#there's a shitty apartment complex i can move to a couple blocks away

[infinityonimmortals]

major epiphany today, ive been emotionally/psychologically abused for the last 10yrs apparently

[cregan-starks]

Taquito | Beholden

Summary: Magnussen returns to Guadalajara.

Words: 3,395

Pairing: Walt Breslin x OC (not really)

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of torture, mentions of drug trafficking, mentions of sexism, mention of communism, mentions of food, smoking, alcohol, cussing. Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!

Notes: As always, apologies for taking so long to update. This chapter’s lighter than the previous ones, but I hope y’all still enjoy it. If you wish to be added to or removed from my taglist, my DMs and ask box are open.

Credits: Huge thank you to my beta @maharani-radha-writes 💛 and to my darlings @cleastrnge​ 💜 and @qoedameron​​ 💓 for the Mexican Spanish translations!  

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MARCH 6, 1986

GUADALAJARA, MEXICO

          Obscure fun fact: sometimes, the DEA experience involved sneaking barefoot out of a parking lot, at 1 a.m. Completely sober, too. Holding her shoes in one hand and her lit cigarette in the other, Magnussen sauntered towards her apartment building, accompanied by the sound of crickets. Against her better judgement, she stopped near a streetlamp to finish her cigarette. Bugs had flown around the top, drawn to its light. The current state of affairs did have a reasonable explanation. Barely two hours into her six-hour drive from Mexico City to Guadalajara, Magnussen’s feet had begun to hurt, so she had taken off her heels. In hindsight, it had been a shitty decision. The temperature had dropped significantly – causing goosebumps to erupt all over her skin – and the rough surface of the sidewalk underneath her feet created a slight discomfort. Magnussen took a drag from her cigarette, relishing in the view. The night sky served as a canvas for the shy, gleaming stars. A couple of blocks away, a dog barked as a car quietly drove by.

          Magnussen remembered a similar evening, sitting on the fence of the Consulate with Kiki and smoking, after he and his team had failed to lure Gallardo across the border into the U.S. and arrest him. Kiki had been so adamant about Gallardo knowing his name. He had felt exhausted, demoralized, defeated. That operation had been the closest they had ever gotten to capturing the Godfather, and he had slipped through their fingers… again. Kiki had longed to go home. It had seemed like he had finally been willing to abandon the hunt… and he should have. Back then, Gallardo had been wanted for being a notorious narco-trafficker. Now, he was also wanted for Kiki’s torture and murder. A sour reminder that a flame can transform into a wildfire.

          Worse, the men tasked with bringing Gallardo to justice didn’t even give a shit about Camarena. Magnussen gritted her teeth in frustration. She had taken Leyenda’s pulse, and she had been left rather disappointed. How was she supposed to work with them? Petski was auditioning to be a mime, Mejía was an arrogant toe, Méndez and Álvarez were yes-minions, Orozco was Breslin’s mustached parrot, Garza’s favorite hobby was waterboarding – or spitting on puppies – Palacios hadn’t developed a personality yet, and Breslin was a narrow-minded redneck. He probably wouldn’t budge on the Azul situation. Typical Yankee; loved to hear himself speak, rejected anyone else’s input. Whatever. Magnussen was too woman for her opinion to matter. Morales had been the only one whom she had genuinely liked. At least he had had the decency to introduce himself and welcome her to the team… although, as far as Magnussen was concerned, he must have had ulterior motives, too. Severe lack of trust among coworkers. Off to a great start…

          Give it time, she reasoned. Loosen some of that Eastern European pessimism. Magnussen dropped her cigarette on the ground, instinctively moving her foot to put it out before pausing in realization. Dodged a burn. She crouched and used the heel of one of the shoes that she was holding to extinguish the cigarette, mumbling “ridiculous” to herself, then headed into the complex. Magnussen peered to distinguish shapes in the dark in an attempt to not trip and fall flat on her mug as she tiptoed up the oddly dirty and sticky stairs. She cringed internally at the mere idea of navigating her apartment in this condition, already tired. Throw in hunger and an agonizing need to pee, and you could guess Magnussen’s general disposition.

          Maybe contemplating building her own network within the operation would serve as a distraction and cheer her up a bit. She couldn’t depend on her colleagues forever. In fact, she didn’t fancy relying on them at all. Administrator Lawn had gotten one thing right. Magnussen was no team player. She refused to let Calderoni off the hook, too. She demanded answers, and she was certain that the Commander was in possession of one or two of them. Calderoni had potentially upgraded to triple agent, bumping elbows with the Mexican government, the U.S. government, and the Guadalajara cartel. When Magnussen had told Breslin that Leyenda required somebody on the inside, she had meant it. Commander Calderoni was the perfect candidate for the job. Her plans didn’t end there, either. She also wanted to set up surveillance on Tómas Morlet – a DFS agent who had actually been placed at the scene of Camarena’s abduction and the man responsible for Kiki’s neighbor’s execution – and the low-ranking assholes who just so happened to be on Leyenda’s hit list. Happy coincidence.

          Magnussen curled her fingers around the handrail, for support, the sound of her rings clinking against the metal echoing. Apologies, neighbors. Unfortunately, they will have to adapt. You never knew what you were going to get, with Magnussen. Judging by the crusty sensation in the corners of her eyes, her makeup had betrayed her as well, becoming smudged. Magnussen was eager to eat, sleep… definitely drink… and wash her feet. She made it past the second floor. Almost there. So close, yet so far away. Magnussen even entertained the idea of crawling on all fours to avoid smearing the floor and carpets in her apartment. Who was she kidding? She would undoubtedly pass out immediately. Anything else belonged to the realm of speculation.

          Fuck.

          Magnussen froze in her spot, startled by a door swinging open, nearly clutching her shoes to her chest.

          ‘¡Oh, mierda!’, exclaimed the intruder, equally stunned, ‘Me espantaste.’ (Oh, shit! You scared me.)

          You and me both, honey. The apartment’s light flooded the hallway, further confusing Magnussen’s fragile state of mind.

          ‘Pérdon,’ she mumbled, discreetly studying the woman in front of her. (Sorry.)

          Big, dark eyes stared at Magnussen with concern. Her turquoise nails contrasted her smooth, brown skin, and her thick eyebrows were darker than her lengthy curls. She wore a beige cardigan over a white undershirt, her voluptuous chest distracting Magnussen only a little… as did her plump lips and curvy hips.

          ‘¿Estás bien?’, inquired the woman, visibly worried. (Are you okay?)

          Poor soul. Magnussen couldn’t blame her. She was roaming the hallway, barefoot, at one in the morning. Don’t sweat it, she could’ve seen worse.

          ‘Totalmente,’ assured Magnussen, calmly, ‘Solo tratando de llegar a mi departamento.’ (Totally. Just trying to get to my apartment.)

          ‘¿Vives aquí?’, asked the woman, surprised, perking up, ‘No te he visto antes.’ (You live here? I haven’t seen you before.)

          You shouldn’t exactly be seeing me now, either. That’s a story for… never. If you’re fortunate, you won’t run into me in the future.

          ‘Me mudé ayer,’ clarified Magnussen, hesitantly, regarding the current time, ‘O hace dos días. ¿Porqué estás sacando la basura a esta hora?’, she interrogated, referring to the trash bag that the woman was holding. (I moved in yesterday… or two days ago. Why are you taking out the trash at this hour?)

          Forget about my suspicious behavior. What about yours? The woman’s demeanor did not suggest that she was deceiving Magnussen. Alas, her investigative skills after midnight should be deemed dubious, at best.

          ‘Estaba afuera con unos amigos,’ explained the neighbor, the memory fond, ‘Ah, tú eres la que pone Judas Priest a todo volúmen.’ (I was out with some friends. Ah, you’re the one who plays Judas Priest loudly.)

          ‘Sí,’ confirmed Magnussen, unsure how to feel about the label, ‘Esa soy yo.’ (Yeah. That’s me.)

          Spotted on day one, and already effortlessly built a reputation for herself. How long would laying low have lasted, anyway? She couldn’t not talk with sentient beings.

          ‘Soy Guadalupe,’ introduced the woman, friendly, extending her free hand, ‘Llámame Lupita.’ (I’m Guadalupe. Call me Lupita.)

          ‘Bonito nombre,’ complimented Magnussen, shaking her hand, mindful of her shoulder holster peeking out from her jacket, ‘Santo. Soy Antonia. Llámame Toni.’ (Beautiful name. Holy. I’m Antonia. Call me Toni.)

          Another lie that she would have to maintain. I gotta put them on paper, eventually.

          ‘Gusto en conocerte,’ commented Lupita, offering a small smile, ‘¿De dónde eres?’ (Nice to meet you. Where are you from?)

          Shit.

          ‘Es un poco complicado,’ excused Magnussen, awkwardly, grimacing, ‘Vivo en Nueva Zelanda... pero nací en Rumanía.’ (That’s a bit complicated. I live in New Zealand… but I was born in Romania.)

          ‘No sé mucho de Rumanía,’ admitted Guadalupe, sounding disheartened, ‘Nunca he estado ahí.’ (I don’t know much about Romania. Never been.)

          ‘No te preocupes,’ enunciated Magnussen, waving dismissively, ‘No te pierdes mucho.’ (Don’t worry. You didn’t miss out on much.)

          Unless you count communist repression, minimum respect for human rights, secrecy, propaganda, occasionally hideous infrastructure.

          ‘¿Cómo es que estás en Guadalajara?’, questioned Lupita, politely curious. (How come you’re all the way in Guadalajara?)

          Attempting to bring justice to my deceased friend, who was tortured and murdered by a drug cartel, in collaboration with the Mexican government – allegedly. So, the usual.

          ‘Yo, uh, tengo un internado,’ disclosed Magnussen, mentally congratulating herself for her duplicitous reflexes, ‘En el consulado de Estados Unidos.’ (I, uh, have an internship… at the U.S. Consulate.)

          It’s a classified internship. Please, don’t press the issue. It’s a difficult period for me.

          ‘Que elegante,’ noted Guadalupe, half impressed, tugging her sweater over her chest, to keep warm, ‘Yo estoy intentando tener un título de Artes. Trabajo en un salón de uñas.’ (Fancy. I’m trying to get an Arts degree. I work at a nail salon.)

          Glancing down at her feet, Magnussen curled her toes, to prevent them from falling victim to frostbite. “Fancy” is not a word I would use to describe my “internship.” Arts are always approved of. Artists are the soul of society.

          ‘Buena suerte,’ she replied, unable to omit the most precious fact, ‘¿Salón de uñas, huh? Que suerte la mía.’ (Good luck. Nail salon, huh? Lucky me.)

          ‘Eres bienvenida cuando quieras,’ asserted Lupita, leaning against the doorframe, ‘¿Estás libre este fin de semana? Deberíamos salir.’ (You are welcome anytime. Are you free this weekend? We should hang out.)

          Despite her initial cynicism, Magnussen gradually realized that she would need to interact with people outside of her Leyenda circle, otherwise she would lose it and commit atrocities.

          ‘Aún no lo sé,’ began Magnussen before interrupting herself to address the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel that emerged from Guadalupe’s apartment, ‘Oh, hola.’ (I don’t know yet – Oh, hello.)

          Lupita quickly moved her foot to block the dog’s path. Its round, black eyes watched Magnussen with a sweet, gentle expression, and its lengthy, fluffy ears framed its face. The dog sported a silky, classical Blenheim coat – rich chestnut markings on a clear, pearly white ground.

          ‘Esta es Taquito,’ revealed Guadalupe, evidently not having anticipated the dog’s presence, ‘Debería estar dormida.’ (This is Taquito. She should be asleep.)

          Taquito – excellent name, by the way – can do whatever she wants.

          ‘Es un amor,’ countered Magnussen, affectionately, crouching to scratch the dog behind its ears, ‘Tráela contigo cuando salgamos.’ (She’s a darling. Bring her with you when we go out.)

          ‘Los perros no están permitidos en bares, Toni,’ reminded Lupita, playfully. (Dogs aren’t allowed in bars, Toni.)

          ‘Que se jodan,’ declared Magnussen, adamantly, petting Taquito’s head, ‘Iremos a un parque.’ (Fuck them. We’ll go to a park.)

          Taquito showed her endorsement by wagging her tail, excitedly.

          ‘Le encantará eso,’ chuckled Guadalupe, weakly pushing the dog back into her apartment, ‘Di buenas noches, Taquito.’ (She’ll love that. Say good night, Taquito.)

          ‘Buenas noches,’ said Magnussen, standing up and waving to Taquito. (Good night.)

          ‘Realmente tengo que tirar la basura,’ recalled Guadalupe, cautiously shutting the door once the dog was inside, ‘Nos vemos luego.’ (I really have to throw away the trash. See you around.)

          ‘Cuídate,’ quipped Magnussen, amused, observing her depart down the stairs. (Take care.)

          Alright. Scram, Scout. Forth, on to your lair.

          Magnussen kicked off her slippers and leaned back against the couch – mindful of her filled wine glass – stretching her legs before resting her feet on the edge of the coffee table. Fleetwood Mac’s Spare Me a Little of Your Love started to play quietly on the stereo. She sipped her beverage, the spice inundating her taste buds, urging her nerves and muscles to finally relax, since the immediate burdens had been lifted off her chest; she had relieved her bladder, washed her feet, removed her makeup, changed into her pyjamas, and eaten… dinner? What meal do people have at two a.m.?

          Her eyes lingered on the telephone laying on the table, conflicted. She should have dealt with this yesterday… or two days ago. She itched for another cigarette, but that would require getting up, walking into the bedroom, retrieving the pack, and cracking a window to get rid of the smell and smoke. Open windows at night were a no-go. Magnussen was on her own. She downed her wine – setting the glass aside – and grabbed the telephone. Magnussen checked her wrist watch as she dialed the number, estimating that it must have been eight in the morning in New Zealand. Here we go.

          A few seconds passed, and the prolonged dial tone seemed to be in sync with her heartbeat. Magnussen absentmindedly pulled on the loose thread of one of her fuzzy socks, hoping that the noise would cease – though she was unsure about her preferred outcome. One where I don’t get shamed for suffering from chronic hesitancy.

          When the dial tone abruptly stopped, the words died on her tongue, her throat dry. A funny feeling settled in her stomach. Anxiety butterflies.

          ‘Hello?’, answered Maia’s robotic voice, casually.

          Any trace of thoughts vacated Magnussen’s mind. She glanced around the living room, fixating on nothing in particular.

          ‘Uh, hey,’ she greeted, stiffly, scratching the nape of her neck, ‘It’s me.’

          ‘Well, well, well,’ articulated Maia, and Magnussen braced herself for the upcoming snark, ‘La Llorona didn’t find you yet. I hear you’re serenading me.’

          Magnussen involuntarily looked at the stereo. The song neared its end.

          Spare me a little,

          Spare me a little,

          Spare me a little of your love.

          ‘Compensating for my silence,’ she huffed, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards, ‘Sorry about that, by the way. What’re you up to?’

          ‘In the kitchen,’ informed a grumpy Maia, ‘Drinking coffee before work.’

          ‘First cup?’, inquired Magnussen, smugly proving that she knew Maia’s morning routine.

          ‘Second,’ corrected Maia, apparently fumbling with cutlery in the background.

          ‘Oh, so, I caught you at a good time,’ joked Magnussen, leaning over the couch arm to turn off the stereo.

          ‘That depends,’ teased Maia, flirtatiously, ‘What’ve you got for me?’

          ‘I just got back to Guadalajara,’ droned Magnussen, the reminder causing her to feel tired again.

          ‘Isn’t it late there?’, checked Maia, confused, the frown in her tone palpable.

          ‘Early, according to some,’ countered Magnussen, humorously, producing a small piece of paper from the pocket of her pyjama pants, ‘I had a meeting with the team.’

          Morales’ note. She scanned the neatly written names and numbers, barely paying attention.

          ‘And how was it?’, interrogated Maia, evidently curious.

          ‘I’m not,’ began Magnussen, carefully, searching for the appropriate term, ‘Too impressed. They seem like a bunch of yes-men. In it for a medal and a few bucks. Only Morales talked to me afterwards. Genuine or not…’

          ‘There’s that pessimism, alive and well,’ observed Maia, fondly.

          ‘It’s not that,’ grumbled Magnussen, shoving the note in her pocket, ‘Breslin’s already stepping on my tail.’

          Romanian saying. Maia would get it. She always does.

          ‘Who could’ve anticipated that?’, falsely lamented an amused Maia.

          ‘He has ego cramps because of the airport thing,’ dismissed Magnussen, sinking into the couch.

          ‘Do tell,’ encouraged Maia, interested.

          An opportunity to complain? She would be a fool not to seize it. Maia proceeded to sip her coffee, loudly, forcing Magnussen to briefly remove the telephone from her ear, annoyed by the noise. Maia was doing it on purpose.

          ‘I randomly saw him struggling to light his cigarette,’ explained Magnussen, feigning innocence, ‘So, I offered him my lighter. Made small talk.’

          ‘You didn’t tell him who you were,’ concluded Maia, incredulously.

          ‘Of course, I didn’t,’ scoffed Magnussen, offended by the implication, ‘Said my name’s Sofia, faked an accent. He was probably suspicious, but I doubt he figured out what was really wrong. We met a second time in Heath’s office.’

          ‘Gross,’ deadpanned Maia.

          Magnussen wholeheartedly agreed.

          ‘I didn’t know Breslin was gonna show,’ she clarified, placing the telephone between her ear and shoulder to reach for the DEA badge on the coffee table, ‘He didn’t know I was gonna show. It was funny. He was so pissed.’

          ‘Barbie’s boyfriend must have been confused as hell,’ posited Maia, chuckling, ‘What did he do?’

          ‘Nothing,’ shrugged Magnussen, bitterly, ‘It’s not in his job description. He still pretends to have a spine. He didn’t stay long. I can’t tell if he feels any guilt over what happened.’

          She studied the pretentious-looking object, attentively, her nail lightly digging into the eagle – the U.S. – proudly sitting atop the badge’s sunburst-shaped body, grasping an olive branch and arrows – the federal government’s authority over peace and war. Atrocious.

          ‘It’s not in the job description,’ echoed Maia, somber, ‘He doesn’t have to.’

          ‘Hopefully, D.C. will be merciful, and I won’t have to deal with Bureaucrat Ken’s existence moving forward,’ claimed Magnussen, gloomy, tossing her badge on the table, ‘Anyway, I bumped into one of my neighbors. Lupita. She has a dog named Taquito.’

          ‘Congratulations on socializing,’ jested Maia, condescendingly, ‘A reason for you to go out more. Don’t forget to smuggle Taquito into New Zealand when you come back.’

          ‘If I come back,’ corrected Magnussen, reflexively, then subtly attempted to change the subject, ‘I thought we were getting a cat.’

          ‘Hey, don’t talk like that,’ scolded Maia, refusing to take the feline bait.

          Magnussen provided no response, instead shifting into a more comfortable, apathy-compatible position, lying down on her side, balancing the telephone over her left ear.

          ‘How’re you holding up, so far?’, murmured Maia, concerned, as if she were reaching out to tenderly squeeze Magnussen’s shoulder.

          A lump formed in her throat, preventing the truth from bursting past the surface. I wish things hadn’t been like this. I wish Kiki would still be alive. I wish I had been a child for a little longer. Lying to Maia would be pointless. Magnussen swallowed hard and counted the seconds, pondering when would be the right moment to say something. She sniffed, gradually sobering up.

          ‘I don’t know,’ confessed Magnussen, at last, voice wavering, ‘It’s strange, being here, not having him around… The city hasn’t changed much, but everything feels different. I’m starting to understand what Jaime meant.’

          ‘You need time,’ offered Maia, compassionately, ‘Going back was never going to be easy. You’re probably not going to like this, but I think you’re doing this for yourself as much as you’re doing it for Kiki… Take it easy.’

          Historically unsustainable for me.

          ‘You might be creating problems where there aren’t any,’ continued Maia, surprisingly civil, ‘Heath, Breslin, Morales, whoever the fuck. You’ll be fine. You can handle them. They have no idea what’s coming.’

          ‘The cartel or the DEA?’, quipped Magnussen, managing a smile.

          ‘Both,’ replied Maia, decisively.

          ‘Okay, enough about my bullshit,’ interjected Magnussen, her allergy to compliments manifesting, ‘How’s everything on your side of the world?’

          ‘Long version?’, recited Maia, aggressively setting her mug in the sink, ‘Up to my neck in work. O’Connor is driving me up a fucking wall. I don’t know who hired him, and I don’t know why they won’t fire him… Short version? I can’t wait for the weekend.’

          ‘Amen, sister,’ yawned Magnussen, stretching her legs that didn’t remotely touch the opposing arm of the couch.

          ‘Alright, I have to go to work,’ announced Maia, adopting her Mom Tone, ‘And you need to sleep.’

          ‘Mmmyeah,’ mumbled Magnussen, drowsily, rubbing her eye, ‘I miss you.’

          ‘I bet you do,’ sassed Maia, readily.

          ‘Mahuika,’ warned Magnussen, vaguely threatening.

          ‘I miss you, too,’ reassured a sly Maia, ‘Call me at more decent hours.’

          ‘Attempts will be made,’ bargained Magnussen, doubtful, ‘Good… morning.’

          ‘Good night, honey,’ chirped Maia.

          Magnussen lazily shifted on her back, allowing the telephone to fall next to her, on the couch cushion. She stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes, contemplative, before she realized that the unwashed dishes awaited her, in the kitchen. From the bottom of her being, Magnussen released a deep, heavy sigh.

          Fuck.

TAGLIST: @a-dash-of-random-magic​ @amidalaraan​ @artthurshelby​ @buttercup--bee​ @cleastrnge​ @dameronology​ @frodo-sam​ @itssmashedavo​ @kalondarling​ @ladygangsters​ @maevesdarling​ @maevemills​ @maharani-radha​ @mitchi-c​ @moonlight-prose​ @nicolettegreen​ @pascalisthepunkest​ @queenofthefaceless​ @revolution-starter​ @sullho​ @themangolorian​ @tisbeautifulfreedom​ @qoedameron​

END THE WAR ON DRUGS: Equity Organization & Drug Policy Alliance

READ MORE: Mahuika, DEA badge, to step on someone’s tail = to annoy/upset them

[dynyamight]

hiiii star 💫 may i ask for number 10. “I like that you make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt.” tanksss uus sm ily 🧡💚

send me a writting ask

10. I like that you make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt

“So, tell us! How did you two finally get together?” Ashido asks in song.

Immediately, Bakugou almost spits out his beer.

He chokes down a whole mouthful in his throat, left coughing in a frenzy. Lifting a hand to his mouth, Bakugou blinks rapidly at the blurriness in his vision, and looks over to his left.

Midoriya’s in a worst state; furiously blooming red in the face, and his eyes are blown wide and open. His mouth is agape, like a damn fish out of water, and brows raised up to his hairline. His wild curls terribly help to make him appear crazed.

“We’re not fucking.” Bakugou spats towards his damn extras, slamming a fist onto the dinner table.

Apparently, that’s the wrong answer. Midoriya twists his face towards him, upset. “K-Kacchan!”

Kaminari laughs loudly, shaking his head at Ashido’s face of confusion. “Living together, doesn’t mean dating, Mina. Even I know that.”

“Ohhh.” Ashido looks over to Kirishima, seated right next to her. She places a hand on his shoulder, as she leans close to his face, furrowed. “You told me they were.”

“I said they were moving in together. Not getting together.” Kirishima deadpans. Easily, he lifts up his cup of water towards her. “Now, sober up, before you try to start acting like Cupid.”

While Ashido pouts, begruindgly sipping her boyfriend’s water, Sero snickers, “Well, so how did you two finally live together?”

“Signing a lease? The fuck, what type of question is that?” Bakugou growls.

“I have no use for owning an apartment of my own. I basically paid for a place that I rarely stayed in.” Midoriya corrects sheepishly, “So, sharing rent would be easier for me, as I can still have a place to sleep, but it can still be taken care of, by someone else.”

“And, you didn’t ask a girl?” Kaminari whines outright, “Seriously?!”

Midoriya blushes. “I-I just needed a roommate. Anyone, really.”

“Haven’t you heard? Living with someone can bring your hearts closer! Make you fall for each other!” Kaminari groans, placing his hands over his face, “Midoriya, you could have totally bagged a wife!”

“I’m not looking for a relationship. Right now, I only want to focus on my career.” Midoriya admits, embarrassingly.

Sero raises his own can of beer in Bakugou’s direction. “That’s right! Cheers to singlehood!”

Bakugou scoffs, glaring. “I ain’t clinking my drink for that shit.”

“I will!” Kaminari yells, connecting his can with Sero’s. He grins stupidly, before raising a teasing brow towards Midoriya. “C’mon, bring your drink over, too! Mister Rather-Be-Working-Than-Ask-Anyone-Out!”

Weakly, Midoriya lifts his can, joining the duo.

With the other two idiots cackling, Bakugou rolls his eyes. Drinking with his group of idiots was always irritating at best. They’re all light weights, left in a giggling fit after only a couple rounds. He’s surprised the damn restaurant hasn’t requested them to get the fuck out.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring, until Midoriya meets his gaze, blinking. Immediately, Midoriya offers a wobbly smile, shrugging.

Usually, Bakugou goes out on his own, meeting up with his idiot friends without company. Taking a cab there, alone. Taking a cab back, by himself.

But, tonight was different. The group had begged him to invite Midoriya along, having not heard from him in a long while. They wanted to see him finally, as his usual self. Not the heroic facade he gives on the media and citizens.

And, it’s not like Bakugou had to bring him. If he didn’t want to, Midoriya could easily be back in their apartment, doing his Deku-like night activities. Journaling. Cleaning. Rewatching old movies. Being an absolute nerd.

But, as Bakugou looks away from Midoriya, taking a big gulp of beer, he remembers why he asked, anyway.

It’s the closest thing to a date. Without it actually being a date.

Well, at least in Bakugou’s mind.

Yeah, they ain’t dating, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to get there with Midoriya. Taking things slow. One step at a time. He doesn’t want to jump on Midoriya, freaking him the fuck out, with his emotions.

So, this was like a practice run for Bakugou. If he can survive tonight, then he can easily breathe and live out a night with just Midoriya.

Speaking of which, he feels a tentative tap on his thigh. With a glance, Bakugou meets Midoriya’s hesitant expression.

Fortunately for both of their sakes, the rest of the group was too busy chattering among themselves to notice how close they were.

“What.” Bakugou voices.

“I need to head home.” Midoriya whispers, looking up at Bakugou apologetically, “Media press, early morning.”

Giving a quick nod, Bakugou starts getting up, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s go, Deku.” He announces, "We're done here."

“Whaaaat? No, the night has barely started!” Ashido cries, expression disappointed.

“Yeah! Why don’t you stay just a little longer?” Kaminari begs.

Standing up from his seat, Midoriya shakes his head. He gives a smile towards the group. “I wish we could.”

Bakugou bites down his tongue. Damn lying bastard.

Graciously, Kirishima waves a reassuring hand. “Get home safe, you two.” He softly states, grinning over to them, “It was great seeing you together. Looks good.”

Shitty Hair purposefully said that shitty remark. Bakugou imagines multiple explosives hammering down on Kirishima’s face.

On the other hand, Midoriya remains oblivious. “Thank you, Kirishima. And, good luck with the rest of the night, everyone!”

After leaving a couple bills on the table, covering their meals, drinks, and tip, Bakugou and Midoriya say their goodnight’s and walk out. The city lights helped to brighten the streets of Tokyo, busy and crowded, despite it being so late.

They don’t say much, walking back to their apartment complex. But, after a couple blocks down from the restaurant, Midoriya coughs. “Everyone’s still vibrant, as before.”

“Yeah, vibrantly idiotic.”

He hears Midoriya snort. “Kacchan.”

“Don’t ‘Kacchan’ me.” Bakugou mocks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “God, can’t make a damn insult, without you calling me out.”

“That’s not what I sound like!” Midoriya defends. Though, there’s a resounding laugh behind the words.

“‘That’s not what I sound like!’” Bakugou makes sure his voice shrills high, breaking at the top.

Midoriya laughs out loud, shoving Bakugou lightly. “Stop!”

“Fucking hell, I’m quitting hero work. Book me as a damn Deku impersonator.”

“You are terrible!”

“You are terrible.” Bakugou huffs, feeling the corners of his lips upturn. “You continue to fucking deal with me, when you know this is the shit I put you through.”

“There’s plenty of things to like about you.” Midoriya justifies, smiling.

“Hell, you know there’s none.”

“I like that you make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt, Kacchan.” Grinning, Midoriya tilts his head up to Bakugou. “That’s plenty enough, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, at your expense.” Bakugou scoffs, shaking his head. He shoves lightly at Midoriya, a return from before. “Dunce Face is right. You should have fucking asked a girl to tolerate.”

Sighing, Midoriya shrugs. “If I wanted a girl to live with, I would have asked one.”

“So, you deliberately wanted to live with me?”

“..Yeah, I guess I did.”

There’s an odd lightness in Bakugou’s chest, consuming him from the inside out. Forcing it down, he coughs. “Stupid, do you even know what you’re asking for?”

“A year’s worth of laughs and time with you? Why yes, I do.” Midoriya smirks, looking away. “On the other hand, you could have said no.”

“Ah, well I guess I didn’t mind.” Bakugou offers simply.

The rest of the walk is quiet, with only the bustling noises of the crowd around them filling in the space. But, it was a comfortable silence, easy and light.

Bakugou wonders if the damn nerd is just waiting for him to ask him out, and the whole sharing an apartment was meant to speed up the process. Which, if he is, and if this is all an elaborate plan, that’s fucked.

Though, it’s totally working.

[maybedefinitely404]

For You Became My Lighthouse (Part 2)

Genre: hurt/comfort

Pairing: romantic Prinxiety

Content: argument, crying, a decent dose of awkward but it gets resolved!

Word count: 4.1k

Comment: This is the fourth time I’ve tried to post this--- Part 1 HERE!

