#this might be pointless but im certainly trying to be... open | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smoochkooks · 5 years ago

Text

— lost stars, part 1 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst, (troubled) idol au, childhood friends to lovers

⟶ word count: 20k

⟶ summary: in dead hours of the night he stumbles upon the bars, reaching, searching, trying to feel something, for once forget about consequences and taste the bittersweet freedom. between sips of addiction and faint touches of nameless lovers he finds you again: his own long-lost star on a blackboard sky.

⟶ warnings for part one: explicit sexual content, dom!jungkook, rough sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, degradation, light breath play, unprotected sex, infidelity, mentions of mental health issues, smoking, drinking etc., this is sad im sorry

⟶ music: lost stars, young god, the hills and more here.

PART TWO (FINALE): HERE!

Jungkook can’t sleep.

Moonlight is gradually slipping through the unveiled curtains that he hasn’t even bothered shutting out for the night, letting the silvery luminescences gleam over the expanses of his room callously. It's the first full moon of the month, an argent king on the cloudless sky preventing many people that particular night from falling asleep.

Jungkook lays on his bed, long body slumped on unmade, messy sheets. Brightness illuminates over his features, making his skin glow in porcelain white. Every edge of him is chiseled. From his thin lips, through the slope of his nose and paleness of his forehead, Jungkook might be a beautiful imitation of a marble sculpture. Although he isn't, heaviness of his limbs and suffocating pressure weighting down on his chest like tons of rocks make him feel like one.

Digital clock on his bedside table reads midnight, four red zeros signaling change of the date. It's so painfully silent in the confines of his room, yet Jungkook doesn't sleep. And it's not because of some scientificly proven theory connecting insomnia to the full moon. He hasn't shifted on his bed since he laid there an hour or so ago. He stares blankly at the ceiling, inhaling the chilly air of March flowing inside through the open window. There is without a doubt too cold to lie uncovered like that, with bare legs and thin t-shirt thrown on, but he doesn't seem to care, not when shivers run down his arms, not when the sudden puff of wind blows the strands of raven hair off from his forehead. He stays like that, hands folded on his stomach, eyes glued to the silver lights on the ceiling, and time ticks.

Jungkook doesn't remember when was the last time he has gotten some good amount of sleep in the night. Perhaps it was a year or two ago, when after particularly hectics days it took him only a few seconds to fall into the peaceful slumber as soon as his cheek met the cool material of his pillow. A lot of has changed since that; it's bitterly oblivious he has changed too. His insomniac tendencies are only a small part of the whole spectrum.

Jungkook doesn't wish the sleep to come and cure him. He has stopped a long time ago, when he realised it's just pointless. There are times when it gets better, when he doesn't need to nap uncontrollably during the day instead of doing that while it's dark out. Tonight seems like one of those dead end situations. Maybe after a few hours his eyes will tire out enough to flutter shut on their own accord and bring him the awaited couple of hours of mindless numbness, and the sun will raise again, as it always does.

However, that night, like many of them before, Jungkook doesn't wait helplessly.

A sigh and a minute later, he kicks off the sheets and stands up from his bed, walking to the nearby closet. He puts on the first pair of black jeans he manages to find and replaces his worn out t-shirt he wears to sleep with a new, fresh one. He flicks the lights on for a brief moment to examine himself briefly in the mirror. He needs haircut, loose strands are falling on his forehead and he swamps them off, running his fingers through the black locks. He looks even more tired in the artificial lighting of his room, definitely not like the marble sculpture, certainly not like the spot-on idol this country loves and admires. The skincare products his stylists have given him to put on his face everyday are doing a quite good job, but not good enough to fully hide the bangs underneath his eyes. This kind of magic only stage makeup can provide.

Now, Jungkook looks painfully ordinary. He isn't Jeon Jungkook of BTS, he doesn't want to be during nights like this one. That's why he fishes out of the drawer his black mask and puts it in the pockets of his denim jacket. There is probably too cold outside to go out dressed like that, but Jungkook doesn't falter.

He doesn't falter opening the door to his room and stepping into the dark hallway of the dorm. He doesn't falter putting on his shoes as silently as he can. He doesn't falter reaching for the knob to the main door and twisting it. Even if he has promised he won't do that again, that the last time when he came home at ungodly hour, smelling of sleazy bars and cheap alcohol, with faint reminiscences of the touches of nameless lovers on his skin, was truly last.

Even if the pang of guilt is still there, at the back of his head, when he exhales the air of the night, it fades away.

If someone ever asked Jeon Jungkook to describe freedom, he would say it smells like Bongcheon Underground Station.

He’s never been there before or at least he doesn’t remember doing it. The sign indicates it’s the line number two, a green one to be more exact. He doesn’t know in which part of the city he is, maybe half an hour away from the luxurious housing estate he lives in with the rest of the boys, maybe further. At some point during the train ride he's lost the track of time.

It’s probably irresponsible, careless, unwise and stupid to be a widely-known figure using public transportation in the middle of the night completely alone, but this run-down underground station in Jungkook's head is his own manifesto of mock freedom, consequences to be damned.

Jungkook knows he's risking a lot right now. The sick thirl is already there, boiling the blood in his veins. This is all he has; the mirage of liberty, his own revolt against the unfairness of the world. His testament of lost youth.

Before someone will see him standing on the platform and staring ahead of himself with blank eyes like a mad man, he decides to walk out of the station.

A young couple around his age passes him on the stairs and he can’t help but spare a glance in their direction. They aren’t aware of his presence, holding onto each other and giggling drunkily. Something squeezes in Jungkook’s chest at the sight. It’s not any kind of jealousy, no. He’s grown up from being a rebel teenager. He’s grown up from the dreams of college parties, going on dates with pretty girls and having late-night snacks with his friends after gaming sessions.

Now Jungkook is just angry. Someone may say he doesn’t have the right to, he has everything an ordinary twenty-two year-old can desire. Yet, Jungkook is the one calling the world unfair while being on top of it.

There is a poster with his face hanging just above the entrance to the station. He stops in his tracks, scoffing cynically. Poster-Jungkook, spot-on idol from the biggest boyband in the country smiles at him, showing a row of blindingly white teeth. He has a face cream in his right hand, the softness of his photoshopped face and boyish glint in the eyes trick thousands of people into buying whatever he recommends.

What would Poster-Jungkook say seeing him now, Jungkook wonders. Barefaced, with mask covering half of his features, ruffled hair that he should have hidden underneath a cap. Poster-Jungkook probably wouldn’t like to make friends with someone like him. Poster-Jungkook is here to sing his heart out, to entertain fans and make his parents proud. Poster-Jungkook has never been at Bongcheon Underground Station.

With one last glance, Jungkook exits the station, stepping into the streets of Seoul.

The clock on his lockscreen reads 1am, Saturday, March 21th. He reaches to his face, pulling the mask down a little to inhale the chilly air. The smell of nearby Chinese restaurant reminds him it’s definitely a terrible idea to drink on an empty stomach but he shrugs off this thought, walking ahead of himself, with no plan in mind.

It’s not everyday he uses underground to travel around the city like most citizens do. Ironically, this mundane thing is a luxury he normally can’t afford. But nighttime has it’s own rules.

Using his car isn’t a debatable option when he knows he's going to distract himself with numerous sips of alcohol later. He cannot use taxi as well. Not when he hates having small talks with middle-aged men while being half-wasted, half-asleep on the backseat, head buzzing, world spinning. In worst case scenarios, the said taxi driver might be a dad of one of his fans.

(Yes, it happened before. It caused a lot for Jungkook's intoxicated brain to make up some silly story and convince the poor man he was coming home from his friend's birthday party, not running away from his one night stand's place.)

Asking one of their personal drivers to lift him up somewhere won’t do any good too because one: it definitely isn’t an emergency situation, although Jungkook would most likely argue it kind of is and two: going out in the night is too risky and most importantly, strictly forbidden for him since the last time Jimin found him unconscious on their doormat.

He wants to laugh at himself, remembering the very first time he tried to sneak out of the dorm without permission.

He was merely eighteen back then and his friend from Busan came to Seoul to celebrate his acceptance into the university. Of course, teenage Jungkook had asked for approval like the well-raised young man he was. That’s impossible, Jungkook, was the answer and I really hadn’t seen that friend for a long time, please, wasn’t enough to change minds and melt hearts. And that was when eighteen-year-old Jungkook decided it was the final straw. He had enough of watching snapshots from his friends, living their teen years to the fullest. He wanted to live too.

He had planned everything in details. Namjoon and Yoongi were at the studio, Hoseok was visiting his family in Gwangju, Seokjin went to sleep early, Jimin and Taehyung were playing video games in their room. All occurrences seemed to be on his side. Until they weren’t.

He announced to everyone he wasn’t feeling well and locked himself inside his room. He waited for the right moment, then opened the door and peeked his head out. It was dead quiet, beside muffled bursts of laughter coming from the other end of the hallway where Taehyung and Jimin were still playing. Holding his breath, Jungkook tiptoed to the entrance.

It felt so electrifying back then, when he took the handle into his hand and pushed, doing something that he wasn’t supposed to. When he found himself taking the cab to his hyung’s place, fingers drumming the unknown rhythm of excitement on his jean-clad thighs.

It doesn’t feel like that anymore. There’s a rush of adrenaline but not the good kind. What was once a silly rebellion of a boy with romantic soul, is now nothing but a routine.

That night didn’t turn out as he wished. It ended with him getting wasted to the point he had to call Seokjin to pick him up. He still remembers the furious scolding the older one gave him. He remembers how he promised it was a one-time thing, how he regretted his childish actions and irresponsibility.

But it happened again and again. And it got only worse over the years.

Jungkook keeps marching ahead of himself, looking around the unfamiliar neighborhood. It's a more industrial part of the city; it doesn’t look like leafy, peaceful area he lives in. He can only imagine how the flats inside those buildings look like - cramped, cluttered. Maybe they look just like their old dorm when he was merely sixteen, with head full of dreams, sleeping every night on a bunk bed underneath Taehyung.

Upon seeing a fluorescent, red neon sign, he stops in his tracks. The club looks nice from the outside and even though it stopped being an indicator for Jungkook some time ago, he decides to step inside with the same goal in mind as usual: get drunk and then leave.

Loud, thumping music fills his ears as soon as he enters the building. He passes the mass of nameless silhouettes, heading straight to the bar and slumping down on one of the stools.

“What can I get you?”

Jungkook looks up, meeting the eyes of friendly-looking bartender who seems not to recognize him or just doesn’t give a fuck. Both options are more than anticipated when you’re a well-know celebrity who decided to get drunk on a Friday night.

“Doesn’t matter. Just give me something strong.”

Bartender nods in understanding and Jungkook sees him reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring the substance into a glass already filled with ice cubs.

I don’t even like whiskey, Jungkook realizes. But at the same time he knows he hasn’t come here to sample. He’s here to let loose, to taste the bittersweet freedom this umber alcohol provides and represents. Each sip burns his throat stronger, yet it’s always welcomed.

After the third glass, his head starts buzzing. The world spins a little when he closes his eyes; everything becomes a blurr of colors, shapes and sounds. It’s should be a sign to slow down but Jungkook automatically raises his hand to bartender, ordering another glass.

He hasn’t even registered he’s not alone by the bar anymore.

She’s pretty. Maybe not exactly his type, whether he has one or not, but he can’t help but spare a glance anyway. Even in his drunken state he notices she’s a foreigner; blonde locks are cascading down her back and shoulders, milky skin glowing in the fluorescent lights. He doesn’t see her face clearly yet, but he observes in the corner of his eye as she bites her plump, cherry-coloured lips, while staring down at her empty glass.

Then, his eyes wander lower, to the smooth column of her throat, her provident collarbones and rich décolltage. Her black dress doesn’t do quite good job covering her cleavage and Jungkook has to swallow at the sight.

He’s fucked, buzzed and that irritating, tiny voice at the back of his head is telling him to get his shit together but every rational thought is wiped off his mind when the girl whirls around and faces him fully now. She smiles at him, or his blurry eyes are deceiving him already. Nevertheless, he smiles back at her dumbly, doing his best to maintain the enigmatic façade.

“Hi.” he says.

It’s not the first time he’s hitting on a foreign woman. It’s very much asshole of him, but he thinks it’s easier to get laid that way. In most cases he’s not the one to start a conversation, yet this time, here he is.

“Hi, stranger.” she answers and licks her lips languidly. The raw eroticism dripping from it makes Jungkook shift on his seat. If she wants to play this game, he’s ready to make another move.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks. It’s so goddamn blunt and brusque, but always works. Something about his flat English and the way he subtly smirks saying it makes women intrigued.

She contemplates for a moment, batting her eyelashes at him until she eventually agrees. “Yes, sure.”

He waves at the bartender, slurring his words a little. He hears the girl giggle and somehow, his next words leave his lips without a second thought.

“You like Korea?”

She’s very talkative when she’s drinking, Jungkook notices. The question seemed to elicit something in her and she started babbling, spitting her words so fast he couldn’t catch up even if he wasn’t drunk (and knew English better). All this time he smiles at her, nodding his head and occasionally muttering “yeah” and “oh” whenever he feels like it’s the right moment.

At some point his eyes wander to the other part of the club, where the sign shows the way to the bathroom. The girl takes a sip of her drink, showing a row of her perfectly white teeth when she catches him staring at her. And at this moment, Jungkook decides is time to interfere.

He leans closer to her, his hand ever so slightly brushing the place where the material of her dress meets her thigh. She bites her lip, waiting for his another move. Jungkook is now mere inches from her face, lust swimming in his orbs when he whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”

She says something to him but he doesn’t register it. His hand is now fully placed on her thigh and when he opens his mouth to ask if she would like to dance with him, he feels a pair of strong hands placed firmly on his shoulders, pulling him away from her.

“What the fuck, man? What are you doing with my girlfriend?” He hears a male voice saying behind him in English.

Jungkook blinks, trying to comprehend what have just happened. His head spins from the sudden motion and he feels like throwing up any second. He lifts his head, meeting the terrified expression of the girl he talked to just seconds ago.

“Are you deaf or something? I’m talking to you.”

Someone pushes him forcefully again and that’s when he turns around with reluctance, standing face to face with very much pissed off white guy. He’s taller than him and the deep furrow of his brows tells Jungkook he’s in for a trouble.

“James, it’s okay. We were just talking.”

“Well, it didn’t look like that!”

“Just let him be. He’s drunk.”

Jungkook feels like his soul has left his body and now he’s staring at the whole scene from the side. The muffled voices reach his ears but he cannot fathom anything. He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes.

Another shove at his shoulder coerces him to regain his senses a little.

“I’m not letting that fucker go that easily until he apologies. Hey, shithead!”

Jungkook feels hands grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket. And then, when he thinks this is it – Jeon Jungkook of BTS is going to get hammered in some sleazy club by a foreigner because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, because he’s useless peace of shit instead of the It Boy of his country, everything stops.

He knows this voice. Maybe his drunken brain is deceiving him, maybe he’s hallucinating or dreaming because he’s already lying bruised on the floor and unconscious. But he hears you and feels you, touching his arm and saying, “It’s alright, sir, he’s here with me. He doesn’t feel well. I apologize for his behavior.”

Your grip is stronger than he remembers to be. It hurts like you’re mad at him. But is it really you, dragging him across the room, away from those people through the crowd of sweaty bodies? He squints his eyes, focusing them on your silhouette, but what he sees is merely a blurry sideprofile of a young woman.

“I can’t believe the first thing I do after not seeing you for three years straight is saving your ass.”

There’s a wave of fresh air hitting his face. He inhales it greedily, hands extending to stabilize himself until he feels the rough texture underneath fingertips. He leans his head on the wall, eyes squeezed shut. Seconds pass, maybe even minutes, until something nudges him on the side.

“Do you feel better now?”

To be completely frank, Jungkook is scared to open his eyes. His sanity is slowly coming back to him and he hears you now loud and clearly. Maybe he’s really dreaming but if that’s true, why does he feel like he has a full control on his next move?

It’s really you. Three years older than he last saw you, arms crossed over your chest and evident frown on your face. He doesn’t know why but he wants to smooth the crease between your brows. It doesn’t suit you. Your hair is shorter, your features sharper and more mature.

You’re definitely not dream-__. His dream-___ would have scratches on her knees and some fantasy book in her hands. She sometimes visits him at dead hours of the night, asking why he hasn’t answered her calls and messages. Sometimes she stares at him from the photograph he carries in his wallet because he cannot bring himself to get rid of it.

He probably should hug you, run into your arms and thank for saving his reputation. He should hug you because it’s been three goddamn years and you were his best friend once. One of the most important people in his life, his partner in crime (and professional math tutor in primary school). God, you were his first, silly crush when you were merely ten, hair braided and pimples on your cheeks. His shoulder to lean on when he needed to cry. The girl who played football with him because there was no boys in your neighborhood with whom he could do it.

Instead, he asks, “Did you cut your hair?”

The first thing you do is raise your eyebrows, as if you’re genuinely confused he’s able to form full, coherent sentences. Next, you scoff. “Seriously? We meet for the first time in three years in a club where I work because I need to save your ass since you’re completely pissed and tried hooking up with taken woman, and that’s the only thing you have to say?”

He doesn’t like how you sound already. Your tone matches your expression, stern and slightly irritated. But at the same time, he’s not surprised you’re acting like this.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” he hesitates. He’s just what? Pathetic? Stupid? Reckless? Or maybe–

“Crazy?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. That’s a good word.”

You take a step closer, standing right in front of him. “So are you going to tell me what are you doing in this part of the city, getting drunk while being a freaking idol?”

“Isn’t it what all celebrities do?” he asks sardonically.

You roll your eyes at that, and he takes a moment to look at you more carefully now. Your cheeks are rosy from the cold and he notices a smudge of mascara underneath your left eye. And there’s another thing he remembers about you; the weird habit of staring at him intensely whenever he wasn’t aware because you were terrible at keeping eye contact.

But it seems like a lot of has changed in that department and now you’re meeting his eyes without a hint of shyness.

“Yeah, maybe they do. But not when they have a reputation to take care of.” you counter.

Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes for a second. It’s still hard for him to produce logical thoughts but he knows he’s slowly sobering, the chilly air clearing his mind. You hug your coat tighter against your body and he wonders for a moment if it’s really that cold outside and he just doesn’t feel it because of the alcohol swimming in his veins.

He’s not capable of having this kind of conversation with you under those circumstances. While you’re outside of some niche club in a part of the city he doesn’t know, reunited after three years of silence.

You have that look on your face, the one you used to wear every time he got on your nerves and he was in for good scolding. His head pounds too much to bare with it now.

He needs to smoke a cigarette.

He fishes a pack, placing one between his lips. He feels your eyes on him the entire time and after taking the first drag, he offers you to light up one as well.

“I quit.” you say curtly.

“Okay.” The smoke swirls around his features and you take a step back, cringing. You never really could stand the smell.

“Is smoking even allowed for you?”

He snickers, shaking his head. It’s funny, how you’re asking him this now, when you were the one he used to smoke occasionally with at the docks every time he visisted Busan. Eighteen, listening to Arctic Monkeys and Coldplay on his old iPhone and watching the sky burning when sun was hiding behind the horizon.

Jungkook smirks. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t smoke often. It’s more like a sporadic trespass when he’s out for the night than a regular craving. Leaving aside his favor for cigarettes, he shouldn’t let himself become addicted, not when it might easily influence his lungs capacity. And Jeon Jungkook's velvet voice can’t have a hoarseness to it.

“So, you work here?” he opts to ask you, avoiding the set of questions probably already itching to leave your mouth all at once.

“I do. I actually ended my shift few minutes ago. I had some work to do at the storage room and when I walked out, I saw that guy ready to beat the shit out of you,” you say, grimacing. “To be honest, I didn’t recognize you at first. You looked… different.”

“I guess that’s what they call the magic of stage make-up.” he jokes but his comment doesn’t make you laugh. If anything, you look even more puzzled.

Then, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his jacket. He pulls it out just to be met with tens of notifications, mainly texts and unanswered calls from Jimin. He must have found out somehow he’s been gone.

“Fuck.” Jungkook mutters under his breath, locking his phone.

“Something’s wrong?” You always could read him like an open book. He wasn’t very talkative kid back then and you, somehow, found a way to communicate with him on non-verbal level.

Jungkook scratches the back of his head, smiling lopsidededly. “You’re going to laugh at me,” he sighs.

“No, I’m not.” you promise. There’s sincerity in your voice but he knows better. You’re definitely going to.

“I’m scared to come home.” Jungkook says, entirely serious. His doe eyes widen for emphasis and you’re sure he’s shitting you yet you decide to play along.

“And why is that?”

He leans closer, smelling of cigarettes and his musky cologne and you almost wince. “Because I’m gonna have my ass whipped.”

He waits a moment, and then breaks into a grin. It’s his drunkiness still speaking through him and maybe a tiny bit of curiosity how you were going to react.

You snort loudly. “That was terrible.”

“You smiled. I saw the cornes of your mouth moving.”

“You’re wasted, Jungkook. I’m surprised you’re standing on your own feet right now,” He pouts and you sigh, shaking your head. “So are you going to tell me what is it really about?” you ask.

He shrugs, blowing out the fume from his cigarette. “I just don’t wanna go home drunk. It will be worse than coming back in the morning, believe me. I’ve been there before.”

Something flashes across your face hearing his last sentence but it quickly disappears, replaced by your usual, unreadable expression. You seem to think about what he has said, until you exhale loudly, making him look at you with raised eyebrows.

“Fine. You can crash at mine.”

Jungkook knows he might have misheard you. But you’re still staring at him as if you’re waiting for him to respond. He feels dumbfounded.

“What?”

“I saved your ass today once, I can do it again. That’s what friends are for, right?”

He hates how bitter it sounds coming from you. He knows it’s very much what he deserves. You don’t own him anything after all he’s done to you yet here you are. Offering him help even though you don’t have to do anything.

You’ve always been too good for him.

You cock your head at him, a small smile dancing on your features he wishes was genuine. Maybe you still have a sentiment for him, after all. “You coming?” It’s what you ask, and he tosses the half-burnt cigarette, following you without a word.

And that’s how your story starts again, with reckless decision, cigarettes and underground stations.

Ironically, Jungkook ends up at the Bongcheon Underground Station for the second time that night.

You led him wordlessly out of the building, taking a turn into direction he was familiar with. On the whole ride back to your home, you were silent. You didn’t utter a sentence to him, even when you reached your stop, you just stood up from the seat and he followed you like a lost puppy.

Walking from the station to your flat, Jungkook decided he’s had enough of this awkward silence, breaking it first.

“So, how have you been?”

It’s such a stupid question to ask someone you haven’t talked to for such a long period of time. Of course you can’t catch up all that have happened in last three years during ten minutes-long walk. Jungkook bites his lip, peeking at your side profile.

“It’s actually funny you’re asking this now. I’ve been good, and you? Or actually… wait! You don’t have to answer that because I know you’ve been good too, thanks to your mum who is updating mine about everything what’s going on in your life,” you say sarkily. “Oh, not to mention I also have Internet and it’s really hard to avoid news about nation’s favourite boy group, right?”

Your harsh words make him grimace. He knows he fucked up royally and your bitter attitude towards him is the effect of his wrong doings. Yet, he can’t help but feel a little bit irritated.

“You know I’m sorry.” he mutters under his breath.

“Oh, are you? Was it really that hard to call an old friend once in a month?”

Jungkook looks up at the sky, as if he was wishing it could give him strenght and fill his mouth with words that will make your stony façade break just a little. “I was busy,” he answers, regretting it as soon as it slipped of his tongue.

He hears you scowl. “Busy? Doing what? Drinking and hooking up with women?”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Are you really patronizing me right now? We just came across each other and I’m trying to be civil here. We’re not thirteen anymore, loose up.”

You stop in your tracks abruptly. “I see. You don’t need my help anymore and you’re okay with sleeping under the bridge, fine.” you spit and turn your back on him, quickening your pace.

“What? Wait!” Jungkook calls after you because one: you might be not joking and two: he’s too startled to react in time and now he has to jog up to you. “You aren’t serious, right?” he asks after catching up with your hurried movements.

You sigh, taking another turn. “God, I can’t believe you’re still that childish.”

Jungkook frowns. “What does that suppose to mean?”

“You know damn right what I mean.”

You’re now walking through a typical, industrial looking neighborhood. He used to live with other boys in an area like this, back when their name meant nothing to the world and industry, when you used to talk practically every single day on the phone.

Suddenly, you stop in front of one of the buildings, digging in your purse and pulling out the keys.

Jungkook silently follows your figure when you enter the tenement house you’re living in. He squints his eyes, trying to remember the street name and building number. For some reason he feels like this information might be useful for him sometime in the future.

You quickly climb up the stairs until you reach the forth floor, Jungkook running out of breath with mouth hang open, and that’s when you turn around to face him.

You don’t say anything to him. You just stare, expression stern yet unreadable at the same time. Your gaze is challenging but eventually you give up, sighing and opening the door to your flat, letting him in.

The first thing he notices is that your flat is tiny.

There’s barely enough space for one person in the hallway when you hang up your coat without a word, bumping into his unmoving figure when you’re trying to walk into what is probably the smallest kitchen he has ever seen.

You pour yourself a glass of water, chugging it greedily while he still stands dumbly three meters away from you, fully dressed, unsure of what to do.

He jumps, hearing you put the glass on the counter loudly. “So, welcome in my humble abode, I guess,” you say. “Are you going to stand there the whole night?” You cock your head into his direction and Jungkook shakes his head, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes.

“I know it’s small but the rent is cheap,” you add, referencing to the size of your apartment. You don’t need to explain, he wants to tell you but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes wander to the other part of the flat where your bedroom is, as he assumes.

“Ah, yes, that’s my bedroom. And living room, and bureau,” you confirm, voice laced with apparent sarcasm. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Jungkook hesitantly enters the room. There’s nothing much there beside your bed, wardrobe and a small desk with your laptop and other belongings on. One thing he realises is that you keep everything clean and tidy, despite the limited space you have here.

“But the view is nice, isn’t it?” you ask suddenly, startling him a little. Jungkook, encouraged by you, glances out of the window and he has to admit that yes, indeed, the view is beautiful. You can see the city quite clearly from the forth floor. “I’m still surprised when I look out of the window and see rooftops instead of brick walls. I guess I’m kind of lucky.” you chuckle.

That’s when he realises just how much more you deserve than you have. It hits him how privileged he is now, living in a luxurious area for rich snobs and celebrities who look out of their windows and see green hills. And one more time, his anger for the unfairness of this world only boils stronger in his veins.

“I gotta go the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

You leave him alone again, and now he has an opportunity to look at the corkboard you have above your desk. There is plenty of photos and polaroids pinned to it and he finds himself examining them without a second thought.

It seems like you have them organized chronologically. They start with you as a little kid standing in front of your house in Busan, front teeth missing and clutching your favourite doll. Next, you’re in school and surprisingly, he finds himself present on most of these photos along with you. Playing football at the backyard, eating ice cream at your favourite parlor (he has smudges of chocolate on his chin but he smiles to the camera like it means nothing). He recognizes a photo he took of you when you where in middle school, dressed as Anne Boleyn for some history project he doesn’t remember what was exactly about.

As years pass on your polaroid timeline, his face is slowly disappearing from your captured memories. He smiles when he sees his favourite photo of you, the one he also carries snuggled deeply in his wallet. It was taken by your mum on your seventeenth birthday. You went on a picnic by the sea and Jungkook surprised you with an unexpected visit, coming home back from Seoul. He gifted you a bracelet bought with the first money he had earned in his life.

He wonders now if you still have that bracelet somewhere, hidden among many other things reminding you of your past together, just like the creased photo in his wallet he still hasn’t thrown away.

Then, Jungkook eyes land on the most recent picture. You’re grinning to the camera while being hugged from the back by a man he doesn’t know. He presses his lips to your cheek in a fleeting kiss. An affectionate one.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.”

Jungkook jolts a little hearing your voice. You come up to him and he notices you have changed your clothes for something looking much more comfier. “Remember this one?” you ask, pointing at the photo of you sitting on a beach next to the sand castle you built.

Jungkook smiles apologetically. “Yeah.”

“Ten seconds after taking this photo, you decided to ruin my sand castle and made my cry.”

He can’t help but share your grin when your eyes lock. There’s the same sympathy in them he’s grown to known. It feels familiar, almost domestic. He likes it.

“So,” He nudges your side, pointing with his chin at the corkboard, “care to tell me who is this guy?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and you roll your eyes in response at his antics.

“That’s my boyfriend Minho.” you answer.

Jungkook doesn’t know why but for some reason, he feels uneasy now. He’s mad at himself he’s been really missing out what’s going on in your life. He shakes off these thoughts quickly though, mastering an amusing attitude.

“That was a very poor introduction, ma’am. Come on, you can do better than this. Tell me more about him.” he teases, making you sigh loudly.

“Minho is five years older than me. He’s working as a police officer. We’ve been together for almost a year. Are you happy now?” you grumble.

Jungkook smirks. “Very much.”

“He doesn’t sleep over here so I don’t have any of his clothes you can change into,” you add awkwardly.

He furrows his eyebrows. What are you talking about now?

You shift on your feet, turning to face him properly and now he realises why did you say it. The clothes you have on are actually your pyjamas. Right, it’s almost two. You’re probably sleepy after your night shift and he’s keeping you up. And you’re kindly reminding him it’s time for him to rest as well.

“It’s okay, I can sleep naked.” Jungkook says. Your eyes widen almost comically at that. “Relax, love. I’ll stay with my boxers on. Unless you want to see my without them.” He raises a single brow in question.

You grimace. “Jesus, Jungkook, you’re still drunk. Go take a shower. You can use the blue toothbrush and white towel.” You slump down on your bed and he leaves the room without another word.

Jungkook has been in many bathrooms in his life but yours can only be describe as microscopic.

He feels almost claustrophobic when he’s standing underneath your shower. The water is splashing on everything and he panicks for a moment if you will be angry at him for the mess but then he realises it’s practically impossible to keep everything around dry when he’s showering without any curtain or glass door around him.

He uses your shampoo and body wash, cleaning himself as fast as possible. They smell nice, flowery and exotic and somehow like you. Quick shower definitely has drained him from most alcohol he has in his system. He can now think through the situation he’s in with clear mind.

After drying himself up and putting on his boxers, he stands in front your sink. He wipes off the moist on the small mirror, just to be met with his blank, tired eyes staring back at him. He really should use some good sleep. He uses the blue toothbrush just like you told him to and in the middle of the second round of brushing, he chuckles to himself at the surrealism of this whole situation.

He’s met you for the first time in three years after not speaking to you at all. You don’t own him anything and here he is, already having enormous, unpayable debt because you saved his life from the embarrassment and possible scandal.

You were always like this, ready to put on your superhero cape and save him. Just like years ago when you stood up from your seat in math class and told the teacher you didn’t feel well right before she was about to check his homework, or rather the lack of it which was going to result in another low grade on his account. You, scaring off his fifth grade bullies. You, paring up with him for every school project and doing most of the work selflessly and without a word of complaint because you’ve always liked working alone.

Jungkook spits the rest of the toothpaste and water mixed together to the sink and splashes his face. He really doesn’t know why he deserves you.

The question is simple. He doesn’t. Not after being a total prick to you. But in some strange way, you took him back again, like nothing ever happened.

When he exits the bathroom, he sees you kneeling on the floor and putting a bunch of pillows on the carpet that lies next to your bed.

Jungkook frowns. “What are you doing?”

You look up at him. Your eyes widen visibly when they land on his exposed chest but you quickly compose yourself. “What does it look like? I’m setting up a bed for you.” you reply, patting the pillows, still refusing to meet his stare.

“Am I not going to sleep with you on the bed? We slept together before and it wasn’t a problem then,” he says with furrowed brows.

“Are you kidding? My bed is for one person only! And you’re… you’re–“

“I’m what?”

“You’re big! Bigger than you used to be.” you breathe out, standing up from your kneeling position and sitting on the bed instead. There’s a tingle of barely noticeable rednees on the apples of your cheeks and he fights an urge to tickle your sides just to see you trying not to break into laughter so he could get away with your stubbornness.

“Okay, Miss Grumpy,” he grumbles, kneeling on his make-shift bed. Upon hearing that, you freeze on your spot and then he realises what he has just done.

He called you the old nickname he’s made for you. He hasn’t done that in years.

You bite your lip, acting as if it hasn’t affected you even the slightest. Clearing your throat, you reach for the lamp on your bedside table and switch it off.

Twenty minutes after that, Jungkook finds himself lying on his back in complete silence and staring at the ceiling. You have a few fluorescent stars attached to it, the ones that shine when it’s dark. You had probably ten dozens of them in your old room in Busan, too. A whole constellation.

Jungkook won’t lie, it is a little uncomfortable to sleep on the floor. He tells himself he’s fine with that, though. It’s what he deserves for being an absolute asshole to you. The sleep will come eventually.

