#the inside is so EMPTY and unfinished lol

[fieryvoid-scout]

I was one of the lucky few, I am completely broke and I'm not even close to being done decorating, but I absolutely adore this place.

[seraphimnoir]

don't call me | S. REID

summary: spencer finds himself on the verge of relapsing, surrounded by symbols of neglect and chaos around him — in a moment of desperation he calls his only hope.

warnings: mentions of spencer's addiction, betrayal, non-bau!reader, spencer is on break(?), fem!reader, reader only referred to as 'her' & 'she'

genre: angst

authors note: first fic wooeeee yeah! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. the ending kinda sucks but WHATEVER!!!!!!!! by da way not proofread (may have grammatical errors LOL)

There were piles of brown snow on the pavement, scattered by the cars, but on Saturday at noon it rained, the drops immediately froze, and the whole city became a frozen palace. Spencer went out to buy newspapers at the little booth next to the dimly lit café, he narrowed his eyes as he realized that he didn't want to go home — to the crumbs on the table, to the unmade bed, the coffee-drenched Physics textbooks, the scattered mail and the unfinished note for his mother. He jumped over an ice block on the sidewalk with newspaper in hand and made his way into the café. At this hour it was empty, only the bearded man behind the counter and the what looked like a ten year old Siamese cat were present.

He made his way to the counter and cleared his throat, gathering the pennies from his bag to pay. "Black coffee, please." he said as he looked at the man. The barista silently nodded as he put in place the coffee cup he was cleaning, his eyes fluttering towards the coffee machine. Spencer placed the coins at the counter as he waited for the coffee.

He looked at his watch. Seemingly lost in thought for a second — but his mind quickly rebooted as the carton cup of steaming black coffee was placed Infront of him. He gave a weak smile and took in the cup carefully. He didn't wait for the change, nor the receipt. He lunged out of the cafe. He looked at the cup of coffee, a look of disgust overcame him as he realized what he had ordered. He never drank black coffee, it was always too bitter for him. But today he hoped that the dark chocolate charcoal would drown out the urge to get his fix.

He passed by an old black phonebooth with plastered obituaries, campaign posters and scribbled graffiti. He coughed almost silently and looked at the numbers on it, some of them almost invisible. He picked up the receiver and dialed the six digits. She picked up on the third ring. "Good day," he said. "is this the library?" he continued, his voice calm and collected.

"Who's this? Spencer, is that you?" she said, as she propped up her receiver with her shoulder, her hands busy with the stack of papers.

Spencer was silent. He shifted the receiver to his left hand, took a sip of the bitter coffee and sighed. "Where are you calling from?" She asked, not a tinge of emotion in her voice.

"From the city" Spencer answered and squeezed his cup a little tighter. He looked down at his feet, his hairs drifting to his forehead. She were silent, only the clicking of the pen and the papers could be heard. "Are you here?" he stuttered out. A sigh escaped her lips "Yes, I'm here."

"Please, let's see eachother." his voice guilty and full of desperation. the grip on the cup and the hot liquid inside made his hand burn slightly. "Now?" she questioned, her voice monotone.

"Now." he continued. And he realized why he shouldn't have called. If she told him "no", he would not bear it. He had lasted so long with no word from her, but now he was going to break down. He moved the receiver slightly away. Her voice came to his ears very far away. "What did you say?" he asked nervously. the wind hit his neck, making the strands of hair on it stand up.

"Spencer, we cannot. Don't call me again, okay?" she said, her voice hitting the last word. Spencer stood at the photobooth — dumbfounded, as if time had stopped. The awkward silence was followed up by "Hello? Are you there?"

"Okay," Spencers voice cracked. He hung up the phone. The street was brown and dirty. The facades of the buildings were wet. The buzzing of the city continued. Taxis were waiting down at the intersection. He imagined that a huge bouquet was in his hand and not a — now almost cold coffee, he imagined that it was a summers day, and he was going to her house — like he used to do after he came back from a case. He roamed the streets as he finished his coffee, throwing away the carton cup in an almost overflowing trashcan, his mind re-enacting different memories. But the pulsing in his veins and the voice on the back of his head couldn't stop thinking of the needle — the one thing that could save him from his misery.

His hand came in contact with the door handle, his keys wiggling vigorously in the keylock. He entered his apartment and took off the purple wool scarf that he threw on the couch, the bag was left on the table. He sighed and stood upright by the window and looked out. It was dusk, it had started to snow again.

His heart sank further. The empty ache that lingered deep within him roared harder. The craving that refused to be ignored — it called out his name. He sank to the floor, clutching his cardigan as tears began falling down.

The snow outside continued to shed, the streets soon were hugged by a new icy embrace of the snow. The buzzing on the streets continued. The world didn't end today.

[mochiwrites]

last life au

in light of third life turning two years old today, I offer a wip I've had sitting in my google drive since february! if any of you remember this post I made a while back, all you need to know is that third life!grian has swapped places with last life!grian somehow. without further ado, here's my very unfinished and very rough last life au wip (pls don't judge it too harshly LOL)

happy two years to the series that changed me as a person! :D (edit: now posted on ao3! read here)

if you enjoyed, please reblog! reblogs do more than likes <3

To Grian, the desert was once a home.

It wasn’t perfect, not really. Perfection is nearly impossible in a game of death, but what he and Scar had came close. The desert was the farthest thing from a good location, all things considered. The days were hot, far too hot, and the nights were so cold that it left Scar and Grian curling up close for warmth. There was nothing but sand for miles, which made gathering materials a constant challenge. 

But they had their home. Their tower, their place of respite. Dogwarts was a constant threat barreling down their door, but together they made it work. Their home was far from perfect, but it was theirs and that’s what Grian came to love about it. 

Except now, as he stands in a ring of cacti, he has destroyed his home. 

His home is filled with lava and craters, a reminder of what they did to survive. Their desert was ruined days ago in what they had hoped to be the final showdown with Dogwarts and The Red King. They blew up their desert for a win they never achieved. 

Maybe that was the first sign that things were going wrong. Their desert, their home, their small temporary sanctuary in this hellish game was blown apart. 

Ends justifies the means, no?

After all, to Grian, their home was more than just the desert. Their home was with each other. The desert never mattered much to him, not when he had Scar, and vice versa. The desert was a symbol, more than anything. Of Grian’s debt, his guilt. He’ll never admit it, but it felt a bit liberating to destroy it. 

And maybe that’s why things went oh so horribly wrong. 

Maybe that is why his fists are shaking, knuckles raw and covered in blood. Maybe that is why he stares down at the bloodied corpse of what was once his partner, his other half. His insides twist and turn, creating a mangled mess of emotions within him. The sun beats down on him, sweat and blood mixing together as one. His hair is in his eyes, but he doesn’t care much. His tank top feels like too much but also too little all at once.

His knuckles ache, his body is sore. He’s hardly covered in bruises and scratches, and yet he still feels like he’s just been beaten half to death anyways. 

He can’t bear to look at Scar, to meet his gaze and see his own brightly shining eyes reflected in lifeless, empty ones. 

“For everything you’ve done to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the enchanter.” 

Scar’s words ring in his head, accompanied by his laughter. Grian puts a bloodied hand up to his mouth as a wave of nausea rolls over him. He doesn’t pay any mind to the copper twinge that fills his mouth. He tears his gaze away from anywhere remotely near Scar, instead turning and looking over the mountain. 

Their home is in ruins. Their home is gone. The last of their home has been destroyed by his own two hands, killed for the sake of winning some pointless game. 

His victory feels hollow. Empty. 

He had wanted to win together. Winning without Scar felt… wrong. It feels wrong. After all they’ve been through, after establishing something between them, winning alone just… didn’t look as appealing anymore. 

“I’m getting you! I’m getting you good!” “I don’t think you are!” 

His hands ache. His chest feels tight, as if his ribs have been coiled tightly around his lungs to constrict his air flow. He takes a slow step back, as if trying to escape the scene of the crime. His legs shake from the weight of both his body and his actions. Grian takes a shaky breath. 

“Can we win together?” 

He stumbles as he walks backwards, his world dipping and tilting. 

Grian won alone. 

He doesn’t feel like a winner. 

He doesn’t even want that title. 

The guilt is eating at him. Why? Why is he the one that survived? The point of all of this was so that Scar could win! That’s why Grian stayed with him! 

(He won’t admit to himself that there’s more to it than that. He won’t admit to himself that somewhere along the way his feelings changed. No longer was he staying by Scar’s side out of guilt or obligation. Without Grian even noticing, Scar grew on him. Scar broke through his walls with his ridiculous yet charming nature, and Grian found himself wanting to stay with Scar because he wanted to see him win. Because somehow, somewhere, Grian’s heart had been swayed and stolen. Somewhere, he had fallen in love.) 

For a moment, he’s angry. He’s angry at the blood lusting ghosts for demanding a final fight. He’s angry at Scar for letting him win, for making him win. Frustrated, bitter words lay on his tongue as he turns around to admonish the man, emotions getting the better of him. 

Only to turn and be met with his corpse. Blood pools around Scar’s body, bruises littering his face and chest. Grian had been throwing punches wildly. 

His stomach lurches, and he covers his mouth again. Copper fills his nostrils, heavy and thick. “Oh… I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, but there’s no one around to hear him. 

He tears his gaze away, instead surveying the desert around him. His blood is rushing in his ears, making it hard to hear. His head swims as he stands still, looking over at the rivers of lava throughout the desert. 

Grian’s eyes settle on the cliff face.  

This desert isn’t a home anymore. It’s vacant, empty. Pointless. His home doesn’t exist, not without Scar. 

He walks toward the cliff. 

“Scar, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m sorry too!”

The desert is unfamiliar, morphing and twisting into something dark and unwelcoming. It has become  a monster of Grian’s own creation. It has become something that Grian has ripped apart with his own two hands. Something that once brought him warmth is now cold and barren. The desert is a shadow, a weak imitation of what it once was. 

He stands on the ledge. 

He wonders what was going through Scar’s mind during all of this. What was he thinking? Does he hate Grian for being the one to survive? Is he at peace, having been the one to die? Does he hate Grian for killing him? Does he hate Grian for ruining their home? Or is he happy with the way that things have gone? Grian supposes he’ll never get to know. 

He shuts his eyes and jumps. 

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

Muffled noises surround him.

He can’t quite make out what the noises are, not when it feels like his head has been submerged under water. One by one, his senses return to him and huh, that’s weird. He’s dead, yet he can feel his body? That… shouldn’t be normal. Granted, Grian has never been permanently dead before. Do most dead people still feel their body? Is that even possible? 

The next thing he feels is something soft underneath him. Now Grian knows that isn’t right. The last thing he remembers feeling is his body slamming into the hard ground below, shattering his bones. The pain had only lasted a few seconds before Grian fell unconscious, but it had been excruciating while he could still feel. Darkness had come to claim him quite swiftly. 

But whatever he’s laying on… it feels nothing like the harsh sand. It’s softer, almost silky. Plush. It only serves to confuse Grian more, seeing as once more, he isn’t sure if feeling things still is normal for a dead person. 

Ever so slowly, Grian slowly opens his eyes. His eyes are met with a stone ceiling, which… is that supposed to be there? 

Grian had a few ideas of what the afterlife would be like – if he even has one. An empty void, or maybe the End. Perhaps he’d return to the wasteland that was once his home and haunt it as a ghost. (A kinder part of him had hoped that he’d reunite with his friends, and they could all cry and hug one another. And maybe he could see Scar again, and shake him around for making Grian kill him, and then hold onto the man so that he’d never lose him again.)

Experimentally, he wiggles a finger or two. Yup, there’s still a body attached to him. Alright. Though to his surprise, he isn’t in any sort of pain. Maybe that shouldn’t be surprising, all things considered. 

Something wet touches his hand then, and Grian leaps up with a shriek. He pulls his hand back and looks at whatever touched him, finding a dog sitting on the ground. “Huh?” He looks at the dog, seeing a red collar around its neck. “Why is there a dog here?” The animal simply tilts its head to the side in response. 

It’s then that Grian actually takes the time to look around at where he is, and he pauses. The first thing he notices is that he’s laying in a white bed. There’s a chest and a crafting table in front of the bed, and there are dogs just about everywhere. Ah, so that’s what all the noise was. A furnace is set on the floor against the wall, and Grian finds himself feeling very confused. 

This is… definitely not the afterlife, that’s for sure. 

Did someone rescue him? How? Grian was the only one left on Third Life, everyone else was… 

Lips curling in a frown, he moves to slide off of the bed. Just as his foot touches the ground, he pauses, recognizing the extra weight on his body. Looking down at himself, Grian finds iron armor on him, which only worsens his confusion. Why is he in armor? 

Standing from the bed, he looks around at the room. He’s certain that he’s underground, if the walls of stone and dirt are anything to go by. He watches as one of the dogs (a pup) clambers onto the bed and circles the pillow before curling up and laying down. 

It leaves him feeling very confused. 

He casts a glance around at the stone box he’s in, looking at each of the dogs. Some of them don’t pay him any mind, and others are staring right at him. Who’s dogs are these? And why are they here, wherever here is. They seem friendly with him at least, but Grian doesn’t know if that makes him relaxed or more nervous. He remembers Joel’s pack of wolves. 

While looking around, he spots a ladder tucked against the wall leading down. He doesn’t go toward it, in case it’s trapped. Instead, he looks at the pickaxe he has on him and uses that to cautiously dig a little staircase up. 

It takes him a few minutes to get to the surface, considering he’s trying to dig out and also listen to his surroundings. When he finally pops his head out from the dirt, he does so carefully, peeking out to look around him. There’s no one around him besides trees and mountains. He sighs softly in relief. Though he still has to remain vigilant. 

Climbing out of the hole, he covers it back up with dirt (just in case if he was saved by someone, they won’t immediately notice he’s gone). Standing at full height, Grian takes a look around. The first thing he notices is how the landscape is completely different to Third Life. What is this place, he wonders. The terrain all looks different.

Lips dipping in a frown, he sets his hands on his hips, “Definitely not in Kansas anymore…” he mumbles to himself. If this is the afterlife, it’s quite odd, that’s for sure. 

While looking around, he catches sight of something in the distance. It looks like some kind of cobblestone building with roofs of dark oak. From where he is, he can spot four of them. One is at the very top of a mountain, being the most visible. 

The idea of approaching it leaves Grian hesitant, but maybe a little investigation wouldn’t hurt. He’s going to have to check it out if he wants any answers as to what this place is. So he makes a journey toward the direction of the towers. Trekking through the trees, he uses the branches for coverage. 

And when he gets to the big entrance of the four towers, he pauses. 

Grian stares at the front entrance, watching as pistons move up and down in front of him. Watching it, his eyes follow the movements curiously. Surrounding the entrance are walls of dark oak and cobble, wrapping around the base completely. He considers walking inside, maybe exploring whatever this new structure is. There was nothing inside the chest within the bunker for him. 

His inventory is an assortment of different items, none of which Grian knows what’s important and what isn’t. By now he’s ascertained that he’s in fact not dead. Which is… confusing. How is he alive? And where is he?

“Oh, Grian!” Someone’s calling his name, and the sound of someone else’s voice makes him jump. He looks up, seeing a familiar blue and red jump suit and dirty blond hair. 

Grian’s eyes widen, “Tim..?” The name escapes him with a sharp breath. No longer does his skin look sickly and gray, instead healthy and free of blood. His hair is vibrant, as are his brown eyes. A diamond chest plate sits over his upper body, iron leggings and boots. Grian almost feels like he’s seeing a ghost. The last time he saw Jimmy, it had been in the desert. Right before he died. 

It feels weird to see him again, considering he wasn’t meant to die in that fight. He was meant to stay safe. With Scar. 

Grief and regret crashes into him at once, nearly knocking him over. Images of that battle flicker in his mind, as well as the aftermath. They hadn’t spent long at Jimmy’s grave. 

(Grian paid Jimmy’s grave a visit late that night. He had been fully aware of the risks, knowing that anyone from Dogwarts could attack him. But Grian could bet with certainty they were too busy enjoying a perceived victory against the Desert. 

Jimmy’s grave was nothing fancy. Extravagance was a privilege they didn’t have there. Simple cobblestone walls and a poppy planted in the ground was all Scott could give him. 

Grian sat down, and apologized. He hadn’t even been there for Jimmy’s death. Jimmy wasn’t supposed to die. And Grian hadn’t even been there to help him. He apologized for that. He promised revenge. His death would not be in vain. 

At some point, someone had joined him. A warmth slotted against his side, and the smell of sweat, burnt sand, and summer heat filled his senses. He relaxed. 

Neither of them spoke for a while. Grian leaned against Scar, letting his thoughts wander. 

“I’m sorry the trap got messed up.” Scar apologized with a low mutter. 

Grian huffed quietly, gently knocking his head against his arm,“I don’t care about that. I mean, I do since the only one it got was me, but — I’m more thankful you survived.” 

“…I’m sorry you died,” was Scar’s response, “But on the bright side, your debt’s been repaid! You’re a free man!” Grian knew Scar well enough by then to know when he was forcing himself to act cheerful. He could hear the underlying sadness in his voice, the way he was holding something back. But most of all he could hear the fear. 

To that, Grian only pressed himself more firmly against him. “Then my first act as a free man is to see this through with you until the end.” 

He heard Scar take a breath; shaky and rough. An arm wrapped around him, and he heard a murmured, “Thank you.”)

Jimmy looks a little nervous as he stands on the other side of the pistons, “What’re you doing all the way over there for? Get in ‘ere already!” he exclaims, gesturing for him to come in. “Mumbo disabled the trap!” 

His body moves as if it’s on autopilot, legs carrying him toward the gate. He clumsily hops over the pistons and line of stone bricks, landing on the other side. His footing is a bit clumsy as he hits the ground, wobbling slightly. Jimmy laughs at him, and Grian tries to process the sound. 

Jimmy isn’t dead. He’s alive. 

What in the world is going on? 

Grian goes over to him, staring at him with something akin to marvel. Jimmy turns to him, still looking nervous. “So uh… I’m not going to be kicked out, right? I know we had the vote and all yesterday but just wanted to triple check you didn’t change your mind overnight,” he rambles to Grian, shifting back and forth on his feet. 

“What?” Blinking in confusion, Grian looks at him. “Why would I be—”

“Oi, Tim! Give the man some space to breathe, would ya?” Another voice joins them, and Grian tenses at the familiarity. “He only just got back last night. At least wait an extra five minutes before you start pestering ‘im.”

Glancing to his side, he spots The Red King’s right hand man approaching them. He’s dressed in iron, a shield attached to his arm. The familiar black bandana peeks out from underneath his hair and his blue eyes are creased with amusement as he looks at the pair. “Martyn?!” The exclamation escapes him before he can stop it. He takes a small step in front of Jimmy, knowing that Scott would be crushed if he lost him a second time (The memory of Scott in his mind would be, anyways). He keeps himself on guard. 

Martyn smiles at the pair, “Good morning to you too, fellow Southlander!” He grins. “How’s it feel to be yellow again, eh Grian?” he questions, which makes Grian bristle slightly. He remembers Martyn taking his first life very clearly.

“I’m–”

“Watch out!” A voice calls out, followed by the sounds of feet hitting the ground. Grian jumps as someone barrels past himself and Martyn, cutting right through them in a blur of black. “Hot lava bucket in my hands!” 

“I told you to wear gloves!” A second voice follows, and Grian catches a glimpse of yellow and black. He turns his head in the direction the two voices went, seeing them both by the entrance of the fort. Almost instantly, Grian recognizes Impulse from behind. But the one next to him… 

Grian feels his entire body freeze. His breath is punched out of him, eyes widening. 

The man next to Impulse is setting the bucket of lava down with a large sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. He straightens up, taking a moment to glance around. His eyes lock with Grian’s, and Grian feels rooted to his spot. His throat feels dry, as if he hasn’t drank anything in weeks. He swallows, but it does little to rid the feeling. 

Oblivious to Grian’s freezing, the man smiles wide at him, hurrying over. “Grian!” he exclaims, “Glad you got here before I reset the trap, mate, “ he greets cheerfully, but Grian feels too stunned to speak. 

Why is Mumbo here? Why? 

A multitude of emotions crash into Grian’s chest at the sight of his best friend. Relief, horror, guilt. They each roll over him, loud and vicious as they threaten to overwhelm him. He can’t look away from the man, the feeling of confusion holding his head above water. 

(“Do you think Mumbo would be proud?” The question had been half nonchalant as the pair ran through the desert, digging deep underground. The true meaning of the question was a secret, one between only himself and Scar.

Scar paused to consider it. He had lifted a finger to his chin as he thought, “Oh! Mumbo would be crying from happiness!”

“Be honest with me.” Grian had said. 

Scar hadn’t been.) 

Standing in front of the man, Grian does not share the thought. Not after the blood staining his hands. And isn’t that ironic? In a game where your aim is to kill and survive, he feels guilty over killing. But maybe that’s because of who his final kill was. Because of how it all ended. Grian had hoped he’d never have to face Mumbo after that, but apparently fate had other plans. 

“Speaking of getting here early,” Martyn’s voice cuts through the fog of confusion settling over Grian’s mind, causing him to look over at the other. Grian forces his gaze away from Mumbo with a painful pang, meeting Martyn’s eyes, “I see you’ve gone and scored another life on your way back from Scar’s.” He wiggles his brows.

Just hearing Scar’s name causes Grian’s stomach to curl with grief, “W-What?” he asks, the shock of Martyn’s statement sending him back a small step. 

“Don’t you try and fool me, G, the last time we saw you you were on yellow life. And now you’re green!” Martyn points at his wrist, and naturally, Grian’s gaze follows. 

His heart squeezes uncomfortably tight as he sees the familiar line of hearts down his wrist. There’s three hearts on his wrist, green, yellow, and red. Nausea rolls over him like a blanket, wrapping around him and tightening around his neck. He feels sick. Why? Why?! He thought he was done with all of this! Was killing Scar not enough? Was winning an empty, meaningless victory not enough?! 

Is this his punishment? Or some sick kind of joke?! 

He clenches his fists, watching the way they shake from how tightly he clenches them. Burning hot anger runs through him like lava, melting his insides. The warmth goes from top to bottom, engulfing him in an angry, vicious flame. He feels too much, yet too little all at once. He wants to scream. To cry. Maybe break something, or blow something up. Blood is pumping in his ears; his heart feels like it’s going to burst. 

This isn’t the afterlife. This is hell. 

“Grian?” Mumbo’s gentle, concerned voice breaks through the anger threatening to overtake him like a light. The sound of his voice snaps him from his spiraling thoughts, and he notices how his fingers dig uncomfortably into his skin. As if his nails can break the hearts on his wrist, shatter them. He lets go instantly, seeing angry red lines left behind. 

Lifting his gaze, Grian sees four pairs of eyes watching him. Yet the only eyes he focuses on are Mumbo’s, it’s been so long since he’s seen the man. His presence is normally a comfort for Grian, something grounding. But right now, all Grian feels is conflict. His grief and guilt is suffocating, and Mumbo’s presence does little to help that feeling. Mumbo looks at him with nothing but concern and kindness, with the way his eyebrows dip and lower, a worried frown marring his face.

Mumbo takes a step closer, hand reaching out to him, “You alright, mate?” Looking down, Grian sees the man’s wrist. Four hearts go down his wrist in a line. Two of them are already gone, looking faded and cracked. The sight of the hearts on his wrist sends his stomach dropping, heart lodging in his throat.  

Grian recoils from his outstretched hand as if it were a weapon, and Mumbo freezes in place. He pulls his hand back. His face falls, and Grian pretends he doesn’t see. 

“I’m fine.” Grian hastily replies, ignoring the burst of pain in his chest. He scans the people around him. Mumbo, Impulse, Jimmy, and… Martyn. He takes a breath. So he’s stuck in another life game. Great. And it looks like these four are his… alliance. 

A sudden thought strikes him. If those four are here then… who else is here?

His communicator pings, and he pulls it up, heart still firmly lodged in his throat.

<GoodTimeWithScar> oh team BEST~

<GoodTimeWithScar> A wizard *never* forgets his promise.

If seeing Mumbo made him sick, then seeing Scar’s message in chat plunges him into freezing cold water. Scar’s name is red (of course it is), and it sends nostalgia and grief tearing through him all at once. Everything suddenly feels like it’s too much, his head swimming. He stumbles slightly, nearly falling if it hadn’t been for Jimmy taking hold of him. “Seriously, you alright?” Jimmy questions, and Grian… Grian doesn’t know. 

All he can think about is his final moments with Scar leading up to that stupid duel. The splashing of water below him as he jumped down to meet him in that shallow pond. 

“Betrayer!” he had screamed. 

Well look who’s laughing now. 

Grian had thought about it very briefly, in his final moments, what it’d be like if he ever met Scar again. He had wondered if Scar would scorn him, or if Scar would pull him into his arms and congratulate him on a battle well fought. He had also considered keeping his distance, as far away as possible, as to never hurt Scar again. 

And yet, just as usual, his heart never listens to his brain. 

Because as he looks at his communicator, watching the others reply in chat, his eyes only focus on Scar’s name. There’s a part of him, a very deep part within, that cries out for him. It sees Scar’s name, and it reaches. It reaches far and wide, and it doesn’t concern itself with the logical side of Grian’s brain. No, it simply sees the fact that Scar is clearly alive and well and it wants to run right toward him. 

Seeing Scar’s name makes Grian’s chest ache with a deep yearning that he knows can never be satisfied. There is an ache in him that he knows will only continue to eat away at himself, until he is rotting and reaching. His soul is crying, begging for Scar at his side, and though Grian knows that he will only be the catalyst to Scar’s ultimate demise, he is weak to the pull of his emotions. 

Grian’s other half is alive! He is alive and that part of Grian feels incomplete without him. Empty. His heart aches at the thought of being with Scar again, of being able to give him the apology he deserves. Just the thought of being able to apologize to him is enough to break Grian down. 

“S-Scar,” he stammers, completely forgetting that Jimmy even asked him a question. “He’s – I have to get to him,” he says, turning to the others. 

He’s met with varying expressions of confusion, though it’s Impulse who says something, “Didn’t you already bring him his stuff after he died?” he questions, and Grian quickly shakes his head. 