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

Roman ran a hand through his hair at the message, checking the time at the top of the screen. It was late, far too late, so it was safe to assume that Logan had heard about the spat from Virgil. He should have been home by now. It was just… impossible to convince himself to actually leave the rehearsal studio. He had a younger acting class tomorrow and was perfecting his lesson plan- even though he already knew it was perfect, and his director had already approved it. Just, anything to keep him from going home.

He’d been a dick. Such was obvious; from the second his finger had hit send, he regretted approximately everything in his life that had led to this moment. That day had been particularly bad, overrun with rehearsals he was either taking part in or directing, and gearing up for tech week of a large production. Who knew trying to block a scene with a flurry of pre-teens could take so much out of you? Rinse and repeat the cycle with two more classes to teach back to back and an achingly long dance rehearsal, add in a desperate and fruitless search for a replacement lead in his upcoming directorial debut, and you’d have what Roman would categorize as a “shit show of a day”. 

All he wanted to do at the end of it was spend some time with his boyfriend, without having to talk about his day, so he’d suggested the most basic date his fried brain could conjur. Then his work desk was unceremoniously reacquainted with his forehead as he smacked it into the wood, letting out a groan that bordered on a yell. Luckily, minutes ago everyone had abandoned the theatre, and he’d been trusted with the keys to lock up from a stagehand. He just had a couple more things to do, and then he could drive home. 

Getting a reply of denial from Virgil was nothing new. In fact, he’d been warned in the transition from reluctant acquaintanceship to inevitable friendship, that he tended to veto ideas if they were sudden, or too daunting, or if he was just feeling shitty. It was something that Roman never considered a deal breaker, and he’d slowly come to much rather enjoy a night of cuddling and watching television than going out anyways. Call it ‘getting old’, call it ‘Virgil’s homebody ways creeping into his psyche’. So usually, getting his plans rejected was no big deal. 

Except for today, when he was well and past his limit of frustration, and things not going to plan. He’d typed out and sent the snarky reply far before he’d thought it out whatsoever, and ranted out complaints that hadn’t ever crossed his mind before, which he immediately regretted. In a moment of shame so great it caused physical nausea, he tossed his phone into one of his desk drawers and slammed it shut. 

It buzzed once, twice, and then went silent. 

Until, of course, it began to go berserk an indecipherable amount of time later, and Roman couldn’t ignore it. Seeing Logan’s text, along with about a million missed calls from him and Patton, broke the fragile sense of calm he’d tried to achieve while working. 

He didn’t want to go home and face his consequences. Childish, yes. Well deserved, also yes, but he was afraid of Virgil’s inevitable anger. If this led to a breakup, a fight that wasn’t recoverable, he’d never forgive himself. 

And now…

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

I can see you’ve read my text message.

-Logan

I’m at work. 

You’re inconceivably moronic. Get home. Now.

-Logan

Roman sighed heavily through his nose, clenching his jaw. He began typing out another snarky response- because apparently he never learned- when another text came through.

Virgil was in significant distress last I spoke to him and he has stopped answering me and Patton. Go. Home.

-Logan

Please. If not for my sake, then for Virgil’s.

-Logan

Fuck.

Roman barely had the sense to lock the doors of the building in his rush, throwing the spare key back in through the mail slot and booking it to his car. He sent some sort of confirmation that he was going and tossed the phone to his back seat. Virgil hated when he used it while driving.

It was only on the drive back, on unusually empty roads, did he realize it was well past nine. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing by.

Most of the lights in the apartment complex were still on when he pulled into the car park, but their window visible on this side showed only darkness. He wasn’t used to entering a dark apartment.

Their flat was silent, the living room only illuminated by the oven clock and the dim city lights from the balcony. He toed off his shoes as silently as he could, wincing when he kicked their shoe rack, and decided he’d risk turning on the light. When he finally found the switch and flicked it on, he couldn’t help his gasp. 

The room had once been a pristine display, he could tell. A white table cloth adorned their usually bare dining room table and a half burned candle stood as its centrepiece. He approached it in a daze, cautiously resting a hand on the plate of ravioli nearest to him. Cold. Long cold; the pasta was starting to get crusty. 

He picked up the two plates, intent on throwing out the food. It definitely wasn’t safe to eat anymore, and he didn’t feel like warding off an attack of ants in the morning. One of the towels hanging off the oven handle was drenched in what looked like marinara sauce, and it looked like there was some more spilled in the crack between the stove and the counter. That would be fun to clean. 

Both hands full, he opened the cupboard containing the garbage bin with a socked foot, and promptly froze. 

Part of him cringed at the clang the dropped plates made on the counter, but the louder part of him was just repeating a mantra of ‘holy shit, holy shit, holy shit’ and it was considerably out-screaming the other. Hands now shaking, Roman picked up the small box from the sink edge, ignoring the dried, crunchy texture of more tomato sauce on the outside, and opened it. 

It took every ounce of strength for Roman not to collapse to his knees, guilt instantly crushing the air from his lungs, a thousand times heavier than it had been before. An elaborate dinner, a ring… there had been a plan. That’s why Virgil had rejected his offer to go out. 

And he’d been such a dick to him. 

Speaking of which, where was he?

Roman closed the box and set it back where it had been. Their bedroom door was slightly ajar, and the most obvious place Virgil would be, so he padded over and creaked it open just a bit more. The light from the hallway cast a beam onto the bed, illuminating first a mess of hastily thrown clothes; his button up shirt he only used for fancy occasions on top of the pile. 

Virgil’s huddled form was easy to make out, curled away from the door, his only movement being the steady rise and fall of the blanket as he breathed. Figaro lifted his head from where he was settled in the crook of Virgil’s knees and gave Roman an indifferent mrow. 

He couldn’t get into bed with him. There was no scenario where that was the right move. It wasn’t the right time to talk about what had happened, not so late and when they were both riding high on emotions and tiredness, so accidentally waking Virgil was not the way to go. And even if he was sneaky enough to not wake him… a part of him just felt it was wrong. Not when he didn’t know Virgil’s stance on him at the moment.

Or his stance on the relationship.

Well, couch it was. He acknowledged the crumpled weighted blanket and sound blocking headphones- clear aftermath of a bad panic attack- with a quiet curse. Somehow that pit in his stomach got even bigger, making him nauseous as his shame took a physical form. 

He could only pray that they would come back from this. 

Roman’s sleep was fitful, to say the least. At best, he drifted into a state of half-consciousness, where his thoughts could be somewhat quieted down, but the discomfort of the couch and the heavy weight in his heart were still palpable. Inevitably, one of their neighbors would make a noise or the building would make a settling creak or a distant dog would bark, and the state would be broken, leaving Roman wide awake and wracked with guilt once more. He’d never noticed how loud the world was until he wanted nothing more than for the noise to stop. 

The sun was just peaking into the window when their bedroom door widened and Roman flew up, using the back of the couch to steady his sudden sitting position. When their eyes met from across the room, Virgil in his pajamas and face hidden in shadow, a tenseness settled over the room that neither had experienced in their relationship thus far. Virgil froze in the doorway, wavering slightly. It didn’t appear he wanted to be the one to break the silence. 

Roman stood slowly, as though not to spook him.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Virgil whispered with a sniff, and even in that one word Roman could hear the scratchiness of his voice. “I just...uhm,” He cleared his throat, “I just wanted to get some water. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was already awake. No… no worries.” 

Virgil looked down to his feet. “When did you come back?”

“I think just before ten.”

“‘Kay.”

For an all too long moment, both of them seemed to find interest in every part of the room that wasn’t the other’s eyes. It wasn’t until Roman looked towards the kitchen in his awkwardness did he process what Virgil had come out for. 

“I’ll, um…” He pointed weakly to the kitchen and finally convinced his feet to move, filling up a glass from the sink while making a conscious effort to not look at the dishes or wasted food from the evening before. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the way his gaze drifted towards the box sitting next to the tap, and judging by Virgil’s sharp inhale, the look hadn’t been subtle. 

He took the glass back to the other, watching him take it with an uncomfortable, “Thanks.”

Virgil downed the glass in one go, his shaking hands almost causing him to spill. He barely had time to take a breath before Roman had zipped the empty glass back onto the counter.

“Do you want more?” He asked, already refilling the glass.

“No, I’m… it’s okay.” 

Roman placed the full glass on the counter quietly and the two were swallowed by heavy silence once again. The clock ticked impossibly loud as they stood, fidgeting, wanting this moment to be over but not wanting to be the one to start it. 

Virgil took a shuddering breath and wrung his hands together.

Roman stared resolutely at a single water drop making its way down the glass.

This was his fault. He’d started it. It seemed only right that he break the tension that almost suffocated him, so even as his mind screamed for him to shut up and every muscle in his body turned to liquid, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Virgil, I-”

“I’m sorry.”

That effectively stopped Roman in his tracks. All night, he’d crafted a collection of apologies, from eloquent monologues to stumbling pleas for forgiveness, but in not one of his countless scenarios had Virgil apologized. 

“I know… I know I can be a lot to handle, I know, I swear. And I was more outgoing when we first met, because I thought I had something to prove and it always exhausted me and I hated it but then we became… I don’t know, official? And closer and… and more comfortable and I didn’t think I had to do that anymore, I didn’t have to keep pushing myself so far!”

“V, stop-”

“The panic attacks and the anxiety and all that shit are a lot for other people and I know that but I didn’t know it was too much for you, I didn’t know you were tired of that and I can be better, I swear, I swear I can go back to how I was in the beginning, just please don’t leave.”

Virgil let out a choked sob and Roman couldn’t stop himself from rushing forward, intent on holding his stupid, stupid boyfriend until he realized this was in no way his fault, only for Virgil to back up before he could do so.

“I’m- I’m not trying to guilt you, I’m sorry, I just, I love you, and I can be better, I can, just give me a chance, please-”

“Virgil, baby, come here.”

This time when he reached forward, Virgil allowed himself to be pulled into his boyfriend’s chest, basically collapsing against him as soon as Roman’s arms tightened around him. The dam broke moments later and Virgil finally let go of his own hands to grab the back of Roman’s shirt with a sense of urgency.

“Please don’t leave, I’m so sorry,” he begged raspily into Roman’s shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

Roman hung onto him almost as tightly in return, rocking them back and forth, finally allowing himself to cry. He shoved his face into Virgil’s hair, peppering small kisses and apologies to the crown of his head in between sobs. 

Virgil whined when Roman finally pulled away, but he didn’t go far, cradling his boyfriend’s face in his hands and wiping his tacky cheeks with his thumbs.

“Virgil, I cannot apologize enough for yesterday.”

“What are-” he hiccuped, “What are you talking about? It was my fault.���

“No, no, no no no no no,” Roman whispered, fighting that damn lump in his throat once more. “I had a spectacularly shitty day, and I took it out on you. I was leagues out of line. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m so, so unbelievably sorry.” 

As if the strings were cut on a marionette, all the tenseness dissolved from Virgil’s shoulders and he slumped forward, bumping his head weakly into Roman’s chest. “Can we sit down?”

“Yeah, of course.” Roman clumsily led him to the couch and sat on the adjacent cushion, assuming that if Virgil wanted to talk, he’d want his own space. His assumption was incorrect, however, judging by how Virgil crossed the space almost instantly and buried himself in Roman’s side like a koala. He shifted them both until he was laying on his back, Virgil splayed across him .

“I thought you’d be more upset with me,” He muttered, freeing his hand to run it through Virgil’s hair. His fingers raked through his own tears trapped in the locks and he grimaced.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling right now,” responded Virgil, accompanied by a shuddering breath, “I just need to know that you’re really here. And I need you.”

They were quiet for a moment, watching the sun begin to peek through their window, until Virgil spoke again sardonically.

“If this is a dream, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Roman snorted despite himself and felt Virgil’s responding half-laugh from where he was tucked against him.  

“I agree. I thought I’d fucked up for good this time.”

A disgruntled meow made Roman crane his neck over the couch, watching Figaro stretch languidly in their bedroom doorway. The cat sidled over to his food bowl and sat pointedly next to it. Feed me. 

“Later, Figaro,” Roman groaned, all too comfortable with Virgil as his blanket. A small part of him was worried that if he moved them at all, the spell would be broken, and they’d lose whatever peace they’d settled into. 

Well, that wouldn’t do at all, not by Figaro’s standards. The cat gave an upset mewl and trotted over to the couch, leaping up with grace and batting Virgil’s legs. It was that pettish action that made Roman realize that Virgil had turned stone still on his lap. Figaro changed his approach to headbutting at his arm in a clear attempt to get pets, but Virgil’s hand stayed still by their sides. 

“What’s going through your head?” Roman murmured. 

“That stuff you said, about me… not contributing to the relationship…” Virgil croaked, and Roman stilled,  “What can I do to-… to fix that? Because I wanna fix it.”

“Baby, no,” Roman whispered, that shame-nausea returning, “I-” He groaned, dropping his head onto the arm of the couch behind him, “I was being an asshole. I didn’t mean that.”

Virgil didn’t budge, still deliberately ignoring Figaro’s futile begging for attention. “Then where did it come from?”

He took a breath deep enough that Virgil rose and fell with his chest, and Roman was struck with the profound urge to pull him closer and never let him go. But that would likely make him feel trapped, and that wasn’t productive. “You remember when I dragged you to that improv show my students put on last year?”

“You introduced me as your boyfriend and we found out the class had placed bets on whether you were gay or not. I don’t know how it wasn’t obvious.”

Roman gasped in mock offense. “Maybe they just were trying not to stereotype!”

“Your phone case is a rainbow-”

“Anyways!” He interrupted, resuming his gentle threading through Virgil’s hair, who snorted but otherwise gave in to the affection. “Remember what happened after?”

“Mmhm.”

It had been a fantastic show, and Roman had been exceedingly proud of his little students, especially since it was his first time ever teaching a class. After the night, when the betting chaos had settled and everyone quickly adopted Virgil as theirs now, they’d pleaded to play a few more improv games before the theatre closed. Seeing as it was their last class, hence the performance in the first place, Roman had acquiesced. But neither of the men had expected for the gang of pre-teens to latch onto Virgil and beg him to play too, despite him having zero theatre experience. 

“Remember what they said?”

“They tried to pack all your lectures into five minutes of information.”

“I don’t lecture, I dazzle.” 

“They thought you were straight.” 

“Only some, and that’s not the point!”

Virgil finally lifted his head, pulling his hands up so he could lay his chin on top of them. He smiled weakly. “Then what is the point?”

“The most important rule of improv is to keep the scene going. No matter what nonsense you have to pull out, just never leave a scene flat.”

There was a quiet moment while the other processed that before, once again, that layer of hurt reappeared on his face. He pushed himself off Roman’s chest in preparation to get up. “So… you’re saying you saw that argument as another scene you had to keep up.”

“No, shit, that came out wrong,” Roman insisted, and Virgil paused suspiciously, “I’m saying, that in a moment of panic, I fell back on bullshitting my way through it! That’s literally what I do for a living!” 

The distrust gave way to resignment and Virgil chewed on his cheek, turning his attention to the window. He sat all the way up on Roman’s legs, leaning back on his shins. “How do I know you’re not bullshitting me right now?” He said. 

“Because,” Roman followed him up, careful not to move his legs and dislodge his boyfriend, “You know I like when the bed is made, and even though you hate making it, you always do when I’m out of the house before you.”

Virgil looked down at his thumb.

“Because you let me choose the music in the car.”

“... you don’t like loud music,” He muttered, picking at the skin around his cuticle.

“You adjust your work schedule to come to every single one of my shows.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, but you hate working mornings. You let me rant about all my theatre stuff, even if you don’t get any of it.”

“I’m learning.” A faint smile was breaking through.

“You tell me when there’s spinach in my teeth, or my hair is messy, or if I’m acting like an asshole.”

“Well, that’s easy enough.”

Roman reciprocated the smile at that, taking Virgil’s hands in his own to stop the attack at his nail. “I’ve been watching you better yourself for years, even if it’s been really, really hard.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Virgil asked with a small blush, switching his fidgeting tactic to fiddling with Roman’s fingers. 

“Every time you do something that betters yourself, you help us, Virgil.” He leaned forward slowly, giving Virgil the time to move away if he wanted to, and rested their foreheads together. “Yesterday, I fucked up. Badly. You said you were anxious and I still acted like a dick. I kinda thought you’d hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” Virgil whispered, seemingly before he had a chance to process it, because his blush multiplied tenfold. Roman grinned. 

“Aw, is someone feeling sappy?”

“Shut up, jackass,” He retorted, bonking their heads together ever so gently. 

“I’m so sorry, Virgil,” Roman said after their giggles and blushes had faded, “It won’t happen again, I swear.” 

In lieu of answering, Virgil closed the already scant distance between their lips, and despite Roman using all of his self control to not sigh into it, he found himself doing so anyways. All the tension bled out of his shoulders at once as Virgil pulled away, pressing one more peck to the tip of his nose, and then leaning back with a small smile. 

“So… that means we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

“Thank god,” Roman groaned, flopping back and dropping his arm over his eyes dramatically. He heard Virgil’s quiet snicker before he resumed his job as a blanket. Except this time, instead of nuzzling his head into Roman’s neck, he could feel the distinct edge of a chin digging into his sternum.

The hand lifted from his eyes to see Virgil staring at him, that goofy little smirk on his face. 

“What?”

“I love you, idiot.”

Well, now they were wearing matching goofy little smirks. 

“I love you too.” 

That seemed to satiate him, because he gave a little nod and laid his head more comfortably on the other’s chest. He could have left the conversation there, content to just let them lay there in peace until the world fell away- or Figaro grew more insistent on being fed- but Roman just couldn’t banish the one persistent thought in the back of his mind. 

“Were you actually going to propose?” He blurted.

Virgil tensed for a moment, and then gave a resigned sigh. “...Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Roman furrowed his eyebrows, desperately hoping he sounded casual, though his heart was pounding far too loudly to not be heard, “I would have said yes. If you did.”

“Oh?” Virgil lifted his head. “You’re blushing, Princey.” He could hear the smug grin.

“Nooo…” Roman whined. His arm draped once more over his eyes in a weak attempt to hide the redness, but he drew it away only moments later when Virgil didn’t retort. 

The man was staring at him with an odd mix of disappointment and amusement, huffing out a breath as he watched Roman’s eyes.

“This wasn’t how I was planning to propose,” He sighed, “It was supposed to be all perfect, and romantic, and stuff. And the surprise is ruined now.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Roman, continuing before Virgil could cut him off, “If it’s any consolation, I think a proposal in our pajamas, on the couch, would be very us.”

“You’re not in pajamas.”

“I slept in these clothes, they count as pajamas.”

Virgil snickered. Roman counted five breaths as the other’s face melted from a smile to anxiously knit brows, worrying his lip between his teeth as he looked down at him. It took another three for him to speak.

 “So…uh... will you…?”

Roman’s face split into a grin, “Yes, Virgil. Obviously.” 

Virgil’s expression morphed to match his and he swooped down to kiss him again, though they barely could with how much they were smiling. They both devolved into giggles, happy to just stay wrapped in each other’s arms, until Virgil broke away with a gasp.

“Let me grab the ring!”

“Ring can wait,” Roman argued, tightening his grip around his waist to keep him in place, “I want cuddles.”

And so they did.

Taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

@marshymoop

@larkiaquail

@noemiescuriosity

@mycatshuman

@cirishere

@vpow

@ray-does-stuff

@sirprplsnail

[youalexturnermeon]

Hi! Hope you're well 😊

Can I request a Cobra Kai Johnny imagine? Its Johnny patching up the reader, maybe after a fight with Kreese or something like that? Thank you 😁

Request: see above

A/N: I decided to leave Kreese out of it because even the littlest thought of this man gives me high blood pressure. Also this has gotten very long but I tried to warn that the topic of being patched up by Johnny has been living in my head rentfree for a while. That’s why I got carried away. Enjoy your daily dose of one shot.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, alcohol angst and fluff

Wordcount: 2078 (oopsies)

Johnny was your neighbour, you moved in, right next door, a couple of months ago. So far, nothing more nothing less. Except the fact that you had the biggest crush on him, and he wasn’t that opposed to you either. Especially when he took his time got ready to go after his Karate classes when the Yoga group arrived to which he sublet his dojo and he stayed behind, sitting in his office, door open watching you, bent over, doing the most complicated figures ha had ever seen. Johnny thought Yoga was the biggest bullshit on earth, fuck Namaste and such, but when you were doing it right in front his thirsty eyes, he didn’t even need TV. He thought you were super-hot. The problem was that he was much older than you. And besides your Yoga passion and your joint love for beer that you sometimes had together, sitting on the ground in front of the apartment complex, he knew almost nothing about you. He wished he did, even more when you once caught him eyeing you doing the Downward Dog on the mat and instead of giving him the finger for being a creep you winked at him and grinned. That made him crazy. But he was too afraid to make a move, because, let’s be honest, you were young, you were beautiful, you were extremely hot – what the fuck should you do with an old man like him, to begin with. Johnny thought, you could have anyone you wanted, someone younger, taller, fitter, more buff than him.

Right now, Johnny was sitting on the ground in front of his apartment, a beer in his hand, a couple of spear ones just in case, thinking about the last time you sat here next to him, hoping you would come out your door or back from work joining him, just to talk and to drink. A few weeks ago, around that time, you just finished work, you were tired and angry in desperate need of a drink, you sat down to him and you shared that you were a barista at Starbucks, how much you hated some customers, how years ago you moved here to go to college and how you dropped out of it three years later, simple small talk getting superficially deeper with an increased number of beers. These were little things, but Johnny was longing for more of those, sitting waiting for this occasion to repeat itself. He wanted to know everything about you and unlike with other people he wanted to share his life with you, too.

After some time, Johnny, realizing how desperate and stupid he was, now acting like a teenager again, suddenly saw your silhouette in the dark, coming closer. His excitement grew, his heart started beating faster and as much as he hated it, his palms became all sweaty. He wated to jump up, run towards you, but he pulled himself together and just sat still, focusing on a little bug crawling on the ground, not daring to look up again

“Hi, Johnny” you said, sounding exhausted, when you finally approached him and heavily sat down, opening a beer without asking. Johnny was about to greet you back when he looked up from his stupid little insect friend, as he saw your roughed-up condition. His excitement vanished and glanced at you in utter horror. Your long (Y/H/C) hair was all messy, the collar of what has once been a shirt was ripped and hung loosely down your shoulder and when he inspected your face, he gulped. Right on your perfect cheekbone was a fresh bleeding wound surrounded by a huge flowering purple bruise. Your pretty face now twisted to a grimace from pain.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), what happened to you?” he asked perplexed, examining your whole body for other injuries he might’ve still not noticed yet.

You shook your head and grinned, “Nothing special, ran into my ex who was the reason I moved to the other side of town, he found out where I was working and decided to pick me up, apparently. He insists I still owe him money, which I don’t. And when I told him this we got into a little fight.”

“Did he do this to you?” Johnny pointed at your face and your now rugged shirt, him voice was filled with fury, he was right about to jump up and hunt that motherfucker down.

“Yeah, but you should’ve seen him when I was finished with him.”

Johnny was surprised how easily you took a big fat black eye, not voicing your pain, laughing away the fight with your ex.

“I kicked his ass!”

Johnny looked at your hands, eyes narrowed. And indeed, all signs showed him that you were able to fight back. Carefully he took your hand in his, making sure he would not hurt you anymore and pulled it closer to his face. Your knuckles were just as the right side of your face, bloody and bruised. You shivered under his touch but for the first time in what seemed to you like forever since you bumped into your ex, you felt your body relaxing. The tension in your shoulders vanishing just because Johnny held your hand in yours so softly. His own were rough from all the training but it felt so good.

“I’m no little bitch, I took a few boxing lessons when I was a teenager” you explained, “When he pulled my shirt, I slapped him, when he started hitting me, I started hitting him back hard, I still got it, then I kicked him in the nuts and managed to run away”

“I’m so, so, so happy to hear to nothing worse happened to you. Next time you see that jerk, you call me, okay? Or when you are afraid to go home by yourself, call me and I pick you up, I bring you home. When I ever see your ex somewhere near here or you, I’m gonna make sure, he’s never gonna touch you or come near you ever again. I’ll even kill that motherfucker for you!”

You laughed and looked into his piercing blue eyes who still showed so much worry and you knew, he was being dead serious.

“Thank you, Johnny!” you whispered, your hand still in his and yet you couldn’t help yourself to make a joke because you could not bear being too serious about your situation right now. You were not used to someone care about you too much.

“But do you think you could manage? Would you be able to kick his ass?” “Is me being a sensei at the dojo you do your stupid yoga in a joke to you, (Y/N)” Johnny said protectively but he too, was glad you could joke right now.

“That stupid yoga you always check my ass out thinking you’re so hidden in your office?”

“Well…” Johnny scratched his head and looked into the air thinking of an even pettier response than yours, but he couldn’t think of any “You got me there”

“I’m actually flattered” you admitted. Until now you weren’t so sure it was you, he was watching so closely.

“Great, now you only have to admit that you are checking me out as well when you’re done with Yoga and I’m leading a class.” You shrugged, “I sometimes do, I love myself a good-looking man who is great with shitty children” Johnny taking another sip of his beer almost choked on it. He was not expecting THAT.

“Alright, good to have this one settled” he said trying to play it cool “Now let’s go patch you up a little”

Without any hesitation or even backtalk which Johnny actually was expecting to get, you followed him and into his apartment. He sat you down on the couch with a new beer in your hand and disappeared into his bedroom.

“Are there any other injuries I should know about?” he yelled whilst rummaging in every cupboard.

“Well, besides my depression, I guess the bastard also managed to kick me in the ribs. Some ice would be great”

Johnny wasn’t even sure he had a first-aid kit somewhere, he wasn’t even sure he ever owned one. Ice would also be a problem, but he thought, a bag of frozen peas or a steak would do, too. After a little search he finally stood with a clean towel, a bottle of vodka and some band aids in front of you again. Firstly, he gave you the peas.

“Show me your ribs” he commanded, and you lifted your ripped shirt. Your complete left side was crowned by an even bigger and darker bruise than the one on your face. He was concerned and hoped nothing was broken and yet he almost shivered seeing your bare skin. To him, you were the most beautiful thing in the whole world right now, even with your beaten face.

“Looks bad” he said and sighed as he sat down next to you and watched you putting the bag of frozen vegetables on your ribs, you hissed.

“It’s nothing. They’re not broken. Broken ribs hurt like hell and this is really nothing compared to that.” Johnny lifted his eyebrows in question.

“I broke my ribs a couple of times” “So you’re a tough cookie?” “You’re not the only tough guy on the block, sensei. I’m not a pussy.” you laughed and friendly nudged him with your elbow. He loved when you called him sensei. And he was excited about the fact that your language was so similar to his. He started to like you even more than he already did.

“Aright, alright. If this is nothing, let’s take care of your face then.”

He turned to you, in his hand the towel now soaked in vodka. He cleaned the crusted blood from your knuckles first. Then, he took a deep breath, he carefully started dabbing the cut on your face. You clenched your teeth but didn’t make a sound.

“Good girl” he said, “No bitching or moaning, that’s good!”

You just watched his face, being just inches away from your own. You saw his concern; you saw that he cared, and your heart started pounding. Your glance followed his toned arms, eyeing his muscles, tensing under his motions. And when you looked at his eyes you saw that they were the bluest blue you have ever seen; you were about to pass out. He was so concentrated; he didn’t even notice you staring at him like a crazy person falling in love. It was only, when he finished sticking the band aid to your face, he realized you looked him straight in the eyes.

He said nothing, you two were just stuck in this moment, sitting on the couch, so close your legs touched, looking at each other, your face so close to him, he felt your hot breath. And then, something in him snapped. He wanted to kiss you!

“I’m gonna kiss you now, (Y/N)!”, he immediately voiced his thought and stroked your unharmed cheek, not asking for permission, just announcing what he was about to do.

“Yeah?” you managed to breath out almost completely silent. And the answer crushed promptly down on you. You closed your eyes and instantly felt soft lips on yours. Johnny, your neighbour Johnny, the Johnny who was so much older than you, the Johnny who you were crushing on since the moment he helped carry your boxes, was finally kissing you. The bag of peas slipped out of your hands and you let them rest on his thighs. Johnny was pulling you closer to his chest until there wasn’t any space left between you two. He was urging and yet so gentle, doing everything to not hurt you. He caressed your back, his left hand dug into your messy hair giving it a slight tug, but not once did his lips leave yours. After what seemed an eternity and yet just a second, he let go of you and pressed his forehead onto yours, out of breath, smiling because he just couldn’t keep himself from not doing it. You joined him.

“You’re gonna go out with me some time now, right?”, he asked laughing in disbelief of his own courage and what it have brought him. Now this question seemed so easy.

“Yeah, pick me up after my yoga lesson tomorrow” you giggled, “Maybe you’ll get another look at my ass”

“You bet!”

[shwazzberryswriting]

Convenience

Pairing: Jaehyun x Original Female Character | Reader

Genre: Angst with Fluff and Smut

Summary: Jaehyun is feeling depressed after a breakup ------- Written from a prompt: *Must be about Jaehyun *Use these words (random word generator): -slice -lid -restless

Word Count: 2,007

Rating: Mature, explicit sexual content

Author's Note: Another Random Word Generator Challenge with a friend. This is the first Jaehyun fic I've ever written. Please enjoy!

----------

    Jaehyun brushed his hair out of his eyes as he stared at his empty fridge. He’d forgotten to buy groceries. Shutting the fridge door, he gathered his things to make a trip to the convenience store a few blocks away. He couldn’t sleep anyway. Despite having felt justified in his recent breakup, he’d spent a couple weeks feeling his mood shift, and now he was left with a dread, a realization that he’d let something vital go. The first month of smug vindication had spoiled into a restless depression.

    Everything felt grey, and he shook his head in annoyance as he realized his hat and his face mask were grey. He was literally turning himself grey. The late spring night was humid, though Jaehyun felt a cold thunderstorm brew inside of him. He felt like the sad Zoloft ball in the American ads that he’d seen on TV when he was a kid. There was a cloud that followed the lump of sadness and poured rain on it and nowhere else, a summation of his life.