Another minutes pass and he’s still very much awake. Then, Jungkook thinks ‘fuck it’ and decides to shoot his shot.

“___?”

You hum sleepily in response after a short while. “Yeah?”

“I cannot sleep.”

“Not my fault.”

He bites his lip. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Jungkook…”

“Pretty please?”

There’s a long pause before you say, “Fine.”

He hears you shifting on the mattress, making a room for him. The bed creaks under his weight when he places himself right next you, back to your back. He wonders if he isn’t squishing you to the wall right now.

“Are you okay?” he asks, just to be sure.

Your comforter ruffles when you try to move but there’s no use for it, not when he’s practically pressed flush to you. “Yeah. I’m good. You’re just really hot.”

“Thanks, love. No need to flutter me like that.” Jungkook murmurs, a hint of smug smile on his lips you cannot see.

“I was taking about four freaking body temperature!”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t mean it.”

“Go to sleep, Jungkook.”

There’s mute between you for a while. Nothing but deep exhales and inhales and occasional sounds of cars or wind coming from outside of your window.

It’s been really a long time since he’s slept in the same bed with other person. He's not the type to stay over after casual fuck, he’s never done that. But when he lies next to you, he can’t help but longe for someone to just hold him; nothing more, nothing less. He wonders what would you do if he turned around and snuggled into your backside. Would you yell at him? Kick him out?

But you used to be so close together once. He won’t find out unless he tries.

Carefully, with limited space, he changes his position, mattress protesting under his weight but he rolls to his other side anyway, until he’s facing your back. He feels your body tensing a little when his breath fans over your neck but you don’t say anything, letting him cuddle up to you.

It feels intimate this way, perhaps even too intimate for both yours and his liking but Jungkook can’t help but relish in your close proximity. When he senses you’ve relaxed a little, he shuts his eyes tightly.

“___?” he murmurs. It's barely a whisper but you heard him loud and clear.

“Mhm?”

“I’m sorry for ruining our friendship like that.”

You’re silent for a moment and he thinks you might have fallen asleep but then, you let out a long sigh that sounds awfully audible in the small space of your bedroom. “You still have time to fix this, Jungkookie.”

You haven’t called him that in three years. It’s good to hear that again.

He smiles to himself, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You don’t protest. If anything, he feels you breathe out with relief.

Next morning you wake up feeling like the temperature in your room has risen to fifty degrees. You’re still wrapped tightly in your comforter and facing the wall, which means you haven’t moved even an inch in your sleep. The cause of it being a very much large, male body practically crushing you with its weight.

You let out a shaky exhale. Jungkook’s front is not only pressed flush to your back but somehow, his muscular leg is thrown over yours, successfully trapping you in.

You wiggle, trying to free yourself from his hold but when you hear his quiet groan, you abruptly stop your movements. And then, you feel it. An apparent hardness poking your backside.

You can’t help but blush, reminding yourself not to make this situation even more awkward than it already is. It happens sometimes, you tell yourself, it’s completely normal for men to pop a boner when they’re in such close, intimate position with another warm body.

But when you feel Jungkook unconsciously seeking friction and pressing himself even firmer against your bottom, you can’t help but yelp in response, throwing off the material covering your body and elbowing Jungkook's unsuspecting face in process.

“Fuck! What time is it?” he mumbles groggily, narrowing his eyes when they’re met for the first time with the sunlight gradually slipping through your unveiled curtains.

“Quarter past your dick poking my ass!”

Jungkook furrows his brows but when his eyes land on his crotch, he smiles sheepishly at you. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just been a really long time since I slept next to someone like that.” His cheeks are flushed in pink and he rubs the back of his head in a bashful manner.

“What about your one night stands then?” you can’t help but ask.

He shrugs in response. “I never stay over.”

“Oh.” You don’t even know why you’re strangely surprised. Maybe it comes from the fact that you’ve always pegged Jungkook to be the rather romantic type. People change, they say. Or sometimes your assumptions about someone you thought you know like the back of your hand happen to be wrong.

You clear your throat. “Anyway, get up. It’s time for breakfast.” you say and disappear from his sight but he still hears you fumbling in the kitchen, popping the kettle on.

He raises from the bed with reluctance, bending to lift the puddle of his clothes he left on the floor last night.

“Hey, what do you want to–“ you begin but your voice involuntarily trails off, seeing him in rather exposed state now in broad daylight. “–to drink?” you finish almost breathlessly.

You’ve been aware Jungkook's good looking. He’s started attending gym long before you stopped keeping in touch with each other. You just didn’t know he is that ripped. It’s not a surprise that his fans go nuts every time they see even a small glimpse of his muscles.

You really shouldn’t be staring but it’s too late when you see a sly smirk on his face. “Like what you see, buttercup?” he asks like the cocky bastard you didn’t know he’s capable of being. “I would like a black coffee, please.” he adds.

There’s a roll of your eyes in response to his teasing tone. “Oh, stop with these nicknames.”

Jungkook grins. “Why? Hyung used to call you that and you blushed every time.”

“Because I had the biggest crush on your brother when I was eleven, dumbass.” you scoff, shaking your head. You leave him, heading back to the kitchen to finish preparing food.

“I know you had a crush on him,” Jungkook shouts after you, putting on his pants and t-shirt. “I’m just curious why him, not me.”

“Seriously? You had emo fringe and pimples back then!”

He laughs, making his way to the kitchen where you’re standing by the counter and mixing something on the frying pan.

“Hope you don’t mind eating scrambled eggs,” you say, sparing him a quick glance. “It’s probably the only edible thing in my fridge right now beside instant ramen.”

Jungkook settles himself on the stool by the small, wooden table situated right by the window. This time, the view is a greish wall of another building. He takes the coffe cup from you and adds a generous spoon of sugar. “I don’t mind. It smells really nice.” he answers, calming your concerns. “So, am I not crushable in your eyes?” He takes a sip of his drink, peeking at you curiously.

You take out the plates from the cabinet and start putting the food you’ve prepared on them. “What kind of word ‘crushable’ even is? Beside, you have millions of fans gushing over you, I’m unnecessary in this equation.” you say, placing the plate in front of him.

“But you aren’t saying no,” he counters.

“Jungkook.”

“I know, I know,” he chuckles. “I’m just teasing you.”

You look at him then, observing thoroughly for the first time since you saw him last night. He’s indeed handsome, there’s not a hint of doubt about that. His features are more mature, the baby fat on his cheeks gone and replaced with chiseled jawline. But if there’s one thing which stays the same, it’s his eyes. Still gleaming with misheviousness when he laughs and holding starry skies in them when he’s astounded by something.

“Didn’t know you were such a great cook, ___,” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to the reality. He sends you thumbs up with his mouth full and you can’t help but crack a smile at his goofiness. Old habits die hard, they say. “Aren’t you eating?” he asks, staring at you with wide eyes.

You glance at your untouched eggs and opt for taking a sip of coffee instead. “I’m not that hungry.” you respond. He shrugs his shoulders at that, taking a bite of the toast.

You nip the inside of your cheek, hesitating, before asking him a question that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue since last night. “What are you going to tell the rest of the guys when you come home?”

Jungkook's expression immadietly shifts after registering your question. “The truth.” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You don’t even try to hide your puzzlement, repeting after him, “The truth?” in bewildered tone.

“They aren’t going to buy that anyway. But believe me, it’s better if I came back in the middle of the night completely wasted.”

Something’s telling you not to dread that conversation longer so you don’t press him about it any further, instead focusing on changing a topic. “Do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?”

He nods, swallowing. “We have a dance practice later.”

You raise your eyebrows. “New comeback?” you smile teasingly and he sends you a wink.

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

“Oh, come on. You know I can keep my mouth shut,” you pout.

He rolls his eyes at first but then a small smile appears on his lips. “I know you can. You’ve been covering for me in school all the time.” he murmurs. At that, something warm spreads in your chest. “Come on, buttercup, I’m not spilling anything until you start eating.” he warns, pointing at your untouched food.

When you grin at him and he reciprocates the gesture, it feels like you’ve turned back the time.

“And... five, six, seven, eight!”

Jungkook doesn’t know how many times he has repeated the same sequence of movements but he feels like passing out anytime soon. He asked Hoseok to help him practice but it looks like his older friend is in rather bad mood today and he seems to lose patience even quicker.

“...and spin–no! Jungkook, you’re not supposed to do it like that.” Hoseok sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Jungkook grimaces, collapsing on the floor. “Give me a few moments, hyung. I’ll do better, I promise.” he mutters.

Hoseok crunches down next to him for a moment, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly. “You did good, Kook-ah. We can call it quits for today.” he says.

Jungkook doesn’t even have strength to answer him verbally. Instead, he shuts his eyes tightly and nods. He hears Hoseok walking away and talking in the distance with Namjoon about something.

“Are you okay?”

Jungkook cracks an eye open. It’s Jimin this time. He kneels on the floor, observing him with worried look on his face.

“Yeah. Just need a minute to catch a breath.” Jungkook responds.

Jimin nods but Jungkook knows him well enough to sense that there’s another question at the tip of his friend's tongue. And he’s not wrong.

“Jungkook, you know you should stop doing that.”

Jungkook sits up, turning his head in Jimin's direction, eyes narrowed into slits. “What, hyung?” he asks, not hiding is irritation. He’s heard it too many times not to feel it already blubbering inside his chest.

“You know exactly what I mean. Partying, getting drunk, sleeping around like a–“ Jimin stops himself in time, seeing Jungkook's expression.

“Like who?” Jungkook scowls. “Come on, hyung, end the sentence.”

Jimin shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just worried about you. We all are.” He puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder and squeezes.

“No need to. Besides, you’re the last one to lecture me about smart life choices.” Jungkook spats harshly and gets up, leaving Jimin staring at his disappearing figure with defeated expression.

Back in the confines of his room, Jungkook finds himself lying on his bed again. At some point, his thoughts wander back to you. He had to leave your flat quicker than he wanted because of the scheduled practice (and the hint of guilt he felt for his hyungs).

He wonders if you can still be friends together, just like the old times. He needs it. Needs you by his side. He didn’t even know he’s been craving it unconsciously. But then he realises he didn’t even ask for your phone number. Maybe you still have the same one?

He reaches for his phone and unlocks it, searching through his contacts. He has you saved under ‘Miss Grumpy'. It makes him smile involuntarily. His thumbs hover over the screen before he starts typing.

[21:08pm] me:

hi, it’s me Jungkook. I don’t know if that’s still your number but I decided to give it a try. I wanted to say thank you once again for yesterday. and today’s breakfast.

Few minutes later, his phone buzzes.

[21:11pm] Miss Grumpy:

you’re welcome, buttercup

Seven days later, Jungkook is at Bongcheon Underground Station again. This time, it’s not his recklessness and cynicism that led him here. He climbs up the stairs and walk into the half-asleep streets with purpose in his mind.

He remembers exactly the path to the club you’re working in. Now he can only hope you have a shift tonight as well.

You haven’t talked a whole week. He felt too insecure and scared to call or text you. What if you don’t want him to keep in touch? What if your last meeting and sleepover at your flat was just a favor for old times’ sake?

That’s why he needs to see you in person. He thought about visiting you in your flat but his intoxicated brain betrayed him and he couldn’t recall your address even if he tried and he did, sitting in front of his laptop and wandering through the streets on Google maps.

When he enters the club he’s met with the familiar buzz of electronic music and the smell of sweat mixed with nicotine. It looks like it’s his lucky day though, because here you are, talking with a client behind the bar.

Jungkook can’t help but smile to himself. He observes you for a while from afar, watching you listening to someone’s tipsy rambling with a polite, yet forced sympathy. He decides to save you from the uncomfortable situation, marching to the bar and sitting on one of the stools.

He sighs to himself, remembering the pieces and bits from his memory of the last time he was there, making a total fool of himself. If it wasn’t for you, his foot would never step here ever again.

You excuse yourself and leave the drunk man, just to be met with Jungkook's smiling eyes. Somehow, his brain short circuits and he sends you a wink.

You roll your eyes, approaching him. “What can I get you?” you ask. “Although after last time I suggest a glass of water.”

He chuckles, pulling his face mask down. “When do you finish?”

Sparing a glance at the watch you have on your wrist, you answer, “In forty minutes.”

“A beer it is, then.”

You hesitate, reaching for the glass. “And you’re just going to sit here the whole time, waiting for me?” you ponder with a surprised expression, just like you’d never thought he could do something like that.

Jungkook only grins in response.

For the next half an hour he watches you work; serving drinks to clients, polishing glasses, occasionally giving a love advices to some teary-eyed girls in a short, black dresses. Just when he’s chugging the last sip of his beer, you come up to him.

“I’m done for tonight. You can wait for me outside.” you say.

When his in front of the bar, he pulls out his cigarettes and lights up one to pass the time. He wouldn’t call himself addicted. He smokes rather sporadically, mostly when he’s out getting wasted or when he’s stressed about something. Or just like now, when circumstances are conducive.

Few minutes later you appear by his side. He takes one last drag and whirls to face you. “So you really quit, huh?” he asks, making you nod curtly. “And you don’t smoke even when you’re on a party?” He's almost astonished.

“Nope, even then.” you confirm, hearing him mutter a ‘Wow’ under his breath. “Well? What now?” You cross yours arms over chest, eyebrows lifted in question.

He tosses the cigarette to the ground and tramples it with his foot. “I thought we could go to your flat, eat late night ramen and just talk.”

“So we're hanging out now?” There’s a slight sarcastic lilt to your voice and he worries for a moment you are going to tell him to fuck off but then, your features soften. “It sounds nice but I know a spot not far away from here when we can sit and talk. If that’s okay with you.” you say.

“Lead the way, then.”

You didn’t lie when you said the place you were taking him wasn’t far away. What you didn’t tell him though, was that getting there meant climbing up the fire escape all the way to the rooftop of a run-down tenement house.

“Care to explain me how do you know about this place?” Jungkook asks once he’s seated comfortably on an old, emerald sofa next to you. It’s a mystery to him how this peace of furniture was brought here but nevertheless, it was someone's good idea.

You were right. It is nice here. You have a full view to the city from up there and he’s sure it would be easy to see the green hills in daylight or watch how the sky burns during sunsets.

“Minho took me there first,” you explain, answering his question. “His police department is few blocks from here. One day they got a call from some angry, old lady, saying that someone was playing music very loudly nearby. When they arrived, they found out a group of teenagers had organized a party on top of the rooftop.”

Jungkook hums. “He’s quite romantic,” Upon seeing your clueless expression he adds, ‘’Your boyfriend, I mean.”

“Ah, yeah,” You crack a smile, although he thinks it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “He is. Sometimes.”

He decides not to press you about it any further.

He leans his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment and inhaling the chilly, pre-spring air. Then, he feels you nudging his side. “So, what do you want to talk about?” you ask, staring at him in anticipation. Jungkook lets out a groan in response and runs his hand down his face. You chuckle, “Hey, we didn’t come here to sit in silence. Entertain me a little, would you.”

He sighs your name. You aren’t prone to giving up easily, he knows it. You’re probably the most stubborn person he’s had a chance to encounter and that is also one of the main reasons he came up with the ‘Miss Grumpy’ nickname when you were in fifth grade.

“I’m pretty sure the golden maknae of BTS has more interesting life than me,” you snicker and he knows it was meant to sound playful coming from you, but he feels something heavy in his chest hearing your remark.

He musters up a small smile. “You would actually be surprised if I told you that my life isn’t as exciting as it may look.”

It hasn’t missed your eye how tired Jungkook seems. No matter how much he tries, he can’t possibly hide fully the bangs underneath his eyes or the greish complexion of his skin. It’s weird seeing him in person like this; without stage make-up and plastered smile reserved for the fans. Seeing him so humane.

For the last three years, you only watched him on your phone's screen. But it wasn’t really him. Your Jungkook is sitting right next to you and silently observing the city during the night. Your Jungkook smoked cigarettes with you by the beach in Busan and got you an autograph from one of your favourite artists he had met personally at the backstage after some award ceremony.

Your Jungkook would never got himself drunk to the point of unconsciousness, risking his reputation. But again, you might only think you know him.

“Let’s talk about you instead,” Jungkook says suddenly, pulling you out from your thoughts. “What do you do beside working in that club?”

You sigh. “You know I don’t like talking about myself either,”

“I know, but we haven’t seen each other for so long. I need to catch up with you.”

You fight an urge to scoff, “And whose fault is that?” but you’re not in the mood to argue. Nor is Jungkook, as you suppose. “I’m studying journalism. Bartending is my part-time job. I had to start working because I couldn’t afford to pay for rent just from my poor scholarship. Prices have increased so if I wanted to stay in Seoul, I needed to work, whether I wanted or not.”

Jungkook knows there’s no words that could somehow lessen your struggles. It’s been a long time since he worried about money. Now, he can have everything he’s ever wanted yet something’s always missing. And he still hasn’t discovered how to fill that void.

“You’re still writing?” he asks instead, referring to your hobby you’ve picked up when you were kids.

“Yes, I am. That’s actually what most journalists do, Jungkook. We write.”

He laughs boyishly, high-pitched and you recall that pleasant sound from the back of your memory. He used to be embarrassed of it when he was younger and often hid his mouth behind his hand to muffle it. You’re glad he doesn’t do that anymore.

“What’s so funny in that?” You sound slightly irritated, although you’re trying hard to stop yourself from smiling too. It just comes naturally when you’re around him.

He takes a deep breath and then says, “Nothing. I’m just thinking,”

You raise your eyebrow. “Thinking? About what?”

“Remember how you’ve always dreamt about becoming a writer when we were teenagers?”

You nod. That’s still very much your goal. Albeit you’re aware it might as well not come true, sadly. “I do. And what about it?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he places his arms behind his head and leans back on the couch with a coy smile. “Maybe you will write my biography one day.” he says after a moment.

“Only if you pay me shit tons of money for that.”

“Agreed.”

You find yourself coping his position and slumping on the couch as well. His eyes are closed, and you watch him from the corner of your eye. Despite the dim lighting, he seems glowing in the darkness like a single, silver spot on the noir sky.

“I think I know how would it be called.” you say suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“Your biography. I came up with the title.” you clarify.

“What is it then?” Jungkook hums with his eyes still closed.

You take a moment to answer, looking up at the blackboard night sky above you. Smiling to yourself, you reply. “I would call it ‘Lost star’.”

His brows furrow slightly. “Why is that?”

“That’s my secret for now.”

“I don’t know. I think this song needs something more.”

“It’s fine for me, Namjoon-ah. The bridge is great, stop worrying so much. We still have a lot of time before the deadline.”

“Thanks, hyung. Jungkookie, have you spoke with Hyowon-hyung about your solo?”

“Kook-ah? We’re talking to you.”

“Jeon Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks up from his phone at the sound of Seokjin's harsh voice. He sends his older friend a clueless look. “Hmm?”

Namjoon sighs. “I asked you a question, Jungkook.”

Jungkook puts away his phone. “I’m sorry, hyung. I wasn’t listening. Can you repeat it?”

“Of course you weren’t, you’ve been staring at your phone for the past twenty minutes instead of paying attention to us.” Seokjin scoffs, digging his chopsticks in the kimchi he's eating.

It’s a little past seven and they are having late dinner at their dorm after a whole day of schedule. Jungkook doesn’t even know what type of commercial they were recording. He just kept reading everything from the monitor behind the camera as he always does, trying to make it seem as unnoticeable as possible.

Truth to be told, Seokjin's right. He hasn’t been paying attention to their conversation, although he definitely should have. Telling them he was texting you this whole time is a pathetic and dumb excuse, he knows that. He doesn’t want them to ask him questions about you. Not yet.

“I asked if you talked to Hyowon-hyung.” Namjoon repeats after a moment.

A hint of realization crosses Jungkook's face at that. “Yeah, I did. He played me the first draft and told me to work on the lyrics.” he says, reaching for his chopsticks.

Namjoon nods, humming. “Do you want me to help you with that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “No, you don’t have to. I’m just waiting for the inspiration to kick in.”

And he hopes it’s going to enlighten him soon. He has a few songs written on his own but creating music for an album it’s different. The standards are higher, expectations bigger. Restricted time always makes him jittery, too.

Taking a mouthful of his bibimpap, a smile flashes across his face. He glances if anyone is looking at him now but his friends are busy talking about something regarding the next release. He reaches for his phone and writes a message to you.

[7:16pm] me:

do you remember the time when you cooked a bibimpap for my goodbye dinner at home?

Not even a minute later, he receives a response from you.

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:

yeah I do

why are you asking me this tho

[7:17pm] me:

I’m eating it know and it reminded me of that day

sorry but god, it was awful

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:

excuse me????

He remembers probably every second of that day. His mother’s tears, your extremely undercooked meat and his father’s affectionate hug.

Smiling to himself, he taps another sentences.

[7:18pm] me:

I couldn’t tell you that. you looked so proud of yourself

I just ate everything like it was the most delicious course on this planet

best acting of my life

[7:19pm] Miss Grumpy:

you asshole

i poured my heart into this

you’re right, that was your best acting. definitely better than war of hormone playboy jungkook

He rolls his eyes. The amount of times you joked about this particular moment of his career is neverending.

[7:19pm] me:

can you please stop

[7:20pm] Miss Grumpy:

fuck off. of course I won’t

how was it?

ah I know.

I’m a bad boy so I like bad girls

showstopping. truly

He tries to muffle his laughter but there’s no use for that. He snickers under his breath, hoping no one have noticed but he was oh, so wrong. Because as soon as he looks up from the phone screen, all eyes are on him.

Namjoon clears his throat. “You’re not eight anymore, Jungkook, so I won’t lecture you like a father but please, don’t use your phone while we’re eating.”

“Who are you texting this passionately anyway? You never put anything before food.” Hoseok adds, frowning.

“My hyung.” Jungkook answers casually.

In the corner of his eye he sees Taehyung leaning to whisper something in Jimin's ear and they both giggle quietly. Jungkook sends them a glare.

They stop but few seconds later, Taehyung breaks into his signature boxy smile.

“What is this, Taehyung?” Namjoon asks, frowning.

“It looks like our Jungkookie is lying.”

Jungkook grips the edge of the table tightly. He searches for Jimin's eyes but he looks away quickly, as though almost guilty.

At the other end of the table, Yoongi puts away his chopsticks and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Care to elaborate on that, Taehyung-ah?”

“He isn’t texting his brother. I think Jungkookie might be in love,” he sing-songs, giggling to himself.

Jungkook’s first instinct is to smack his friend's in the head. And so does he. “What the fuck, Tae?” he snaps.

“Language, kid!” Seokjin says automatically.

“I'm twenty-two!”

“And I’m twenty seven, so shut your mouth and listen to your elders. What is Taehyung speaking about?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

“Oh, stop bullshitting us. I looked at your phone screen when it was lying on the table. You don’t call your hyung ‘Miss Grumpy'.” Taehyung says, his fingers doing the quotation mark in the air.

“You’re not supposed to look at my phone! It’s called privacy!” Jungkook exclaims, however it’s pointless. Everyone now is focused on him and you.

“Can someone tell who the fuck is ‘Miss Grumpy’?” Seokjin asks, looking around the table.

Jungkook runs his hand through his hair in a nervous manner. He screwed up, and now they won’t let him breathe for at least five more days. “Her name is actually ___. She’s my childhood friend from Busan.”

He hears Taehyung chuckling next to him. “Oh, come on. You can tell us you’re sexting her. We won’t judge.”

“I’m not!”

“Shut the fuck up, all of you!” Yoongi says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we for once eat in peace? Jungkook, please, kindly explain us who this girl you’re texting with is.”

Jungkook pursues his lips. “I told you. She’s just my old friend. Why would I lie to you?”

Seeing their uneasy expressions, he realises he said the wrong thing. He has lied to them before about many things. It isn’t anything shocking that they doubt his words now. They have all rights to do it.

Namjoon is the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Jungkook, you know the rules. We can't freely date like we would like to. I suggest you should end things with this girl, whatever you're both doing, before it escalates into something more serious. Before you hurt her and yourself in the process.” he says.

Hoseok nods at his friend’s words. “Namjoon is right, Jungkookie. Serious relationships are just going to make everything more complicated.”

Jungkook grits his teeth. “We aren’t dating.” he spats.

“Sleeping together also isn’t a good idea.”

“We aren’t having sex,” Jungkook's eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you tell the same thing to Yoongi-hyung when he was seeing that blonde girl? He sneaked her into his room one day and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t just playing her his music.” he scowls, shaking his head.

“Hyung's older than you. Besides, he ended things with her some time ago.” Namjoon counters.

“It’s true, Jungkook-ah. Namjoon is right. No matter what you’re doing with her, you should always be careful.” Yoongi adds.

Something breaks in Jungkook at that. All of the pent-up frustration seems to leave his body at once. “You know what? Fuck off, all of you. I’m not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions and they are none of your fucking business.” He stands up from the table abruptly.

“Jungkook, wait. Let’s talk without fighting now,” Namjoon pleads but he isn’t listening to him anymore.

Jimin, who was silent this whole time, puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. “Jungkookie–” he starts but his immadietly cut off by Jungkook's harsh tone.

“Stop calling me that!” Jungkook snaps and walks away, slamming the door to his room behind himself.

There’s a knock to his door an hour after.

This pattern feels familiar. He messes something up, they give him some space to think and reflect about it on his own and then, it’s time to sit together and discuss it openly almost like a peace treaty. Jungkook says sorry, promises he will be a better person and everyone moves on.

He doesn’t bother getting up until he hears a voice behind the door speak up. “It's Yoongi-hyung. I’m not here to force you to apologize. I just want to talk.”

Jungkook's brows furrow. He stares at the door, imagining Yoongi standing behind it with his hands in pockets and eyes glued to the ceiling. He debates whether he should open the door and let him in or keep sulking just a little more until the atmosphere will loosen up on its own.

Somehow, his thoughts wander to you. You would probably tell him that communication is the key to solving problems, or something along the lines. That he can’t shut himself from the world because he feels like no one really gets him. You would also call him childish but he doesn’t dwell on that more.

“Jungkook-ah? Please, open the door. I promise I won’t patronize you.”

He exhales loudly and gets up from the bed. If there’s one person in this house whose words he can trust wholeheartedly, it’s Yoongi. He twists the handle and walks back to his bed.

The door clicks shut a few moments later, mattress dipping where Yoongi makes a room for himself next to him, clearing his throat. “Listen,” he begins but Jungkook cuts him off with a scoff.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t give me patronizing ted talks.”

“Yeah, I did. But I won’t stare at the wall in silence either,” Yoongi says. Few deep breaths later, he continues. “Jihye was a nothing but a good friend to me with whom I had sex sometimes, no strings attached. Until one day I realised our relationship stopped being solemnly based only on physical attraction. That’s why I decided to end things with her.”

“Did you fall in love with her?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. But I could. And that’s what scared me the most.”

“Why?”

In the corner of his eye, Jungkook sees him smiling sadly. “It's simple. Because being together would only lead us to heartbreak. I cared about her too much to make her hurt like that due to my selfishness.” he says. “This is the same reason why Jimin didn’t continue his relationship with our make-up noona even after she left the company. And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t get any hard feelings involved with that friend of yours.”

Jungkook pursues his lips. He understands Yoongi's concerns but his situation is different. Jimin was in love with that woman. He was ready to buy an apartment for them and move out from the dorm. If someone from the company hadn’t found out about their secret relationship, he would have still been sneaking around with her.

Jungkook though, doesn’t have any feelings for you. He’s gone past his silly crush when you were younger a long time ago. Besides, you have a boyfriend and he doesn’t chase after taken women. At least not intentionally.

“She’s just a friend, hyung.” he says finally but it sounds more like he tries to convince himself, not Yoongi.

Yoongi pats him on the shoulder. “I know. Just be careful, okay?” And with that, he leaves Jungkook's room.

Jungkook knew it was a bad idea as soon as he stepped into the club and loud, thumping music filled his ears.

He knew it when he ordered a round of shots and gulped them down one after another. When he found himself in the middle of the crowd of sweaty bodies, head buzzing and arms around a nameless brunette, his tongue between her lips.

And he knows it right now, when he’s sitting in a booth, her ass placed directly over his crotch where he’s already sporting a hard-on. The girl (Eunbi? Or maybe it’s Eunji? He hasn't registered when she shouted it to his ear because he was too busy staring down at her cleavage) grinds herself with eagerness against him and he lets out a groan, leaning to plant kisses on the side of her neck. And in that exact moment, when his chapped lips meet the porcelain skin of her throat, he locks eyes with you.

(And he’s once again reminded how stupid it was to go to the club where you work.)

After his conversation with Yoongi he felt like he needed to prove something to himself. That he’s not the one to fall in love impulsively, that he can fuck and not get feelings involved. He could have gotten himself drunk in in any other place yet here he is, a random girl straddling him while he blinks his bloodshot eyes at you.

Your gaze trails down from his face to his palms splayed on brunette’s bottom and you scoff to yourself, averting your attention somewhere else. If he’s disappointed, he hides it pretty well, sucking yet another purplish mark on the girl's neck she accepts with another roll of her hips.

Whimpering into his ear, she moves herself faster against his hardness but he doesn’t pay mind to her anymore, not when he catches you looking at him again in the corner of his eye.

The girl leans to kiss him and he obliges, tongue darting to lick into her mouth but his eyes remain trained on you the whole time. You see him slipping his fingers underneath her skirt and smirking when he feels the evidence of her lust between her thighs. He wants you to watch him making her come undone on his lap, he craves to relish in the sick thrill of having you witnessing what he’s capable of doing. But when he’s about to pull the girl's lingerie to the side, you’re turning away and disappearing from his sight.

His fingers stay pressed to the flesh of brunette's thighs, unmoving, until she purrs into into his ear. “Oppa, please. Want you so bad.”

Jungkook tsks to himself, rolling his eyes at her saccharine sweet, high-pitched voice. “Not here.” he mutters.

Minutes later he’s in the club's bathroom, his head thrown back and grunts escaping his lips. He looks down at the mop of her hair as she swallows around his cock, bringing him closer to the release. She peeks at him from between her eyelashes, teary-eyed and already fucked-out.

He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls hard, until she moans around him. “That’s it, baby. Gonna fuck your mouth now.” He pushes himself deeper, feeling her choke. She welcomes the pain without complaint, tears flowing down her cheeks and palms pressed obediently on his thighs. Jungkook clenches his jaw, focusing on his pleasure until he groans lowly and comes down her throat.

He pulls away from her mouth, tugging himself back into his pants. She stands up from her kneeling position on wobbly legs and wraps her arms around his neck. “What about me, oppa?” she giggles, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Won’t you fuck me now?”

He sighs, staring down at her. There are smudges of mascara underneath her eyes, her cheeks are wet with tears and her lipstick is smeared. He reaches with his thumb to wipe it, and she leans into his touch.

He feels guilty telling her to be quiet and hiking her skirt up. He feels it when she climaxes around his fingers with a cry of his name on her lips. He feels it too even stronger, cleaning her up and leaving to fix her make-up in front of the blurry mirror, but that’s all he can do. That’s everything he can provide.

Later that night, when he's finally in his own bed, your face flashes behind his eyelids. He's sick of himself, of his actions, that he let his weaknesses got best of him again.

Before he could even think of it, he types a message to you.

[3:45am] me:

I’m sorry. I was drunk and couldn’t think straight

Few bits of silence later, his phone buzzes.

[3:47am] Miss Grumpy:

I know you were

Did you at least thank her?

He scoffs to himself, thinking about proper words to answer you but strangely, he recalls your wide eyes transfixed on him and the way you held his challenging gaze when his lips kissed another woman. He’s never seen you looking at him like that before. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t affect you even the slightest.

[3:48am] me:

don’t worry. she had a good time

[3:48am] Miss Grumpy:

goodnight, jungkook

[3:49am] me:

sleep tight, ___.

There’s something apprehensive in the perpetual ticking of the clock when it's silent in the room. It almost feels like the sound keeps getting louder and louder as the time passes by, as if it’s expecting a storm to occur and shatter the calm.

“___?”

You’re brought back to the reality from your thoughts by Minho's voice. He has a questioning look on his face, watching you with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“I could see that,” Minho reaches for his tea cup and takes a sip. “Is everything alright?” he asks, but you shake your head with a smile.

“Just university stuff.” you say vaguely and he doesn’t press you about it any further, nodding in understanding.

Minho left his work earlier today, coming straight to your flat. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are dedicated to spending your time together on dates. Today, you’re going to the cinema and to your favourite sushi bar. For the second time this month.

“I’m going to use the bathroom now and then we can head out, okay?”

You answer him with a nod. Standing up, you gather your cups and place them into the sink but right when you’re about to wash them, you hear Minho's phone buzz with single notification.

You bite your lip. You know you shouldn’t look but you push it to the back of your head for now, sparing a quick glance at his lockscreen.

Sooyoung: when you will be free next time?

You frown. You’ve never heard him taking about any woman from his work with a name like this. The message sounds ambiguous but it doesn’t have to mean anything to worry about at the same time. You just have to ask to be sure. That’s what couples do, right? They communicate.