“No I just – where is he? I-I need to see him, I–” he stammers, thoughts running far too quickly for him to actually think coherently. 

“Up north dude, where he always is.” Martyn replies, though he’s looking at Grian with… something. If he weren’t so distracted by the thought of Scar, he’d probably look closer into that. However, distraction is the card he’s been dealt, and he lets it play. He spins on his heel for the exit, walking briskly with purpose. “Make sure he doesn’t kill you!” Martyn calls after him, “Remember the guy’s on red!"

Grian knows he won’t. 

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

If Grian is being honest with himself, he probably should have put more thought into this. He didn’t even come here with a plan! He had just heard that Scar was north, so north is where he went. He was moving too fast for his brain to actually catch up. 

It was a bit of a journey, getting from the cobbled towers (the Southlanders, his mind supplies) to the big mountain in the north. But the second he saw the hut on top of the mountain, he knew exactly who lived there. 

Maybe what made the journey so difficult was the thoughts that accompanied him. 

Grian won’t say that he ran to Scar’s — because he didn’t. Not really. He had walked. And his thoughts consumed him with every step. 

He’s stuck in another life game. Scar is here. Mumbo is here. He doesn’t know what it means. This game isn’t Third Life, he knows that much. His mind is scrambling, trying to come up with some kind of plan. A strategy. He’s trying to lay out a safety net for himself but he should’ve known from the start it’d be pointless. 

There are no safety nets in a game of death. There are no “plans”, despite how badly Grian may want to use one. He learned in Third Life that plans don’t work, even the most carefully planned strategy blows up in his face. It won’t stop him though. A plan gives him something to fall back on, a faux comfort. 

A plan keeps him from running headfirst into danger, a plan keeps him alive.  

Which is why he probably should’ve come up with a plan before going to Scar. He doesn’t know what kind of state the man will be in. He isn��t sure how to even approach a reunion with him. It’s obvious that he’s in some kind of… who even knows where. Obviously his friends all know him here, but he isn’t sure if they remember him. Who he is. What he’s done. What they’ve all done. 

It doesn’t help that he’s apparently been dropped right in the middle of this new game. 

He doesn’t know how to handle an approach to Scar. Hug him? Smack him? Ask him if he knows who he is? A no on that last one, Jimmy and the others have already answered that. Besides, Grian isn’t sure if he could handle Scar looking at him like Grian was a stranger in every sense of the word except the literal one. 

He settles on just seeing what happens. Sometimes no plan is the best plan! 

But just — not in a death game. 

His thoughts trail off as he approaches the bottom of the mountain, and he looks up. He grimaces as he gets a clearer view of the hut up top, sighing. “Of course Scar had to put his base in the most precarious spot ever,” he grumbles before beginning to make his way up the mountain. He makes sure to be careful with each step, keeping himself aware of where he’s stepping. 

When he makes it to the top of the mountain, he’s rather out of breath, chest heaving from exertion. This mountain is a lot bigger than the one back in the desert. But he reaches the top, and is face to face with a hut made of wood and dark stone. The roof on top looks like a wizard’s hat, and Grian can’t help his fond huff. 

He focuses his gaze on the entryway, finding it wide open. This is it. Scar is beyond that doorway. Grian’s hands shake just at the thought of seeing him again. Anxiety runs through his blood like water, filling him completely. His heart picks up, beating against his ribcage. He swallows thickly. 

A small part of him wants to run away. A small part of him wants to turn around and head right back down the mountain and forget that he even came here. A small part of him is afraid to look Scar in the eyes. It makes him feel like a coward. 

And yet despite that small part of him, Grian walks forward. 

He walks right into the hut, and promptly stops. Right in front of him is none other than Scar. He’s digging around in a barrel, humming to himself. Grian isn’t sure what the tune is, or where it’s from, but the scene feels familiar. His chest aches. 

“Scar?” he says, causing the man to yell out. 

He jumps up in surprise, letting out the typical fearful scream he does whenever he’s snuck up on. It makes Grian smile softly, and god he misses this man. Scar spins around on his heels, turning to look at Grian. Grian gets a good look at his eyes, and he sees a dark red haze swirling in them. There is not a hint of warmth in his eyes, no kind of recollection or even joy at seeing him. Grian isn’t sure what he sees in Scar’s eyes, but he knows that there is anger in them. Bloodlust. 

(He thinks he might see hatred. And that is a thought that shakes him right to his core. He does not want to live in a world where Scar hates him, even if it is justified. Does that make him selfish?) 

“Oh, Grian,” Scar eventually says, and his voice is cold. Empty. He takes a step forward, something whimsical about his footing. Scar is dressed in dark robes, stark white hair peeking out from underneath. “If you’re here to nab another life from me, Grian, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. There is a promise of a threat in his voice. 

Grian frowns at that, chest panging. “I’m not interested in your life, Scar,” he says matter of factly. He’s already taken one (two, if his guilt counts the creeper), he doesn’t want another one. 

A laugh spills from Scar, something lacking any real humor. “Oh, don’t you play with me!” he exclaims, voice sharp and angular. The sound of it causes Grian to jolt in surprise. “You can fool me once or twice! Or…” he trails off, thinking. “Three times, whatever, it doesn’t matter!” 

“Scar…” Grian says, and he quickly realizes that he probably should’ve prepared himself a bit more. He lets the other approach him. There’s something different about him compared to Third Life. Something bitter, cynical. Grian isn’t sure if it’s because of the nature of this new game, or if it’s simply because Scar is on red. 

“No, Grian!” Scar exclaims, reaching for his diamond sword. “You know, I was planning on hitting Team BEST first, give ‘em a real good thrashing. Send a message and all that! Can’t mess with ol’ Scar! Not anymore, no sir!” He takes another step toward Grian. 

It’s the instinct of green life, Grian knows, that has him backing away slowly. He takes a few tiny steps backwards. 

Scar looks at him, something angry and hurt in his gaze, “But I think you’ll make a good first message to the masses. You were the first to take advantage of me, after all.” 

Grian’s back slams into the wall behind him, crushing his wings. He cringes at the feeling, but he doesn’t move. Scar is cornering him, holding the blade to his throat. He easily towers over Grian, putting just enough pressure on his sword to spill a bit of blood. 

Looking at him, Grian doesn’t see a hint of the Scar he once knew. He isn’t quite sure what’s going on here, what the Grian of this game has done to wrong Scar, but what he does know is this. 

He killed Scar. 

And the hatred in Scar’s eyes isn’t misplaced or even misdirected. 

He doesn’t fight back against the blade on his throat, the blade that is spilling his blood. He simply stands there and meets Scar’s hazy red eyes. To Grian, he thinks this is good retribution for the cactus ring. He sees no point in fighting against Scar when this is something he believes he deserves. 

Yet Scar thinks otherwise. 

See, he had expected a lot out of today. He’s on red now, and he had a goal in mind. He was going to make everyone on this forsaken server regret thinking they could just use Scar as they please. He was going to start with BEST, and then work his way to the others. But then Grian just came waltzing in like they were old buddies and Scar wasn’t going to let a golden opportunity slip past him. 

He has a whole separate issue with Grian, after all. 

But as he stares into Grian’s eyes, he sees something odd. Firstly he stares up at Scar with blatant confusion and hurt. It makes him want to laugh. What does Grian possibly have to be hurt over? 

Though that isn’t what makes him pause. No, what makes him truly falter is the guilt he sees in Grian’s eyes. 

He observes the green life in front of him (Wasn’t Grian yellow? Did he swindle someone else out of a life?) and notices that there’s no fight. Grian isn’t pushing back against him. He’s not arguing or drawing his own weapon. Not even as Scar draws blood and pushes the blade harder. 

Suddenly the appeal of killing Grian leaves him. What fun is a kill that rolls over and exposes their weak point? 

Scar scoffs at him before making up his mind and taking a step back. So much for that perfect message in chat. Looks like Team BEST is back as his number one target. He lowers his sword completely. 

Grian watches him with confusion, “Scar?” 

The red life meets his gaze, a deep frown settling on his lips. “Who are you?”

[godmerlin]

Closet door complete as I've run out of room. Though I may replace the merlin one that's massively crooked...it was ruined when I put it up ans I've had nothing but issues with it since putting it up which is why it's THAT crooked compared to others. Lol things need to be shipped flat, like for real. Anyway. This represents my obvious fave tv show, fave movie, fave musician, and fave actresses. 🥰 it's better than an empty door that doesn't fit in the doorway properly and was never painted and left unfinished 🤣 it not fitting is why it's slightly bent. The house I live in is from the early 19th century. They don't make doors that size anymore and my dad's not a carpenter and I'm certainly not either so I just live with it being slightly bent at all times. Oh and the hooks up top are a shoe rack I have inside haha once I get my room cleaned and organized I will probably post some pics cuz I have some really cool art prints and funkos and other stuff. I just have A LOT of stuff to go through. I let it get out of control. Mostly with clothes. 🤣 so yeah.

[not-xpr-art]

BTS Rapline Triptych '23 - surrealist painting

i wanna be a human 'fore i do some art - yun by rm (feat. erykah badu)

(05/2023)

it's been nearly 5 years since my last rapline triptych, and 3 years since my last bts fanart, but after listening to agust d's latest album (in conjunction with rm and jhope's releases last year) i got a sudden wave of inspiration to do a surrealist inspired work!

this is based on the lyrics and general vibes of a few of my favourite songs from the albums (such as polar night, yun and equal sign!) as well as an interpretation of my own journey through the last 3 years or so...

see the individual panels below with a lil explanation to my thought process~

i had actually originally planned to have suga be surrounded by flames (very similar to my 2018 triptych), but decided that the flames suited jhope's panel more (because of the connection to the song arson), so settled for a bathtub filled with... a red liquid (is it blood? is it wine? you decide lol)

part of my thought process was focused on the way his album in particular comments on how we change, and also how that can be a painful thing to reckon with. the last few years have felt very much like we've all been forced to choose either to sink or to swim, and while we decide we remain in some sort of limbo... the closed door and empty room are a part of this feeling (and also something i was inspired to do after watching his music video for amygdala).

the 'shadows' connected to rm (which also cross over into the first panel) are supposed to represent the concept of past selves. rm's album 'indigo' emphasises the idea of the self, and how to feel much more at ease with who you are now whilst not completely letting go who you were then.

the central black splotch (technical term) is based on work by the artist yun hyongkeun who was the inspiration for the song 'yun' (which is also where the written lyrics above are from). i liked the way his works looked like voids, with rough unfinished edges, drawing you in like a cave. i wanted this part to be the only real dark part of this central panel. i was a little worried this panel would look out of place because of that, but i kinda realised that that's the point!

this panel is very much a reflection of what it is to be an artist, and a human. and in the sea of soulless ai and the commercialised art market, it was kinda refreshing to create something that i didnt try and harmonise. the colours dont feel like they necessarily go together and the glitched flames from the final panel create a confusing mess in the centre of the piece, as a central focal point of the whole piece it honestly looks kinda bad to me, but i dont care! mess is an integral part of being human, and being human is an integral part of being an artist.

i originally planned for there to be lightning to coming out of the cloud because of the storm-y vibe of jhope's album, but i thought it'd clash with the fire so went with some rain instead lol. the album carries a lot of themes of the pressure of success, living up to other people's (and your own) expectations, and struggling with what you want out of life vs what you need! and i tried to reflect this in the cloud 'hat' on his head.

i wanted to add some open doors to contrast with suga's closed door, but whereas suga's door has a thin gleam of light coming through the seam, jhope's doors all lead to darkness. the fear of what lies beyond those doors isn't lessoned when the door is open, if anything it's heightened! the doors could also be empty, given that a lot of my motivation for art has felt lacking in the last 3 years lol...

the additional faces came about by accident but i really like how they came about lol. in a way i was trying to give the portraits a traditional ink drawing style, as well as continuous line drawing to fit with the surrealism theme. they represent the 'self' in all its forms, who we are inside, who we are to others, who we want to be etc. all three of the albums explore themes of self, and in their cases specifically who they are in a world where their success is almost unparalleled. i dont relate to this (ofc) but i do relate to the dilemma of how to stay true to that self whilst grappling with our commercialised and over materialistic world.

finding that faith in yourself as well as faith in art to bring you back to yourself has been hard for everyone and i found it really humbling to see that same pain i feel reflected back in the form of music.

ultimately this piece is about finding reasons to live and to keep going, and desperately doing that all through my art. something i've always done, but has been especially difficult in recent years. and like the albums themselves, this isn't the end of a journey, but instead a midway point, a crossroads, where we can look back and look forward in equal measure trying to make sense of everything...

[fractoluminescence]

Exploration of Aviary OOBs

Shots I took of the Aviary OOB (after clipping inside some shops without going through the doors):

But that wasn't what I wanted to see most. I wanted to reach the OOB that can be seen through the doorways and windows from the inside of the Aviary shops. It was a lot harder, since there aren't really any good slopes to chibi fall through and you can't place props there - but after a bit of struggling, I did make it through the wall of the event shop, and here is what it looked like.

Now that I think about it, I should've tried to go inside the room on the other side of the corridor, where the Season of Revival cosmetics used to be - but hey, we can see the bell tower from here! I was like, could this be...?

So green. So empty. As I thought, all the shops are in the same 'dimension', even when they aren't connected - and the ones with windows are in a sort of replica of the Aviary Village. See the Moments Guide through the window in the last picture.

After some flying around, I noticed that the second floor of one of the shops, which is an area that is usually not open, had this neat little room inside that looked surprisingly comfy. I wonder if this is intentional on the part of the devs for OOBers, or if it's an unfinished room? Anyway, I stopped there for a moment to rest and take some pictures.

(There was also this little lighted alcove in the back for some reason - and two sitting icons floating in the air that I didn't dare to press. You could see one of the shops through that window.)

After some more running around, I decided to try to climb the bell tower. There I encountered an issue - when I went too far past it, as well as if I flew too far up, everything went dark. Here you can see the walls because I had my lamp with me - but imagine trying to fly in regular daytime and then suddenly, lights out. The only way to see anything at all around you - including clouds! - is to deep call. It was kinda scary. If you're able to return to the village area, daytime returns, but it's really hard to do in the dark.

Lamps that don't works. Eternal daytime. Green bells. A liminal space - true ruins.

Here again! See, this is what it looks like when the light goes out. I took this picture just as they were fading out, which was being affect by the angle of my camera because I was right at the border. Beyond this point, it didn't matter which direction I looked in, all was dark (this is right beyond the bell tower gate btw - right before where the path to the very first spawn platform should be).

As you can see, no path. Just a broken wall that only my light allowed me to see from this side.

I ran around a bit more. Found a hole in the ground inside one of the empty shops after clipping through the ground, and explored underneath the island a little bit too. Not much to see. So then I decided to aim for the clouds above - see if I could escape the darkness if I stayed above the island, and what would happen if I couldn't.

Well, I couldn't lol. I couldn't even see the clouds without calling, so flying was really hard. I managed to get quite high up I think, because by the time I was completely lost, I still seemed to be falling in the darkness - I'm not sure if I was too far from the island for daytime to reach me, or if I had gone too high and hadn't reached it yet, but it was probably the former. I was completely disoriented, so I ended up going home. Here is a picture of me falling in the dark with my lamp.

Overall, a very fun experience. Would visit again.

[highdramas]

the world’s a little blurry | b.b.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: none

word count: 2107

summary: bucky is home, and he is yours

note: this is a one shot for now, but i definitely have more ideas for these two <3 this’ll be heavily inspired by tfatws so this is a spoiler warning for anything mentioned! also this is my first time writing bucky so pleaseeeeee give me some mercy lol

enjoy! <3

it’s nearly three in the morning, and you’re lucky if you stay up past midnight, so bucky makes a point to be quiet as he tiptoes into the apartment. after a mission gone awry in the apartment building where you had been neighbors, you’ve been staying with the superhero. something about not losing you and you’re safest here. bucky’s not stupid— caring about someone is a gamble, and it had become clear to his enemies who exactly it was that he cared about.

living with you came lots of things that bucky was not expecting. first off, you’re very cluttered. you call it controlled chaos, he calls it a mess. he’s fascinated by the state of your night stand, mostly. a dying plant and one loose airpod, two half empty water bottles, an empty starbucks cup.

second off, you have a cat. her name is katherine, but you call her kitty, occasionally kiki. and while bucky had been determined not to get attached, after awhile, it was difficult not to. she rubbed up on his legs, cuddled in his lap on the couch, slept on his chest in the middle of the night. she’s fucking adorable, and not even the winter soldier can deny that.

third off… you. you as a whole. he’s sure that it would’ve been a shock living with anyone, but the care that you give him… he’s not used to having someone making sure he’s eating. he’s not used to someone checking up on him throughout the day. he’s not used to having someone to come home to.

it’s nice.

it feels safe.

and he’ll kill anyone who tries to take this peace away from him.

bucky groans as he shucks his jacket off, feeling exactly where his muscles ache. he tries to keep his volume minimal. finally, he opens the door to the bedroom. the bedroom that you share.

this was the biggest adjustment of all.

he’d barely slept in a bed at all before you came along. too soft, too comfortable. he told you as much that first night, and what you had said shocked him.

“well, i’ll just sleep on the floor with you.”

no, oh, just get in bed. no, c’mon, it’s nice. none of those things. just understanding.

but it was more than understanding. it was meeting him exactly where he was.

that was three months ago, and you had kept your word. if you weren’t sleeping on the floor with him, you were on the couch with your hand tangling down, brushing along his hair, his shoulder. every time he felt you bucky swore that he could cry.

it was two months ago that he suggested you both sleep in the bed. and while it wasn’t every night, and some nights he padded out to the living room with a blanket and pillow… it was progress.

and he would wake up to find that you had joined him on the floor.

the nightmares weren’t gone. he’s not sure if they ever would be. but they were growing few and farer between, and the ones he did have were growing more manageable.

things were getting better.

of course, they were not perfect. and he knew that you didn’t expect them to be. he has therapy once a week, sometimes twice during the particularly hard weeks. he’s grown close with sam and his family. and… you.

his girl.

as the door creaks open, he almost chuckles at the sight of you. you’re laying horizontally across the bed, taking up both your side and bucky’s. katherine is curled in at your chest, her nose nearly touching yours. your mouth is open and he can see that there’s a bit of drool in the corner of your mouth, and that does make him laugh. it stirs you and he freezes.

bucky watches as you slowly wake, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and then rubbing the drool from your mouth. “ew,” you mumble, still half asleep, and bucky leans in the doorway wearing a smirk.

“go back to sleep, doll.”

you hum and stretch, and so does katherine, giving a wide yawn. “you’re home.”

home.

had he ever had a home before? 

he did once, as a child. a time that feels so distant, so separate from the life that he leads now. sometimes, it’s hard to even picture the faces of his family members.

he had this apartment, but it never felt like home. not until you waltzed into it with your clutter and your laughter and your vibrancy. not until you cooked dinner hip to hip, not until you listened to music that he had never heard of, not until you watched some movie that was your favorite.

you’re home.

bucky smiles and he nods, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing your hair back. “i’m home,” he says quietly. “i’m sorry i’m so late.”

you shake your head, your hand taking his. he still wears the gloves. you raise your eyebrows at him. “can i?”

he nods. you make quick work of removing each of his gloves, tossing them across the room, which makes bucky smile. he knows he’ll be picking those up in the morning. you press a kiss to his palm, the one that is flesh and bone. and then you take the other and do the same. “missed you, buck.”

something in his heart constricts as he watches you-- washed in moonlight that comes in through the window, sleepy smile on your face, eyes fixed on him. he knows that look, and he knows what it means. he doesn’t know if he deserves it, but he tries. he’ll always try for you.

“i wasn’t even gone twenty four hours,” the smirk is evident in his tone even if you can’t see it, but you scoff and roll your eyes. “i think you’re needy.”

“needy!” you repeat and laugh, falling back onto the pillow. kitty stirs and looks up at bucky, letting out a loud meow. “she’s the needy one. look at her.”

“both of you.” he scratches kitty’s head and then kisses the top of yours before he stands again. “i’m gonna shower.”

sleep is escaping you and you push yourself up onto your palms. “can i join you?”

he chews on the inside of his cheek and shrugs his shoulders innocently. “better pick up the pace then, soldier.”

with a laugh, you kick the sheets off of you. “yes sir.”

he rolls his eyes and you both shuffle into the bathroom. now, in the light, you’re able to get a good look at him. and your jaw drops slightly at what you see. “bucky,” you say and he already knows what’s coming. you touch the side of his face where a bruise is blossoming. “how the hell does this even happen?”

“part of the gig.”

you groan and he smiles and he does so because he loves you. he loves your mess and he loves your doting, he loves your cat and he loves coming home to see that you’ve taken up the entire bed. “you’re an old man. one of these days you’re gonna have to retire.”

“got unfinished business first.”

you know of his past. of course you do. although, you’re a firm believer that it’s not his past, rather than a past that was decided for him against his will. you’ve made a point of making your stance in that clear. you have heard stories of what bucky has done, but you have tutted and shaken your head. “what hydra did.”

these are the things that bucky tells himself, but it is different to hear it from someone else. someone who is not steve, or sam, or another avenger who has also committed morally grey acts. because, yes, they are all good and trustworthy and worth listening to-- but you. you are his girl. you are his girl who laughs at his jokes and teases him and never once babies him for what happened to him, but you’re also the girl who has woken him from nightmares, who has tended to his wounds, who has been held back from a fight just to defend his honor. you have seen him in his entirety, and you have never balked.

“alright, well--” it’s not lost on you how his eyes trail down your body as you undress, turning on the water and checking the temperature. “as soon of this business of yours is finished…”

“i know.”

the two of you share a look and he gives a crooked grin. “you look nice.”

“there’s dried drool on my face.”

“yeah, i know.”

it’s been nearly a year since you met james buchanan barnes and yet he still gets you to blush. he practically lights up at the sight of the color on your cheeks. “are you--”

“shut up and get in the shower,” you retort, pulling back the curtain and stepping into the steaming water.

“yes, ma’am.” you hear the shuffling of his clothes falling to the floor and then he is behind you, hands going up and down your arms. you let out a sigh and tilt your head back, peering up at him. water trails down his nose, dripping off and onto your forehead.

you don’t tell bucky, but you do worry. you worry every second that he’s gone on a mission. you know that you don’t have to say it, that he knows. and you trust that he will come home to you. bucky turns you and he holds your face in his hands and he presses his lips to yours and you know that he feels the same way.

i’ll always come back is spelled out in the way that he kissed you, the way that he holds the back of your head. we have forever is heaved from your lungs as he sucks the air from you.

when you part, you smile at his lips-- slightly swollen, pinker than normal. you rub your thumb along the bottom one and he catches your hand. he presses it on his chest, right where his heart hides beneath skin and bone. “you don’t have to do all of this to make up for what they did to you,” you say over the sound of water. “you’re allowed to have a normal life, if you want it.”

“i know.” he pushes a piece of wet hair from your face. “i just don’t--” he shakes his head and you know this all too well-- he doesn’t quite know what to say, he starts closing up and off and away, the high walls that guard his heart and mind beginning to take shape. “i feel like if i don’t… what was it all for?”

delicate hands move across his torso. you lather up a loofah and begin washing away blood and grime. “bucky,” you say and he looks at you, steely blue eyes staring right into yours. “you make people happy. you have people who love you, who care for you. you don’t owe the world reparations.”

he winces as you go over a particular bruise and you slow your movements, make them featherlight. “all i know is,” you begin. “whatever it is you want, whatever it is that fulfills your life… make sure it’s for you.”

a smile curls on his face and he stills your hands. “thank you.” he takes the loofah from you. “let me get you.”

“but i’m not done--”

“please. let me.”

you surrender and he begins to wash you, and your forehead falls to his shoulder, calm washing over your body. you could’ve been standing there for minutes or hours, you’re unsure. he pushes your hair back and at some point you realize that he is washing your hair, and you press gently open mouthed kisses against his chest and you hear his breath catch and you fall in love with him all over again.

“let me get yours--” you mumble around a yawn and you watch as he smirks down at you. “really, let me.”

bucky shakes his head and he turns the water off. “tomorrow,” he says.

you towel off and when you clamber into bed, you feel the weight of him beside you, your cat nestled between the both of you. you feel him pull you into him, his breath against your neck and his lips against your pulse point, and your eyes flutter shut. before sleep captures you, you murmur, “i love you, james bucky barnes.”

the feeling of his smile against your skin is imprinted on your heart, and his words coax you into sleep-- “i love you too, doll.”

bucky barnes sleeps through the night and doesn’t wake once.

[getlostsquidward]

The gaps in your hearts

Lou Miller x fem!reader

A/N: This fic is very personal to me. I couldn’t think of a fic idea for Lou then I thought what better way to write something than from getting it from own experience lol. There’s A Star is Born and Thor and Loki reference ahe

(reread the first cut after you’re done reading the last part <3)

Content: Angst. Some fluff. Angst. Emotional cheating (I think that’s what it’s called.) Angst.

Summary: You were haunted by a ghost in Lou’s life.

Or it’s deja vu by olivia rodrigo but in reverse

Part two

“Lou?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“I just wanted to take another look at you.”

She turned to you and stared at each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity. She gave you that warm smile that was only reserved for you, or so you’d like to think. Those eyes that you thought lost their shine glimmered in the dim lights of the loft. It’s the day, after all. She’s been waiting for this for the past week. Lou couldn’t even contain her excitement last night.

“See you later, baby.”

Just like that, she was out. No kiss, no hug, no looking back. When you heard the car’s engine fade away you let out the tears that have been threatening to come out since this morning. You don’t know how long you bawled your eyes out until there are no tears left. When you calmed down, you went around the loft to reminisce all of the memories you shared, before going up to your and Lou’s shared room. Save the best place for the last, right?

You only packed some of your clothes and stuff so she wouldn’t notice. You checked the lowest part of the closet if there’s something you missed, but instead, you saw the pink and purple unicorn onesie that Lou had gifted you on your birthday. Seeing it made you almost cry again as the memories of you and her wearing that ridiculous outfit flooded your mind. It was the best birthday of your life. Shaking your head, you cleared your mind and took a last glance at the closet, and your sight landed on the hot pink hoodie Lou only wears inside the loft. You gave it to her and remembered how she scrunched up her nose and said the color wasn’t part of her aesthetic but wore it most of the time anyway, said it was comfortable. You brought it to your face and Lou’s scent clouded your sense of smell. It was the last thing you took and stormed out of the loft you’ve called home since you moved in with her.