    He strolled lazily through the drinks, staring carefully at every bottle he came across. He could have gone to the convenience store just across the street from his apartment complex, but there was a slim chance that his ex would show up at the convenience store he took the extra 5 minutes to walk to. She worked the night shift, and they had originally met at the convenience store when she’d gotten off work to grab a snack and he’d been on his way home from a night out drinking with friends.

    Kimi had been flirting with the cashier, having left her wallet at home, going so far as to sit on the counter and crossing her legs as she asked the cashier if she could pay him back the next evening. The cashier, a college student who looked tired and worn down with his job, simply told her to get off the counter and stated that he could not give out things for free. It was what she did when she’d gotten off the counter that convinced Jaehyun to ask her out on a date.

    “I refuse to stop my performance until you give me this bottle of Coke,” she’d said. With a soft, “5, 6, 7, 8,” she began dancing, and though he had no idea who she was at the time he instantly recognized her dance moves. She was stepping well in line to the big final dance to the song “All That Jazz” from the musical Chicago. He’d auditioned for it just a month prior.

    The playful, spontaneous approach to solving her problems had been great until she would run out of laughs and fun problem solving skills. Kimi would bury her anger or frustrations, something that Jaehyun did as well, so after 6 months of dating, their built-up frustrations blew the lid off their tension when she’d accused him of being selfish. Thinking about how he’d rolled his eyes when he responded that he didn’t care what she thought of him, he let the uncomfortable guilt in his gut freeze up like a large block of ice, knowing he shouldn’t have been so dismissive with her.

    Drinking his Milkis at the front of the store, Jaehyun leaned up against the wall and stared up at the lamp at the corner of the street nearby. His lips were silently moving as he recollected the lyrics to an old Ray Charles song he used to listen to when he’d stand in the same spot, waiting for Kimi to arrive at the bus stop at the end of the street. The happy tune of the song was a reminder of what was lacking in his life though, so he stopped thinking of the song, and took a deep breath before taking his phone out of his pocket to look at the time. He immediately shoved his phone back into his pocket as he saw Kimi step out of the bus that arrived at the end of the street. He caught her attention immediately, and she ran a hand through her hair before taking a few steps closer to him.

    “How have you been?” he asked.

    “Shitty,” she replied. “Still trying to get over a shitty ex who didn’t show up to dinner with my mom for her birthday.”

    Wordlessly, she walked into the store, and Jaehyun realized he’d been foolish to wait to see her. He didn’t remember his walk home, but he’d regretted not buying any alcohol when he sat down at his kitchen table. The motion of her fingers tucking her hair behind her ear was ingrained in his head, and the Ray Charles song was blaring loudly from his phone as he ate his sandwich. In the middle of his third bite, Jaehyun felt like chewing was too much work and didn’t want to eat anymore. His phone vibrated loudly against the table, distracting him from his sad late-night snack, and he picked it up to see that Kimi had texted him two simple words.

Kimi: come over

    After tossing the sandwich into his fridge, Jaehyun rushed to his bathroom to freshen up before rushing over to Kimi’s apartment. He hummed along to his playlist as he walked to her place, a 15 minutes’ walk from his place. The humidity felt more pleasant as his cheeks were hurting and he touched them, realizing his lips were curved up into a smile, something he hadn’t done for at least a week. It was possible that Kimi was inviting him over to finalize their breakup, but Jaehyun knew this was his last chance at apologizing for hurting her.

    Deciding that his first words to her would be, “Thank you for inviting me over, please hear me out, because I want to apologize,” Jaehyun knocked on the door to her apartment. When the door opened, Kimi was wearing one of Jaehyun’s old black tshirts with her red silk shorts that barely covered her ass cheeks, and he blanked, letting her take his hand as she led him inside.

    She pulled his jacket off his shoulders as he leaned down to kiss her. After shaking his jacket off, his hands grabbed her ass cheeks, kneading them with his large hands, and they moaned into each other’s mouths as she walked backwards, leading them to her bed. Her lips were softer and sweeter than he remembered, and he groaned as his tongue pushed into her mouth, licking the roof of her mouth. Her right leg hooked over his left leg as he pressed his body over hers to lay her down on her back.

    “I’m so sorry, baby,” he said when they broke from their kiss, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to say sorry every day.”

    “Fuck now, talk later?” she said breathlessly in return. She moaned as he slid his hand down between her legs and rubbed his palm up against her clothed heat.

    “I can live with that,” he replied. He smiled down at her as his middle finger pushed up against the silk fabric of her shorts and he felt for her clit. He kissed her as he used two fingers to rub against her slit. Her shorts were quickly dampening, and he moaned into her lips as he felt himself start to grow hard.

    He laid down onto his back when they’d taken each other’s clothes off, and he could barely whimper out her name when she’d taken his cock into her hands and bent down to kiss his shaft. Nodding, his hands ran through her hair, and he held her hair in one hand as he watched her lick his balls, the warmth of her tongue and the gentle suction of her mouth on his sensitive skin sent waves of pleasure up into his stomach causing him to whimper.

    Her hand wrapped around his shaft and she pumped it as her mouth moved up to wrap around the head of his cock. The noises she made as she sucked on the mushroomed head caused him to whimper again and he jerked his hips up, surprising her. She licked the tip of his cock a few times before taking it out of her mouth and she smiled at him as she sat up and moved to straddle him.

    She hooked her legs over his, so her feet were tucked under his thighs, spreading her legs wide as she angled his cock up against her entrance. Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows were furrowed slightly as she looked down at him. He sat up, and dipped down to kiss her breast before he flicked her nipple with his tongue. One arm wrapped around her waist while the other grabbed her breast and he massaged it, groaning as he felt his cock grow warmer and his blood rushed faster when her hips thrust against his body in reaction to what he was doing.

    Raking her nipple with his teeth, Jaehyun chuckled as Kimi moaned loudly, throwing her head back. She gave a dry laugh, and used one hand to grab his cock and directed it toward her entrance. He watched her close her eyes as she pushed his cock into her. She was tight, and wet, and he moaned into her neck as he kissed her skin. His hold on her waist tightened as he thrust his hips forward.

    She cursed as he filled her up. Both of his arms wrapped around her body and he kissed her neck before his tongue licked where he felt her pulse. He sucked on her neck, and she moaned as one hand grabbed his hair and held on tight. She groaned as she thrust her hips back and forth in a shallow rhythm, the small friction sending Jaehyun onto the edge as he felt his balls burn up.

    His hold loosened and he moved his hands to her hips as he took over their rhythm, making the thrusts rougher and deeper. With every thrust in, Jaehyun groaned when the walls of Kimi’s pussy would shake, a sign that her orgasm was begging to come. He gave a handful of hard fast thrusts, and bit down on his bottom lip as her arms wrapped around his neck and she thrust into him as she rode out her orgasm.

    He panted in shallow breaths as he held her close, seeking for his release as her pussy squeezed his cock tight. She kissed him and began thrusting her hips fast, making him come soon after. They broke their kiss when he gave one last push into her. Their arms were wrapped around each other when they were lying in bed together. This was a slice of heaven Jaehyun thought he’d never get to see again, and so he kissed the temple of Kimi’s head before brushing her hair out of her face.

    “I missed you,” he spoke up first.

    “I wish you would have told me sooner,” she replied. “I’m sorry if I was pressuring you to get serious.”

    “I’m sorry I was too chickenshit to be a better boyfriend,” he said. He kissed her. “You didn’t pressure me. Meeting your mom scared me, and I acted like an asshole.”

    “I missed you,” she said, sitting up. She brushed the front of his hair and ran a finger down his cheek. “You still have a lot to make up for.”

    “I will,” he said, nodding. He ran a hand down his stomach, tempting her to come back into his arms. She rested her back against his body, and he turned his body in to spoon her before kissing her shoulder. “First thing tomorrow, breakfast in bed, and I’ll make you your favorite breakfast food.”

    “Sounds like an excuse to keep me in bed all morning,” she said, intertwining her fingers with his.

    “Forecast says it’ll rain all morning,” he said lazily, shutting his eyes. “We might as well spend all morning in bed if it’s going to be grey outside.”

----

Thank you again! Have a good day!

[hisunshiine]

—work out for me (M) jjk

🏋🏻‍♂️Part of the “Making You Sweat Like That” Collaboration 

🏋🏻‍♂️pairing: neighbor!gymrat!jungkook x neighbor!reader

🏋🏻‍♂️word count: 3.2k

🏋🏻‍♂️genre + warning: 18+, nsfw, post breakup au, strangers/neighbors to lovers | mean ex-boyfriend, semi-public unprotected sex, wet sex, submerged sex, hot tub sex, kissing, groping, semi-clothed humping, teasing, sucking, biting, & marking, praise, scratching, creampie, post-sex cockwarming, jungkook has a fat cock

🏋🏻‍♂️summary: after a bad breakup, you move to a new apartment complex with a full gym and amenities. wanting to catch the eye of your very fit, across-the-hall neighbor, you start using the gym hoping to see him there. when he shows up to the gym and asks to join you, working out takes on a new meaning. 

🏋🏻‍♂️an: this is a revamp of my original story from june of last year! i hope you enjoy the additions/changes made to the story, and please await the sister gym-fics for this special collab, coming soon!

collab masterlist coming soon!

“Who would want you!?” Changkyun says icily. He’s yelling as you walk with the last of your belongings out of the once shared apartment. You cringe, hoping the neighbors are at work or just out in general.

“Clearly you wanted me, Changkyun. I’m sorry that we’re not working anymore… But I can’t do this anymore.” You keep your voice steady, not raising it like you want to. He’s also lucky that your hands are full carrying this box, or else you would have already swung on him. But you know it’s best this way.

His toxic ass loves a fight, loves to create drama in your relationship because of the thrill of making up. Make up sex with Changkyun may be fun, but the rest of the relationship had gone stale a while ago. And you’re tired of fighting.

The last argument, he had taken it too far, so you’re done. You realize as you load your car that he finally caught on. You’re leaving him for good this time, and his fragile ego can’t handle the fact that you’re the one who is making the decision to leave. 

He hopes that by insulting you he can get you to stop and face him. But you won’t make that mistake. You know he will use it to his advantage, turn it into hot, passionate sex, but you want more than just make up sex and drama.

“I can have any girl, YN! I’ll get someone better than you!”

“I’m sure you can have any girl. But I’m not just any girl.” You climb into the driver’s seat of your car, finally making eye contact with him one last time. “Good luck finding a woman like me. I truly wish you all the best.”

Swinging the door shut in his face, you back out your 4-door sedan and head out towards your new apartment in Itaewon.

The new Itaewon apartment is nice, with two bedrooms and one bathroom, you have ample space for all of your belongings. It feels a little empty that first week, and despite having had a tour prior to moving in, you are still not ready to use the facility's amenities fully. The tour showcased that the apartment had a computer lab, a pool, a game room, gym & sauna, and a small theatre room.

Scattered around between apartment buildings are a volleyball court, basketball court, and picnic area. You’re within walking distance to some of the more popular places to hang out for young adults your age, but have yet to go out and enjoy the nightlife.

Running down to your car, where you have left that last box after your encounter with Changkyun—files for a work project forgotten in the backseat—you spy the hot man who lives somewhere in your building. He’s walking back from the gym, shirt dark from sweat in spots as he carries a small gym bag on his shoulder. He’s staring at his phone; strands of his hair slick from perspiration block his eyes but the smile as he sees something on the screen gives you that funny feeling in your tummy. He’s absolutely gorgeous.

You pass him by, noting that his scent is still fresh despite the fact that he has to have just finished a vigorous workout, but due to the deadline on your report, you don’t have the time to linger in his fragrance that fills the narrow hall. You jog back into the building, and when you approach your door, you ascertain fate is on your side. 

Apartment 613, directly across the hall from you, has the door propped open by a gym bag—one you recognize easily, since you had just seen it only a mere minute and a half ago. When a dark head of hair pops between the opening, bending at the waist to grasp the handle and pull the bag in, and you dart into your own apartment.

 You feel like a blushing schoolgirl avoiding her crush, but his aura is intimidating to you. Maybe one day you’ll gather the courage to talk to him, but not just yet.

“What about, I don't know, making a change?”

Your best guy friend’s voice crackles through the phone line as you tidy up your living room. You hold your phone between your shoulder and your ear, keeping your hands free so that you are able to fluff the couch pillows and fold the throw blanket you fell asleep using on the couch. 

“Okay Hoseok, what change do you suggest that I make? I already dropped 169 pounds of toxic ex. I feel like that’s pretty healthy.”

“Why not just go to the gym and use that to burn off all your pent up sexual frustration. You hurt Yoongi’s feelings the other night when you wouldn’t listen to his new track. You’re mean when you aren’t getting dick constantly.”

“Wow, thanks Hobi. Love you too.”

“See. Your sarcasm did not go unnoticed, hun. I’m just saying. Until you can get worked out… work out.”

“I know.” You let out a sigh, defeated. “I stopped going to the gym once I started dating Kyun, spending more time at home acting like a wife, when I knew he was too much of a player to ever settle down for real.” You glance to your front door, imagining 613 dripping with sweat. “I guess I could take your advice.”

“First time for everything.”

“Who the fuck decided going to the gym that their apartment complex provides at the same time, 7PM to 8PM every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday is a good idea?” you huff under your breath. It’s Friday night, and while most people your age are out on dates, cuddled up watching Netflix, or taking shots pregaming, you’re working up a sweat on the elliptical. The gym is normally empty at this time of night, nearing 8PM, and you aren’t feeling all that motivated. So why are you still there?

After moving into your new place, a couple weeks after leaving your longest relationship, you’re ready to be all about you. That’s why you decide to create a gym routine and stick to it, to reclaim your self-esteem your shitty ex had knocked down a peg or two. You didn’t realize how much of what he would say during fights started to become the voice in your head, until he was gone and unable to quiet the ache between your thighs and in your mind.

You’re ready to quit your gym regiment after the first week. 

That is until your hot neighbor appears as you’re about to throw the towel in. 

Hottie from apartment 613 walks in, black hair pushed away from his forehead but still extra floofy, a black tee and black joggers hanging loose off his lean frame. The fluorescent lights glint off the metal earrings dangling from each ear, and his eyebrow; you are enthralled. Each step he takes is fluid, his body moving gracefully across the black rubber gym flooring as he heads to the treadmill. 

This isn’t the first time you have seen him in the gym. You saw him during the tour and when you were given your keys—you had come to see the setup of your mailbox area and test the mail key when you first had moved in, long hair in his face as he did pushups. You noticed his body first, despite the extremely baggy clothes he wore, and you could see his shape underneath as he moved. You then continued to explore the front lobby, computer lab, and gym areas, all so you could watch him as he continued to his arms, chest, and laughed with a friend in the gym.

If you’re honest, Apartment 613 is the reason you decide to take Hobi’s advice to go to the gym. Being located across the hall from him, in 614, you learn his gym schedule after overhearing the times his door would slam shut behind him as he hustles downstairs. You decide to time your trips 30 minutes before he’ll typically go, in hopes that you can run into him. Coincidentally, of course. Monday and Wednesday are failed attempts. He never shows up and you are left feeling dejected and sore. Friday is your last attempt, and you almost give up too, but then he appears. 

You watch as he grabs weights off the rack behind you, working his arms, and you walk over to the nearby hooks with mats on them so you can sit and stretch. You’re done with your workout, and after stretching, you figure it’s a good time to hop into the hot tub to relax your muscles. 

After completing a good full body stretch and watching Hottie from 613 move around the gym, who you notice has been slyly eyeing you up and down as well, you travel over to the hot tub, where you strip off the oversized T-shirt, leaving you in just your sports bra and spandex shorts. It’s now close to 10 PM, but luckily the gym is 24 hours, and the hot tub is located in a tucked away corner behind the sauna. Private enough for you to feel comfortable to be half naked for a quick dip.

“Mind if I join you?” 

A honey sweet voice, perfect in it’s tenor pitch carries over your shoulder. 

You turn, smiling softly at 613. 

“Not at all. I’d love the company.”

He’s funny. So funny and super cute. He’s also super flirtatious, grazing soft touches to your arm and sweeping his fingers across your face to tuck your hair behind your ear.  Currently, you watch as rivulets of the water run down his neck, following a vein you want to press your lips into and suck on as he tells you about his hobbies. 

“What do you like to do—? Um, I actually don’t think we exchanged names yet.” 

“Y/N. I live in building 6.”

“Jungkook, and me too! I’m 613.”

“I’m 614! We’re across the hall from each other.” You pretend to be shocked, knowing damn well that you have been privy to this information since you’ve moved in there. 

“Wow, I’m surprised…” His eyes linger on your exposed cleavage. “I feel like I should’ve noticed you.”

“Really? What makes you say that?” you say boldly, moving across the hot tub towards him. The middle of the jacuzzi was actually pretty deep for your height, and standing up fully still has you under water from the armpit down.

You feel his hands on the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer to him between his legs where he sits, putting you both at about the same height.

“For one thing.. I definitely notice a nice ass. I don’t think I would’ve forgotten this one.” His hands glide up along your thighs, cupping your cheeks. Moving with the momentum, you allow yourself to climb up, straddling his lap without sitting down fully on him just yet. This puts you a little taller than him, allowing streams of water to flow from your breasts down along your tummy and back into the water.

He’s squeezing his fingers on your ass, feeling you up and you can sense when he rises with excitement from where your body straddles his. Feeling bolder than you ever have, you lean down and kiss him, and the movement causes you to rub your clothed core against the tip of his rising cock. 

His lips are as soft as you thought they’d be, his pink pout moving skillfully with your own before his tongue asks for permission to taste you. Because you’re only wearing the spandex shorts, when his large hands pull you closer to him, his hardened shaft soon throbs against your pussy, feeling as if your spandex shorts are already off of your body. 

Lowering yourself fully onto his lap, keeping your knees on either side of his hips, you stroke your core back and forth along his shaft, with your hands moving to wrap lightly around his neck. He places his hands on your hips guiding you back and forth along him. The friction of your bodies feels so good, despite the burn of your thighs after your workout. He slowly slips his thumbs into the top of your spandex, and begins to slide them down.

You let him.

You break your lips apart to catch your breath, because it’s already hot in the water, and every touch from him is making your body feel like it's aflame. You slide his boxer briefs down as he pulls your sports bra over your head, his shirt the last thing between you until you’re both naked in the hot tub. 

Climbing back on top of him and using your hand, you grab his now fully firm cock and rub the throbbing head along your slit, parting your folds in order to use him to massage your clit. He moans softly into your mouth, a musical sound that gives you goosebumps. Bodies wet and temperatures high, you position him at your aching entrance and sit there with his dick head pulsing to go in, but you’re not allowing him entrance yet.

Jungkook moves his kisses lower down to your neck, suckling softly at your sweet spot behind your ear as his hands tug you impossibly closer.

“Teasing me after we’ve come this far, baby?” he whispers, his wet hair tickling your collarbone.

With his words goading you into movement, you give in, slowly lowering yourself while simultaneously rotating your hips. You engulf his dick with your walls and can feel yourself cream all over his fat cock as he spreads you open. It’s been a month—at least—since you last had sex with your ex, possibly longer, and Jungkook is just so much bigger… 

You take a breath before continuing, slowly beginning to ride him up and down once you adjust to his size. You suck at his neck, enjoying the way the water helps you ride him. He bites your bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth before pulling away slowly, giving you a sultry look. The steam rises, hiding your naked bodies away from any potential peeping eyes. 

You take in the view, the rising wisps of evaporating water framing his doe eyes and reddening skin. His lips are a magnet to your skin, and Jungkook doesn’t stop kissing along your jawline until he reaches your neck and he begins to suck, using his tongue to draw circles. It feels amazing. You keep riding him, enjoying the way he fills you up. 

“Baby, can I go faster?” 

His voice is low and whiny; you can tell he’s aching for more of you, as are you of him. You nod, biting your lip as your hooded eyes meet his own, and he pulls out of you with a sigh of relief for what’s to come. Turning you gently to face the edge of the hot tub, he has you lean your chest on the perimeter and guides your hand to the cool metal of the entry railing as he enters you from behind. 

Arching your backside as high as you’re physically able, you lay flush to the ledge of the jacuzzi, spreading your legs apart farther where they kneel on the tiled bench to give him a better angle. He has one hand on the same metal railing of the whirlpool stairs and the other wrapped around your waist where his palm and fingers lay open and spread across your tummy, where he’s applying pressure in the hope that he can hit your G spot. 

He’s successful. 

You attempt to crawl away from the pleasure, climbing up further onto the ledge when your foot finally finds purchase on the slippery bench seating.  

“You running from me?” Jungkook laughs, unable to stop the jovial sound from coming out of his swollen lips as he watches you try and escape the tantalizing way he fills you. You know you agreed he could go faster, but the fullness of his glide along your gripping walls has you wanting to backtrack. Who knew sex could feel like this—like you were about to reach nirvana, like once you come you won’t ever be the same.

“I don’t, see—ahhhhh… How this is a— ssss fuck! A laughing matter,” you cry out with trouble.

Your body tries again to run away. It doesn’t hurt; on the contrary the pleasure was too high, but he changes tactics to listen to your body. Lifting you almost effortlessly out of the water so your torso is fully onto the surrounding surface, he showcases his raw strength as he carries out this task while simultaneously plunging his dick deeper into you as he takes your original position of kneeling on the tiled seat in the hot tub, giving him the perfect angle to continue to fuck you.

“Ahhh, Jungk-kook, I’m… fu—!” He pulls out of you again, despite the tug of your walls to keep him inside and turns you on your back to face him. Bringing one of your legs up, he rests it on his chest as he begins slowly pumping into you.

“I knew you’d be flexible, Y/N.” Jungkook moans as he positions both of his hands on either side of you. You lift up the leg that’s still down, and he places it into the crook of his arm.

“Go as deep as you can,” you pant, “and stay in. I want to feel you.”

Pulling you back into the water, Jungkook carries your now weightless body to the deeper part of the hot tub, holding you in place. You’re practically folded like a pretzel; both of your legs are hooked at the knee in the bend of his arms and his cock remains nestled deep inside of your cunt, walls pulsing around him as your muscles try to fight his thick penetration.

“You take me so well, damn baby.” Jungkook praises you and he’s rewarded with a tightening grip that tells him you’re more than enjoying the moment with him. He’s definitely enjoying the moment as he’s buried within you. 

You place your head into the crook of his neck, and claw his back in an attempt to pull him closer. You’re moaning loudly by this point, so you bite his neck to keep from yelling. Jungkook backs you up into the wall of the hot tub and begins to pump faster, and you can feel yourself build towards climax again. The water’s penetrating against your back from the jets, and Jungkook’s penetrating your front.

“Ah, fuck… Jungkook—don’t stop, uh-huh… Kookie, deeper… right there!” you yell as he finally hits his last few deep & hard strokes, before finally emptying himself out into you. Your walls quiver around him, sucking out every last drop that he pumps into you.

You’re breathing hard, and Jungkook sits on the ledge seat in the water with his head back and his eyes shut. You float over to where he is and he grabs you so that you’re straddling him, though this time you rest your head on his firm chest.“Damn, that was a fucking workout.”You laugh into his strong chest.

“It was worth the pain I’ll feel tomorrow.”

He looks down at you, his chest feeling light as he takes in your messy bun, cute smile, and the way your eyes are shut as you relax against him.

“How about I give you a full body massage back at my place to make up for having you work out for me a second time tonight?”

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2020-2021. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

thank you for reading! ♡ 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘺 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘣𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵. ♡

[tenderlyrenjun]

the one with the morning classes [preview]

summary: you don’t really want to go to class, and Yangyang half-agrees.

↛ ↛ ↛ best friend’s younger brother!Yanyang x older reader

↛ ↛ female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, smut (18+), sneaky relationship/sex, morning sex, food mention, this is a preview! i just wanted to post it

↛ word count: 2,870k

part one > pt. 2 preview > part two

if you are under 18 and interact with this at all, you get blocked

An obnoxious ringing interrupts your day, way too early, and you whine at it, suddenly reminded about the terrible decision that you made last year with the on-call academic advisor: selling your soul to Satan, or, as they phrased it, taking an 8 A.M. class. The default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless right now, even though you have a class at this time every semester.

Still, it takes Herculean effort to pull your hot, sweaty face out of the pillows and actually get a breath of fresh air. You inhale once, twice, then support yourself on your elbows, tossing all your messy hair over your bare back, like a curtain, to draw it away from your cheeks. The sunlight makes you squint, not having given you enough time to adjust to it yet, because laying in bed, naked, is so much more enticing than actually waking up. Unfortunately, the ringing persists, getting louder, you think. You find yourself clawing through the sheets again, in search of that damn alarm. And when you do find it, screen faced down, you hit snooze via power button, giving yourself extra time before class.

After the annoying sound stops, Yangyang leans toward your naked shoulder, his d!ck thrusting in you at a further angle. He kisses the tip your spine with slightly parted lips, peppering more along your deltoid muscles, directed by his trailing tongue. You cannot tell was tingles more – the goosebumps left in his wake, or the blood rushing to your vulva, caused by the nipping at your skin. Yangyang finds a more permanent spot (that would be hidden by a shirt) above your collarbone and sucks deeper for a few seconds. Instinctively, you drop your cheek into the sheets again and swirl your ass up, before propping your lower body on your knees. His groans fall with you, and he nearly did too, but he stands on his hands. You are very aware of his strength, especially now as you close your eyes and he reverses your moves, grinding his hips forward. One of his hands reaches forward to grab your face and finally kiss you. He is slow and head spinning, and he continuously inclines his head at varying degrees to keep the embrace going.

Then, your phone goes off again and you break the kiss.

“We need to get – Oh, God.” Your forehead redirects onto the mattress, and your breath becomes shallow, cracked by sharp whines blurring out the alarm. As far as you are concerned, Yangyang is all consuming, from the way he kisses you to the way he makes you feel. “Ah, right there, please.” He squeezes your ass, fingers drilling deeply into you skin. His touch feels better than a massage, you think, almost loosening up all your muscle tension.

“So naughty,” Yangyang whispers, strongly. He sounds masculine without being so aggressive. It is very sexy of him. You try to show him, too, that he is hot, by reacting more enthusiastically. Unlike him, you say it silently and hope he knows. He replies, slapping your butt again, and smirks when you moan. “Wanna play hooky? You still, fuck –“ His breath drops, voice getting lower, huskier. He propels his d!ck shallowly, at the same pace your mouth widens in an ‘O’ shape. “- remember your manners.”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree. You roll your hips side to side, slowly stretching as if coming out of child’s position in yoga. It similarly feels satisfactory, like an injection of morphine. “We really need to get up. I have class; you ­– shit –“ His thrust pushes you forward, muting your counterarguments. “- you have class soon.”

Yangyang combs your baby hairs onto your opposite shoulder, gently nibbling around your thyroid, and you whine. “It doesn’t sound like you want to get up yet.” He guides your hips like a figure eight motion. His hand comes around front, between your thighs, holding on in a way that allows him to stimulate your clit. Every movement gets more intense: the speed, the pressure, even the direction of his fingers, as he elongates all the sensations. It even feels like he gets bigger too, lunging more alert with his thrusts. “You need a good wake up call, huh?”

You nod, eagerly, biting your lip. “Mmhmm, my morning ritual is, is really long, fuck.”

Yangyang smirks, motivated even more by the double entendre. And the way his tip rasps against your walls, oh god. You ball the sheets into your fists, putting a protective layer between your nails and palm because he gradually becomes erratic. He comes down to your ear, using his lips to bite at it while whispering, “Wanna turn off the alarm?”

“Hmm?” You open your eyes. “Oh, right.” It doesn’t feel like it has been nine minutes. So, after you pick your phone up again, you turn it over to look at the alarm settings, but it is replaced by a call acceptance slider. You blink a couple times and try getting a clearer look – which is difficult, considering that your head keeps bouncing as he grinds harder and harder, and harder. Then, the call restarts. “Shit.”

Yangyang stops moving to glimpse at what’s wrong. His chest brushes against your back and you can feel his erect n!pples graze your spine. You turn the screen at him, contemplating whether to answer it. Thank God, though, that Ten isn’t asking to FaceTime. You honestly don’t know how you would recover from him seeing Yangyang lay naked on you, especially after that comment at the Halloween party about feeling ‘too comfortable’ with him like this.

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“What?”

“I have to answer it,” you argue. “It’s Ten. He’s going to suspect something if I don’t.” The call ends again, and the notification center shows six missed calls. You turn over your phone again. “Shit, he’s been phoning all morning. I have to answer it.”

You brush your hair over your shoulder again and shakily redial Ten’s number. The line rings twice before he answers.

“Um, hello?” Ten answers skeptically, on speaker. “Are you ready? ETA 20.” You hear rustling on the other end that sounds similar to Yangyang shuffling your bedsheets. Ten doesn’t appear to find out about Yangyang’s presence, so you keep the line off mute. “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Hmm?”

All the excess noise stops, and you widen your eyes, glancing at Yangyang for some information but he doesn’t know anything either.

“It’s my treat, remember?” Ten tries to jog your memory. It’s just that you are too distracted at the moment to really recall any memories.

Yangyang starts sucking on your neck again, pushing his pelvis at your ass even harder to give you a better reminder: that you are currently being a good girl for him, to make up for being so naughty this morning (even though he also seemed pretty close to ditching class earlier).

“For breakfast yesterday, after the party,” Ten reminds you. Right, it’s Monday, and you often grab coffee with Ten on the way to campus because 8AMs are hell – you have to absorb new information when you can barely see through all the crap in your eyes, and he can barely comprehend his notes from the night before without morning bean juice. There is some shuffling on his end again, similar to shaking his wrist free of a swear to get a better look at his watch. It isn’t enough to hide the moan trapped in your throat. So, you try biting your fist as Yangyang swirls his hips, grazing the ends of your nerves. You roll your eyes to the back of your head and hit mute, in order to moan. “Unless you want to walk? I don’t think you’ll make it though. It’s, like, almost 7:20.”