Taking a deep breath, you wait for Minho until he comes back from the bathroom.

“Are you ready to–”

“Who’s Sooyoung?” you cut him off before you’ll lose your courage and let the anxious thoughts consume you without asking him first.

He furrows his brows but then his eyes land on the phone lying on the table. He pursues his lips. “You’ve been snooping through my phone?”

“I didn’t have to snoop. I just looked at the screen when you got a notification.” you say as calmly as possible, trying to hide your nerves. “I just thought it’s a little weird that some other woman is asking you when you will be free next time.”

Minho's eyes narrow. “What are you insinuating?” he asks.

“I’m not insinuating anything. Just tell me who she is, it’s simple.”

He looks uneasy, tongueing the inside of his cheek but nevertheless, he’s still as composed as ever, gauging you with tentative expression. “Sooyoung is my friend from work. She’s a new recruit and we go to the shooting range to practice once a week,” he explains. “And before you will ask: we aren’t there all alone. Kihyun accompanies us. So you don’t have to worry about anything. Can we go now, honey?”

You lower your eyes to the ground, nodding. When you try to move past him, Minho catches your wrist. “Do you have anything more to add?” His voice is stern and you gulp.

“I'm sorry.” you almost whisper.

“It’s okay. Just don’t jump into conclusions next time, okay?” he says, hand still wrapped tightly around your hand.

“Okay.” you repeat and he releases you.

A smile appears on his face after that, and he cocks his head at you. “Let's go.”

You exhale a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding and follow him.

There are some things in our lives that we cannot predict.

Like the heavy traffic on the way to work because of the car crash happening somewhere in the city or meeting your ex you’d rather forget about in a shopping mall months after break up. And when they do happen, we can only confront what the faith has in store for us, no matter how much we resist.

You certainly couldn’t predict that after sending a ‘god I want to get drunk so bad’ message to Jungkook he would actually appear hours later on your doorstep with grocery bags in one hand and pizza box in another, grinning broadly when he saw your genuinely surprised expression.

That’s when the surrealism kicks in, when you’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, one empty bottle of suju on your account and the second almost drained to the half. When Jungkook is right by your side, tomato sauce on his chin you wipe out for him with a grimace, talking about some dumpling incident that caused a huge fight among his friends.

But no matter how much you try, how much alcohol you pour into your system, you’re unable to fully get rid of the anxious thoughts sitting at the back of your head.

It’s been a while since your argument with Minho and even though you want to believe him, the creeping feeling that something’s off won’t leave you. It’s easy to say to always trust your intuition, but what if it prompts you scenarios you wouldn’t like to become real?

Jungkook must have sensed that something doesn’t feel right because he stops his rambling mid-sentence, clearing his throat. “Are you even listening to me now, buttercup?” he asks.

You snap out of your thoughts at that, mustering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was but–”

“But you zoned out for a moment,” he finishes. “It’s okay. I know you since we were kids, I can tell when there's something bothering you. It’s all in your eyes.” he says, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“What’s in my eyes?”

“They look sad.”

You shy away from his piercing stare, looking at your lap instead. You’ve always proud yourself that you can read people like an open book. That’s why you can so easily hide your true emotions at bay before the whole world. But if there’s only one person who is capable of seeing through you, it’s Jungkook.

You can open up to him, you remind yourself. You’re safe, he’s been your friend for such a long time, he won’t hurt you.

You take a deep breath and say, “Minho and I have some trouble. I mean, it’s nothing serious but he’s been acting weird lately and few days ago we got into a fight, so yeah. I’m just... a little stressed, that’s all.”

“Should I kick his ass?” he suggests and knowing him, he might as well be serious so you brush it of with a chuckle.

“Maybe not yet.”

You reach for the empty pizza box between you, putting it to the side. You debate taking another shot of soju but eventually you refuse, placing the bottle next to the carton. You’ve had enough alcohol for tonight anyway.

“Are you happy with him, ___?” Jungkook asks suddenly, and you feel like all the air in the room has been sucked off.

You turn to face him, heart rickocheting faster in your ribcage. If you’re truly shocked he’s had an audacity to ask this, you hide it pretty well. Something in your head is telling you that the best defence is attack, so you aim.

“Are you happy?”

Your question stirs something in him. You don’t know what you expected but you could never imagine him actually catching the bait and answering you with honesty. Yet he does.

“You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question a lot lately,” he says, smiling lopsidedly. “There are days when I’m the happiest person on this planet, when I feel like I can do everything. But sometimes, when I step down the stage and lights go out, it just gets harder.” There’s a slight crack to his voice at the end and when you look him in the eyes, they’re glassy. “If I knew it could be so lonely, I wouldn’t have signed up for this. Ever.”

Some things in life we are able to predict. We know the road leading to success and accomplishment might be bumpy, yet we cannot truly be prepared for the outcome of all the difficulties we come across along the way. Jungkook was aware of the consequences his popularity may cause in the future, but he simply didn’t think it could be so overwhelming.

You scoot closer to him, your hand finding his amid your bodies. He looks down and intertwines his fingers with yours with a hint of smile in the corner of his lips. “You have all rights in the world to feel the way you do, Jungkook, remember that. But you’re not alone in this. I’m always here, okay? I’ve been for the past three years and I’m not going anywhere soon.” you say firmly, closing the distance between you.

He accepts your hug with eagerness, wrapping his arms around your frame with desperation, pulling you closer. It’s been so long since you’ve talked like this, since you’ve comforted each other and shared deepest fears.

Jungkook buries his face in the crook of your neck, where you feel him breathing out shakily. He rests his palms on your back, tracing soothing patterns over the material of your hoodie and that’s when you realise he wasn’t the only one who needed to be held like this, even just for a moment. It’s exactly what you’ve been missing, the sheer intimacy of a simple hug.

“Sometimes I just wish it was different.” he whispers into your hair and you close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Me too.”

Somehow, it seems like the most honest thing you’ve said.

Even when you pull away, you’re still mere inches from him. You feel his breath on your skin, his hands travelling from your backside to your hips. Jungkook's eyes are focused on your face but there’s no sadness or melancholy in them now. In his deep brown orbs you recognize something akin to longing.

And maybe the alcohol running in your veins is deceiving you, but when his gaze drops to your lips, you can’t do anything; you’re paralyzed, barely breathing. It’s electrifying, crawling in your skin. His right palm finds the apple of your cheek, thumb stroking your bottom lip until he releases it and tilts your chin. The moment your eyes meet his comes with realization that maybe you were right - you see the yearning in them. But it’s mixed with desire.

The first touch of his lips on yours feels almost exploratory. He kisses you so softly and carefully you might believe it’s his first kiss, but you know this is only a false inkling. Truth to be told, his experience in this area is incomparable to yours. With the shy press of his lips on yours he’s only testing the waters, sensing if you want to push him away. Yet you don’t.

You succumb to the way his chapped lips move against yours, like they’ve always belonged there. You want to be as close to him as possible, feel the heat radiating of him on you. Nothing else matters beside you and him right now, the reality outside doesn’t exist as long as you’re in the confines of your small bedroom, lips colliding and rational thoughts gone.

When your fingers almost hesitantly thread into the locks at the back of his head, Jungkook deepens the kiss. Your body is moving on your own accord, knees sinking onto the floor on either sides of his thighs until you’re straddling his lap. You taste the desire on his tongue as he runs it through the seam of your lips, seeking entrance you provide.

His hands find purchase on your hips and when he nips on your bottom lip you let out a silent moan, leaning your forehead on his. “What are we doing?” you whisper, breathing heavily down his flushed cheeks and parted mouth. You’re trying to grasp the meaning behind all of this: of your quickened heartbeat, of the evidence of his desire where you groins meet.

“Something we are going to regret later.” It’s the answer Jungkook gives, connecting your mouths once again in a searing kiss.

Everything seems to crush around you. Erupting volcanoes, cascading waterfalls, tsunamis consuming the land. It’s dangerous, Jungkook thinks to himself, kissing you like that, nibbling on your bottom lip and eliciting a moan. But he can’t help but drown in it.

You’ve never felt quite like this; consumed by the flames of forbidden desire, ready to burn into ashes. Jungkook’s palms shift underneath your hoodie and you’re surprised how warm they feel against your skin, caressing your stomach and underside of your breasts. He’s touching you with ardour, like he doesn’t believe you’re in his arms, like you’re going to disappear the second he lets go of you.

You place sloppy kisses on his cheeks, jawline, down his neck, relishing in the way he seems to be affected by your caresses, tightening his grip on your waist with every press of your lips on his skin. He grasps the hem of your hoodie, looking for any sign of discomfort in your eyes but when you nod your head, he doesn’t hesitate to lift it off you, uncovering your bare cleavage.

Biting your lip, a sudden wave of insecurity washes over you but it quickly vanishes as soon as his palms engulf your breasts almost roughly, thumbs brushing your nipples until the peeks harden under his ministrations and you can’t help but gasp. He trails kisses down your throat, teeth grazing your skin almost feather-like and you know what’s that for. He doesn’t want to live a visible mark there.

In one, swift motion, Jungkook puts his hands underneath your thighs and stands up from the floor, lifting you up with ease and placing gently on your bed. He hovers over your half-naked figure, eyeing you with the carnal hunger that makes your chest raise and fall with heavy intakes of breath, core pulsing with want.

He takes off his shirt and tosses it somewhere on the floor, and now you understand why all these girl are so drown to him. Jungkook's probably the most good looking man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Everything in him is crafted with perfection, from the prominent outline of his jaw, through the column of his throat and collarbones, to the sculpted expanses of his chest and abdomen.

Your fingerstips are itching to map every ridge and deep of his body but you remain still, anticipating his next move with rapidly beating heart. Dominance and power radiating of him nearly make you squirm underneath his scrutinizing stare. His dark eyes are telling you to obey him, and you give yourself to him without resistance. You’ve never felt this way, not with anyone. Yet here you are, stripped from the innocence and bared to the pleasure.

Jungkook reaches to the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down and leaving you with nothing but your underwear on. He straddles your thighs, his palm pressed flat to your stomach until he slides it lower, to the dip of your body where you drip with the need of being fucked until you forget your own name.

The first press of his fingers on your pussy makes your limbs jerk uncontrollably and he smirks at your reaction, seeing the material of your panties dampening with his small, teasing strokes. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly it wounds you up, blame it on your uncontrollable celibacy or maybe something else entirely.

“What do you want me to do, doll?” His question makes you whine, hips raising to feel more of his touch on you but he only chuckles at your apparent eagerness, patting your folds in reprimand.

“Anything,” you breathe out in response, looking at him with frenzied eyes and hoping he will be merciful to you.

Jungkook tsks, his fingers leaving your cunt and grasping your jaw tightly. “Be a good girl and use your words.”

You gulp, a humiliating blush reddening your cheeks. You’ve never really been a vocal person during sex, nor were people you had slept with but you can’t deny how much of a turn on is Jungkook's commanding voice.

“Please, Jungkook. Want you to touch me.”

“Where?” His other hand wanders down your body until he cups your center. “Here?” he asks in a mocking tone, making you nod silently. “You want me to touch your pretty pussy with my fingers?”

“Yes, please.”

He grasps your underwear and shruggs it off your legs, smirking when he sees you so affected by his words. He then shoves his index and middle finger into your mouth and watches as you obediently lap your tongue around them, looking at him with hooded eyes.

“Fuck.” he curses, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

You look so pliant and submissive lying naked underneath him, so willing to let him do with you whatever he pleases. His cock throbs in his pants at the thought. He’s had girls at his beck and call before but it’s a different kind of lust with you. A strong yearning, consuming him from the inside, a desperation to be as close as two humans being submerged into carnality possibly can be.

Your back arches when his calloused fingers finally make contact with your bare pussy, slipping between your folds to gather the wetness dripping from your hole. You gasp at the feeling of his thumb circling your clit, biting your lip until you taste iron. He easily finds the right way to make you moan, to make your legs shake with want.

You cry out his name when he pushes the first digit inside. He swears under his breath when he feels your warm walls flattering around him. “M-more,” you whimper, hips lifting of the mattress and seeking friction.

Jungkook smirks at that. “You’re so wet, baby. You like it, don’t you? Such a greedy slut.” You’re mewling at his words, grasping his wrist when he roughly plunges another finger into your cunt and starts shoving them in and out, not sparing even a second to let you adjust to the punishing pace he sets.

He leans his body closer over yours, eyes focused on the way your face writhes in pleasure while his fingers are abusing your pussy. You’re dripping, your arousal coating the his palm and the insides of your thighs. When he sees you reaching to squeeze your breasts, he swears he’s never seen anything sexier than this in his entire life.

“Jungkookie–nghh, please,” You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherent sentences. You could sense your orgasm approaching, you’re feeling it warming your body from the tip of your toes all the way to your core where you’re gushing around his long fingers.

“Come on, doll. Be a good girl and cum for me.” Jungkook murmurs. With his words and his thumb flicking your bundle of nerves with practiced ease, you’re pushed over the edge, tears spilling from your eyes and coating your cheeks. He watches with parted mouth as you come with his name on your lips, your velvet walls deliciously tightening around his digits. He gives you a moment to ride out your high, stroking your side with his palm soothingly.

Pulling out his fingers, he places them in his mouth, humming lowly at the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He wants nothing more than bury his face between your thighs and lick you clean but right now, he needs to fuck you.

He stands up from the bed, taking off his pants and boxers along with socks and catches you peeking at him from the corner of your eye. Your chest is rising with laboured breaths, lips swollen from the way you’ve been biting them to stop yourself from letting out any loud noises that could potentially be heard through the thin walls of your apartment.

He digs one knee on the mattress, his other hand wrapped around his thick cock. You lick your lips at the sight, nails digging crescent moons into your palms.

“On your fours, baby.” Jungkook commands and you oblige with flushed cheeks, maneuvering your body onto your hands and knees. You feel him behind you, his palms stroking the skin of your bare ass. A sick thrill runs through your body at the prospect of being taken in such a humiliating position.

Groaning, Jungkook rubs the mushroom head of his cock through your folds, collecting the juices spilling out of you. That’s when you come back to your senses and your whole body stiffens. “Wait,” you call out, making him pause. “We need a condom.”

“I’m clean. Besides, I never fuck anyone else without protection.”

“Fine, just–” Closing your eyes, you release a shaky breath. “–you need to pull out, okay?”

Jungkook leans over your body, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade. “Relax, ___. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” With one hand on your waist and the other on your hip, he positions the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushes agonizingly slow inside, making you moan at the stretch. You’re grasping the sheets underneath between your fingers, knees threatening to give away after another measured stroke that leaves your heat pulsating.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. When was the last time he fucked you?” he grunts, digging his fingers into your flesh. At the mention of Minho, your body tenses. You breath heavily, trying to push the unwelcomed thoughts aside.

“A m-month ago?” you utter, recalling the last time you had sex. Or rather when you sucked him off and he didn’t bother reciprocating the favor.

Jungkook shoves his cock deeper, scoffing to himself. “His stupid for not appreciating this enough.”

You bite your lip, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. His words sound affectionate, too affectionate for your liking and you don’t want to think about this moment like it means more than what it is. Your hands tremble and lose balance when he fucks into you harder, until he’s filling you to the brim. You’ve never felt so deliciously full. A few bits of ragged breaths later, you mumble, ‘’You can move.”

He tightens his grip on you, bottoming out. He sets a steady pace, fucking you slowly but deeply, making you cry out into the pillow at the sensation of his cock dragging through your walls, making sure you feel every inch of him. “You feel so good, doll. So wet and tight. I’m gonna make a mess of your pretty pussy.” he says lowly.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo through the room with the promise of merciless fucking. Jungkook is relentless, pounding into you faster and faster, like he wants to ruin you, imprint himself on your body to make you remember how easily you can give into vulnerability. His hand slips underneath you and he lifts your upper body up, pressing your back into his chest. The new found angle causes him to hit the spot inside you that has you putty in his arms.

“Don’t–nghhh–stop, fuck!”

He grunts into your ear in response, sweaty bangs ticking the side of your neck. He sneaks his other hand around your throat and you gulp. “Is this okay?” You hear him whispering and you’re nodding, tears gathering in your eyes from the immense pleasure he is bringing to you with every snap of his hips that threatens to make you lose it on his cock.

His fingers apply a slight pressure against your neck, enough to make you lightheaded with unfamiliar yet ecstatic feeling. He overwhelms you in every way possible and you’ve never felt like this; so powerless yet alive at the same time.

Jungkook releases the grip on your throat but he’s hand still remains there as if in warning. “Look at you, taking my cock in your slutty cunt. You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum all over me?” he growls, fingers rubbing your clit in fast circles until tears are spilling down your cheeks and you’re keening.

“God–yes, fuck! Please, I want to cum so bad.” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re on cloud nine, trembling in his arms. He tightens his hold on your throat again and with one last, final flick of his digits on your pussy you’re reaching your second orgasm this night.

Jungkook releases his hold on you, helping you lay down on your back after riding out your high to the brick of oversensitivity. His palm caresses the length of your body soothingly, calming you down. You’re eyes are still closed when he bends and kisses you. Surprised by his sudden gentleness, your breath hitches in your throat. He coaxes a small moan out of you when you finally relax, wrapping your arms around his neck blindingly and pulling him close.

You break away the kiss, feeling his stiff length pressing into your stomach. His cock is covered in your slick, thick and hard against his toned abdomen. Biting your lip, you sit up and enclose your fingers around his sex. Looking up, you're met with his dark orbs watching your movements. With his raven hair falling down on his face and sweaty chest, Jungkook looks painfully beautiful.

He lets out a hiss when you lean down and take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his velvet tip. “Fuck, just like that.” he murmurs. Gathering your hair in his hand, he makes a makeshift ponytail and stares down at you bringing him closer and closer to the edge with every drag of your pink muscle on his cock.

Feeling him twitch in your mouth, you take him deeper, ignoring the ache in your jaw. “Gonna cum.” Jungkook grunts and moments later he releases his seed down your throat. You swallow the bitterness of his arousal, lapping your tongue around his tip until he pulls out of you, wincing with oversensitivity.

Silence takes over the room. You don't dare looking at him, staring at your naked lap instead, thoughts screaming in your head. You know you’re going to feel the aftermath of your rough fucking tomorrow, and it won’t be only physical pain. You sit up, ready to go to the bathroom but a hand on your wrist stops you.

“Wait, I’ll do it.” Jungkook murmurs and you nod absentmindedly.

He gets up from the bed and disappears in the bathroom. Unsure of what to do, you force your muscles to move, sitting at the edge of the bed. Jungkook comes back a minute later, carrying a dump towel.

Your head drops to the ground immadietly. He kneels before you and you desperately avoid his eyes. You notice he’s put on his boxers already and now he’s cleaning you gently off, removing evidences of your sins from your skin. You will take a shower later, the water will wash you off from each other’s scents and lingering touches. Love bites will soon disappear, bruises on your hips fade. Yet the scars you left on your hearts won’t heal that easily.

Jungkook puts his hand on your knee and you bite your bottom lip. He takes your hoodie lying on the floor and puts on your naked, marked body. Your heart clenches in your chest at the simple gesture.

“___,” he calls your name. At that, you finally look up at him. He seems worried, you must tell, millions of thoughts crossing his mind at the moment as well as yours. “Let’s go to sleep for now, okay? We will talk about this in the morning.”

You don’t say anything, nodding at his words. You crawl onto the bed, trying to create as much distance as possible between your bodies but it’s pointless. You feel his breath on your neck and you're sure his itching to hold you, but he doesn’t know if he should, so he stays mere inches from you, until you both eventually fall asleep.

Jungkook wakes up hours later with a raging headache. He grunts to himself, rubbing his face with grimace and making another meaningless promise about drinking less alcohol. When he open his eyes, he realises he’s staring at the fluorescent stars attached to the ceiling. Your ceiling.

When he turns his head to the left, he finds the other side of the bed empty. It’s almost bright in the room, which means he’s stayed overnight again. And he didn’t do just that.

Bits of memories flash behind his eyelids: him coming to your flat to hang out, your conversation, the kiss that led to naked bodies and breathy moans. He fucked up royally this time.

Throwing the comforter off his body, he feels a sudden rush of coldness raising goosebumps on his skin. Frowning, he picks up his discarded clothes from the floor and starts putting them on. The door to your bedroom are cracked open, just like you haven’t closed them to not wake him up.

Jungkook raises from the bed once he’s fully dressed, and pushes the door. He finds you standing by the fully opened window in your kitchen, staring outside.

He understands now why there was so cold before. The fluffy, blueish robe wrapped around your body is probably doing little job at providing warmth, but you don’t seem to mind it at all. You don’t see him yet, your back facing him until he takes another step and the floor creaks underneath his weight.

He sees your shoulders raising and falling, as if you’ve just let out a sigh. Then, you turn around cautiously, a greish puffs of smoke swirling over your features. Jungkook raises a brow.

“I thought you said you had quit.” It’s the first thing he says, his voice still groggy from sleeping.

You shrug at that, averting your gaze to the view behind your opened window again. “I always smoke after making a bad decision.”

It sounds bitter coming from you. A testament of your recklessness and weak hearts. He could read the regret straight from your face. It’s all in your posture: you look broken. And he is the reason why you’re hurting. The guilt is almost eating him up from the inside. He needs to try fixing this before you will push him away and he’ll lose you again.

“I think we should forget about that.” you speak after a moment of silence, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your voice trembles and he feels it stabbing him right in the middle of his chest, depriving him of hope to make things good between you. “It’ll be for the better for of us if we act like nothing ever happened. We got drunk, we let our emotions get the best of us. That’s all.”

You and him both know it wasn’t just alcohol which made you let him touch you like that, fuck your worries away for a few bits of pleasant oblivion. It meant so much more but you’re too afraid to confront this. You aren’t ready yet.

When you close the window and finally look at him, Jungkook's shoulders are slouched. Defeated. Something aches in your heart at that. “I’m sorry. For everything,” he tells you. He’s clenching his fists by his sides and you know he’s hurting too, more than he could ever let anybody realize. “I should get going then.”

He exits the kitchen with one last, small smile reserved only for you. You didn't mean to handle the situation like that, like you’re quickly ripping off the band-aid, but you couldn’t think of a better way. Closing your eyes, you let your emotions decide once again. “Wait,” you call out after him, stepping into the hallway. “Maybe you will stay for breakfast.” you propose and Jungkook shakes his head.

“No. It’s okay. I don’t want to keep you busy.” he says, putting on his jacket. Reaching for the handle, he turns to you and smiles. “Take care, ___.” When the door close behind him, you let out a long exhale.

What Jeon Jungkook couldn’t predict, is that he will be the one doing walk of shame out of your flat.

#jungkook smut #bts smut #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #maknaesmutsociety #btsbookclub #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #my writing #lost stars

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shoutaaizawas · 5 years ago

Note

one month anniversary event? hUH can i join?? if it’s no hassle: could i request bakugou in hunger games au! with the prompt “Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes.”? i would love to see what you do, thank you in advance 🥺💞 i love your work, binge worthy 100%. please take care! :)

im so sorry this took FOREVER ilysm your comments give me life thank you for all your support

↳ bakugou katsuki x reader → no final goodbyes

event: au prompts summary: you and bakugou are childhood enemies. when you’re picked for the annual hunger games you’re shocked when he volunteers. word count: 6,599 tags/warnings: hunger games!au, angst, like really angsty 😳, violence, blood mention, character death a/n: uhhhh i’m sorry also there was so much i wanted to put but i had to stop myself or this would have been a whole novel alternate ending

You hated Bakugou Katsuki. You had since you were kids. You grew up in District Seven next door to the Bakugou household. Ever since you could remember you were arguing with Bakugou. Your parents would laugh and say it was normal if he got on your nerves so much maybe it was because you had a crush on him.

The thought had always disgusted you. Sure, as you both got older Bakugou certainly got quite attractive and filled out. He went from a scrawny kid to a man in what felt like overnight, it was hard not to notice his muscles.

You recalled one day you were trying to nap but the repeated sound of banging outside kept waking you. You stormed outside to yell at him but you were not expecting the sight of him shirtless and swinging an ax down onto firewood. Your throat felt like it was drying up and you turned around before he caught you.

When had he gotten attractive? It didn’t matter, he was still the same unbearable Bakugou you had known since you were born. Looks couldn't make up for that personality.

Despite your distaste for each other, Bakugou’s mother insisted he walk with you to school to watch over you. You would complain and say that it was unnecessary but your mother would scold you for being rude and tell you to just accept it.

Some days you’d walk to and from school in silence. Others you would trade insults the whole way earning looks from people you passed.

“They’re picking tributes soon.” You said. It was rare for you to start a normal conversation but the Hunger Games were fast approaching and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared. “We’re eighteen now, it’s our last one. It looks like we might make it out.” You said with a dry laugh.

“What are you scared or something?” He replied.

“What? No, I mean what are the chances of getting picked?” You said with a shrug. “You’re probably the one that's scared.” You bit back. So much for having a normal conversation with him.

Time flew by and it was finally the day of the Reaping.

If you thought it was silent before on your walks with Bakugou it was even worse today. Despite the fact you both pretended like you weren’t scared, you were terrified and you knew even Bakugou was nervous.

If he was chosen at least he would stand a chance. He was strong and she had seen how he fought others at school in the past. If it was between him and a trained district kid you’d bet on him every time.

You, on the other hand, you never had held a weapon in your life. You weren’t very strong and not very fast. Your chances were overall bad.

Bakugou stopped as you approached the place where you would go your separate ways.

“Our last one, after this we don’t have to worry.” You said forcing a smile.

“Whatever.” He scoffed before turning to walk to the boy's side.

“I was trying to be nice for once.” You complained. “Screw you, I hope you get picked.”

You might hate Bakugou but you didn’t mean it. In fact, the thought of him getting picked made you feel things you couldn’t explain. After this was over you’d walk home and complain about the boring life you’d have in District Seven and bask in the relief of knowing that you would be safe.

As the escort of District Seven stood on the stage you stood in the crowd tapping your foot. This would be over soon and you could go home and never worry about this again.

“Ladies first.” The woman said fluttering to the left side and drawing from the pool of names there. She opened the paper and announced the name.

Heads turned but one set of eyes burned into you more than others. You couldn’t breathe. You were suffocating, drowning, frozen to the ground. You turned to look at Bakugou from across the crowd. Staring at him, helpless with tears in your eyes. You didn’t know why he was the first person you sought out.

“Come on, dear. Don’t be shy!” The woman said waving you up to the stage.

Taking shaky steps you walked through everyone to the stairs. Standing up there was surreal. It felt like a nightmare. Your eyes stayed on Bakugou’s red ones, how odd you looked to him for comfort in the worst time of your life. You supposed this would be the last time you’d look into those familiar eyes. Why did that make you so sad?

The woman moved to the boy's side and pulled a name but you could hardly pay attention. You snapped out of your fog when you heard a familiar voice.

“I volunteer!” Your eyes snapped to the ash-blond you had known your whole life. What was he thinking?

Bakugou walked to the stage and you stared in disbelief. What was going on?

It was a blur, you were ushered into a room with your parents. They were sobbing, hugging you, holding you like it’d be the last time. Well, it would be the last time, you supposed.

You were led to a train, the inside was decorated far nicer than most things in your district. You sat there feeling numb. It was overwhelming enough being picked but you were trying to wrap your head around Bakugou. Why would he volunteer? None of you ever wanted to be picked. This wasn��t District One where people trained for it.

Bakugou entered and stared at you blankly. You don’t know what happened but something snapped in you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You screamed, lunging for him. The escort for your district was quick to make her way to the other side of the train car to avoid the commotion. “Why would you volunteer? Do you have some death wish!?”

You grabbed at his shirt, hitting his chest but he stood still and unmoving not saying a word.

“What about your parents? What about your future? You’re throwing it all away!! It’s bad enough I got picked I didn’t have a choice.” Tears ran down your face uncontrollably. “You had a choice! You had a choice!”

A man you hadn’t seen before pulled you off of Bakugou, leading you to one of the rooms on the train.

“Cool off here for a while.” The man with long black hair said. “It’s a lot to take in. Take your time processing it.”

With that, he closed the door. You laid on the bed, your throat raw from screaming. It didn’t take long for your tears to come. You sobbed and sobbed, curled up on the bed. Why did this happen?

By the time you woke up you hadn’t even realized that you fell asleep. You felt so exhausted. It was still hard to understand everything that had happened. How did you get picked, why could Bakugou volunteer?

You avoided him, not wanting to see him. Every time you thought about him it stirred a rage in you that you didn’t quite understand.

The man that had pulled you off of Bakugou introduced himself as Aizawa Shouta, he was a previous winner from your district. Even though he had won you could see the damage that it left on him. That scared you, even people who won looked miserable.

Aizawa explained that he was to mentor you both and help as much as he could to prepare you for the games. It still didn’t feel real as he explained it all.

Before you knew it you were in the capital, a place you never expected to see. It was big and fancy, far more developed than your district. You followed alongside Aizawa, Bakugou on his other side. You didn’t want to look at him but you still felt the urge to sneak glances at him. When you did his eyes were on you, once you realized that you would look away quickly as if you hadn't been looking in the first place.

The building you were to stay in until the games began were modern and high tech. You stayed in your room, even when you were told dinner was ready. You wanted to be alone, more than that you didn’t want to be around Bakugou.

A knock on the door caught your attention. You cautiously opened it to see Aizawa there with a plate of food. He handed you the plate and you let him in.

“Why won’t you come out for dinner?” He asked.

“I don’t want to see him.” You said, taking a bite of the food even though you didn’t have an appetite. The food was of better quality than anything your family could ever afford. Did they feel better if they spoiled the children before sending them to their deaths?

“He volunteered.” He said the way he said it implied that he knew something that you didn’t.

“Yeah, and that was stupid.” You said. “Why would he choose a death sentence.”

“Things aren’t always that simple.” He said.

You stared at him, trying to comprehend what that meant. What valid motivation could he have?

“I’ll let you get some rest but you have training tomorrow.” He said.

“Training?” You questioned.

“Yeah, you'll have time to train for the games. You should pick something to impress the judges so they’ll give you a good rating.” He said. “If you get a good rating people will support you, send you stuff to help during the game.”

“Oh.” You said. You had seen some of it on TV but you always tried to avoid watching most of it. It made you sick to see children sent off to their deaths. You had seen people you grew up with sent to the games. You supposed you’d have to do the interviews too. How were you supposed to pretend to be some charming person when you were just a lamb for the slaughter?

Days went on and you trained from morning to night, you weren’t strong but you tried to practice with some weapons. An ax felt familiar you used it to chop wood before. It felt pointless, even if you could use it well enough you knew you didn’t have it in you to kill someone. You had no chance.

You spent a lot of time studying the plants, it interested you even if it would only help you so much. There were a lot of plants that were good for healing and some were even dangerous.

Reading a book on herbology, you sat far away from the other tributes who were sparring and throwing weapons at targets. It was hard to focus knowing that you’d be their target in a few days.

“Why are you wasting your time with that?” A familiar voice said behind you.

“It’s none of your business.” You spat back at Bakugou.

“Plants aren’t going to keep you from getting a knife in your back.”

“Why are you even here? How stupid are you to volunteer?”

“I’m going to win. I win at everything I do.” He said.

You stared at him in disbelief. You knew that Bakugou strives to beat everyone in his way but he never expressed that in regards to the Hunger Games. He always acted the way you did and how most did. They were disgusting and you wanted to avoid them as much as possible.

You turned your attention away from him, you couldn’t deal with him. You didn’t have long before the games would begin. You had to focus on what you were doing for the judges, not that it mattered. You knew you couldn’t compare to the others. You didn’t have much of a chance.

For the judges you displayed your knowledge of plants, it wouldn’t get you a great score but it was better than doing nothing. They seemed barely interested so you didn’t expect much.

Sitting on the couch of the apartment you were staying at with Bakugou and Aizawa you weren’t shocked to see yourself get a four. You heard a scoff from Bakugou and you sent him a dirty look. You were shocked to see Bakugou get a twelve. You knew that he was strong and his willpower alone was enough to make him the best at everything he did but it still left you wondering just what he did to get that score.

Time passed quickly and before you knew it the interviews were up. It was the last big event before the games would begin. That made your stomach churn. It wouldn’t be long until you’d be in an arena and everyone there would want you dead. There hadn’t been a day since you arrived in the capital that you weren’t stuck in your head dreading what would come. It was almost impossible to sleep and even harder to stomach anything.

Your stylist had picked a deep forest green dress for you. It was elaborate and stunning. Staring at it on the mannequin, the dress reminded you of home. The forests that were damp and earthy that always felt right to be in. The hearth in your family’s home that kept you warm on the cold nights. The stews that your mother made that you loved so much. The rain against your window at night while you read your favorite book. The boy next door that no matter how much you fought with him there was a sense of comfort being at his side.