You were leaving with the hole Lou dug in your heart.

***

Lou was your first girlfriend. She was everything you could ask for a partner. Despite her hard and cold demeanor, she was a tender lover. She was perfect in every way and it made you think if you were the same for her. She said you were, and she couldn’t wait to spoil you rotten and check more boxes on your bucket list with her.

Of course, there were the hard times, with Lou being a club owner, alongside some hustles. You were fresh out of college and you were out most days to find and apply for jobs. Lou said you didn’t have to work and she would provide for the both of you, but you always wanted to be a woman who doesn’t have to rely on others so you declined her offer. Besides, you didn’t want to waste time on the loft doing nothing.

When you come home from work, it was time for Lou to go to the club. Sometimes you come home to an empty loft. You see each other in passing; you were lucky if you woke up with Lou by your side. There are times where she falls asleep sitting on the coffee table and you would always get her unfinished mug of either tea or coffee to the sink where you, on the other hand, will make new ones. When you are free, you go to her club; when both of you are free, you would go on dates; may it be a walk in the park, get ice creams, eat take-outs, movie nights at the loft. There were times where Lou would invite you to join her side hustles. That was enough for you. As long as you can still spend some leisure time with your love, you were fine.

The good became bad, the bad became worse. The twice-a-week dates became once or twice a month. You couldn’t even tell if Lou still goes home. To you. It was like college again, where you barely see your roommate. You’re in luck if Lou texts you to update if she was going home, or even a random text. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had physical contact or a proper conversation. If you manage to catch her in her free time, you make sure it’s worthwhile.

The thought of Lou cheating on you had crossed your mind. You shook your head from that thought. Lou wasn’t that type of person. Lou had a lot on her plate already and you didn’t want to bother her anymore with your antics. You just keep it at the back of your mind and be grateful to spend time, no matter how little with your girlfriend.

When you got a promotion at work, you headed straight to Lou’s club to surprise her and celebrate. She wasn’t there. The bartender who kept you company was apparently one of Lou’s long-time friends. He tells you stories of her when they were younger, how Lou got into the con world, how she met her hustle partner for almost every job, how they broke the partnership apart, how this person was in jail now because she didn’t listen to Lou, how heartbroken Lou was because of her. Debbie Ocean.

You knew most of that story except for the last part. It only dawned on you now how Lou always talked about Debbie. On the first hustle Lou brought you, was their last at that bingo hall in New Jersey. The songs you danced to on the loft was Debbie’s vinyl collection. Hearing it from another light gave their relationship a whole new meaning to you. You always thought that Debbie was just her best friend. Everyone has one.

An eyebrow raised at the mention of the word heartbreak. “Of course she’d be. Who wouldn’t be when your friend gets in trouble for not listening to you?” You nonchalantly replied before gulping your drink in one down. “Because that’s just not it. Lou was clearly in love with Debbie. Everyone could see that. She was so ready to go out of her way to kill the guy who framed Debbie. A friend would’ve just, I don’t know, punched him.” The newfound knowledge brought shivers on your whole body that he noticed. “But that was a long time ago. I don’t even hear her mention Debbie anymore. You need not worry, Y/N.”

“Don’t I?” You gave him a sad smile and asked for another drink. “A strong one, please.”

The conversation you had with Matt was always replaying in your mind. You tried talking to Lou about that, how she left out that detail about their relationship, but every time you bring Debbie up she always changes the subject. She’s pretty good at distracting you with her touch so the topic was always dropped, but not on your mind. You tried after that, but each time always ends up the same. Lou asleep beside you, unanswered questions, and troubled heart and mind.

To clear your head, you busied yourself at work. At home, you would clean every corner of your home so you wouldn’t overthink. It worked until you entered the unused room in the loft. It was mostly just old stuff and broken appliances. You cleared most of the things inside, stacked the boxes accordingly so you could save space then more things can be stored in this room. While arranging the items, a black shoebox caught your eye. It was at the corner and now that you could see everything in the room, the colour was out of place. It was probably Lou’s high school or college memorabilia’s. You smiled at the thought of Lou in a school uniform. You didn’t want to be snoopy, but you were curious.

You wish you hadn’t opened the box.

The box contains old pictures, some of Lou, her and Debbie, their other friends, but what got your attention was a piece of paper. It was a long handwritten note addressed to Debbie. The handwriting was messy, but you know it was Lou’s, probably tipsy when she wrote. The letter’s contents… was Lou pouring her feelings out. Clearly, she can’t say it out loud so she channelled it onto writing. You didn’t realize that you were already crying when your eyes were getting blurry and couldn’t make the words. The letter was dated two months before you met Lou. You were in a relationship for ten months now.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Confronting Lou unexpectedly would be the only way to get a straight answer from her. If you subtly dropped hints, she would notice and then she would steer the conversation away again. She was mindlessly flipping the magazines with her leg perched on the table when you approached her.

“Lou?”

“Hmm?”

When you didn’t respond, that’s when she looked at you. She probably sensed that this was going to be a serious conversation so she set aside the magazines and sat straight.

“What’s wrong baby?” You internally scoffed at the endearment. Pain, sadness, and anger pool in your chest.

“Please be honest with me, Lou.” Your voice broke. “Please.” You hadn’t even begun talking but tears were already forming in your eyes. She didn’t answer, but you took it as a yes.

“Do you still love her?” Her brows furrowed as if she didn’t know who you were referring to. “Debbie. Do you still love her?” No answer. Your patience is thinning but you didn’t want to lash out at her.

The silence was deafening and the only thing you can hear is your heart crushed into pieces. You didn’t need to hear her say it. Lou’s eyes tell it all. That’s when you broke down and slammed your head on the table, not feeling the ache because it’s nothing compared to the excruciating pain inside.

Lou knelt to your side and pulled you for a hug. Your shoulder was getting soaked. She was crying too. None of you dared to speak until you composed yourself again. Still in Lou’s embrace, “You never stopped loving her, didn’t you?” She only nodded in response.

“What about me?” Lou pulled away to look at you, “I did love you. What I felt for you, that was real. I love you, Y/N.”

“If you still loved her then why the hell did you get in a relationship? Did you use me just to forget her? Oh yeah, sorry, I wasn’t useful since you weren’t able to get over Debbie.” You almost regret the sarcastic retort that came out but maybe she deserved it.

“It’s because I thought I don’t… feel anything for her anymore.”

“Clearly, you still do. So what now? Do you want to break up?”

“No! Y/N, no. I-” “I don’t. Please.” “I just… need some time to figure my feelings out.”

Your love for her outweighs the anger in your heart. “Okay. I’ll- I- I’ll give you some space. Take your time. I’m not rushing you.”

Even though the risk of Lou picking Debbie over you was high, you still held on to the low chance that it’s going to be you. After that conversation, you packed most of your things and moved out of the loft, despite her insisting that she’s the one who will go out. You check on her sometimes through Matt. Once again falling into the routine of busying yourself at work; getting a new hobby; barely using your phone so you wouldn’t bombard her with texts that you know would do; and you were constantly out with your friends drinking and getting high somewhere, everywhere except Lou’s. Some people shoot their shot at you, and sometimes you flirt back, but once you look at their eyes, you walk out. It’s not the pair of ocean blue eyes you love. This was your pattern for almost two months.

You were yet at another bar in some alley you don’t remember, drowning yourself in bourbon and scotch. You were alone in your booth, so there were people who ask if they can share, and you casually wave your hand to let them. Drunk people came and go without you caring to take a look at them.

“Is this seat taken?”

“Nah. Go ahead.”

You called for another drink and that’s when you took a peek at the other person’s face. They’re looking at you, and you stare back.

“You look like someone I know.” You slurred.

“Who’s this someone?”

“You even sound like her!” Through blurry eyes, you try to make out the features of this person. “Same hair, though yours are longer. I wonder if hers are that length too? Damn, you have some sharp cheekbones. Did I say your eyes are the same too? Oh I could drown in those eyes… Hey, I like your biker outfit, by the way.” You were a very drunk blubbering mess, but the stranger doesn’t seem to mind.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend? Yes- No, she isn’t. Is she? I don’t know either.” You hiccupped, “L-let’s toast to that!” Downing your drink in one go, you smashed the glass and shouted, “Another!” You tried to stand up to get your drink but almost fell to the ground. The stranger has caught your limp body just in time.

“You’ve had too much to drink. Let’s go home, Y/N.” Despite your fuzzy sight and the blinding lights of the club, you squint your eyes to see their face clearly. “Lou?”

“It’s me, baby. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

“H-how did you- find me?”

“I asked your friends. You’re tired, aren’t you? Let’s go.”

You nodded tiredly and followed her outside. “I didn’t think you’d be this drunk so I just rode my bike. I won’t call you a cab because I don’t trust them, are you okay with that?” Lou softly said handing you a spare helmet.

“I guess.” With that, Lou hopped on the bike and you followed. “Hold on tight, Y/N. Don’t let go, baby, okay?” She waited for you to get settled before grabbing your arms and wrapping them on her waist. You instinctively leaned forward and hugged her tight. You missed the smile that crept up her face hidden behind the helmet.

You didn’t know how you kept your balance on the bike despite almost falling asleep on Lou’s back. The familiar sight of the loft welcomed you after a relatively long drive. You waited for Lou to unlock the door before navigating the loft as if you didn’t move out. You didn’t notice that you were already on the door of your Lou’s room; tired body and a small part of your sober self battling if you should just enter or take more steps to the guest room. Lou chuckled as she saw you staring blankly at the door like you were a reprimanded dog.

“You can use our room, Y/N.”

Lou followed you in and gave you a glass of water and painkillers. “You’re going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, baby. Drink up.” Knowing she’s right, you took the medicine and water. “Can you- Can you get me some fresh clothes? I’m feeling sticky.” You shyly whispered. Lou only smiled and gave you that oversized band shirt you always steal from her closet.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anyth-”

“Stay?” Your voice was so small you didn’t know if she heard you. “Okay.” You scooted over in your side of the bed so Lou can take hers. You didn’t think she would until the bed dipped and her familiar scent clouded your senses. You felt her press a kiss on your head and whispered good night before you drifted to slumber.

If you can choose to not wake up the morning after, you’ll definitely not. The pounding in your head was unbearable, and the thought of talking to Lou frightened you. However, you weren’t given a choice when your stomach decided to throw up all of its content. You tried to hold it in until you reached the bathroom. When you were done hurling your guts up you went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water where you see Lou cooking some eggs and bacon.

“How’re you feeling, Y/N?” You took a glimpse of the woman beside you, her hair is still messy and looked like she hadn’t got some sleep last night. “Better. You look like shit.”

“Thanks. So do you.” “Hey, uh, I need to talk to you, baby.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. “Sure.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Well, shit. That’s that. It’s over. Maybe you’ll go back to that bar tonight and drown yourself again, and maybe get high so you would forget everyone and everything-

“Please come home.”

-everything that happened to you and start a new life somewhere- What?

“Come back home to me, baby.” You broke out of your inner ramblings and opened your mouth to speak but words were stuck in your throat. Did you hear that right? When you didn’t answer, she continued. “I’m sorry. I know what I did to you was unfair, and you didn’t deserve it. Please let me make it up to you. I missed you so much, Y/N. This loft seemed too empty without you here. I need you, baby. I love you.”

To say that you were dumbfounded was an understatement. You thought she would finally dump you. “Uhm, I- what? Sorry, I- I need a minute.” A minute is certainly not enough to process what Lou has just said. You rushed to get outside and without thinking you had grabbed the leopard coat Lou always wears. The breeze of the sea welcomes you as the fresh salty air hits your face. Listening to the sound of the waves hitting settled a quiet calm inside your head.

You ponder the events that happened over the course of one year- already? So much has occurred that time passed by in the blink of your eyes. You had missed Lou so much, the thought of coming back to her arms without hesitation, without doubt, was incredibly tempting. The rational part of you though was reluctant. It was telling you to think about it first, over and over again, analyze the words she said and consider the circumstances of your relationship. The amount of emotional and mental exhaustion you would suffer from the latter option wasn’t very ideal to you, so the first option it is.

The rumble on your tummy gave you a signal to go back inside where your girlfriend was waiting for you. You didn’t officially break up, so it’s just right to still call her yours. You found her on the poker table with her head resting on her hand while munching slices of bacon. A snort slipped from you interrupting her moment. Her eyes never leave yours while you sit across her and getting food on your plate. The domesticity of the moment leaves you aching for more. “Hmm. This is good.” You said, beaming at her. “You could be a chef, you know.” Talking while chewing, “I’ll bet a hundred bucks you’ll look so good in a chef’s uniform.”

“Honey, slow down. I don’t understand unicorn language.”

“I said,” you cleared your throat, “I think you’ll look good in a chef’s uniform.”

You talked with Lou after that and she went with you to your rented room to fetch your things. Everything goes back to how they were before, if not better. She made sure she’d spend time with you every day, and you with her. Your days off work were spent hanging out at her club, helping her with management duties if she was out for some hustle or watering down well vodka.

Things were going so well between the two of you that you ignore the snarling voice inside your head telling you that this isn’t going to last long. You paid no heed to those warnings and believed that she wouldn’t pursue you back if she didn’t love you more. She wouldn’t do that just because she hates seeing you gradually destroy your life because of her, right?

Yet, these past few days., her eyes have been different. Her touch feels different. You ask her if she was feeling sick if there were problems at the club if one of her hustles have gone wrong, but she said everything’s alright.

You were hanging out at the club, with Matt teaching you to mix different drinks. He’s been teaching you for a while now and said you were getting good at it that the more you hang out here he’d be replaced and fired one day. When no people were approaching the bar you popped him a question. “Do you know if something has been bothering Lou lately? She seems off.”

“Really? None that I know of, no.” A pause. “Oh right. We heard Debbie would be out one of these days. She got paroled.”

“Oh.” The snarling voice in your head was getting louder. “That’s good.”

At the corner of your eye, you see a certain blonde strutting towards the door. You debated if you should follow her out. Maybe she would just get some air, so you decided not to. You took your eyes off her and helped Matt wipe some glasses. A little while later, she approached both of you and asked for a drink. You observe her movement, the hand swirling the glass of wine, and the flash of something you can’t decipher in her eyes.

“She’s out. I’ll meet her at the cemetery tomorrow.” You didn’t need to ask who she was referring to. The hint of excitement in her voice was evident but she was keeping it down. You didn’t miss it, though. Gulping hard, you said, “I’ll take it she’ll be staying at the loft?”

“I guess. She sent me a credit line so something must be planned in that stubborn head of hers.”

“I see.” You hate to admit it, but the snarling voice was right. It had hit the final nail on your coffin.

Sleep didn’t come to you that night. Many things have been swarming your mind and kept you up all night.

What went wrong? Is there someone new? There was no one new. You were just waiting for her to come back. You could’ve told me because I don’t know what I did wrong. If I did something wrong, you could’ve told me and I’ll change it. You could’ve told me so I didn’t assume that there will still be us at the end. You could’ve told me so I didn’t open my heart for you. You could’ve told me and I would’ve let you go.

You could never fill the void Debbie left in her heart.

[pars-ley]

hi! i just came across your page the other day and i’ve read all of your drabbles and stories multiple times lol! so for my ask, i would love it if you did a college AU with popularjock!jk and have it be similar to the movie ‘A Cinderella Story’. some angst with smut and a happy ending if possible! oh and bestfriendjimin! as well :) hope this is not too much to request! ily

At the stroke of Midnight

Pairing: Jungkook x f reader

Summary: One popular boy + One 'uncool' girl + One school dance + One necklace left behind = A cinderella story.

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Smut / Cinderella au / A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

Warnings: Suggestive language / sex 

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Word Count: 4k

Beta reader: @casuallyimagining

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me so long! I had no clue about this film, so writing this entailed some research and me watching the movie...twice haha. I really hope I did it justice for you and you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!

"So, what's prince charming saying now that's so much more important than your best friend?" Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

You flush slightly. "He wants to meet." Grimacing at the words.

"And that's a problem, why?" 

You bury your head in your hands. "Because I'm me and I'm certainly no one special, what if he's disappointed?" You groan, the dilemma churning your gut and making you feel like your breakfast could make a second appearance.

"Hey," Jimin scoots closer to you along the bench and throws an arm around your shoulder. "No best friend of mine gets away with speaking about herself like that. You are lovely, and if he thinks you're anything other than amazing, there's something wrong with him and he needs to be studied in a lab." 

You laugh in spite of yourself, hearing Jimin’s words rattle around in your brain, knowing that you should not be this hard on yourself. You lean into his snug embrace.

You open up Tumblr and stare at the conversation between you and @gameoverguk. Your favourite gaming blog you’ve followed for ages, by chance seeing your gaming fan art and following you back was one thing, but conversing with him and finding out that he also attended your school was a completely different matter. Trying to solve the equation of who this mysterious creator might be is harder than you thought. And the way he converses with you, so open and honest and sweet, that had to narrow it down surely?

Something slams into your back, pain immediately in its wake. You and Jimin turn to see the popular boy of your university, Jungkook, gawking at you and his best friend Taehyung in hysterics. 

Jimin looks down in the grass behind you at the offending apple and calls, “Hey, watch it guys.”

“Really sorry!” Jungkook calls over, a slight dusting of scarlet across his cheeks but looks like he’s also fighting a laugh. It burns you how someone so smug can still be so handsome, and you hate yourself for even thinking about him in any way other than the airhead jock that he is. 

Taehyung jogs over and picks it up, still somewhat amused. “What, didn’t your crystal ball tell you that was gonna happen?” He says to you, loud enough for everyone in a mile radius to hear.

You cringe inwardly, attempting to fight your embarrassment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the top athletes in this university? And you can’t even catch an apple.” Jimin snarks in your defense.

His face drops as he looks like he’s about to take a step towards you both.

“Tae!” Jungkook calls, an air of command in his voice, breaking the tense air as he looks away from you ruefully. Walking off with Taehyung following, eating his apple and laughing between bites.

“Ignore them.” Jimin says sternly. “Speaking of, are you working tonight?”

Your face falls into an unamused expression, as if he even had to ask.

You were working so much you were almost taking residence at your step-mums 'magic shop', as everyone called it.

He smiles at you, his nose wrinkling, and you can’t help your face softening.

“Ok, ok, my bad. Can I swing by later? I need some more incense.”

You shrug, grabbing your bag and chucking it over your shoulder. “Sure. I’d be glad of the company to be honest.”

“Ooooh, maybe we could do a seance?” 

You glare at him and head off to class causing his melodious laugh to ring out around you.

Sitting in the bleachers after class, with your sketchpad and pencil, the perfect view of the city line and the departing sun staring back at you, you sketch away. The pencil etching fast across your paper as you manage to block out the sounds of the team practicing and their bodies crashing against each other.

Long after you've lost yourself in your landscape, fingers grey and shiny from shading, you neglect to hear some of the team members leaving, climbing over the seats and headed in your direction. That is until your pad is snatched from underneath you as you frantically grapple for it, without success.

"You know, this isn't where the nerds hang out." Taehyung smirks at his two other buddies, clearly impressed with himself.

You let out a bored sigh. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you owned the bleachers." Your words drip with sarcasm. 

His face drops and a mean glare spreads across his features as he throws your drawing pad in the air. You watch helplessly as the pages flutter in the wind as it flies away and disappears under the stands. 

"Have a nice night." He says quietly, an attempt to be intimidating, as him and his friends leave.

Your veins alight with fury, hands balled into fists at your sides. You wanted to stamp your feet like a petulant child. This isn't fair. Why you?

It's only then you notice Jeon Jungkook standing on the field watching. Embarrassment suddenly extinguishes your angry flames as he breaks your gaze first, walking off under the bleachers. You grab your bag to leave for work before you suffer any more humiliation.

As you reach the last step you yelp with surprise as Jungkook appears suddenly in your view, you manage to steel yourself before tumbling into him.

You stare at him, wishing he'd get on with it and tease you so you can go...but it doesn't come. Instead he hands you your sketchpad, gently dusting off the pages.

You take it, a hesitant, "thanks," ghosts from your lips.

"I'm sorry about him." He says quietly.

You shrug. "Not your fault, I guess."

Seconds tick by as you both stare awkwardly at each other, unsure what else could be said.

"You're pretty. I-I mean, it-it's pretty." He stammers, tapping the unfinished sketch in your book. "You're very talented." 

Your cheeks flush an undignified fuchsia as you duck your head slightly, letting your hair hide you. "Thank you."

He offers you a weak smile before giving you a halfhearted wave and jogging off across the field, leaving you watching his back, perplexed at the exchange you've had.

You stare at your messages, every moment he can see you're online and not replying makes your cheeks flush crimson and makes your mind run frantic.

Meet me at the Happy Holidays dance.

Could you?

It’s the first holiday dance your university has put on--one you had no intention of going to, because you frankly didn't need the added teasing from the popular kids. It is a masquerade ball however, so no one had to know it was you, you could fall pleasantly under the radar.

Were you really considering this? 

What did you have to lose? You can hide behind the comfort of your mask. If he discovers it's you, it's his problem if he doesn't like that, Jimin is absolutely right.

Ok. Where will I find you?

You press send and chuck your phone down, throwing your head in your pillow to scream. Did you actually just do that!? No taking it back now, it's out there. 

When you hear your text tone sound you scramble quickly back to it.

By the old sundial outside. At 10.00?

You grin dorkishly at your phone, typing a quick reply.

Sure. See you then.

You call your number one speed dial, two rings in and Jimin's voice sounds. 

"I was just going to call you, how strange. Listen, do you remember that time I-?"

"I'm in need of some urgent assistance. I just agreed to go to the holiday dance!"

He cackles excitedly on the other end. "I'll be right over!"

As you step out of Jimin's car you have to lift your ice blue dress up to avoid the floor...and tripping. How Jimin pulled this costume together in time, you'll never know, he's taking that secret to the grave. 

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and adjust your matching lace mask, making sure it's comfortable.

"Ok, go get him tiger." He roars, as he swipes a clawed hand in front of you.

You giggle at his silly antics and take a deep breath before giving him a final nod and heading into the dance.

From the moment you walk in, you want to go home. This is a bad idea. He won't be interested when he finds out it's really you.

You have no time to continue your anguished thoughts as you get swept up in the crowd, fighting your way through to grab a drink. Standing to the side and surveying everyone's costumes, noticing a lot of dark or bright colour choices, you being one of the only people in a pale colour, making you stand out more. Something you were definitely hoping to avoid.

A few songs later and the clock in the hall catches your eye, noticing you had fifteen minutes until you meet your mystery man.

You head outside, footsteps echoing along the cobbled floor, and see that the outside is empty save for a few smoking and talking. 

You get to the large, metal sundial and wait. Stomach churning from the butterflies that swarm wildly inside. 

"Blue hour artist?" You hear your Tumblr tag spoken behind you and freeze. 

You're about to meet him, come face to face with the person who understands you more than anyone, who opens up to you in ways most people wouldn't and who's creativity knows no bounds.

You turn slowly, not knowing who to expect but definitely not who you're faced with.

"Jeon Jungkook!? You're 'game over guk'?" You ask, your mouth popped open in shock.

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's not fair, you're wearing a mask. How will I know who you are?" 

You stare at him, trying to find words to answer his question, but the fact that it's him stood before you blows you away.

How could this be? The person you've been talking to online is the complete opposite to Jungkook and yet, here he is, one and the same.

"You'll h-have to guess." You try to get yourself together.

His mouth stretches into a toothy smile. "Ok, how about we play '21 questions' to help me guess?"

You nod, playing with your fingernails out of nerves.

"Do you want to sit down?" He asks, looking over at one of the benches.

"Um, no, I'd rather walk, if you don't mind?" 

"Oh, sure." He agrees eagerly and you head off down the pathway around the building. 

A few awkward side glances between the two of you and he finally asks, "Do we have any classes together?"

"No." 

"Ok, narrows it down slightly."

You take this opportunity to look at what he's wearing and he's every part the Prince charming. In a white satin shirt, with light blue trousers and a one shoulder half capelet to match, complete with silver, trim detail. Surprisingly similar to your choice of dress, what a strange coincidence.

"You take art I assume?" He asks, into the comfortable silence.

You nod. "That's an obvious one." You refer to your Tumblr page full of your fan art and projects.

He smiles bashfully and your stomach flips at the sight, feeling like a true-life Disney princess with heart eyes and birds singing above your head.

"I don't know many girls in art." He admits,

 "Ok, what about outside uni, do you go to any popular hangouts?"

Your cheeks flush, knowing you're admitting how dorky and uncool you are. "Nope."

"Ok, harder than I thought." He laughs, revealing his perfect teeth again. "Do you have a job?"

Nodding again, you play with the hem of your lace sleeve, channeling your nerves into the action.

As you're about to answer, your heel gets stuck in between the paving stone, causing you to buckle. Panic strikes you. You cannot fall over and embarrass yourself! Not when finding out who you are will be embarrassing enough. Luckily, you steady yourself against a nearby lamppost before falling on your face but at the cost of leaving your shoe stuck in the ground.

You tuck your leg up under your dress, steadying yourself against the street light, directly underneath the assaulting brightness, illuminating you like a spotlight.

Jungkook rushes over to your lonesome blue stiletto and retrieves it before crouching on one knee in front of you.

You stare at him, eyes wide and alarmed by his sudden closeness as he holds out your shoe in the most sincere way.

You bring your foot down and arch it back into its rightful holster. As you do, his fingertips graze your ankle, sending a flush of heat cascading up your body and neck, stopping only at your hairline. 

He lingers there, looking up at you with huge doe eyes, but with a severe intensity you've never noticed from him before. 

His fingers skate up your leg slightly as he rises, sending a delicious shiver through you. His fingers tips hint at your hand, you yearn to reach out and hold it, as he stands mere centimeters away from you. His intoxicating scent swirling around you like your own personal hurricane, taking your composed state and tearing through it, leaving it whimpering weakly on the ground. His face is too close to yours and yet not close enough. You feel feverish from his proximity and yet you need him closer to sate your heat.

