say anything but on the inside they’re secretly freaking out. but they get to talking  &  muse b kinda forgets that they are because they’re just so normal and they have so much fun talking to them,  and muse ahas a rich lifestyle  &  is the most popular person in the world,  yet the only thing they wanna do is be with muse b. but dating the most famous person ever comes with the DISADVANTAGES.  i want the ugly stans drilling them over dating their favorite star,  i want the paparazzi making up stories about muse b  &  giving the constant break up  -  conspiracy’s,  i want the late night drama filled phone  -  calls about “ maybe this is just too much for me  “  &  muse b seeing muse a in a new picture released with ANOTHER  apparent love interest,  and i want new songs released by muse a that’s a little  T O O   emotional to just be a careless piece of work.  i just want the constant back  &  forth between them  & them wondering if their love is strong enough to overcome the difficulties or if all they are is a love that was never meant to last. “

jin ain’t no angel, he’s a bit of a person with an addiction to drgs so give me anything surrounding that. dealers or pals that find out about his addiction, anything really. just want to dive deeper into this side of jin

“i’m trying to start a celebrity gossip blog and you are an effing trainwreck so now i’m lowkey stalking you in hopes of getting a humiliating story” au

plot idea : muse a was a punk, and muse b did ballet. what more can i say? muse a wanted muse b, but muse b would never that secretly she wanted muse a as well. all of muse b’s friends stuck up their nose because they had a problem with muse a’s baggy clothes. five years from now, muse b sits at home. feeding the baby they’re all alone. b turns on tv, and guess who she sees? muse a rocking on mtv.

James Yeeun, 22 and is an art student in college

“im gonna claw myself apart. we watch netflix together and i keep a respectful and responsible distance; you lean against me to pause the screen. ask if i want cookies. i can’t stop staring at your lips. what? i say. i knew what you’d asked me even as you ask again, i just don’t want the moment to end. we’re just friends. we’re just friends.”

okay but how about an “i’m in my twenties and sick of still being a virgin, so one night when i’m drunk i think it’s a good idea to dm my old celebrity crush who is no longer really that famous anyway and ask them to take my virginity – wait why did they just dm me back?? giving me their number?? i don’t even remember doing this” au

“You kissed me on the playground the day before you moved away in the 4th grade and now your dorm is right across the hall from mine” AU

would love to do something where james could realize he DOES like boys as well. this is something he isn’t sure off himself so i would like to dive into this background of james.

so i was watching tiktoks last night and i’ve came across this story time and would love a plot for it… so muse a had a bad childhood for varies of reasons one thing lead to another and they were kicked out of the house, so they ended up couch surfing.. this enters their fear of the dark because they would wake up in the middle of the night not knowing where they are and everything is just dark and scary, so they begin sleeping with night lights or any sort of light that they have. well moving into college means roommates and muse a is too embarrassed to mention how they’re scared of the dark to their roommate. so first night, muse a wakes up screaming and enters muse b aka their roommate into their room and they’re like ?? are you good? finally muse a breaks and tells muse b what happened to them and then next night muse a finds a night light in their room, however, that night they still wake up screaming. muse b wakes up as well and just tell them that they’re ok and that they got them.. second year of college goes by and they’re not roommates anymore. first night moving in, it happens again.. muse a wakes up screaming only to find that muse b texted them that ‘they’re in their new apartment and that everything is going to be okay.’ it could turn into beautiful friendship or maybe something more?? i just want it pls

Rose Price, 23 and is a rebel along with school drop out

lowkey i legit got inspired by the video game character “chloe” from “life is strange” but i decided to do my take of chloe if that makes sense so...rachel amber inspired plot xD to those that are a bit confused, rachel amber the character is someone chloe befriends during her time when life is a bit downhill to put it lightly. they get close (some would say even romantic) and up until the final years of high school...rachel is gone. now in the games, rachel isn’t alive BUT i was thinking why not twist this around? make said missing friend (this would be your muse) show up out of the blue? with no answer as to why they just “left” and simply goes back to how things were. 

“gimme muse a just finished their sentence in jail and they lost contact with most of the people in their former life. on the day of his release, the gate pulls back and their high school sweetheart who they lost contact with years ago muse b is in the parking lot. “

  “i drove two hours to the closest video rental store that’s still operating and you were checking out the only copy of the movie i was after“

“we both decided to take a [yoga/fencing/cooking etc] class and we’re the only two assholes not taking it seriously and everyone else is giving us dirty looks but we keep grinning over at each other“

jsut give me any fxf plot ideas man. i want rose to get some love :(

Daehwi Goe, 24 and is an indie video game creator/works at a cafe

" give me a plot where both muses are each other’s pen pals that end up falling in love through letters please. threads would be in letter format up until they finally meet each other. please. “