“What?” your voice cracks. You are still muted though, so you un-mute and repeat the exclamation, whining a little when Yangyang tries to get you to orgasm faster, also having heard the time. Hopefully Ten does not notice anything. You think that you were quiet enough to push it off as a complaint.

“I’ll be outside your apartment in 20.”

Yangyang pulls your chin to make you look at him, staring at you to ask what is going on. You mouth a quick explanation: Ten. Ride. Coffee. 20 minutes. He is so close, warm breath enveloping your skin. You take the distance, initiating yet another kiss, essentially in front of your best friend, although the latter cannot hear or see either of you. Yangyang holds onto your chin, possibly afraid of being swept away or falling again. But you have enough support for both of you, and you know that if you fell, he would catch you. So, you kiss him again, and again.

“Hello?” Ten calls into the void. “Did you lose signal again? See, I told you not to choose the shitty complex on Main because the connection is so bad there.”

You put a hand above Yangyang’s heart and clear your voice, turning to the speaker. “I’m still here. Just, hold on a second.” You hit mute again, then turn to Yangyang. “Do you want a ride too?” Yangyang contemplates for a second, and you drop your forehead into your elbow, biting your lip because, after all, he is still inside you, inside your clenching and very aroused p.ussy, where you want him to finish. He nudges your shoulder with his nose and confirms that yeah, he needs a ride. You kiss him a few more times, unsure why, just wanting to be close – something about want to say in his presence, enjoying his presence. He swirls his hips. It feels really good to be with him. “Yeah, so Yangyang is in the neighborhood.”

“Wha-“

“A huh,” you whine, more at Yangyang than Ten. “He just texted me. He’ll meet you – us! He’ll meet us at my apartment. I’m going to get ready now, bye!” you say everything in one breath, hanging up as equally abruptly before Ten could insert his two cents. You drop the phone and turn around, kissing Yangyang deeply. As he returns your affection, you enunciate slowly, “Five minutes, then we have to get ready. Ten is getting too suspicious.”

Yangyang finishes a little bit after five minutes, not that you mind. Non-residents have to get buzzed into your building, and Ten doesn’t have a key to your front door. You indulge the moment, laying on your arm bent under a pillow. He looks at you with all the care in the world, no longer that suave fuck buddy from a few moments ago but a young romantic who caresses your inner thigh and talks big game about all the connection you two have in common, or don’t. Your hand dips to the top of his head, combing a small section with your nails to his ends. Yangyang asks you for the time, and you almost don’t give it to him, preferring to spend time with him here than overanalyzing some stupid thesis statement that you wrote at 4AM. Ten will arrive in ten minutes – ironic, you laugh.

Yangyang runs into the shower ahead of you, jokingly holding the glass door shut for a few seconds. And when you glare at him, he thinks you look really hot, so he lets go. You jump in with, prepared to scold him. He grabs your ass, pushing you against the wall, making out with you for a few more seconds, until you start stretching at the lavender body wash on the shelf behind him. This time, he finishes first, hopping out to spray the roots of his hair with dry shampoo so that Ten doesn’t get too suspicious. If Yangyang has wet hair, then it would be obvious that he stayed over. He puts back the bottle and wanders into your room, towel wrapped around his waist, even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There are a few of his clothes in your closet from all the times you stole his clothes, or all the mini getaways that you two have taken. After changing into an outfit that he can wear in public, he picks out an extra oversized shirt and drapes it on the towel rack for when you get out. He knows that you really like his clothes, especially the organic band t-shirts. It is another plus that the two of you have the same music taste. Hopefully, none of his friends can pick up on anything.

He likes that you spend a lot of time in his clothes. They always end up smelling like your lotions. It is comforting and reminds him of all the nights ‘studying’ until 3AM .You know, not that he would actually say it out loud (because he also like to wear his favorite shirt), but you look cuter than him with his Kendrick Lamar concert tee. And besides, there is a secondary reason as to why he looked through your underwear drawer: he wanted to choose your panties for today. It might have been a black lingerie set, but how is he supposed to know the difference between a t-shirt bra and a balconette? :^)

Yangyang makes his way into the kitchen, snagging a mini muffin off the island. With the work out he just had, he needs protein but there’s not enough time to cook anything. He tosses two more muffins into his backpack for later – one chocolate muffin for him, one strawberry muffin for you. On Mondays, between classes, he usually catches you in the student experience center, finishing up last minute assignments. You always end up pushing lunch until after four, so he tries to bring you some snacks, whenever he can. Once, his research methods class got cancelled and you didn’t have any pre-lecture material to work on, so he brought two cups of ramen. The two of you had a semi-date then. He wonders if it could happen again today. Ten interrupts the thought, with another call, and he sighs. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps thinking about defining this relationship at the worst possible times..

“Yellow?” Yangyang answers, mid-bite. He shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can check your notification for any missed calls. You have six. Ten has been going to voicemail all morning, and if Yangyang was him, he would be damn suspicious.

“Hi, baby,” Ten coos. “I’m outside. Buzz me in, yeah?”

Yangyang reflexively pouts. “I’m not your baby. I’m 20 now.” Still though, he complies, letting Ten into the building, and his friend is upstairs within a minute – not that it is too far. You live on the second floor.

“So, Ten sings, glancing around the apartment. Yangyang wonders what for; hopefully not searching for his secret relationship. Ten closes the door, eyeing Yangyang up and down suspiciously, in a curious way. “What are you doing in the neighborhood, anyways?”

“I, uh, bought breakfast at Allen’s coffee, down the street,” he lies, “And I didn’t feel like walking back to the frat.” He shrugs too, trying hard to be as nonchalant as possible.

“A huh.” Ten does not seem to accept it, but he lets it slide when you walk into the room, wearing Yangyang’s t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Yangyang cannot see why Ten would recognize the top because you also happen to like Kendrick Lamar – one of your favorite songs is King Kunta, even though you cannot sing along to save your life. Yangyang finds it endearing that you enjoy rap music, even though you cannot match the flow or pitch.

His gaze is still endearing when you walk into the kitchen, beelining for the last mini muffin. Yangyang catches how intensely he was staring at you, after you blink at him (and Ten).

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they both mutter, looking away.              

“Okay,” you drawl suspiciously, swallowing half your breakfast. You fold the rest of it into the front pocket of your backpack and pick up your textbook. Yangyang meets your gaze but you immediately flicker to Ten. “Can we grab something at Starbucks really quick?”

Ten stares at Yangyang. You just got coffee for yourself, even though you were coming here? Yangyang waves a hand, unsure how to respond. This whole secret relationship has gone on longer than he thought it would. It was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing when he first kissed you, the night that Ten introduced you two back in March after Renjun’s birthday party, and not even a one-night stand! He just expected you to make out with him, not give him a blowjob in Kun’s bathroom then let him take you back to his room at the frat.

“What?” You look between them. Yangyang shakes his head, nothing. You stare him down and give in, then turn back to Ten. “I haven’t eaten anything. Please?”

“Alright, fine,” Ten cedes. He holds his hands up in surrender, his keys waving like a white flag. As you all file out the door, Yangyang jokingly asks if he can drive. Ten deadpans at him, protective over the car, and smacks him on the back of his head. “Let’s go.”

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Three): Maybe God Is Just A Cop We Can Fast Talk

Notes: I’m trying to test out not stockpiling chapters and just post whatever I got when I got it. So, we’ll see how it goes. Additionally, apologies in advanced if my work is a bit more fucky on spelling and grammar from now on out. They use to have some degree of beta reading, but now it’s the wild west. It all depends on my brain, which is smooth. 

Word Count: 13,335

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, death, entirely too on the nose foreshadowing, f/f sex scene, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, masturbation, sex toy use, nipple sucking, dirty talk that may or may not be cringe (I had fun)

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V takes a deep breath as they pull into the parking garage of a large apartment building complex, her nose wrinkles. August has settled into Night City, air humid and thick, the stink of trash filling her lungs at every breath. The smell of NC in summer and a landfill are only a few degrees removed from one another. Jackie is in the passenger seat, nearly pressed shoulder to shoulder. Wakako is paying them to rescue some corpo chick, a gig V would usually roll her eyes at, but the apartment is a known Scavenger hideout. Without someone stepping in, the woman will be ripped apart, organs and cyberware chopped out to be sold. Corpo or not; no one deserves that.

The merc covers her lips with chapstick and a little above, so she smells the balm and not Night City, then dabs some on the inside of her mask as well. The trick reminds her of when her mother would have her and Eira smear homemade balm under their noses before going to pick through landfills; telling them stories of old plague doctors who’d shove cloves into beaked masks to avoid the stench of death. The chapstick isn’t quite so strongly scented as the mash of camphor, menthol, and coconut oil her mother would use. But it strikes that nostalgia bone nonetheless.

“Still not used to the smell?” Jackie taunts her, grin pulling at his lips.

“God, no,” she quickly signs, her choker translator off as she pulls on her mask.

“It grows on you.”

“Six months in and the only thing that’s grown on me is you.”  Her mask takes over translating her signing, though she’ll have to shut it off when they get in.

“Was that almost a compliment?”

“A compliment? From me? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Pff, real funny,” he rolls his eyes, “chick we're looking for's somewhere in this building. Probably crawlin' with the pendejos that kidnapped her. Eyes and ears open, all right?"

“Opening my ears isn’t gonna help much, but alright.”

“You’re real close to my last nerve, chica,” he says but he’s smiling.

“Love you too, Jack, now, the fixer give you any tips?”

“I’m not your mother,” he tries to mimic the older woman’s voice, “just do what I pay you for, it’s easy work. Sh, yeah.”

“Okay, let’s do this.”  

With that Jackie and V leave the car, stepping out into the garage. The taller of the two checks his two pistols, ensuring the gold emblazoned weapons are loaded and ready for the mess that surely awaits them. There’s no telling how many Scavvs are here, the body hacking gangers the equivalent of cockroaches. She checks her own .50 caliber pistol,  it’s loaded and she has a knife strapped in a holster on her thigh.

“Elevator. This way.” Jackie nods towards the elevator in the parking garage, leading the way as V follows behind. Dirty elevator doors open for them, the words NO FUTURE scratched across the stained metal. The two mercs step inside, V leaning against a graffiti covered wall, leg shaking with anxiety.

A digital interface, T-Bugs avatar appears at the elevator button panel, flashes of code as the runner quickly hacks through it without needing an apartment key. The doors close and the rusty elevator lurches into movement, heading up.

“Target's Sandra Dorsett. Target's biomon went mute a couple hours back. Suspected abduction. Target could've possibly flatlined already. Not sure you're in time,” Bug’s voice comes through V’s hearing aids, subtitles on her mask for good measure, as the runner delivers her warning. That’s always a risk with rescue jobs, but they have a decent track record for getting to people in time.

“We're in time, Bug,” Jackie corrects her, “ we. Sure, you're on phones, but… that don't make you any less a part of this squad.”

"Squad… Charming.” V can nearly hear the Bug rolling her eyes.

“Awww, c’mon Bug, you know we need you.”

“No arguments there, without me you gonkbrains probably be shot to death by turrets or sitting in jail by now. “

“And without us, you’d have to step foot outside your apartment.”

“A true horror,” Bug mocks, a scoff in her voice as the elevator stops, doors opening, “focus now, You’re lookin' for twelve thirty-seven.”  

V and Jackie step out of the elevators, greeted to trash strewn apartment halls, graffiti scratched across every inch. Hands on their iron, the mercs make their way down the hall. With a thought V mutes the translation tech in her mask, linked to her neuralware, that way a stray hand gesture won’t give them away.

“Han, is that you?” An older woman starts to step out of her apartment.

V quickly waves her hand, signaling the woman to make herself scarce and she nods before running back in. Between the Scavenger’s victims and the innocent residents; there’s a lot of room for potential casualties. Low profile is essential if they want to do a clean job.

“Target should be inside, but I got zero eyes on her biomon. Fingers crossed it's not too late. Ugh, hate this life or death shit,” T-Bug explains as they reach the door they need, “try hacking the door, think you can trip it on your own, V?”

V’s fingers itch to just pry the damn thing open or try to pick the lock, despite knowing the former would give them away and the latter is impossible with the electronic model of door. The young merc brings up the scanner of her mask, running a quick scan of the door and sending the quick hack through. It slides open, Jackie able to slip inside with her following close behind.

The doorway opens into a wider room and V’s heart sinks. The sticky cloying smell of blood claws its way through anything, so thick in the air that her efforts to block out the city smell are rendered useless.  There’s a steady but slightly muffled thrum of electronic music coming from the other room, not a Scavenger in sight, but their handiwork paints the room. Low grade medical equipment, a shitty old school heart monitor attached to a woman in a ripperdoc chair. The woman is dead, no monitor or scan needed to know that. Body ripped open, entrails spilling out, red spattering down the black leather of the chair. Blood paints the walls around her, her skin a sallow lifeless shade of gray. Her abdomen is a mess of bloody organs and half ripped out implants.

“Are we fuckin' late?! Is that her, is that our target, V?!” Jackie calls out, voice low and edged with worry in his voice as he tries to scream and whisper at once, gesturing with his gun as he points at the corpse.

V doesn’t bother to open her scanner, looking over the woman’s body, it's not hard to know this isn’t their target. No high up corpo would pack this crap. What implants remain are cheap and poorly installed, the ones around her eyes have left the skin creased and scarred. Worse quality than what someone would find in the poorest of Nomad clans. Likely, a joytoy, or perhaps a Maelstrommer as the shitty over the top implant installation is common among the gang.

“No,” V signs, looking up at Jackie, his eyes on her to subtitle the ASL, “our girl is protected under echelon II corpo immunity, this is back-alley black market crap, no corpo in their right mind would walk around with this shit.”

Jackie nods, his shoulders losing a little of their tension as he moves up to a door, the music louder as he just opens the door peeking through, trying to get a feel for the room before they go through. Judging by the music and the still fresh blood mingled with the older stains, the Scav haunt is still being used. Jackie pulls away from the door and presses against the wall next to it.

“V, mira, eyes up, pendejos ahead.” Jackie warns her as she puts her hands to the door, trying to peek through the crack, the music louder and less muffled with the door cracked. V can see plastic sheets, coolers, chop shop equipment as they butcher people. Through distorted bloodied plastic hung from the ceiling, the pendejo in question standing in front of a cooler, back turned.

“Drop him quiet, V.”

V takes a deep breath and counts the music beats, waiting for the tempo and volume to rise before she opens the door, hiding the creak of it behind the pumping club style music. The merc drops to a crouch as soon as she walks through, creeping up behind the Scavenger, pushing through plastic sheets, she unsheathes her tactical knife.

In one swift movement she stands and kicks out the man’s knee, bringing him down low enough to grab his face by his mask and pull him towards her. He has a mere moment to struggle in her grasp before she then sinks her knife into his skin, piercing the flesh and arteries where his neck meets his shoulder. He goes limp in her arms and she pulls her knife out with a twist, before she shoves him forward into the cooler. The lid shuts with a slight thud, drowned out by the music.

“Nice, couldn’t have done it better myself, chica,” Jackie praises as she wipes her knife off on her pants, red smearing across the black fabric.

“On your toes. More bodies incoming, they're almost on you,” Bug warns as the mercs move to the next room, creeping through the garbage strewn hall and going around a bend, an open doorway showing a group of Scavs.

Whether thanks to music or their own lack of intelligence, the gang members don’t hear them as they find a nook around the corner to hide. V pressing her body tight against a fridge, Jackie not far behind her.  The dark spot, appliances, and trash does well to hide the two from sight.

“Fistfuck these reapers. Oye, V! They're comin',” Jackie warns as two of the Scav start to come around the corner, “wait for your chance. Pick the prick off. “

Tucked away the two mercs aren’t noticed. She watches as the two men walk by, following a path down the hallway without noticing them. V tries to hear what they say, straining to hear over the music, something about scoring big, a chick with “preem ass chrome”.

“Cabrones… thick as locusts. Let's wait and plan a spree.”

V gives a nod, trying not to comment that they’ve already discussed this. Stealth has never been Jackie’s strongpoint, he talks too much, can’t stand the quiet. She watches as the two gang members turn their backs to the mercs. They stop at the end of the hallway to stand guard and V goes to move.

“Let's take 'em… Suerte.”

She tries not to shake her head, not to sign at him to stop talking. She’ll tease him for it later, the two stay in a crouch, creeping up behind the two Scavengers. The merc gets close enough to feel the warmth coming off the gang member's body, V and Jackie lunge at the same time. Jackie snaps the Scav on the left’s neck and V slices the throat of the one on the right; two men dead at their feet. She rummages through the freshly dead corpses pockets, adding a few eddies and a Max Doc to her own.

“All down, limp meat. But probably not the last of 'em,” Jackie says as they start back towards the corner, staying low and...mostly...quiet as they reach the open doorway, “Move on, move up. Right behind you, V.

Their hideaway corner has an open doorway in the room that leads to another larger room, windows at the far end and around  Shelves and cabinets of ammo and grenades fill the room, should be easy enough to stay out of sight. Three men that she can see, one closer to the doorway, easy grab. And if they time it right they can grab the other two in tandem.

V raises her knife to her chest, pressing the hilt to her skin, then pounces on the nearest ganger. She yanks his head back and onto the blade, the weapon piercing up through the base of his skull, as she drags his body back. He’s already dead by the moment she’s dragged him from the room, dropping his corpse where he won’t be seen.

“Careful, once you get the next two,” Bug warns, voice low, “goliath ass Scav the next room over.”

“Gotcha,” Jackie whispers as they start to make their way back into the room where the next two are.

V stays to the left side of the room and Jackie goes to the right, both staying low and close to cover. The younger takes a deep breath, the clutter and way the room curves means they’re out of sight range, making it harder to coordinate. Nonetheless, she mentally counts to three and jumps her target. She grabs the gang member by the chin, wrenching up his face as she slams her knife into the front of his throat,ripping it out with a spray of blood.

“What the fuck!?” A voice, deep and masculine yells out, just as Jackie snaps his target’s neck. A bulking mass of a man, around Jackie’s height has scrambled to his feet; a heavy machine gun in his hands.

“Fuck, eyes on you!!” T-Bug warns just as a bullet tears through V’s bicep, superficial, no pain as adrenaline spikes.

And the chaos starts as the bullets begin to fly, V grabs her pistol, takes aim into the room and starts fire while moving. Jackie doing the same, the pair scrambling behind a cabinet, crouched and facing one another. His sweaty forehead nearly smacking into her mask. The room around them tears and shatters with each bullet fired their way, none managing to hit them, she doesn’t think the ganger saw where they took cover.

Their pistols can’t cut through the rapid fire being shot their way.  Her heart is pounding, her fingers tight on the trigger, HMG’s need a cool off time. If they wait it out, his gun will overheat and they’ll have a window. And if he’s not coming to pick them off, playing the distance game, it means he’s dead set on protecting something; got to be Dorsett.

“Gun’s going to overheat, then we’ll get our chance,” V signs and speaks to Jackie at the same time, miscommunication not something that can afford right now. Her voice is rough and out of breath, her face wet with sweat behind her mask.

“Hijos de puta! Our target’s gotta be through there, V!”

“I know I know,” she squeezes his shoulder with one hand, the other still signing, “once the gun overheats , we’ll rush him and finish this up.”

“HMG should only have a few more rounds before then, but won’t be long before it cools back off. You got a tight window,” T-Bug informs them, able to keep better track of it when not in firing range.

And then the fire slows, lightening and nearly stopping, Jackie and V both jump over the cabinet, seeing their chance and not hesitating to take it. They rush towards the room, the man cursing when he sees them charging and the door begins to shut. V skids into the wall and Jackie slams against it just as the door fully closes, cutting off their access. The older merc digs his nails between the door and wall, trying to pry it open with a grunt, but it doesn’t budge. Crow bar, crow bar, something, there has to be something.

Then a gunfire blasts through the wall, narrowly avoiding V. They missed their window and he can shoot through the wall. This is great. This is fantastic, exactly what they fucking need!

“Head down, Jaina, take cover!” Jackie yells out, yanking V back behind a shelf with him.

“Fuck!”

“Need options Bug, you got eyes on this shithole!?”

“Uh, lemme see, room he’s in connects to a balcony, the window to get in is small. V might be able to slip through to him.”

“How do I get there?”

“Got a window on the left, gimme two secs to grease the lock.”

“If I get his attention elsewhere, could you break down that door?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie nods as they put together their new plan, “flank him and draw his fire! I’ll do the rest!”

V sees the window Bug is talking about, her interface over it as it slides open, she easily jumps through, a closed in balcony cluttered with equipment, more trash that nearly trips her as she reaches the next window. The industrial shutters are damaged and broken, allowing her to peek through, the goliath, as Bug put it, is inside. A shaved head and face of mottled cyberware. She grabs the lowest rung of the shutters and rips the already broken mess up; then fires three shots at the man. They hit but don’t bring him down, only streaking blood down his leather jacket, he swings the gun to face her.

A loud boom rings out, metal screeching, as Jackie busts the door down. His boots pound against the floor and he slams into the Scavenger, the gang member’s body hitting the wall with a thud. Jackie rips the HMG from the man’s hands, raising it high above his head and bashing the gang member’s head in with it. Blood streaking the wall behind him and the ganger falling limp on the carpet. V climbs through the window, giving the Scavenger

“That’s the last of them,” T-Bug tells them, “time to find our target.”

“Question is, where the hell is she?” Jackie asks as V makes a beeline for the one door she sees. They’ve gone through the rest of the area, it has to be it. It's the last damn room in the apartment or whatever.

“Look around, gotta be there somewhere.”

“Holy fuck.”

V’s breath catches in her throat when she swings that door open; the horror of the front room was just a taste of what these people are capable of. White linoleum stained ruddy with blood, a bathroom with fluorescent lights making the ghostly gray of the corpses stand out. The bathtub is jammed full, naked bodies bleeding the ice water red, hanging out to smear crimson over white porcelain.

“Jesus christ… ” Jackie breathes out as he steps in behind her.

V swallows the nerves and bile down, rushing to the bathtub.  The first body stacked on top is a man, skin cold to the touch and no pulse in his neck, she moves him aside. Can’t save them all, can’t save them all; she tells herself. As she checks and moves bodies, finding only one with some warmth still clinging to her body, top level chrome in etching her cheekbones and down her bare chest. Her nose and mouth barely above the ice water, it’s a miracle she wasn’t drowned under the weight of the others who weren’t as lucky.

“Think I got her. Got our target!” She yells out as she pulls the woman halfway from the tub, sitting on the edge of it. V’s fingers numb and sting all at ones from the ice, she delicately brings the woman’s shaved head to her lap. Ice water soaking through her jeans and chilling the skin beneath.

Sandra’s eyes are just slightly open, not alert, but V can pick up on some movement behind them. Pulse at her neck faint, albeit consistent. Bad shape, but not gone. The instinct to keep checking the bodies, the need to see if they can save anyone else, pulls at V. But she has to secure Sandra, has to attend the one she was sent after and at the very least she knows has a fighting chance.

Jackie stands at the door looking in and keeping guard, there's likely more Scavengers in the building, if they catch wind of what’s happened in their nest. They’ll storm in and they can risk the gang members opening fire into the room, snuffing out anyone's chance of living. Her stomach churns, once they secure Sandra they can check on the others.

“We make it, she alive?”

“She’s hanging in, I think,” V’s fingers twitch with the need to sign her words, but the need to support Sandra’s neck  and head wins out. She’s not sure if the poor woman can process or feel anything right now, looking nearly catatonic, but...maybe a touch that doesn’t hurt can be of some comfort through it all.

“V, jack into her biomon. Need to know what we're dealin' with.”

“Ooh, this does not look good…” Jackie breathes out, green eyes running frantically over the bathroom, taking in the sheer horror of what they’ve found.

“She’s not alone here, Bug, there’s bodies stacked up, crammed together, like slabs of fucking meat. I’m not sure if anyone else is alive, I- fuck.”

“We’ll do what we can for them after, keep it together. And if she survives, she won’t even remember, tiny scar on the subconscious in the long run.  Jack into her biomon.”

“Jacking in,” V slots her personal link into Sandra’s biomon port, information lighting up her mask's interface, “Sandra Dorsett. NC570442. Trauma Team Platinum.”

“Platinum? Shit, Trauma shoulda swooped in if she sneezed,” Jackie scratches the back of his head, the question clear, where the fuck is Trauma?

“Guessin' they jammed the transmitter sig. Lookin' at a hacked biomon, firmware reconfig or a neurovirus…”

“Carajo, T-Bug! You ain't seein' this place. This is tubs, ice, hooks and cleavers.” Jackie explains.  Scavengers are brutal, crude, rudimentary; anything too high tech isn’t coming from them.

“Hmm… Scopmuncher's hack, huh. Got an idea. Check her neuroport. Find a shard? Yeah, pull it - that'll be what's muting the biomon.”

V gently maneuvers the woman’s head, nails rubbing over her shaved hair, seeing the two standard neuroports behind her right ear. One with a shard placed inside. She’s heard stories of infected shards, where removing them ends up causing more harm than whatever’s on them. But, she trusts T-Bug.

“Shard found, removing it now.” She gently pulls the shard from Sandra’s neuroport, pocketing it for now, in case it’s needed later.

“Check the biomon. Anything change?”

“Greetings, Sandra,” an artificial voice explains,  “If you are conscious, assume recovery position now. An emergency evacuation unit has been dispatched and is due to arrive at your location in 180 seconds.”

“Trauma will be here in three.”

“Your premium plan will cover 90% of the projected costs of your rescue and treatment,” the biomonitor warns and V can’t help but roll her eyes, capitalism and healthcare, a match made in hell.

“Ay, pobrecita,” Jackie shakes his head, “let's get her off that ice.”

V nods, pulling her jack from the naked woman’s biomonitor and gently bringing Sandra’s body up and into her arms. She lifts the woman bridal style, water soaking her arms as she stands up. Sandra’s body starts to shake and convulse, leg unintentionally kicking at V’s arms.

“Shit!”  V curses out loud, hitting her knees as she brings Sandra to the ground. The woman’s body twitches and convulses, eyes rolling back into her head, as a ghastly choking sound comes from her mouth.

“She's flatlining!”

“V, need to know what's going' on!”

“Jackie, airhypo, now!”

“¡Ey, catch chica!”

Jackie throws the airhypo and the merc snatches the green first aid hypodermic out of the air. V quickly presses the tool to the center of Sandra’s chest and pushes the needle into her skin, shooting the compressed adrenaline into her system to stabilize her. Sandra’s body stills and relaxes, her chest still falling and rising steadily. V breathes a sigh of relief and pushes her mask onto the top of her head; sweat stinging her eyes and her lungs demanding she breathe freely. She swallows hard and blinks, Sandra still stable on the floor.

“Fuck..I, target seized but we got her stable,” V recounts to T-Bug and shakes her head, still in shock at just how close they came to this woman dying in her arms.

“You alright, jaina?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just, yeah. Uh, fuck...”

“I getcha, got a stomach of steel, but this is….”

The merc is used to death, seen it firsthand many a times and dealt it to many a people. But she’s always prided herself on not taking innocent lives, every target she’s ever killed, every person she’s put in the grave had a healthy share of blood on their hands.  She knows that doesn’t necessarily make it right, doesn’t many it doesn’t cause any harm, most monsters still have someone who loves them. And as a corpo, maybe Sandra isn’t truly innocent, V wouldn’t know for sure.  But she doesn’t deserve this, this horror, neither do any of the people stewing in ice water.

She’s always been surrounded by death but in this  bathroom, with her knees pressing against bloody tiles, she feels like she’s choking on it.

“We’re gonna get you out here, safe and sound, I promise,” she tells the woman in her lap, maybe more for her own benefit than for the woman who can’t hear her. She picks Sandra up again and turns towards Jackie, “Scavs will scatter the second they see Trauma, hate to ask this, but once they show up, we need to see if we can save anyone else, you mind checking out the bodies in the tub while I handle her?”

“Course, gotta save who we can.”

V nods, thankful that Jackie and her are on the same page. There’s a steady whirr of engines and the young merc takes Sandra out to the balcony, in the faint distance she can see the Trauma Team aircraft incoming. Wind picks up as they draw ever closer, sweeping up and blowing trash around from the area. It feels nice on V’s bare sweaty face, but she tries to tuck Sandra a little closer to her chest, trying to keep the unconscious woman warm, which seems almost ironic in the heat of the city. The aircraft pulls up beside the balcony with flashing lights and V cringes at the whirring of its turbines, turning the volume down on her hearing aids.

“Landing, stand clear. Initiating security protocol. Follow all instructions. Stop in the doorway!” The speakers on the aircraft boom and V would flip them off if she weren’t holding Sandra.

A little step extends out to the balcony and holograms mark out an area she isn’t supposed to step into. Then the Trauma Team members come out, four individuals in green uniform with white helmets, guns drawn, holsters of equipment hanging off of them.  Two of the workers lay a gurney down in front of V.

“Place the patient on the ground!” A man yells at her, gun drawn. She rolls her eyes and does as asked, gently placing Sandra on the gurney.

“Five steps back. Now,” one of the workers demands, then shoves V back and away from Sandra, gun still pointed at her as the others rush to take the woman into the aircraft.

“There are some other people...” she switches on the translator in her choker to sign, but they ignore her.

Of course, Sandra is the only person in that tub who means anything to them, because she has money. She can just hear them over the turbines as they start to assess the woman’s condition, loading her in the aircraft, the last worker following behind. The young merc sighs watching as the vehicle flies off, as much the Trauma Team system boils her blood, their doctors are well trained. Sandra is in good hands.  After a moment she turns back to the entrance to the apartment, Jackie waiting in the doorway. His hands empty.

“No one else…” She starts to sign then trails off, seeing the look in his eyes.

“All dead long before we got here.”

“Fuck…”

“Let's get outta here,” he claps a hand against her shoulder as they start to leave, “Elevator gets us to the garage direct.”