Everything that you would never see again. Tears streamed down your face and you pretended they weren’t there as you were helped into the dress.

Your interview was first. Your entrance was standard, the questions not very exciting. It was easy to feel that the crowd wasn’t very interested in you. How could you capture their interest? You knew you were just another face, just a background character in someone else's story.

Bakugou was after you, the noise of the host and him talking was in the background as you walked with Aizawa out of the backstage area.

“You volunteered and you from District Seven, that’s very rare. What could possibly make you do something like that.” The host questioned. You scoffed, you already knew his answer. ‘Because I’ll win.’ You could hear it perfectly in his voice.

“Because the girl I love was chosen.” He said. You must have misheard that. You turned to look at the screen and saw him sitting on the couch on stage looking far more dressed up than you had ever seen him in your life.

“The girl you love, and by that do you mean your district partner?” The host asked excitedly looking at the crowd as if they hadn’t heard.

“Yes, we grew up with each other. I lived next door to her, we spent everyday walking to and from school. No matter how much we teased each other or pretended we didn’t like each other I always cared about her. When I heard her name called I knew that I couldn’t watch her do this alone. I volunteered so I can protector her, and make sure she gets to make it home.” He said.

“Wow, what an amazing story. Doesn’t it tug on your heartstrings? We all wish you luck in the games.” The host said as Bakugou was ushered away.

Numbness was all you felt. His words rang in your head. Aizawa looked at you with a concerned expression.

How could he lie like that? Just so he would have the viewers on his side? Just so he would have more sponsors in the game feeling sympathy for his sob story.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You started as Bakugou walked down the hall towards you. He gave you a blank stare. “I know you couldn’t care less about me but did you really have to involve me in your story to manipulate the viewers?”

Bakugou stared at you before moving past without a word. You had expected him to yell at you or argue that it only made sense to use every advantage you could get but his silence was unsettling.

It was a blur. It was the day of the games. You stood in a cold room staring at the elevator that would lift you into the arena. This was it. It probably wouldn’t be long until you were dead. Taking a deep breath you took in the clothing you were provided. The heavy coat was large and made you feel too warm in this small room. From what you could gather it was going to be cold in the arena. At least you were used to snow. The best thing you had going for you was your survival skills if you could get away from the blood bath without dying.

Aizawa was there to give you your last bits of advice. The biggest being to avoid the cornucopia, it was always guaranteed to be a blood bath where only the strongest came out on top. Aizawa advised you to take what minor supplies you could get and hide away from others until necessary.

There was a far off look in his eyes. It was easy to tell that he was trying to distance himself emotionally. No doubt it was hard to get to know two kids every year only to watch them die horrifically.

“Thank you for everything.” You said softly.

“Goodbye.” He said giving you a sad smile.

A timer had begun counting down as you entered the elevator. Pressing your eyes closed you took a deep breath. A part of you considered if going for the cornucopia would be the best way to end things quickly. You shook your head. You owed it to your family, to yourself to at least try even if it was only delaying the inevitable.

The elevator started to move and an opening appeared at the ceiling. Cold air flooded the space and you were glad you were dressed the way you were. As you entered the arena you took in your surroundings. At least two feet of snow blanketed everything in sight. Most of the space around was open but in the distance, there was a forest. Mountains and cliff sides lingered in the distance.

The cornucopia sat not far away, surrounded by different items. It was tempting but it was a setup. You glanced towards the forest, it would be the best option. The cover of the trees would help you hide away from the others.

Looking around the others surrounding you, you recognized them all. You knew which ones you should be careful of. Your eyes met Bakugou’s and your stomach dropped. Once you ran away would you ever see him again? Your last words to him hadn’t been kind. Would he win? Or would he be killed by another tribute? What would he do if it was only the both of you remaining? Would he kill you? You knew you could never hurt him.

The clock ticked and with each sound, your heart beat faster and faster.

Run. Just run. Don’t look back.

The clock hit zero and chaos broke out. You fled for the trees not sparing a look back. The snow was deep and hard to move through, thankfully you were used to the snow. You weren’t expecting to find a backpack in the snow. You grabbed it without stopping as you ran to the trees.

Once you were in the tree line you felt some relief but you knew others would have the same idea so you continued not slowing your pace. You ran and ran until you couldn’t go anymore. You spotted a tree with strong looking branches and figured it was a decent place to hide for now.

Climbing the tree you were able to get comfortable as possible so you could look through the backpack. In it were some supplies, rations, water, rope, and a few other things.

The biggest concern for survival would be cold. It was cold now and it would only get worse. Your clothing would keep you warm but it might not be enough. You waited, carefully listening to the forest and its sounds. Eventually, nightfall came and the canons went off announcing the number of deaths that had occurred for the day. Fifteen in total. More than half gone already. She wondered if they thought they could survive the cornucopia or if they had gone to it in hopes of ending things quickly. When you didn’t see Bakugou’s face among them you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

As much as you knew you needed to you couldn’t sleep. You knew the danger you were in. As the temperature dropped you wished you could make a fire but you knew it was too risky to do so.

Morning came and you wanted to hunt today, you had the rations from the backpack but you wanted to keep them as a backup if you couldn’t get food. The skill wasn’t unfamiliar, you had done it before just not with these tools. There was a hatchet in the backpack, it wasn’t normally used to hunt but you could make it work.

You had been able to kill a rabbit, making a small fire to cook it before putting it out and moving on. As night fell you made your way into another tree for the night. You accidentally fell asleep a few times throughout the night before startling awake.

Days passed and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt any warmth. Tributes died day by day, none of them were Bakugou. That was a relief and it made you nervous at the same time. You didn’t want to face him.

The landscape before you was beautiful, you had scaled one of the smaller parts of the mountain. It was risky but if you got higher up you hoped it would deter other tributes from finding you. Green pine trees covered the ground as far as you could see. It reminded you of home. You pushed that thought out of your mind before it brought you any more sorrow.

As you moved through some of the dense trees on the mountain you weren’t expecting to come upon the edge of a cliff. You stumbled, pulling back so that you wouldn’t fall but it was too late. Your gravity was off and there was no way to stop yourself now. You reached out hopelessly to catch anything to stop yourself from falling. What you weren’t expecting was for someone’s hand to grasp yours. You were pulled back to safety as you came face to face with Bakugou.

“Idiot, watch where you’re going!” He said staring at you with an angry expression.

“Bakugou?” You said in confusion, why was he here? Had he been following you. “You know it’s not a great tactic to save your enemies from dying. Kind of losing out on a free loss.”

“I don’t want to win the loser’s way.” He grunted before letting go of you, you nearly fell to the ground.

“Really, why are you here?” You questioned.

“Because it’s a good place to be, if you’re the first one in these mountains you’ll have the high ground.” He answered. “We might as well as team up since we’re both here. The others have made alliances.”

“I’m not really helpful for an alliance, you should know that.” You said, sitting down on the ground to get your breath back. Your heart was still pounding from the adrenaline.

“Better than nothing.” He said before sitting down next to you.

The silence was odd. In a way it was so similar to all the times you walked to school in silence, forgoing the usual trade of insults. But it was different all at the same time. You weren’t going about your normal day, you were in the middle of an even that would leave one if not both of you dead.

“I still don’t get why you volunteered. Even if you win it’s not worth it.” You said to him. Even if you received money and everything else they gave was it worth the risk? Was it worth the trauma you’d be left with?

“You don’t have to understand.” He said. That left you with more questions than answers but you didn’t push further.

Taking the day you made your way into the mountains more, as night fell you stopped to make camp. You were unsure about making a fire but Bakugou didn’t seem too concerned.

“Here.” He said throwing a sleeping bag at you. You had noticed the good-sized backpack he had on when you met earlier. You wondered if he had managed to get anything from the cornucopia but you didn’t ask. Were any of the people that were killed on the first day killed by him? It was hard to imagine him taking someone's life.

“Thank you.” You said. You were thankful for the sleeping bag, it would be a lot better than the trees you had stayed in all night.

“I’ll take first watch.” He said. You wanted to argue but you were so tired from the lack of sleep that you gave in.

It was odd the sense of safety you had with Bakugou. A part of you said that he could slit your throat while you slept but you knew deep down he wouldn’t. If he was going to kill you he would be straight forward about it. You fell asleep without hesitation.

You returned to consciousness quickly, the sensation of someone’s hand pressed against your mouth. Your eyes opened up and you realized that it wasn’t Bakugou but another tribute. You tried to scream but it was muffled. Moving for your hatchet you realized that they had you fully pinned down. Tears burned in your eyes as you stared up at them.

“Get off of her!” You heard Bakugou yell. You wondered where he had been.

“Why would I do that?” The guy said, you felt the cold steel of a blade press against your neck and you let out a whimper.

“Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes,” Bakugou said and you knew he was talking to you. Without thinking you listened.

With a yelp of pain, the guy tumbled off of you, and a weight was lifted from your chest both literally and figuratively. There was a noise of a commotion, rustling, and grunts of pain before everything went silent. A moment passed and the sound of a canon rang out in the arena.

“Just wait here, don’t look.” He said. You knew what had happened but it was hard to believe. There was more sound, footsteps, the sound of something being dragged before more footsteps. “Okay.”

Opening your eyes you could see Bakugou in the moonlight, standing over you. What stood out was the blood that covered his hands and his jacket, barely reflecting in the glow.

“T-Thank you.” You stuttered out, still scared. You knew that you would die here but coming face to face with death was worse than you imagined. “I-I” You started but tears ran down your face.

The last thing you expected was for him to kneel and take you in his arms. Your first reaction was to stiffen, was he going to kill you? When you felt him gently place you head against his chest you realized he was hugging you. As much as you wanted to push him away or argue you felt so vulnerable after what happened. You slowly wrapped your arms around him before letting loose more tears.

“You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.” He said. You had only seen this side of him once before.

When you were young you had been in the forest behind your houses, playing like you did often. It had been an accident, you weren’t looking. You jumped off a rock into a pile of leaves, playing in them. What you didn’t expect was there to be a bear trap.

The pain was so bad you had nearly blacked out. You remembered how panicked he was, rushing to your side. He disarmed the trap faster than you expected and before you knew it he was carrying you home.

The memories of it were vague from the pain and time but what stuck in your head was the soft voice he used reassuring you everything was going to be alright and the tears that welled up in his eyes.

By the time you woke up in bed bandaged up Bakugou was back to his normal self, no hint of the teary-eyed boy you had seen. A part of you always wondered if that had been your imagination trying to soothe you through the traumatic moment.

The softness Bakugou showed you know made it clear that your memory had not been incorrect. Hands gripping into his jacket he held you until your tears stopped and the sun slowly rose in the sky.

He explained that he had heard a noise and went off to look for the source and when he returned the other tribute had been on you. He didn’t apologize but you could hear the guilt in his voice. These events had just furthered your confusion about everything.

Once there was enough light you ate some rations before packing up and heading further up the mountain. Your travel was silent for the most part but every once and a while you would talk.

The number of tributes was getting lower every day. Not counting you and Bakugou there were three others left. Honestly, you hadn’t expected to make it this long. You wouldn’t have made it this long if it wasn’t for Bakugou saving you last night.

“What are you going to do if it gets down to just the two of us?” You asked, your breath appearing in the cold air.

“Why are you asking such a stupid question?” He grunted back at you.

“I think it’s a fair question.” You said. Did his avoidance of it mean that it was obvious he would kill you?

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I think the quickly approaching reality is something I should worry about.” You returned. “Unless you think I’ll die before then.”

“You might with how clumsy you are, idiot.” He said, not even sparing you a glance as his eyes scanned the snowy trail.

“Even on death’s door, you’re going to give me that attitude?” You said annoyed. “Bakugou Katsuki, you are the most insufferable person I’ve ever met.”

The sound of a canon went off stopping your conversation. Just a second later another one went off. You took a shaky breath. There was only one other tribute left.

Looking over at Bakugou you caught his gaze, you didn’t miss the nervous look in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“One left.” You whispered to yourself.

That night you set up a small camp in the mouth of a cave. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat anything, the nerves were too much. It was almost over, how had you made it into the top three? Would the last tribute kill you both? Or would Bakugou kill the last tribute? Then what?

It came crashing down on you even harder than it had before. Someone had to die. You and Bakugou wouldn’t make it out together, there was only ever one winner. Tears streamed down your face before you recognized them.

Bakugou Katsuki had been a constant in your life, a constant you always thought that you hated but sitting here confronting the idea of him dying tore you apart. You cared about him more than you would ever like to admit. Even if you argued more than anything else Bakugou always looked after you. If someone was mean to you at school he would scare them off, if you got hurt he would patch you up even if he did make fun of you the whole time, he was always there for you no matter what.

Why had life decided to be so unfair to you?

A day passed and you hiked further into the mountains, there had been no sign of the other tribute. That made you nervous, you knew that the game maker wanted a show and if he didn’t get one the would do what they thought would make things interesting and it wouldn’t be good for you.

Passing through a dense forest you felt on edge. You knew something bad would happen but you didn’t know what exactly it would be. You felt like something was watching like you were being hunted. Glancing at Bakugou you knew he was on edge too.

A crack of thunder rang out. You knew with how suddenly it hit it wasn’t natural. Suddenly rain poured down, with how cold it was you knew it would be bad if you got soaked.

“We need to find cover,” Bakugou said looking to you.

The two of you picked up your pace into a run, searching for anything that would work. You spotted a cave opening, it was dangerous to be in a confined space but you would only be in more danger out here. The storm hit harder and harder with every passing moment. Lightning striking nearby and thunder rumbled the ground around you.

You tripped, landing on your knees. Bakugou pulled you up by the back of your jacket and back onto your feet. This time he took your hand into yours pulling you along.

Finally, you reached the cave, the shelter from the storm providing some relief. You looked at Bakugou and without saying anything you both knew this was a trap. Opening your backpack you pulled out the flashlight that was in there. Turning it on you were able to see your surroundings better.

“Let’s go in further,” Bakugou said looking around. “Be careful, we don’t know if they’re in here or if they’ll be behind us.”

The cave wasn’t spacious but the tunnel you followed went deeper in. It was eerily silent, the only sound was from the storm outside. You don’t know how long it took but eventually, it opened up to a large cavern. There was an opening in the ceiling of the cave letting in icy cold air and the rain that poured down but overall it was enough to cover from the storm.

“It’s a dead end.” You said looking around.

“So we wait.” He said.

Bakugou paced the cavern, walking around different parts of it surveying the space.

It happens quickly, you hear a noise and suddenly Bakugou is on the ground under the last tribute. A knife is at his throat as he struggles to hold it back. Fear grips you at the sudden occurrence.

For a moment you’re frozen, your body won’t move even if your head is screaming at you to help. You finally break free and rush forward, you tackle the tribute off of Bakugou and onto the ground of the cavern.

It’s messy, you struggle and fight but the tribute is far stronger than you and easily throws you off before regaining his balance and attacking.

Bakugou watches in horror as the tribute overtakes you. He moves forward, knife in hand this time. He blocks out the reality of what he has to do, driving the blade down into his back repeatedly. He pulls him off of you, throwing him to the side.

As the canon goes off he blocks out the fact that it’s just the two of you left. He knows what he has to do but he can’t bring himself to think about it yet. He wants to enjoy the last moments of peace.

“Katsuki.” You say but your voice is ragged. He’s taken aback at the use of his first name. “Don’t look.”

His stomach drops as he realizes the blood soaking through your coat isn’t the tribute's. He panics, dropping to his knees beside you tearing open your coat trying to find the wound.

“No, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” He said pressing against the wound trying to stop the bleeding.

“You’re going to win just like you wanted.” You replied.

“You idiot!” He yells. “I didn’t volunteer to win, I did it to protect you!”

He watches your face fall at the realization.

“You-”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you going through this alone, if you died I would never forgive myself for not being there. I volunteered to make sure that you would make it out alive!”

“Why?” Your voice was breathless, eyes tearing up.

“Because I love you, idiot!” He yelled. “How stupid are you?”

“Katsuki, I-” You started, your breathes heavily as you tried to speak. “I-” You tried to speak but your eyelids fell closed, consciousness fading.

“No! I’m not gonna lose you. You can’t die, I did this to keep you safe!” He screamed. “I did this to protect you! Why did you try to help me! I was supposed to die for you!”

Tears ran down his face as he screamed out. A canon went off and it felt like he had been stabbed. He collapsed into you, sobbing into your stomach.

The games came to a close. They retrieved Bakugou but he fought tooth and nail to keep the peacekeepers away that tried to take him away from your body. The only option they were left with was to sedate him.

Once Bakugou woke up they tried to explain to him that he would have to do an interview at the capitol as well as make appearances in all of the districts. Their words fell on deaf ears as he refused to listen to anyone, trying to attack anyone who got close enough. They finally decided to send Aizawa in.

“Bakugou, you need to be reasonable.” He said. “If you don’t listen they will kill you and tell everyone that it was from your injuries in the games.”

“I have nothing to live for, the only reason I did any of this was to make sure she won and I failed and now I have to live with that.” He spits back.

“I know,” Aizawa said solemnly. “I’m sorry, I know you did everything to protect her.”

“If they want to kill me then let them.”

“Please, at least let me see if they will let you go home without any media. We can say that you got sick from something in the arena and had to be sent home.”

Bakugou didn’t reply but Aizawa took that as a yes.

Stepping into the empty house Bakugou felt numb. Aizawa had managed to get him home without any more disturbance. The capital was in an upset without the media the thrived off of after the Games. Many people were looking forward to the tearful remembrance of you. The capitol had been enthralled by the love story between you and Bakugou.

What was the point anymore? Looking out the window to the yard, it was rainy and foggy. He couldn’t bring himself to care about anything. He hadn’t even seen his parents since he got back to District Seven.

It haunted him, watching you die. Your stuttered last words cut off by your last breath. Did you love him back? It was something he would never have an answer to and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

alternate ending

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taexual · 6 years ago

Text

HOLIC - 48 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: angst

words: 3.4k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

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The next few days passed by surprisingly quickly. You’ve set your mind on a fair number of things and finally relieved yourself of some of the exhausting doubts that have clouded your mind for as long as you could remember. Most importantly, you’d decided to quit your job at the gallery – and, thus, began your last week of work before you moved on, diving head-first into the dark unknown.

Knowing that you wouldn’t have to work there anymore and no longer having to stress out about your potential exhibition made every morning much easier as you no longer had to spend the first fifteen minutes after waking up cursing at every inanimate object in your way. On top of that, although plunging yourself into the abyss of uncertainty was relatively scary, you still felt alive with excitement. Not to mention, now you had much more time to find a new job, all while rehearsing the words you were going to say to Jaebum once Jackson finally called you with a way for you two to meet.

You had decided to start to work on a new version of yourself but, first, you needed to fix your relationship with Jaebum. That was the only broken thing from your past that you wanted to take into the future with you. No, “wanted” didn’t quite describe it – needed, perhaps. You needed this relationship to continue because you were afraid of your life without it. You were waiting for Jaebum to make the choice of where to go from here but, even though the reins were in his hands, you weren’t going to stop fighting for the one solid thing on an otherwise rocky foundation of your life.

This determination was a relatively new feeling for you but it was the only feeling that you were certain about. If, like Jaebum, you had to pick the most prominent emotion that you were feeling and put it into your art, you’d have picked the overflowing love and inserted it into all things around you until your surroundings were screaming as loud as your heart was.

Thinking of Jaebum was what made the wait for Jackon’s call so difficult. You went on with your life – or, tried to – choosing to busy yourself with work instead of sulking, but you couldn’t help but feel your mind wander back to him again. It was like the aforementioned love always pulled your thoughts towards him, never letting your mind stray from him for too long.

And that was how, after convincing Eva that you weren’t going to change your mind about quitting, you finished your day at work, and found yourself looking at the pictures of Jaebum you’ve taken on the day he brought you to Jackson’s studio for the first time. Looking at them brought back all the memories, especially accentuating the fight you and him had had before he gave in and finally played “Don’t Touch Me” to you.

You’d both done and said some awful things to each other that night and you could still recall how much Jaebum’s doubts about you made your chest sting. What made it hurt even more, however – actually, so much more, that for one passing moment, you thought you were having a real heart attack – was Jaebum’s confession that he was terrified of himself around you because he wasn’t thinking. Because he forgave and forgot, and kept giving you second chances every time you did something that raised red flags in his overly-alert mind.

The memory made it hard to breathe all of a sudden.

You’d been so angry and so upset with him for saying those things – for even thinking that you’d ever treat him in any way that he didn’t deserve – and then you made his fears come true by omitting the truth. By selecting which parts of your life you wanted him in. By lying, just like he was afraid you would.

Closing your laptop shut, you got up from the bed and left your room as you tried to breathe in through your nose and exhale through your mouth. It was a pathetic attempt to calm down, really, because it seemed as though your heart was now a whole separate being that was powered by your anxiety and had promptly gone into overdrive.

Breathing exercises didn’t help. Drinking water didn’t help. Lying down made it even worse.

It was the sort of wave of suffering and self-hate that you could have only been saved from if someone told you that everything was going to be okay. No, not someone—him. But he wasn’t here and it didn’t seem like it was going to be okay – hence why you were nearly shedding your skin as you tried to find a way to break out of the paralyzing chains of pain.

You’ve lived through the past few days worried and anxious but still in control. You’ve lived hoping and anticipating your conversation with Jaebum. You’ve considered what you were going to say. You’ve even rehearsed it all. But the consequences of your words is what pained you now.

You haven’t given Jaebum’s response any thought. You had set your mind on explaining yourself to him and giving him enough time and space to decide what he wanted to do but now the raw grips of panic were tearing you into pieces just at the thought of Jaebum choosing not to do this anymore. And the worst part was, you didn’t think it was fair for you to keep on fighting if he gave this up. He was just as mature as you were and he had certainly thought about this as much as you have – what would you even say if he told you to leave?

He had every right to let your relationship go because he deserved one where he would never be put in a situation like this. You didn’t think you had a right to search for ways to make him stay with you if your behavior proved to make him suffer. If you turned out to be as toxic for him as the girl you’d tried so desperately to save him from.

Suddenly, it felt like this was the last time you were standing in your kitchen. And, in a way, you were glad. You felt trapped here, in this room. You felt just as trapped in your own body – but the helpless feeling was slowly fading. Searching for an empty glass inside one of the kitchen counters calmed your heartrate down, replacing the desperate wave of fear you’d felt with a silent numbess.

It was as if a sixth sense had opened something up inside of your heart – subconsciously, you knew what was going to happen the next second, so your mind and body had to prepare in advance: you couldn’t possibly start to hyperventilate when Jackson finally called. And, as soon as you grasped the glass of water in your shaky hands, trying to keep yourself hydrated despite the pointlessness of the task, your phone finally rang.

You lunged for it, drops of water spilling on the kitchen island – empty now that Jaebum wasn’t here to eat meals with you – and nearly landing on your phone, too. You could barely keep yourself together when you saw Jackson’s name on the screen.

“Yes?” you picked up, the one word coming from the back of your throat and thus making you sound like you just woke up even though it was way past into the afternoon now.

“Hey. Sorry it took me so long to call you back,” Jackson started and you couldn’t help but notice the voices in the back of his call. You wondered if Jaebum was there with him. “I—I’ve found a way for you to talk to him.”

Your entire chest seemed to expand to provide more space for your wild heart as it continuously banged against every single rib in your ribcage.

“You did?” you asked, the words coming out in a huff.

“Yeah. There’s, uh, this party his label is hosting this Friday,” Jackson said, quieter now as if he was trusting you with a big secret. “We’ve both been invited and, even though he said he’s not going, I’ll drag him there myself. One of the producers owns this club downtown, so we’re getting a private lounge, and, you know, it seems like a good spot as any for a serious conversation. Away from the maddening crowd, so to speak.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds perfect,” you were nodding frantically. “Are you sure you can get him to come, though? Jaebum isn’t really someone that gives in to persuasion easily.”

“That’s true but alcohol makes this much easier for me,” Jackson replied. “He won’t miss a chance to get drunk. Especially amidst all that’s happening, you know?”

“Yeah. Right.”

“So, anyway,” he added quickly after catching the discouraged tone in your voice. “I’ll send you the address and let the security know you’re my plus-one.”

“Okay,” you inhaled deeply, “thank you so much. I-I—you have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

Shuffling was heard on the other end – from the sound of it, you assumed Jackson was avoiding a group of people that just walked past him – before he replied, “it’s alright. You can pay me back by getting back together. There might be a million-dollar song on the line here, yeah? He can’t write it if he’s not with you.”

“I—”

“I’ll see you Friday,” Jackson said. He must have known you could never find what to say whenever the topic of Jaebum writing a song about you was brought up. “Don’t overthink this, okay? Jaebum might not show it, but I have no doubt that he’s dying to talk to you, too.”

Friday turned out to be an eventful day. For one, it was your official last day at the gallery – handing in the employee badge that you’ve worn around your neck for the past few years was rather bittersweet: relieving, on the one hand, but also rather glum – but it was also the night of Jaebum’s party. It truly felt like today was going to be the last day of your old life – one last hoorah before you started a new era – and you even debated getting a haircut, to really imprint the change that was coming.

As it turned out, you didn’t have any time for a haircut. You barely had enough time to decide on an outfit before, packing up your phone, wallet, keys, panic, and anxiety, you walked out of the door of your empty apartment and headed downstairs to catch a cab.

The ride to the club wasn’t very long, so you didn’t have enough time to rehearse the words you planned to tell Jaebum one more time, but that didn’t really worry you much. You had a feeling your entire thought process was going to end up in shambles as soon as you saw him, anyway.

Once the cab stopped and you stepped into a busy street, it took you a good minute to find Jackson – if he wasn’t waving his hand like a madman, you’d have probably missed him – and then another minute to actually reach him as the people, crowding outside of the club, were very intent on pulling you to the back of the line.

“Hi, sorry there’s such a commotion here,” Jackson said once you finally made it to the door. “I’ve told them it wouldn’t be smart to throw a private party at a club that already goes over capacity every Friday night as it is but no one ever listens to me. Should we go in?”

You nodded, too out of breath to actually respond, and followed him inside. The security guard merely glanced at you before nodding and allowing you two to enter – Jackson, clearly, was a familiar face – and, before you could even prepare yourself properly, you were suddenly listening to the same loud, organ-clenching EDM song that Jaebum was probably listening to.

“Alright,” Jackson stated—and then repeated himself louder when you squinted your eyes as if that could help you hear him better. “Jaebum is upstairs. He got here first and I told him to wait for me in the lounge.”

“Okay—”

You had already turned towards the staircase at the back of the club but Jackson grabbed your hand. “Ah, hold on—you need a drink before you go see him. Let’s take a quick detour to the bar, yeah?”

You had to admit, that wasn’t such a bad idea, so you allowed him to pull you towards the bar where a few girls were already dancing on the bartop lit up by dozens of neon-LED lights. The atmosphere in the club was buzzing with life and it was so electrifying, you were surprised to find yourself loosening up even before you had your first drink.

Jackson took the liberty of ordering while you were too busy watching the captivating dance moves of one of the bartop girls – for someone who seemed as drunk as she was, her movements were surprisingly smooth and, honestly, rather captivating.

“I’m sorry if that’s out of line for me to say,” Jackson spoke, distracting your attention, “but you look different. How have you been doing?”

“Oh. I’m—well, I’ve been trying to move on from the things that made my life miserable,” you said but weren’t sure how much he heard because, just as you started to speak, the DJ changed the song, and the gaggle of young-adults next to you proceeded to screech at the top of their lungs. “Uh, unfortunately, I can’t move on from my own self, so I’ve been trying to make a change in my life instead. I-I guess that might be why I look different.”

“That’s good!” Jackson nodded enthusiastically, not hearing all that you’ve said but definitely catching the most important parts. “I didn’t say it was a bad different. What have you changed so far?”

“I’ve, uh—” once again, you got interrupted by the bartender bringing you and Jackson the drinks he’d ordered, “I’ve quit my job.”

Jackson’s enthusiastic smile suddenly faltered, “oh, shit. You did? What are you doing now?”

“Nothing, really. Searching for a new one,” you replied with a small shrug. “Something behind the stage, preferably. I’ve had enough customer service experience to last me a lifetime.”

He chuckled at this, picking up his drink and encouraging you to do the same. Somehow, you’ve never tried rum before but, after just a sip of the Cuba Libre in your hand, you couldn’t really tell why. It tasted far more like coke than rum and yet you could still feel the buzzing effects of the alcohol as it entered your bloodstream.

“Yeah, I suppose galleries don’t get the best specimen when it comes to clients,” Jackson said once he emptied his glass. “What about your exhibition?”

“Oh,” you took a final sip and put the empty glass down – carefully, so the girl dancing on the bartop nearby wouldn’t accidentally kick it over, “that’s not happening. I’ve said some pretty fancy words to Jiho the last time I saw him, so it’s over. I’m not really hosting one anymore.”

Jackson noted that you didn’t look overly upset about that – in fact, he was sure he saw you smile when you mentioned the last conversation with Jiho you’ve had – but he’s been around enough artists to know how deep the wounds inflicted by a crushed dream could be.

“Well, why don’t you come to me?” he offered.

You frowned, unsure what he meant. “What?”

“To work, I mean,” he explained. “You already know how big my family is on art. We’ve been investing in artists that aren’t just musicians. Actually, my very first job was modeling, did I ever tell you that? My parents hosted this whole photoshoot for me when I was, probably, two months old? The photographer said I was a star.”

You laughed. “Oh, wow, over twenty years in the modeling industry and you’re not even thirty. That’s impressive.”

“I know, right?” he played along, smirking. “But, anyway—why don’t you think about it? Not modeling, I mean. Photography. My family—they’re nice people. We look out for each other and it’s always art that comes first for us.”

It felt like a rather witty—and subtle, no doubt—way to chastise you for choosing to work with someone who thought of publicity before thinking of the art, and you felt your face heat up as you looked away from him.

“T-that’s good,” you commented awkwardly, not having expected to get scolded—yet again—on your decisions by someone who wasn’t Jaebum. You’d prepared yourself for his opinion only. “That’s a great attitude.”

“It is. I think so, too,” Jackson said, not noticing—or, choosing not to notice—your embarrassed state. “And you’re a talented artist. I understand that your mind is probably elsewhere right now—”

“Yeah,” you stretched nervously, “sort of.”

“—but do know that your dream isn’t entirely hopeless, okay?” he finished. “If you want something enough, there will always be a way to make it happen. I’m here for you.”

You’ve heard these words before but they seemed to have a different meaning tonight. Perhaps because you finally realized what the thing you wanted more than anything was.

“Thank you, Jackson,” you said, the thoughts of Jaebum being nearby doing the work that the rum and coke didn’t. You felt positively intoxicated already. “Seriously, I—I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jackson waved his hand and then helped you stand from the bar stool as soon as he realized your mind could only be distracted from Jaebum for so long. “Now go. Talk to him.”

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes for a few moments to mentally prepare yourself. “Right. I’m going.”

“Everything will be okay,” Jackson reminded you, “as long as you focus on what’s really important.”

You nodded one last time and then allowed his warm smile to push you towards the stairs, leading up to the VIP lounge where Jaebum thought he was waiting for Jackson.

With each step that you took, coming closer and closer to seeing him, you kept thinking about what so many people have said to you the past few weeks – if you wanted something enough, you could find a way to make it happen. They’ve all been talking about your ambitions in life – the exhibitions and the career as a photographer – but, the truth was, those were the things you’d have liked to have but they weren’t exactly the things that you wanted.

What you wanted the most in life – with ten more steps separating you from Jaebum – was to have a purpose. To have it and not to lose it. And you knew what the purpose of life was because you had it found it way before you met Jiho or even started to think about hosting any exhibitions.

Love.

As corny and cliché as it was, that was it. Everyone knew it but they liked to pretend that they didn’t. They searched for something else – money, work, children – but, at the end of the day, it always came down to love. The strongest emotion a living creature was able to feel, so much stronger and all-consuming than any shape or form of anger or hatred.

Knocking on the door and waiting, you were able to understand that love might have started wars but love ended them, too. Love was the beginning and love was the end. And – as you watched Jaebum’s red eyes appear behind the black door of the private lounge room – you knew you didn’t want your love to end. You knew you couldn’t lose your purpose in life.

“Jaebum,” you exhaled, the loud music from the club downstairs almost drowning out your voice. He stopped short at the sight of you. You couldn’t see it but, inside of his chest, a heart that seemed to freeze when he left your shared apartment, was slowly beginning to beat again. “Can we talk?”

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ratisnotcrying · 4 years ago

Text

first words

Summary: should i give a fuck who you are?