Your breast vibrates from the aggressive pounding of your heart. Having him here on his knees in front of you, something not even acceptable in your wildest dreams and yet, here he is. 

The person you've gotten to know so well, such a contrast to the person you've seen around campus. But then again, he seems to like the person he's gotten to know too, maybe he won't be as disappointed when he realises who you are? Maybe you can kid yourself into thinking that.

A chiming sounds in the distance, barely there and yet it creeps further into your subconscious.

"Your phone is ringing." He whispers, his breath tickling your face, as his eyes still blaze into yours.

'My phone. My phone? Oh, my phone!' Your muddled thoughts clear themselves enough for you to understand his words. You pull it out of your little silver handbag and see Jimin's number on screen.

"Hello?" You ask, staring dreamily at Jungkook who is rooted firmly in his spot.

"Ok, I apologise if you're throat-deep around prince charming’s dick but I really need to make it home before midnight so my dad doesn't turn me into a pumpkin...and by that I mean, pounded, pulped and pressed into pumpkin pie." 

You snap out of it suddenly, realising Jimin's words and not wanting him to get in trouble because of you. "Of course. I'm coming, right now."

Jungkook's eyes flit back to reality with a deep frown. His hand clasps yours as you hang up and tuck your phone back into your bag. Your legs, already moving towards the front entrance where he would be waiting.

"Wait," Jungkook's pleading pierces right into your chest, feeling your resolve bubble up to the surface, enticing you to stay and see where the night takes you. But you don't.

"I can't, I have to go." You say, gently slipping your hand from his and jogging elegantly to the front parking lot.

When you see Jimin's dads silver Rolls Royce, you're suddenly eager to get in and share your news.

"So...did you meet him!?" An excited Jimin shakes your arm as you close the door behind you.

"Yes. You will never guess who he is." You fasten your belt and Jimin pulls off quickly, both of you wincing as he narrowly misses a barrier post on the way out of the campus.

"Who?" 

You smile to yourself, heart fit to burst. "Jeon Jungkook."

Jimin's foot taps on the brakes, lurching you forward.

"I'm sorry. What?" He turns to you, eyes wider than you've ever seen them. "As in, popular boy, sex god Jungkook?"

You scoff. "Who told you he was a sex god?"

"I'm making assumptions. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He grins as he elbows you in the ribs and sets off driving you home, while excitement rapidly blooms inside you.

You dropped your necklace.

You read the words over and over, unsure what your response should be. You needed that necklace. The simple silver chain holding the tiny teardrop pearl. It was all you had left of your dad. When he died, your step-mother sold most of his things, including gifts he bought for you. This was your last, most cherished item. The only reason you were allowed to keep it is that you were wearing it at the time and you haven't taken it off since. Losing it had your chest aching. You stared at Jungkook's last message until sleep over took you.

Monday morning. Eyes gritty and burning, you wake to the sea of sleep trying to entice you back to its darkening depths but you fight your fluttering eyelids and get ready for a new day.

How are you going to look at Jungkook now? You should tell him who you are. Yes, you'll do that and get your necklace back and it'll be happily ever after. 

Only it won't.

From your experience happily ever after doesn't happen for most people, even accomplished, brilliant, beautiful people. You're entirely average and ordinary, why would it happen for you?

By the time you get to campus, your manic mind has been changed numerous times. You decide to wait until you see him, which you spend every moment of your arrival scanning the faces that pass you.

"Hey, hey, Jelly Bean. Looking for me?" Jimin's cheerful face comes into full view, distracting you.

He's clearly unimpressed with whatever expression you're portraying currently, as he pouts and turns to the sea of faces. "Clearly, I no longer matter, now you've got big dick Jungkook."

You hush him loudly, looking around to ensure there were no listening ears. "Firstly, I'm begging you, stop talking about his dick and secondly, stop being stupid."

He laughs at your stressed rant. "Ok, ok, jeez. Is he meeting you this morning?"

Your body tenses, knowing, already hearing the lecture he's about to scold you with.

"You didn't tell him, did you? He still has no idea it's you!?" He sighs, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, typical Jimin fashion. "I swear to god...If you don't tell him, I will."

Your head snaps over to him as you walk side by side into the building, glaring menacingly in his direction. "You wouldn't dare."

He shrugs. "Try me, scaredy cat."

You huff and scrub at your tired eyes. "Let me just get through my classes then we shall discuss this."

He laughs as he tussles your hair and heads off in the opposite direction.

Your day passes fairly quickly, even though your struggle to stay awake during lectures only grows.

You do not see Jungkook, which is not unusual as you're not even in the same wings of the building most of the time.

Jimin's frantic waving has you puzzled as a deep frown creases your brow as you walk towards him, his jumping and pointing most unusual. It's only when you see a set of hands directly in front of you and feel your necklace land on your chest as it's draped across your collar bones, that you stop in your tracks. 

Those hands, warm at the back of your neck and a mouth next to your ear saying, "I told you I'd look after it and return it." Unmistakably Jungkook's voice whispers in your ear making you quiver.

When his hands are gone you look down and find relief washing over you with the familiar feel of your necklace, having felt bare and empty without it.

"Why didn't you reply to my messages?" He asks, stepping in front of you with a big bunny smile.

Wide eyed with shock, your mouth gapes open with the slow realization that he is, in fact, talking to you. "How-how did you…" Words fail you as you frantically think of any way you might have let slip your identity but coming up empty.

"How did I know it was you?" He asks, mouth pulled on one side in a smile. "When you dropped your necklace as you left the dance, I recognized it instantly. "

"Wh-what?" You squeak out. You attempt to swallow your confusion enough to form a coherent sentence. "On what planet would someone like you notice anything about someone like me."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, almost as if you'd slapped him as he takes a step towards you, a hair's width away now. "How could I not notice you? You're beautiful and smart, you don't follow the crowd and you're kind to everyone, I've noticed everything the last two years. I've just never spoken to you properly because….well...what do I have to offer someone like you, with endless talents and interests, a charming personality to boot and just when I think that's all there is, I discover something else about you. I'm just the school jock, popularity gets me opportunities, I don't have to work hard for anything...I feel...inferior to you. Worthless."

Your heart aches, hearing the words you feel escaping his mouth. How could that be possible? How on earth could he be so utterly mistaken, so completely wrong about himself?

"But gameoverguk is nothing like that person you're describing. If that's truly who you are?" You question quietly.

He nods, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to him.

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook, I'm a gamer geek, I'm good at sports, I enjoy bike rides on the weekend and finding new food spots and I'd really like to take you out sometime...if you'll let me."

You feel your lips stretch into an undeniable grin. "Nice to finally meet you Jungkook. I'd love to."

As you aim the plastic machine gun, keeping it steady in your armpit and pointed towards the screen, you and Jungkook race through the game, taking down your enemies at every chance. When your team name, "Blue Hour Gamer" flashes in neon letters on screen as the winners, your hollering and hooting fill the arcade. 

You don't even care that people are watching, not when you jump up and high five each other or when that high five turns into a hug, or when that hug very quickly turns into a kiss. You don't care.

You pull away quickly, embarrassment finding its way to dust your cheeks scarlet. Until you feel his hand press your lower back to him, your bodies crushing together and moving in perfect sync, making their own rhythm and inviting you to sing with it.

Heat blazes inside you like a wildfire, capturing everything else in its path and turning into thoughtless ash in the wind. Nothing else mattered, just him, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, caressing so gently and yet setting your skin aflame.

Before you knew it, you were at his small, studio apartment, realising you had no clue he lived alone but thankful for that just the same.

When your back finds the bed, you sink into it, disappearing into a cloud of euphoria as he roams your body, slow and meaningful. Every touch makes you feel things you never have before, and every movement brings you closer to the edge of the precipice. 

The way his mouth feels on you as he explores your body sends sparks of electricity racing through you. The way he feels inside you with each perfect, controlled movement lights you up like the sunrise after dark, warming you with its rays as you stare off the cliff edge and brace yourself for the impact. His hand caresses your cheek as he looks deeply into your eyes, something so sweet and pure in the action that your chest swells with emotion. His forehead touches yours as he moves in perfect time with your pounding heart. Suddenly you're falling, everything going past in a rush before crashing onto a sea of ecstasy, writhing and moaning until your climax subsides and his has joined in unison.

A tender kiss on your head, his arm winding around you, pulling you to him and encasing you in the perfect safety net is enough. Maybe he'll be your happily ever after, after all.

[chrizbang]

Pairing: female reader x Seo Changbin x Bang Chan feat. Lee Felix

Genre: smut

Warnings: unprotected sex, foursome (kinda), the members have sex with each other, oral sex, swearing, anal sex, cream pie. This is very dirty.

Word count: 1.695

A/N: All credits goes to my friend @parachuuuus​ who had this idea hdfyihuasof  💖

“Do you want to fuck her, Changbin?”

Chan, 8:57 am: Can you come to my clinic today? At 9 pm?

Chan, 8:57 am: I have a new assistant and I need your help.

Y/N, 9:00 am: how am I going to help you? I’m not a doctor, lol

Chan, 9:01 am: Y/N…

Felix, 9:01 am: Can you come, please?

Y/N, 9:02 pm: bruh

Y/N, 9:03 pm: okay

“Who the fuck schedules a doctor’s appointment so late at night?” Felix asked.

“Hey, it was his idea, not mine, okay?”

You and Felix have been friends with benefits for a while. It started as an innocent friendship but it was hard to resist him since he was so handsome. Sometimes he would take you to places since he had a car and you didn’t and you would repay him by having sex with him. It was a win-win situation.

“Why are you all dressed up to a doctor’s appointment?” he asked, looking you up and down. “Are you excited to see Channie?”

“Oh, please. I know you have a crush on him as much as I do.” You rolled your eyes.

“I saw the dude one time at a party and said that he was cute and now I have a crush on him? Anyway, we are here.” Felix parked the car in front of the clinic.

“Thank you for driving me. You can leave if you want, I don’t know how long the medical appointment is going to be.”

“I think I’m going to a coffee shop nearby. Text me when you’re done.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling at him. You kissed his cheek and got out of the car.

For most people, going to the gynecologist was something unpleasant. Being naked and exposed in front of someone you are not close with is, understandably, disagreeable.

Not for you. Your doctor was Bang Chan, a handsome man, owner of the clinic and, also another friend with benefits of yours.

You still remember the first time you saw him. He welcomed you into his room. He was attentive and educated. You couldn’t stop blushing. Ever since, you had sex with him a few times, which doesn’t happen often since he’s really busy.

You talked to the lady at the reception and waited for your turn. You noticed that there was no one besides you in the clinic, probably because it was late.

You were excited, you shaved and you were wearing your best panties. You know that Chan was always professional but that didn’t stop you from looking good.

“Miss Y/N? You may come in,” the receptionist called you. You took a deep breath and got up, trying to keep calm.

“Hello, Y/N,” you heard him saying while you entered the room. He was sitting at the table, looking at something on his computer. When you were finally inside, you saw that there was someone else with him.

“This is Changbin, my assistant. He just graduated and he needs experience. Changbin, this is Y/N.”

“Hello,” you said, waving at Changbin, who simply nodded.

Changbin was standing next to Chan’s chair, he looked very shy and embarrassed. He was looking down and avoiding your eyes. You couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. He was a little shorter than Chan but as handsome as him. His thick arms looked like they would tear apart the sleeves of his coat. 

“Y/N, I need you to take off your pants and lay at the gynecological table, please,” Chan said.

You did as you were told, as much as you were a little embarrassed to be naked in front of them, you were also excited.

“Nice panties,” Chan remarked, making you blush.

You lay down there, feeling butterflies in your stomach.

“You can put your legs here, Y/N,” Chan suggested, touching the leg support at the table. You hesitated for a second but complied.

There you were, exposed for them.

Chan started to talk to Changbin about medical terms that you weren’t able to understand.

Suddenly, you felt Chan’s hand on your thigh. Just standing there while he talked. Sometimes he would squeeze your thigh, but all of his attention was on Changbin. You weren’t paying attention to their conversation but you were sure that you heard Chan say something along with the words “g-spot”.

“Why don’t you take a try?” Chan asked Changbin. He hesitated for a moment but got closer to the table.

“Excuse me,” Changbin whispered. You felt his cold hand touching your folds and you squirmed, startling him, who removed his hand immediately.

“Sorry,” he whimpered.

“It’s okay, it’s just that your hands are a little cold.” You assured him and Changbin went back to touching you.

It looked like he was exploring your private parts.

“Use this,” Chan commented, handing him a pack of lube.

Changbin poured some on your folds and you squirmed again.

“Ah, this is cold.”

“Sorry,” he apologized.

Changbin started to run his middle finger up and down on your lips, spreading out the lube. His finger would brush again your clit sometimes, which made you hold a moan. Then, he started to slide his finger into your hole. You looked at Chan and he watched everything closely, with a serious expression.

You wanted to laugh because it looked like anything but a simple doctor’s appointment.

“Bend your finger and try delicately pressing at the top wall of her pussy.”

“How will I know it is the g-spot?”

“It has a slightly rough texture than the rest of the wall.”

Changbin fingered you some more but he looked frustrated.

“I can’t do it,” he whined.

“Let me show you.” Chan stepped on his place and inserted his finger inside of you. It took seconds before you moaned, indicating that he found it.

“See? Keep trying, Changbin.” Chan took his finger out of you, making you whine because of the emptiness.

“Shh, you’re gonna get your reward soon,” he cooed at you.

Changbin started again, with a firmer touch. It took him some minutes but he finally found it.

“I think I did it,” he said after seeing you thrusting your hips against his finger.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned.

“Good job,” Chan praised him, making Changbin’s cheek go red.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he continued. “Do you want to fuck her, Changbin?”

Changbin’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. “I-I don’t k-no-” “Don’t lie to me,” Chan scolded him. “I can see the erection in your pants.” Chan’s hands ran through your folds, collecting your wetness. “Do you want him to fuck you, Y/N?” You nodded. “Use your words,” he demanded. “Yes, I want him to fuck me,” you whined. “Get up and sit on the table.” You sat in the corner of the table with your legs hanging around. Changbin unbuttoned and lowered his pants. His dick slapped against his abdomen, dripping pre-cum. You watched while he approached you, holding on to your thighs. He opened your legs and licked his lips at the sight of your dripping pussy. He pumped his dick a few times before penetrating you slowly. You threw your head back, Changbin’s dick was average but thick. “Fuck,” you whined. Changbin immediately started thrusting on you at a frenetic pace. You tried to control your moans, afraid that the people outside the room would hear. Suddenly, you heard the sound of a belt hitting the floor. Chan was lowering his pants and freeing his dick. He got closer to Changbin and spread his cheeks, penetrating him. Changbin stopped pounding on you for a moment while he moaned, feeling Chan filling him up. “F-fuck, so good,” he whined when he started to move again. All the three of you stayed there, trying to muffle your moans.

Chan slid his hand under your t-shirt to grab your tits. “Take it off,” he growled. You took off your shirt and Chan pulled your bra down, exposing your tits. “So fucking hot,” Changbin moaned, bending over to lick your boobs, making Chan go deeper. “I-I’m gonna cum,” Changbin whispered. Not long after, he came inside of you, filling you. “Fuck, Changbin. Look at the mess you’ve made,” Chan teased. “Clean it up.” Changbin got on his knees and started to lick your pussy, tasting his own cum. “What the fuck is going on?” Felix questioned, opening the door. He went inside the clinic after noticing that you were taking too long to come back. The receptionist looked disinterested while she scrolled on her phone with her headphones on, so he went straight to Chan’s room when he heard you moaning. Everyone looked at each other, without any idea of what to say. “Do you want to join us?” you questioned Felix. “W-what? of course not,” Felix said. “Are you sure?” Chan insisted. Chan noticed that Felix was looking at this dick ever since he entered the room. “Come here,” he said, in a soft voice. Felix got closer to Chan, who told him to get on his knees. Chan grabbed his dick and put it in front of Felix’s mouth, who instantly started to suck it. At this point, Changbin went back to licking you. His tongue played with your clit until you came, moaning loudly. Chan demanded that Felix touched himself through his pants while he deep-throated him. It didn’t take long for both of them to cum. Felix swallowed all of Chan’s cum while he came in his pants. “Good boy,” Chan praised him. While you got dressed up, you noticed that Felix’s cheeks were bright red. You thought it was cute how embarrassed he got in front of Chan. “Thank you for your help, Y/N,” Chan said, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. He stayed with Changbin and they started to talk about something as if an orgy didn’t just happen in his room. You left with Felix, avoiding looking at the receptionist when you walked through the door. You sat in the car with Felix, who looked thoughtful. “Are you okay?” you asked. “When is your next doctor’s appointment? I’ll gladly take you.” You rolled your eyes and laughed. You knew the fun wasn’t over because you still had unfinished business with Felix.

[notnctu]

last first love | *unfinished*

━ aubade collab | now playing: my first and last 

lee haechan x reader genre - fluff details - established relationship!au, college!au, first love, mutual pining, hyuck is a nervous wreck warnings - none word count - synopsis -  Hyuck has never experienced a love so true, perhaps… it might be you? A love where the honeymoon phase never ends and where you’re indulging in happy beginnings. What you two share is an incomparable love because you are his first and last love.  

❝ Oh maybe maybe, this might be love

Just because it’s my first time doesn’t mean I don’t know 

Everyone will be jealous of us

I still don’t know what it feels like to get tipsy, but I think I’m drunk with you

Wherever I am, even if I’m dreaming, to me, it’s only you

You’re my last first love.❞

a/n: THIS IS AN UNFINISHED FIC! This was meant to be for hyucksie’s collab but i realized i wasnt going to be able to finish in time and she is no longer on tumblr atm. so, here is what i had of it and i have no intentions of finishing it. i felt like it was going to just sit in my drafts anyways, so i was like ill publish it since i released the preview for it lol 

“Take a picture, it might last longer.” The snickers from his best friends are poor attempts to draw his attention away from the sight of possibly the most incredible person ever. Standing across the blazing hot courtyard, simply out in the open blinding white sun, is the sole reason Hyuck may have forgotten how to breathe. 

You stand in the sweetest colors and the worst type of attire for summer. However, Hyuck is observing the other parts of you; there is something inexplicably eye catching about your features. Your lips part, revealing the most beautiful smile that he has been blessed with to this date. He almost forgets about everyone else around him. Almost. 

Jaemin snaps his fingers in front of the dazed boy, completely baffled by how his best friend has been lost in a trance by a simple human being. Hyuck blinks, quickly peering around him at his fellow peers. There is a slight annoyance that captures his expression, he just didn’t want to look away from you. 

“Go on.” Renjun raises an eyebrow and without many words, Hyuck understands completely the nuance of his friend’s statement and gesture.

“Absolutely not.” He gulps the lodged spit at the back of his dry throat. His heart has barely stopped sporadically beating against his ribs and he can’t imagine how he’d react actually speaking to you. The least you need on this fine, hot summer day is a stranger asking for your number. 

“If you don’t do it, I will.” Jaemin’s sass strikes a nerve, causing Hyuck to twitch at the possibility of you falling for the very charming Na Jaemin instead. 

Nonetheless, the boy does not budge. Hyuck scoffs, a smirk couples an eye roll. “You wouldn’t.”

A challenge sets forth into motion as Jaemin chuckles dryly at how his friend underestimates him. With hands in his pockets and a threatening glare, Jaemin begins walking toward your direction. Dread and regret causes Hyuck to literally jump in panic as he rushes over to stop his good friend.

“You’re actually so annoying.” Hyuck grumbles, a bit too loudly. Absentmindedly, his voice carries across the courtyard as an echo and your head turns at the sudden commotion. He peers up right on time, matching your gaze with his very own. 

Your eyes are delicate, almost glassy. However, they are not empty or transparent. In your eyes, there is a glimmer, a sparkle, a speck of something that makes Hyuck’s heart twist into knots. Under the white heat, you see him and you acknowledge his existence. As flustered as he may look, something clicks inside of him… an ache, a yearning, a simple small whisper of confirmation: you may be the one person that is going to make him happy for as long as he lives.  

How he knows this is quite difficult to explain and there are not enough emotions to describe in depth how strong your connection feels. May it be fate, Hyuck hopes that he feels this way for you forever.

The most common greeting falls from his lips, silently cursing himself for choosing the worst first word to say to you. Nonetheless, you smile back at him with the warmest expression. 

“Do I know you?” Hyuck gasps softly at your voice and how he can’t wait to hear it again. The question finally registers, not sure where you two may have met before. He definitely would have remembered you.

“I don’t think so. I’m Donghyuck.” Jaemin is already lost in the distance, back in the crowd of observers. The audience watches as this pitiful scene unfolds: Hyuck stands before you with slick hands and a small stammer over his usual smooth words. Could it be any more obvious that he’s a nervous wreck before you?

You repeat his name, quizzical and wondering at first. A few taps on your chin, you perk up at the sudden realization. “You were at Mark’s party two nights ago! The guy on the dining table that poured drinks into girls’ mouths!” That ridiculous line comes out of your mouth with so much glee, Hyuck had to chuckle at your excitement.

Then it hits him: you witnessed that? you saw him before he laid eyes on you? He blames the alcohol for the lack of motor skills and complete memory loss. Through any alternate universe, any past life, he knows that he would have remembered you. 

“Sorry you had to see that side of me. I’m not usually like that.” Would that matter to you? Would you accept the way he is? Would you judge him for his carelessness and wild behavior? Endless questions fuel his clouded mind, playing every scenario and every what-if on a wide screen. 

“I thought it was pretty cool. You seem pretty cool.” The nervous chuckle at the end of your hesitation catches his attention. His stomach burst with soaring butterflies at your small compliment and bashfulness. You quickly replace the air with the introduction of your name, finally, he feels at ease to know the identity of you.

“That’s a very pretty name.” Hyuck bites his tongue, gaining a bit more confidence after noticing that you are just as nervous as he is. “If you show up to his next party, I’d be more than happy to pour you some drinks.” 

“I can’t take my alcohol too well, but I’m very flattered by the offer.” He feels you slipping away. It’s the draw back in your forced smile and the drop in eye contact. Hyuck back tracks every second that played out just now, if he could take back those words, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I understand, we don’t have to drink. I just want to get to know you and that was probably my lame excuse for trying to initiate it.” The truth slips between his trembling lips and he holds his breath at your reaction. Did he fuck this up too? 

You clear your throat, taken slightly aback by this stranger’s confession. Regardless, your heart thumps loudly in your chest and you’re looking for words to say. “I’ll be there.” 

Through the simplicity of your answer, the brightest and warmest smile radiates on the boy’s face. You didn’t quite know it yet, but you may have fallen in love with the sun. 

Hyuck desperately awaits your arrival on this very chaotic and loud night. He had been pacing the room before the party even began, causing Mark to question his out of the ordinary behavior. At first, Hyuck refused to answer anything regarding meeting you. Hyuck made some random excuse about how he was afraid that there may not be enough booze, but Renjun was quick to call him out on his lies. Unlike previous times when the boys would tease Hyuck endlessly about his newest fling, everyone silently acknowledged that this one might be different for him.

When the night dove deeper and more people crowded the main floor, Hyuck tried his hardest to stay away from the alcohol and the commotions. He wanted to see you before you saw him, like an eager sun awaiting his moon, he watched the door for any sight of you.

“It’s late, are you sure you’re not drinking tonight?” Jeno nudges his arm lightly with two cups in his hands. “It’s your favorite.” He beckons the familiar liquid toward the tempted boy. 

Hyuck takes a brief moment and weighs his options. One drink wouldn’t hurt him and you hadn’t shown up yet. Jeno cheers excitedly as his friend downs the burning alcohol in one go. At the very least, this calms his nerves down just a bit. 

“Now get that shit away from me.” Hyuck wipes his lips on the back of his hand, shoving the empty cup back into Jeno’s possession. Almost instantly, Hyuck feels warmer and lighter. His eyes drift slowly to the doorway again and immediately, his heart rate shoots through the roof. You stand there, chatting with Mark and looking as beautiful as ever in the nighttime. 

Rushing over quickly, Hyuck slyly puts an arm around Mark as an attempt to enter the conversation. “Hey! You made it!” 

You reciprocate the same energy, opening your arm for a small hug. “I would’ve shown up earlier, but my boyfriend was reluctant about me going.” Boyfriend. As Hyuck pulls away from your hold, he bites back the frown that forms on his face.

“There’s drinks in the kitchen if you want any. I also got your favorite snacks in the cabinet.” Mark lightly ushers you in the direction of the kitchen. Hyuck tries to follow behind, but Mark pulls him back by his shirt.

“Don’t tell me that y/n is the one that you’ve been waiting all night for.” He whispers over the robust music that blasts unforgivingly through the speakers.

“And would that be a problem?” Hyuck retorts, causing Mark’s eyebrow to raise.

“You said you weren’t drinking tonight.” Mark can smell the alcohol from his breath and shakes his head. The most disappointing scowl replaces his usual giddy expression, “y/n is off limits. Did you not hear? Boyfriend of two years.” 

“I may have chosen to not hear it.” He hates to admit that the sound of his heart shattering fills his ears, knowing that every chance with you has disappeared before he even got to know you.

“Hyuck, this is serious.” Mark looks scary in the low light, his frown being more threatening than usual. 

“It just sounds like you tried to shoot your shot and missed. Now, automatically y/n is off-limits.” Though his wording may seem a bit harsh, Hyuck can read Mark in seconds. The shift in his friend’s expression confirms it all, and the grip on his shirt drops. 

“Just don’t waste your time.” Mark deeply sighs, as if the single line took every breath and pride out of him. Donghyuck rolls his eyes at how quickly the mood dropped and holds Mark by the shoulders. Deadly eyes locked, Hyuck notices the hurt and odd pain in his good friend’s face.

He softens, “thanks for looking out for me, but there’s something inside of me that erupted when I saw y/n. It’s beyond a simple feeling and I can’t explain it.” Hyuck breaks away from the intense look, wandering eyes searching the crowded floor for any focus. He bites his lip, “not some soulmate shit, but it’s pretty close.” 

Your voice startles Hyuck from behind and Mark is fast to turn his frown upside down. “I didn’t expect you to be the type to believe in soulmates.” The lightness in your tone indicates that you didn’t hear the first part of his statement. 