“Good work. Shitshow's over. Cuttin' my wires now. See ya in the near future,” T-Bug says her goodbyes, cutting off her connection to the mercs.

Good work, somehow those words ring hollow when there’s a tub of corpse not three feet away. There’s a heavy weight in V’s chest, they did what they were paid for, one person is safer now because of them. All things she should be proud of, but she can’t help but still feel hollow and bitter about this entire thing. Her head still hangs low as she follows Jackie out of the apartment.

“Listen, chica,” he gets her attention, “got this thing. Mind if I borrow your wheels?”

“A thing?”

“I got a date with Misty, but… heh, I can't take the metro! How's that gonna look for me?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll help you out, I guess,” she signs, feigning annoyance, though they both know she’s happy to help.

“Ah, savin' my ass, V, thank you. How about I drive you home, eh?”

“Please, I feel like I’m about to drop any minute,” she admits, body heavy with exhaustion and head starting to hurt from all the commotion. Even the translator tech’s voice is starting to make her head throb.

The elevator doors open, welcoming the two mercs as they scurry inside, V leaning all of her weight against a wall as Jackie hits the buttons. Doors closing, it starts to move, and V’s thankful for every second that gets her closer to her bed. It's an unusual feeling, she’s not typically this worn out after a job. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing, she’s learned, most jobs leaving her still riding that high and looking for ways to burn the excess energy. But, all she wants right now is to crawl in bed and pretend the world is a kinder place, 

“Oh, almost forgot. Should get Wakako on the halo - tell her the job's done.”

V gives a short nod before pulling Wakako up on her phone, it rings a few times before it projects the image of the older woman, V keeping it on speaker so Jackie can hear the call.

“Ahem! V? How did it go? Our client is alive and well?”

“Of course.”

“Splendid. Your payment awaits you - ready to come and grab whenever you like, even right away. But I guess home is the only place you wish to be now. The NCPD has surrounded Watson. The district is closed. If you are to make it past the cordon, you must move fast.”

“Shit, thanks for the warning, catch you another time,” V signs her goodbye as she hangs up and groans, thunking her head back against the wall. Of course, just her luck. The elevator doors open and Jackie leads the way out to the garage, V following closely behind.

“Gotta get going if I’m gonna make it home tonight,” V mentions as they reach her car, she doesn’t want to have to crash on his garage or his mom’s place if she can help it.

“Leave it to me, chica, I’m driving.” Jackie tells her with a little grin pulling at his lip as he climbs into the driver seat and she plops down into the passenger side.

Jackie revs the ignition and starts fiddling with the radio, while V cranks the air conditioner. She tosses her mask into the backseat for now, fiddling with her hair. The pull out of the parking garage as Jackie finds a song he likes, kind enough to keep it on low volume for V’s sake, she finds herself sinking into the seat, watching the city pass by from the window. Trying to focus on the neon lights that pass her by and not the negativity that’s threatening to overtake her mind.

“Can’t stop digging Night City,” Jackie tells her following a few moment of silence, save for the radio.

“Place definitely has an energy to it.” They drive past what she assumes is a joytoy arguing with a man, advertisements that flash so vividly in the night, street vendors peddling over the top food items. Noisy, smell, chaotic, and messy; the essence of Night City

“Nah, chica, it's more than that. Morgan Blackhand, Andrew Weyland, Adam Smasher. Legends are born here!”

“You and me, the next ones up?” She signs, playfully raising an eyebrow at him.

“You know it, jaina.”

“And we’re not gonna need a corp to do it.”

“Swear to god, V,” he shakes his head, grinning, “only merc I know who don’t get all tingly when I mention the greats.”

“Not saying they aren’t badasses, but being the best of the best is easy when you got a billion eddie corp in your corner. Blackhand was in Militech’s pocket, Weyland was on Petrochem’s payroll and Smasher is a certified Arasaka cocksucker,” she explains, fingers cramping from spelling the names as quickly as she can so her tech will translate it right, “but you and me are going to do this right, reach the top without the corp’s dick in our mouths.”

Being a legend may always be Jackie’s dream more than it’s hers… But she’s been growing into it more and more with each passing day.  She’s enjoyed the ride so far and wants to keep up the momentum. While by no means a perfect life, she’s happier than she’s been in a long time. Independent and doing a job she loves more often than not. Though, there’s still something missing… that she can’t quite define. As they keep working their way up that ladder, she’s only feeling more and more like she’s where she belongs. It only gets better from here, so long as her past stays there. V can’t help but think hitting the big leagues is what’s really going to put all the pieces in place, herself included.

“Damn right we will, V. Blackhand’s gonna wish he was us.”

“Blackhand is dead.”

“Psssh, you really believe that, chica?” He looks at her like she’s grown a third head.

“You don’t?”

“Hell no, Blackhand’s out there somewhere, sitting pretty after blowing Arasaka Tower off the map.”

“No one’s seen him since the tower fell, anyone in the tower when it came down is dead, you don’t survive that shit.”

“No one has ever found his body or Silverhand’s!”

“Because it was buried under rubble,” she’s signing frantically and grinning, the little stupid argument lifting some of the gloom off of her, “wait, who the fuck is Silverhand?”

“Silverhand, the ro-,” Jackie pauses, eyes going to the rearview window, she follows his eyeline, a van behind them, “hey is it just me or, argh, van’s on our ass, we got a tail, V!”

V gets a hand on her iron and turns in her seat to try to grab a better look, she can see the holographic mask glitching green and red on the driver. The van jerks into the left lane, speeding up to pass them, then in the very next moment pulling in front of them. V’s brows furrow, what are they doing? Then the double doors to the van open up, two masked gang members opening fire on the mercs.

“Scavs! ¡Hijos de puta!”

And V’s half out the window, sitting on the sill of it,  in the next instant, firing back at the Scavs. Bullets whirl by and V tries to maintain a steady hand as she shoots off shot after shot, aiming for the gangoons heads. Gunshots ring out through the night, bullets whiz past V and blow holes in her car, as she keeps blasting right back. People from the streetways scream, terrified of being caught in the shoot out.

“Come on, V, shoot!”

“Keep it steady,” he side mirror explodes as a bullet hits it, “fuck!”

With a thought, V shuts off her hearing aids, the world going quiet around her. Unable to hear the screaming and racket as she focuses only on shooting the Scavs. Blood sprays, a bullet ripping through a gang member’s head, their body going limp and spilling onto the road. The vehicles swing through a right turn, Jackie a thankfully empty chunk of sidewalk before swinging back out to the road. V reloads her gun as a bullet tears through her hip, not fatal but it hurts like a bitch. She fires off two more shots, catching the last member in the back of the van just as it takes a quick left turn.

But the curve comes back to meet the stretch of highway they’re on. She fires off a few shots as it goes, trying to tear through the tires before the gangers greet them again, but to no avail. The Scavenger van takes the short curve and comes back through the exit, taking the left lane to drive alongside them. V tries to fire a shot at the masked driver, but her aim is off, only blasting out the last of the van’s intact windows.

The van’s door opens, another masked gang member blasting at the mercs as the cars struggle to stay neck and neck. A sharp pain lodges in V’s shoulder and she blows the man’s brains out in her next shot. Only the driver remains and she starts blasting without hesitation, knowing they can’t easily shoot back and has no more friends covering his ass. One last bullet connects with his temple, his body going limp and the van going onto the street, crashing into a building.

She breathes, blinking, heart still pounding in her chest. There’s blood still coming from her wounds and wind whipping around her as Jackie drives. She pulls herself back into the vehicle, bending a knee and keeping one foot in her seat with the other back on the floorboard, because she can’t be bothered to sit properly. She catches Jackie’s lips moving and flips her hearing aids back on.

“Ears were off, mind saying it again,” she signs and can’t help but shrink when she sees the glimmer of annoyance on his face, the tension of the situation no doubt making what’s usually a minor request feel a bit more aggravating.

“Are you okay? You need me to take you to Vik’s?”

The mark on her hip and bicep from earlier are minor, just scratches where bullets skimmed the skin. It's her shoulder that could warrant some concern. She flips on a light in the vehicle, craning her neck to get a better look at the injury. The entry wound isn’t too bad, low caliber, just some blood steadily weeping from her shoulder. V rolls and shifts her shoulder, a tightness to the movement. She touches around her shoulder blades, no exit wound. V rubs around the wound, feeling the injury. Something solid within her flesh, not far from the entry wound.

She knows Vik says not to remove the bullets, that it can cause more harm digging around in the wound, but if she leaves it the thing will annoy her forever. With adrenaline still spiked, heart still pounding and these injuries still feeling like stings at most, it will hurt more later than it will now. So, V digs her fingers into her own wound.

“What are you-”

V finds the bullet beneath her skin and digs her nails into it, ripping it from her flesh, bloodied metal now exposed. She rolls her shoulder, it’s bleeding a bit more, but the movement feels better, more free.

“ Jesus christo, V! Fuckin’ hate when you do that shit!”

V laughs at his reaction, her pisspoor first aid never failing to make Jackie uncomfortable, she tosses the bullet out of the window. She rubs her bloody fingers off on her pants, before pulling at her shirt, a little hole where the bullet struck.

“More bummed about my shirt than anything, Vik doesn’t need to see my mug tonight,” she signs, as if she doesn’t have a hundred more black crop tops.

“Fine, but don’t call me bitching if you’re hurting later tonight.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re one to talk.” She signs quickly, whipping around in her seat to face him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hijo de la chingada, V, Misty, this is it for me, I’m done for ahhhhh,” she whines aloud, dropping her tone and trying to mimic Jackie, grinning when he scrunches his face in response.

“I was sick!”

“Well, yeah, that’s what happens when you eat your weight in cheap-ass sushi!”

“It was all you can eat!”

“Pffft,” she sputters and squeals, laughing at his excuse, “Swear to god, Jack, only man I know who can take three bullets to the chest and keep going, but a tummy ache knocks you on your ass!”

“And you’re the only woman I-oh shit.”

Police lights cut across the bridge to Watson, a full police cordon blocking the way. At least four or five NCPD units standing between V and her bed. Because of fucking course they are. She groans and thunks her head  against the seat in frustration.

“Fuck me.”

“‘Preciate the offer, chica, but we gotta run that one by Misty first.” Jackie winks and she makes a gagging noise at him in return. But she’s unable to control the warmth the joke brings to her cheeks. That’s not a mental or emotional road she’s ready to venture down, she shuts the light off in the car, the last thing they need is pigs catching sight of the blood and deciding to give a shit.

Jackie slows the car down as they pull up to the blockade, he’s calmer than her, he’s been fast talking the NCPD his whole life. While no stranger to cops, they’ve been a more sporadic presence in the former nomad’s life, leaving her to fiddle with her choker. She turns off the translator tech, prepared to break out the puppy dog eyes and soft broken little voice if she has to.

A female officer saunters over to the driver’s side window, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and silver cyberware etching her forehead and chin. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark shades.

“Watson's on lockdown till further notice. Necessary security measure,” she explains to the mercs. V can’t help but eye the bulky security robots, ready to blast them to smithereens if the NCPD deem it ‘necessary’.

“Officer, ma'am! Damn are we ever lucky we ran into you,” Jackie greets the officer, turning up the charm.

“Really… What's it that makes me so special?”

“Uh, a heart of gold? 'Course only somebody with a heart of gold can understand just how much I need to get back to my girl.”

“Your… girl?”

“Hm… that's a shame.”

“C’mon, look at him,” V slings her forearm onto Jackie’s shoulder then rests her chin there, making puppy dog eyes at the officer, “no model citizen maybe, but he’s a good kid.” She pats his chest for added effect.  

There’s a grin pulling at Jackie’s lips and she struggles not to smile in return, wanting to laugh at the silliness of it all. The officer sighs and turns away from the pair, the two taking the moment to make faces at each other, trying to make the other break and laugh.

Let them through. But they're the last,” she turns back to the mercs and they try to force serious expressions, “OK, on your way.”

“You have a good evening, now, officer… ma'am,” Jackie nods and starts to drive through the blockade.

V pulls away from Jackie’s side, instantly feeling colder away from his warmth, she twists to look forward. Watching neon lights and city people walking by. Sometimes it feels surreal. Not minutes ago she was shooting gangoons in the back of a van. Not an hour or so ago, she was pulling a woman out of an ice filled tub. Yet, the world keeps spinning, couples and families walking down the same streets her and Jackie have nearly died in so many times. No, no storm clouds, if she digs that hole she’ll need an excavator to get back out.

“So, you can be nice when you feel like it,” she signs and talks, content to use her voice at the moment, just her and Jackie after all.

“When am I not nice?”

“Uhhh, always!”

“I'm always never not nice!”

“Puh-lease!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Oh, Jackie, I can’t possibly talk around strangers, you, Misty, Mama Welles, and Vik are the only people I can talk with.  But the moment it’s time to pull out the wool over a pig’s eyes, suddenly, you’re real talkative!”

“Tone is an important tool in manipulation, my eyes can only do so much.”

“Keep that in mind when you beg me to order your food for you.”

“What? No!”

Jackie laughs, warm and deep in his chest at her offense at the mere notion of having to be in charge of ordering her own lunch from now on. It's just so much easier to have Jackie do it, waitresses are much more used to weirdness in Night City, but there’s still that odd little look when she starts signing and her translator tech does its thing. Jackie still laughs about the time he made her order the lunch over the phone and they hung up as soon as they heard the artificial voice, assuming it was some scam.

“Oh shit…” V says, soft and low as they pull up towards an intersection, two men holding guns aiming at  a driver’s side window, some poor bastard panicking behind the wheel.

“Outta the car! Now! C'mon! Ain't got all day!” The armed man screams at them and V’s fingers twitch to grab her iron. Then a large police aircraft vehicle comes flying in, lights flashing.

“Check it out, V. Shit's goin' down,” Jackie says, trying to hunch down behind the wheel, which does nothing to hide his six foot five form.

“Aa, shit, they're here!” One of the gang members yells and they’re screaming at each other to shoot. A small group of officers deploy from the aircraft vehicle, the led blue adornments to their uniform and odd helmets that cover their eyes tell her they’re MaxTac. The officers start firing back at the gangers.

“NCPD's apex predators at work, gonk out there nothing but a midday snack.”

“Wonder why they’re busting out MaxTac for this? Just looks like a regular carjacking to me.”

“Who knows, corpo behind the wheel? Got a quota to meet?”

“To put on a show of intimidation.”

“Might be onto something with that one,” the gangers are shot dead, bleeding out on the ground around the car they tried to jack, “welp, shows over.  Poor bastards… but they had it comin'.”

They pull away from the conflict, nothing but the hum of the radio playing as Jackie drives her home. Her leg is bounces softly in the floorboard, her fingers tapping at the window sill, occasionally catching the wind. The feeling she’s more accustomed to after gigs, a restlessness, adrenaline and energy boiling over. Maybe she won’t just drop once she gets home, no longer bone tired. Oddly enough, the shootout seems to have lifted her spirits. She’ll take a high stakes, high adrenaline car chase over the bone weariness ther rescue put her in.

Jake is in Heywood, so he won’t be able to get through the cordon. Cecelia is probably working at Tom’s Diner tonight. If she’s near the end of her shift, V might be able to score a lay and late night pancakes. Her mood is still a bit too sour to hit up a bar or club for a stranger, but still feeling the need to work through this energy and tension. She was dreaming of nothing more than hitting the pillow, seeing if she could sleep soundly tonight, but now she doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep at all unless she gets some energy out.  She gets out her holophone and opens up Cecelia’s contact.

“Whatcha doing, jaina?”

“Texting Cecelia,” V shrugs, shoulder twinging in pain,  “y’know how it is.”

“Of course, shit gets the blood pumping, why you think I always got a date night planned after a big gig?”

“Thought that was so you could steal my car?” She teases, typing up her message to Cecelia but not sending it yet.

“That too, but after you nearly die, just gotta do something to feel alive.”

“I think we might just be perverts.”

“Eh, that too,” he laughs as they pull into her apartment complex’s parking garage, “we’re here.”

“What about you? Not likely to make it back to Heywood now…” She asks, holding her thumb over the send button, if Jackie can’t get back through he’ll be crashing at her place and she doubts he’s going to want to sleep on the couch listening to her and her fuckbuddy go at it.

“Chill, V. They'll let me through.”

“Sure about that?”

“Oh yeah. I'll play nice Jackie again,” he stops the car near the elevator doors, “go, have some fun, lord knows you need it.”

He sticks his hand out, V smacking her palm into his own, a quick shake then they bump their fists together. His hand practically engulfs her own, that foot and a half of size difference obvious even in the contrast of their hands. One of these days she’s going to strain her neck looking up to talk to him.

“Tell Misty I said ‘hi’.”

“I will. Ahí luego.”

Goodbyes said for the night, V grabs her mask from the backseat and steps out of the car, her joints and injury protesting the movement. Her combat boots stomp against the pavement as she calls up the elevator, giving a final wave to Jackie as he pulls out of the garage. She leans against the wall, on her good shoulder, sending the text to Cecelia.

V: you @ work???

The elevator dings and V steps inside, cringing at the sudden bright light of the elevator, a stark contrast to the dimness of the garage. Video screens play ads for energy drinks and cyberware; everything under the sun. Everything in neon bubblegum colors or horrific details, because shock value sells nearly as well as tits.  Her holo buzzes and V checks a text from T-Bug, the runner knows she’d rather text than call but the sudden message is strange nonetheless. Bug only reaches out when it has something to do with a job.

T-Bug: Forgot earlier,  a runner I know has something you could probably use. It's a runner shop outside of Kabuki.

For some reason she’s not shocked at all that Bug would text in full grammatically correct sentences. V can’t help but think the world would implode if T-Bug ever sent an emoji or emoticon.  But gifts are a little unusual for her, but for some reason the experienced netrunner is convinced she can teach V the craft.

V: thanx bug, thats sweet of ya~!

She’s promptly left on seen, no indication of Bug typing anything back,  and V can’t help but laugh. The more T-Bug acts skeeved out by her affection, the more she wants to tease her with it.

“Good evening, Night City!~”

The screens cut to Night After Night, the host Ziggy Q coming to sit at his desk, green hair and gold suit twinkling under his stage lights. V rarely watches this kind of thing or watches TV as a whole if she’s being honest, just more noise, but she finds herself unable to help watching as the elevator starts to move.

“My first guest for tonight is the president of The Church of El Yahu, The Last Emancipator and the bane of Arasaka’s PR department; one Reverend Colver.”

The camera cuts to an older man dressed in black and beige, seemingly lost among the neon pinks and yellows of the stage. He sits down on the plush magenta couch, nodding towards the host.

“Praise be to thee our Father in heaven.”

“And ouuur second guest is Karina Lee, host of the Chip In program, which promotes the use of cybernetic implants,” a woman with a thick dark afro of hair comes onto the stage, “ how’s life treating you beautiful?”

“Can’t complain, Ziggy,” Karina tells him, she looks much more in place than the Reverend as she sits down next to him,  bright clothes and heavy gold cyberward indented in her jaw, “thanks for having me.”

“Now, I’d like to have us talk about the most exclusive and highly sought after implant on the market today, Arasaka Corp’s Relic. But maybe we ought to make sure our fair audience is up to speed,” Ziggy says, waving a dramatic and manicured hand towards the camera before focusing back in on his guests, “Karina, what is the relic exactly? In a word, if you could?”

“In one word? I’d say, immortality.”

“Immortality? Really?”

V can’t help but roll her eyes at the dramatic wording and the over the top expressions the host makes. Nothing can make someone immortal, that's a pipe dream, even if it is possible it will never be feasible on a mass scale for anyone who isn’t rich. TV types always got to exaggerate, she figures.

“That’s right, the relic allows you to transfer the consciousness from a dying person, finding a new home for their soul on a transferrable chip. This person, they’ll never leave your side, a companion with you  forever in your own consciousness. Just imagine if-”

“Child, child-” the Reverend cuts her off, “think for a moment about what you’re saying! This relic is an abomination that feeds on human misery! It is an unnatural likeness, a golden calf born by false prophets! What’s more, this technology is just another tool of coercion and corruption, only the wealthy and powerful elite will have access. And they will pay any price in exchange for a chance at this so-called immortality. Arasaka speaks of preserving the soul but they can promise nothing more than a heartless, mindless, algorithm speaking with the voice of the departed.”

“Well, that is true that Arasaka Corp has specifically limited access to the relic in order to-”

“The promise is a lie,” the Reverend starts to stand, gesturing emphatically, “an evil lie, motivated by greed and lust for power-”

“HA, now that is rich,” Ziggy cuts off Colver’s ramblings with a laugh.

“Excuse me!?”

“False promises, greed, a lust for power,” Ziggy rolls his eyes, “well sounds an awful lot like a church to me!”

“Wha- how dare you?”

“Do you not promise a life after death? Do you not charge funeral fees to a family in mourning? Maybe the Reverend is just afraid of a little healthy competition, huh?”

“Competition,” the religious figure scoffs, “you believe everything in this world can be counted, measured, rationalized!”

“And wouldn’t we be right?” Karina interjects, “we can construct artificial brains, create new consciousnesses!”

“But I ask you why? What does that give us? Are we as a people on this earth any happier for it? You claim that this relic gives eternal life, but all I see is an eternity of suffering. Rather than say goodbye, we haunt ourselves with their voices, their presence, but-”

“What do you folks think? Who holds the truth, is it Ms. Lee or maybe Reverend Colver? That is up to you!” Ziggy gestures at a screen behind him, showing the two guests,  “Send Colver or Lee to 7892 to cast your vote and enter your name for a chance to win tickets to this year's playoffs! Until next time, Night City, toodles!~”

V sighs, as the program cuts out and more ads start to be blasted at her. The conversation a heavy one, now tinkering around in her skull. The idea of keeping a dead loved one around as an imaginary friend… she thinks of her mother instantly, the person whose death most gravely impacted her. If she had her mom still lingering around, sitting in her head, it sounds...strange. A part of her thinks she’d love it, to have her mother back, but eould she ever see it as her mother? Committing herself to a fantasy like that, it doesn’t sound healthy, at all. Death is natural, learning how to say goodbye is part of life, right? She can’t imagine her spending all her time talking to a ghost from the past.

Her holophone buzzes in her pocket and she realizes the elevator is on her floor, probably has been for a few minutes. She shakes her head, she doesn’t need anymore heavy shit in her skull. The relic has nothing to do with her, anyway. Wondering about what if’s and could be’s won’t get her anywhere. V gets her holophone from her pocket, a text from Cecelia, a much needed distraction and relief. She starts to text her regular hookup as she makes her way to her apartment.

Cecelia: Yeah, be off in an hour, why?

V: i have a proposition

Cecelia: ???

V: bring me pancakes and i make you cum ;)

V’s flirting skills continue to impress absolutely no one, but Cecelia is still into the merc,  so that’s really on her at this point.

Cecelia: Will you pay me back for the pancakes?

V: yee

Cecelia: Drop by your place around midnight, sound good?

V:  pls and thanx! :3

V slips the phone back into her pocket, opening her apartment door and slipping inside. She shuts the door behind and starts stripping off her clothes, she needs a shower before Cecelia gets here. The waitress probably wouldn’t be too excited to come in and see V covered in a layer of sweat and blood.  Clothes off she takes her hearing aids out and puts them on her desk before she makes the beeline for her shower.

She cranks the water up as hot as possible and steps under, her shoulder and scratches sting, but she focuses her energy on washing the blood and sweat away. V washes through her hair, muscles relaxing at the feeling of hot water pouring down on her, the smell of rose scented shampoo and conditioner lingering in the air as she washes.

She’s tempted to touch herself under the water, her soap slick thighs clenching together. It's tempting, still just riding that adrenaline high, it’d be nice to find some relief. But the bullet wound in her shoulder should be attended to first, she dug the bullet out in the car, but the injury still could use some first aid. She didn’t have anything to stitch it closed and she’s not sure it’d be the smartest idea to stitch herself in a moving car, not that she hasn’t done it before.

V shuts off her shower, ignoring her swollen clit and the tension in her core. She steps out of the water and stands in front of her bathroom sink, her reflection showing in the mirror. The merc grabs her first aid kit, getting out the stuff she needs to suture her shoulder.

Vik will bitch at her for it later, call her work shoddy, but she’s been taking care of her own injuries for years.  She doesn’t need to run to him for every little thing. She pats it dry first, leaving pink stains on her bathroom towel, then she pours some antiseptic peroxide on it. A curse on her lips at the sharp sting, she cringes and takes a deep breath, preparing the needle and suture. The needle pulls through her skin with a harsh pain, as she pulls her skin back together with a quick crude stitch.

Content with her oh so shoddy work, she finishes drying off and leaves the bathroom, dropping her dirty clothes in a laundry hamper to be mended and washed later. She checks the time on her holo, still thirty or so minutes before Cecelia said she’d drop in. V throws on an oversized black tee shirt and a pair of shorts it completely covers. Her skin feels warm, still smells like roses and honey, something about the warm cozy feeling makes that little fire inside come back.  She clenches her thighs together again, mentally cursing her sex drive, libido, hormones, whatever it is that makes it so she can put a needle through her bloodied skin and still want to cum immediately after.

There's a skip in her step as she rushes to scoop her phone and hearing aids off her desk, putting them on the little circular table next to her bed instead, so they’re easily in reach. Then she plops herself onto her bed, atop the covers and blankets, she sinks into them. She feels warm, skin soft and clean to the touch. When she stretches slightly in her bed, she feels a soft sound leaving her lips.

Her breasts feel soft under her shirt, squeezing and groping herself over her clothes. Sensitive pierced nipples stiffening under the fabric, she pinches them lightly, whimpering at the pressure. She presses her head back against her pillow, biting her lip as she puts a hand underneath her shirt, teasing her breast directly, playing with her piercings.  Each touch makes her slicker, makes her clit swell and beg to be touched.

V shoves a hand down into her shorts, pushing two fingers through the lips of her wet cunt. She presses them against her clit, groaning as she begins to rub, quick messy circles. Focused on just getting there, a harsh pressure and quick pace, squirming her hips against her own hand as she builds herself up. Pleasure pools in her center, building upon itself, growing higher and higher with each stroke of her clit.

A blue light goes off, strobing and bright enough to illuminate the room. Her phone buzzes on the side table with a notification. Someone knocking on her door, she wipes her slick fingers off on her thigh and quickly puts her hearing aids in.

“V!~ It’s Cece!” The older woman’s voice rings out and V jogs to the door, feeling like she’s about to combust.

She opens the door and Cecelia quickly steps inside. V hates the diner uniform, a yellow dress and apron. But Cecelia manages to be beautiful in anything, why on earth she wants anything to do with V is beyond the merc’s comprehension. She’s tall, though nearly everyone towers over V to some extent, with a cute shaggy pixie cut of dark hair. Olive skin with a dusting of freckles and amber eyes, far too beautiful to be rolling around in bed with some nomad turn street punk.

“I got extra honey and syrup for-”

She’s cut off by V’s lips in the middle of explaining what’s in the little white diner container. Her words dying on the merc’s tongue, V presses in deep, tasting all she can of Cecelia’s mouth, finding the taste of coffee and cigarettes awaiting her. A bitter taste, one she despises, but she ignores for the sake of her own lust. She presses the taller woman against the closed door, hands grabbing at the curve of Cecelia’s hips, pulling up on the dress of her uniform.

“V, V,” Cecelia breaks away from the kiss, panting, “you're gonna crush your pancakes.”

V rolls her eyes, taking the container from Cecelia’s hands and quickly placing it on her computer desk. Then she’s shoving a hand under the waitress uniform, Cecelia keening as V slips her hand into the older woman’s panties. The merc buries her face into her partner’s neck, licking, sucking and biting at her skin as she works her fingers against her clit. V braces her other hand against the door, sharply biting the expanse of skin against her lips. She gazes up at her fuckbuddy, the woman’s head thrown back against the door as she whimpers, V’s hand doesn’t stop working. She rubs the same two fingers she had on herself just moments before over Cecelia’s clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and slick. The merc’s hand is soaked in it already, she finds herself wondering if she’d find a puddle on her apartment floor if she looked down.

“You’re smoking again,” V whispers against Cecelia’s neck, marveling at the bruises her teeth have left behind. She knows the effect her voice has in these moments, so rarely heard by Cecelia, and when it is it’s husk with lust.

“So-” V twists her wrists and sinks those two fingers inside, “sorry, I fuck, V, stre-fuck-stressful day, I fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“That hardly seems fair, what did I taste like?” V pumps her fingers steadily, feeling slick run down her wrist.

“Li-aH, ah, uh, honey, you ta-taste like h-oney, al-always do~!” Her hips squirm to meet V’s thrusting fingers, trying to chase her own pleasure.

“So, you get honey and I get to lick the inside of an ashtray?”

“I sa-said,” V adds a third finger, speeding up her movement, “Fuck, I’m sorry!’

“Hmmm, I don’t think sorry cuts it here, Cece.” V starts to rub her thumb clumsily over Cecelia’s clit, watching the woman moan and squirm. Her thighs are vice tight around V’s wrist, teeth sinking into her lip. She’s close.

“V, fuck please, I, fu-uck!” She whines and pleads, V’s not even sure what for, if it’s too much or not enough.

“Fine, I’ll forgive ya, but I gotta get the taste out of my mouth first.”

V drops to her knees, yanking Cecelia’s underwear down to her ankles just to bury her face between the older woman’s thighs. The merc uses her hands to keep her partner’s legs spread and gives a heavy messy lick of Cecelia’s clit, ensuring her tongue piercing makes contact with the sensitive nerves. Already built up to near orgasm, Cecelia screams out, the lick sending her right over the edge. Slick gushes onto V’s mouth and chin, coating her tongue in a heavy layer that she swallows before she starts licking again. Pubic hair scratches at her nose as she laps and licks at Cecelia’s cunt. Licking her through orgasm and prolonging it into another, and another, drawing the high out with every lave of her tongue. Cecelia squirms and thrust her hips, sloppily humping against the merc’s face, she knots her fingers in V’s bleach blonde hair. It becomes too much, orgasms drawn out to long, tears forming at the corner of Cecelia’s eyes.