Pairing: pre slash sebastian moran & jim moriarty

Warnings: mild violence but otherwise just a soulmate au

Word count: 2.5K

A/N: this is crossposted on AO3

~~~

In a neat, cursive script, running smoothly around Sebastian's left wrist were the words 'Do you know who I am, Tiger?'

He can't remember the first time he was told what it said, or even who told him, though he suspects it was his mother. She had always loved the idea of soulmates and destiny; Sebastian had never understood how she could feel like that when she had been 'destined' to marry his father - her mark read 'who the fuck do you think you are?' The earliest memory he has of his own mark is from when he was seven, two days after his mother died and his father drank so much he still reeked the next morning. He had grabbed Sebastian's tiny arm, leaving thin red marks sitting over small purple bruises, and just stared at the words - obviously they had reminded him of something because, thirty minutes later, Sebastian was left to drag himself to bed and unable to move without feeling a soul-deep pain radiating from each and evey place his father had struck him. From that day on, he covered his mark with plasters, long sleeves and ratty brown leather bracelets.

As he grew up he decided that he really didn't want to think about what kind of situation would warrant someone asking if he 'knew who he was' but then he started to think that his habit of getting into fights is what would be the exact reason for someone saying that. He had honestly been a well behaved child, and then a snotty prick by the name of Cyril - fucking Cyril - had made a snide comment about his mum and it all sort of went tits up from there on out. Four years and three schools later, he got kicked out of school altogether. And kicked out of his house because he got kicked out of school, and because his dad was a bastard. He didn't cover his mark anymore, not overly bothered by who saw it.

Living on the streets turned out to be a lot harder than sixteen year old Sebastian had expeted so he decided that building a reputation for himself was the best way to survive, and he was still a kid so at the time beating the shit out of people seemed like a good idea. Until he got arrested for assult. He's not sure what happened but somehow he ended up leaving the police station the next morning with no charges against him and a not-quite 'discussion' about the pros of him joining the military.

"Listen, mate, I get you've had it rough but I have to make sure that you get fighting isn't the answer. You got lucky this time but next time you won't. You need to take control of your life and make something of it ,yeah? I got you this leaflet and I want you to read it, alright?" The officer was barely older than him and the idea of actually accepting life advice from him was laughable so he just grunted as he walked out.

Four years later, at aged twenty-one, he was one of the most skilled snipers Her Majesty's Armed Forces had ever seen, and one of the luckiest too. It was sort of a running joke in his unit that he could get away with anything because good god did that man know how to push his luck. His superior officers had never met anyone who could talk back like Sebastian could and they had definitely never met anyone who could go from nought to a hundred with his fists so quickly, either. But, if being an asshole and getting away with it wasn't proof enough of his luck, the story behind Sebastian's soon to be nickname is a true testament to it.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun was hammering down and Sebastian was just trying to do some exercise when he heard a quiet noise above the hum of the heat and when he looked around, he saw a tiger making it's way cautiously into the encampment. It's stripes seemed distorted as they hung off of it - it was too skinny, he didn't need to be a genius to know that, but it was still a big fucking animal that was slowly approaching the sleeping form of Benny. If asked, Sebastian would tell you he had no idea why he did what he did next, because he truly does not know what possessed him. Picking up a hefty rock from beside him, he hurled it towards the tiger and, obviously, the tiger turned to him, moving faster now, gathering speed as it pounced.

When he opened his eyes he saw the tiger, limp-running away and Benny coming to drag him to his feet - all the others who had gathered around him still seemed shocked by the fact he had fought off an actual tiger. He didn't stay standing for long though and slumped back to the floor, wiping blood repeatedly out of his left eye and spitting some into the dirt next to him. He went to wipe his face more but a firm hand gripped his wrist, pulling it away before tugging at the open wounds on his face.

"You're lucky - it just missed your eye but you're going to need a lot of stitches. You will have some nasty scars, too," he said, guiding Sebastian over to the medical tent and getting to work.

Over the next few weeks he started to find his nickname very fucking annoying, particularly when his mates chorused 'tigers don't care about the opinions of sheep' every time one of their superior officers gave him a talking to and singing Eye of the Tiger at every opportunity. And the worst part was that he couldn't even get away because he wasn't allowed to do shit. So, really, if you took into account all of this, it was only logical that he would end up breaking his lieutenant's nose and find himself back on the streets with nothing to his name except a dishonourable discharge and three scars running from his left temple to the right side of his jaw.

---

'Should I give a fuck who you are?'

Jim had always worn his soulmark like a badge. No one ever told him what it said, for obvious reasons but he was a clever child, he could read and articulate way beyond his years so when seven year old Jim walked into the dinning room, looked his mother in the eye and stuttered out, 'should I give a f-fuck who you are?' before grinning at her, no one should have been surprised. That had been an interesting and pointless conversation because despite his mother telling him, 'Good boys shouldn't use such bad words,' he still continued to say this well into his early teens.

He was thirteen when he pulled off his first heist. It was in a corner shop, he lead a team of four and they got away with a new box of ready salted pringles, a case of red bull and, of course, a box of own brand chocolate bars because they're way better than the expensive shit. They so very nearly got caught, a brawl in the pub opposite bringing two police cars screeching to a halt in the road, but they somehow managed to slip away and made a fairly good profit on their goods. His second one was a year later and went a lot better. Him and four others again, this time a small shop in the high street from which they successfully took two cases of cigarettes to sell; two boxes of lighters because he was a good businessman and knew how to make a good sale; three cases of wine carefully stacked in a shopping trolley, and a nice new set of knives for himself.

By sixteen he has heard the phrase 'should I give a fuck who you are?' several times - not surprising when you looked at his life. He had the beginnings of a small network, maybe twenty or so people in place around his neighbourhood and it was slowly growing. Whilst those on the outskirts of his web mainly just roughed people up a little or pulled off the robberies that Jim no longer did himself, those higher up dealt with anyone who tried to take over Jim's patch. They would find themselves face down on the concrete, a muddy black boot on their neck until Jim sauntered over and crouched down, saying in a teasing voice, 'do you know who I am?' He started giggling childishly every time they responded with the words inked on his wrist.

Two days after he turned seventeen, his second in command got arrested for being a stupid prick who deserves everything coming to him - who would leave a gun in the front seat of their stolen astra? And who would steal a fucking astra? He almost grassed but somehow the evidence against him got lost so he walked - Jim has no idea how that happened, and when his second was found bloodied and bruised in an alleyway, well, it certainly couldn't be traced back to Jim.

The first time he killed a man was a week after his mother had died - or been murdered during a break in, to be specific. It had been a rough week to say the least. The police had been poking around, working off a tip some fuckwit had decided to bestow upon them. He's sure that if he spoke to the many councillors he was directed to they would say something about having time to grieve or process or 'work through it'. But he didn't speak to them because he had his own way of 'working through it', which was good for Jim, but wasn't quite as good for the imbecile who had not only come into his town, but had hurt his mother. He got a call late on the Thursday.

"We've got 'im, boss." "I'll be five minutes. If he has so much one broken bone, I will make you regret it." "Yes, boss."

When he arrived, two of his men were standing a little too rigidly whilst the third was stood with a foot on the neck of a crying prick.

"Hmm, a broken finger. Too bad. I apologise..." he trailed off, crouching down and looking expectantly into teary eyes.

"David," he choked out.

"David. Do you know who I am, David?" The look of horror, the colour visibly draining from his face and the way he physically gagged caused Jim to laugh sardonically before he continued.

"You might know my mother too - you were acquainted just a few days ago. Do you remember that, David?" he hissed as he used one gloved hand to pull a knife from his inside pocket.

He managed to avoid getting blood on most of his clothes, only a few drops landed on his coat but he would still have to burn it. He threw the knife on the floor and tossed his coat to the man closest to him, the gloves shoved in the pocket.

"Burn this. Do not touch that knife - it's going to get the cretin who snitched arrested. The only reason I'm letting you off today is because you're not worth the trouble it'll take to scrape you off the pavement."

In the following years his business expanded to include blackmail, kidnapping and assassinations. The only problem was there the unfortunately small pool of assassins to choose from - something about not wanting to kill innocent people or kill for money or other equally boring excuses.

And that's when he discovered recently discharged - sorry, dishonoably discarged Sebastian Moran.

---

Sebastian was not having a good week. It was nothing specific, really, it was just that being homeless is fucking shit and all of his stuff was set on fire; now all he wanted was to treat himself to a new pack of fags and maybe a drink. The route was familiar, the shadows, the dripping of the drains, so the two, quiet sets of footsteps he heard on his way back sounded loud and clear as an alert he was being followed, which was not doing anything to elevate his mood. He stopped walking and rolled his shoulders.

"What do you want?"

He spun around, arms raised in defence when he heard them run forwards, blocking the initial attack before launching himself forwards. He managed to knock one bloke on his arse just as he heard two, maybe three more approaching from behind. So, yeah, over all it hadn't been a great week but seeing all five of his attackers unconscious on the ground made it a little better. That was until he heard a sixth person approach, clapping slowly. Sebastian growled and pivoted, grabbing the condescending fuck by his collar and slamming him up against the damp brick work.

"Do you know who I am, Tiger?" the man said, eyeing the scars on his face and the bodies on the floor, and Sebastian very nearly punched him in the jaw because he sounded like he needed it and no one had ever obliged. Sebastian's eyes scanned the body in front of him, taking in his short, almost wiry frame, his vey expensive looking suit, and his shit eating grin. Sebastian put a cigarette between his lips, ignoring the sting of his split lip, and blew the smoke into his face.

"Should I give a fuck who you are?" he said through another exhale.

"The names Moriarty, and you should really show me more respect. You can start by letting go of me." The man - Moriarty - looked pointedly at where Sebastian still had his arm firmly pressed to his chest and Sebastian shrugged, letting go and taking half a step back.

"Much appreciated, I do hate wrinkling my suits. You'd do well to remember that, when you work for me."

"When I work for you?" Sebastian laughed incredulously.

"Naturally. I know all about you, Sebastian Moran. You have a skill set that I can use and, in return, I can offer you the opportunity to not be homeless." Moriarty slid his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels, which seemed to be his equivalent of twiddling his thumbs in boredom.

Sebastian flicked his fag butt away. "Suppose I don't want this job, what then?"

"Seeing as you do want this job I think it best not to waste my time. You'll soon learn that I'm not a very patient man." He turned on his heel, walking back the way he came, only pausing briefly to call out, "Come along now, Tiger. Work to do."

#sebastian moran #jim moriarty #bbc sherlock #soul mates #first meeting

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gwoongi · 6 years ago

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𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖽 ♥︎ jeongguk (ft namjoon)

𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖽 jeon jeongguk / reader (ft kim namjoon) genre: pornstar au, smut rating: explicit words: 4749

The sight of his shit-eating grin leaves Namjoon with a prickle of hot frustration that hurts when the video rolls to an end, with no flashy end credits or promotion. Just a black screen with his own idiot reflection staring back at him.

a/n: i……………i don’t know what came over me.

warnings: graphic sexual content, rough sex, porn themes, choking, impreg kink, creampie, squirting, daddy kink, loving sex, dirty talking, degradation/humiliation, unprotected sex, cum eating, porn couple, name-calling (slut shaming?), bisexual namjoon, dirty talk literally inspired by dirty talk i see in sexy stuff im sorry

Namjoon liked porn. Like virtually every guy in his fraternity, Namjoon watched porn almost daily. There was something addictive, like a drug, about visiting PornHub; porn was like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while, and watching porn was like relieving an itch that he couldn’t quite reach.

“The fact that all you do when you get home is watch porn is just sad,” his friend Sunmi had said, with her cheek pushed up against the worn bicep of Namjoon’s one of many frat brothers, Hoseok. Namjoon had just scowled and said nothing, not feeling the need to defend his unrequited friendship with porn because, “everybody watches porn”. To him, it was kind of like gaming; everybody played games, some more than others. And Namjoon enjoyed exploring every category, watching searches with pretty thumbnails of peach genitals or cum-stuffed faces, holes leaking with it.

It was a Friday evening, the end of Namjoon’s long haul of work from a week of University. With an untouched linguistics assignment flashing to be given attention in his emails, Namjoon closed the tab and sighed loudly with a frown, rubbing the side of his face with his hand. Boredom was the bane of his life, and he could feel it slowly creeping up on him, wrapping like a snake to prey around his body and very slowly squeezing the life out of him. After a few moments of exhausting hesitation, Namjoon groaned and reluctantly reached for his laptop.

“When you’re bored, try and reach out to a friend,” was something his Mother had always said. Granted, she didn’t quite mean friend as a synonym for PornHub dot com, but at the end of the day, she never specified what a friend was or who the friend could be. And, look, Google filled in the blanks for him as he typed in ‘p’, and like a loyal good best friend, Pornhub logged him in automatically, his premium membership like a badge of honour.

Namjoon glanced at the time- ten fourty three in the evening, and the exhaustion from classes and his late afternoon shift at the Italian restaurant down the street still hung over him, despite the glorious view of cum-filled cunts and leaking dicks. Because, when dabbling with porn, Namjoon wasn’t picky. Life could throw a thousand warm wet vaginas in Namjoon’s face, or a thousand veiny cocks, and he’d still find himself with his hands stuffed down the front of his pants, begging for some kind of release. Sunmi’s old words echoed in his head- it was sad. What he was doing, and how often he did it, was actually the saddest thing in the world.

Unlike normal, Namjoon hovered his cursor over the categories, undecided on where to go to. He’d viewed every category to death, spending hours jerking to images of girls on all fours, dressed like cats, gags stuffed in their mouths; boys with big dicks up their asses, tears down their faces. You name it, and Namjoon has probably seen it, bought the t-shirt, left a rating. As he scrolls, Namjoon’s cursor lands on a category he admits is rather alien: Verified Couples.

Not that Namjoon is at all against love- in actual fact, he thinks that is what he yearns for most of all. Somebody he can take care of, and look after, and wake up in the morning next to and stroke hair from their face, all whilst simultaneously being able to shove their faces into the mattress and fuck them, and be fucked. He’s just never explored the Verified Couples section, because honestly, he thinks he might get a little jealous of either either party in the video. What if the girl is the hottest woman he’s ever seen before, and she’s being dominated by a guy Namjoon knows from three seconds isn’t good for her? And what if the sexiest man alive is wasting his time with a selfish girl who only cares about herself?

Regardless, Namjoon decides that today, this Friday of April, he is going to explore this category like Lara Croft in a new tomb.

He clicks, unbothered, and scrolls for a few seconds. Nothing is catching his eye; none of these thumbnails show him anything he’s never seen before, and they’re all painfully mediocre and white, some just plain weird with titles like “Abusing my husband with feet!”, which is certainly not going to make him feel good tonight. After a minute or two of bored searching, Namjoon almost realises why he never dapples into this section of porn when he pauses, mildly interested in a thumbnail and a title reading, “Rough sex with my girlfriend.”

The sight of the thumbnail takes his breath away; a man, with unbelievably toned thighs and a gorgeous curved ass holds his girlfriend like she is the last thing alive on the planet, his arms wrapped around her body, the skin bunching up like old Greek statues you’d find in galleries. She is made of marble and the guy is the sculptor, breathing life into her skin as he, from the thumbnail, holds her side with his left and her small tit with his right. The thumbnail moves as he hovers the cursor over it, and for a short few seconds, Namjoon watches the boy’s hand move from her tit to her throat, and the muscles in his hand suggest he is holding tightly, his hips meeting hers in a sweet kiss as she matches his thrusts.

Namjoon can already feel the discomfort tenting in his joggers and he clicks the video without a minute of hesitation.

It begins like most pornos, the sight of the boyfriend’s enlarged cock at the bottom of the frame, the delightful view of a V-line and honey abs filling the screen for a moment as the boyfriend fiddles with the camera of amazing quality. In the background, Namjoon sees the girlfriend, her body dressed in pointless coral lingerie, the sight of perked nipples soaking through and faded bites on her collarbones. Before enlarging the video, Namjoon checks the uploader: koopid. The bio reading, Fucking Y/N until she cries for me to cum inside her, signed by Jeongguk. Now he’s familiar with names, and it feels as though he’s watching in through the window, hiding behind curtains as Jeongguk fucks the living shit out of his unbelievably cute girlfriend Y/N.

“Mmm, you look so pretty, baby girl.”

Namjoon notes how sweet the unknown Jeongguk sounds, almost as if his voice had been dunked in honey, and his words were the glump of thick substance dripping down. He sucks in a breath when Jeongguk comes into view, naked for the world to see, a smile on his face Namjoon believes was made for him. He’s boyish enough for Namjoon to enjoy, and he leans back, allowing the couple to do what they intend to do.

“So fucking pretty,” Jeongguk comments between his teeth, his fingers looping around your underwear. “Who bought you this?”

“You did,” you reply, shimmying to aid Jeongguk as he slowly pulls your panties down the length of your thighs, smooth and newly shaved. Namjoon can see a shine. Marble. “Do you like it?”

“Mm, that’s right. I love it, baby,” Jeongguk says, lifting you with ease up and out of the panties, already relatively soaked from whatever foreplay he did beforehand to get you hot and flustered. “Are you gonna let me fuck you tonight, for everybody to see?”

A gasp leaves your lips. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he murmurs in reply.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Mm, good girl. You’re so good,” Jeongguk praises, kissing beneath your chin and encircling your arms around you. You grab onto his biceps for balance as he smooches the skin, with one swift movement setting you down on your back onto the plush pastels of the bedsheets, a whitewashed blue with pretty tiled patterns on the pillows. You lie there, staring at Jeongguk as he shadows over you, a hand on either side of your body. The muscles in his back flinch as he moves downwards in a curve, kissing a messy line from your chin to your sternum, leaving behind a visibly wet trail Namjoon follows with his eyes. “You’re so good for Daddy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, only for you, Daddy,” you squeak out, like a little kitten, a strangled and high-pitched moan leaving your lips as Jeongguk licks a line between your breasts, one hand palming a tit in circles, his thumb rubbing your nipple beneath the lace of the bralette. “Only for you.”

“I know,” Jeongguk acknowledges, rising up when he realises he’s prolonging things. “Keep being good for me, okay, baby?”

You mewl with a nod as he continues, getting off from his words, a vocal God, “you gonna let Daddy have your sweet little pussy, hm? Let me fill you up with my cock, fill your pussy with Daddy’s cum?”

“Please,” you breathe out, arching your back up as Jeongguk removes the bra with one hand, taunting his experience to the audience and helping you slip out of it, your perked breasts sloping upwards like tiny mountains, a delicious treat for Daddy. He contains a groan. Tonight, he wants to be mean. Tonight, Jeongguk wants to have you all, every inch of you, he wants to shove his cock so far inside of you that it hurts. For the first time on his channel, Jeongguk wants to be rough. He wants to put on a show, show everybody who you belong to. “Please. I want it- I want you to fuck me.”

Jeongguk palmed your breasts for a while longer, deciding what he was going to do with you. After a very short briefing in his head, Jeongguk hummed to himself as if thoughtfully pleased and moved between your legs, satisfied and proud when you spread them open for him. He let out a hiss between his teeth, looking at the wetness pooling between your legs.

“My, my,” Jeongguk comments. “All this for me?”

“All for you,” you confirm. He is so close, his touch burning, and you rise off the mattress impatiently, whining loudly. “Please, Daddy. I need you.”

Jeongguk makes a noise with his mouth, as if disappointed. He isn’t, but he knows how to push your buttons. He knows what to do and when to do it to get a reaction. “I don’t think you deserve my cock just yet. Daddy needs to hear what you want him to do to your precious little pussy. Hm? Tell me, tell me what you want me to do, baby.”

Namjoon thumbs his head, rubbing pre-cum like it was a new lotion. His cock was throbbing, pulsing as if breathing on its own.

“Please,” you begin, your voice enough for Namjoon to wrap his fingers around his cock in anticipation, “I need your cock inside of me. I want you to fuck me, until I can’t walk. Please, please, you own me. You own my pussy. Ugh- I need-to feel you inside of me.”

Jeongguk almost has the nerve to look unsatisfied, but he reckons, and only because he knows the ratings depend on it, that he’s prolonged it enough. He knows what everyone’s here for. Even though he does, nobody else cares about what you have to say. He pretends to think about it, humming once more before smiling, dragging you down the mattress by your thighs so your wet cunt is closer to his dick. You writhe with anticipation as Jeongguk massages his cock for a few moments, sucking in a breath and then positioning the tip near your entrance. He’s going in raw today.

Underneath him, you moan as it teasingly prods at your entrance, throbbing for his length. From where he kneels between your opened legs, Jeongguk stares at your hair dancing around your head like a halo, the blush burning on your cheeks. With his mouth open with admiration, his heart widening out of pure love, Jeongguk remembers what he’s doing and without warning, shoves his cock inside, without giving you the chance to grow accustomed to his hardened length.

He’s big- Namjoon, behind the screen, can see that.

Beneath his body, and heavily breathing torso, you cry out with pleasure, a large and loud moan ripping out into the silence of your bedroom. It sounds like Heaven to everybody’s ears, Jeongguk responding with a grunt of pride, knowing only he can make you feel this good. He pulls out and thrusts back in roughly, without caring for how it hurts. From the angle of the camera, Namjoon gets a good view of Jeongguk’s dick pushing in and out of your hole, that tiny hole Namjoon thought nothing could ever get inside. He watches with wonder, his expression like a child in a sweets shop, as Jeongguk pulls you closer to him, pushing deeper inside.

“Feel good?” Jeongguk asks through laboured breaths.

“Yes!” you squeeze out, tightening around him. “Oh, yes!”

“Mm, you like Daddy’s cock?”

“I love your cock,” you rush out. “I love Daddy’s cock so much.”

“Hmm,” Jeongguk replies happily, the praise making his chest inflate with adoration and confidence. “I love how you take my cock, baby. Your pussy is so pretty with my cock inside.”

You fall silently shortly after that, save the erotic groans and moans and the distinct clapping of skin, like an applause for all your hard work. Namjoon pumps his own dick desperately, his eyes flitting from your face to your tits, the right cupped by Jeongguk’s large hand and the other bouncing gorgeously in the light, to the way Jeongguk’s ass clenches as he finds a new spot to abuse inside of you, a new spot to send you yelling out with pleasure; Namjoon shakily breaths out a moan as he stares at your gaping cunt, wet and glistening like a 90’s edit from Tumblr, Jeongguk’s dick moving in and out with wet sounds.

Jeongguk changes the pace, quickening his thrusts as if it doesn’t even matter. He gets drunk off the reaction, grinning with a soft chuckle as you cling to his skin like letting go will kill you, each thrust met with a yelp that increases in pitch and volume. Namjoon knows how this looks and sounds, but he doesn’t care anyway. His laptop is on its side as Namjoon frantically pulls his joggers down to pool around his ankles, his red and angry cock snuggling into his hand as he watches the pair of you, entangled together, lovers, in a sort of love Namjoon can’t even wet dream of having. He looks at the screen through a blurry gaze and sees you writhing with pleasure, tears slowly pulling down your flamed cheeks.

“O-oh, right there!” you mewl, your hands clenching around the skin on Jeongguk’s thighs. “Oh my God, Jeongguk, right there.”

He visibly falters, as if the screen glitched, and the hand wrapped around your tit moves up to your throat. The thumbnail- Namjoon groans out loud at the thought, remembering how it went. Jeongguk wraps his hand around your throat, his thumb where it needs to be, his eyes glued to your face observing your reaction. He wants to test how far you can go. He wants to make you cry, and hurt. He wants you to feel humiliated, embarrassed by how you beg for him to keep going deeper, faster, rougher. Jeongguk feels like a church-boy discovering sex for the first time, testing the waters on how many sins he can break before his Priest father comes into the room.

“Who said you could call me that?” Jeongguk sneers, his hand tightening slightly. You moan around the struggle, your eyes lidded and heavy with the euphoric weight of sex. “Hm?” Jeongguk’s hips stutter faster, rougher, sharply hitting a spot that sends you in a squealing mess.

“I-I’m sorry, Daddy,” you gasp. “‘m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’ll be good.”

“You’ve disappointed me,” Jeongguk admits. Then, quite suddenly, he stops moving, the absence of his pace sending you writhing with anxiousness. The threatening orgasm begs to spill over, like a nearly full glass that needs a few more drops before overflowing from the top. “You gonna make it up to me, little one?”

You nod against the sheets. “Yes, Daddy. I promise I’ll be good.”

“Okay, baby girl,” he agrees, He sits back on his heels and Namjoon watches with agonising anticipation as Jeongguk sits between his own legs, his feet behind him, pulling you from the mattress onto his lap where your own legs wrap around his tiny waist. “Fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock.”

Like a good girl, you don’t need to be told twice. Namjoon finds out from the way you look at your boyfriend between barely open eyes that you’re a total cockslut; you wrap your arms around Jeongguk loosely as you sit back down on his cock, like it’s your throne and you own it. It takes a moment for you to readjust to his size, sucking in a breath and rising up and down on it, doing all the work as Jeongguk watches with his tongue between his teeth, his arms up with palms flat on your back.

“Hmm, show everybody how good my cock makes you feel,” he instructs, moving his mouth to your nipple and giving it a light suck. It’s as if he’s taking a toothless bite out of a whip of ice cream, getting a taste before going in for the whole thing. He looks up at you between his thick eyelashes, “go on. Show them who’s making you feel good.” With one hand, Jeongguk kindly wipes away the tears from your face. “Don’t even think about cumming. You haven’t earned it.”

Namjoon can feel his body deepening with a hot flush as he watches- perhaps not entirely with want but with need, a need to be loved and fucked and held the way you are. He never realised how much he needed koopid in his life until he stumbled across it, and his heart panics with an unfamiliar lust when you rock your head back and look shyly at the camera.

Namjoon can see now that your face is hot, sweaty slightly and tear-stained, your lips swollen from whatever foreplay Jeongguk failed to include in the video. He doesn’t care- he’s torn between looking at your eyes and your tits, bouncing around Jeongguk’s lips, or your ass, moving with each deep sit you take on Jeongguk’s dick, his length buried in your warm cunt. He wants to see more; he wants to see your pussy stuffed with dick, he wants to see the cum pour out of you slowly like cake mixture. With his hand moving quickly up and down his own length, Namjoon can feel the nerves twisting inside of him, like the rise in volume slowly creeping, his orgasm nearing. You lift yourself up and down on Jeongguk’s dick like you were made for it, like you were the only person worthy of sitting on it.

“Dirty little slut, being selfish with my cock,” Jeongguk words around your nipple. “Huh? Look at you, taking in all my cock like a big brave girl. Bet everyone wants to see your pretty pussy.”

Yes, Namjoon says to himself. Please. Please.

“Do you want that?” he edges. “Want everyone to see how red and stretched your hole is for me?”

You don’t reply, stubbornly, fucking yourself onto Jeongguk’s dick like its your life’s purpose. Jeongguk doesn’t want to show people. He doesn’t want them to see everything on this one video- if they want to see your pussy stretched out and pretty for them, then they can check out your other videos. Namjoon’s a porn connoisseur; he know looks, and he knows that’s what Jeongguk wants as he glances you up and down and then at the camera. He smiles smugly, and the audience suddenly know it too. He’s not going to give you what you want. It’s his turn to be selfish. Namjoon moans out loud.

“Tell me baby,” Jeongguk asks, “what you want?”

“Please-please,” you gasp out, “please c-cum inside of me. Please. Please- oh, Guk, please, baby. I’m close. Please cum in me-fill me up?”

Jeongguk kisses your breast. “Do you deserve it, princess?”

“Y-yes, I do,” you reply. “I’ve been good for Daddy. I’m Daddy’s good little girl.”

“Mmm, you are,” he agrees. He kisses your breast sweetly once more, looking up to kiss you round on the lips. Around him, you groan, sending butterfly kisses across his lips and he smiles, half forgetting what he’s doing. From his smelly bedroom, Namjoon thinks it’s sweet. He wants to cum so badly.

“Okay, honey. I’ll cum inside of you this once,” Jeongguk complies. He pulls you flush against his chest, rearranging himself inside of you and then lifting his hips to match your rhythm. “Are you gonna be good for me?” You reply with moans.

Namjoon moves his hand so fast- he pumps his dick with a quicker speed, his mouth hanging agape as you moan sweetly above Jeongguk’s forehead, and then slowly look to the side at the camera, daring the audience, staring into the lens and by extension, right into Namjoon’s eyes. He wants to fall inside the screen, and rip you out of Jeongguk’s hands. He wants to be the one inside you. He also wants to be the one around Jeongguk, feeling his big dick stretch him out. Namjoon cries out- porn was so unfair.

“Bet you’d like that, you little slut,” Jeongguk grins, “wouldn’t you? Letting Daddy fill you up with his cum. Yeah? You want me to do that, put all my sperm inside you and make a baby?”

“Mmh, Jeongguk!”

“Look at you,” he continues, laughing slightly. “Look at how you take me. Your tiny little hole.” He scoffs with affection, “You’re a mess, baby. My little baby, taking my cock so well. I’m so proud of you.”

You cling to your boyfriend, your jaw slack as you groan and stare at the camera. Namjoon can feel his stomach twisting, his hands cupping at his balls for relief, imagining that one hand is you, and the other Jeongguk. He can feel his heart in his ears and his throat; Jeongguk buries himself deeper inside of you, gripping at your marble skin to drag you down and up onto his dick, the slapping skin no match for the moans pouring from your lips, and faintly, he can make out Jeongguk’s own moans, slightly high and breathy, indicating the end is near. Namjoon doesn’t know what to focus on.

Still watching the camera, you shake your head back and move one hand to Jeongguk’s throat, clenching it to hear him groan out with pleasure and pain beneath you, your face scrunching up as you slam yourself down onto his dick. It’s rough and wet with sounds that fill Namjoon’s ears, and Jeongguk’s hand comes down like a whip to smack your ass, a boob filling his face as you arch up with each smack, girlish moans escaping free. Namjoon can taste salt in his mouth, and blood from biting down on the inside of his cheek, and he almost screams out about how unfair life is because koopid is there and he is here, when you bow your head to Jeongguk and shiver.

“I wanna cum, Jeongguk,” you beg. “Please, baby.”

Jeongguk cocks his head with sudden kindness. “Okay, baby. I’ll let you cum. Cum for me, cum around my dick.”

Threefold sounds fill the remaining seconds; you cry out with relief and pleasure as you spill cum around Jeongguk’s dick, the white substance trickling down the running vein that pulses and Jeongguk stuffs his face in your neck, and Namjoon back home yells out with abused satisfaction, closing his eyes as his own relief spills out on his stomach and bedsheets, his fingers soaked with his own cum. He breathes in the fantasy of seeing his own cum pouring out of you, the way Jeongguk does once you’ve fucked yourself tired on top of him, and he lifts you up by your thighs to marvel as the sliding semen down your legs, clumped in your hole, dripping like a tap. Jeongguk’s dick vibrates between his legs and twitches at the sight. He doesn’t show the audience. They don’t deserve to see you. They don’t deserve to see what he’s done to you.

Jeongguk doesn’t even say goodbye; he lets the audience and his girlfriend catch their breath before he smiles down at you, adoringly, praises your hard work and shuffles himself towards the camera, where the sight of his shit-eating grin leaves Namjoon with a prickle of hot frustration that hurts when the video rolls to an end, with no flashy end credits or promotion. Just a black screen with his own idiot reflection staring back at him.

Namjoon needs more. His dick hurts and his head throbs, but he needs more- he physically needs to see more. His hands tremble as he clicks on koopid’s profile, observing the fifteen videos you have public. He doesn’t need to watch them all tonight, saving them for his lonely evenings, but he does click on “creampie in my girlfriends cute pussy”.

He knows it’s worth the overstimulation when he gets five minutes in and sees you squirt, unexpectedly, onto Jeongguk’s face and the bedsheets. Aside from the view and the surprised gasp that is ripped from your mouth, Namjoon hears Jeongguk’s throaty chuckle up close and personal, and he sees Jeongguk’s cocky smirk now that the boy has set the camera to the side, giving Namjoon a beautiful view of your cunt and the side of Jeongguk’s wet face.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself when Jeongguk manoeuvres himself back between your legs and thrusts, the sight of your cock-filled hole and the curve of Jeongguk’s toned ass filling his screen. Jeongguk cums noisily; he groans gruffly, sounding intimidating and the blood rushes to Namjoon’s cock and he cums unexpectedly, missing the grand finale of when Jeongguk pulls out after filling you up with his cum.

He grins to himself and moves the camera so everybody can see how pretty it looks; Namjoon stares, milking his own high, looking at how Jeongguk’s cum leaks out of you slowly. You’re filled with it, the dried mess staining your skin and your body rising with deep and heavy breaths. It’s pink and abused, your hole wide and clenching almost with each breath. Jeongguk’s hand comes into view, the other holding the camera shakily, and he pulls apart your lips to show the sight clearly. His fingertip curls around the substance and as you lift yourself up onto your elbows, Jeongguk switches for two fingers, lapping up the escaping cum and shoving it right in your mouth and on your tongue.

Namjoon cums again. It’s the third time he’s came this evening, and it’s the first time he’s ever added a channel to his favourites.

He’s not sure what it is about koopid that makes him feel so fucking good, but when Jeongguk heaves himself down next to you and flips the camera, showing the unfair gorgeousness of the pair of you fucked out next to each other, your hair slightly in Jeongguk’s mouth, Namjoon knows he wants more. He needs more. He doesn’t care if Sunmi calls him sad, but, Namjoon knows that there is nothing on Earth that can cure the want and need he has for koopid.

Jeongguk grins to the camera, looking at you against the sheets and Namjoon can see in his eyes the way he is so in love with you. You smile too, kissing his lips and curling up against his neck and the last thing Namjoon sees before his own dumb reflection again is Jeongguk smirking at the audience before leaving. Jeongguk knows what he has and how lucky he is. Namjoon isn’t sure how to feel when he realises that he’ll never have what you and Jeongguk have. He feels empty and pathetic with his cock out and a black screen looking at him.

He’s not sure who he’s jealous of. Jeongguk, for getting to stuff his fat cock into your hole and seeing you, hearing you, feeling you on a daily basis. Or you, for getting fucked relentlessly and lovingly by the best looking man he thinks he has ever seen. Maybe it’s both.

(It’s definitely both.)