“ imagine that you’ve been stood up by your douche of a boyfriend on date night and the waitress keeps asking if you’re ready to order but you keep asking for more time hoping that he’s just late. people are starting to look at you with those apologetic looks like they know and you start to feel worse and worse about the whole situation but as you decide to just get up and leave, this boy you’ve never seen sits down explaining loudly “sorry i’m so late, babe, traffic is crazy right now.” and he quietly adds, “i’m Michael. just go with it, yeah? whoever didn’t bother to show up is a dick.” and so you do go with it because he’s being sweet and trying to save you (and plus he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen) and as you’re leaving the restaurant after the best non-planned date ever, he asks you out for real this time. “

“ AFTER MONTHS YEARS OF REPORTING TO A JOB THAT ABSOLUTELY KILLS MY SOUL, I FINALLY QUIT! WITH NO BACKUP PLAN OR WAY TO PAY MY BILLS ONCE NEXT MONTH IS OVER, I WALKED DANCED OUT OF MY WORKPLACE WITH THE BIGGEST SMILE ON MY FACE.. BUT NOW REALITY IS SINKING IN, THAT I’VE JUST DONE SOMETHING CRAZY IMPULSIVE AND OMG YOU’RE WATCHING ME SPIRAL OVER WHAT A MISTAKE I’VE JUST MADE AND YOU’RE SO SWEET TO OFFER TO BUY ME A DRINK BECAUSE I SURE AF CANNOT AFFORD ONE. “

“we broke up right before a giant roadtrip our friends planned and we don’t want to bail on everyone and ruin the trip so yay, looks like we get to spend a five hour drive and a weekend in a cottage together.”

Adagio Seo, 20 and is a warlock

just give me that chilling adventure’s of sabrina plots man...it’s why adagio was even made lmao.

adagio while yes, i did made him specifically for that show universe, just like angelica he is mulitverse so he’s not off limits to that show only. if you want him to be in a harry potter au? cool with me. a normal college au? also cool with me. want to go full on twlight, even better lmao. just because he is mostly for the show, doesn’t mean he’s not expandable :)

“ does the “i slept with you the other day and i didnt know we had a mutual friend and now we’re sitting across each other for brunch and it’s awkward because i ran out when you were asleep” au exist bc i need that fic “

ok so adagio has an interest of necromancy but like the thing is he’s bad...like really bad at necromancy lmao (there’s a reason he skills in herbal) so like just give the whacky shiz that can happen when doing necromancy wrong. 

basically anything warlock/witch plots, throw them my way! want my wild warlock to have some love :(

Simone Hines, 22 and is a worker at the garden section of homdepot

the happy florist who delivers one flower to the boss of the hardcore law firm across the street everyday, just to make their day a little bit brighter

plot #001: in which muse a is really insecure and struggles with their self-esteem, so muse b, their best friend, starts secretly sending notes with all the reasons to love them.

plot #013: one day, muse a wakes up and finds themself to be in the future, seemingly married to their high school enemy, muse b.

any plot with a soft, sweet, submissive male that needs to be protected at all costs because he’s naive and doesn’t know how to speak up for himself with a girl that’s dominant, rough around the edges, not afraid of anything, and is ready to take on the world.

  tbh i just need a long distance relationship plot where they cry on skype bc they miss each other so much and they have passive aggressive texts bc of what’s on each others snapchat stories but then the fluffy moments when they see each other at the airport and all the desperate please don’t leave me again sex and i just need a long distance plot  

Levi Kim, 24 and owns his own cafe

highkey want a ‘someone wrote your phone number on the wall of a bathroom in my dorm with ‘call for a good time’ and i just texted you to let you know that i scribbled it out and oh wait you’re actually funny and easy to talk to and now we’re talking every day and i might have a tiny little crush on you even tho  i don’t even know your name’ plot

i got up at 2 am to get some snacks at the convenience store down the street and opened my door to find you trying to sleep on the floor of the hallway because your roommate has his fiancée over so i guess i’ll lend you my couch for the night AU

it’s 3 am and you’re blasting off classic rock at full volume and your music taste might be awesome but sOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP YOU SHITHEAD

utterly obsessed with the niche but incredibly romantic concept that is “late night radio show host falls hopelessly in love with and pines for recurring caller, oblivious to the fact that the person calling in whenever they’re on air is also in love with and pining for them after finding comfort in listening to their voice every night on their long commutes home”

Park Hades, 23 and is next in line for the Park corporations/modern day greek god hades

look i’m glad you have a healthy sex life and all but will you please try not to pierce a whole through my ceiling with your bed thanks

i have a policy of not giving my real name on dating apps and apparently you do the same. we have a good conversation so we decide to meet, but oh no … it turns out you’re my ex. yikes!!!