“St-stop!”

V pulls away instantly, face a flushed mess of slick and lust. She slowly pulls away from Cecelia, standing up, the taller woman’s knees are buckled and she’s leaning all her weight against the door. The two pant, each catching their breath and V looks down on the floor, her suspicions confirmed at the wet droplets, Cecelia managing to drip down onto the wood.

“I, uh, take it you’re a little worked up tonight?”

V makes a wiggly ‘kind of’ hand gesture, winking at Cecelia, smirking. She can’t help but feel a sense of pride looking at Cecelia; panting, neck marked, underwear around her ankles, and still dripping.

“That taste better than cigarettes?” Cecelia asks, smiling and still out of breath as she kicks off her heels and  steps out of her panties towards V. She cups V’s slick sodden chin, amber eyes soft as she brushes her thumb across the younger woman’s bottom lip.

“Much.”

Then their lips connect again, the sweetness of slick cutting down on the bitter taste of Cecelia’s bad habit. They lick into each other’s mouth, press into each other, pull away slightly; all to fall back into it. V starts pulling at the buttons of Cecelia’s uniform, revealing inch after inch of cleavage. She pushes it down off the older woman’s shoulders, leaving her in nothing but a bra. Heavy breasts surrounded by black lace, but only for a moment then V’s greedy hands unhook it, pulling the last bit of fabric from Cecelia’s body.

“On the bed,” V signs and speaks, words slurred with desire.

Cecelia gives a soft laugh and V discretely scratches at her hearing aid, the device starting to rub the inside of her ear raw, sex sweat irritating it. This type of tech became completely waterproof millennia ago, but they can still chafe. Refocusing her attention, she stares at Cecelia laying down in her bed. A beautiful face is no doubt what first drew her eye to the waitress, but Cecelia’s curvy soft figure was next. Large breasts that spill over most of her bras, a soft stomach, and thick thighs. A contrast to V’s own body, the merc more petite and curves more...subtle.

V doesn’t hesitate another moment, straddling Cecelia’s waist, the older woman’s hands instinctively reading for the merc’s hips. A twinge of pain when Cecelia’s unknowingly brushes against the small injury there, V ignores it in favor of pulling her shirt off over her head, throwing it onto the floor. She expects eyes raking over her small pert breasts, a look of desire in Cecelia’s eyes. But finds concern instead, fingers reach out to V’s shoulder, nearly brushing the crude stitches.

“What hap-”

V grabs Cecelia’s wrists and pins them to the bed, burying her lips into the older woman’s neck again. She sucks and bites, hoping the action gets her point across; don’t touch that, don’t ask that, don’t push. V likes fucking Cecelia. They are fuckbuddies, but Cecelia has a way of asking questions, wanting to know more beyond how skilled the merc is with her tongue. So, she has to steer it back on course, latching her mouth around one of Cecelia’s breasts, sucking and licking at her nipple. Cecelia moans and whimpers when V teases her chest, giving the other breast the same treatment and pulling off with a wet pop.

“Fuck, point made, V,” Cecelia swallows hard, “you still have any straps laying around?”

“Want me to fuck you with it?”

“No, uh, wanna watch you ride it”

V’s never scrambled so fast to get her toy box out from under her bed, a little chilled at leaving Cecelia’s warmth, she pulls her treasure trove out. She chooses a toy, essentially double sided and strap strap on. One end is a vibrating bulb likes shape and the other a dildo. V strips off her shorts before clambering back onto the bed. She lightly taps Cecelia’s thigh, licking her lips when the brunette spreads them for her.  The ribbed bulb slides easily inside of Cecelia and her high pitched whine lets V know it’s doing its job, pressing on the g-spot, when theyfuck it should grind against her clit too. Once inside, the rest of the toy sticks out, making it look like Cecelia has a slick black silicon cock.

Then V turns the vibration on, Cecelia screaming out as it buzzes and vibrates inside of her. V can’t help but laugh at her overstimulated and sensitive partner, she pins Cecelia’s hands back down to the mattress and straddles her. Her wet neglected cunt hovering just over the vibrating dildo, she kisses at Cecelia’s jaw. The brunette’s eyes are closed tightly, face contorted in pleasure as the toy works it’s magic.

“Thought you wanted to watch me?” V teases, smirking against Cecelia’s skin, then sinks down on top of the toy.

V whines and whimpers as the vibrating toy fills her, Cecelia grabbing her hips, amber eyes now firmly watching the blonde. Moans and squeals echo throughout the room. V fucks herself on the toy, Cecelia’s hips thrusting up to meet the movement, slamming the toy further into her each time. They’re both sensitive, Cecelia from being overstimulated since she walked in the room and V from neglecting her own needs until now.  Heavy squelching noises ring out where the toy plunges in and out of V’s cunt; mixing with the buzzing of the toy  and the clap of their flesh meeting on each thrust. There’s a tension in V’s center that grows tighter and tighter inside of her, pleasure building upon pleasure. Each slide of the toy inside of her brings her closer and closer to her end.

She lets go of Cecelia’s wrists, the hunched over position getting uncomfortable, V shifts her hands back onto the brunette’s legs, leaning back to support her weight that way. Then Cecelia thrusts, angle slightly changed and hitting impossibly deep, too much, too much. The tension snaps and V’s overwhelmed by pleasure, she bounces on the toy through her orgasms, yelling out as she rides out the waves of ecstasy.

A soft whine leaves V’s lips, when she starts to come down and the buzzing toy is too much, Cecelia looks about ready to pass out and V realizes there’s no way all the slick where they connect is from her.  The merc whimpers pulling off of the toy and turning off it’s vibrations, earning a sound from Cecelia who gasps when V gently pulls it out.

The toy is soaked; their thighs and the bed where their hips met too. Too tired to care about organization right now, V casually throws the toy to the side, she’ll clean and store it properly later. She instead collapses next to Cecelia, the two gathering their breath.

She’s not sure how much time passes, just laying next to Cecelia, but V’s heart rate and breathing calms down. Ther merc yawns, her ears hurt worse now. But, the orgasm was worth it. Her stomach is starting to hurt too.

“Your pancake are probably cold by now,” Cecelia tells her with a laugh and-

Oh fuck, V forgot her pancakes. She jumps out of bed, stumbling on her way to grab her food

“Did you just trip over a used dildo?”

“Not answering that.”

V brings the food back to the bedside table,  throwing her oversized shirt back on, before climbing into bed with her meal. She folds her legs and sits the meal in her lap, facing the side of the bed with Cecelia sitting next to her.

“You mind if I borrow some sleep clothes?”

V gives a thumbs up, opening her food container, her stomach growls and she realizes she hasn’t eaten since probably noon. Cecelia got her a stack of pancakes covered in honey, maple syrup, and whip cream. Even a little carton of milk packed tightly in with the food, probably her attempt to keep V from drinking too much Nicola.

“I assume that also means you’re okay with staying the night? Marlow’s at her dad’s this week, so the apartment’s kind of lonely…”

Another thumbs up, taking a big bite of food as Cecelia starts to look through her closet. Anything that fits V properly will be too tight on the brunette, but V’s collection of oversized sleep shirts should be fine. The merc watches half heartedly as Cecelia pokes through the old tees, already having devoured half of her pancake stack.

“Samurai?” Cecelia raises an eyebrow, looking at a bagging black and red shirt, the one she kept that originally belonged to Ava, “you listen to dad rock?”

“Not mine, don’t wear that one!”  V quickly signs with one hand, sometimes she wears it and can still convince herself it still  smells like her old love… She doesn’t want it smelling like anyone else and maybe that’s stupid, maybe that’s weird, she doesn’t know or care. It means something to her. She doesn’t know or give a fuck about the band on it, some shitty punk group no ones given a damn about in years, but it belonged to Ava. That’s what matters.

“Okay, no problem,” Cecelia seems to understand, not noticing or at the very least not mentioning V’s odd tension around it. She instead throws on an oversized white shirt before coming back to the bed.

The shirt on V reaches past her knees, but on Cecelia it hits around the mid thighs. V feels the brunette’s warmth as their sides touch, sitting close together. V shoves another chunk of pancakes in her mouth, nearly inhaling it.

“At least drink some milk, you and that friend of yours are the worst about chewing your food. I swear, I’ve seen you both choke five or six times in one meal.”

V nods and grabs the little carton of milk, her stomach dropping when she sees the back of it. A woman’s face stares back at her, a little different, more cleaned up and hair on her head,  but still bone chillingly familiar. Sandra Dorsett, a little message under her picture asking if anyone’s seen her.

“Something wrong, V?” Cecelia puts a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles, then her eyes fall on the carton, “you know her?”

V shakes her head, because she doesn’t, not really. And even then, it's a moot point, the ad is old and Sandra is safe now… probably.  Not like V actually knows, she could have died in the Trauma Team vehicle, before they even made it to the hospital. And god only knows what the long term effects will be and she’s the lucky one.

“Well, they found her, from what I heard.”

V raises an eye at Cecelia, turning to face her a bit more.

“Caught it on the news just before I clocked out, they haven’t released the footage of the rescue yet, but apparently she was pulled out of some Scavenger hideout. Trauma Team got her and say she’s going to make a full recovery, so, good news…” She drags it out, like she’s testing V’s reaction trying to see if she can get anything from the merc.

“It’s good,” V signs, Cecelia’s eyes falling to the mercs hands, “but, you know Scavengers… there was probably twenty, thirty more bodies there, left to rot because they didn’t have enough money for Trauma to care.”

“Yeah, it's fucked but, hey, one person is better than none.”

“I guess… I hear even the people who get saved are fucked up afterwards. They don’t remember anything, until something triggers a flashback and next thing they know they feel like the worlds crashing in on them.”

“Won’t be easy, for sure, I can’t even imagine what that poor girl has gone through, but people are resilient.”

“Got to be,” V signs, chewing her lip, “the world’d eat them alive otherwise.”

“You got a good heart, V, you know that?” Cecelia tells her, tucking a strand of hair back behind the merc’s.

“Gross.”

“Yes, yes, I know, big bad merc can’t have feelings, fear her, blah blah blah,” Cecelia rolls her eyes and V blows a raspberry at her. Then stands to put what’s left of the food on the side table, the brief moment of vulnerability putting her off her pancakes. Cecelia always manages to pry something from her.

“Let's get to sleep, before I kill you,” she signs, then gestures to Cecelia to get to bed.

Cecelia curls up with V’s pillow, nestling into the sheets while V pulls out her hearing aids, rubbing at the raw skin. Putting her hearing aids back down, she sees the text notification on her phone. From Jackie, the message is short enough to display in the preview window.

Jackie: got big news, chica! B-I-G BIG!!! talk to you in the morning, hehehe!~

V lets out a huff of air, smiling and rolling her eyes all at once. He’s dramatic, always has been. His idea of big news is probably some new restaurant he found, maybe he won some eddies on a boxing match.  She shakes her head and puts the phone aside for now, crawling under the covers. Cecelia lifts an arm, allowing V to curl up close with her head on Cecelia’s chest as she drifts off to sleep.

[dumbdotcomm]

a little luck and some frogs

(a/n) the iconic @pricklydapper​ drew this amazing piece for me of Mikey and Raph and I just had to write a angst/fluff one-shot for it!!!

//

There’s a still and a quiet that comes with rain, gentle and slow and lulling. They haven’t had quiet in so long, it seems; it feels like days blend into one another, new paths unlocked in their destinies or whatever.

Sometimes Raph would just like to stop. Go back to being that 15 year old kid living below Queens, having nothing but his tight knit family and a lair game tournament to worry about.

They’ve been firing on all cylinders for days, and god he’s just tired, overstimulated and definitely in need of, like, a detox or something- Leo and April go on about those kinds of things. Maybe he’ll give that a try.

But even as the days pass, long long after they’ve settled back into home and dealing with low-level crime, Raph still can’t really relax. Not in the way that lasts. He’s always looking, anticipating the moment their relative peace will elude them, and the next thing he’ll know is they’ll be miles high, falling from a building, pushing and pushing to catch one another- or at the docks watching his brother get torn apart.

Raph feels like he’s gonna hurl and he does, nothing but last night’s dinner and severe anxiety spilling out from him.

It’s gross and embarrassing and Raph knows it’s nothing he can control; the little helpful part of his brain is reassuring that way. But it was easier to feel so panicky when everyone else was still reeling from the fight.

Leo’s got his detoxing with April, Mikey’s gone off and found Draxum to rehabilitate for god knows what reason, and Donnie’s regulated his sleeping cycle again and he’s gone back to shittalking and watching gophers on Youtube so- he’s okay.

Everyone’s okay…. except for Raph.

But maybe what Raph doesn’t know is that the somewhat okay thing about it, the silver-ish lining in all of it is- even if he’s feeling alone… he’s not. He never is. And Raph has always hated his panic-stink but maybe it’s doing him some good, because he brothers are attentive, and Mikey’s especially perceptive.

It’s why, on this languid, rainy ass day, Mikey barges into Raph’s room with a shopping bag from Old Navy. How he got to, and inside, and outside of Old Navy, Raph doesn’t really have to wonder (humans were so funny in ignoring obvious things, it made raph wonder why mutants stayed hidden anyway).

But Mikey’s got a grin that stretches a mile wide and is pretty contagious, as he struts into the room after having stood in the entrance in that weird ‘younger sibling is now here to bother you’ stance.

“Whaaat are we doing…?” Raph asks cautiously, but can’t hide his own growing smile the longer Mikey beams.

He says ‘we’ because there’s always a ‘we’ in these types of situations, and he’d rather just include himself now off the bat.

“Glad’ja asked,” Mikey says, and dumps the Old Navy bag out of Raph’s bed, “Behold….the best freakin’ things ever.”

And woah- they kinda are the best freaking things ever. Practically see-through jackets with-

“No way! Mikey!” Raph clutches his- he already knows it’s his by the size, extra huge and all, “Bro this-? Is pretty sick. How’d you even get it this big?!”

The thing about them and clothes is: Leo, Donnie and Mikey are all, at least, human people sizes. It’s easy for them to snag just about anything, even some of April’s old stuff fits them. Hell, Leo could fit into Dad’s old suit. And that luxury was kinda foreign to Raph.

Humans barely even made enough fashionable clothes for all of their people- and Raph was kind of outside of that caliber.

He’s kinda getting teary eyed, but, like, who wouldn’t, and Mikey’s already slipping into his own coat, see-through and speckled with little oranges.

“Eh, it’s no biggie,” he sniffs, shrugging the jacket on the rest of the way (it’s totally a biggie), “I kinda...customized ‘em. They were havin’ this special, and I thought ‘screw it baby, we need raincoats’!”

And, careful of his strength, Raph goes for a hug that he knows Mikey was anticipating anyway, with the force that he hugs back and all. Raph doesn’t really need to say anything, but his warbly thank you to Mikey is just a fraction of the depth of emotion he feels now.

It’s funny, silly maybe, because this doesn’t erase the threat of a bigger fight, a worse enemy lurking in the shadows to trip them up- it’s just a custom made see-through raincoat with Raph’s favorite fruit, adorable little strawberries, on it.

And yet he feels indescribably lighter than he’s felt in weeks.

“I figured we could do some adventuring, and I gotta cooks tonight so…”

Mikey wriggles his brow ridge, and Raph can’t help but, like, wanna combust from this surge of excitement and normalcy that he hasn’t felt in too long.

“Trip to Katagiri, hell yes!”

/////

The nice thing about rain in the city is, even though traffic is all the same, and people are still moving around, the sky gets dark enough from the clouds that the lights kinda shine prematurely. The streetlamps come on with a dim, orangey light, and with the autumn leaves mixed with green ones still clinging on, it was just so peaceful.

No one, again, seems to care that two turtles are walking down Lexington, and one couple briskly compliments their jackets and so that’s a plus.

Mikey compliments the one girl’s hair, shaved with hearts dyed into her scalp, and Raph can only appreciate that his brother is so well-spoken- that he just is so natural and confident out here.

That he doesn’t worry.

Raph remembers his first time topside, and how his fear led him into the state of consciousness that he hates to be in- where he’s on all instinct and fear and nothing else.

It’s gotten better since then, but the unease still lingers all these years. Raph wonders if he’ll get rid of it all the way.

Donnie realistically told him he might not, but that all he has to do is count to ten and back again, look around, find something to focus on- something ordinary or something great, and cling to it till he can convince his body and mind that he’s safe- that things will return to normal in a sec.

And right now, Raph keeps his eyes locked on his brother’s feet, as they pound the sidewalk, making little splashes in rain water.

As he’s watching, a frog of all things, just hops along the sidewalk, right at Raph’s feet. It makes him halt, because....maybe it’s coincidental or maybe Raph’s reading too into it, but Mikey turns around too, sees the frog that Raph stoops beside, and smiles in soft understanding.

It’s an omen of some sorts, Dad always said so. Of good luck, and of things returning.

Raph breathes out a laugh, shaking his head.

Just as quickly as the frog comes, it hops away, and Raph stands, still a bit speechless, still kinda processing the meaning behind what just happened, desperately wanting to cling to it meaning good fortune.

He doesn’t wanna worry his brother though, and so he thinks of something to joke or talk about as they start to walk again, only for Mikey to beat him to it.

“I never told you thanks,” he says, gently, like he’s been reading Raph’s aura. Maybe he has.

And somehow Raph already knows what he’s thanking him for, but decides within himself that Mikey really, really shouldn’t. He was just doing his job. He tells Mikey this breezily, with a soft smile.

“Bullshit,” Mikey snaps back, but only because he knows Raphael so well, “We’re kids- we don’t got jobs- except for Donnie occasionally….suspiciously-” he shakes off the trailing thought, “Anyway- it’s not ‘your job’. It was just a shitty...long fight and ya really held us down, Raph.”

They cross the street, momentarily separating with the influx of people but find their way back in a second, the neon ‘Gonbei’ sign now visible to them.

And it’s not that Raph is all that surprised by Mikey. He knows his brother’s always had a knack for speaking in a way that just...made so much sense and was so profound without any complexity. But maybe it’s his brother being 14 now, that makes him even wiser.

“I know we don’t got jobs,” Raph concedes, as they pass the Lexington Flowers shop, “But, you know, I’m big...bigger than you guys, an’ I might not be as smart but when it comes to protecting, an’ planning….it’s what a leader’s s’posed ta do, y’know?”

They don’t often talk about the leadership thing- not that it’s touchy, it’s just not really relevant with how they function. But Mikey knows Raph’s internalized the role a bit more recently. And that Leo getting dropped from a building may have been the catalyst.

He knows his brother’s technically got a job to do. Mikey resents that, and their Dad a little bit, for not making Raph ready for all of what happened weeks ago.

Though he knows that’s not all fair. His father was only protecting them.

Still….it sucks.

“Well, if it means anything, I think you’re smart. And ‘m not sure if I can promise this, but I’m gonna do it anyway...” Mikey says, stopping in his tracks and turning to Raph, who also stops walking and gets called a ‘fuckin asshat’ for blocking a chunk of the sidewalk but- hey.

Mikey politely tells the guy to go fuck himself and when the guy turns to get a good enough look- not at Raph’s size, but at his little gremlin brother with a chain that’s starting to flame up- he decides this whole situation is not something he wants any parts of.

Mikey rolls his eyes and turns back to Raph, face all sincere and kind for someone who just...did that, “I promise we’re okay, and we’re always gonna be stuck together, Raph. I know that won’t magically make you feel better but...just thought I’d say it.”

And Raph tries to say something, but has to clear his throat, and it’s definitely the rain on his cheeks and beak.

“No,” he croaks, and laughs at his voice, happy that Mikey laughs too, “Nah, it- it really helps a lot Mikey….thank you- thanks, man.”

Satisfied, Mikey turns to keep on walking, patting Raph’s shell, “Anytime bud.”

////

Katagiri’s never disappoints. Mikey leaves with milk tea, shrimp tempura and shiso, more milk tea and a couple boxes of mochi ice. It’s one of those days.

He swings his groceries as they walk.

Raph doesn’t wonder about the frog and its meaning, and doesn’t doubt its luck and why it appeared to him.

He’s kinda figured it out. Because he still has moments like this, watching his brother merrily skip a few steps ahead of him, chatting breezily about pineapple upside down pancakes- and Mikey made a promise, after all, that they’re gonna be together, no matter what.

If that’s not lucky, being with his family, leaning on them when it counts, then Raph’s got no clue what is.

[mydramatiiclife]

Pining

Cas finally received the promotion he has been working towards for the past year and a half. He’s so excited to begin this new career path. Not only does he get to work alongside some of his mentors, and receive a significant pay raise, but he and his best friend Charlie can finally move out of their shitty apartments and into a one of “luxury” apartments on the nice side of the city. 

It takes Cas a few weeks to fully get settled into their new apartment and to fall back into his usual routine. He gets up just after the sun rises and jogs around the apartment complex. Some mornings Charlie even joins him, but mostly it’s just him and whatever audiobook he’s currently listening to.

He’s on the last stretch of his run when he sees their handsome neighbor step out of his beast of a car. The first time Cas noticed him was during their first week at their new place, him and Charlie were coming home from a late night food run.

Cas has been hoping to catch a glimpse of him ever since. 

He just didn’t think it was going to happen while he was wearing some of his frumpiest workout clothes, skin drenched in sweat, and decorated in splotchy red marks. 

Cas slows down in an attempt to catch his breath only to have his heart pick up speed when their eyes meet. 

They’re the perfect shade of green.

“Good morning,” Cas greets. He hopes he doesn’t sound as out of breath as he feels.

“Hello,” the other man smiles. His smile only makes Cas’ heart beat even faster. 

Cas continues the slow pace until he hears a front door open and close, and then he prints the rest of the way home. 

“Charlie! Charlie!” Cas yells as soon as he enters their apartment.

“There’s no reason to be yelling my name this early in the morning bucko. It’s not even 7:30 yet,” Charlie says as she starts up the coffee maker. 

“I seen him! Handsome Neighbor guy! I seen him. Right now, on my run.” 

“You did?! Did you get his number?”

“What no!”

“His name?”

“No.”

“Did you say ‘hi’ at least?” 

Cas rolls his eyes, “Even better! I said ‘good morning’.”

“Well, look at you. My little Hugh Heffner,” Charlie mocks. “I’m proud of you. Now you kind of know his schedule and you can begin stalking him,” Charlie jokes. 

The next few days Cas goes for a run right after the sun rises, in best workout clothes in the hopes of catching another glimpse of Handsome Neighbor Guy.  He catches him a couple of times but with only just enough time to say a quick ‘good morning’. 

Cas decides to go on a late night run one evening when he catches sight of Handsome Neighbor Guy leaving his apartment with a beautiful curly haired blonde woman. 

Cas’ heart sinks. Of course Handsome Neighbor Guy is straight. Cas should have taken his car a clue. 

“You mean to tell me you run in the morning and at night?” Handsome Neighbor Guy teases. 

“I didn’t get a chance to get my run in this morning,” Cas says as he makes his way past. 

“Well enjoy, don’t push yourself too hard,” Handsome Neighbor Guy warns. 

“I’ll try not to,” Cas promises. 

 He’s on the floor of Charlie’s room staring up at the ceiling and wallowing in his unrequited love with Handsome Neighbor Guy. 

“She could have just been a friend ya know,” she says. 

“Doubt it. They looked like they were more than friends.”

“I’m sorry bestie. But hey, you can still enjoy the view.”

“True!” 

Cas does his best to keep his mind off of Handsome Neighbor Guy, taking different routes during his morning runs.

A few weeks pass until Cas sees him again. He and Charlie are coming home from a late night snack run when they spot him with his blonde girlfriend and a very tall dark haired man. 

“Charlie?” the tall guys questions. 

“Sam?! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at work?” Charlie jokes as she makes her way over to greet him. 

“I live here. What are you doing here?” 

“I live here, too!” Charlie says with glee as she pulls Cas forward, “This is my best friend and roommate Cas.” Cas quickly waves hello. 

“Cas the running guy,” Handsome Neighbor Guy says. 

“That’s Running Guy?!” Sam asks out loud. “This is the guy you won’t stop talking about?”

Cas’ feels his face heat up in embarrassment, he thought he was being discreet with his crush but apparently not. He didn’t mean to make anyone feel uncomfortable and that’s exactly what he’s done. Handsome Neighbor Guy’s face is turning bright red. 

Cas wants to run far, far, away. 

“Shut up, Sam!,” he hears Handsome Neighbor Guy hiss just as the blonde woman introduces herself. 

Probably to make sure Cas knows that Handsome Neighbor Guy is spoken for. 

“Hi, I’m Jess. Sam’s girlfriend.”

Cas knew it! He’s straight. His girl-. 

Wait…

“And this is Sam’s older brother, Dean.” 

“You’re not his girlfriend?” Cas blurts out before he has a chance to stop himself. 

“No, Dean’s gay,” Jess dodges a swat from Dean. 

“So is Cas!” Charlie chimes in. 

“Oh good!” Sam joins in. “Maybe my brother will finally get the balls to ask him on a date instead of pining over him in our apartment.”

“I wasn’t pining.” Dean hisses. 

“It’s okay, Cas was doing the same,” Charlie adds. 

“No I wasn’t.” Cas pouts. 

“Well the three of us were about to head down the street to Taylor’s Bar. Would you two like to join us? I love meeting Sam’s coworkers and it’ll give these to two a chance to talk.” Jess suggest. 

“Sounds brilliant!” Charlie answers for the both of them. She hands him their bags of snacks with instruction to put them away and grab her cardigan. 

By the time Cas is back from their apartment, everyone is gone except for Dean.

“Hey Cas,” Dean says between a shy smile. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Sorry if my brother and his girlfriend put you on the spot. We don’t have to hang out if you don’t want to.” 

“I don’t mind. I’m just glad you’re single. Wait, you are single right?”

“Single and gay,” Dean confirms. “You?”

“Same.” 

“So what do you say to stop all this pining,” Dean mocks, “and ditch them? We can go grab some ice cream? I saw the rocky road in your bag and I know a great ice cream place a few blocks away.”

“I’d like that.”

[dreamyjoons]

catnapped // knj

⇢ sometimes pets know better. But you and Namjoon have never been good at accepting the truth, no matter where it comes from.

Genre/warnings: fluff, smut! a lil angst. neighbours!au, unprotected sex (be safe!), some dirty talk, a curse word or two.

Words: 8.2k

A/N: quick dumb (and mostly unedited lmao sorry) fic for Namjoon’s birthday! Keep your eyes out for more Joon content in the run up to Halloween 👀 enjoy!

“Phoebe! Stop barking or I’m calling you ‘Pee Pee’ again.”

Despite your intimidating threat, your dog wouldn’t stop. Rolling your eyes, you push up off your couch and walk to the pup, big brown eyes fixed on the window and her tail wagging like crazy.

You follow her line of vision, only to see a raggedy cat sitting on the window ledge outside. You’d seen it around before, often sitting on your ground-floor window to tease your dog. It was a scruffy looking thing, long hair sticking out in every direction, beady amber eyes glued to Phoebe. Even though it didn’t seem underweight it did look like a stray, and you didn’t want to stress it out any more.

You step in front of your dog and crack the window, just enough to squeeze your arm out.

“Hey little one, my girl isn’t gonna stop with your sitting there, so- hey!”

The cat ducks from your touch and darts in through your window. You struggle your arm back through the gap, ready to lift your dog away, but what you saw made you falter.

Phoebe’s tail was wagging, her little butt shaking with excitement as the the cat walked around her, brushing it’s head and tail against her.

“Oh.” Is all you could say, watching as they both sit together in the stream of sunlight that funnels past you.

Phoebe lays down first, the cat settling beside her, tail flickered over, slumped against your dog.

“Make yourself at home, I guess.” You sidestep away, eyes glued to the animals as you perch back on the couch.

You can’t drag your eyes away, waiting for the other shoe to drop and your dog to get a taste for kitty. But it doesn’t happen. They sit, joined at the hip as if they had been friends for years, eyes closing in the morning sun.

It didn’t look like it had a collar, and you realise you don’t even know it’s gender-

Until it sits up to aggressively lick itself, lifting its leg in the air and you realise the cat is male.

You drag your eyes away to give him some privacy, and settle to make yourself comfy. However a quick glance at the clock on your phone had you springing to your feet with a strangled cry, sprinting to get ready for work.

Hastily dressed and wiping toothpaste from the corner of your mouth, you refill Phoebe’s water bowl, stoop to give her a kiss and the cat a scratch behind his ear. You pull on your shoes, grab your bag and bolt for the door - if you were fast enough you would just make it in time.

Slamming it behind you and rummaging through your bag, you manage to crash into a body in the hallway.

“ I’m so sor- oh, it’s you.”

“Charming as ever, Y/N.”

You glare at Namjoon as he shrugs his jacket on over his blue vet scrubs. You raise an eyebrow at that, you mouth four steps ahead of your brain.

“Why are you wearing scrubs? Aren’t you a philosophy… thing?”

“Professor-“

“Whatever.”

“I volunteer at the vet clinic on my off days.” He finishes, hand slipping into his pockets as he looks at you.

You roll your eyes. A teacher and an animal lover? It’s like he was trying too hard to be a heartthrob. It made you want to throw up a little bit.

He runs a hand through his messy hair before pulling on his beanie. You watch the motion, remembering how his hands had once brushed through your-

Stamping that line of thought firmly from your brain, you turn from him and make your way out of the building block, heat bursting across your face. You push all thoughts of that aside and instead simmer on the fact that he just had to move into your apartment block. Of all the ones in the city!

“Hey, it’s not like I chose to live here knowing you were here too.” He sighs, and you turn back to him, horror on your face as you realise you said that aloud. He strides forward to walk alongside you, a faint scent of mint washing over.

“Why did you chose here though? I’d think there would be better places for a teacher-vet-know it all extraordinare to live.” You snap, although you wince at the harshness of your words.

“Because my salary is low for a starter and I volunteer, this is all I can afford.” He sighs, a sharp stab of guilt hitting you. You get to the door and he holds it open for you, and you murmur your thanks before walking through.