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neuxue · 5 years ago

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight prologue (part 3)

Levelling up and last stands

Graendal to Galad, and now Galad to Padan Fain. It’s like alignment whiplash.

The sky was black. A tempest. He liked that, though he hated the one who caused it.

This is great because there’s just a hint of ambiguity to who that actually may be. Rand? Or the Dark One? And when you have to ask, even for a second…well, that’s sort of the point, isn’t it.

Hatred. It was the proof that he still lived, the one emotion left.

Well, that’s one more than Rand at any rate.

(Pre-Dragonmount, I mean).

Padan Fain exists to chew scenery and you know what buddy? Chew away. Live your dreams.

Did his hatred cause that storm? It must be so. Yes.

Sorry Fain; pretty sure Rand has first claim on I am the storm. He just carries it better, you see. It’s a good look on him and we don’t mess with that.

I typo-ed that as ‘it’s a god look on him’ and really… either way.

When you accepted madness into yourself – embraced it and drank it in as if it were sunlight or water or the air itself – it became another part of you.

I’m mostly amused by how similar this sounds to the wording of Egwene thinking of how the Aiel handle pain. In this case I don’t think it’s particularly intentional or meaningful or anything, but it amuses me.

Another part of you. Like a hand or an eye.

Not sure those are the best examples, given Rand and also very likely at some point Mat, but sure.

He was finally free.

Has something changed? Oh, wait. Is this the first we’ve seen of him since saidin was cleansed? And Shadar Logoth destroyed? I think it is, in which case… interesting. Particularly interesting since it doesn’t seem to have affected the dagger’s power – Fain’s still obsessed with his precious, at any rate – and last we heard Rand’s wound(s) hadn’t healed. But Shadar Logoth was destroyed, and its power seemingly with it, more or less, and so now Fain or Mordeth or Smeagol or whoever he is these days is free, in a manner of speaking. That’ll end well for everyone involved, I’m sure.

Oh he killed a worm. And he’s in the Blight so that’s a Worm. Im…pressive?

Mist had begun to trail him, creeping up from the ground. Was that mist his madness, or was it his hatred? It was so familiar. It twisted around his ankles and liked at his heels.

Like a yellow fog, that rubs its back upon the window panes, a yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window panes, licks its tongue into the corners of the evening…

No? Or perhaps like, say, Mashadar? I mean, maybe it’s nothing, but if it’s not nothing, that’s… concerning. Were more things freed than Fain, in the ruination of Shadar Logoth? Open to give the world hope but did it also release some element of despair?

The mist struck.

And unless we’ve transported into one of Sanderson’s original works, that means I’m right and the cleansing of saidin did indeed have some… unintended consequences. Which is fitting, in a grander sense of balance, but still kind of… well, sad.

So Fain has levelled up again, it would seem, which is the outcome absolutely no one needed.

That said, he played enough of a part early on, and enough has been made of him from time to time afterwards, that it would be kind of weird to leave him out of the ending. Personally I wouldn’t particularly mind; watching him chew scenery is fun enough from time to time but the rest of the time I sort of tend to forget about him, and I’m not particularly invested in anything to do with him, and the slightly more critical side of me wonders if he was ever truly necessary as a character… but at this point in a series, once you have a character like that, dropping them now would feel untidy. It would feel like an oversight, or like lazy plotting.

Which is hard, when everything about him suggests that his entire purpose is to be a wildcard character. He doesn’t have a clear fated role to play in all of this, unless it’s something to do with his link to the dagger and, via that, to Mat somehow.

Instead, he’s a powerful entity on a third side in a two-sided war. Yes, there are far more factions than that within each of those sides, and so much of the point of the last several books has been that lack of unity, and the tragedy but perhaps inevitability of fighting against those who should be your allies, of losing sight of the larger conflict in favour of the smaller and more immediate ones, and of trying to forge some kind of alliance despite that, and the ways in which that can succeed or fail.

But Fain is less a part of that and more a completely outside element. Not, in a way, unlike Aridhol itself was, as it became Shadar Logoth. A darkness and an evil that came from a form of the Light and its hatred of the Shadow and, over time, twisted. And therefore was an evil that was not truly of the Shadow, but was no longer an ally of the Light. Instead it was its own poison.

That’s kind of what Fain is. Which certainly has potential, as a story element, but I am curious to see how that’s played, and how well it’s played, given the sheer volume of characters we’re dealing with, and the size of this conflict, and the many other themes already at play. Can his role, whatever it is, end up feeling satisfying? I guess we’ll read and find out on that one.

Anyway, that was a bit of a tangent, but the point of it was: yes, he’s levelled up, because I think he has to in order to have a hope of having his part in the ending being interesting or satisfying.

Red below, black above. Red and black, red and black, so much red and black.

See, the thing is, I know for a fact that Brandon Sanderson is a fan of Les Miserables, so I am fully justified in humming ‘red, the blood of angry men; black, the dark of ages past….’

Also, Moridin would approve. Of the colour scheme, if nothing else.

And also of the chaos. Some say the world will end in (bale)fire, some say in ice, and Padan Fain says fuck it why not evil killer mist. Less poetic but sure.

(Let’s play a little game called: over the course of the liveblog, how much of an English Literature syllabus do we think I’ve referenced? …on second thought let’s not play that game)

Oh, the Trollocs didn’t die, they just got a Mashadar Makeover and now they’re competing for Malkier’s Blight’s Next Top Abomination.

He left the Myrddraal. It would not rise, as rumours said they did. His touch now brought instant death to one of its kind. Pity. He had a few nails he might have otherwise put to good use.

Perhaps he should get some gloves. But if he did, he couldn’t cut his hand. What a problem.

The thing is, while the style here is very Sanderson, for a character like Fain it actually works pretty well. Which is mainly, I think, because I have long suspected Sanderson has a soft spot for writing characters who are utterly batshit and having the time of their lives with it. Pass the scenery, and the salt. Yum.

Like an old friend. A dear, beloved old friend that you were going to stab through the eye, open up at the gut and consume by handfuls while drinking his blood. That was the proper way to treat friends.

Sure, it lacks the undertone of beautiful horror, and the poetry of Machin Shin whispering about braiding flayed skin, which is in a way a shame. But it conveys the essential message and character, and at least for me, this works well as an example of Sanderson’s approach of not trying to imitate style because that could go so badly, but instead emulating the feel of the story itself. Sometimes it doesn’t work, but here, at least for me, it does.

It's ironic in a way that it’s a similar thing to what he’s done with Mat, but it has the opposite effect. With Mat – I’ve written about this elsewhere, but tl;dr is that I think he read Mat as funny and so tried to write Mat as funny, using his own methods rather than Jordan’s because imitating style exactly is a lost cause, but something very essential was lost in the translation (like the fact that Mat himself isn’t really humorous; it more comes from the contrast of his thoughts with his actions, and his character against the world around him, but I digress again). So he went for ‘convey the same idea through my own methods rather than trying to imitate Jordan’s’ – consciously or subconsciously – and it backfired. But with Fain, he’s taken the same approach – ‘convey a scenery-chewing wildcard who has lost every mind he’s possessed, which is several’ – and this time the same-idea-different-style still gets that across in a way that feels true to character.

Obviously mileage can and will vary on whether or not this works, but for me it’s just an interesting study in how a certain approach or method can succeed or fail depending on exactly how and where it’s applied, and what the cause of that success or failure may be – why it works in one place but not another, and what went right or wrong.

It is, I think, something of a writing exercise if you want to turn it into one. A bit like reverse-engineering an outline from a book you’ve read (I do this often; I realised at some point that I was doing it and then I made a point of doing it deliberately, and it’s super interesting, and for me at least it’s helped me think more deliberately about the structure of a story, and how that can be leveraged for different effects). But thinking about the specifics of what does or doesn’t work for you about the authorship switch – a particular character, or a scene, or the pacing, or the handling of a certain theme, or anything else – and then digging into the specifics of why it works, or doesn’t.

That, for me, has been more interesting than just picking out the differences. Sure, I’ll nitpick, but I prefer not to focus on it, because ‘this is different’ feels… kind of pointless. Of course it’s different. Figuring out exactly what is different, or why it’s different is interesting sometimes. But also figuring out where and how that difference matters or doesn’t is more what I’m trying to get at here. Because some of the differences, I don’t mind. Some, I do. And trying to understand why I mind some and not others has been helpful at least for me in, again, understanding all of those elements of a story or piece of writing better, and thinking about how they could be used or changed or recombined.

But then, I’m the kind of person who likes to take things apart to figure out how they work. And also to overthink every goddamn text I consume.

Still, it’s a fun one if you’re in the market for writing exercises to try whilst in quarantine.

Malenarin Rai. Bold of you to introduce a new POV character in the penultimate book of a series that already has dozens if not hundreds, but that’s WoT for you.

Also it’s a prologue so the rules are different.

Heeth Tower is a weird name. Heeth. But then, I don’t think Sanderson has ever been quite as good with names as Jordan was. And that’s the sort of change I’m not going to get too worked up over. (Also, it was Jordan who gave us Mountains of Dhoom, so I rest my case).

The whistling wind rattled the wooden shutter.

It’s not time for the wind yet; we’re still in the prologue! Wait your turn, wind; chapter one should be here any day now.

Using a Trolloc horn as a paperweight is pretty badass, Malenarin, but Furyk Karede and his human skull wineglass might offer some competition.

I don’t think we’ve spent much – any, depending on where exactly the scene in TPoD’s prologue takes place – time in Kandor outside of New Spring. I guess we’ve got to finish filling in the map now; we’ve only got one book left!

Malenarin’s son is turning fourteen soon, so he might just be lucky enough to get Tarmon Gai’don as a birthday party.

He smiled, setting the Trolloc horn on the note, in case that shutter broke open again. He’d slain the Trolloc who had borne that horn himself. Then he walked over to the side of his office and opened his battered oak trunk. Among the other effects inside was a cloth-wrapped sword, the brown scabbard kept well oiled and maintained, but faded with time.

Typing it out, it’s not even that similar, but reading this my first thought was of Tam al’Thor, pulling out his old trunk and his old sword at the beginning of The Eye of the World, before giving it to Rand as he sets off on his coming-of-age story.

To have a duty was to have pride – just as to bear a burden was to gain strength.

In moderation, though. *Looks pointedly at Rand al’Thor*

I still don’t understand how turning their backs on the Blight to go find the Dragon Reborn to tell him to pay attention to the Blight is a good idea for the Borderland rulers. I must be missing something here and I hope it is eventually revealed to me, because otherwise that is terrible strategy on so many counts.

The only way to go to the fourth level was to climb a narrow, collapsible ramp on the outside of the tower

What could possibly go wrong? I mean, last time we were in Kandor a kid was thrown off a balcony, so…

[Jargen] wore a cord looped around the shoulder of his brown uniform; it bore a knot for each Trolloc he’d killed. There had to be approaching fifty knots in the thing by now.

That’s cute, Rand says, flicking dust off his shoulder Luke-Skywalker-in-The-Last-Jedi style, and flicking some Arrows of Fire off with it to torch another thousand or so Trollocs without breaking a sweat.

But okay, yes, for an ordinary non-protagonist non-Lan in a random guard tower in Kandor, I suppose that qualifies as pretty badass.

The beacons have been lit! Gondor Rena Tower calls for aid!

Pretty sure that’s your cue, Lan.

Or not; Malenarin seems to think it’s his cue to confirm the SOS and start preparing the tower for… bad things, probably.

Seriously, wind, wait your turn.

Of course his son is next on the list of messenger boys to be sent out. Well, it’s a better fate than being thrown off a balcony at least. Maybe.

‘No, we need to send several messengers. Double up. Just in case the towers fall.’

Do you have any uncrowned infant kings you want to send as well? Just checking.

Malenarin let himself feel a hint of relief that his son was one of those riding to safety. There was no dishonour in that; the messages needed to be delivered, and Keemlin was next on the roster.

There is a kind of parallel here – less a parallel, perhaps, than an echo – to Lan. A son sent to safety as a Borderland hold prepares to fall, the sense of a last stand. Because in the Borderlands perhaps that is not so unusual a story, in its way. The Wheel of Time turns.

It was time for Tarmon Gai’don. And looking out into the storm, Malenarin thought he could see to the very edge of time itself. An edge that was not so far distant.

Maybe you should have a dream-chat with Moridin, Malenarin. Maybe it’s just the air in the Blight: gives you nihilist thoughts.

Oh oops, his son wasn’t one of the messengers to go. Because he decided to be all noble and let another boy go in his place, whose mother had already lost four sons. That’s sweet, kid, and it’ll probably get you killed.

Tian, Sanderson? Named after another ill-fated messenger boy in your own works, perhaps?

‘Run down to my office,’ Malenarin said. ‘There is a sword in my oaken trunk. Fetch it for me.’

Aw. Because his son has proven himself a man, three whole days early. Because we’re approaching the end now, and it’s time for everyone to take their last steps into their roles, become who they must be to face that end – whether they’re a protagonist or just some poor doomed kid in a tower in the Blight.

It's something these kinds of snapshot one-off scenes are good for: to show the scope of the story, that it touches everyone, no matter that they’ve never even met Rand or any of the others. And to give this sense of those final steps happening in snapshots like this across the land. The sense of an entire world taking a last deep breath. And so we pause for brief close-ups on the faces of some of the extras stepping onto the battlefield, to illustrate that.

Keemlin’s swearing his version of the ‘kill the bad things until we die or they do’ that every Borderland (and Aiel) nation seems to have, each with its own slight semantic variations.

‘Rise as a man, my son!’

This is no place, or time, for children. Ergo, he can no longer be a child, by simple virtue of being here. Which makes this a rather bittersweet moment; Malenarin’s proud of his son but there’s also this sense that far too many children are having to grow up far too fast in these last moments (and others will never grow up at all – in today’s theme of referencing poetry I like, go check out The Lads in their Hundreds).

They yelled defiance of the Shadow. For a moment, their voices rang louder than the thunder.

I don’t have a lot to say about this except that it’s a lovely image.

Together they turned to face the oncoming Shadow.

Nice knowing you.

Draghkar overhead and Trollocs oncoming, and they’re just a lonely tower waiting to die. I do love a doomed last stand, even if it’s characters I’ve never met before and likely will never see again.

Malenarin was a man of the Borderlands, same as his father, same as his son beside him. They knew their task. You held until you were relieved.

THAT’S YOUR CUE, LAN.

Next (ToM ch 1) Previous (ToM prologue pt.2)

#i definitely did not split up this prologue correctly #oh well it's done now #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #Towers of Midnight

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goingsllightlymad · 6 years ago

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Blinded By Your Light - Part 8. On Storytelling.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Y/N is the definition of ordinary. Studying at a medical school as far as she can get from her rainy hometown of Birmingham, she never expected to be shipped off the Flanders when the war was at it’s peak. Much less to meet a handsome young patient with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had seen in her life who as fate would have it would fall into her lap.

Wordcount: 6716.

Warnings: Michael is literally the most difficult character to write I swear to God, he just ends up sounding exactly like Tommy so let’s all pretend I have writing skills, okay? (Sorry this took like a millennia and a half to post, I’ve been procrastinating).

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Stopping outside the pub to breathe in the cool summer air, you let the last of the golden sunlight fall upon your closed eyes as you took a moment and then another to collect your scattered thoughts. The footsteps ringing behind you, stopping at your side, were the only sign that Michael was following, as he kept the silence and did not speak at all for a long time.

"I suppose it's all very different." his voice was different to what you had imagined, although you had yet to see his face in the light. It was slow and thoughtful, and the accent was a little lighter, somewhat sharper than the drawl of all the others in Small Heath. Perhaps he had only moved here too, a stranger to this dark world of blood and gore, although perhaps he didn't mind it after all the horrors of the war gone by.

"Yeah. Quieter. More dangerous too, but I suppose that's a given." you kept your eyes closed, regulating your breathing and trying to guess what you would see when you opened them and saw him there. If he would be handsome, but all you saw when you thought of the word was the blue of those eyes and the sharp cheekbones, the dark hair and the tight smile of the man you were trying so very hard to forget. And besides, taking a break from boys for the time being would probably be best for everyone.

"The Peaky's weren't around when you were here?" he seemed genuinely curious, like he was trying to glean details of your past and put you together in his mind like a puzzle that would solve everything.

"Not really, no. It was always happier then, but I s'pose that might just be my memory playing tricks on me." somehow with your eyes closed it seemed so much easier just to say what you were thinking and what was entirely true, and you couldn't help but smile at the sweetness in your words and all the memories they held. It was more like talking to another part of yourself than talking to him at all. And then he stepped a little closer and you let your eyes open to the world.

The sun was already dipping behind the buildings, the town painted in soft tones of purple and pink, and you could feel the cold creeping in around the edges of your mind. Taking a long look beside you, you took in his smooth, pale skin and the mess of soft blond hair that almost covered the watercolour of purplish bruises along his cheekbone and around his eyes. Sunlight glittering in his hazel eyes, you could not deny that he was certainly beautiful. In a way that the stars are beautiful when seen from afar, and the lion in its cage that you had hung out of your window to watch pass by when you were younger and the circus passed through Small Heath on its way to somewhere bigger and more grand, beautiful and dangerous and half a world beyond your touch, the deity of some other religion that you could never see in your blind devotion to your blue-eyed God. He was beautiful in a way that made you feel nothing at all but the wonder that one feels when faced with such unattainable things, and there was not an inch of you that ached for him quite so much as you ached for Tommy even now, still the way he looked in the sunlight made your breath slow in your throat and your eyes catch on his face. He was beautiful like Ada and Isaiah and John and Arthur, and he was not a patch on your Tommy Shelby.

"Things are always nicer when they're in the past." he was smoking, raising the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag, the smoke wrapping around him as he breathed out, blurring his features in blue and grey. You took your eyes off him and began to walk off down the street, hearing him behind you with his strange face and no Shelby surname to scare you away.

"Maybe not the war, but yeah, in a way." you joked bleakly and he did not laugh. You got the impression that he did not laugh a lot, but you had been here long enough to know that no one laughed here. There was nothing that nice to laugh about, when you thought about it, just the grey and empty days that stretched before you like the sea that had carried your Tommy away and brought this cruel stranger back to you.

"Ada told me you served." he knew Ada. Of course he knew Ada, everyone knew Ada, Ada was the talk of the town and it was not hard to see why. Everyone loved Ada because she at least had nothing to fear, nothing to hide. Ada was the last good thing about this part of town and you thought sometimes that everyone knew it. It wasn't exactly a secret.

"Ada likely told you a lot of things." you couldn't begin to imagine to stories she had told about you, her friend that had got out and had lived another life, the only one who ever left because no one ever left Small Heath and no one ever came back by choice, and you knew that everyone was wondering what had happened to you, and why had you come home at all, "That, though, is true."

"Where d'you go?" he cocked his head, looking over at you.

"Flanders General. A right hell of a place, but I survived what others didn't, so I guess I'm thankful enough." you joked bleakly, and the way he looked at you, the way he looked at you, you knew he knew exactly. It was hard to believe he had been to war when he was so much brighter, so much less tall and grand and intimidating to the soldier you knew in his hospital bed. But he wasn't there anymore, and you were secretly glad that he wasn't a thing like Tommy. The morning's words still rang through your head like a sucker punch, and you could feel yourself frowning as your mind wandered back again and again to him, to Tommy.

"That's where Tommy was, right?" Michael thought aloud, and you wondered if he knew how much it hurt you when he said his name. Of course he didn't know, and all the better that he didn't, still you wanted to tell him not to talk like that, not to bring up things that were better left unsaid.

"Yeah." you muttered shortly, hoping against hope that he would take the hint and leave the sensitive subject alone, but now he had turned away again to gaze up at the swirling sunset sky, and lost entirely in his own distant world.

"You saw him?"

It was a long time before you replied, your words drawn out like they came straight of your troubled mind, and he got the sense he was hearing a lie that was so much truer than any truth you might have told him.

"No. No, I didn't." and maybe that was true. You didn't see him, not Tommy Shelby, not this heartless man who ran the local gang and killed like he had never known how beautiful it was to love at all. Not this man who cursed you and left you and never kept his promises; the Tommy you had known was soft and kind and perfect, the man who should never be a soldier for all the light and life behind his eyes that drew you back to his bedside day after day. If you had known the other Tommy, perhaps you might never have sat with him at all. Perhaps you might not have loved him quite so much. If you had known... You wondered what might have happened if it had been Michael instead that day in the hospital that you had been sent to see. Looking at him for a long moment, it was hard to tell whether you would have loved him too, given the time to find out. There was a part of you that warned you that you would, that you might still, that men were a dangerous game to play for a girl as weak at heart as you sometimes believed you were. And there was that part of you, a little smaller and a whole lot quieter, like even your mind was a secret to you now, that whispered that there would never be another man quite so good as Tommy Shelby once had been. That you had tasted paradise in all its earthly glory and nothing would ever be the same again. That you might like to, you might try to, fall in love again and again, with Ada and with Michael and with Isaiah Jesus as you had once before, but that nothing in this world could take you away from the endless longing in your heart that had never quite gone away since that first and last kiss on the station platform. You wondered how many lonely prophets would give their restless souls to taste their golden angels as they rained down on them from high, and none of them would ever know the way it broke your heart.

"They say he got a medal for bravery in the Somme. Strange - never took 'im for the hero type." he shrugged and you gasped, pushing down all the thorny pain that was stabbing at your heart. The Tommy you knew had heart enough to win a thousand medals, to be a hero undoubtedly, but this man you saw in the Garrison with his harsh words and lovelessness? There was nothing heroic about him. When you played it back, searching desperately for a trace of that tenderness in the beauty of his face, there was only the coldness of a villain.

"And what about you?" you were desperate to change the subject, desperate to get to safer ground before he saw and he knew, and you knew it was pointless because tomorrow he'd know and the whole town would know and all off this would be for nothing. You would run away again, like you had before, and like before you would come back again and again and things would be the same every time. So why were you pretending that you could save this, and make it out like you hadn't fallen in love in the worst possible way. "Are you the hero type?"

"I used to think I was. But then again, doesn't everyone. It's only when you're out there and you're looking at it in the eye that you really see just how scared you are. Makes you a little ashamed of yourself. I thought I could make a difference until just then." he seemed so sad when he said it, and you drifted a little closer to him in the darkening street, glad of the shadows that left the world just you and him, no others, and the conversation which was steadily carrying you away from that most awful of subjects. It was easier when the sun went down on the rights and wrongs of cold humanity and now it was just you, two soldiers in your civies in a street that once was home. You trying to mend a heart when you knew you could not even begin to look down upon your own.

"I think you can make a difference, just not one that matters." you didn't entirely know why you said it, but as he laughed under his breath you knew it was the right thing to say. Something about him left you so unsure, and you had no idea what was the right thing to think or say or do, because you had learned before that nothing you did turned out right. It didn't take a backstory or any explanation to know who you had learned from.

"Thanks." he rolled his eyes at you and you laughed a little, him stopping as he pressed the back of his hand against his forehead in mock-indignation.

"You wanted the truth." you grinned, shrugging innocently and letting him catch up with you again. His features flashed in golden light as you passed the lamplighter with his hands of amber blaze, leaning down from his ladder as you smiled him a goodnight.

"I did, I'm sorry." he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you back to walk beside him and then, as you two fell back into silence and walking side-by-side. A sharp twist of wind came whistling through the street, sending a thrill up your spine as the cold grey colder and the sun had gone away, and Michael shrugged off his jacket in a single deft motion, draping it lightly over your shoulder. It was more or less the right size, thick and warm and filling your senses with the smell of his cologne in a way that made you ache for the chamomile soap in France that you had tasted every day on that other man's skin. Michael smelled of whiskey and smoke, and though it was homely and strangely comforting, you felt more alone than ever when you were wrapped in his clothes. You glanced up at him with a weak smile, all the same, and tried to find the softness in his eyes that was the kindest you had seen today, and nowhere near so quiet nor so beautiful as that sweetness you had once seen in Tommy Shelby. Perhaps it was time to let that sweetness pass you by, for it had been such a long time since you had seen him as he was. Perhaps it had been forever. Whoever could possibly say? "You don't get that a lot around here. The truth."

"You say that like you've seen the whole world." you looked at him for a long moment, trying to figure out where he had been, what he had seen. There was something strange about him, a story, that caught your eye and held it. Sure, he wasn't as exciting as Arthur nor as endearing as Finn, as soft and sweet as Ada or as familiar as Isaiah, and you dared not even begin to compare him to Tommy - nothing compared to Tommy Shelby, and you knew that now more than ever as all your memories rushed through your mind with every passing moment, with every breath you took with aching lungs because what was the point of breathing if it wasn't with him - but he was different and it thrilled you that there might be a world outside of this grim neighbourhood that you had yet to see and he was your way out to it.

"Maybe I have." he tilted his chin up cockily, hazel eyes meeting your gaze and returning it with a cockiness that suited him well. To see the world and come back to Small Heath all the same; you thought he might be a little more insane than the rest of you in town, and that was saying something. So insane you could almost kid yourself that he had not killed at all, but then again death was all the fashion in Small Heath, in the world, right now, and he did seem so stylish.

"And what did you make of it." You'd like to know, if only so that tonight when you closed your eyes and tried to sleep you could pretend you saw it all in front of you, glorious and new as though you really made it. He was the storyteller to your strange addiction, and with each word you knew he had you more and more hooked on his own lifestory.

"It was shit." he said shortly, still holding your gaze, and you knew that that was all that he would say. You wanted to ask more but you knew better than to ask of something that would bring him pain. You hated the thought of him in pain, and you wondered for a moment if his past was just like yours, an epic and a tragedy of love and loss and an afterthought of loneliness in a town halfway to inferno and inching closer.

"You actually like it here?" you could not keep the incredulous thrill out of your voice, and he laughed at you. He laughed a lot, and it never seemed quite happy at all, more like life was some great big joke that you could not comprehend, and there you were all hooked and waiting for him to let you know the punchline. Something you'd waited so long for, you thought it had to be worth it.

"Nah, this is even more shit." he kicked a stone and it skittered across the street, glancing off the curb and falling into the gutter, stained from a summer full of rain and cracked with the ghost of the sun's glare.

"Glad someone else can see it." you muttered, and in those words you cursed them all, those who sent you away and those who pulled you back and those who'd made the other world so beautiful that you could not think of coming back here, although in that there was only one person to blame and you thought you'd better not say his name out loud for fear of falling apart all over again, in the street with pretty Michael.

"I grew up in this dreadful little village and I hated it, you know." his dreamy gaze was fixed on some point in the middle distance, and in his voice there was a thoughtfulness that made you think that as he spoke he was forgetting in every word that you were there at all. You felt like you were hearing some part of him that he hadn't said before, and you wondered how long it had been since he had told the truth. How sad it must be to have a story so interesting and no one ever ask for it, because a story without its audience is a fairytale lost to time, and soon your life would not be real at all. "And now suddenly I'm working for the Peaky fucking Blinders and I'm stuck in this shitty neighbourhood and no one else seems to hate it as much as I do." by the end he was grimacing tightly, his face masked with a deep, dark pain that might have looked like hatred if you were not reading him, plotting him into the map of your mind for later reference when you wanted another reminder of why you were still here. All the sadness turned to anger here, and after that to vengeance, and in the end to death and all that glory.

And there his story ended, and you knew better than to ask more. You tried to pretend that your excitement in him was not slipping away quickly as one by one his walls built up around him again, his jaw setting tight and stern and pushing away that glimpse of humanity you were not so sure had even been there at all anymore. There you had it - he had been away and seen it all and come back here to never speak of it again - and that little stir of hope within you off the picture of another life, far away from grey Small Heath, was fading back into the darkness as you left the lamplighter behind.

"You're a Peaky?" your voice broke a little as you prayed that he would tell you no, that he would say that you were silly, he was wrong, he was no Peaky nor a bad man either, but how could you not be bad in such a world as yours was now? This whole town seemed to be filled with them, the dreadful Peakies and their shiny caps and lifeless laws and loveless lives, and in each face and bloodied fist you saw again and again only him, only Tommy.

"Just an accountant, really. Don't think that counts as much. Certainly doesn't to Tommy." he was venomous, bitter, and filled with a dark injustice that made you wonder what he would do if he could do it all and more. And for the first time you thought a silent thank you to God, to Tommy Shelby, as you thought of Michael safe within his counting-house when the others went to war. You wanted to kid yourself that he had never held a gun, never killed a man, but Shelby or not the blood still ran the same here, hot and angry and with the taste of death.

"And all the better for it." you let out a shaky breath, not realising your fists had been clenched tight until you forced them open, rubbing at the deep crescent moons left in your palms by blunt nails. "People die here, would be a shame to lose the only other person who hasn't spent there entire fucking life within the same six streets." you were playing it safe, trying to hide the relief that flooded through you, trying to convince yourself that you were simply protective of the only other person in this entire goddamn town who was not out for more blood on their hands when the war was long since over, instead of the truth that everybody knew; that you knew now that at least you were not stepping back into the centre of the twisted web of Tommy Shelby and all the cold and bloodied hell around him.

"Ah, don't worry about me. Think I'll be just fine." he shoved his hands into his hands, spinning on his heels to walk backwards, facing you and wearing that lazy grin that you could already tell was so utterly false. A self defence, and the eyes behind it were bright and dead and filled with pain and stories.

"I hope so." you smiled back, mainly in solidarity. I know you're lying, but so am I. We two are far from being fine, and don't we both know it so well?

"And if you could get out of here?" his question took you by surprise - no one had asked you that before. They were all so kind to you, their sympathy and their insidious envy so close together that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. They all pitied you for coming back eventually as everyone knew you always would, and they all hated you too, blamed you for not giving every last inch of your being just to keep yourself the hell away from this godawful town. But until now, not one of them had ever asked you where you would go from here, and to be honest you were beginning to wonder if you were going anywhere. Standing in the middle of Small Heath half a year since you had first come back, it was not hard to believe that you would be here forever.

"You mean would I drop everything and just get as far away as I could?" you laughed bitterly, knowing that that was the thought that had kept you up at night, that was the thought that was playing on both of your minds. He knew it, you knew it; it was the unattainable dream.

"Yeah."

"I... I don't know. I thought I would, but I- I just don't know." Saying it out loud made it feel a whole lot better. In your head it had taken up so much room, screaming at you all day as you tried to push aside that hatred of yourself and of everything else here in Small Heath. You would leave, you had wanted so much to leave, but now the thought of the rest of the world was quickly fading in your mind. The truth was that you had no idea what was out there, and you almost didn't want to find out. Here was Ada and John and Arthur and Isaiah, and here at last was your love, Tommy, although he may not love you now. If you could leave them all behind, would you really? You just didn't know if you had the strength to let any more people down.

"There's a lot of things to stay for." He seemed to know so well what you were thinking, and you knew that he had been through all of this before, for he too had been pulled back into this grim underworld from somewhere kind and far away. You had the mind of a traveller, an escape artist and a convict all in one, and you could tell that he did too. It was as though he saw right through you, but you knew that he did not see you at all.

"Oh?" looking over at him, you raised an eyebrow questioningly. It was a strange thing for him to say, all the same. What did he know about you that made him so sure that he could persuade you to stay. Here was a man who did not know you and wanted to speak to you all the same, and behind you was that other, darker man who knew you as you did not even know yourself, and would have nothing to say.

"For one thing, you could stay for me." It was a thought. You could definitely stay for him, this strange little man who seemed so much more invested in your answers than anyone else you had met in this town. He was curious, to say the least, and you found it rather flattering. You could definitely cope with having him around.

"Or stay for myself."

"Or stay for both of us." he was so desperate for you to stay with him that you wondered what it was that he wanted from you. You thought the whole of Birmingham must know by now that you would surely never love again and why. And you were not a Shelby, only a friend of a sister. There were rats roaming the streets who had more power than you, and yet you knew that you were not exactly so far from the Blinders as you might like to think.

