#this probably makes no sense but oh well this ideas rattled around for weeks

[gummybearstastelikesadness]

Danny in all his teenage glory decides that the best way to travel the world (and dimensions) is within a modified Fenton thermos. Like Jeannie’s bottle I Dream of Jeannie.

There’s a button on the inside (Just like the Portal! :D) so he can get out. Expect he’s modified the outside as well, so it has tires like an RC car and propellers like a drone. It also has its own mini defence and offence system, so Danny sometimes gets a little too close to super hero (vigilante)/villain fights.

He likes to use the speakers on the outside to insult villains in the town’s he goes too. He also insults heroes from time to time. He yells at superman for clone mistreatment and Batman for listening to my chemical romance.

Basically Danny goes around in a thermos shaped remote control vehicle, it’s actually RC car sized, that doubles as an RV. Leaving a trail of chaos in his wake.

[sluttyten]

sicheng, 10

Sicheng + “you’re mine. and i’ll make sure you don’t forget.”

“You’re mine, right?” Sicheng asks you one quiet night. He’d been asleep the last you checked, and you were playing with his hair as you sat up in bed watching TV.

“I didn’t know you were awake.” You brush your fingers over his cheek, and look down at him to find he’s already looking up at you. “And what are you talking about? Asking if I’m yours? Who else’s would I be? You are my boyfriend.”

Sicheng hums happily. “I was just dreaming.”

“What kind of dream?” You comb your fingers lightly through his hair. “A good one?”

Sicheng sits up, reaching up to clasp your hand in his against the side of his head. He turns his head to the side, brushing his lips against your wrist. He explains, “You were leaving me.”

“Well, I’m here, and I’m not planning to go anywhere.” You sigh gently as he continues kissing along your forearm. “Must’ve been a bad dream to make you all affectionate like this.”

His mouth skips over to your shoulder, tender. “Don’t like the thought of losing you.”

“Sicheng,” you twist your hold into his hair lightly, dragging his mouth up to yours. “What are you talking about?”

You’re not going anywhere. Even if he doesn’t understand the full extent of that, you don’t understand how he could think that you would leave him. You’re here. You’re in his bed. You’ve been with him for ages now, you’re in love with him. The only thing that makes this worry over your loyalty to him make sense is jealousy.

And now, as he moves over you, as you both slide down the bed so you’re lying on your back, you smile at him. “Was I leaving you for someone else in that bad dream?”

Sicheng scowls.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You laugh. “Who was it? One of the guys?”

You watch the green light of jealousy growing in his eyes. You prod him a little more, just wanting to see where you can push him.

“Oh,” you laugh again, “It was one of them, wasn’t it? Which one, I wonder? I mean, I’m close with Kun, so maybe he’s the one that would be able to—“

Sicheng crushes his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. “You’re mine,” he all but growls. “And I’ll make sure you don’t forget it.”

Sicheng has a thing for marking you up—living hickeys staining your skin, fingerprints bruised into your hips from holding too tight, raw red marks on your wrists and ankles from ropes that were just a bit too harsh on your skin, and the pretty drag of nails over your back or thighs or shoulders. He likes seeing his mark on you, and you like having them there, little reminders every time you look in the mirror, every time you feel the little twinge of sensitivity. Little reminders that he’s yours.

So the prick of his jealousy drives him to ravage you in the best way. His lips burning across your collarbones, chest, shoulders, over your breasts and ribs and your stomach.

“You’re mine,” he tells you when he comes back up for a kiss, and you cling to his hair, holding him there to taste his jealousy, rich on his tongue. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“You gonna tell them?” You ask him. “Or are you going to let them hear me? Hear how good you make me feel? I’ve overheard Kun, that time when we came home early, babe, and he could—“

Sicheng slaps his hand over your mouth. “Hush.”

You open your mouth, attempt to say something else, but then Sicheng reaches down and grabs your ass. “Mine, baby.”

He flips you over smoothly, dragging your ass up by your hips. You moan, rolling your ass back against him. Sicheng palms your ass, thumb dipping down in that crease, down to your pussy.

“You know no one else can make you feel as good as I make you feel, baby.” He plays with your pussy, massaging your ass, grinding against the back of your thigh where you can feel him growing harder and harder as you push back into his touch and do your best to not let him hear the needy moans you’re holding back, let him think he needs to give you more.

And it works because he does give you more.

Sicheng’s tip presses against your entrance beside his thumb, and he just stays like that, not moving, just teasing you with what you could have, and at last you break, at last you moan his name.

“That’s what I thought.” He sounds so filled with pride as you moan and attempt to twist around to look at him, but then his hands are on your hips with his bruising grip that you love to feel still the morning after, and he thrusts into you.

“Mine, you’re all mine. I don’t want you thinking about anyone else.” He leans forward to say the words directly into your ear. “When you feel my hands on your hips still tomorrow, and when the bruises from my lips linger in your skin for a week, you’re gonna think of me, baby, won’t you? Not Kun. Not Johnny. None of them. Just me.”