“He doesn’t.” Mark dryly laughs along, while also silently accepting Hyuck’s vulnerable confession. “I think you two should get to know one another. It’s about time my two good friends meet.”

“I was waiting to finally meet the infamous Donghyuck.” Like a trigger, his heart practically explodes in his chest at the sound of his name and your implications. “We touched briefly a few days ago, I may have referred to him as the guy pouring drinks into girls’ mouths.” The sheepish grin that grows on your face causes Hyuck to chuckle.

“Mark can vouch that I’m nothing like that….” Hyuck begins, wrapping an arm around the slumped boy.

“Sober.” Mark retorts with an eye roll, walking off to leave you two alone with some privacy.

Now that he finally has you alone, he’s at a loss for words. He’s choked up, throat closed and words unspoken. Nervousness jitters his system, something that rarely happens. Donghyuck has always been confident in himself and in his words. It’s difficult to find this man full of anxiousness and stammering. 

But your eyes trace the ground in hopes of him breaking the ice, and absolutely nothing comes out of his mouth. Why? He’s so damn nervous over you, and he just can’t place why you make him feel this way.

You apologize in the midst of the slightly awkward atmosphere. “I’m a bit shy.” The way your shoulders shrink is more telling than your statement. 

Hyuck clears his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets, “Not a problem. Do you want to talk in a quieter place?” His eyes are shaky, worried of overstepping his boundaries.

“That would be good.” Although the noise of the party had disappeared, the nuance was still present and way too distracting. Hyuck motions you to follow him up the stairs and into a room in the back of the hallway. 

Something about falling posters on the walls, small trinkets decorating the tiny desk, and the photo frames of loved ones told you enough of who this room belonged to. “Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting visitors tonight.” More like he wasn’t expecting to bring you into his room. 

“Your room…” you walk around the center of the room and take a gaze around the ambiance. Hyuck blinks at you, breathless at how you stand there with magical dust that falls around you. If only you would have known that this room was going to be your safe haven. In this very moment, you soak in this new atmosphere with baby steps and curiosity. The life of Lee Donghyuck right at the tips of your toes, a sight right before you. 

“...it feels cozy. Warm.” 

“Do you want me to turn on the fan? The AC broke a few days ago--” Hyuck hurries over to turn on the revolving fan on the ceiling. Nonetheless, you stop his arm from flicking the switch. Your first point of physical contact. 

“Warm as in comforting, like the same warmth you feel when the sun kisses your skin.” And he can’t believe how you stare directly into his soul with words that seem to imply more than a simple ambiance of a room. Even you feel how intense your point of contact felt, and slowly shake out of the sudden daze. 

“I didn’t mean to go all poetic on you.” You laugh, dropping your arm. Hyuck runs a nervous hand through his hair and looks everywhere, but you.

“You just have a way with words.” He walks over to his window, opening it all the way. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.” He turns slightly to look back to you with a gentle smile and the beating of your heart is loud in your ears. “Come, this is actually where I wanted to take you.” 

As you approach, there is a side of the roof that Hyuck sits flat on. He helps you with balance, as you  climb out the window and take a seat next to your new friend. The neighborhood is quiet, despite the robust music coming from the party downstairs, cars line the streets neatly and for the most part, it’s like a still scene in a movie. A paused moment, as the stars hang low in the dark sky and the moon sits as beautiful as ever in her place over the world.

This night was the night of many, but it was the night that set your paths to connect. This was the night that Hyuck was sober, but absolutely drunk on you. 

Loving Donghyuck was so easy and free. 

Legs tangled in sheets, skin against skin, and every warmth seeping from your sun. There’s no other way you’d want to wake up. For the rest of your life, there is nothing more you’ve ever wanted than to be by Lee Donghyuck’s side. 

And there is absolutely no surprise that he feels the exact same way and many more. You are his blue skies, filling up his days with the most beautiful moments. How lucky he is to be alive in the same timeline as you. Lee Donghyuck is utterly, fully, entirely in love with you. 

It doesn’t take the whole world to figure it out. From the moment your eyes met under the shining rays of the hot summer day, something in his bursting heart told him that you may be the only person that will make him happy for as long as he lives.

[lacharcutiere]

x2 [suna rintarō]

1k words

✯haikyuu!! masterlist✯

alcohol consumption, soft angst

mara comin thru w a fic based on My Real Life Experiences™️ oops, s/o to bri for being my hype man and sam (not on here) for also being my hype man and telling me i should j write fics about my real life because Mara is Accidentally Y/N™️. technically this is unfinished but i’m posting it like this bc it’s basically what actually happened to me n i don’t wanna make shit up for stuff i don’t remember lol

☾𓆙𓂻

two sips of vodka, two times you catch him staring at you in the span of a few seconds, two vapes he’s hitting at the same time, two hugs because he says “y’re not coming back” no matter how many times you laugh and tell him you promise you’ll see him around. the two of you in your mom’s old car, and it’s only the first time you’ve hung out properly, so there’s not two of that.

you were in front of his house just five minutes later than you said, waiting with the engine still running, kanye blasting. to aran’s first to pick up a bottle of vodka (mostly empty, actually, rin complained when he gets back in the car; he got ripped off), then to his, where you passed his sister on the stairs and she gave you a smile and a laugh, real ones. he led you into his room, where you sat on his bed awhile, and you commented about how clean it was (definitely not what you expected, and cleaner than yours at the moment) and he laughed and told you he’d manically cleaned it hours before. that’s where the two sips of vodka came in; all you drank that night because you had to be home by one. shortly after was the first time you caught him staring at you twice within maybe thirty seconds. the only other time anyone had ever looked at you like that had been when they were about to kiss you. you wondered if you wanted him to kiss you, too. instead you asked what he wanted to do, and he said, dunno, up to you, and you suggested drive around because after this you didn’t know if you’d ever be back in this town.

☁︎︎

through winding roads through the woods and past a country club, past the street you’ve lived on for the past ten years, and a quick circle through the parking lot of the middle school you went to.

“‘s where it all started,” you tell him, with a little sad laugh.

the alcohol’s beginning to hit him now, and he asks if you can stop at the gas station down the road so he can take a piss. he hits two vapes when he gets back in the car and laughs, ‘s how you know i’m drunk, he says.

☁︎︎

you drive all the way up to the town on the bay; there’s still snow and ice on the ground. it’s pretty, still with christmas lights strung on the trees lining the streets downtown. the two of you park near the boardwalk and get out; go down to the tiny little lighthouse to see if you can get inside, but there’s a padlock on the door and it’s fucking freezing and in the end you surrender and get back in the car.

☁︎︎

a while later he’s even more drunk, you’re not, obviously, because you’re driving down the interstate and also because you need to be home in a couple hours so you can finish packing because you’re going back to school tomorrow. and he’s going to stay here, or maybe not, because he’s got six days to decide if he wants to move away with his mom. if there’s nothing keeping you here, you tell him, do it.

“but, like,” he says, and it’s slurred a little and you’re behind the wheel, speeding down the highway, “i don’t wanna run away from everything, you know? wanna, like, resolve all my shit first.”

“but what shit do you have to resolve?”

he laughs. “dunno.”

“so do it, get outta this shitty town. i promise it’ll be good; ‘s what i did.”

he laughs again: “ha, you’re right, you’re right. maybe i will.”

☁︎︎

there are a couple moments where, as streetlights cast strange shadows on you as you drive past them and you listen to him speak, you wonder what the two of you could be.

☁︎︎

heading back to aran’s for a bit because… you don’t actually know, but why not, high school comes up in the conversation, and you say something about how you’re glad you’re no longer who you used to be and,

“what’re you talking about?”

“ha, what do you mean? you knew me in high school. sort of.”

“kidding, right? i know so many people who thought you were bad.”

you’re silent for a while, and he repeats it.

“…who?”

“like… samu! aran! lotsa guys!”

“i… what the fuck?”

“yeah, y’ kidding? everyone thought you were some, like, badass chick or whatever.”

you snort. “that’s news to me.”

“no ‘s not, you gotta know. ‘s why you got that thing ‘bout bein’ a catfish on your instagram isn’t it?”

“what? no, ha, that’s about, like, my personality—“

“but your personality’s what makes you not a catfish?”

“hah, oh my god, no, are you kidding, i’m nowhere near as cool as i seem, i’m a fucking nerd,” you laugh.

“nah exactly! y’d be a catfish if y’ didn’t have a personality but ya do. so you’re not a catfish, and you’re very pretty…”

he goes on and on talking. you smile at the road in front of you and just listen.

☁︎︎

the night ends where it began, too, with you sitting next to him on his bed—well, really he’s lying down now, but then he sits up again because oh yeah, rings! and you laugh and he fills your hands with rings and then you tell him, “alright, dude, i really have to go now,” and you stand.

what to say? “see you around?” you settle on, even though you're not sure you will.

it takes him a second to stand up, but he does. “hug?” his arms are open.

you walk into them.

“‘s gotta be a long hug, because you’re not comin’ back.”

you laugh a little. “yes, i am!”

“not comin’ back.”

“i am—”

“no. not comin’ back.”

he lets go after a while, and you’re heading to the door, the rings jingling in your pocket now, about to say, see ya, and he goes,

“two hugs, because you’re not coming back.”

you laugh and indulge him. this one’s longer than the first. he kisses your shoulder when you pull away. and then you're heading back downstair, you’re out the door, walking back to your car in the freezing fucking cold, wondering what just happened.

you think about what he said. you should just stay here, with me. we coulda been great friends. he’s right, you think. you wonder about wasted time, about how in high school you’d been so scared to leave what was comfortable, leave your shitty friends, so scared of what people like him thought of you, and all along the truth had been that they’d never seen you the way you saw yourself. it’s usually like that, isn’t it?

[transromansanders]

Home

A 3rd Life AU where Scott survived the final battles and went home. I wrote this listening to Strawberry Blond lol

Words: 646

Ship: Flower Husbands

CWs: crying, death (not explicitly mentioned) grief, injuries

-

The war was over. It was just the six of them left. Grian, Scar, BDubs, BigB, Impulse, and Smajor. Scott had talked the others down from fighting amongst each other, but the wounds were still there. All of them had little to go back home to, homes destroyed or far more empty. 

Scott adjusted his bow on his back, trudging back through the gate into the hobbit kingdom. He looked around, at the nether portal, the entrance to his home, the farm, his spruce trees, and, finally, Jimmy's house. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he looked away. His legs shook as he walked back to his own house, up the switchbacking steps with difficulty. He opened the door, and was immediately greeted with a sign and a chest. 

"For your retirement <3

-Solidarity"

Numbly, Scott fell to his knees before the chest and opened it carefully. Inside, a cake, a blue cornflower, and a stack of diamonds. 

Scott slammed the chest closed and cried out, sobbing violently and punching the floor, hard. Again and again, splitting open his knuckles. His tears burned the wound on his cheek, left there by "The Skizz Blade", by Ren's hand. 

All he could think, all he could feel, it was all Jimmy. Jimmy, below him in the cave when he'd first come across him. Jimmy, taking on Dare to Flare with such confidence. Jimmy, standing between Scott, and Ren and Martyn. Jimmy, making an enemy of Dogwarts. Jimmy, trying to defend himself about the Pufferish of Peace. Jimmy, freaking out over the cake in his secret room. Jimmy, walking with him to the desert. Jimmy, disappearing into the bunker with Scar. 

Scott cried harder as he stumbled to his feet, walking further into the unfinished house. Unfinished. He never got to finish. Never got to say the things he meant to. He ran out of time. Abruptly, he turned and walked from the house, shedding his bow and quiver along with his overshirt on the porch, then heading toward Jimmy's grave. He just needed to sit there for a while. Just needed to be near him. He fell to his knees again, this time next to the headstone he'd so lovingly erected before the final battles. 

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," he said softly. "You always protected me. I wasn't good enough to protect you…" he sobbed, clinging to the headstone, weeping and sniffling. "I love you," he choked out. "I'm sorry, I love you so much… You were everything to me… More than any power we had against them—"

"I-I didn't know you felt that way, Scott."

Scott was on his feet in an instant, eyes glued to the figure before him. Clad in tattered red, white, and blue, Scott's blue overshirt wrapped around his shoulders, there was Jimmy. He was smiling, that same familiar smile, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't died. 

Scott staggered forward and nearly fell, but Jimmy was there to catch him, and he sure as hell felt solid. "But you died…" Scott rasped. 

"Sure felt like it, too," Jimmy said with a laugh, pulling Scott to his chest in a warm hug. "I'm not sure what happened, either. I woke up in my bed, like I had another life left. I think some time had passed, 'cause my house was blocked off."

Scott nodded against Jimmy's neck, tears filling his eyes again as he sniffled, "I did that."

Jimmy took a deep breath, nuzzling Scott's hair. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad to be back."

Scott looked up, their noses centimeters apart. It didn't take him long to close the distance between them, kissing Jimmy desperately, desperate for him to be real. 

Jimmy finally pulled away, laughing breathlessly as he rested his forehead against Scott's. "I love you too… And I'm so glad you came home to me…"

"Me too, Jimmy… Me too."

[penrose-quinn]

Invisible Man | Toji Fushiguro/F!Reader

@hailng:​

ooooooo you already know who I'm requesting (if it’s still open) Is anyone anywhere happy? + Toji + nsfw Thank you for doing this!! Don't forget to stay hydrated today ❤️

a/n: hello hellooo! ❤️ no, thank you for requesting toji! hope you’re doing well! i’ve actually been trying to find excuses to write for him lol and i love the combination you have with him! it really fits the unfinished plot-less piece i already have written for him sometime ago so i hope this doesn’t disappoint! 

posted: 04.24.21 | prompt: is anyone anywhere happy? 

prompt ficlets: [Sobriety] [Masterlist] word count: 997 content tags: prompt ficlet. afab reader. spicy angst. semi-explicit sexual content. character study, if you squint. tw: nsfw. toji fushiguro is his own warning tag. 

pov: you’re toji fushiguro’s one-night stand.

Tall, vagrant, clad in grit and denim; this man unapologetically wears his darkness around him.

You've passed by men like him from gaslight leers or the bottom of the bottle. All your life, you’ve only ever called them invisible, but you can’t quite say the same for him. He stands out too much and yet not at all. As if he can disappear without a trace when he seems too acquainted with the night.

You try to not make a puzzle out of him. Mysterious men want that and they make for bad company. There's always a terrible pattern to them. Never give and take; only take.

Every conversation is circular, leaping to the middle point but never having an end in their self-absorbed obscurity. His purposeful evasiveness, his vulgarity, and that blatant, condescending drawl.

His eyes are too sharp and cruelly intelligent for his rugged appearance. You aren’t certain what to make of that and the manner they almost border to obscene, groping for emotion on your face. 

Then all it takes is the sly bend of his lips to figure you out, made crooked by a scar, when he isn't going to let that die down. He looks flattered. Looks hungry.

Because he sees it in you too, seizing it by the teeth. Don’t be shy.

You'll admit that it's unsubtle of you, as shameless as he; the slow, indulgent way you rake over the entirety of him in a stare, and for a smoldering moment, heady and hung over the afterthought of running your hands all over him.

Your gazes meet. Whenever you attempt to look closely into his eyes – the blue-green of a distant sea, far, far away from this ghost city you’ve never called home – only then you start to realize that he doesn't seem like he can belong anywhere you might know of.

“You lonely?” he asks with a smirk.

“Aren’t you the same?”

“So you’re not happy,” he mocks you this time; not out of spite but of an abrasive assumption.

You chuckle. “Is anyone anywhere happy?”

He doesn’t answer. It doesn’t make it easier for you to forget how he briefly registers your words. Perhaps, he doesn’t mean to be offhanded, like how you don’t mean to be sincere. In this desolate street, or the room of your apartment.

This affair should be a simple one, traded for simple needs.

"You don't have to say it. I'm bad with names."

That’s a lie. You're actually good with them, drawing portraits just from the teeth of letters, distinctions between the loose scribble of a voice, and the tendon of familiarity that pulls at the jaw when uttering out a name; one that is a face, then a digit among numbers and commas and spaces of an old page of a person, and then in its dullest simplicity, validation. Living invisible proof. Evidence of your existence. Evidence that you are.

“I tend to forget anyway,” you offer.

He seemingly believes you for it and for unsaid reasons, eases from the thought that this shared venture is inconsequential. Easy, halfhearted.

Though despite himself, he takes your nonchalance as a challenge, an idle amusement to burn time, when you're caught in the dark flicker of his eyes, full of sport and animal caprice, as he takes a step close behind you and leans down to your ear, suggesting in a low dangerous tone, “how 'bout I make you remember?”

Reverse psychology. It sounds like a promise and a threat. Everything about him is a threat; like the way he smiles at you, wolfish and open to your bare throat, leaving a warm trickle of breath that drips down your shoulder; slow and almost tangible like slobber, raising up your apprehension through gooseflesh and slick heat.

Despite your consternation, you want to see him make the attempt anyway, carve out the numb skin there with his teeth, and make a bloody mess out of you.

“Oi.”

He tugs a lock of your hair, pulling you out of your mild daze. It isn’t painful and he doesn’t let go, hanging onto it by a finger. His other hand curls on your hip, slipping under the waistline of your pants.

“You can try,” you say thoughtlessly, like frivolous prey falling into the beast’s maw, and you can already feel something sinking deep into your flesh, gnawing at your bones, pulsating violently, when the silence dries like salt and is grappled by the large hand that bunches up the base of your blouse and pulls it over your head.

The last semblance of your composure slips like that fabric discarded on the floor. 

Like everything else that has unraveled after he mouths his name for you on the curve of your jaw, molds it by the rough grope on your ass, and then all at once, marks it so thoroughly between your legs that you can taste it; wet and angry from your tongue, your cunt, and the burn on your throat.

You’re spread in all fours, like the wings of a rib cage over a throttling heart.

Will he devour it or wrench it out of you? He does neither. He doesn’t owe you shit, but you still wonder if he can hear anything at all underneath, flat against the callouses on his palm over your chest.

Hear how it’s difficult for you to piece yourself to him and for him to fit inside you. Cramped, full, and brutal in the swell of hot climax. Though the both of you do meet in the stark emptiness where every part is achingly misplaced, haphazard, and so, so quiet in the ruin; a cross between regret and intimacy, scraped along a fingertip to his lips. He bites it.

It’s almost sad how you can exist within an invisible man's gaze, starved for the proof that’s never really there. A certain hunger. A name.

“Toji,” you whisper, mulling over how you’re just as starved as he is. “Say mine.”

[ubemango]

one time, in your room (m)

note: I wrote this after receiving such an enthusiastic response to my virgin!jk drabbles. I really can’t thank you guys enough for expressing interest in this story, it really helped jumpstart lunyua lol 😭😭🥰🥰!!!!!!! I’m happy she’s back:) I would be absolutely nowhere without it heheh. My thank yous are also due to Violet and my crème de la crème for helping me write this back in March--I love you both very, very much!!!!!! Enjoy :D

DISCLAIMER. there’s one scene based off a tweet that I can’t find the link to lol... it’s about getting fingered till u cry. You’ll know when you get there 😭

PAIRING. jeongguk/reader GENRE. romance, college au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 17.3k WARNINGS. alcohol, oral (f receiving), cum shot, fingering, sexting, phone sex/masturbation, face sitting, riding, talks about Babies, jk loving oc A Lot SUMMARY. There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. (You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later.)

                                          part 1: emergency tactics

It started five months in.

Jimin probably didn’t mean anything by it. There’s talk and then there’s inebriation, and Jimin slurred roughly between the two like the drunkard he is. But Jeongguk was still hurt and you didn’t know what to do.

“He called me a pussy then told me to fuck one instead,” Jeongguk said under the strobe lights, the plastic ones you buy at the dollar store and you know it’s Hoseok who got them because he’s frugal, not cheap. The couch was itchy under your skirt. “Am I—is it really that bad? Like am I doing this wrong? Am I taking too long, or—”

“No, oh my god. Babe,” you said, and the cooler in your hand found the floor before you cupped his face. He was pouting. “Doing things—like that—it’s—it shouldn’t be something you stress over, okay? Don’t listen to other people. I like you. And Jimin is a whore.”

Jeongguk snorted. You could still see the doubt in his eyes, though. Shiny because he’s tipsy, but that downward droop still there. “You’re the best,” he said as sincere as he could sound.

And he’d left it at that. He got way more drunk though, definitely influenced by his post-teen-pre-adult angst but what’s a 21-year-old supposed to do with ample service of alcohol and an aching heart? You’d left him to it and cleaned the vomit on his shirt after. It was an okay party.

It stayed okay for a bit, too. Jeongguk isn’t an insecure person, but his bouts of uncertainty were getting more and more frequent. Especially when all his friends were naturally horny and really fucking stupid.

“So you’ve been dating for almost eight months and you—still haven’t defiled him,” Jimin says, now absolutely sober and still absolutely dumb.

You can feel Jeongguk’s ears heat up. “Dude.”

Jimin ignores him and turns to you. “Aren’t you like—bored?”

“When will you stop talking,” Jeongguk murmurs through a bite of his burrito bowl.

“I’m not,” you answer Jimin, flipping through another page of a study on birth control. A convoluted piece of shit, as Taehyung put so eloquently, but he left a couple minutes ago for a study group. “And stop bullying him.”

“I’m just shocked,” Jimin continues. “How does someone so hot end up with someone even hotter and like—not immediately participate in procreation. This is a crime!”

“Look.” Your textbook flips closed. “I don’t know what your obsession is with this guy’s dick over here, but it’s mine to worry about.”

“I think you upset her,” Jeongguk says.

“I know what it’s like to be pressured into sex,” you say. You feel Jimin lock up. “Look—sorry, that was baggage and I’m stressed.” Jimin nods. “But seriously? It’s—he’s—Jeongguk’s fine the way he is, alright?”

You taper off. It’s silent save for the milling of other students in the quad, but the air is thick. Sliced through with your anger but you’d rather have this conversation in private, without Jimin and his probing. Unnerving Jeongguk was like lighting the fuse in you, and maybe it was the instinct to preserve whatever purity Jimin keeps insisting on but you’ve never seen your boyfriend so upset about something. It kind of hurt to see him like this.

You get back to taking notes when Jimin talks again. “I’ll go,” he says. “Jeongguk I—”

“It’s fine.” Doesn’t sound like it though because he’s tight-lipped. 

Jimin salutes and sidles away. A bubble of unfinished conversations swells around you.

“Thanks for—that, I guess,” he says.

Your highlighter squeaks against the paper. “Jeongguk.”

“M’yeah?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

Maybe that was a bad start because Jeongguk sputters. You think he squawks, too—and he’s definitely fidgeting, lots of cut-off noises in his throat as he tries to say anything coherent. You look at him and he finally takes a breath in. “I—”

“You’re worried.”

His face contorts in confusion. “About what?”

“I don’t know. But I can feel it.”

“Same wavelength,” he laughs. Empty but he knows you’re just trying to help.

“Look.” He doesn’t but that’s because you’ve turned back to your books. “We have sex when we have sex. And if someone tries to—bother you about it, you can tell them they can suck on my fat cock.”

You hear him chortle. “I’ll do that.”

The conversation ends. You study. You still feel Jeongguk fidgeting.

Now there’s three weeks left till the term is over.  

“My—brain. It’s exploding. There’s too much going on.”

Jeongguk’s desk is a cramped space—the only place you can prop your textbook up against is his sweatshirt wrapped into a wrinkly ball. Graciously taken from his hamper because he still hasn’t done his laundry. The chair creaks when you spin to look at him: a dejected blob of comfy clothes surrounded by looseleaf paper and sticky notes. “Break time?”

He slumps against his pillows, arms out like a sad toddler. “Break time.”

This probably means you’ll cuddle for the next three hours but there’s little to complain about when Jeongguk purrs into your hair once you settle into his chest. There’s a warmth to him you can’t get anywhere else. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Just working too hard.”

“Okay,” you murmur. Jeongguk’s breath evens out the way it does when he wants to stop thinking. You can hear the hum of the fridge outside. 

“Want this to be over.”

You trace your nail over his collarbone. “I know.” 

“When’s your awards ceremony?”

“In two weeks,” you say.

“Same time as our final game.”

You lean your head up when he sighs, watching his eyes flutter in the afternoon shade of his curtains. A calmer period right after a hectic schedule of school, because you have Professor Kwon to thank for her excessive meetings about tutorials and assignments. It never occurred to you that you might’ve been imposing when you showed up to Jeongguk’s dorm with your homework, but he’d been studying too. Same wavelength, he’d say.

“Jimin been bothering you lately?”

“No, thank god. Don’t think I could take anymore prodding.”

This is the first time you’ve asked since that afternoon in the quad, though now Jimin’s been less annoying whenever you see him with Jeongguk. You know he’s just itching for your boyfriend to finally get his dick wet. 

And you can’t blame him—that was his intention when he finally got Jeongguk to ask you out. Friendship with Jeongguk was a weird stretch of time, especially when he’d spent the entirety of it silently pining for you: involuntarily single, but so preoccupied with the care and keeping of your GPA you’d been blind to any advance. Not that he tried anything, though. 

He’d been in his second year, still getting used to the enormity of campus grounds as a scholarship-bound athlete. And on top of all his schoolwork he had to balance the fragility of having a crush on an upperclassman well on her way to PhD candidacy. It was a good thing he was cute, though, and Jimin had no qualms about embarrassing Jeongguk any chance he got when you were around. The blush when Jimin had pushed him to your desserts table at one of the indoor Farmers’ Markets still burns in the furthest love-lit corner in your mind.

“You remember when you asked me out?”

“God.” A too-late night in the library that prompted the chivalrous part in Jeongguk because he’d brought you to the bus stop too close for campus police to escort you. You’d been good friends for a while already, the hurdle of skirting around each other knocked down when Jeongguk finally got the guts to insert himself in the your friend circle. In that wet shelter, a quivering lip. The sure that now has you seven-and-a-half months down the line with arguably the best thing that’s happened to you since you started your college career, but you won’t tell him that. “Why are you bringing that up?”

“I don’t know. Just—feels like forever ago.”

“Sappy.”

“Maybe the stars are aligning,” you say.

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know, just. Sometimes when I lie down with you I feel like I have to—lay myself bare.”

“Then bare yourself.”

You pause. “I’d like to suck your dick.”