"I wouldn't mind that." it might be nice to have a friend. In a neighbourhood like this, there was no harm in having allies, especially those who could protect you so well as the Blinders might. And it seemed like Michael was the closest you could get to the Blinders without seeing that dreadful, beautiful face.

"Then don't go anywhere and I won't either." he swung around to take your hand, bring it up to his lips as he made his wild promises. You knew that, given the opportunity, he would break them without a second thought, but you knew that you would too. And somehow the promises seemed more definite that way. "Stick around for each other, eh?" a smile cracked open the hard, coolness of his face, and you returned it weakly. There was something about him that reminded you so much of Tommy, your Tommy, and you wondered if that was the only reason why you were standing here with him now, not telling him to leave. You wondered if all the Blinders were like that - cold and cruel and broken - and suddenly your heart ached for Isaiah. You wished more than anything that he had become a preacher instead.

"This... this is me." You waved your free hand towards the shadow of the church on the corner, resplendent in its inky darkness and the sins that seeped from the stained-glass windows and into the street. Your hand slipped out of his, falling heavily to your side as you took a step back from him.

"Where we say our goodbyes." he murmured, and you nodded.

"I suppose." You turned the corner, made a move to go into the church and then turned to smile at him. As you looked over, you caught him staring at you thoughtfully, a plethora of unreadable emotions dancing over his face and you wondered what on earth he was thinking now. "Thank you. For... getting me home safe."

"I enjoyed it. A lot." he seemed as surprised as you were, when he said it, as though he had not been expecting to feel that way. And the way his face softened as he said it, the small lines by his eyes that made you think that his heart was full of quiet emotions that he would never say, it all reminded you of Tommy.

"Would you mind if-" you began, not sure what you were saying but knowing that it was something to do with Tommy Shelby. You needed to speak to him, to have a message brought to him, that you loved him as you always had before, and that yes, you had forgiven him already for every sin in all his life. You love, love, loved him, you always had. But just as you were saying it,

"Would you like to-" he blurted out, caught himself as both of you spoke at the same time, words blurring over each other in a tangled mass of thoughts out loud.

"You first." you wanted to say it, all that you had been meaning to say, and then disappear immediately into the safe solitude of the church. You didn't want to see him look at you with all that pity and mindless apology in his eyes that you had seen so much today. You didn't want him to think less of you, but you really had to say it now, or else you knew you never would.

"Thank you." He took a deep breath in and out, still standing some way away from you as you waited by the great church doors, but now you felt as though he were close enough to hear each breath from your lips, each beat of your heart, and they were not for him. They were not for anyone other than your sweet and unattainable Tommy. "Would you like to go to the pictures with me. Tonight was nice."

"Michael I-" You were surprised, to say the least. This was the last thing you had expected from him, when all of Small Heath knew by now what had gone on today. You thought the whole world must know about you and Tommy Shelby, and you thought they must love you a little less for it too. You meant nothing but trouble now, for you picked fights with people in very high places and they liked to keep their enemies very, very close.

"Please." He took a small step towards you and you could hear the pleading desperation in his voice, a little emotion coming through, so honest that you could not believe that you had found it here, in Small Heath. It was enough to make anyone give in.

"Okay." you whispered, and you knew he had heard you. You thought that the whole world had heard you, because the words rang through your mind so loud and harsh and important, and they would stay there forever to haunt you because there it was, you had given up on Tommy Shelby. This really was the end of things.

"Thursday? Eight o clock?"

"I'll be here." You would, because now where else could you be. When you told Ada, she would probably tell you that it was just as well, that you should go for it, but the truth was that you didn't know how. For you had loved the greatest of all things, the most beautiful of men, and how could you ever love again?

"Goodnight (Y/N)." he spoke softly, and you could almost hear his heartbeat through his words, quick and strong like he was full of love and life, but no one in Small Heath knew of either. He was so different to this cold, dead town.

"Goodnight Michael." You waved at him weakly as he kept his eyes on you and took a step backwards, taking him in once more as he stood in front of you like you were trying desperately to read him one more time before he disappeared forever and became someone else entirely. The men you knew had a habit of doing that.

"Goodnight." he smiled.

"Goodnight." you smiled back, a little more honestly this time.

"Goodnight." and he was still walking away, still facing you, and you thought he looked rather ridiculous but you liked it all the same, and you were wondering if perhaps it wasn't such a mistake that you and he would meet again and try to be something more.

"I really have to go now, my father will be worried. Goodnight, I'll see you on Thursday." You promised him, already opening the church door and looking through into the impenetrable darkness beyond.

"Thursday can't come soon enough." came ringing through the street as at last you saw him disappear around the corner, into the dark shadows of the night. You let out a long and shaky sigh. You slipped through the gap in the heavy church doors, leaning against the wood on the other side as you heard his footsteps quieten and die away as he walked away.

"Yeah," you murmured into the shadowy silence of the church. For a moment you believed it too, letting the thought of Michael fill your mind for all the time it took to stand and begin that walk down the aisle to the anteroom door. And then the thought of Tommy came in, and flooding back, and everything was blue once more.

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It was not for you to know that Tommy Shelby had waited in the shadows, standing on the corner by the darkening church as the cold and the night came creeping in around him. Not something you would look for and not something you would see, and perhaps that was why he had done it. He would like to say that someone had told him you were there at the Garrison and he wanted to make sure you were safe, after all even he could not deny that the two of you had history, no matter how that history had ended.

By the curb where the shadows met the dim glow of the streetlamp that flickered and waned as the wind hissed around the corner like the biting breath of apprehending fate, Tommy Shelby lit another cigarette and waited for you to walk by, the way he had waited for you every day in France and every day since. It was not something that he would particularly like the world to know, but to say that he had meant none of his words today was not far from the truth. The truth; as if you needed that.

When you turned around the corner, stepping into the light as it fell upon you, it was all he could do not to step out and go to you the way he knew he should. The way you had probably thought he would, and now that he thought about it, it was getting harder and harder to remember why he hadn't. Somewhere along the way, somewhere in the blond of pretty, cruel Grace and the way Small Heath looked when you came through it for the first time back from France, he had realised then that he was never right for you. He loved you, he loved you, but this was for your own good. It killed him to hurt you, but he could not even imagine the hell that would ensue if someone else hurt you instead. Small Heath was not the place for sweet nurses and kind girls, Small Heath was a place for even the darkest demons of the world to shy away from.

He knew that you had seen Grace, because he knew that she had seen you. She had made that very clear already, the sound of her shouting and screaming at him enough to make him think that, somewhere in Small Heath, you must have heard it too. All of their problems that were really only his problems, laid out on a washing line for the whole world to see. Tommy Shelby was a worthless piece of shit, but they already knew that and you already knew that and he already knew that too. What else was new, except that Tommy Shelby had yet another woman and Grace would not stand for it. She would stand for it, she always stood for it, no matter how many times he wished she'd leave she somehow always stayed. He was beginning to think she was not staying for him at all, she just made it look that way. And now, yet again, she was staying right here, the girlfriend of Mr Thomas Shelby, living in his house the way he wished you would instead, taking up his time and his love the way he wished you would. The woman he loved would never love him now, and the woman he didn't would never stop. The world had finally caught up on its debts against Tommy Shelby.

Tommy pressed his cigarette into the bricks of the wall behind, sparks showering down onto his shoes and fizzling out in the gutter where the water fell drip by drip by drip. In the heat the pipes were cracking, water bleeding out from their wounds and painting strange patterns in the dirt and heavy dust. The thought of summer burning in his mind, Tommy brought his coat closer around him, straightening up as the cold rushed in around his collar. With a last deep breath, he went to move towards you and saw you standing not alone this time, but pressed against the church door with another man before you. You smiled at him, and Tommy had to frown at that because he had seen that beautiful smile all those days before, and this was so far from it. To be honest, you looked tired. There were dark purplish bruises under your eyes that reminded Tommy of those weeks where you stole snatches of sleep in the chair beside him, hurrying back and forth all day and all night for days and days on end. But now there was not that giddy, sleepless smile that you had had when you knew it was all worth it. Now you just looked... sad.

It did not take a genius to tell who had made you this way.

He had to grimace at that, his displeasure only bubbling higher in the pit of his stomach as you laughed at something the man said, bowing your head and he hoped you were not blushing. You were not his to lose, but you were no one else's to love either. And then the man was going away, and Tommy was breathing out audibly and realising that there was no way he could go to you now. He wondered if for a moment there you forgot about him entirely (he wondered if you remembered him at all), and he wondered if you knew that you had never left his mind for a moment since the moment you had left the station platform.

And then through the street there came those dreadful words, the promise of Thursday flooding through Tommy's mind as he braced himself against the wall, hiding himself further in the shadows because there was no way you could see him now. He heard you, every word you said, when you agreed to go to the pictures with the man that Tommy couldn't quite see, and when you said goodnight too many times, and Tommy could picture you not wanting the man to leave, and Tommy could see your face when you fell so utterly in love because you had once showed that face to him.

He heard the man turning the corner, leaving at last, and as he broke from the wall and stepped out into the street, he saw the last of you, ducking back into the church and closing the doors behind you. Tommy Shelby could never have you now.

Taglist:

@actorinfluence @captivatedbycillianmurphy @stressedandbandobessed7771 @audioshoes

#Tommy Shelby #tommyshelbyxreader #Thomas Shelby #thomasshelbyxreader #Michael Gray #michaelgrayxreader #Peaky Blinders #peakyblindersxreader #fanfiction #reader insert

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vivarocksteady · 5 years ago

Text

two “I like” and one “I wonder”

When I was in about third or fourth grade, and we started giving book reports, presentations, and show-and-tells, we also started doing “peer feedback.” Whenever a student presented something, every single other student was required to give them feedback.

Everybody had to pose their feedback in the form of two “I Like” and one “I Wonder?”

Sometimes this was nerve-wracking for me, because I didn’t have any opinion on little Johnny’s geode presentation, but it stuck with me. In my adult life, I considered this to be exactly the same as the “compliment sandwich” rule of feedback, whereby you nestle your criticism in between two compliments.

Recently I shared this with a friend and she pointed out it was worlds apart, as saying “I wonder?” is pretty different than “Here’s everything about your work that I didn’t like.”

In the ongoing debate about concrit in fanfic, I thought I would share this method. Because my friend was exactly right. I am one of those authors who does not like getting unsolicited concrit-- but I LOVE IT when readers ask questions!

An example under the jump:

Let’s say someone writes an Office fic where Jim cheats on Pam. The summary and tags make it clear that Jim is going to cheat on Pam in the story. There is little preamble in the story, it just goes straight to Jim cheating.

Somebody reads the story and finds the author has talent and the story has potential, but that it does not earn the premise of Jim cheating on Pam. By earn the premise, I mean the story does not earn the trust of the reader to handle this premise. It is a pretty unexpected thing for Jim to do, after all. The story has to get the audience to believe that Jim would cheat, which is a very tall order. The reader does not feel the story was successful in this light. It seems OOC and like a weird choice.

Comment #1: “Jim would never cheat on Pam. This is OOC.”

This comment, IMO, is rude and pointless. It negates the entire premise of the fic and it shows that the reader is not willing to engage with the story at all. It stops all conversation dead.

Even if it was preceded by two compliments, I would think this comment was rude and that the two compliments were possibly false. If I got this comment I would think “Why tf did you read this fic at all, then??" And I would probably be grumpy for a little while.

It puts the author on the defense and gives no actionable ways to improve, and no food for thought. At best, it lightly annoys the author. At worst, the author feels attacked or discouraged.

It almost certainly does not help the author grow.

Comment #2: “I don’t think Jim would ever cheat on Pam. That seems OOC to me.”

IME, this is the type of comment I see the most from people who want to leave constructive criticism. It’s softened, and the commenter is obviously not trying to be rude or argumentative. Especially if this was preceded by two compliments, it seems like the commenter is just trying to benignly point something out to the author.

However, the criticism is the same as the previous comment, that is, it completely negates a story element. Saying Jim would never cheat on Pam does not help improve a story where the central premise is that Jim cheats on Pam. It just says that it shouldn’t exist. It doesn’t invite conversation or food for thought. It ends the conversation.

Again, this shows the reader isn’t willing to engage with this story, but rather they would prefer a different story. The problem is, this is not a different story. It doesn’t have to be. And again, if I received this comment I would think “Why did you even read this?” even though I know the commenter was trying to be nice.

Comment #3: “I wonder what could have happened to make Jim want to cheat on Pam?”

This takes the same criticism, but flips it around so the author has a way to respond. Instead of putting the author on the defense or completely negating their artistic choice, it challenges the author to think about their artistic choice, and consider how well they executed it, or if they built the story sufficiently enough to earn it.

I would be delighted to receive a comment like this, especially if it came after two compliments. I am delighted to get comments like this! I would think this person is engaged with my story, and that they are meeting it on the level I intended. I would feel respected. I honestly wouldn’t even read this as criticism, just as an excited reader who liked my work enough to want to spend a bit more time in it.

But then I might think “Hmm, maybe I should have fleshed out the opening scene a bit to really lay out the situation,” or “I thought I made Jim’s emotional state clear but maybe I shouldn’t have been so subtle. Maybe I left something out.” I might even respond to the commenter and ask what they think it would take, after realizing that perhaps I didn’t give it enough thought. These are the parts of re-writing and editing that are actually exciting, writer-wise, IMO. These are all ways in which I would actually grow as an author.

And if I didn’t feel like doing any of that, I wouldn’t have to. Because it’s phrased as “I wonder,” it’s not a direct request for the author to respond or justify anything. But if I wanted to directly tell the commenter what I was thinking, I could. (FTR I love questions even if they don’t start with “I wonder” and I, personally, do not at all mind when readers ask blunt questions directly.)

The point is, the author now has lots of options. It’s the same criticism, just phrased in a way that opens discussion instead of saying “this is criticism, deal with it.”

YYMV, of course. Some authors don’t like to respond to comments at all, and so might not like the questions-- but I do think that it’s a generally lighter way to give feedback, and it actually gets the author thinking about their work from a different POV, instead of having to defend it.

#ao3 #concrit #writing

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pinesprings · 5 years ago

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Aetea: Chapter 2

(Just give me a reason, why is it so hard to find one)

Chapter One

Summary: The can of worms is open but it's not the only thing that is. Hearts get poured out somewhere amidst the action and the aftermath

Notes: It's finally here! Took longer than I expected. This is twice as long as the 1st chapter due to.. personal reasons. Im treating you fluff today uwu. I certainly do hope it's better than my anxiety is telling me it is. Anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: child abuse, blood and violence, head injury, injuries, panic attacks I guess. In one word, angst.

Reading Time: 28 mins (3.5k words)

Or read here on ao3

***

It wasn't supposed to go this way. No, no. It was supposed to be fine.

This did not qualify as fine.

But like lives are not supposed to sail in the storm and the storm is not supposed to help death outrun their years by sinking them beneath the waves and foam, things don't always go as planned.

JJ's body wasn't supposed to look so broken and Kiara's hands weren't supposed to have blood on them. No, her fingers shouldn't have been dyed in this dark crimson of sin.

The remainder of tears stored in her decided to leave her eyes and dance with the blood in her hands, dance with the sin, try to wash it away.

She let out the weakest mumble of despair as realization had hit her. She might have killed someone. She might have-

Her eyes moved frantically between the two bodies slumped over each other, as full of life as all those inanimate objects littering the ground. They were both too still. She gasped at the sight, panic overwhelming her and her senses dimmed by the thought that plagued her brain.

That she had no damn idea what to do.

Kiara kneeled down and gathered all her strength to move the weight of the monster off of her friend. She gritted her teeth in a feckless attempt to free the blonde boy from being crushed by the man.

Even unconscious, he was still causing him pain.

She cursed under her breath before pushing again with all her might and managing first to shove the man to the side, then to get ahold of the boy, pulling him on top of the mess of tangled limbs.

"JJ! JJ can you hear me?" she practically yelled at his bruised face, her voice cracking under the pressure. Not getting an answer, she swallowed the throbbing pain wanting to escape her throat and tried to put some kind of order in her pounding head.

Heartbeat. She had to check his heartbeat.

She wiped her palms on her thighs to rid them of the sweat. A pointless action, since the fluid kept escaping through her pores, itching her skin as it fell down in thick droplets.

Taking a deep breath, Kiara placed her fingers on his neck and by the time thirty seconds had passed and she could calculate the rythm of his pulse, she was ready to faint.

It was fast, but steady.

A breath that she wasn't able to let out before evaded her lips, along with a relieved chuckle. His heart sounded just like any heart should. Still, his breathing was ragged. She figured it was because of the state of his ribs and nose. His entire body was covered in scrapes and the various bruises had already started dyeing purple patches of skin.

She was dreadfully sure she had heard something break, perhaps right before she had…

Right before she had potentially murdered someone in cold blood.

Oh god.

Sweat started showering her again, an insufferable heat urging her to try -and fail- to catch her breath. Drowning in vague but persistent ramblings racing through her brain, Kie felt like she could throw up any minute.

Should she call 911?

Should she check if the monster is still alive?

She should call.

But first check.

But what if..

…what if he's dead?

For a solid minute the single thing she felt capable of doing was pacing back and forth while frantically pulling at her hair, as if she was plucking the weed from the field of her mind, so that she could plant a sensible contemplation.

Resisting the ever growing urge to vomit she crouched next to the unconscious body of the man, reluctantly raising her hand above his nose. In a swift flare of his nostrils warm air blew against her palm.

A sniffle escaped her as she withdrew her hand from the repulsive face.

She sat down, her head facing her bent knees. Another one. A tear followed.

Slowly tears were falling like currents destined to ford countries and forests of her cheeks to end up in the sea of her lap. She let each and every muscle in her body relax and fall down, mirroring that one wall that falls and lets the enemy breach.

Surrendered to the sensation of emerging from the moonlit waves and breathing in the midnight breeze.

Rich, chestnut waves a crown on her head as it arose to face the ceiling, or perhaps what laid beyond, and while the tears were still fresh carving their path down her skin, she started laughing.

Laughing so loud it almost sounded hysterical. Nothing made sense anymore so why should that matter?

"I'm not a bloody murderer" she announced in between laughs, the knot in her stomach starting to dissolve just an inch. Taking a deep, shuddering breath she whipped her phone out from the back pocket of her shorts and dialed those three numbers every soul knows by heart.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"I--"

Kiara suddenly froze. She turned to look at JJ's broken form with guilt in her eyes. That was it. Questions would be asked and the answers required would simply birth more problems. The wolves had chased them and they had run, but now they had come all the way to the start of the cliff.

They would have to learn how climb down the rocks. To survive.

"Miss?"

Her attention shifted back to the ongoing call as she took a deep breath before spitting out those next sentences that would save her JJ, but could perhaps doom him.

"Two people are injured. Badly" she declared with an unnaturally casual tone. She flinched at how cruel and unfeeling she sounded after having been drained of the pearly tears. Numb, she ventured. Yeah, that should be the word.

After having shared their location and been told that a bus would probably arrive there in less than fifteen minutes, Kiara sat down on the edge of the couch with her gaze fixed on JJ's closed shut eyes. She pictured those wonderful blue eyes, captivating depths of the ocean, waves inviting, that could devour you in a heartbeat, bringing you down beneath the horizon, the warm rays bathing your salty skin in the sunlight like a faraway promise of safety. Like home.

She always felt secure with JJ. When she could smell his scent of carefree summer and admire his loose strands of hair flowing with the gentle wind like golden sand reshaping the desert hills, she felt untouchable. Clear dominance over her self, only she could dictate her destiny, in spite of any concept of fate. Ironically enough, it was not her will that demanded she quenched her thirst in the radiant oasis that were his eyes, amidst the fervor of his blazing smile.

I'm getting carried away, she reminded herself and dismissed the thoughts with a shake of her head.

She decided it would be best if she didn't attempt to wake him up. It would serve no purpose other than she'd have an easier time waiting, the knot in her stomach would have begun to untangle.

Her fingers absentmindedly toyed with her bracelets while her concerned glare lingered on JJ's limp form. Instinctively, her grip tightened on the bright colored beads when her eyes met with the purple patches of skin. They looked like a spiraling vortex, bizarre black holes embroidered on his soft epidermis.

Kiara was exhausted of witnessing the manifestation of his father's corruption on his body. She yearned to feel him in the safety of her lap, her breath caressing his ear with soft whispers of comfort. And when his wounds would heal she wished they never reappeared, no secret pain staining his teasing smirk after he had found yet another way to mess with her.

The ambulances arrived shortly indeed. Father and son were loaded inside the vehicles while paramedics tended to the most urgent wounds. Kiara played along the lines of being too shaken up to provide any answer to questions, which wasn't that far from reality. She reached her parents' car, loyally waiting parked a few feet away from the house and turned on the engine.

Following closely behind the vehicles as they rode to the hospital she utilized the few minutes to try and conjure a scenario that would explain what happened as painlessly as possible, but the thoughts kept slipping through her mind. Her grip was tight on the stirring wheel, the knuckles on her clammy hands assuming an almost deathly tint.

He's going to be alright, that was all she kept repeating in her brain like a poem.

Maybe if she said it enough she would believe it.

***

"Hey.. hey, you're awake"

JJ's eyelids drowsily fluttered open only to wince at the immense brightness his pupils were greeted with. He begrudgingly welcomed the cold, emotionless white light while his eyes adjusted to the silhouette looming over him only a breath's distance away.

Kie, he figured, if the soft voice and lovely smile were anything to go by.

JJ sighed in relief at the familiar presence lending her warmth to his waking body, estranged by his surroundings. Or perhaps that's what he would have done, had the air not caught on his chest and diminished into a spark of flame that burnt more and more as it licked his bones and climbed up his ribcage. The pain elicited a faint wheezing sound from his lips, the later which parted with a difficulty that could only indicate they had been sealed together only for a significant amount of time. He didn't release the breath before the inferno flaring inside his chest dissolved into a dull fit of throbs.

"What's wrong? JJ! Are you alright?" she whispered-shouted somewhat frantically, the undercurrent of panic mildly enhancing her as usual gentle voice.

JJ simply nodded, his teeth still grinding to help deal with the pain born from what he assumed was a broken rib.

A quick -although dizzy- glance around the room was enough to confirm that he was in fact in a hospital room, and soon the pale mechanical beeping of a machine perched behind Kiara shifted into his focus, enhancing the whole 'hospital aesthetic'.

" 'ey Kie…" JJ barely rasped out. His throat felt as dry as a sun-cooked raisin- a weird metaphor but it was the one that dared materialize into a thought. Nevertheless, his words were accompanied by a sleepy smile.

"miss m?"

A genuinely joyous grin was plastered on her features as soon as his breath tinged his vocal cords to produce the melody of speech. The exhale of air that left her body was long, perhaps releasing two breaths caught at once.

The skin around his nose was itching him but his limbs felt way too heavy to lift, so he let them stay warmly tucked beside his torso. The pleasant heat and smell of the freshly washed sheets spread across his body made it even harder to wish to move.

Kiara's face lit up with realization as her brain processed the way his voice was hoarse and rough, deducing that JJ's throat was most likely in need of hydration after that many hours of being asleep.

"Do you want anything? Water?" she offered, already pouring some of the transparent liquid in a spare cup from the stack on the bedside table. The sound was almost soothing but JJ willed himself awake. Making a huge effort to regain motion in his arm to press the button that tilted the bed so that he was no longer lying down, his fingers found his nose to scratch away the itch, only to be met with the rough feel of a cast.

Kiara practically shoved the cup into his hands.

"Here. Drink" she ordered and he complied, gulping down the liquid greedily. The pain awakened in almost every part of his body but he ignored it, instead reveling in the pleasant velvety coolness of the water.

"How are you feeling?" Kie asked him as she plucked the halfway empty cup from his fingers and placed it next to the telephone on the bed stand. Looking at her a bit better he could make out dark circles underneath her eyes. She looked overall tired and pale.

"Just peachy" he yawned. "What happened?"

"After…?"

"You know" he sighed bitterly

"He- You.. almost woke up a couple of times. Like, your eyes stirred a couple times, you probably don't remember. The doctors said you were lucky because you had no brain damage, but you still-"

JJ shook his head.

"I meant, how come he stopped using me as a piñata"

Kiara stopped and stared at him for a second -perhaps hurt by the choice of words- before her shoulders drooped and she leaned into the chair.

"I… I smashed a vase over his head"

"You did what?" JJ asked while a sly grin grew on his face. He chuckled incredulously, which he immediately regretted when the searing white pain rumbled in his chest.

"He's still alive" she said with pursed lips, almost as if she considered the outcome unfortunate.

He searched her eyes for as long as it took him to sober up again and for the severity of the situation to sink in again.

"Here?" he mumbled, dark shadows making his eyes misty.

Kiara simply nodded solemnly. Her brows remained firmly in a deep frown as they fell in a brief moment of uncomfortable hush. The thoughts neither of them was brave enough to voice were sure to invade every cell of his mind as he gazed groggily up at the IV leading nutrients and all that medical mumbo jumbo he didn't know to the catheter penetrating his forearm.

Just as he was about to ask for more details two swift knocks prompted both their heads to turn to the door. The ivory painted wood was shunted aside to reveal a woman dressed in the pearl white robe of a doctor over scrubs.

"Good morning mister Maybank."

JJ flinched at the name.

"I'm dr. Garcia, you're my patient for today" she said primly, uncrossing her arms from the chart balanced against her chest. "I see you've woken up! Don't worry, I'm just going to check a few things and change your casts"

"Whatever you need do, doc" he said with shallow fervor.

By the time traces of sweet cologne were all left in the room from dr. Garcia, any tension in the atmosphere between them had dissipated. JJ's thoughts were less blurry, his mind perhaps had awaken, but with it arose freshly painful memories and the loose ends they brought.

The previous evening kept repeating and playing in his brain much alike scratched vinyl, stuck to the same part of a song, condemned never to leave the nicked words behind. As his senses felt the terror all over only without the rage to numb the pain, his ears remembered a sound he wouldn't think he could forget, even for that short amount of time.

A million faces changed on his skin as he pondered and gathered the courage to bring the issue up, afraid phrasing would take the dream away and crush it like a flimsy piece of foil. The accelerated beeping of the machine mirroring the crazy thumping of his heart against his ribcage only betrayed him further.

"Hey, Princess?" he said cautiously, but to his ears it sounded like a desperate whimper. He gulped and plastered his best nonchalant expression on his features before resuming. "Do you remember when I decked him in the face, what you told me. Did you mean it?"

Even JJ himself could realise how pathetic of an attempt at his voice not shaking that was. The lump in his throat made it immensely more difficult to speak, combined with the throbbing pain in his chest that visited at every passage of air through him.

"What I said- Oh. "

She fixed her gaze on the ground, smiling sheepishly. Before she hid her face out of JJ's eyesight he managed to catch a glimpse of her furiously blushing cheeks. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Did you mean it?"

Kiara looked at him, fidgeting restlessly. She hugged her torso, brushing her blouse soothingly with her fingers. Whether she picked up at the way the machine beeped almost as persistently as a heart attack, she didn't show it.

One brief intake of breath that could have lasted for a decade. To say JJ had been hanging from her lips would be an understatement.

One inhale, and then the answer.

"Yes"

The blonde gawked at her, stunned.

"I meant it"

JJ shook his head, leering back a little.

"But what about Pope? I thought.."

The girl waved her hand dismissively.

"There's nothing between me and Pope. If anything we're more of siblings. I had this discussion with him too, I just" she paused, "I hadn't found an opportunity to tell you -well, until now"

She peered at him expectantly but JJ was malfunctioning.

She bit her lower lip.

"You know, after the entire gold fiasco.. John B's disa-.."

Her voice broke at the mention of their friend. The heel of her palm shot up to wipe at the welled up corner of her eye. "I needed.. something- someone to hold on to. Like an anchor"

"But I guess deep down even before then, I knew. I wanted you to be my anchor." she paused, smiling bitterly.

"I've known for a while. I like you, and a lot"

JJ was glitching like his cousin Kyle's relic of a laptop, perfectly mimicking a deer caught in front of headlights. His mouth opened and closed right back as he fumbled for words. He could practically sense a blush creeping in and painting all over his cheeks and underneath the cast.

Kiara giggled timidly, burying her face in her palms.

"You know what just forget it"

"-But I've made so many moves!" JJ finally blurted out, tone almost accusatory.

"What?"

Kiara sat back straight and stared at him, only traces of shame remaining in her eyes, for it gave way to bafflement.

"You always rejected me, so I accepted that nothing between us would ever happen" he frowned.

"JJ." she grinned as she caught on with his claims, "Joking about my ass doesn't count as a move"

"I-" he tried, looking mock-offended "It's a lovely ass!"

Kiara laughed and JJ loved it, cherished the sound melodious and calming like the gurgling of refreshing spring water.

His own burbling laughter blended with hers in perfect sync, in spite of his ribs protesting in ache.

"Seriously, I did. Numerous times" he mumbled somberly.

"Yeah, yeah, you sure did" she teased, raising her eyebrows smugly. "…so?"

"So.. you like me a lot, huh?" JJ teased loftily, gifting her a lopsided grin. His chest burned like a wildfire, and this time it wasn't due to the hurt.

The taunt earned him a scoff.

"Yeah?" Kie raised an eyebrow mischievously.

"Well I like you a lot too" he said simply. His smirk melted into a sincere smile filled with love and uncertainty.

He felt bare, naked.

Aflutter, the boy apprehensively regarded the girl, what now his heart was exposed and offered as a promise he was afraid would be refused to be made.

The girl looked at him almost fondly as he struggled not to cower in the comfort of the sheets. The heat almost felt unbearable all of a sudden and the skin beneath the gauze and casts felt damp and itchy.

"You sure I'm not dead?" he gulped, "Cause this feels a lot like-"

Whatever muffled words followed were drowned out as Kiara cautiously leaned in and planted her salty lips on his, tucking her loose strands of hair behind one ear. JJ simply stared with his not swollen eye open wide at the soft lips encompassing his skin in their warmth, before he gave in to the kiss.

-Heaven

It was tender, fragile, an intimate moment as they shared their love, in whatever form they knew love to be. Gently, carefully, like being afraid that the full strength of their passion would shatter the other with as much ease as a fire would crumple the edges of love poem-filled paper.

She took the offering.

Suddenly the two were one and a whole, like the notes of a harpism finding their place in the melody, only to be sung and forever treasured in the minty aftertaste of raindrops on twilit grass. Their flesh demanded to be melt in the heat of one another, and then the beads to be intertwined as they bloomed into smoldering flames.

Kiara pulled back but the memory of her taste was imprinted on JJ's lips, leaving him breathless.

"I love you"

They could be eachother's reason.

"Love you too, idiot"

For as long as it made sense.

#outer banks #obx #outer banks netflix #jiara #jj maybank #jj x kiara #jj x kie #kiara carrera #jiara july #kiara outer banks #obx kiara #jj outer banks

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gg-astrology · 6 years ago

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TWICE Im Nayeon - Overview

Hello! 💕 I’m back at it again with a TWICE overview!! 💕 Today I’m trying to work on Nayeon, Jeongyeon and Dahyun!! 💕💕 By the time I’m done with Nayeon’s though-- it’s quite late ;; So I’ll probably finish Jeongyeon and Dahyun’s tomorrow!! 💕💕💕 But please-- have a Virgo cutie pie today!! 💕💕💕

Disclaimer: For unknown Birthtimes we’re going to use the standard 12.00pm --and as always, please read with your own discretion! 💕

September 22nd, 1995

Virgo Sun (3rd Decan/Taurus)

god don’t you just love a Virgo sun goddess??💕💕

Especially in the third decan -- the Virgo/Taurus Venusian beauty is such a joyful chill lovely being

Out of all the decans-- Virgo/Taurus may be the more social of the bunch, not overly social like a buzz buzz butterfly, but gracious and sociable.

People approach them because they feel comfortable to be around-- they may look after you, but they also expect you to look after yourself. With a certain Venusian quality to them-- they may be adept at taking care of others in a nurturing way as well.

Caring-- basically, but not like-- naggy about it. Atleast not necessary, there’ll be moments sometimes where it comes out because they DO care about others and can’t help but worry for them-- but generally-- they may be the chillest-- willing to let things slide, but also stubborn in some area as well.

Criticality is still there but it isn’t super prominent-- it comes out when it’s necessary, good listeners and a comforting shoulder to cry on.

The type to tuck your hair behind your ear and put an arm comfortingly around your shoulder as they sit with you while you cry. That’s the kind of Virgo/Taurus decan is for people sometimes (*depends on other things as well)

Besides this-- Virgo in the 2nd decans also tend to be quite jovial. As in-- they’re fun loving, peaceful. Exudes a certain serenity to them despite the on-going anxiety/restlessness they feel as a mutable sign.