“Oh, sorry.” You squeak out, but he shrugs, turning a playful grin on you.

“It’s fine. Is there anything else you want to know? I’m a Virgo, I read four books at a time, I’ve seen you nak-”

“Nope, goodbye! Have a shitty day!” You shout, pulling your car keys from you bag and running to where your car sat. You could hear him chuckling behind you, but you ignored him. Asshole.

You get inside, belt up and turn on your car, but your eyes instinctively flick to Namjoon, unlocking his bike from the bike shed that came with your building. You watch as he throws his leg over the vehicle and pushes off. With a hot sigh, you pull out of the parking lot, temptation trickling through you to just knock him on the bike. Only a little bit.

-- --

The next few days pass easily. There was no Namjoon to taint your existence, you didn’t have work and you pup had found a new best friend and now wasn’t trying to tear all your shoes apart.

The cat was coming over to your place every day, climbing through the cracked window. You’d decided to leave it open so the cat could come and go as he wanted. If he needed a place to stay, you weren’t going to shut him out.

Peculiarly, the cat had taken a liking to one of Phoebe’s favourite chew things - a random slipper she had found somewhere. You’d come home from work one day and your dog had mysteriously found a slipper and could not be parted with it, no matter how long you chased her for it. After greeting your dog, the cat would sniff the slipper a little, rub his head on it and them continue on as normal. At first you were slightly perturbed, but soon you simply stopped noticing.

You even had bought a bag of cat food and a small bowl, and in a fleeting moment wondered if you should take it to the vet to get it checked for any owners. But you simply never did, letting the cat do as it pleased.

You were on your way back from the store with said pet food when you spotted the cat outside your complex. You laid down your bags and held your hand out, cooing at him whilst he lazily accepted your pets.

Once cat decided he’d had enough he stretched and walked off, slinking around the corner and out of sight.

“Hey, come back you little toe!”

“Who are you talking to?”

You turn and look behind you, only to be met with a crotch. You pan up, cheeks hot, to see Namjoon staring down at you. Gulping, you push to your feet and brush yourself off.

“A cat.” You say simply, walking back to your shopping and scooping the bags up. “Bye.”

You begin to walk away, but the cat food slips out of your grasp. You groan, but turn to scoop it up. Namjoon beats you to it, plucking it off the floor and holds it under his arm before sliding a bag from your grip.

“What are you doing?” You ask, sharp eyes watching his every move.

“Helping you, obviously.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“Because you were struggling…? Look, I know you still don’t like me, but school was a while ago now. Can’t we be civil?” His voice is low and imploring, his bright eyes piercing your soul.

You clear your throat, fighting to keep your temper down. You couldn’t say what was on your mind - not really.

“I was lucky to get my degree with the way you wouldn’t shut up during lectures.”

“I had questions!”

“Not every three minutes! Our professors could barely get through their slides, Joonie.”

The slip of his nickname makes his eyes wide, and you slam your mouth shut. A softness descents over him, fingers twitching as if he wants to reach out to you.

“Namjoon. I mean Namjoon.” The words feel blunt leaving you. Too sharp.

“Y/N-“

“Let’s just go.”

You turn and head into your building complex, Namjoon on your trail. Memories of him back when you studied together, your rivalry to be top of the class, the drunken night you’d shared.

Finally reaching your door, he plants your things down beside you and hovers awkwardly, large hands shoved in his pockets. Ignoring him, you slide your key into your lock, letting your door slide open. You push all your items inside before reluctantly turning to Namjoon.

“Well… thanks.” You say, a forced smile on your face.

He smiles back at you, and it nearly winds you. His dimple pops, warm smile spreading across his face. His eyes are squished but bright, solely focused on you.

You shake the starstruck hold from your brain, give him a small wave and disappear into your apartment. You press yourself back against the door, heart thumping.

The sound of him walking away is barely audible about the thundering in your ears.

This was stupid. It was only Namjoon. Sure, you’d thought he was hot in college. And just maybe he was still hot now. But he was also a know-it-all, and after your night together, he left you. You didn’t need that in your life.

You gather up your groceries and put it all away before making a small bowl of cat food and placing it down by Phoebe’s bowl.

The cat food turned out to be a success, as over the next couple of days the cat would come in and demolish his food next to Phoebe, the pair happily eating together before moving off to take a nap. Often they would end up on your bed.

That’s where you found Phoebe, belly up on your bed. You smile as you join her, curling up on the other side just to watch her. But soon you feel yourself drifting off, the faintest image of Namjoon lingering in your mind.

— —

A crash startles you awake from your nap, adrenaline pumping itself through your veins. Its was still light as you heading into early evening, the air crisp.

Looking around your room, you realise that Phoebe wasn’t with you. Assuming it to be her, you slip off your bed but pocket your phone just in case.

Grabbing a boot and brandishing it as a weapon, you move silently through the house to where the crashing was coming from. You take a deep breath, ignoring the thudding in your chest.

Poking your head around to your living room, you see the cat jumping headlong into your furniture before falling and spacing out on your floor.

You drop the boot as you watch the cat get to its feet and gallop into the back of your couch. He splays out, rolling onto his back and laying deathly still.

Phoebe runs to stand begins you, a confused yap bursting from her.

Panic floods through you as you run and drop to the cat’s side, only for it to look at you with spacey eyes.

You scoop him up in your arms, and groaning aloud, you grab your keys and dart out of your apartment.

“I’ll be two minutes baby!” You shout at Phoebe before you shut the door, running the few feet to get to the door across the hall.

You pound on the door, eyes flicking down to the cat who was barely moving. You hit the door again, only for it to fly open.

Namjoon stares at you, eyes darting down to the cat in your arms and back up to your panicked face.

“Y/N, what-“

“I don’t know what happened, but this cat was just going scatty in my apartment and running into things and it’s worrying me - he’s normally so chill. I thought because you volunteer at the vets-“

Face contorted in concern, he slips the cat from your arms and cradles it to his chest, stroking its head before checking him over. He turns and walks into his apartment, and you awkwardly follow.

With your haste you failed to realise that he was just standing in a pair of track pants and little else, his hair damp. You try and keep your eyes away, avoiding his back and the way drops of water from his hair trail down the planes of his back.

“Oh, it’s fine.”

“What?”

Namjoon turns back to you, tension dropping from him as he scratches under the cat’s chin. You forcefully ignore the way your chest seizes at the view, eyes fixing on his face.

“He’s fine. Homer here has managed to find himself a supply of catnip. He’s be alright in twenty or so.” He smiles at you, the cat’s tail flicking gently up his arm.

“Homer… catnip?” You ask, confused.

“This is Homer. My cat. Did you say he was in your apartment?”

“Your cat?!”

“Yep.” He turns and walks away, stooping to put the cat in a large cat pillow that sat under his window.

“I thought it was a stray.” You feel heat rush to your face at your words, but Namjoon simply laughs.

“I know, he looks scruffy as hell. But he’s perfectly healthy - we just can’t seem to tame his frizz.”

“Oh…”

“So is he the reason why you bought cat food the other day?” He asks, laughter dancing in his eyes.

You nod, a slight tinge of embarrassment creeping into your system. He walks back towards you, stopping just a few feet away.

“Thank you for looking out for him. I’m glad he’s going somewhere safe.” A soft smile slips on his face, warm and inviting. Your eyes dance across him, broad chest, dimple and all.

“So, uh… Homer? As in Simpson?” You ask, eyes snapping back up to his. If he noticed you staring, he doesn't show it.

“No! As in the Odyssey and the Greek writer Homer.” His eyebrows shoot up, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Right, so instead of a slight nerd, you’re a huge nerd.” You smirk, and there’s a small flip of delight in your stomach when he laughs, tucking his head into his chest.

“Yeah, well, the cat’s never complained.”

You both stand smiling, a ghost of something lingering around you. You feel the words hovering on the tip of his tongue, an answer to a question you wanted to know for a long time.

He can feel it too, you know it. He drags a lip in between his teeth, and you can practically see the thoughts brewing inside his mind. This was it, when you’d finally get your answer.

You move to speak but you’re cut off from a mangled cry of Homer the cat, wrestling around on his cat bed. Namjoon looks away, spell broken as he crosses his arms, almost self-consciously. Your eyes watch the movement, a hunger simmering deep down.

“I should probably-“

“Yeah you should check on him.”

You step back, only to walk into his door. He moves forward to see if you’re okay but you spin, yanking open his door and stepping out.

He walks to the door and waves you off, a slither of toned skin visible through the crack in the door. You snap your head away and power walk to your door, blowing out a steadying breath.

Once you’re safely in your apartment, you throw yourself on the sofa, Namjoon’s borad expanse of skin burnt into your brain, just as it had before.

The exhaustion of your day and the worry about Homer hadn’t helped your swirling mind. A small yap comes from nearby, followed by a cluster of paw and claws as Phoebe clambers onto you to sit on your chest.

You scratch her head between her ears, listening as her breaths get deeper and she begins to drift off.

“What am I gonna do, Phoebs?” You sigh, letting your mind wander back to Namjoon.

There’s so much about him that you wanted to let in. Sensitive, considerate, sweet, takes your snappy banter on the chin. But you felt like there was something else. You knew there was. After you had a drunken night together after college, you thought you saw somebody different. Maybe not.

You wake up the following morning in the same position on the sofa, a banging echoing from somewhere far off. Phoebe had wormed her way down awkwardly between your legs, and you knew as soon as you moved that your back was going to scream in discomfort.

The banging filtered into knocking in your sleep-addled brain, and groggily you got to your feet, your body stiff and aching. You were careful not to wake your pup and crept to the door.

You swing open to see Namjoon, standing awkwardly with something inside his coat. He looked flustered: his beanie was sitting slanted on his head, pushing his ears forward, his cheeks were reddened and his smile was sheepish.

“Uh, hey?” You croak, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“Hey, is this a bad time?” He asks quietly. A small smile slips onto your face, totally endeared by his softness.

“No, what’s wrong?”

“I er, I got you these...” he pulls his hand back from his coat, a small bundle of purple flowers wrapped with a piece of twine in his hand. You’re floored, the small purple bundle and the hopeful look in his eyes make your throat close up.

“W-what?” You stumble, reaching out to take the flowers from his shaky grip.

“I wanted to say thank you for looking out for my bab- Homer, I mean Homer. My Homer, the cat.” He fumbles over his words, his cheeks getting pinker the more he talks.

“Oh wow, thank you.”

“I remember you saying that you liked purple flowers.” He shrugs, but you can see his hands awkwardly fiddling with the edges of his coat.

“I said that… back in college?” Your eyebrows crease as you look at him, and he tries to hide his face in the folds of his coat collar.

“I guess I just remembered it.”

The warmth in your chest spreads, and you snap your eyes up to meet his. You feel yourself falling all over again - you do every time you see him.

Which was increasingly regularly since he moved into the apartment across the hall. You could avoid him easily when you wanted to, but when he looks at you that way, you forget why you don’t want to see him.

You open your mouth to speak, but you’re cut off by a yapping and a crash from inside the house.

“I gotta go-“

“Yeah, no yeah. Sure.” Namjoon stumbles, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and stepping back, his eyes still on you.

“Thank you.” You say in a small voice, waving the flowers. He beams at you, and after basking in it for just a moment, you force yourself to close the door.

You walk into the lounge to see Phoebe standing on the sofa, slipper in her mouth. You walked forward to ask what’s wrong when she darts past you, jumping and scratching at the door.

Confused, you gently lay the flowers on your table before going and scooping up your dog. She lets out a defeated whine in your arms, letting the slipper fall from your grasp.

“Come on you weirdo, let’s take you out.”

— —

Work had been a bitch.

There was no simpler way to put it. Your boss channeled all their issues at you, extended your shift and managed to spill their coffee down your pants.

But when you saw Homer relaxing in the evening light out in front of your complex, tail flicking and squinting wistfully in the fading light, you felt your tension start to slip. His greying hair poked out in awkward directions, but he was carefree, making a smile slip onto your face.

“Hey little man.” You coo, squatting in front of him.

He gets lazily to his feet and stretches before climbing up into your lap, rubbing against your stomach. You hold in an excited squeal, simply channeling your excitement into delivering the best pets ever.

“He’s such a little attention seeker.”

You turn to see Namjoon standing behind you, vet scrubs on under a huge earthy jacket. Homer jumps from your lap to deliver Namjoon a small meow before disappearing into the street behind you.

“He’s a cutie.”

You push to your feet and walk to the door of the building, stopping to hold the door for him. He jogs to catch up, giving you a thankful smile. You walk in a comfortable silence occasionally side-eying each other. You stop where your paths diverge, the want to talk to him after your long day immense - but he beats you to it.

“Homer seems to like you. He’s not very friendly with people that aren't me.” He grins, turning to face you. You shrug, but you can’t help the smug satisfaction that seeps into your features.

“The boy’s got good taste.”

Namjoon laughs, a light tinkling sound that rocks you right to your core. You feel the smile grow on your face, the need to drag more giggles out of him rooting itself into your soul.

The evening light filters in through the tiny windows of your lobby, basking his skin in a glorious honey glow. His chocolate hair looks golden, sticking out awkwardly. You knew it was because he ran his hands through it when he concentrates- you remembered so many little intimacies about him from college. They were buried in the back of your mind, squirrelled away and saved for your darker day.

He looked like a painting, softened and divine, his eyes following your every move. It was intoxicating.

“Oh, he’s covered you in hair. Here…”

He steps forward and starts to pick some of the fluff off of your stomach, and you look down to see yourself covered in long grey and black hairs. He’s so close you can hear him breathing, the scent of his mint body wash drifting to your senses. His hands move fast yet so gently, tugging strands from the fabric of your shirt.

You lift your face, only to find his mere inches from you. His face is scrunched as he concentrates, completely unaware of how fast your heart is beating. You swallow thickly, and it seems to snap his attention to you as he turns his eyes on yours, expression softening as he searches your face. He was honey and gold in front of your eyes, all for you to explore.

You press your lips against his in an instant, want and desperation flooding your veins. He kisses you back, spreading his fingers over your lower back, dragging you against him. His lips are soft on yours, gentle and coaxing, inviting you to get lost with him.

You let him fill your senses, you mind, your soul. The way he holds you against his chest made all the past hurt start to slip away.

But then it slams into the front of your brain - the last time you’d let him in like this.

You pull back from the kiss, eyes wide as you stare up at him, lips tingling. His tender smile begins to slip when he sees the storm in your eyes.

“Y/N?”

“I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry-“

“Why?”

“Because the last time this happened I woke up and you were gone, Joonie- no, Namjoon!”

You pull away from him, hating how wrong it felt for his fingers to be dragged from you. You step back into your door, scrambling behind you to get it open.

“Please, wait! There's been a misunders-“

You didn’t want to take your eyes off him, but you needed to leave. The door to your apartment swings open and you dart inside, a heavy weight on your chest dragging you down as you slam it behind you.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft as he knocks on your door.

You just know what he looks like. Mouth drawn to the side, eyebrows creased and the stars shattered in his eyes. He was an open book to you, and that hurt you more than it should.

“Please.”

You slide down the door, palms pressed to your eyes, bathing you in darkness. You don’t know how long you sit there, flushing the pain from your system.

You’d let yourself slip again.

This had happened before with Namjoon. You’d let him get close.

It had been a graduation party. There was alcohol, dancing, an accumulation of something that had been building between you for at least a year. He’d kissed you first - typical him, wanting to get ahead.

You jumped in to it anyway, your heart finally getting what it so desperately craved. You’d both stumbled back to his apartment, sloppily, drunkenly, tenderly spent the night in each others arms, a prospective hope settling in your bones. Hands and mouths, gentle kisses between rougher movements. It was damn near perfect.

But the next morning you’d woken up in his bed, no Namjoon, no explanation, nothing. You shot out of there, limping home to lick your wounds. You’d hoped that would be the end of the Namjoon saga, that you could get on with your life. But here you were, Namjoon moving into the apartment across from you five months ago - and a daily reminder of what had happened.

He’d tried to get in contact at first, but your pride was too sounded to hear him out and he stopped. It was some cruel twist of fate that he should move so close to you, and try as you might to stay mad at him, he’d do something so soft or flash you a tender smile and you’d forget everything.

But that was how you’d ended up here again. You wouldn’t get hurt a second time.

A small warmth pressed itself under your elbow, nuzzling it’s way under your arm.

You snap out of your spiral and look down at Phoebe, heart melting at her huge eyes. You scoop her into your arms and cuddle her close.

After what felt like an eternity, you get off the floor, pup in your arms, and walk through to your bedroom - but not before picking up the purple flowers from your counter and dropping them in the trash.

— —

You’d shut the window.

You knew it was unfair to take it out on the cat. Homer had done nothing wrong. But to be reminded of Namjoon at every turn, the memories of the cat at home against his bare chest… it was too much.

Phoebe had caught wind of the change too, and spent a lot of her day sulking in her bed and staring at you with big, pitiful eyes.

The cat food and bowl had been stuffed in a far away cupboard, out of sight and out of mind.

The days ticked by, your heart and mind a hardened shell. You had refused to let yourself feel anything. Before you had been too sensitive, and you weren’t going to repeat that again.

You sat on the rim of your bath and watched the water run, steam billowing out of your poorly ventilated bathroom and down the hallway.

You had zoned out, watching as the bubbles got dragged under as the hot water jetted into the tub.

With a quick glance down the hallway, you realise the steam had filled your apartment. Without thinking, you jog to the window and open it just a crack, letting some of the air slip outside and dissipate.

“Behave yourself.” You tell Phoebe, who still had the slightest smudge of peanut butter on her nose.

You’d tried coaxing her off the bed with some of her favourite treat, but it had proved fruitless, so you gave in and dropped her some peanut butter anyway.

Undressing and sinking into the water, you try and force your mind clear of everything. You had only been in the bath for fifteen minutes or so when you heard a loud clattering. Initially you wanted to ignore it, but the tug in your gut propelled you from the bath, robe thrown over yourself as you stride out to the living room.

“Phoebe?”

You scan the room, noting that she wasn’t in her bed. Anxiety taking grip, you search your apartment for her, getting more and more frantic with every minute. You looked under furniture, your closet, your bed, you even began opening cupboards.

The whole apartment searched, you stumble back into the living room, only to zone in your window - it had been pushed open wide, a gap big enough for Phoebe to fit through.

“No!” You shout, grabbing your keys and darting from your apartment.

You sprint out onto the street, eyes scanning the roads and pavements for your dog. Following the path round from your window, you found no trace of her. You couldn’t see or hear her anywhere, and with panic flooding you, tears begin to brim in your eyes. The accumulation of unfelt feeling starts to overflow, the built-up stress and hurt too much as tears made heavy tracks down your face. But despite the pain, you knew you needed help if you were gonna find your pup.

Pushing your bubbling hurt to the side, you dart back into the building and pound on Namjoon’s door. You banged incessantly until the door opened, a hollow feeling in your chest.

His annoyed expression at the banging morphed into shock when he sees you, panic in you face and short white dressing gown wrapped around you, silent tears tracking down your face.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice low and worried.

“My dog, I can’t find her, she’s not in my apartment!”

“Your dog?”

“Yes! She got out my window and I don’t know where she’s gone!”

“... is she a puppy? Big eyes, dark fur, has a thing for slippers?”

You feel your heart grind to a stop as you gawp at him, pulse thudding loudly in your ears.

He simply gestures for you to follow him before turning and walking away. You follow on quickly, shutting his door behind you and running to catch up with him. He stops by his window and points to his cat’s bed, relief flooding through your body.

There on the large cat bed lays Phoebe, wrapped up and asleep with Homer.

You rush forward and scoop her up, cradling her into your chest. She sleepily licks at your chin as Homer gets to his feet, rubbing against your bare calves.

“How did she get here?” You ask, voiced choked and uneven.

“Through my window. I heard this huge crash and came to see them on the bed together. It’s been a while since she was last here, I forget how much noise she made.”

“Last time?! Is she here a lot?”

You stare down at the dog, betrayal and concern tingling in your mind.

“Yeah, I had to get a bigger cat bed for her and Homer - they kept bickering over it.”

“Did you know she was my dog?”

“No- i just thought some random dog needed a place to stay.” He shrugs, blush creeping across his face at your incredulous stare.

You look down at the dog bed a see a partially chewed slipper - identical to the one that turned up in your apartment. Letting Phoebe go, you plant her in the bed before picking up the slipper, brandishing it at Namjoon.

“Have you lost the other one to this?”

“Yes…?”

“It’s in my apartment. I guess that explains why Homer’s been all over it.”

You turn and look at the traitorous animals, both amused and annoyed at their antics. Your animals had truly played you.

“Look, sit down and have some water. You need to destress.”

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder and steers you to his couch. He shuffles off to the kitchen, and you become hyper aware of how you're only wearing your bathrobe. You shuffle the material to cover yourself a little more modestly as he walks back, holding a glass out to you.

You thank him and take a sip, eyes darting to your dog, who was now curled up with Homer again.

“What are we gonna do about them?”

“Well I don’t see how we can stop them - they always seem to find a way back to each other.”

You try not to read too deeply into his words, not wanting to apply them with what you had. But you look at him, soft and concerned, and you can’t help but fall into that spiral.

“I should go-“

“Y/N-“

“Thanks for looking after my dog.”

You get to your feet and hurry over to Phoebe, but she darts away from you, sprinting around the apartment and avoiding your grip.

Namjoon tries to head her off, but she springs out of the way, her and Homer escaping towards Namjoon’s bedroom.

“Looks like she doesn’t want to be separated.”

“Well tough, we have to go.”

“You don’t-”

“I do Namjoon.” You try to be assertive, but your voice cracks. You had to leave, you couldn’t be here any longer.

“You don’t, I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N.”

“It’s too late for that. “

He stares at you, chest heaving as he takes in steadying breaths. He steps close to you, reaching out to hold your hand in his. You want to pull away from his touch but you don’t, letting his fingers entwine with yours, large thumbs soothing over your knuckles.

“I’ve hurt you?” His voice is quiet and broken, shock filling his face.

So it would finally happen. You’d get answers. But the prospect scared you - what if he left because he didn’t want you the way you wanted him? You swallow thickly, carefully arranging the words in your head.

“After our night together at the graduation party.”

“I remember, but you left me.”

Your mouth drops, hurt and anger bubbling up inside you. You ignore the vulnerability in his voice, or the way his fingers feel laced with yours.

“I was the one that woke up alone in that bed, Namjoon. Not you.”

“I went out to get us some coffee as my apartment was empty. I thought you’d still be asleep when I got back, but you were gone.”

“What?”

Your eyes widen, fixed on his face, searching for a hint of a lie. Anything to validate what you had been feeling ever since that night. He turns his head away, cheeks reddening as he takes a deep breath.

“I know, it sounds stupid. But I’d been trying all year to get your attention. And I finally had you in my arms, but you were gone hours later.”

“I didn’t know…”

“I know that now… I tried to move on, but I moved here and began seeing your face everywhere like some cruel cosmic joke. And you didn’t want to talk, so I had to harden up.”

“Joonie…”

His eyes snap back to you, the nickname you’d always called him in the more tender moments of your relationship. A fire grows in his eyes, his fingers electric in your touch.

He pulls you to him and crashes his lips onto yours, free hand reaching up to cup your face. He kisses you like a man starved, like he’d lose you if you let go.

You feel your heart soar in your chest, a giddy relief washing over you. Although there was a tinge of guilt gnawing at you both misunderstanding each other for so long, there was a sense of hope tingling in your veins.

“I’m sorry…”

He murmurs, planting soft kisses on your cheek and lips.

“I never wanted you to get hurt.”

“I’m sorry too, if I’d have known…” you whisper, knotting your hands in his shirt.

He backs you into a wall, mouth back on yours. Finally detaching from your fingers, he snakes his hand to grab your ass, cupping it and holding you against him.

The kiss deepens, and you knot your fingers in his hair and pull him closer, rolling your hips at him.

He growls into your kiss, and finally, finally you were both heading somewhere good-

A loud bark echoes out from beside you, and you and Namjoon break apart to stare at the offending noise maker.

Phoebe sits beside Homer and stares at you, little tail wagging. You stare at her, making a mental note to give her a nice dollop of peanut butter later.

“Maybe we should move this somewhere more private.” Namjoon whispers, hopeful that the pets wouldn’t hear.

You nod, and grabbing you by the hand, he pulls you down the hallway towards his bedroom. He closes the door behind you, but not before the pets manage to dart in.

“Uh…”

Namjoon tries to usher them out, but they excitedly slip between his hands. It was almost comical, watching him chase your pets, but it made you heart flutter in your chest. It was something you could watch unabashedly forever.

“You know what, you win.”

He grabs your hand and pulls you towards his closet, shutting you both inside the tight space. He stumbles over boots and pushes the clothes down on the rail, making space to cage you in against the wall.

“Namjoon, what-“

“They can’t hear or see us in here. I know because once I thought Homer was missing for a whole day but he was just asleep in here and couldn’t hear me.” He beams at you, and you don’t know whether to be shocked or amused.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind…”

“What’s the matter?” He asks, letting his hands trail across your body and gently begin to unknot your robe. “Don’t think I can make you feel good anywhere?”

You balk at his words, but your body heats up at his confidence.

“Not a closet.”

He smirks, tipping your chin to face him as he kisses you, soft and slow.

You feel his hands tug at yours robe, finally freeing the knot and sliding it off your body. He pulls back looks down at you, a dark look in his eyes.

He slides his hands over your hips, tracing his fingertips across your skin until he reaches your slit. You gasp at the contact, but widen your legs to give him easier access. He smirks, moving in to kiss you.

Once you’d fallen into the kiss, his finger traces lightly over your clit making you gasp against his lips. His touch is feather-light at first, barely giving you enough friction but too good to stop.

His mouth begins to move across your jaw, kissing his way down your neck and across your shoulders. A moan slips out of you, and you can feel him smirk into your skin.

Finally, he begins to add some pressure, his fingers moving in slow circles over your clit. Your hands fly to his shoulders, fingers getting lost in the fabric as you let him work you up.

“Feel good?” He whispers into your neck, a shiver running down you. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His finger runs down your slit to gather some of your pooling wetness on it before gliding back over your clit. He presses a harder finger to you, leaving you gasping.

His mouth finally sinks lower, latching onto one of your nipples. He swirls the bud under his tongue, pulling off with a teasing graze of his teeth before he moves onto the other. You suck in a breath, fingers firmly knotted in his shirt.

You feel your hips move under his hand, and he looks up at you with a triumphant glint in his eye as he pulls off your nipple with a pop.

Not one to be outdone, you slide a hand down from his shoulder and let it slip into the waistband of his track pants. You pull them and his boxers just low enough to let his cock spring free, stiffening and slightly curved, begging for attention.

His eyes wide at you as he releases your nipple, bringing his face level with yours.

“You want to play this game?”

“What game, Joonie?” You ask innocently as you let your hand lazily pump up his hard length.

His hips stutter at your touch, a smirk growing on your face. He lets out a shallow laugh, letting his head rest in the crook of your neck just for a second before bringing his face level with yours.

“So you do want to play.”

At his words, he slides his hand down your soaking slit to press a finger at your entrance before slowly, softly pushing the digit inside. He curls his finger inside you, building up from a slow pump until you throw your head back against the wall and whimper. He shifts so that his thumb reaches your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud.

When your vision stops swimming you lock eyes with him, silent challenge accepted.

You gather the precum that leaks out of his tip and watch him shiver at the touch, before spreading it down his length, lubing him up. You then began to lazily twist your hand up his length, watching his eyes haze over.

He surges forward to kiss you, both of your hands working each other higher and higher.

Your kisses turn to moans against each other’s mouth. He slips a second finger inside you, curling against your soft spot. You repay the pleasure, twisting your grip quickly around the head of his cock and watching his eyes flutter with the motion.

His hips thrust into your hands, his forehead creased, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. His posture stiffens, his breathing heavier and soon you know it’ll be over for him.

With his free hand he pulls you off his length, pushing your hand back to the wall. He pulls the your other from his shirt and pins your wrists to the wall with one hand.

You whimper at the motion, pinned whilst he pumps his fingers inside of you. Your walls clench down on him, your hips thrusting off the wall and further into his hand.

“Joonie-“

“Cum on me.”

He presses his lips onto yours, and with a few final flicks over your clit you come undone. You gush over his fingers, your orgasm rolling through your body as you whine out his name again and again.

He watches you as you work through it, finally easing off when your body slows, your breath ragged.

“So beautiful.” He smiles, and you blow out a hot breath and laugh.

He presses you both against the wall, kiss searing and needy, large hands gripping all over your body.

“Off.” You groan out, tugging his tee over his head and watching him move away to tug his track pants and boxers off.

He stumbles slightly over a pair of boots, but kicks off his clothes and presses back against you, ghost of a laugh falling from his lips.

“Up.” He commands, tapping the back of your thighs. You raise your eyebrow at him, but he rolls his eyes.

“Jump up, Y/N.”

You do as he says, wrapping your legs around him, the warmth of his skin hot against yours. With his hands supporting your ass, you reach between you and run his cock through your wet folds, watching the goosebumps rise on his skin. You could watch him forever, rolling your hips slightly across his length.

He sucks his breath between his teeth, eyes darting to yours. You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to do something. He bucks at you, the tip of him brushing across your clit and you gasp, realising that enough was enough - you needed him.

Slowly you line him up and begin to let him push inside of you, the slow delicious drag of his cock making your head drop to his shoulder. He lets out a low groan in your ear, holding you both steady when he finally bottoms out.

You stay there for a moment, lips meeting to kiss, slow and soft. But then he pulls back and pushes home, making you moan into him.

He starts a slow pace, watching his cock drag in and out of you. His eyes stay glued, transfixed by the way you take his cock in. With a quick clench your walls, he snaps out of his stare and drops his head back, the feeling too good to handle.

His thrusts start getting faster, his grip tight on your ass. Bringing his head back up to yours, he rests in the crook of your neck, hot breaths rolling down your chest.