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna need you to elaborate,” Jeongguk says like he’s winded.

“Two weeks of me finishing assignments and you at hockey practice. You know. Take advantage of the time we have with each other.”

“Good point. But I have a counter offer.”

Jeongguk is always a giver. “Which is?”

“I eat you out instead.”

“You’re too good to me,” and this is the only response you can come up with without sounding too shocked. Or horny. Not that you’d ever shy away but Jeongguk had a way of burning you up from the inside. “You’re down for that?”

“Always,” he says, then rolls you over. All that muscle from his workouts barring you from even thinking about fighting him back so you let him push you till you’re comfortable. But this isn’t about you. Not at the moment, anyway. 

“Take your shirt off.” Jeongguk does this so quickly his face almost crashes into yours when he comes back down, gasping a laugh that he breathes into you when his mouth meets yours. A quick tangle of your legs around his waist has him lying over you with ease, caught in his cage of pressed-down elbows and intimacy. 

“Wanna—take care of you.” He trails his mouth down your neck, bed squeaking when his knees pad down. Lips tasting lower and now he lifts your shirt up to your chest, pressing wetness to your stomach and you’re quick to discard your clothing if only to see Jeongguk pause at the zipper of your jeans. “Can I—?”

You nod. 

His fingers don’t shake but he’s blinking fast, pulling on the waistline of the rough denim and shucking it past your feet, sighing when your panties come into view. A short-lived reverence when he leans down to mouth at your sex above the thin cotton and your legs spread wide for his arms to cling onto.

“Tell me—tell me what you like,” he says. A shy demand.

“Take my underwear off then I’ll tell you.”

There’s warmth lost when Jeongguk slides your panties down to one ankle but he’s over you in the second it takes for you to flick it off. No pause in his eagerness but now he lies in wait for your instructions. The way he pauses for you is so agonizingly hot you might combust.

“It’s—I like it when… I feel you lick at my…” God you sound fucked. But Jeongguk’s a wild card and takes it in stride, hands once again finding purchase around your thighs and you feel his hard tongue on you, a wet slide that has your stomach caving. It’s the natural twitch in your fingers that prompt you to keep a loose grip in his hair, other hand tight in the bed like your proxy anchor. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah…”

Jeongguk laves your core, pressing harder the higher he goes. Contingency he takes advantage of because you get louder. It’s the lick on your clit that has you sighing. “Oooh, you—use the… tip of your tongue. And lick right—there.”

He’s so pliant you feel like you’re throttling him. There’s a forward insistence of his head until you feel the flat of his tongue pressed fully against you, his neck rolling with every shift of your hips. In control of your pleasure and he makes it feel like this is what he was made to do. His fingers get tight. “You taste good,” he exhales right onto your sex and you nearly crush his head with your thighs.

“Oh my god.” Your breaths are lost. You might hide your face but that would mean losing sight of Jeongguk providing a service only he can spell out with his tongue. “Ah—”

There’s a little squeak further down the bed and you notice the small flutter of his groin caught in the warmth of him and the sheets. His lips close around your nub before you can say anything, slurping that has your gut wrangled, your fingers gripping his hair as you get lost in his love. Your eyes roll back. “Oh fuck, that—agh—”

He’s made you come before. And the familiar tone of your incoming bliss is something he can memorize—he probably already has judging by the train wreck of your throat and the sounds he pulls from you. A swindler of your orgasms but you’d gladly hand yourself over if it meant deceiving your pussy into its own demise.

“Fuck you’re—so sexy like this,” Jeongguk mumbles. You whine at his attention but now you’re running even hotter than ever.

You’re not even telling him what to do anymore but you know he knows it’s good, a message sent with every twitch of your sex into his mouth and now his fingers are splayed along your pelvis to keep you from bucking up. He doesn’t even need his fingers. It’s the hardened tongue, the little slashes on your clit as his head swings back and forth that have you squealing: “Yes, like that. Oh I’m cumming—fuck—!”

Jeongguk hums when you jerk your hips up, convulsions in all your sweetest parts and your throat is dry from all your moaning, the swell of your lungs so hard to keep up with but he always has you losing your breath. Spit collects in its warmth down your ass but it’s a lost thought when Jeongguk lathers you into your come-down, legs like jelly and he helps your knees together when you finally stop trembling. You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you feel his lips on your mouth, complaint of catching a break right behind your teeth when you kiss with what little strength remains in you. 

“That was. Really good,” you whisper. Jeongguk laughs. And he doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with his wet mouth and red cheeks. “Do you wanna cum?”

He looks like he’ll say no. A bitten lip instead of confirmation. “I—”

“Please, I want you to.” Like a switch turned on he lights up, head bobbing and now he’s shoving his jeans past his ass, underwear down too. “You wanna—come on my face?”

His eyes look like they’re leaking out of his face. A strangled noise escapes his throat. He probably thinks you’re on crack but it’s just in his nature for him to assume a dazed auto-pilot whenever you say shit so outlandish. “You—I—I-I—Can—?”

“You can cum—god you can cum anywhere. I’m yours. Remember?” Reaching behind, you feel for the clasp of your bra, flinging it off before you pull on Jeongguk by the dip of his back until his knees straddle your ribs. “Is this good?”

“Can—could you—spit… on it.” His voice dwindles like he’s caught between the threshold of dirty and pushing it. You don’t answer because your neck straining for the tip of his dick and down the rest of his shaft is all he needs for one. Jeongguk bucks into you. “Oh fuck—ngh—ah!”

If his grinding on the mattress was a ticking bomb, your tongue on his cock is the thirty seconds till detonation. And by the sounds of Jeongguk groaning into the mid-afternoon sun slipping through his curtains you know he’s almost there. “Lie down, lie down,” he instructs, hand replacing your mouth in a stroke so quick you’re scared he might get cum in your hair.

“Agh—fuck yeah I’m—”

A spurt of his cum stains your lip, then your cheek. You feel some on the tip of your nose too but Jeongguk points his dick down to your tits, spilling all his hot frustration on your even hotter skin and you might cum again from the visual of him looking so spent. “Wow.”

“Yeah, that—” Jeongguk swallows twice— “I… wow.”

His dick is getting soft. There’s sweat pooling where your body meets the sheets. “Wanna pass me tissues?”

“Oh fuck. Yeah, yeah—here, sorry.” Jeongguk makes soft passes with a wad of cotton over your chest, handing one to you for your face. “Do you—do you like it? When I… cum on you?”

“Yeah.” You think about making a weird comment about sipping on his juice but you’ll save it for later. You focus on not letting his spunk flake on your cheek. “It’s hot. Really.”

“Good,” he says. Flopping down after shooting the soiled tissue into the basket and now he seems exhausted. “Do you feel gross or is it just me.”

“Gross how?”

“Gross like I need a shower.”

You can’t deny him. “Wanna shower?”

“Yep,” he says with no hesitation, and he doesn’t let you say anything else when he grabs you by your wrists. Somehow, everything feels lighter.

Sometimes Jeongguk invites you out to practice. It’s boring and you don’t know a single rule about gameplay, but the presence of him despite being a ways away on the ice is still a comfort on its own. 

The arena is frigidly cold, and while you aren’t without distraction (re: Assignments) it’s still one you can barely get yourself to really focus on. You rub your face in frustration. You hear the sound of the hockey puck passed around in harsh slaps.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Jimin,” you acknowledge. He drops down next to you. “Here to spy on hockey ass too, huh.”

“That and Hoseok promised to get me dinner later.” You raise your eyebrow. “Did one of his assignments.”

“Forgot you were a chemistry genius.” Clicking your tongue, you watch the big 97 of Jeongguk’s jersey as he glides around behind the glass. He waves when he sees you looking. You’d greet him back but your hands are too perfect where they are in the heat of your sweater pockets so you wave your head in what you hope looks like excitement. 

“Been holding up okay?” You turn. Jimin’s eyes are a blaze of concern. “The other week, in the quad. You were pretty stressed.”

“Final paper.”

“Dissertation?”

“Working up to that,” you say.

“So you’re a scholar scholar.”

“Mm.” Your laptop screen blinks to black. “Something like that.” You hear Jimin snicker. He’s coiled up, stomach caved in a tiny laugh, eyes crinkled. Too amused. “What?”

“I’m just—” Jimin takes a breath in to stem his impending laughing fit— “so confused. Like, there’s Jeongguk who can eat eight cups of spicy ramen and literally bomb the bathroom with his shit—and then right next to him is Jane Goodall but with human babies.”

“He loves spicy ramen,” you comment.

“Yeah but do we like his stank? Nope. And you really just compared pronatalism to liking ramen. You know you’re out of his league.”

Jeongguk, completely oblivious to Jimin’s really weird anecdote, brings a fist up in cheers when he shoots the puck into the net. “Well. At the very least he’s cute.”

Jimin heeds with a hum to watch the play on ice. Seeing the team skate around with their broad-shoulders and thick helmets is an odd kind of relaxation. A team of huge men cutting the ice with knives on their feet but the sound is a swish satisfying enough for those kinds of videos that put you to sleep. Rough and gentle, just like Jeongguk. “I’m glad Jeongguk met you,” Jimin starts again.

“Mm. I think he has you to thank.” You boot up your laptop once more in the hopes you get inspired to type, but now Jimin has you distracted even more. 

“He just… used to be so quiet. And I’m gonna brag here but he’s got good friends. But meeting you was a game-changer.”

“Hm.”

“He was so passive.” You think to Jimin almost two years ago, pushing a slightly-smaller Jeongguk towards your table at the market. One look in your eye; pointing to the donut closest to him. Your finger touched his palm when you dropped the chocolate-glazed on it and he looked lost. “But now he’s just. Happy. All the time. It’s nice to see.”

There’s 97 again. Then Jeongguk turns and glides closer to the rail. He holds up ten fingers. Ten till over. You give a thumbs up. You feel yourself shivering but you’re not cold anymore. “Then I’m glad, too.”

“Good kid.” Jimin waves too, and Jeongguk skates off without looking at him. “Bitch! Anyway.” He leans back on his hands, feet perched on the row in front. “You guys… good now?”

And your screen fades to black again. “Oh god.”

“Sorry, fuck. Sometimes I think—no sometimes I don’t think. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, whatever.” You turn to Jimin looking very apologetic, keeping mum with his lips folded in. “It’s—he’s. A lot more eager, I have to say.”

“And are you okay with that?”

You hesitate. “I mean if we’re getting vulgar here—”

“Absolutely not, you are not telling me what he did with his dick.”

You raise your hands in surrender. You wouldn’t have told him anyway. It’s just nice to see a flustered Jimin, especially after what he’s subjected you and Jeongguk to. Good-natured but overtly so, and now you’re both blushing. “It’s been good.” 

Great. Now you’re thinking about Jeongguk and his cock again. Obviously it’s not unwelcome but riling you up is getting too easy.

“Then that’s good,” Jimin says. You hear the blow of the whistle. A congregation of fist bumps forms at the exit of the rink, and Jeongguk lets everyone pass him to get off. “Well I’m gonna go get ready for some free food. See you, yeah?”

He offers a high-five you hit hard. “Bye.”

“Oh. And good luck on your paper. You coming to the game by the way?” Jimin asks. He jumps off the bleachers, leaving you to stare at your honest attempt at getting work done. You close your laptop with a sad click. 

“I have an awards ceremony that day,” you explain. “I’ll try and catch it.”

“Don’t work too hard.” Just then, Jeongguk runs up behind Jimin not at all silently—his gym bag is ginormous—to catch him in a headlock. “Wha—”

“Why are you talking to my girlfriend,” Jeongguk interrogates. He’s probably wet with heat because Jimin scrunches his nose and shoves him off.

“You’re a pig, did you even shower.”

“Smell my armpits and you’ll get your answer.”

“Anyway,” Jimin groans. “I’m off.” He walks to the changing room in a swagger so calculated you’d yell at him for showing off his ass. But Jeongguk drags your attention away when he steps in front of the bleachers, leaning over until you greet him with a kiss.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says against your mouth.

You plug your nose for effect. “So you didn’t shower.”

“I rinsed! Don’t be mean.” He watches as you shove all your things into your bag, his hand poised for you to give it to him, and inside you falter at his generosity but you shoulder the strap and use his outstretched palm to help you up instead. “I wanted your bag, miss.”

“No, you already have a heavy one.”

“Let me carry it for you—” But you shut him up with a tiptoe and a peck to his open mouth. “Don’t distract me!”

You ignore him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the exit. “Let’s go, I might miss my bus.”

Eight p.m. is a dead hour on campus grounds. You see only a handful of straggling students going back to res, even more going into the library building. The lamps guide your every step. Jeongguk’s fingers tangle in yours. “So you aren’t free at all the rest of the week right?”

“Yeah.” You try not to look at him because you know he’s pouting. “I didn’t get any work done thanks to your shouting.”

“That was Yoongi,” Jeongguk defends. “And sorry.”

You reach the bus shelter. “I’m kidding.” The neon sign overhead says your bus is due in three minutes. “I’m—I like going to your practice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like seeing my star hockey player tear it up on the ice,” you joke. Jeongguk laughs into your lips when he bends down lock them with his own. 

“Was it sexy enough for you?”

“Oh yeah. Got my pussy rumbling.”

He balks. “You’re so annoying.”

Two minutes. “It’s starting again.”

“What is?” In the dark light of the evening moon rising, you are reminded of this bus shelter seven months ago. A tower of nerves over you. If you think hard enough, you can still hear the shaky question he’d let dangle from his tongue, the one that has you here with him now. But now Jeongguk is nervous for different reasons. “Oh, like when you disappear on me for like five years.”

You see the light of the bus coming. You wrap Jeongguk in your arms. “Yeah. I’m only free next week.”

“Take it easy,” he says. Only one person gets off at the stop. “Just text me. Don’t need a repeat of last time.”

Last time—a month into your relationship. When you texted him every four days because of your midterms and he’d gotten so worried he genuinely wept when you showed up to his doorstep. It was a good thing you’d brought food too; not that you were expecting a cry fest but he’d felt better once he was filled with fried noodles and your affection. You concede to his request with a nod.

He lets you leave with one last kiss to your forehead. “See you,” you say. The air is alive with what you have to leave behind for the time being.

The week is rough. Professor Kwon asks you to submit marks sooner than you anticipate, so the need to get your paper done becomes a lot more urgent. One student hasn’t even handed in her assignment, which—fine. You don’t have any qualms about the zero you input. But the angry email with the threat to report you to an academic advisor the next day has you so on edge Namjoon agrees to grade half your assignments next time.

Jeongguk, somehow, eludes you too. Graduate school demands more tears than sweat and blood and while he tries his best to comfort you during your work-filled days, he’s been getting busier with hockey practice too. The added thought of starting to study for your exams is just another cake-topper. And it isn’t as if you’re going days without talking to Jeongguk, but it’s still a sting to the romantic part in you that misses him.

A week and a half before your big paper is due is a Tuesday. The girl who dissed you in your email doesn’t show up to tutorial. Everyone is dismissed for the evening. It’s good. 

Nothing beats the giddy jump in your step when you find a cubby in the library close enough to an outlet, though.

Then you get a text from Jeongguk.

[8:07 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m free the rest of the night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let me love u bich u really deprived me of touch for an entire week  [8:07 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wya

He meets you at the library with sweaty bangs and indents on his cheek from his helmet. You briefly contemplate jumping him. The feeling is quelled with the reminder that the library doesn’t tolerate loud noises and Excessive Romantic Gestures, so you opt for:

“Sexy.” You’re up on your feet to give him a quick hug and he makes a disgruntled face before dropping a kiss to your mouth.

“You wet yet?”

You glare to hide the need to balk. You plop back down. “You ate pussy once, don’t think this gives you free points to get so cocky.”

He pauses. “Sorry?”

“Sit. And don’t—ask me that again.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jeongguk cowers into the seat next to you. “What’s my scholar up to tonight?”

“Researching about Western Europe and their refugee policies.”

He doesn’t look like he’s interested but he makes a contemplative noise. “Very… educated. But anyhow. I’ve been thinking.” Uh oh. “And I have something. It was a week-long thought process but I have it.”

Your pens roll along the wood of the desk. “Have what?”

“A plan.”

“For?”

“For how I’m gonna fuck you. Eventually, I mean.”

“I leave you for a week and this happens,” you answer, but he’s not fazed. You feel yourself melting. Something you learned about Jeongguk during the preliminary stages of your relationship was that he liked getting things right. And if that meant practicing until he was ready—well. There’s a part in you that fears for the livelihood of your vagina. “Babe. That’s—you know we don’t need some sort of… five-steps-to-success thing.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” He pouts like you have it all wrong. Maybe you do, but it doesn’t sound so convincing to your—to be frank—non-virgin ears. “Good practice.” 

You knew he would say that. “You have something in your noggin already, boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna elaborate?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “What do people normally establish before they start having sex?”

“Well I don’t have lice in my pubic hair if that’s what you wanna know,” you offer.

He scrunches his face. “Don’t—joke about that.”

“Sorry.” Jeongguk gives you an incredulous look because you both know you don’t mean it. “But you really wanna do this here?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

“Wait—really?” 

You’re starting to think you won’t get any work done for the night. Like all the nights you spend with Jeongguk and you realize the pattern now, so you might as well indulge in him. “Yeah, go pull on all your pornographic roots.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m not into getting tied up, first of all.” You flip a page in your textbook to feign nonchalance as Jeongguk wheezes.

“Stop that!” But he just takes a piece of paper and readies a fist to write. “You’re so crude.”

Now you really can’t focus. “Are you seriously going to write about my sexual preferences?”

“No, I’m writing a detailed observation about how to go about. You know.” He purses a lip in thought. “Navigating the ocean of your pussy and its desires.”

You didn’t think the library would be home to both of your sexual awakenings, but Jeongguk makes it hard to be shy when he’s this motivated. “Weird way of asking me if I’m into watersports.”

“Okay you have to take back asking me about my pornographic roots because it sounds like you’re the freakier one.”

“You like me being freaky?” 

He reddens. “Anyway!” (Silently, you revel in your power to tease.) “I was thinking. Since we can’t hang out too much the next week-ish, that we save all the good stuff for later.”

Good point. “Define good stuff.”

Jeongguk gets smaller. Eyes drilled into yours, he whispers, “Putting my penis inside you.”

“Okay now it’s getting weird.”

He drops his pencil in disbelief. “Only now? Tell me how any of this wasn’t weird in the first place.”

“You’re literally the one who took out a pencil to jot down my sexual preferences, don’t act like you’re innocent.” Now he has the decency to look sheepish. He doesn’t say anything. “Jeongguk. It’s fine to be nervous. But I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this.”

You might as well be talking to the wall but he nods anyway. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No! Just… you don’t owe anyone anything.” Something in you longs for him to understand that. You hate to make him nervous but Jeongguk is so adamant you almost want to wrap him in your arms from the sexually-inclined horde that came in the form of Park Jimin. “Remember that.”

He deflates with a sigh. “Then… can you come over tomorrow?” He’s squirming. “I’m done practice at seven.”

“If my advisor’s nice enough she’ll let me off at six,” you confirm.

Jeongguk takes a notebook out but makes no effort to open it. “And. I missed you. Just. Wanted to get that out there.”

There’s only so much texting can do, you get it. The pit of your stomach simmers with affection for the dumb boy sitting next to you, legs jumping the way they do when he’s nervous. “Love you.” And he smiles. Fuel for your listlessness. There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. Especially about the one who just propositioned you with absurdities. But now his pencil is out, and the moment is lost. 

You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later. For now, you settle in the quietude of his presence with yours.

It’s a colder day today.

“Hi!” Taehyung opens the door, bouncing in his pyjamas from the rush of freezing air. “Come, come. Please don’t ask me how I’ve been, I’m so tired of school and that’ll be my answer and I don’t want to talk about it.”

You swallow your pleasantries down. He’s a stressed Neuroscience major. “Fair,” you greet instead, toeing your boots off.

“Coming from somewhere?”

“Tutorial evaluation,” you say. Taehyung lets out a low whistle, closes the door behind you. He knows your shoulders are stiff because of Professor Kwon’s watchful gaze. Sitting at the back, ramrod straight with that black clipboard, taking down notes on your performance as a first-time TA. 

She’d let you go after with a smile, though. Let you know you did fine. You’d practically glided to residence when she’d given you the go to leave for the day. 

“I have a question for you,” Taehyung says. He sits on the couch, watches as you take off your snow-soiled scarf and jacket. “Has Jeongguk been more… fidgety lately?”

So he’s noticed too. “Yeah, I’ve—seen it. Why?”

“I don’t know, he sort of just—” Taehyung scoots over when you plop down next to him— “he came out of the room yesterday squealing, then ran around the living room for a bit then just. Went back into his room.”

Oh. So that’s what he was off to do when said he needed to get something after you linked him to your favourite porn accounts on Twitter.

“Maybe it’s just. I don’t know, pre-game jitters,” you lie. Taehyung’s giving you the look. Like he’s not satisfied with your answer and the only way to sate him is if you let him do one thing. “You can ask.”

“Did you fuck him yet?”

No reservations. As expected, because he’s just as nosy as Jimin and the rest of their friends annoyingly concerned with Jeongguk’s hesitation in the bedroom. “Nope.”

“Okay but like—can you fuck him already? I’m gonna be rolling in my grave by the time his penis passes the two-inch border of your personal space.”

You can’t keep in your snort. “Oh my god.”

“Just. We really don’t mean to be so standoffish but he just likes you so much it’s insane. Like I’ll see his phone light up and he will too. He’ll literally—he just glows. It’s kind of creepy actually but like. Cute creepy.”

The rush of praise runs through you. You don’t like to brag, but you really did snag the campus boy crush. You were popular enough with academia, but after the first time Jeongguk posted a picture of you two at the Christmas market, though—the entire student body went ballistic. It was the nascence of a fairy tale; movie romance budding in the grey concrete of campus grounds. 

No one saw it coming. And knowing that the one everyone has their eye on has its eyes on you—it’s a good kind of blow.

“He’s my baby,” you say, and Taehyung coos. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

There’s a rattling of the door knob. The sight of a ragged Jeongguk stumbles in, gym bag dropped on the floor and he disappears down the hall with the call for a shower and a brief smile your way. “I’ll be five minutes, babe.”

That’s Taehyung’s cue. “Well—I’m off to study group. Take care of him, yeah?”

“You know it.” You offer a fist bump. Taehyung’s knuckles are bony on yours. 

The trek to Jeongguk’s room isn’t unfamiliar. You bounce back on his bed, willing yourself not to close your eyes because you know you’ll just crash. A headache prepares right behind your temple, as imminent as rumbling thunder. Something in you calls for Jeongguk to hurry the fuck up before you succumb to Stress and those horrible, horrible thoughts of due dates.

It doesn’t take that long. There’s the squeak of the shower handle turning off and the black of your closed eyes, the scurrying of an unseen body; the lifting of your shirt for a very heavy weight of a hockey player blowing raspberries into the skin of your stomach. Jeongguk chortles when you nearly break your back trying to dislodge him. “You’re—oh my god—hey stop!”

“Hi,” he says, laugh caught in his breath, “I’m clean.”

“I see that.” He’s in his pyjamas. You let him settle on your side. The lingering heat from his shower makes you clammy but you let him hold you tight. “How was practice?”

“It was nice.” This is code for: I wasn’t yelled at by Yoongi. “I’m excited for our game, I’m feelin’ good. Did you find out if you could make it?”

You were blessed by the gods, because not only were your days coinciding, they were also starting an hour within each other. You’d be at the podium with a flowery speech while Jeongguk tears the ice rink with his pretty skates. And if every award recipient’s was longer than a minute then you might miss the entire game. Two hours past Jeongguk most likely scoring the winning goal; an infinity lost to see your star in action. 

(And seeing Jeongguk play is really attractive.)

You settle with: “I’ll try my best.”

“Okay,” he says. The crown of his head digs into your neck. You feel his lips when he speaks. “How are you holding up?”

“Barely.”

“Did you get your paper done?”

“Barely.”

“So it’s done.”

“Let’s not talk about school,” you dismiss. He leaves the conversation to wither with a suction to your skin. Wet where he lines your neck with quick kisses and you soften into the sheets. “Is this your way of—executing your plan.”

“Hm?”

“You know—your—guide to putting your penis inside me.”

He leans up on his elbow. Unimpressed because his eyebrows are scrunched. “Funny.”

“You love me.”

“And what about it?” His eyes shine the way they do before he tells you he loves you too. “It isn’t even a plan it’s just—a buildup. To when my penis goes inside you. Like a countdown but with orgasms instead.” You snicker. He drags a light hand down your front, settling his palm right over your pussy. “Let me touch you.”

You forget how to breathe for a second. “Yeah—I’m—yeah. Please.”

“Sit up.” Jeongguk plants himself near the wall, not unlike the position he was in when you sucked his dick for the first time. Instead of the afternoon heat, you’re caught under the dying evening rays of sunset: not as hot but still you feel the spark in your belly when Jeongguk lifts your bum to settle you between his legs. His nails play with the button of your pants. “I wanna try something.”

“Sure.” And he helps you wiggle off your clothes, bottom bare to his graces. Doesn’t say anything, just lets his mouth meet yours slowly, tasting the day off your tongue, your worries behind his teeth. 

“Anyone ever fingered you so hard you cried?”

“You wanna make me cry?”

“Don’t say it like that.” Jeongguk nips at your lip. “But yeah, I guess.”

You’re wet. This is a fact you come to realize when you feel him spread your legs, feet planting in the mattress in an attempt to ground yourself.  “Okay,” you agree.

His mouth’s busy with yours, lips unyielding like he could do this all day. It’s almost picturesque, the way he has you: head turned over to meet him in his love, arms wrapped around your own. Yours for him to savour and he always tastes good.

He doesn’t wait anymore. Your clit throbs with the passes of his fingers, head falling back to rest on Jeongguk’s shoulder when he dips in the pool of your heat and drags it back up. Groaning when he spins tight circles like you taught him and your hands find his thighs. “Feels—good,” you utter. Already you’re gone but Jeongguk feeds into your pleasure with no qualms for your embarrassment.

“Can I—put in a finger?” He asks shyly, but playing with your slick like he’s known how to make you putty in his hands this whole time.