Sometimes you can’t even tell they’re anxious about something because they give so much stability/structure to others that people are distracted away from it.

Unlike the seriousness of Virgo/Capricorn decan or the curiousity/intellect of the Virgo/Virgo decan --- Virgo/Taurus tend to focus more on the self. Self-satisfaction, self-stability. Finding happiness in the small trivial things in life (maybe a butterfly, something they’ve seen today) -- it helps with curbing some of their anxiety but also to find balance.

With the grace of Venusian decan they can often have an optimistic ‘I can do it!’ attitude. It’s a joy to be around--- because Virgos are essentially workers, they like to be productive.

This sense of positivity to their general attitude/disposition certainly helps with landing them in many roles bc others react well when they seem co-operative/enthusiastic about it!

Y know-- like it’s their disposition. Besides being a ‘solid’ person to depend on bc of how calming/straight-forward thinking they can be (looking on what to do/step-by-step for the future) the type to go ‘ok, let me see if you’re feeling ok first. Then we can work on what to do next together’

Virgo/Taurus decan combines efficiency with hard-work. They aren’t afraid to work hard or put in effort in order to get to a stable/solid ground again. They’re loyal-- first and foremost. So if you think they’re going to ditch you you thought wrong.

They’re earnestly the type to help you up a semi-difficult hike, offering you their hand so you can get on the same level and work your way up together. Trusting and dedicated-- it’s that solid/stable core beneath their positive personality that makes them so likeable to many people.

Nayeon’s Virgo Sun in the 2nd decan can also be the kind of person whom-- when confronted with a problem, takes the time to process different perspective of how to approach it.

Virgos pay attention to the details-- and in this case the details have more to do with a ‘situation’ at hand and how to tackle it. They aren’t looking at the result, or what would become after. They’re looking at the thing ‘solid’ thing they can grasps--- the problem/situation/thing that needs to be solved-- and then work on the process of resolving it in the way that they can.

Honesty and personal integrity comes with this placement--- as with many other Virgos-- those with Virgo Sun places a high expectancy to be as honest and ‘pure’ as possible. Pure-hearted in a way, they don’t want to be misunderstood or place other’s expectations too high/low unless they can take it/come through with it for them.

Disappointment-- not just from themselves but from others around them is a harsh thing to take. So they set their own margins and work on succeeding in what they can do, working on things step by step until they can achieve the ‘overall’ picture as a ‘success’.

With Mercury and Venus influencing her Sun -- there’s an expectancy and general happiness at ‘serving’ others. More so than the other decans-- this is about social/personal responsibility. Their actions influences those around them, and taking too much/too little is something they may be aware of.

It’s about the equilibrium y know? Like Taurus-- imagine the bull minding it’s own business grazing on the field. It’s not hurting anyone unless threatened, and if it sees something that threatens it it doesn’t back down.

Being considerate of others, if you want others to be considerate to yourself is also a thing they may be attuned with. Subconsciously or not-- there’s social etiquette or expectancy they agree with/work within in order to create a ‘system’ that benefits everyone.

It’s about being fair and playing fair in this case-- where they can see, how certain action/inconsideration may hurt others so they hold back from doing so. They’re socially conscious in a way that they may not notice-- often it may just be intuitive (Mercury/Venus) and how they’re naturally picking up on these things without realizing.

Trust that with the combination of Virgo/Taurus -- if something is seriously wrong/hurting/against their own values. They’re the type to politely point out why in a critical and straight-forward manner.

Most of the time, they’re mild-mannered and peaceful. But that doesn’t mean she’s a push-over. She knows when and when not to do something-- she just has strong social nuance to her as well (people smart, but more like sociable smart. Naturally popular as well)

Because she does have this Taurusean decan with her Virgo Sun--- there’s a strong inclination for Virgo/Taurus to seek pursuits that allows their creativity to shine through, or show them in a good light. Fashion, make up -- certain ‘materials’ that can enhance/showcase this creative pursuit is also something that may also interest them as well.

Nayeon’s beautiful singing voice might also be attributed to how many Mercury decans and Venusian influences she has in her placements.

In her sun-- that talks about the self, ego, purpose, esteem/confidence-- finding a ‘purpose’ for yourself also attribute to being able to be creative and non-restrictive.

Virgos typically have pretty clear voices, depending on other things as well-- they can also have different shade/ranges to them.

With Virgo/Taurus in her Sun (and in her context) -- there’s a steady-marching beat to her progress upward. Virgos-- like every other Virgo decans, may have a certain personal standards and assessment of quality (external) to them. With Taurus in the mix-- it’s finding quality of life.

The main focus/goal of Virgo/Taurus is to find a high enough quality of work/life/personal philosophy that allows them to prosper at a ‘stable’ pace. It’s not about biting off more than you can chew, or putting herself in a place where she doesn’t have any ‘stability’. That’s a no-no since her anxiety would sky-rocket with how unstable her life is (and without support/socially as well -- Venusian sign after all)

It’s about finding personal contentment--- pushing from the internal out (nocturnal signs) starting with a good ‘thinking/mind-set’ that they can carry and revisit/re-energize from whenever they feel lost/unbalanced.

This internal ‘good mindset/thinking’ also helps with keeping the person humble, trying hard, friendly and not get big-headed.

Taurus curbs some of Virgo’s over-thinking and stress/worries that can be obsessive or pointless. It’s a breath of fresh air that decisively cuts off terrible habits (that she might still have) and open your perspective.

Simple questions like ‘Am I happy?’ or ‘Am I doing what makes me happy?’ --- simplification of things, certainly helps Virgo Suns out alot. Don’t overcomplicate it.

Besides this-- Virgo/Taurus can also be very very patient/tolerant people. Not to the extent that they TAKE everything you throw at them, but if it’s working towards a purpose that is personally fulfilling to them (light at the end of the tunnel) -- they can take a lot of pressure before they break (given that they have enough stability/nurturing around them as well)

Honestly, I’d say having the girls around her is such a big part of what keeps this Virgo from not being lonely.

Loneliness is always a thing that most Virgos suffer from. Isolated obsession/thoughts and can quickly become their personal demons sometimes, and increase anxiety/darkness inside of them that can affect their entire disposition quickly (like poison in the vein, spreading quickly).

Virgo/Taurus takes a lot of things on their own, but don’t let them be alone. Don’t let them be lonely or lost in their own over-bearing thoughts by themselves. Sometimes they can sink too deep too fast, getting ‘stuck’ in their own ‘what do/to do = despair’. Mutables are sensitive--- make sure to look after them too.

Last few notes on Virgo Sun in the Taurus decans-- they are amazingly warm-hearted and generous. Protective of those they love, but also appreciative of their efforts and ‘nature’. They’re the type of people (she’s the type of person) who doesn’t like pretenses or pretentiousness.

Approaching her truthfully as you are --- with your shyness, nervousness, etc. Is endearing and shouldn’t be seen as a flaw. Because they’re so accepting and generous-- they’re selective with people who come to them. People who are willing to listen, to let down part of their shield and let themselves believe that there’s love, hope and betterment in the world (this they can teach them, but only if that person lets them.)

Most of all--- they’re simply looking for people who are open and receptive. People who are just themselves, isn’t hiding or lashing out at others unnecessarily.

Isn’t putting on airs--- god, people who put on airs or ‘pretend’ to have/be something they’re not probably piss them off the most. Most Virgos wouldn’t even engage with them-- and that’s the same with Nayeon here.

You might think certain ‘pretenses’ like ‘let’s go on this holiday’ or ‘lets do something together’ is unnecessary--- but for Virgo/Taurus sometimes this is just a way to find fulfillment and emotional bond with people.

Given they aren’t the most emotional of people (by themselves, often logical/rational people more than you realize/when it comes to serious decisions) but this is engagement.

It’s something that creates memories or experiences with people, it’s something that isn’t showy/out-there but can make a huge difference in the dynamic if you indulge them or allow them to do this with you. They literally never ask for anymore more than just--- experiences with you, good memories and getting to know you better. This is all they ask for. So let them do it with you.

Leo Moon (3rd Decan/Aries)

Lovely!!! 💕 They are so lovely I love Leo Moons!! 💕💕💕💕

Leo brings a certain stability to the Virgo Sun above-- if all else fails, this Leo Moon will shut down everything else in order to get Shit Done even if it’s themselves/their own emotions (compartmentalize/internalize emotions sometimes)

Charming, affectionate and loyal --- Leo Moons don’t give themselves enough credit even when they deserve to be loved the way they want to be.

They are rather romantic, and sometimes they can often re-enact something out or speak to inanimate things if their other placement/aspects fit into that as well (kinda like, self-expression by themselves that makes others who observe them kinda go ????)

Leo is also a fire-moon, so self-expression is a big thing for this people. Particularly, when it comes to performing/performance-- these people may naturally attract people to them because of how naturally alluring they are.

Alluring as in their vitality and liveliness-- in the third decan of Aries-- it’s about will-power and ‘standing out’ even when they’re not doing anything.

Aries as a cardinal sign ‘leads’ others naturally-- it helps Leo’s ‘stability’ in a way that-- if others are lost/lose track of what to do-- this Leo/Aries can naturally ‘show’ them where to go/what to do even without doing anything ‘out of the norm’ themselves.

It’s -- well, Leo Moons aren’t always out-going by themselves. It’s more to do with comfort and personal fulfillment. They don’t have to be the center of attention-- even when they’re loud-- it doesn’t mean they want attention to be on them.

It’s more to do with how comfortable they are with the people around them, with themselves. How empowered they feel by the situation/environment or those around them/themselves.

It has to do with self-empowerment, how receptive people are to them. Because they can be sensitive and shy if people aren’t receptive to them-- and may often hold themselves back because of that as well.

The Lion isn’t the one who demands people respect them/abide to them. They rule by just being themselves, by being selected. They have a sense of self, but also has a respect for the public opinion as well. And Leo people are the same as well.

With that said-- there’s something to be said about Leo Moons because they like to be comical when they’re comfortable. They make expressions (self-expressive) they make jokes, they co-operate with you if you ask them for help with anything.

They’re generous people-- and with the Moon ruling emotionality, being able to offer a slice of happiness/joviality to others and being able to ‘give’ certain help fulfill a sense of Leo pride as well 💕

Often times, you might find yourself with a Leo Moon friend who although they stick to themselves-- is actually rather down-to-earth and chill to hang out with. Most Leo Moons don’t hold themselves above others, it’s just the impression they give off that deters people away sometimes.

But Leo Moons are people who re-affirms you, who gives you courage and strength, who looks you in the eye and tell you they believe in you.

They’re the type to celebrate your victories with you, cheer you on and genuinely encourage you to get out of your shell/insecurities. They can be insensitive when it comes to themselves-- but they are always supportive/encouraging when it comes to small victories with your progress as well.

The ‘noble’ nature of Leos when applied to social realms/people around them has more to do with how they protect and nurture those around them. Almost like a guardian, although childish/silly by nature-- they embody both of the kiddish side and the side that understands responsibilities as well.

Leo is a social sign y know, they have a domain they look after-- the people they care about, their joys/support-- these people mean alot to them. And their appreciation/acceptance of the Leo’s natural playfulness is something Leo Moon can be sensitive about.

The ‘controlling’ side of Leos that has to do with their fixed/fire nature-- the side that may be a little possessive or protective of others-- comes when it applies to themselves.

If they themselves feel needy, feels threatened, feel unappreciated or undeserving of something. They grow frustrated and sometimes-- they retain that energy inwards into personal frustration.

They can lash out sometimes-- but most of the time you might just see them being pouty/whiny or sulky. They may try to ‘lighten’ the topic even if it hurts them more than they let on.

Being ‘too’ emotional is still a thing they are wary of (fire signs and vulnerabilities smh)-- so if they feel like their burdens are affecting others emotionally as well-- they may sometimes freak out bc they don’t know how to go about it from there ksjdnkj

It’s cute... but also like, they can be a little demanding and needy too. They seek to ‘do right’ by people-- and that can become judging/trying to nudge others into a better direction for themselves the way they see it.

Leo Moon ultimately wants the best for someone they care about-- but sometimes they can be focused on ‘getting them out of this situation’ that they can miscalculate the long-term effect/consequence of it as well.

Kinda like.... this is a problem, the person is crying because of it. Leo Moon moves in to comfort and pull/nudge them to get out and solve that problem--- but the problem isn’t resolved with just face-value sometimes.

It might need a little more introspection, a little more self-evaluation. There may be reason why it lingered as long as it did for that person without the Leo Moon realizing that y know?

Some problems aren’t for them to solve-- but for the Leo Moons themselves, their own happiness and resolving immediate issues works best for them. Long-term problem/situations can be resolved over time-- they are a fixed sign after all.

If hurt by a situation-- they can sometimes retain or get hung up on it because it hurts them emotionally. With a fire/fixed sign, sometimes it’s about how they use that fuel to empower them forward.

There’s a natural inclination to ‘do’ things in order to move away from it, but they also need to learn how to resolve things fully within themselves.

They might not realize they are constantly referring/acting back on the problem in a cycle without resolving the issue that started everything, communication sometimes-- is something that they avoid because they want to just move past/be chill with everything even when it bothers them.

Kinda like if you had a bad experience with this one person--- you move on but you don’t forget. Yet somehow, the people around you realize you’re hurt about this more than YOU realize it. Your actions/words are sometimes referring back to that situation/experience.

Self-awareness is something the Leo can learn and benefit from. Because they can sometimes retain things without realizing-- and thus, learning how to take notice and be aware of their emotional burdens regarding social/others is also crucial from them.

It’s that urge to ‘make things right’ with Leos that makes them stay ‘stuck’ in a problem sometimes. It builds up frustration as well-- whether it’s from lack of action/progression or from unresolved issue/something they have to deal with.

Ok anyways... let’s talk about Leo/Aries again ksjsknk with Leo in the Aries decan-- these people can be quite daring as well.

With the power of Mars behind them, they are mischievous sometimes and also ambitious when they put their minds to it. Competitiveness should be done in fair-sports, and they’re someone who enjoys encouragements from others who are their ‘equals’ to motivate each other to do better and better each time.

Kinda like camaraderie-- in good sportsmanship it happens where you grow to be self-confident in yourself when you have good encouragement and competition around you as well.

It’s that built of trust, respect and reliance on each other’s strength that lifts up the Leo/Aries Moon on it’s own. They believe in other people’s strength, and when people believe in their strength that’s independent from them (self-reliant) they prosper best and shine bright as well.

They believe in the good hard grind-- since working hard allows them to relax and be less stressed as well. A good day at work means that they’ve shown/given their best/what they’ve got. The reward at the end-- is just simply good feelings and enjoying each other’s company without jealousy and pretenses.

These people are more active than they realize-- with Aries as their decan, they sometimes don’t realize their sociability power is alot more than they give themselves credit for. On off days-- they can sometimes spend period of time adventuring with friends, take a chance, travel. See things.

Leo Moon also loves learning, new things, experiences. They’re enthusiastic even if it’s low-key, but genuinely curious about growing/seeing new sights and places and people that they haven’t seen/met before. They’re much more ‘daring’ than they realize this way as well skjnskjkss

One thing that should be note-- is that Leo/Aries would want to see whatever they put their effort/hard work into bear fruits and actually manifest into palpable thing. There’s no happiness in something that flunks and fails-- they like results.

Their fiery part can sometimes surface a lot more when they see something going wrong despite their efforts into it --- the controlling part of Leo comes out full-force, managing and organizing the process until they can get the ‘result’ they wanted.

With tremendous power-- it comes to say that they may often prefer those who are clever and insightful. Scorpios in particular-- tend to soothe this Leo/Aries nature better because 1) they are just as intense and 2) they understand their work-ethic, yet they are much cooler emotionally than the Leo as well.

It’s a sense of balance-- since Aries/Libra would talk about that as well. But finding someone who ‘complements’ or balance the enthusiastic Leo Moon well with their insights and temperament makes it easier for the Leo/Aries to ‘be themselves’ and move forward the way they want--

They ‘trust’ the other person will be able to match them independently as well, and they don’t have to ‘slow down’ or ‘hold back’ with them.

Libra Mercury (3rd decan/Gemini)

We’re finally at the meat of the placements, with Nayeon she gives off a lot of Venusian vibes because she has it in her Mercury and ALSO her Venus (1st decan there)

Besides this-- it also complements her Virgo/Leo combination as well. As someone who’s genuinely curious about others, and often an excellent listener --- she knows when to give advice and when to NOT.

This is important, because most people don’t know when to NOT give advice. A part of being good at communicating is knowing what others need -- and in some cases, learning how to NOT give an opinion/advice is more helpful to the overall progress than doling it out anyways.

It’s not about ‘predicting’ what others want/need to hear-- whether we think it’s the cold harsh truth or soothing helpful words-- Libra is about being truthful and honest.

It’s not about holding the self back, but rather having the space/time to process and learn from different perspective in order to make a decision in the end.

It’s organization and effective planning essentially-- before you decide to ‘tackle’ or ‘do’ something about a situation --- you might want to see it through and get a clear plan out first.

As a cardinal sign and ‘doing things’-- Libra in this sense is more about gathering information and processing them.

‘Action’ doesn’t always have to be palpable like how we see Aries/Capricorn do it-- ‘action’ can also be ‘pre-action/planning’ and internal action taking place.

With Libra Mercury -- there’s always a consideration for ‘others’, what’s it like in other people’s shoes? How would they see it, how would they feel

A lot of the Libra’s indecision has more to do with being ‘thorough’-- or rather, as ‘thorough’ as they can get (perfectionist streak)

They like to weigh perspectives, often times they can also fear retaliation/feedback to an extent --- if someone starts pointing out something that ‘attacks’ them (the consequences/repercussions)-- they feel guilty about not putting that into consideration (that’s on their work-ethic)

On the other hand, they work extremely hard to be thoughtful and considerate-- going the extra mile to make sure it comes across the way they want it to be. Crafted, mindful.

Their intention is there-- but if the consequences/repercussion happens (being attacked or not being heard, things escalating) then they’ll have to resort to different tactics--- persuasion and manipulation to get what they want (charm)

It can be minor-- or it can be dangerous. But there’s also a sense of passive-aggression sometimes in the way they direct this outwards.

Persuasiveness is only half the thing, the other half is compulsion and sometimes that requires ‘intent’ that stems from passive-aggressiveness.

Sometimes-- it can just be being Diabolical. If you think your Libra friends are nice, think again. They know what they’re doing behind the scene even if they aren’t overt about it.

@rkkive just described this to me: ‘presenting it to them as a better option; ‘why have this when you can have that?”’

That pretty much describes persuasion tactics they sometimes use. Whether it’s jokingly, serious, just for fun or whatever purpose its for. Sometimes its just a point of strategy--- nothing personal, it’s just how to come out on top after all (don’t like losing)

Whilst people talk a lot about Libra’s ability to compromise-- more prominently is in their ability to NOT compromise but rather switch tactics. Distract, divert or smarter/less-overt way to get what they want without letting people know that their feathers are ruffled. They’re immensely smart-- but it’s up to your own wit whether you ‘catch’ them or not.

For all the saying that Libra is peaceful or ‘pushovers’ -- sometimes they’re just plain bratty.

There’s no denying this-- the ‘peaceful’ aspect is more about ‘equilibrium’ and frustration with the lack of it can cause a lot more mayhem and diabolical nature to come through.

They’re only ‘pushovers’ as much as they just let people ‘think’ that about them-- whilst they know there’s inner power/control in how they work/present certain things to get what they want in the end.

They like debate, they like Winning. You think Aries are the only ones who can fight? Think again. Libras are also fighters but only when the fight is in their court. Why try to fight in someone else’s when you have a better chance winning in yours? It’s strategy (think smart)

Anyways-- Libra/Gemini decan are very chatty, sometimes they’re just easy to talk to. People might approach and think they’re close, reveal things to them without Nayeon even asking.

The effect of Venus/Mercury honestly gives you a person who essentially--- finds themselves in the middle of ‘locals’ telling them their stories without even asking for it. There’s an easy-going nature and trust-worthiness about her because of how ‘truthful’ she seems-- reliable and dependable by others.

Yet at the same time, for the Libra/Gemini themselves-- they may be taken off-guard by ‘why’ people are telling them these things because to them-- they are just being cordial y know?

When there’s Gemini involved, gestures can sometimes be used to communicate efficiently (if Leo Moon brings excitement, sometimes it’s in her motions/showing excitement as well) rapid conversations over long-period of time is common for people of these decan.

Whilst Libra of other decans can sometime tire or need rest-- Libra Mercury in the 2nd decan can talk for looong period of times if they’re genuinely interested and kept stimulated by their conversation partner.

Part of why Nayeon is so well-loved is how well she presents herself right? She’s a smart lady, tactful and funny. She knows when to be uplifting, comforting, when to be respectful. She knows boundaries bc she has them herself, and she understand/relies on others to support her as well.

Partnership is a big part in Libra’s behaviour-- no it doesn’t always mean it has to be ‘romantic’ or ‘clingy’ -- it just means you rely on others for mental rapport as well as your own. That you become ‘strength’ to others in some ways-- because Libra Mercury may often find themselves helping others more than themselves/disclosing parts of themselves sometimes.

With this said, Libra Mercury is a good placement because her head is screwed on to follow rational, logical reasoning rather than emotions/feelings the heart sometimes.

Her distance-- the gathering of perspective-- also serves to make a ‘bigger view’ plan of action to those involved/could benefit from.

Instead of behaving brashly-- she may be more of the type to argue to wait, or strategize/plan better before moving forward with something (voice of reason/patience).

This rational/logical part also means that sometimes-- she’s ‘colder’ than we see her as well. Knowledge is power, and sometimes you have to be able to make ‘cold’ decisions in order to move/progress forward.

With the combination of Virgo/Libra-- I don’t doubt she’s much more logical, critical and rational than she lets on (a smart lady!) 💕

Libra Venus (1st Decan)

Next we’re onto the lovely Libra Venus!! 💕 With Libra being domicile here, AND in it’s first degree-- Nayeon gets the full effect of Libra in her placement 💕💕💕

Kindness and charitable quality is often a hallmark of these people-- although less loud and more understated than Sagittarius/Piscean/Jupiterian usually (charitable/generousity) -- the ‘kindness’ that Libras shows to those around them and their social/environment often touches the heart of others.

They’re subtle, down to earth. Often times they garner admirers to them because of how chill and ‘next-door’ type they are. These people often comes across as someone who you can meet in your everyday life, accessible yet mentally and emotionally occupied skjksnks

As in -- YOU might think you stand a chance, but in reality these Libra Venusian are kinda pre-occupied already with their mental engagement. They’re an air-sign, air cardinal even. If you think they’re going to wait around for you to ‘catch’ them then you thought wrong.

Their air-ness gives them a mental kind of engagement. To love a Libra you also have to have their interest first, before they capture yours. A part of what Libra’s like is that they aren’t limiting themselves-- so if you think you’re good enough for them, whoops maybe you thought wrong because they haven’t seen everything you have to offer.

Certain things like your mannerism, your lack of thought, certain actions can turn them off just like that. It takes a while for relationship to build and develop-- at least to the point where they’re ‘alright’ being with someone. This is the realm of the mind-- how are you supposed to Know you like someone until you can see them clearly for who they are, how they act, or any little thing that might piss you off??

Think logically--- don’t be blinded by your rose-googled vision. Some people let traits of their lovers slide because they were pre-occupied with loving them already, but that might turn out to be more of a ‘trouble’ point when the rose-google leaves y know? The Libra Venusian makes sure that they aren’t compromising themselves, that this person really isn’t going to piss them off or annoy them in the future.

You have to have a certain stability/certainty in order to ‘trust’ someone. And a Libra ‘trusting’ you and being with you in a relationship is only the first step to them opening the door for feelings to bubble up, y know?

That’s like.... you’re doing prep-work, ‘intro to liking’ course instead of falling into a relationship right now immediately. These things takes time and effort-- co-operation and concentration. You have to be on equal grounds and understanding with the Libra.

And yeah, maybe it’s not the most romantic thing if you’re a very gung-ho romantic person who has a lot of feelings. But trust that it has it’s perks-- if a relationship doesn’t work out, then the ending will be mutual/less hurtful. And if it continues-- then it’ll be stable, strong and grounded/balanced in how you work together.

It’s not all cut and dry-- you just gotta learn how to appreciate the quality they bring to the relationship as well. They ARE kind and often fair to you, and they ARE willing to listen, learn, adjust and accommodate you with their generosity. They just aren’t ‘fooled’ by the rose-googled vision. So you have to accept that about them as well.

Their willingness in particular --- is a quality you should consider as part of their best trait. They’re willing to try things out for you, with you. They’re willing to listen and possibly work things out. As long as you have the same kind of decency, respect and gentleness they show you. Alot of the time they can appreciate what YOU bring, just as long as you appreciate what they bring (complement yours) as well.

Being dismissive of a Libra’s effort and strength-- their subtle charm and offers is something they WILL probably be offended by. The thing above about ‘decency’ is important--- because often times, the Libra WILL have visions for where the relationship is going and what to expect.

They’re planners and analyzers-- if they feel like you’re hurting them, out to hurt them or is taking advantage of them somehow/not pulling your weight-- they WILL become passive-aggressive and more resentful as well to retaliate (mirror/reflection).

I really can’t understate how much Libra Venus will share with you -- personal, objective, anything really. If they trust you, and like you-- they will be generous with you to the point where you essentially have someone who cares about you in a way you’ve never had before (partnership)

This isn’t like a motherly/fatherly or sibling ‘nurture’ -- this is a partnership nurture. Where you’re on equal grounds, there’s no ‘familial’ relationship to rely on. They’re just-- great at making sure you know where you stand with them when this is the case.

With the combination of Leo as well-- Nayeon may often be a good nurturer as well as someone who likes to be nurtured. This in essence is ‘sharing’ -- sharing of affection, sharing of thoughts/rapport and trust. This is how she self-expresses her affection for others-- being considerate, taken care of.

Being thoughtful and mindful, complementing each other in ways they ‘make up’ for each other. It’s about that partnership--- and appreciation for what SHE has (Leo Moon) that the other person DOESN’T have that makes them ‘fit’ together well.

Scorpio Mars (1st Decan)

Ooooof we’re finally here at Scorpio Mars!!

With Scorpio Mars-- there’s a high concentration power, self-will and self-drive. Sometimes they can be prone to ‘shutting down’ everything else and working on something-- tunnel-vision can sometimes be common in Scorpios

In Mars (where Scorpio is domicile) whenever they’re stressed they may also keep to themselves. Quiet-natured although not necessarily stressed, just collected. You can tell when a Scorpio Mars is concentrating because they become less talkative, more focused on action/doing and that’s usually a sign that this Mars is working here.

There’s no need to be so flashy or wordy when you just have to put your money where your mouth is. With Scorpio Mars-- it’s more about demonstration, doing, ‘proving’ that they can achieve the final product. Not to gloat in anyone’s face or anything like that-- but rather for their own personal satisfaction instead.

See-- because Scorpio is a water/fixed sign, there’s an essence of ‘deep-rooted’ ness to their nature. Work hard, be conscious. Put in effort. It’s intuitively driven in a way--- the part where they’re essentially the Terminators and doesn’t stop until their battery runs out.

Self-control is something that --- whilst they DO have (in the context that they’re self-contained) they’ll need to learn when ‘done is done’ and not get frustrated at themselves when they literally DON’T have to exert themselves so much to get the result.

In this case-- it’s more like the satisfaction of working harder but not necessarily smarter. These Scorpio Mars can be in it for the Good Grind-- and essentially, when they FEEL like they haven’t done ‘enough work’ to ‘deserve’ something, they get frustrated for this reason alone.

They WANT to grind-- that’s the thing. They’re closeted gym rats without talking about it. Whether it’s desk-work, research, essays, gym, work out etc. When it requires concentration it becomes ‘work’.

And ‘work’ in this sense isn’t the Capricorn thing where its WORK work-- this is work in the sense that they want to put their power/energy into it just for the sake of self-expression, of being able to do so and ‘work’ on something. This is a love for the PROCESS of working, not necessarily the result. They LIKE ‘working hard’ -- that expulsion of energy and getting/grabbing a result from their own power.

Y know, like instead of seeing it as something that would eventually float up to them without doing anything-- this is more about the power to DO something in order to get it. To not wait around for it to happen but rather-- be in CONTROL of the situation and get shit done about it.

With Scorpios it’s like they seek external control through bringing the internal out. Compared to Taurus-- who seeks internal control through the external. They are in essence-- oppositions in this case.

That’s why when the Scorpio Mars are the quietest-- when they’re cool and controlled on the external is when they’re keeping themselves from dealing out the final blow. And that’s when they’re essentially the scariest as well-- because Scorpio will Not mince itself up for others.

They can be quite competitive-- and possessive-- but quietly so. They don’t necessarily feel ok with airing their dirty laundries or every feelings they have. Especially ones that they’re aiming to ‘overcome/achieve or win’ over.

This plays a lot in their concentrating power as well-- as they can sometimes be ‘obsessed’ with something and put their concentration on that instead. There may be phrases where she just gets into THIS thing in particular and binge on it. Things like that can happen as well.

Since they’re intuition heavy-- sometimes they can close their eyes and just pick from gut-feelings as well. If all else fails-- if their Libras gets too much, their Virgo too buzzed and their Leo has left the building--- this Scorpio Mars makes the final decision.

As a singleton in her chart-- everything else might be measured against this Scorpio Mars as well. As in -- her Virgo, her Leo and her Libra will have to measure up to this Scorpio Mars that can be prominent in her self. Sometimes secretive, self-controlled/contained and somewhat will-full. She’s much more stubborn (Leo/Scorpio) than she realizes.

Conclusion

Not only is she so lovable-- she retains a youthful energy to her (child-like) because her Sun is opposition to Saturn (Pisces)

There’s three things to talk about here, first is that ‘no im an adult but im a YOUNG adult’ energy about her-- yes, responsibility and all that. But it emphasize the fun-loving part even more. There may be rejection of authority/regulations along the line-- making her quite the troublemaker/mischevious playful person she is as well

Second is that Virgo/Pisces opposition-- with this, her natural self-expression/showing vulnerabilities and emotionality is actually a little in conflict. As in-- she may be hyper-sensitive sometimes, but may not always like that about herself (mutable) sometimes working through this means confronting what Saturn in Pisces means.

People with Saturn in Pisces may often have had their creative self-expression stifled/told that it’s not what others wanted in the past. Thus, they stifle themselves going forward. In Nayeon’s case-- it might be to do with her singing abilities as a part of her creative expression (or the way she dress, present herself, her artistic work, whatever people nit-picked her on) --- they’re sensitive people. And thus-- sometimes it carries through into adulthood and insecurities about themselves. Feeling uncomfortable showing certain vulnerabilities/range of expression can also be common for these people as well.

Third--- is Sun/Saturn opposition which can often make someone a little more self-conscious of themselves. They may sometimes think a problem is a big spectacle that made them super embarrassed cause everyone’s laughing at them/saw it-- but is actually just them being harsh on themselves and less ‘serious’ than they think it is. They may also dwell a little on the insecure side-- a little hesitant to do things because there’s so many oppositions/consequences and they’re not an extremely confrontational/offensive person.

For the people with these placements--- allowing yourself to work through the blockage by self-affirmation and truly believing that you ‘deserve’ things is important to you. Your Saturn is holding/restricting your ego (the Sun) to a degree where it can sometimes be unnecessary. So working through that is important

There’s a fear of unblocking that and then finding out she isn’t so ‘humble’ anymore-- but these people also have to realize ‘confidence’ isn’t the same as ‘arrogance.’ They fear themselves the most-- their behaviour, of how people view them. Perhaps not realizing they were being ‘arrogant’ when they really weren’t (and should stop listening to people who tell/project their insecurities onto them)

Nayeon is also--- super smart?? like she has her Sun/Pluto (sextile) and Sun/Uranus (trine) but what’s holding her back is her own modesty/parenting herself (Sun/Saturn above) -- she can quickly resolve issues, figure out a puzzle, is quick-thinking when she wants to be (Virgo after all)

Her Moon is square to Pluto-- which can often exemplify this Leo Moon nature a lot. We see it in her persona, who she is. How playful and cute she is, affectionate and lovable. This is Leo Moon when it’s comfortable (which I’m glad she is!) at the same time-- there’s a distinctive private/public persona in which ‘controlling’ certain emotions and personal feelings is concerned.

She can be tumultuous sometimes, heightened emotions and lash out. Even when she doesn’t realize it-- because her Leo Moon/Scorpio Pluto is pretty strong-- it can create a very dynamic person who pushes/aggresses others even when her Libra keeps her back in other context/time.

Because her Mercury is square to Neptune/Uranus (Capricorn) -- she can often times take on a route that’s more ‘Capricornion’ sometimes-- that is, grounding herself in the root making things seems ‘objective’ or ‘favourable’ in the sense that it better business moves. Libra in essence can ‘adapt’ certain things to use with it’s tactic/intent-- and in this case, sometimes it’s using it’s foe as a point of attack/technique instead.

Alrighty 💕💕💕 That’s all for the lovely Nayeon!! 💕💕💕 I hope this makes you feel like you got to know her better, and kinda-- help out with understanding her a bit more!! 💕💕💕💕 Tomorrow I’ll have Jeongyeon and Dahyun out!! 💕💕

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