You take the opportunity to plant kisses and marks along his throat, each thrust causing you to suck a little harder on his skin.

“Too good.. can’t…” he moans, and you try to let out a light laugh, but it’s more of a strangled moan.

He pulls out of you, and you carefully set your feet down on the floor. You feel terribly empty without him inside you, your chest seizing at the thought. But with a quick peck on the lips he spins you round, pressing his chest to your back and pinning you to the wall.

Grabbing both your hands, he laces his fingers with one and holds them above your head. You bring yours cup the other side of his hand, his large fingers soft in your grip. Slowly he slides his free hand down your arm, goosebumps rising along your flesh as he rolls it down your body until finally he lines himself up again.

He’s not as gentle this time, entering you just enough before then slamming home. You gasp beneath him, all you can do is push back your hips to meet him.

The drag of him feels so good inside you. He presses his lips against your ear, his panting filling your senses.

“Feel good baby, you like the way I fill you up?”

You nod, face pulled tight as he slams into you. His hand move over your hips to rub at your clit, circling the sensitive bud deftly. His curved length starts hitting your g-spot, and soon you’re seeing stars.

“So tight… even better than last time, Y/N.” He kisses the shell of your ear.

“Joonie…” you whisper, clenching down on him.

You can feel his hips stuttering, and the thrusts he pounds into your graze your stiff nipples against the cold wall. The sensations crash over you both, and you realise you’re both not gonna last much longer.

“Gonna cum baby, where?” He asks, breathy voice little more than a whisper.

“In me, just cum in me. Implant.” You grunt out, your grip tight on his hands.

“You’d like that, Y/N? Want me to fill you up with my cum?”

His voice has a croak, deep and sensual, and his fingers rub across your clit, rubbing you higher and higher until your body can’t hold back.

Your orgasm crashes through you, a strangled cry of his name leaving you as your walls clench. The pressure catches Namjoon and soon he’s coming too, filling you as he rides out his last few thrusts inside of you. Your throbbing core milks him totally, leaving you positively tingling.

You both still, your breath ragged and head swimming. You angle your head back to smile at him, only for him to beam right back. He moves his hands to grasp your own, bringing your entwined hands down to wrap around your middle, hugging you against him.

He kisses you, lazily and soft, contentment thrumming in your veins. You stay there for just a moment, feeling lighter than you had ever felt.

“We should probably get out of the closet.” He murmurs against your lips and you smile, nodding.

Reluctantly you both separate, gathering your clothes and hastily redressing. With a coy smile and locking your fingers, Namjoon opens the closet door and walks you both out on shaky legs.

On his bed sits Homer and Phoebe, curled up together and waiting expectantly. Phoebe’s tail wags excitably, whilst Homer whickers small meows at you both.

“Alright, I hope you’re both happy. Little traitors.” Namjoon tells them, blush creeping across his face.

You bark out a laugh, and he turns to watch you, dimply smile spreading across your face. You turn your head shyly, but his hand gently grasps your chin and turns you back to face him, thumb grazing across your cheeks.

“Come on,” you smile, pulling out of his hold and tugging Namjoon towards his kitchen. “You owe me that coffee.”

[headfullofstories]

Truly Monstrous Luck - part 5

I stand outside of the 6 story red brick apartment complex where Justin lives. Yvonne brought me to the bank earlier to get a new debit card so I could take the subway by myself, but I ended up asking her to come with, anyways. I didn’t want to be around all those people alone yet; I’m worried that the voices from yesterday will come back again.

“You gonna be okay?” Yvonne asks, resting her hand on my shoulder. “You don’t need to tell him anything you don’t want to.”

I nod, and hold onto her arm for a moment. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

She glares at me, a playful glint in her eye. “I will worry as much as I want,” she ruffles my hair a little and softens her expression, “and you are absolutely someone worth worrying over.”

I nod grudgingly, and take a few deep breaths before letting go of her arm and starting towards the door. “I’ll try not to take long.”

“That’s fine baby, take all the time you need.” She responds, “I don’t have anywhere I need to be, I have a friend covering my sector of the city today.”

“Are you sure?” I stop in front of the door now, “I don’t want to leave you waiting out here.”

“I’ll be fine, Victor,” she insists, “this trip is about you. Now go talk to your brother!”

“O-okay.” I agree, reluctantly, and turn to head inside.

The stairwell is a little creepy as I head up to Justin’s apartment on the 3rd floor, the light on the second floor landing is out and there aren’t any windows, so it’s darker than normal. I grip the straps of my backpack tightly as I ascend, keeping my head down as I count the stairs between landings - 8 per flight, 2 flights per floor, for 2 full floors. I make sure I step on all 32, taking 3 steps on the landings. I settle into the familiarity of the numbers by the time I reach Justin’s floor, turning to the left as soon as I leave the stairwell and pulling out the key to his apartment. I knock on the door as I turn the key in the lock and push my way in.

Justin has a studio apartment, the same place he’s been living for 4 years now. I used to live here, but I moved out last year since living with others has never worked great for me, and it was a really good year while it lasted, but of fucking course something had to fuck it up, and now my former landlord thinks I take hardcore drugs because she didn’t bother to read the label on the vial.

When I walk in, Justin is on his bed typing something on his laptop. As I close the door behind me, he slams his laptop shut, slides it onto his mattress, and runs over to hug me. He’s taller than me by a couple inches - he can rest his head comfortably on top of mine if he’s standing up straight. He wraps me in an overly tight hug, which I reciprocate after a moment of stunned stillness.

“Oh my god, Vic, are you okay? What happened yesterday?” He asks, voice full of anxiety, and he pulls away to look me up and down. “How did you get even paler? Did you catch a cold in the rain yesterday? Where did you stay? Please don’t say you slept on the streets. Why didn’t you come over here?”

“I’m sorry for not coming over.” I mumble, “a, um, a pickpocket took my wallet, so didn’t have any money or a bus card to get over here…”

He looks at me for a moment after I start speaking, and something seems to click after I finish my statement, and he gasps a little. “Oh shit, was that too many questions at once?” I give a small shrug in response. “Fuck, I’m sorry Vic, i just… I got really worried about you last night.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry J.” I mutter, “I would’ve come over here, but…” fuck, I’m actually telling him. Why am I telling him? I don’t have anything prepared, I don’t know how to explain what the actual fuck even happened. Hey bro, I got bit by a vampire on 1st avenue? He’s never gonna believe me.

I take a deep breath and silently hope he’ll believe anything I’m saying. “When I was walking over here yesterday… I got attacked.”

“Attacked?!” He screeches, voice cracking. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

I hesitate for a moment, avoiding eye contact as much as I can. “I’m… I’m mostly fine, but… fuck, I’m gonna sound so fucking crazy.”

He shakes his head a little, “Whatever, maybe I will, but… tell me anyways.”

I look straight into his eyes now, give a little nod, and steel myself as I continue my explanation. “The person who attacked me… he was a vampire. Like, a real, blood-sucking vampire. He was stalking me for a couple blocks, and… he pulled me down an alley and… bit me.” I tug at the collar of my shirt and show him the small mark on my neck.

He looks at me, utterly stunned. “A… vampire bit you. Yesterday, in the middle of New York City.”

“I told you I sound fucking insane.” I grumble. “But I swear I’m not lying. I have the fucking fangs to prove it!” I open my mouth to show him my elongated canines and almost start crying.

The color drains from his face. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.” He whispers, and pulls me back in for an even tighter hug. “I’m so sorry, Vic. I… I’m your older brother, I should be able to keep you safe… god, I’ve never been able to keep you safe…”

“It’s not your fault, J.” I insist, “Bad things happen and sometimes no one can stop them from happening. I had shitty luck, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but… hey, at least I half died in the coolest way possible.”

He laughs a little at that. I like it when I can get him to laugh; it doesn’t happen very often, especially not recently, but it makes me feel amazing when I can manage it. It makes me feel like maybe I’m not as much of a burden as I tell myself I am.

“You… you’re gonna be okay though, right, Vic?” He asks cautiously as he pulls me back and looks me in the eyes, “have you had any… I don’t know, urges? If you killed someone, I’ll help you hide the body. I promise, whatever you need.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I had really bad urges right after, but… this really nice lady found me before I woke up, and gave me some… cow’s blood. She brought me to a… facility… that helps people like me.”

He lets out a sigh of relief before he responds. “Oh, thank god. Do you feel safe there? Are the people nice?”

“Yeah, the people are all super nice.” I confirm. “The lady who found me especially, and this vampire dude.”

“Is that where you stayed last night?”

“Yeah. They have a bunch of studio apartments where people live, and I have a room there right now.”

“That’s good, that’s good…” He mutters, and I can see the gears turning in his brain as he thinks of things to ask. “Be… be careful, okay? Try not to kill anyone; I’ll help you hide a body, but I’d really rather that didn’t come up.”

I chuckle a little at that. “Yeah, I’ll do my best.”

He pulls me back in for another hug, and just holds me for a little while.

“Do you need to leave soon?” He asks after a few minutes.

“Yeah,” I mutter, “the lady who found me came with me, I didn’t want to take the subway alone yet.”

He squeezes me tighter, and pulls back a little to knock our foreheads together. “Be safe; I can’t imagine vampires are terribly popular.”

I nod, and slowly back away from his touch. “I’ll call you when I get back, okay?”

He nods. “Love you, Vic.”

I give one last nod, and turn to leave. “Love you, J.”

As soon as I close the door behind me, tears start streaming down my face. That went so much better than I thought, but it took a lot out of me. Fuck, he actually believed me! That alone would be enough to make me start crying tears of pure euphoria, but combined with the emotional stress the tears come all that more easily. I stand there for a moment, do my best to stop crying, and head back down the stairs.

Yvonne is sitting on the front steps when I walk out, and as soon as I open the door she jumps to her feet and spins around to look at me. I just walk right up to her and give her a hug.

"You good, baby?" She asks cautiously; I nod and hold onto her tighter.

“I told him what happened,” I mutter, “and he believed me.”

“That’s good!” She exclaims, “Did he take it well?”

“I… I think so.”

“That’s really great, Victor.” She restates. “Do you want to head out?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

The sun is out today. It’s noon right now, and the subways are busy, mostly with big groups of high school kids. The city is so alive, and for the first time since I moved here, I feel a little out of place. The car we’re in is packed full of teens heading into Manhattan, and surprisingly they don’t take any notice of us.

“Hey, Yvonne?” I ask her after a few minutes, “I really don’t want to seem rude, but… why…"

"Why aren't people looking at me?” She finishes, and I nod a little.

“I’m really sorry if that’s rude.” I mumble, barely audible.

She smiles a little. “That’s fine, Victor, it’s good you asked me instead of accidentally offending a stranger. I have a minor glamour on, so I look a little more human to normal people.”

My eyes go wide at that. “Magic? Can I see? Please?”

She snorts at that. “You’re very easily excitable, huh?”

I nod vigorously. “Can I see it? I wanna see how you look to all of these people!”

She gives me a little nod, and her form begins to shift, like there’s a fog around her, and her features begin to change slightly. Her green skin changes to a shade of brown the color of grizzly bear fur, and her tusks disappear. Her eyes remain the same piercing silver, and her hair remains in midnight black dreads, but the ends are dyed green. My eyes go even wider with awe. She smiles a little wider as the glamour fades away once again.

“That is the coolest fucking thing I’ve seen in the past 24 hours.” I state.

“Kid, if that’s the coolest thing you’ve seen, you have a lot to learn.”

“I want to learn all of it.”

She laughs lightly at that, “Well, I guess that’s not a bad way to spend eternity.”

I smile back at her, and we sit in near silence for the rest of the ride.

[monochromemedic]

Flashback pt 3

Through the booming music that was beginning to die down, the lights that were beginning to settle, and the loud whistles of a few people from the crowd, two men sat in silence at the back of the karaoke bar. Fallon was deep red in the face, hand brushing through his hair as he slouched  over on the table. Silas wasn’t much better. He wasn’t blushing or pale but he was staring off in the distance, arms crossed as he tried to process everything. In the silence of the karaoke bar as another person readied the stage and Dom walked off, back to his table to down a drink, the two men stared at their future friend. He was so different. The Dom they knew seemed restrained, work oriented, hell they never heard him sing before but here Dom was, looking like some heart throb decked out in revealing clothing and piercings. “Maybe we’re in a messed up timeline? Like we’ll leave and we’ll find out that this timeline is the one where there’s was a punk revolution or... uh aliens. And Dom’s just an alien in disguis-” Fallon trailed off as Silas stared at him causing him to cut himself off “Well can you blame me this is... weeiird.” “It is it’s just... no it is.” Silas muttered, rubbing his arm observing the table that Dom was now at. He was smiling, laughing even, as he talked to the other man at his table as they ordered another round of drinks. “He looks happy. I don’t think i’ve ever seen him smile like that.”  “Man don’t say that...that’s sad...” Fallon muttered under his breath before standing up and beginning to walk towards the table Dom was at, only getting a few steps before Silas stopped him. “What are you doing man?” “Im gonna go home man. I’m gonna grab that picture and disappear back to my own time, with the grumpy Dom I know, with my shitty bed, and shitty pop culture.” “And just... yoink it from them like a weirdo?” “...Yeah. I mean I’ll touch it and be magically transported back where everything is ok and swell and none of this matters so... I mean does it matter really?” Fallon chuckled, giving a light shrug of his shoulders “But what if it isn’t like that and because we interact with him it messes everything up. Like that thing the... the... uh... damn I can’t think of the term.” “Butterfly Effect? I’d rather deal with that then having to tip toe my way around him and end up fucking myself over and living in the past for the rest of my life Silas. Time Travel is fucky, maybe it’ll correct itself... I mean we gotta hope.” Fallon turned back around to stare at the table, giving a little sigh “I’ll play it like the movies ok? I’ll pretend i’m meeting him for the first time, and we’ll get to know him. We get close, we grab the picture, we zoop back to shitty 2020 ok?” Silas’ fingers tightened around Fallon’s jacket before he too got up, an obvious look of worry and fear visible on his face. “Ok...” The two approached Dom, who turned his head up at the approaching group, a questioning look on his face. “Can I help you?”  Fallon almost laughed, the sound of Dom’s voice, although a bit younger and less rough was still the same. Deep, and harsh to him. Just how he liked it. “Hey, I liked your song. It was... interesting. You got a nice voice.”  “Oh. Uh... thank you.”  “Yeah it’s real nice, I like the style too, real stick it to the man. I noticed you got a few piercings, and well, I was interested in a few myself. How much does it hurt?”  Silas stared in amazement at how smooth Fallon was being, and in just as in much shock at how Dom chuckled back, relaxing towards the strangers. At least one of them wouldn’t be a bumbling idiot... “Hurts like a bitch in the moment but, it’s nothing. Unless you’re talking about the tongue piercing?” Dom stuck out his tongue, the bobble of the piercing shimmering with spit in the dancing lights. “That one, that’s nasty haha. Mind if I sit down with my friend? I’m real interested in alternative stuff and you look like a man that would know a thing or two about having a good time with that sort of shit. Plus if I can convince Silas to get drunk enough, I might get him to get a nipple piercing and I need all the info I can to get him to not pussy out.” Fallon said, already talking a seat at the table. “Wa...wait what?” Silas interjected, suddenly aware of the conversation Dom looked away for a moment before giving a nod of approval for Silas to also take a seat, staring at the tow of them carefully. “Yeah, I think that’d be alright. You two seem...” He paused, trying to think of the right word. “Alright enough.” Dom’s friend looked weary though, and gave a look to Dom, to which he quickly gave a wave back, almost telling his friend to leave. Dom’s friend nodded and began to pack up, but not before handing the still fresh polaroid to Dom, which he looked at fondly before pocketing. “Sorry, my friend has to go to work in the morning. He just wanted to come and support me for singing on stage the first time. It’s not you guys I promise.” “First time on stage? Really? You could have fooled me, you acted like a real rockstar up there.” Fallon complimented, eyes focused intently on where the photo was. He thanked god for the sunglasses, or else a stranger glaring at a man’s pants would have been awkward. “Yeah I uh... I practice... um so about the piercing? I’m... Dom by the way.”  “Fallon, and this is my friend Silas.”  Dom looked over at Silas, eyeing him up and down slowly. Silas could feel a bead of sweat begin to form on his brow as he gave a nervous smile back. “Alright, so what do you want to know?” Fallon did most of the talking, making up bullshit about how for the longest time he was considering some sort of piercing but wasn’t exactly sure where, and how Silas was always a coward when it came this sort of shit, and how Fallon was desperately trying to trick him to get a piercing as a joke. Dom responded in a few short responses only starting to warm up as the conversation continued on.  Silas was at least glad that he didn’t seem completely changed, not a complete party animal. It probably helped loosen him up with how much everyone was drinking. At first Dom had just ordered another glass of coke and rum, but soon those glasses were piling up with the money Fallon was putting on the table. He knew what he was up too, and although Silas took a few glasses himself, he  had to stay at least a bit sober. And Dom was definitely not that.  His tongue rolled and hanged on letters for much to long, the way his eyes beginning to lull close as he laughed far too loud. Fallon was long gone too, laughing just as loud along side him, before hiccuping it and doing it all over again. “Uh... hey... Dom it’s getting late, don’t you think you should be getting home? You got a ride or something?” Silas asked, interrupting the giggle fest the two were having. “Ah... shit yeah, I don’t got a ride I just walk home. I don’t live that far from here.” Dom slurred, his tongue piercing clacking against his teeth. “You need some help getting home I mean... you are kinda sloshed.” “No, no it’s ok, it’s fine...” He groaned as he began to get up, stumbling to his feet and heading for the door. Dom waved the bartender a goodbye, but not before falling against the doorway. “Jesus Christ Dom, you aren’t walking home alone, you can barely stand up.”  Silas raced out of his seat, grabbing Dom’s shoulders and steadying the shorter man. “You’re gonna get hit by a car or something.” Silas didn’t have to look back to know that the clattering of chairs and stumbling footsteps was Fallon following behind him, almost running into his friend’s back. “Yeah you look like shit man... let’s get youuuu home haha.” “Well I mean... you guys were so nice I... I guess so. I guess it wouldn’t hurt!” Dom grinned wide and waltzed out to the sidewalk, Silas by his side steadying him. It only took a couple of blocks before they came across a rather shitty looking apartment complex. Dom seemed to B-line up the stairs to a certain door, almost like he had done it a million times before. “Welll this is home. You guys were... great I’m... you’re great.” “It was nothing. I mean you helped us alot, it’s only fair we got you home safe. I just hope we can get home.” Silas told him, eyes darting down to the ground in thought. Dom nodded, poking Silas in the chest as he closed his eyes, his face scrunching hard. “You get back safe ok? You get back... mm safe.” Silas would have felt touched by that sentiment if it wasn’t for the fact that immediantly after Dom passed out against him, causing him to desperately grab the falling body before he hit the ground. Luckily he did so, but not before Fallon gave a loud gasp of ‘Woahhhh’ in his drunken haze. “Oh my god we killed him! Oh fuck we killed past Dom, we fucked itt... awww....”  The dyed hair man sniffled, his face contorted in over-exaggerated sadness as he grabbed the keys that fell from Dom’s hands, starting to try the door as snot began to run down his face. “Gotta hide the body in the house... he died in the house, all drunk and sad.... put him in a bed aw fuck man...” “He’s not... he’s not dead you just kept handing him booze until he passed out! I’m surprised you’re still standing to be honest, let’s just get him inside and grab the picture and bail ok?”  “OH shit the picture, I forgot about that.” Fallon laughed, all signs of remorse fading from his face. When they opened the door they found that it was actually pretty clean for the state of the apartment overall. A few clothes on the ground here and there but otherwise everything was stacked neatly and cleanly, far from the look Dom was presenting to the world. Silas had to basically drag Dom to his bed room, tucking him into bed with a kind look of sadness,hand going to move a few strands of hair from his face. “Take it easy Dom, we’ll see you on the other side.” “OH god we’re dying now?” “No Fal, god... why the fuck did you drink so much?”  Silas began to dig in Dom’s pockets, pulling out the polaroid and staring at it with a small smile. “Fal?” Fallon moved beside Silas, reaching for the photo and grabbing it. “I wanna go home man, i’m done here...” With that another race of energy overcame the two. A flash of light, the feeling of weightlessness, and then they were back. Flat on the carpet of Dom’s room where they started. As soon as Silas regained feeling back in his body, he threw the picture back in the draw, resisting the urge to burn the thing that sent them back in time to make sure it never happened again. It took a second for Fallon to get back to his feet, still drunk from the drinking spree he had back in time. He grabbed at Silas, clawing at his shirt as he pulled himself upwards. “We did it! We’re home! I... I wanna sleep.” “Yeah I know-” “What are you two doing?” Both of them turned to face Dom, eyebrows furrowed together as he stepped into the room. His face was older, prominent bags under his eyes, his hair slicked back and the scar that was around his left eye still pink and puffy. “We did it... Oh you’re SOOOO old!” Fallon blabbered, racing over to Dom and hugging him close, rubbing his still snotty face against Dom’s well kept shirt. Dom gasped, pushing Fallon off of him and groaning in frustration. “Are you drunk? How the hell did you get drunk- you got... get out.” “Aw I loved getting yelled at!” Fallon chuckled, before stumbling out the room and onto Dom’s couch to lie down. Silas followed not far behind, but not before stopping by Dom as he passed. “I know it sounds weird but it’s nice to see you again. You have a nice voice.” Dom paused, opening his mouth to speak only to close it, his face turning red as he grabbed and played with the watch on his wrist, twisting and turning it as he thought back to his younger days.

[softlunars]

together.

part II to 60 things. — alone.

requested: [yes!] and then i went off the rails!!

(a/n): i am eternally sorry for constantly being on mobile which means like,,,, no links HHHHHH i got no excuses other than i’m too lazy to use html to get the purple text,,,, i’ll start posting w my laptop one day

you don’t really know what you expected – for jisung to instantly realize you heard him; for him to spam your phone with texts or calls or something. but two weeks have come and gone, and jisung hasn’t contacted you at all.

after you ran home and buried yourself in your bed, you thought the pain would subside. that you’d be able to start functioning again quickly. that you’d be fine within a couple days.

sadly, that wasn’t the case.

you found yourself staying in bed most days; the farthest you walked was to the kitchen. even that stopped, soon enough. your appetite decreased day by day, until you barely ate anything more than an apple once a day.

the tears that seemed to decorate your face everyday slowly died down, too. the only emotion you felt – well, you didn’t feel anything. if anything, you were comparable to a shell – empty, existing with no real purpose.

you looked at the calendar on your phone, trying to get a grasp on the time that’s passed. saturday. a dry laugh left your lips at that.

saturdays were almost ritualistic for you and jisung. he’d pick you up from your apartment, a single flower in hand, before grabbing your hand and dragging you out the door to some unknown place. usually, it was a small cafe, a bookshop, anything that offered a quiet, serene atmosphere. those were the days you looked forward to the most.

spontaneously, you pushed yourself up, slinging your feet off the bed. you paused for a second before standing up.

maybe jisung wouldn’t be at your side today, but you decided to carry on the tradition you grew to anticipate with excitement.

was it unhealthy? maybe so, but you needed to get out of the house one day. why not do it on a day you usually stayed out until nightfall?

you found the time you spend getting ready passing by in a blur. your body seemed to move on its own – brushing your hair, grabbing at clothes that lay untouched in your closet, picking a pair of worn shoes. before you could really understand it, you had walked out of your apartment.

the sun shone brightly down on you as a soft breeze blew past your face. spring was still in full effect, you noted. the hydrangea bushes near your complex had fully blossomed, the grass was almost a neon green, and small wildflowers freckled the ground. it was beautiful. just like it always was.

the scene brought a smile to your face as you made your way to the sidewalk, which still sported the beautiful petals you loved. you took in the environment surrounding you, basking in the beauty that spring always brought.

you soon found yourself at a small cafe a few blocks down the road. the strong smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries invaded your senses. you let yourself get overwhelmed by the scents before stepping inside.

a bell sounded as the door opened, leading some people to glance at you. you avoided their gazes, walking toward the counter.

you asked for your usual order – a caramel iced coffee with a muffin – before taking a seat at a vacant table.

you didn’t really pay attention to your surroundings as you waited to hear your name be called. therefore, it came as more than a little shock when you heard the chair facing you scrape against the wooden floor.

startled, your head shot up to look at the person in front of you. regret immediately ensnared your mind.

jisung sat in front of you, his elbows resting on the table. he had a soft grin on his face, and his eyes looked as if they sparkled. the sun that entered the cafe through a large window nearby hit jisung perfectly. his skin glowed and the chestnut brown of his hair shined, making your heart thump as you looked at him.

he broke the silence first. “hey.”

your throat started to close in on itself, almost as if it were warning you not to utter a word. your hands found their way together, fingers nervously fiddling with one another. “hi.”

jisung immediately questioned you as soon as a greeting left your lips. “why have you been avoiding me?”

you must have looked shocked, since jisung started to elaborate on his question. “you haven’t texted, or called, or visited me at practice, or – or anything. did something happen? did i do something?”

at that, you scoffed. your eyes dropped down to your conjoined hands as you answered him. “yes, jisung. you did do something.” you let out an annoyed laugh before continuing.

“i heard you talk about me two weeks ago, when you were resting or whatever during practice. you said a lot of hurtful shit, jisung. that’s why i’ve been avoiding you. i didn’t want to annoy you further.”

jisung let out a sigh once you finished talking. his head dropped briefly to the palms of his hands, rubbing his eyes slightly before he looked back up.

“(y/n), i am so, so sorry for what i said that day. i – i don’t have any excuses, and i know what i said was outright shitty.” jisung took a deep breath before continuing.

“i don’t expect you to forgive me for what i said, and i definitely don’t expect you to forgive me for not trying to talk to you myself. but,” another breath, “i love you. yeah, there’s days where i do get frustrated at you, but that doesn’t lessen my love for you one bit.”

“i love your wittiness, and how you make me laugh, even after a long day. i love how caring you are, and how you still worry over me, even when you’ve had a bad day. i love how i can tell you love me through everything you do for me. most of all, i love you. and i’m so sorry i hurt you.”

as jisung finished his spiel, tears started to fall down your cheeks. you quickly attempted to wipe them away so jisung’s mind wouldn’t begin to spiral. said boy beat you to it, reaching over to delicately wipe at your cheeks. his lips curled into a sad smile as he let his hand linger on your face. how much he regrets saying such vicious things – to someone he loves to the ends of the earth.

“i—“ you hiccuped before continuing. “—i forgive you.” jisung’s eyes widened with shock, but you could see the sparkle returning to them.

“thank you baby, i love you so—“

you cut him off, furrowing your eyebrows and playfully glaring at him.

“you’re buying me food for three months.”

“oh, come on, angel!”

[distraitia]

Venting

I’m primarily venting about some unidentified shitty neighbors who have been playing music so loudly that I can hear the bass in my apartment. I’ve heard it at midnight, I’ve heard it at 11am. The police have heard it (I didn’t call the police, I merely called the apartment complex’s office’s “courtesy officer” and he sent the police) and no one has been able to identify the source of the noise. I once thought of myself as an evolved person, but as time has worn on and the shitty music has persisted, I’ve learned I’m not evolved at all. So I’m going to just go ahead and say what’s been festering in my mind for a couple months:

I’ve wished I could build a barrier that would protect against an EMP and then somehow set one off that destroyed all the electronics in the neighborhood just so I could live in peace again. I’ve wished that graboids from Tremors were real so that they’d be able to locate the source of the noise and eat the neighbors responsible for it. I’ve fantasized about bashing in speakers with a baseball bat several times. I didn’t always feel like this. When I first started hearing the bass, it was merely an annoyance. “Ugh. It’s one of those neighbors,” I thought to myself, “Well hopefully their immediate neighbors will say something, or maybe they’ll move out eventually.” But after 2 months, multiple calls to the office, notes on neighbors’ doors, texting my downstairs neighbor, walking around the neighborhood twice in an attempt to determine the source of the noise... I feel like I’m losing my sanity.

I don’t think of myself as uptight... I have really good hearing and it’s generally served me. But when I hear things that no one else can, that’s torture. I think of that one story where some people had super uptight neighbors who basically nagged whenever the person even walked around. That person then retaliated by discovering an unsecured bluetooth speaker and playing terrifying sounds out of it in the middle of the night, prompting the uptight neighbors to move out. ... When I read that story a few years ago, I cheered. But now I fear I am those uptight neighbors. Granted, I don’t care about walking around, hearing TV every now and then, even some dog that doesn’t ever seem to stop barking somewhere. It’s just some shitty music from some unknown neighbor. But it hasn’t stopped and I fear for my own mental wellbeing.

At times like this, I’ve tried to rationalize: “Well then maybe no one cares if I play my keyboard a little louder?” But I still can’t bring myself to turn the volume louder than I need to in order to hear everything. I compulsively turn down the volume of my TV when I play a show and its stupid loud theme song plays for about 8 seconds. I always feel guilty after getting off the phone with my mom because I know I’m a loud talker—I can’t help it, I get it from my mom. On the extremely rare day where I’m so stressed that I have to scream as loud as I can, I do it into a pillow so no one else hears. Or I do it in my car. What I’m trying to say is, some people might see this as license to be inconsiderate with my own volume, but that A) causes other people to suffer and B) doesn’t make the original problem go away. Just as an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, loud-ass shitty music for loud-ass less-shitty music will leave the whole world deaf. That’s obviously an exaggeration. But when people suggest that I wear headphones to block out the noise, that’s not a good solution. One, I can’t hear if my old cat urgently needs my attention (not being cute here, that happens sometimes). Two, why should I have to make changes when someone is blatantly violating a section of their lease? How is that fair? And yes, yes, I know, life isn’t fair, but that doesn’t solve any goddamn problems now does it?

I just had to vent. For over two months, the words, “I sincerely hope you die,” have materialized in my mind, it’s poisonous to my wellbeing. I know I don’t really feel that way, but I do know I feel hopeless and increasingly desperate with every hour that passes with that incessant pounding bass.