“Yeah. Please.” You welcome the insistence in your sex with the buck of your hips. Jeongguk curls his middle finger up, the heel of his hand smooth on your clit and you sigh, “Ooh, fuck yeah.”

He kisses your cheek. “Another one?”

“I can take it,” you say, and he has another finger in you, hooking into your nerves. You might moan but Jeongguk turns your head and molds his mouth into yours, stealing your breath with his tongue. He curves in a little too hard and you squeal. “Oh my god, too—much.”

“Sorry.” He adjusts, fingers straight again. “M’gonna go faster, if that’s okay.” You nod, restless, and then he adds: “And you can’t look away from me.”

“Yes please—”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, because the hand not fucking you into oblivion catches your cheeks, locking you to Jeongguk’s gaze. It’s a fucked out one too, and now you notice his hard dick pressed up against your back. 

It’s a storm of thrusting: wet and more wet and now he abruptly pulls out, smears your slick on your clit in a rub so fast you would squeal louder if it weren’t for his lips swallowing your sounds. 

“Oh-h—!”

You burn. Jeongguk enters you again and your cunt feels swollen. Fucking all the deepest and dirtiest parts of you and you take it, yielding to the draw on your tight walls. The squelch gets louder. So do you. 

“Oh yeah—” And you don’t cry but the feeling of him inside is so overwhelming and all that you need and it’s there— “Fuck, y-eah. Gonna cum soon—”

“Give it to me.” Punctuated with a twist in your sex so rough you would have twitched him off but his legs cage you. Jeongguk smiles. “Come on babe—”

“Nnn—ha J-Jeongguk—” You grab his wrist, the one knocking his fingers so good though he doesn’t stop under the tight hold— “B-Baby—”

“I want it, I want it,” he chants into your mouth, like he’s eager for a release conducive to your early death just so he can say he did that. Awful cocky but you can’t dwell on it. “Just cum for me.”

“Fuck—” He makes you look at him when you do, eyes wide to his imploring ones. He has it in his fingers, a climax that wrangles the most obscene noises from your throat. Your hips grind up uncontrollably, clit a pulsing pain but his thumb rubs it all the same. Jeongguk doesn’t stop till you whine, “God, please—I can’t."

“You’re crying.”

“Am not.” But you feel the sting of heat in your eyes. Jeongguk rubs his nose with yours, wrapped in his arms and affection.

“Was it good though?”

“Was it good, he says.” You kiss him with no bite. “Loved it. Best ever.”

Jeongguk lights up, corners of his mouth lifted into a sated grin. “Woo,” he says. You’re about to ask if he wants one rubbed out but he continues speaking. “So plan’s going well if you wanted to know.”

“Shut up. Shut up!” You make a point of getting up with as much force as possible, disturbing the coils the mattress as Jeongguk laughs. “You’re so gross.”

“You love me.”

Your panties are sticky against you. You turn to see him staring at you already. “I love you.”

The room glows in the last few minutes of red, coated darker and darker. But the look Jeongguk gives you—maybe astonishment, maybe longing—casts a glow that blazes within. Like all he wants is for you to be here and you do too. He breaks the silence with a smile. “You’re the best, you know that?”

You climb back over him, unable to resist anymore. “So I’ve been told.”

“I mean it though.” He shifts so you’re lying down again, head on his chest. Warm again. “Sorry if I’m—pushing the agenda. And I know I say Jimin’s not getting to me and it’s true but it—makes me want you. All the time.”

You settle for the truth with a kiss to his sternum. “I have no free time after today though.” 

“That’s okay,” Jeongguk whispers. “Just love me now and you can always love me later.”

“I can do that,” you say. 

He lets you dig into his side even further. “Are you sure you don’t wanna talk about school?”

“Mm.” You know it’ll help to air your dirty laundry. But knowing Jeongguk has his own shit to deal with is enough for you to hesitate. “Nothing I—haven’t said before. Just stressed.”

“About your last assignment?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re smart. And for whatever reason, really into baby-making in foreign countries.” Jeongguk groans when you pinch him. “But I know you. And you’ll do well. Also it’s official that you’ll do well because you’re dating someone really good at what they do, and I was just inside your body so technically my energy transferred to you.”

“Very solid process.” 

His breathes warmth into your skin. “Believe me. You’re gonna be fine.”

And it’s not the end of the world, not being able to see him for a bit. You both know this. You hug him tighter to you regardless, like making his skin stick to yours was an actuality. You know he feels it too when his arm locks just a tiny bit harder. An unspoken longing for the mold of your body.

You’ll get there.

It’s been four days since you’ve seen Jeongguk, so Namjoon takes the responsibility of keeping you sane. He books a study room for three hours and meets you with a two cups of coffee and three extra pens just in case they run out while you mark your assignments together. He takes the stack of papers from you with a frown, and you work.

The paper is coming along well. You think you have a good five pages to go, but the amount of hounding Professor Kwon has done is scaring you into another late night-in. More and more marks are due, and Namjoon has his own work to deal with. You hate to burden him with your own but now you’re really feeling the Stress from school.

[6:01 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hey what are you doing [6:02 PM] You: i’m doing work :(( [6:02 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Poo poo [6:02 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m bored [6:03 PM] You: 💩💩 [6:03 PM] You: sorry bout it !!!!!!! [6:04 PM] You: wait how can u be bored ur @ practice ?? if ur just…. doin practice [6:05 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: On break [6:05 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: And I miss you [6:06 PM] You: omg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [6:06 PM] You: my heart

Namjoon’s eyebrows are scrunched. “I can’t tell what this student is saying.”

“Read it out loud.” 

“I will argue that the legalization of crack cocaine will act as a beneficial potential towards the bettering of society. With the advent of legal marijuana usage in Canada—yeah.”

“That’s… an abuse of thesaurus privileges,” you comment.

He hums. “They’re young, let them live.”

Again, Jeongguk texts you.

[6:09 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: When are you free [6:10 PM] You: tonight [6:10 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m not 😩😩 What about Wednesday? [6:11 PM] You: i’m only free rn baby :( might have to wait till after friday [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Damn [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I need to go now text me when you’re done k?????? Love you [6:13 PM] You: okay ! 💜

You hear Namjoon snapping at you. “You’re getting distracted.”

“Sorry.” Your pen twitches in your grip. This is your third cup of coffee. “Just—need a goddamn break.

You can sense Namjoon’s nerves grating too. “I get it.” He looks at his watch. “Well. We need to leave in five minutes.”

You graded almost all of your half of assignments. You let yourself breathe a sigh of accomplishment, clearing your work into your bag. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“Buy me lunch someday and we’ll call it even,” Namjoon says. He swipes the papers your way to collect. “And by the way—” he takes one last sip of his coffee— “I caught wind that one of the Commissioner-Generals is coming to the ceremony.”

You stare. “From which agency?” 

“No clue. But I just thought you should know.”

Of course he would. The one time you don’t clear your search history and now Namjoon is up your ass helping you find any potential global PhD programs. And it wasn’t unimaginable either, some higher-up coming to see the semester-end awards the department heads organized, and the student chair had a lot of say in it, current one being Kim Namjoon: a lobbyist, a smart guy, and Twitter-sort-of-famous for being really damn loud about inequality.

But they’re probably not recruiting me, you think. Best not to get your hopes up lest it go to a well-deserved head who apparently doesn’t get distracted by the potential of finally squeezing their boyfriend’s dick. 

Namjoon sighs. “Hey, isn’t the ceremony the same day as the game?”

“Yep,” you confirm. For a split second, an image of Jeongguk giggling pops up into your head.

“Do you think you’ll make it?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, standing outside the door until Namjoon turns off all the lights. “I’m gonna try.”

The hallway to the main entrance of the Humanities wing is quiet. “Speaking of the game. Any intel about your current… predicament?”

“Jimin?”

“Jimin.”

“About Jeongguk?”

“About Jeongguk.”

“Fuck,” you murmur. And you thought he’d be kind enough to keep your secret, but Namjoon is to Jimin like a big is to a little except they’re both too posh to be in a frat. “Not really. And stay out of it.”

“I will,” he says. He opens the door, winter wind as brutal as ever. You think about Jeongguk walking you to the bus stop but he’s probably already back at his dorm. You shiver. “But if I catch you distracted on your phone again I might have to ask.”

You cower into embarrassment.“Sorry.” 

Namjoon waves you off. “Just get home safe, yeah?”

Getting home isn’t that bad; late enough for the absence of the rush hour crowd and you get to sit on the bus the rest of the ride. You all but book it to your place to escape the frost nipping at your cheeks and into the nest of your textbooks. Plans to demolish at least a tiny bit of your not-so-tiny pile of work come to a stand-still when you hear your phone vibrate.

[7:46 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hey did u finish yet [7:46 PM] You: fuck sorry forgot to text [7:46 PM] You: yeah i did, i just got home [7:47 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: That’s good [7:47 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Do you have a lot of work to do tonight?? [7:48 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Please say no [7:48 PM] You: ….. [7:48 PM] You: why [7:48 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: The plan [7:50 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Still building [7:50 PM] You: should i be scared [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I know you wouldn’t like it if I didn’t ask, and I’m a good boy, so [7:52 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can I send you a picture of my dick?

A boot hangs limply from your toes from when you were trying to tug it off. Dumbly, you’re gaping. Gaping at this transition from shy Jeongguk to… whatever the fuck this was. The pulsing of your sex betrays your shock.

It’s not like things were changing fast, either. That moment in his bed—after he fucked you with his fingers—was the last time you’d been together. A solid evening of knotted arms and Jeongguk’s breath down your neck. He’d only let you go because your complaints to do homework got too loud for him to sleep properly, and you left him in his room like that: heavy-eyed and full of low murmurs for you to come back.

“You’ll miss me, right?” He’d asked. It sounded so innocent. Looked like it too when he stood next to you as you slipped on your shoes. The answer was easy.

“Duh.”

And it wasn’t like you weren’t affectionate. Sure, gaining the impulse to hug and squeeze him was one you had to work up to, but this came with new relationships, that novelty of being someone else’s: one that Jeongguk had no problems getting used to. Took you a little longer to warm up to his kisses in public but you’re here now. Here, slack-jawed at this distant intimacy. Feet mired in your shock, on the carpet of your front door.

You don’t remember feeling this desperate for Jeongguk before. 

[7:54 PM] You: i [7:54 PM] You: definitely wouldn’t be opposed

You lock your screen fast. Fling your shoes off, slap your jacket onto a hanger. You nearly bust your bedroom down in your hurry to get the fuck on the bed, like the rush of a late night with a stranger but Jeongguk is wholly familiar and isn’t even here to touch you. The ding of your phone is enough to keep you on your toes. You don’t swipe yet because already you’re sweating.

Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 1 Photo and 2 Messages

Should you take your clothes off? Or is he supposed to ask you to do that? Should you ask? What the fuck. This was too much.

You open it. It takes one second to download.

That’s his dick. Jeongguk’s dick, flash on, held up by the tips of his fingers at the base like he knows his angles. The tip is flushed with a wetness you’d lick right up if you were there just to feel the way he shivers under you.

[7:55PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Baby I’m so hard [7:55PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wanna kiss you all over

You squeal. 

This was your boyfriend, mister-campus-hotboy, the one literally everyone got hard over and now he’s sending you his own personal dick pics. Maybe you do need to thank the high heavens one day because

What

The

Fuck is going on.

No matter. 

[7:57PM] You: i want u to [7:57PM] You: want u on top of me [7:57PM] You: with ur lips on my neck [7:58PM] You: getting me wet. u always make me. wet

You can’t wait anymore. Your shirt is off, bra tossed, back bare on your sheets. You shimmy out of your pants just as Jeongguk texts back.

[7:58PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Fcurck baby [7:59PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can’t stop thinnking abt u [8:00PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: The way u sounded [8:00PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: When I was e ating u out [8:01PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: u tasted so good on m y tonguel fucckkkk [8:01PM] You: are u jacking off rn ??? [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Yess [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Touch urself [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Please?

Panties come off. It’s not a surprise when your finger is soaked in your arousal, teasing your clit and you sigh.

[8:02PM] You: fuck im so wet [8:03PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Yeah??? [8:03PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: What r u thinkgnin about [8:03PM] You: your mouth [8:04PM] You: on my tits [8:04PM] You: my cunt [8:04PM] You: u got me off sooo good [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Fuucckckk baby [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You’re so hot ho ly shit [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Want u so bad [8:06PM] You: how??? [8:06PM] You: u already treat me so good [8:06PM] You: maybe i’’ll take care of u now hm? ?? [8:07PM] You: mymouth on ur dick [8:07PM] You: taste so good [8:08PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Shit

Everything was jumping out of your head so quick your one hand couldn’t keep up. The two fingers on your pussy dipped again, jolts of sweetness straight through your nerves when you rub yourself faster. Focusing on his texts was as easy as trying to stave your orgasm off, which… really wasn’t going too well, pelvis meeting the palm of your hand in a desperate kick.

[8:08PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Take your clothes off [8:09PM] You: past that

It takes him a minute.

[8:10PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Could you send a pic [8:10PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Pleas e

Oh. Okay.

You lean up on your elbow, push your chest against your bicep in the hopes that your cleavage could somewhat be evocative enough in the weak light of your phone. (You notice you forgot to turn the lights on.) The picture cuts off right above your nipples, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t do that just for the possibility of a desperate plea. You lie back down.

Sent.

[8:13PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: urruhguhgkehrdhfg [8:13PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Baby pleease I want more [8:14PM] You: of what ??? [8:14PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: FUck [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I want you [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: On top of me [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Grnding yuor pretty pussy on my dick [8:16PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You’re wet ik ur wet

Of course he would. He knows your body better than ever before, and you might tease him but the throbbing you’re attending to is too much of a distraction.

[8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can you imagine that [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Teasig my cock into you [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I won’t putnit in yet [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Bc I want u squirming o n top of me [8:18PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Ik u don’t beg [8:19PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I would ask u anyway if u want me to sink u down on my cock

Oh my god. The soft sucking sound of your fingers inside your cunt isn’t enough to drag you out of this reverie. It just sinks you deeper into this bliss Jeongguk spells out for you so well. He has you like putty. Your knuckles curve you into a hopeless whimper.

[8:20PM] You: i want that [8:20PM] You: iwa nt that so bad pleas [8:21PM] You: let me feel your dick inside [8:21PM] You: u want that so bad baby [8:21PM] You: to feel me squeezing around u [8:21PM] You: im so tight and wwt [8:22PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wanna hear u  [8:22PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Ft [8:22PM] You: just call

You don’t think you could handle seeing his dick now. Especially when the build in your pussy is this close to tipping you into a climax he probably wants to hear.

Your phone blares in the quiet. “Baby—”

“I’m so close,” Jeongguk says. He sounds like he’s panting. “Tell me you are too. Please—!” He cuts himself off with a gasp.

“Y-Yeah.” You burn in his desperation, curling into your cunt in the spot you know would have you keeling over. “Ngh—!”

“I wanna hear you. Wanna—hear you when I fuck you. So—good.”

“Oh fuck—”

“You want that too baby?”

You heave. “Yes!”

“Let me hear you cum. Please. I’m so fucking close—”

“Jeongguk!” You sputter, moaning loud, crying in the extremity. It zips through your core, has you reeling, legs shaking as you rub it out so hard you arch from your bed. You barely register Jeongguk’s own completion.

“Fuck I’m cumming—shit!” He groans, long, noisy on the line but the image of his cum onto his hands has your stomach clenching. Clobbered by his own doing and it’s almost endearing how fucked out he sounds. There’s a moment where you hear fumbling, a distant breath; shifts in the mattress probably. “Baby…”

Your phone lights up again. 

Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 1 Photo

You don’t hesitate this time. 

His dick is wet, probably with his spit, but now his entire first is closed around it, dregs of his cum pooling in the suction of his palm against the pink skin. The urge to put your mouth on him is so over-whelming you groan in frustration.

“Want it in my mouth,” you say.

“You’ll make me hard again,” Jeongguk murmurs with a laugh.

It’s just past 8:30. “So. What got you so hard that had you begging for me over the phone?”

“Hm.” You move until you’re under the covers. A makeshift warmth because you don’t have Jeongguk to cuddle you for post-sex softness. “I don’t know. Just missed you. Again. Sorry if you had work to do.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah I’m not.” You think you hear him in the washroom. The vent is loud. “Made a mess.”

“Not my fault.”

“Uh, it kinda was. Hoping for more nipple next time.”

“Now you’re asking for too much,” you sigh. There’s a sleepy pull in your head, dragging you through the waves of feelings that currently bombard your heart. “I miss you too. Hope you’re not working too hard.”

“I have a bruise on my ass! Oh my god I forgot to tell you. But Hoseok checked me so hard for no fucking reason and—boom. Landed right on my booty.”

You coo. “Aw. Want me to kiss it better?”

“Yes please, it’s on my fatter butt-cheek I think.”

It dies down again. “So what stage are we at for your build-up?”

“Close to the finale.”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling. There’s only three days left till your prospective hells come to a head. Then it’s back to loving Jeongguk but closer to him this time, not through the cracked screen of your phone. “Can’t wait.”

“Me too,” Jeongguk says. “Guess—I should leave you to your work?”

As much as you want to say no, the pile of essays on your desk is calling for your ass to get moving. It sends a quick ripple of nervous tension down your spine but the sooner you get it done the sooner it is to texting Jeongguk again. You know he’s impatient too. “Yeah. Might stay up.”

“Not too late, okay? You’re almost there. And make that tea I bought you, it’s supposed to help with your headaches.”

You’ll cry. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Text me when you’re gonna sleep.”

You’re probably ovulating because a tear really does slip over your cheek. The stickiness between your thighs rubs your skin when you finally get up, avoiding the offensive stack of work in your periphery when the hints of a new headache start to come up. 

Jeongguk probably knew you were heading straight into another painful night of working. There’s a tin of loose leaf tea sitting patiently for you in your cupboard. And maybe taking on the teaching position wasn’t such a good idea, but then again, dates where everything loomed over you were inevitable. School’s a bitch. But you have an attractive boy waiting for you to finish, and that’s what prompts you to face the music. One more time.

Three more nights. 

The first night is actually okay. You get a page and half done, and Namjoon checks in with a text in the evening to make sure you aren’t pulling your teeth out. Jeongguk has practice the whole day. 

During the second night, you forget to save one of the articles you cited, and you spend a frantic hour searching through all your sources to trace it back. It’s a painful process and you almost cry, but you text Jeongguk and he sends you a selfie of him sending you a thumbs up. Your phone lags trying to scroll through the gigantic box of of hearts he texts you. You find the article. It’s good.

Third night and you’re about ready to give up. Jeongguk and Namjoon are both out of commission because apparently the universe hates all of you and you’re all busy with your respective work. But you have a page to conquer, and the onus is on you to show up with nice skin tomorrow because the department likes to take pictures to post online. The tea Jeongguk got you steams as you type diligently.

One

More

Word

Andit’sdone.

“Oh god,” you whisper to yourself. You scroll through your paper, making sure all your citations are right. Page numbers there. No excessive use of the first-person, your professor’s name spelt correctly. Formatted correctly.

It’s done.

You bask in the harsh light of your desk lamp, weight lifted off your shoulders the instant you save your document to submit online.

The assignment page loads, and you hit the button.

The line of your phone rings twice.

“Hello?” Jeongguk groans. It’s three in the morning. “Babe? Are you okay?”

“I FINISHED I SUBMITTED IT IT’S IN!” You yell. A genuine rise in your throat that has Jeongguk whooping with as much energy as his sleep-ridden voice can allow on the other side of the line.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I wanna hop on your dick right now.”

Jeongguk just snickers. Your eyebrows raise, because for sure he would’ve been choking. But maybe it’s because he’s tired. “Don’t tempt me into a boner, it’s too early for this.”

“Fuck—sorry. You have your game. Okay I’ll hang up. I’m gonna—sleep. Try to. Okay I love you! Sorry bye!”

“Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You knock out the second your light is off and your head hits the pillow.

You asked Namjoon earlier in the day to call you awake because your ringtone is more annoying than your alarm. And even though the ceremony is later in the evening, you’re scared that you’ll sleep the entire day away. 

Jeongguk texts you before you’re up. A congratulatory message, and another saying that he’ll be at practice the whole day so he’ll try to text you at lunch. But the afternoon sun sees no text from him and you know it’s because he’s sweating his balls off on the hockey rink. Stubborn like you know he is but now you miss him again. 

One thing that sticks in your head the rest of the day: the thought of it being over. Because once you get your awards and hopefully get to see the end of the game, you get Jeongguk to yourself again. Two weeks of agonizing to get to this point all but crashes into your loins to spark a frighteningly hot fire, and now, once again, you’re left to fantasize about Jeongguk’s dick. You force yourself not to dwell on it too much, makeup a risk to your fidgeting and if the reason why you have an ugly picture up online is because you were longing for dick then—well. 

It’s Namjoon who greets you when you get to the conference hall downtown.

“You look good,” is all he says. 

You stick your tongue out at him. You had to redo your lipstick twice. “Shut up.”

He leads you to where he was sitting: the massive table stuck in the middle with the microphones sticking up along the perimeter. Maplewood and entirely unfitting for the green carpet, though Namjoon beats you before you can say anything mean. “If you look up front, that’s the Commissioner-General I was talking about.”

You look. She’s a petite woman, scarily thin, wearing a bright scarf. “Yoon Soomin,” you recognize.

“Correct.”

“Namjoon!” You hit his shoulder, and he winces with a grin. “Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Because I knew you’d get stressed!”

Well he’s goddamn right you’re stressed now. Yoon Soomin, Commissioner-General of one of the programs you had your eyes on for the past year now. Applications are open next week. You’ve had yours done for a solid six months, and now the head of the program is right here. In the flesh. Watching you about to get your award.

The chatter of all the other students is drowned out when the program head gets up for the commencement speech. “Good evening everyone. My name is Bae Joohyun. Thank you—”

Ding.

Namjoon kicks your shin. You silence your phone. It’s Jeongguk.

[7:39PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hi babe hope u had a good day!!! Sorry I got distracted [7:40PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I know ur gna win like fifty awards so advanced congrats!!!!!!! Proud of ur big brain [7:40PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Love you [7:41PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I hope you make it later pls try ur hardest but if u can’t it’s okay but like I would really appreciate if you. Came [7:41PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: OJO [7:42PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Heh Taehyung said that looks like me 

There’s clapping. You don’t know why everyone’s clapping but you do it too.

[7:42PM] You: pls don’t break any limbs while i am here i won’t be fast enough [7:42PM] You: love u. play smart not hard. i’ll be there for ur final goal 🤪 [7:43PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Anything for my scholar [7:43PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You r so cute please come soon [7:44PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I have to go now I LOVE You

“I will now invite the Student Chair Kim Namjoon forward to deliver a speech,” Professor Bae says.

No last text to Jeongguk because now you join the applause once more. Namjoon gets up with practiced ease, staggered steps of confidence because if anyone is going to get a PhD first, it’s him. And you know he applied for the program too.

It starts simple: “Thank you for coming today.” A celebratory gathering, gratitude for everyone’s hard work and commitment. A call for everyone to continue being ambassadors for the Humanities. Nothing you haven’t heard before. 

“I would also like to announce that the department has decided to award a special recipient tonight for their academic work and contribution to graduate research,” Namjoon continues. “The award will be presented by Yoon Soomin, Commissioner-General of the Anthropology for the Humanities Global Network. Please give your warmest applause to Doctor Yoon.”

Oh god. Your literal idol because she was just as interested in babies as you were and Jeongguk would for sure be goading you into a frenzy because of your shaking. But you clap as normally as normal clapping goes, and Doctor Yoon takes the mic.

“I’ll just head straight into it,” she says with a pretty smile. You catch Namjoon looking at you. He raises an amused eyebrow, and now you’re suspicious. “It is an honour to call upon ___, for their recent submission of pronatalist work based in Europe for the research study funded by the Global Network.” That’s—you. That’s you, and these are your legs moving on their own accord to the beat of the eager applause. You don’t look at Namjoon but you can hear him, because he’s clapping the loudest. “___ has been recognized before: for an outstanding submission in undergraduate research on cultural genocide, as well as active participation in the Anthropological department.”

Yoon Soomin extends a hand to you, as well as a pretty certificate gilded with bold letters in the form of your name. Again: all offered by Yoon Soomin. Again, you are shaking. 

“T—hank you,” you stammer, and her hand is soft in yours and you really just might cry but it’s probably because you’re exhausted. You’d slept for a solid ten hours but no amount of rest would have ever prepared you for her pretty voice congratulating you again. “I—It’s an honour.”

“Picture time,” Namjoon interrupts. He’s got his phone up. “Smile!”

“Congratulations again,” Doctor Yoon says. She grins like she knows something too, and the rest of the ceremony is static in your ears.

Like always, it’s repetition. A name called, award presented. Your name is exhausted three more times, and you’d cower under the attention but you worked too goddamn hard not get to this point. You think of Jeongguk, probably three to none even though it’s only been half an hour into the game. You and Namjoon are practically trembling when Professor Bae dismisses everyone.

Your jacket is on, purse about to swing over your shoulder when someone comes up to you.

“Hello.” Doctor Yoon again. “Oh—are you in a hurry?”

“Not at all,” you rush out. You can feel Namjoon vibrating too. “I—Thank you so much for presenting the award.”

“It was my pleasure. The overseas program application opens next week,” she advises, and you really might scream but you will yourself to stillness. “We don’t know where it’s based yet, but I hope that doesn’t discourage you from submitting your application.”

“Oh she’s been interested for years,” Namjoon offers. You elbow him. Doctor Yoon laughs. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Keep up the good work!”

You all but skirt around her with a quick thank you again! and make a mad dash out the building and to the underground train because Namjoon sucks and can’t drive on highways yet. “Good thing you didn’t wear heels because you’re so fucking slow.”

“Shut up,” you growl. The people on the sidewalk offer no space for you to slither through, and you grind you teeth with impatience. “And don’t give me shit when I beat you four to one.”

“Not everyone’s into babies like you are, genius.” You reach the closest subway entrance, a seedy staircase down into the dirty cement and your fare is paid with a drop of a coin; running for the departing train and you make it by the wisp of your hair. You sigh into an empty seat, Namjoon right next to you. “Time.”

It’s nearing 9:00. “Oh my god it’s almost done.”

“You’ll make it,” Namjoon says. The jostling ride is another twenty minutes, and you know it’s cutting it short but you promised Jeongguk. He’s so close. You’re out of breath. “So you’re free now, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“You worked hard.”

You scrunch your face in embarrassment. “Thanks Joonie.”

“I mean it,” he says. “No one deserves this more than you. Yeah? Cut yourself some slack.”

“I know—it’s just—I couldn’t be there for Jeongguk as much as I could have—” And it’s all coming out now. There’s only one other person on this cart other than Namjoon so you let yourself have the moment, the breakdown. The awfulness of preoccupation and missing your boyfriend and too much work. You don’t want to cry but the screech of the metal tracks makes it easier to hide. “‘M so fucking tired.”

Namjoon pats your back when you heave. “Two more stops. Then you can curse the gods all you want.”

Good incentive, because once the doors slide open on your stop you book it up the escalator as fast as your fatigue can allow. Luckily campus is right around the corner, cars taking up all the space on the road. Probably all here for the final match of the year, your university against the one a city over, and the cheers are so loud you hear it from the two sidewalks over. “Let’s go let’s go!”

And you and Namjoon run again, down to the set of doors of the arena nestled into the corner of your school. The doors are heavyset but you yank them like you’ll die if you aren’t inside within the next twenty seconds, and it’s only now that you feel the buzz of your phone from a text.

[8:58 PM] Jimin Bimin: I’m on the east side with taehyung, third from the bottom bleacher, mostly in the middle. hurry!!!!!!

Namjoon’s no doubt just following the beeline you make because even you can’t feel where your legs are taking you. All you know is the rush of school pride and the deafening yells of the crowd, lost bits of popcorn on the floor scrunching against your shoes as you search for Jimin. You see Taehyung first: warpaint on his face and he waves you over quickly, scooting over with a pull on Jimin to make room for Namjoon too.

“You made it!” Jimin screams and it still sounds like a squeak with the roar of the people everywhere.

But you ignore this, laser-beaming the rink for that familiar 97. You catch Jeongguk closely following the puck, stick clenched tightly in his fists, legs quick in their glide as the offence. You feel everyone’s bated breath, hands grabbing Jimin’s arm—the other team’s members flying past Jeongguk, the raise of the wood, a slap to the puck—

The red blares. The crowd goes wild. 

“HE WON!” Jimin screams and so do you, the wave of excitement passing over you like fairy dust and now everyone’s cheering. You have no idea what went on. But now all the boys off the rink jump over the barrier to grab Jeongguk in a hard throttle, arms tangled around each other, chant lost on your ears but they look so happy. 

Somehow, a body breaks away from the huddle, and now they’re skating in your direction. 

Jeongguk waves. You smile. A wave back, and now you have each other again.

You wait outside the building, watching as the throngs disperse. Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jimin already said their goodbyes, last felicitations from them both and a promise for lunch from you somehow gets squeezed from the conversation too. The brick is hard against your back.

[9:30PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: WHERE ARE YOU [9:30PM] You: i’m outside already!!

A door bursts open. There’s an inhale, then you turn your head. Jeongguk drops his bag the second you charge for him, arms ready for your attack as you jump and wrap your legs around his waist, arms caught on his neck. You think you hear someone gasp but it’s all lost on you now. “Oh my god I love you,” he breathes, and you cry. “Babe—”

“I watched you,” you sniffle, and you frown when he laughs. “Watched you win.”

“I’m glad.”

You kiss him. “Missed you.”

Jeongguk looks like he might cry too. “Mine again?”

“Yours again.” And you mean it. 

“I would—I would invite you over to the after-party but I’m sleepy,” he says in between presses of his mouth, “and I ran out of contact solution the other day so I can’t invite you over and also Taehyung’s probably sleeping right now.”

“Then you come over.” You melt into his tongue, his feet staggering in your grind and he bites your lip.

“R-Really?” 

“Yeah, actually get some shut-eye.” He lets you off when you wriggle your ass against his hands, dragging him to the bus stop before he can put them back against your jeans or else you might really fuck him this time. “Because Taehyung snores too loud anyway.”

The ride to your apartment totals eight minutes because it’s late, and living on the edge of the suburbs means no one’s up this late anyhow. Jeongguk hadn’t even let you find a seat, balancing through red lights on his feet just to fly out the door when you’d reached your stop. You’ve already done too much running today but Jeongguk still rushes you up to your floor, and before you can get the key to your door he has you pressed up on it instead.

“Want you,” he says. Hard against your throat like he means it.

“God—let me—open my door and you have me,” you say through your teeth, gritted because the hallways echo and now Jeongguk has his thigh pressed up against you. “Babe let go—”

He does, but only with a lingering kiss promised by your burning attraction. You don’t fumble with the lock but you do stumble in from how quick you open the door, slamming shut in your haste and you hear his duffel bag meet the ground and now your back meets the hard metal again. “You have to stop shoving me into this thing oh my god.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jeongguk whispers. He’s kissing you again. Lifts you up with no warning and you yelp into his curious mouth, dick grinding into the rough of your pants. “Fuck I—”

“Did—you want to—”

“No—wait yes, yes—I just—” He doesn’t let up. You can feel his cock straining against his sweats, flimsy layers you could just shove down but his hips are glued to your own. “I can’t—cum. Right now. Too much. Wind—wound up.”

Your tailbone is starting to dig into the door. “Then let me down and let’s just—sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. One last kiss, nose meeting yours. “Still on my hockey grind.”

“Ew,” you snort. “Also don’t wear your pants to bed.”

“Oh.” He shoves his shoes off when you do. 

“I don’t like it when people wear their outside clothes on my sheets.”

“Oh.”

“But it’d be nice to wake up to your dick on my ass,” you add. Jeongguk makes a strangled noise, then carries you to bed.

“I’ll brush my teeth tomorrow,” is the last thing you remember him saying. 

The morning rushes in too soon. Your curtains aren’t closed and Jeongguk hogs the blanket, sprawled on your side of the bed no less. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to spoon but at least his cock is warm with something just as soft as your ass.

You settle in the calm. Jeongguk isn’t one to snore but his soft breaths are just as jarring, disbelief apparent when you realize this is the first time he’s ever slept-over at your place. As convenient as it is to live somewhere that only needed one bus ride, you’re on campus all the time; making sense meant taking up space in his res instead. But now the lump he occupies in your bed is something you think you could get used to.

(Even if he hogs the blanket.)

You’re still in your clothes from last night, but at least you had the decency to shuck off your jeans. And you’d gotten up well past Jeongguk-sleeping-hours to take off your makeup because it took you forever to pry his ridiculously strong arm off around you. You get up with a kiss to his mane of bedhead and a silent reminder to grab an extra toothbrush.

The next plan to execute on your list after washing the tired off: breakfast. And you know you don’t have eggs but you open the fridge like you’ll see the carton sitting there anyway.

You’re standing, coming to a blank for what feels like forever. You think briefly about ordering in, then remember the guilt of just grabbing groceries instead. The internal battle is cut short when you hear the creak of your bed, a long groan. Then, footsteps.

“You look sad,” Jeongguk croaks two seconds later.

You frown for effect. “I want eggs. And why are you up.”

“Come here, egghead.” Jeongguk is groggy. The sexy kind too, because his voice is a tenor that scratches the needier part in you, the one telling you to bury your face in his chest and you do just that. “I felt you move. Sorry I couldn’t wake you up with my dick against your butt.”

“S’ok. And go shower because you’re stinky.”

He lets you go. “Good morning,” he says for the first time. A domesticity you feel lightheaded from. “You should shower with me.”

“Unless you’re scared of detachable shower heads I think you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be cocky,” he whines. “And you’re dirty too, you sweat a lot just like I do.”

That’s true. “But it’s not even a hair washing day.”

“Why are you resisting me, woman.” He brings two hands up, wiggling his fingers. “I’ll tickle you.”

“You will not—”

“I will tickle you and if you don’t shower with me I will cry.”

You huff. “Fine.” He leads you down the hall to the bathroom, satisfied in his quick win, back flexing when he takes his shirt off. “And I’m the cocky one.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says. You know he’s baiting but you don’t want to resist him anymore. “You need to turn the shower on because I don’t know how to.”

Getting naked is a different kind of intimate when you’re not in the bedroom. You know this because Jeongguk can’t even look your way when you’ve stripped, but you’re shivering like he’s staring.  You step into the tub before he can back out. He doesn’t come in till the water’s running.

You like it hot. Jeongguk—not so much by the looks of his hesitation, so you compromise with a slight shift of the knob and a switch in place so he’s under the pelt of water. He’s all hard muscle under your hands. “Hope you like cherry blossom.”

He doesn’t say anything. Grabbing the loofah you spurt your pink soap, lathering it on his chest first. Jeongguk just stares. “I really missed you,” he says.

You nod. Nodding fast to keep yourself from thinking too hard because then you might start getting soft. “Me too,” you croak out. “Want me to wash your hair?”

Jeongguk just brushes his lips against yours in answer. You’ve just reached over his shoulders to get the back of his neck but he forces you back into the tiles, back inundated with cold hardness and there’s no room for complaint when your tits press against Jeongguk’s skin like this. He groans a desperate sound into your pliant mouth. “I—I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

You pause. “For what?”

“I don’t—know—I—just having you here again. Makes me want to do everything.”

You are enveloped in mist and so much longing. “Let me finish then we’ll—go back.” You don’t know if you want to focus southward because one look at his dick and you’ll fall to your knees. “Turn around.”

He does. The glass of the divider fogs up in your intimacy. You give a half-hearted scrub along his skin, focusing on the grime you can’t see. Can’t think.

“Okay you know—I think we’re good,” you say, voice tight.

“Come here.” Jeongguk spins to find you again, a hard kiss into you and you feel his dick press up against your stomach. “Towels.”

“Turn off the shower.” You push open the door, shaking legs dripping onto the floor as you scramble to wrap yourself in warmth other than Jeongguk. He grabs the other one, quick passes over his skin before he drops it to the floor and nearly bowls you over to get you out into the bed room.

It’s bright. Jeongguk reads your mind. “Can I—shut the blinds?”

“Please.”

He goes to twist the plastic while you dry off the last remnants of water clinging to your skin, and before you know it Jeongguk has you lain flat across the tangled blankets, legs dangling from the side of the bed. “God I tried really hard to have a normal morning with you but I—just can’t anymore.” He kneels over you. “Please tell me you feel the same.”

You could go on about how quick the one-eighty was. From your thoughts about breakfast to this absolutely insatiable need for your boyfriend to insert whatever valid body part he could use into your pussy. But you and Jeongguk are never conventional, and going too fast is an illusion now. 

You have each other again, and no one’s counting the seconds anymore.

“Will you fuck me?” You ask.

“Yes,” he decides, and he unwraps the towel you’d clung onto before pressing downwards and caving into your lips. “I—have never wanted you so goddamn bad in my life, oh my god.”

“Good,” you choke on your breath because Jeongguk slips down your throat with his tongue and a pucker of his lips. “Ah—!”

A bloom of your slick runs through your cunt when he sucks hard on your skin, thumbs a shy presence on your breasts but they peak under the pressure. “You have the cutest tits,” he says. 

“Shut up.” You flare with embarrassment. “You can—be more rough.”

Jeongguk twists your nipples and you pant. “Like that?”

“Suck on them too. Make it—hurt.” His eyes flutter, determined in your command. Mouth a hot suction, laving you with his spit. His teeth graze in a bite and you moan. “Fuck—yeah. That’s so good…”

He stays like this: feeding into your sounds with sloppy grips of his tongue, suckling till your tits pop out his mouth and your hands find the nape of his neck in desperation. “Ugh—please—”

Jeongguk slurps on a nipple. “Get up there.”

You scramble up the bed, comfortably nestled in the centre and Jeongguk’s fingers go to spread your pussy,   cheeks heating in the sound of wet. He sighs.

“Do you want to cum now?”

You dip your head. “Please.”

He settles on his stomach, diving in to latch onto your clit, sucking that has your head thrown back further with every inch he covers with the jerk of his tongue. Honed in on the dangerous tip that could have you teetering over in a second and your hips pull back, but his hands take your bucking and locks you down to his attention. Too much so and now you wail. “Oh my g—od.”

Curses caught in the grit of your teeth because now he licks the stretch of your cunt like he’s thirsty. Jeongguk’s good at making you want more when you don’t know what means. “Gonna—use a finger.”

“Fuck, yeah. Yeah.” He curls in and up, a sweet crevice touched. Eyes rolling back as you puff. “Holy fu-uck yeah, finger it.”

“Wanna beg?” He suggests. Challenging.

“You’re asking me to?”

“I’m begging you to,” Jeongguk snickers.

“Then—” you settle up on your elbows, watching the minute thrusts into your cunt like a lazy cartoon— “please use another finger. And—make me cry this time.”

His eyes bulge in your confidence. Pulls out; now there’s two hard intrusions and it digs into a sweeter part inside, a touch that has you keening right into the pillow, drool smearing on the sheet. Clit sitting pretty on his wet tongue and you’d let him have it all day if he asked. Then Jeongguk thrusts in a drill so hard you vibrate. “O-O-Oh my fuuuuuuck—”

He curves into your loudness. “So fucking sexy,” he praises, rushing right through you and onto his fingers. “So wet—”

“Ugh—!” Your sobbing isn’t a tearful one but the scratch in your throat is smarting. Jeongguk swipes right over your nub. Leans up, fingers still a consistent presence and now his tongue is teasing yours, a muscle spasm more than anything and you can’t fucking breathe.

“Sit on my face,” he says.

“You—really?”

“I might cum.” Oh. He looks at you, eyes a wonder of pleasured agony. Probably because he’d been grinding into the sheets like last time but now you’re even more gone.

“Okay,” you gulp, and Jeongguk rolls over. Knees above his shoulders, using his elbows to slide along the mattress till you’re settled comfortably over his eager mouth. “You okay?”

“Fuck yeah.” He pulls on your thighs until his neck doesn’t strain up anymore, a stretch you can ignore if only to feel the traction of his rough love on your sensitivity. “This is—so hot.”

“Are you—pulling on pornographic roots right now?”

He hums into a suction. “Yeah.”

“What else have you thought about?” You can’t see his entire face from your view, but his forehead is scrunched. Thinking hard for you.

“Nothing—crazy,” he says. He kisses your leaking cunt. “Always wanna make you feel good. But it’d be hot if I choked you, yeah.”

“Oh—”

“Whatever you like,” Jeongguk decides. “I like whatever you like.”

“I would like it if you made me cry,” you contend.

He doesn’t say anything else. Jeongguk squeezes your ass, neck straining to get you dribbling on the tip of his tongue, pleasure pulled from the bottom of your stomach into moaning so loud you’re worried for the thinness of your walls. “Oh my god I’m close—don’t stop—”

Your pussy grinds right into it. His fingers are lax on your skin like he’s given up if it means you feed into your own demise. And you do: grating all your nerves from Jeongguk’s insistence into your sex and your hands tangle into his hair. “Oh fuck I’m—Jeongguk—!”

The feeling settles heavy in your pussy. Taken with a vehemence you’d praise forever and Jeongguk is nothing but passionate, a power translated through all his work and one he insists on when he paints your cunt like it’s his favourite thing to do. His hands tighten their grip on your ass, nearly falling over when his tongue slides like that—

“I’m cumming—oh my god I’m—fuck!”

Your eyes sting. It bursts—starting on Jeongguk’s tongue and spreading so fast you can’t tell up from down.  Moans wrenched from your chest and you can’t catch your breath, even when you push yourself off from Jeongguk because you can’t stop riding into it. “Ah—oh fuck.” You’re sniffling.

“Babe wait did I actually make you cry?”

“Yes you idiot, come here.” And Jeongguk crawls over you, kiss-ready, lips wet on yours. “Do you—is it—are you okay? Do you wanna try now?”

“Sure,” he says. “I just—might not last too long.”

“We take it slow,” you say. He nods. “Got condoms?”

Jeongguk looks sheepish but he nods again. “Please don’t ask me why I have them on me.”

“I’m asking why you have them on you.”

He groans. “Let me just—get them from my bag.” And he runs, hard penis and all, outside to the bag he’d left outside in your haste to the bed. He’s not even gone for two seconds before he has the string of foil in his hand. “Remember there was a party last night? Taehyung gave them to me just in case—you know. Something happened.”

“Good friend. Do you—have lube too?” 

Jeongguk pales. “No.”

“Come here,” you order instead, because you’re ridiculously wet anyhow. He gets closer, lying down when you push his chest down. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just wanna kiss you.”

He lets you. You stay in this moment, a precursor to a new era if you were being dramatic about it. But having him so soft and yielding under you like this makes you want to enjoy it, bit by bit. “I love you,” he says.

You mold into him. “I love you too.” Reaching over for one of the foils, you tear it as Jeongguk stares with a still chest. The condom rolls easily. “Okay?”

“Yep.”

Then you sit on top of him, your own breath caught in the butterflies jumbled in your stomach, a flit when his hands come to rest on your thighs. Nerves tangling with his and you feel the low tremors in his body. Your pussy glides along his dick lying pretty on his stomach. You tangle your hands with his. “Don’t be nervous,” you whisper.

Jeongguk gulps. “Just—kiss me again.”

You lean back down, his hands tightening yours when you meet him again. “Are you okay?”

His eyes are closed. “Yes—yes. You can put it in. Please.”

“Just—say the word and I’ll stop.”

He nods.

There’s a lump in your throat. You want it to be good for him. The griping all his friends did had done a great deal for your sex life, yeah. But the point of his comfort was crossed so many times you feared he’d back out by this time. And now he waits: waits for your go, on your own time, because the last thing he wanted to do was pressure you too. You know it in his attention, his quiet insistence on making you cum first. His patience for you to come back to him. Waiting so that you could get comfortable before he did, because he’s only ever comfortable when you are. 

You hold the base of his dick, tip straight below your core, positioned at the height of both your breaths.

You sink down.

It’s a scarcity, to feel this good from the get-go. A prodding that pinches a little stretches you right, Jeongguk’s length gloved in your heat, so much heat because he groans. “Oh my god.”

“Is that—okay?”

“Yes—”

His hands find your hips when your knees drop down even further. Slow, slow, slow; so wet because he makes you feel it—until you bottom out. Jeongguk shivers. “Tell me—when I can move.”

You watch his eyebrows scrunch up, teeth gritting when you shift to ease the weight on your legs. “I’m good. I’m good, please move, fuck.”

You do. You pick up to an easy pace, not straining yourself but enough for the tip of his dick to hit a spot in your gut that has you cooing. Your hands find his chest. “Ooh—fuck yeah.”

“Is it good—for you?” Jeongguk pants, bucking his hips when he watches your tits bounce. 

“Yeah. Feels so good…” You trail off, getting used to the feel of something so much thicker than his fingers. A burn you can’t say you haven’t missed, teasing your insides and you squeeze.

“Baby—that—fuck—” He’s sweating. His forehead shines, hair caught on his skin. His chest is a flushed, wet where your palms meet him because you’re getting a little winded now. But the little grunts he lets out every time you bounce is enough to keep you going. 

“Do you think—you can cum like this?”

His grin is sheepish. “N-No.”

You opt for a closer grind then. “How do you want me?”

“Your back,” he says, hesitant. “Let me—fuck you from the edge of the bed.”

You can do that. You lift up till his dick lies wet on his belly, sheets a mess under your bum when you let Jeongguk get up to move you the way he wants. He stands, one knee on the mattress as he spreads your legs, pussy served like it’s his to take. Makes a grab for his dick; jostles around a bit on your clit to see your hole tighten, stomach clenched. 

He presses in slow just to see you shiver. In control of your pleasure again, and you sigh into the sheets. 

“Oh my god.” You grasp the blankets, elbows strong to watch what you now know is the visual of Jeongguk fucking you. A little stilted in his rhythm, but only because he’s getting used to the feel of your pussy like this. 

You don’t care for the semantics of proper fucking. As long as his hips meet your ass in the beat you can only call nasty. The squelch of your arousal is loud. “Fuck—baby…”

“Yeah—feels so good.” Buried deep in your walls and maybe you could learn the ridges of his dick like this: lain here for him to use, cunt fit only for his pleasure. A position you’d gladly take everyday from now on because fuck if this isn’t heavenly. 

You know he feels it too when his chest picks up in his panting, dick a piston now and you mewl. 

“Yeah—faster, baby—like that—!”

“Shit—” Smearing your walls with your own slick, made for him to dirty. A push so vigorous you would be sliding if it weren’t for Jeongguk’s tight hands on you, and all you can do is take it. “Babe I’m close—”

And he bends down, kissing you with a pant into your mouth because he’s getting spent, efforts all going into your pleasure. He still thrusts. “Cum. Cum when you can, fuck.”

“What about—”

You shut him up with another press of your lips. “I’m fine.”

He leaves it at that. Jeongguk leans up again, adjusting one more time till he’s got both knees on the bed, cock a heady presence inside your sex and he gives it hard now. You’re trying not to squeeze so hard around him but it’s getting difficult; seeing him so focused, his eyes wild, sweat dripping on his shoulders. Sweltering in your heat and love and novelties—defiling him but in the best way possible. “I love you,” he chokes. “Oh my god I might—”

“Give it to me,” you whisper.

He does. Your pussy is still in Jeongguk’s indulgence, his whines escalating until he groans out: “I’m cumming—”

Jeongguk slams into you, a final push for your core and he croons into your neck. Streams of his pleasure in the form of a long sigh, his pulses inside. And maybe you’re dumb but you’re laughing and crying again, arms wrapping around his neck, swaying him back and forth as he calms down. 

“How was that?” You ask.

He’s crying, too. You wipe his under-eye when he takes one more kiss. “Best ever,” he says. “I’ll make you cum.”

“You don’t need to—” But his thumb is already on your clit, still wet from his doing and you force your hips to stillness— “Jeongguk no—”

“I wanna feel you cum around my dick,” he says, and the plea is enough for you to tighten and cry even more. It hurts, a nudge of pain but it’s already beginning to spread into pleasure—

“Jeongguk—”

You cum into his kiss, walls clenching into an orgasm so sweet your toes tingle. A ripple of pleasure running through all of you and he moans like he feels it too. 

Out of breath. It’s hot under his skin.

“So. Who do we tell first?”

Jeongguk laughs. “Maybe we can decide over breakfast.”

And you feel something, better than orgasmic bliss, the pleasure of a tryst: the simplicity of being in love. Jeongguk makes you feel like you can do anything.

“Eggs?” You ask.

His tongue is sweet. “Eggs.”

[lookineedsleep]

I read a good headcannon and then spent too long writing a TechnoPhil fanfic.

This is more platonic ship content than anything, with a hint of queer-platonic marriage, me and my friend have a whole Au on that which I might post one day. Headcannon by @peachy-rambles (thanks for the permission btw!!) here as well as a headcannon by @wiggleworm-art that I popped in because I thought it was wholesome here.

No real triggers, just pure fluff of c!Techno baking and a slightly mischievous c!Phil as well as no promises this is gonna be good (I'm not fully caught up with the lore)

Also featuring beast Techno and Winged Phil for emotional reasons, and as always, I'm talking about the characters, not the people (that would be weird lol)

This is Unfinished.

It was freezing outside that night, thick snow was falling through the sky and the wind was heavy. A perfect excuse to stay inside, though all of this would come with the annoyance of having to shovel snow in the morning.

Techno watched this going on from a moderately sized window in the kitchen, waiting for water in the kettle to come to a boil. With a ping telling him it was warm enough, he turned to it, poring water into pre-prepared mugs of hot chocolate powder, and watched as it slowly diluted when the water was added. Gentle taping of spoons on the side of mugs came and went as he stirred the drink, a pleasant smell of coca coming from the two mugs. Techno took a mug in one hand each, glancing at the oven where he has cakes baking, before taking the through to where his husband was sat curled up in a blanket waiting, the gentle glow of a lamp on the coffee table illuminating the other's smile.

"That's my shirt." Techno commented, looking at Phil wearing said garment, it being much too large for the smaller, the arms covering his arms with room to spare.

"You let me have it." He mumbled fondly, rolling his sleeves to take the mug that was offered by Techno into his own hands, smiling down at the drink and basking in the heat emitting from it.

" 'Spose I did." The taller sat down. "Do you think you could spare any of that blanket"

"Nope." A sigh from Techno came with an amused edge, Phil next to him letting out a grin before blowing at the hot chocolate preparing for a sip and moving his wings to get them more comfortable.

Placing his own mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table beside him with the lamp on, Techno stood once again, Phil shooting him a questioning look before turning his attention back to the hot chocolate. Leaving the room, he turned his attention to a closet where they kept their blankets and other odds and bobs, purposefully choosing the fluffiest and softest just to taunt Phil with. Once returning to the room, he saw the smaller frowning as he looked at his hot chocolate.

"What's up Phil?"

"Burnt my tongue." He mumbled, softly annoyed with the beverage. He looked up, face lighting up as thy saw the blankets in Techno's arms. "Can we share?"

"Nope." Techno said, trying to imitate how Phil had sounded when he had said it before. He wrapped the blankets around himself before taking his drink back from the coffee table.

"Don't get too comfy," Phil said. "You have cakes in the oven, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten," He said simply, testing a sip of the warm, but cooling, drink. "I set a timer." Phil nodded before they both shared a silence of contently drinking hot chocolate. Techno being able to drink most of it in one go whereas the smaller continues by only going for a few sips at a time. Phil still wanted to steal the blankets that Techno had wrapped around him snugly, and as keeping an eye on the timer himself so that his plank could be put into action.

Slowly the room filled with the sweet aroma of backing goods from the kitchen, and the timer soon went off, Techno silenced it quickly so that the alarm didn't get tiresome, taking it along with both empty mugs for the other room. Getting up yet another time that evening, he walked through to the kitchen, placing the items in his hands onto a free space on the counter, then going to look through the cupboards for his cooling rack. After finding it and placing it on its own part of the counter, Techno opened the over, warm air flooding out from it, and saw the golden brown cupcakes nestled in their backing tray. Smiling and taking them from the oven, he placed them onto the cooling rack, figuring he needed to make some icing while they cooled.