Each word, he punctuates with a deep thrust, the smack of skin on skin. He straightens up, giving himself a better angle to drive you wild.

You get off on the ripple of slight pain as he drags his nails from your hips down the sides of your thighs, as he starts fucking you with sharp snaps of his hips against your ass.

You reach under yourself to touch your clit, and your moans leave your lips in raspy breaths. Your body rocks forward on your knees with each thrust, and the headboard of the bed rattles against the wall, loud enough that if anyone else was home in the dorm tonight, they would definitely know what was going on. But it’s just you and Sicheng, just the way you like it.

Sicheng cums first, quicker than you expected, though probably driven there by his jealousy, the idea of leaving you marked up and dripping with his cum. He pulls halfway out, so when he draws back to sit on his ankles, his cum oozes out of your still desperate to be filled pussy.

“No, no,” you moan, clenching, trying to hold his load inside you.

“You want more? Want my cum in you, stuffing you full? Say it, baby. Say it and I’ll give you more.” Sicheng drags his fingers between your legs, collecting his cum. “Whose are you, baby girl?”

“I’m yours. Only yours.” It is something that was never really in doubt at all.

“That’s right,” Sicheng says brightly. “All mine. Now turn over for me.”

You fall into your side, twisting quickly into your back with your legs still spread for him. Sicheng fingers his cum back inside you, swirling his thumb against your clit while his fingers keep working his cum back into your needy pussy, and when he’s satisfied with that, he takes his fingers away, and fills you with his still erect cock again.

Your nails drag over his shoulders and back, surely marking him up in your own way, and he buries his head against the sensitive skin of your chest, sucking and biting. His hips clap against your ass, and your thighs and hips ache as he pushes your legs higher and farther apart so he can hit deeper and

You cum with a cry of his name, fingernails pricking his skin, and that sharp pain brings about his second orgasm. Your bodies keep moving together on auto, chasing after the sweet ecstasy of each other, until at last Sicheng slips out of you, and he falls to the side, trapping one of your legs beneath him.

“How was that?” He asks you, “Do you feel good? You did good, looked so pretty on my cock. Took me so well.” He strokes some of your hair back out of your face, kisses your cheek. “I just hate the idea of you not being mine. Please, don’t ever leave me.”

“I love you, and you have absolutely nothing to worry about, Sicheng.” You kiss him again, pressing against his chest, sliding your arm over him. “I am at my happiest when I’m with you. In every possible way, I’m happy, and I know that I belong with you because like you said, I’m yours, but you know what, you’re mine too. You’re like the other half of me, the stars to my sun, the light to my dark. You’re mine, too Dong Sicheng.”

“I’m yours.” He kisses you, and squeezes his arms around you, embracing you tightly to his chest. His heart beats against yours, his stomach and chest and legs are so close to your skin that there’s not a space in between.

You know in the morning your chest will be covered in bruises the shape of his mouth, and you know that you should really check out the scratches you left down his back, but for now you stay like this, tangled together in each other’s arms, hearts pounding and happy in the knowledge that you belong entirely to each other.

Requests are now closed! Thank you to everyone who sent these in, I’m just finishing the last drabble requests in my inbox!

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

Part 2 baby, I'll put these up on my ao3 soon as well so they're in one place together

-------

"Dad... you're dead."

Jack laughed. He probably shouldn't have, Danny seemed to be very genuine in his assessment, and Jack recognised that he should probably take this more seriously. But still, dead?? It was laughable.

"Come on Danny be serious." Danny's face remained stoic, "I'm not dead, I'm right here."

"You're a ghost, dad." Danny's lips were pressed tight, his entire body tense. "You died."

Jack was feeling a little ill at this point, was Danny okay? Was there a ghost messing with his head? He leaned toward Danny and grabbed his hand, it was cold, Danny's hands were always cold.

"Listen to me son, you're not talking sense, there's probably a ghost somewhere tha-"

Danny stood up fast, impossibly fast, his chair skidded behind him and toppled over.

"No! Dad can you just- how did you get to bed last night?" He asked.

Jack hadn't been expecting the question, he'd gone to bed... the usual way right? Like he always did, took a shower, brushed his teeth, got into his pyjamas, kissed his wife goodnight, although for some reason the details felt a little fuzzy.

But before he could answer Danny continued.

"When did we leave the party?"

Party? Jack's brow furrowed, oh the party! It was his 50th, how could he forget his own party, had he had that much to drink?

Oh, oh of course. He'd gotten drunk and done something stupid, said something upsetting. That's why everyone was mad at him, that's why last night was foggy.

Danny kept going, he sounded frustrated, angry, but his voice cracked a little. He was upset, oh boy Jack must have done something truly awful.

"What happened after the toast?"

The toast... He had just blown out the candles on the enormous cake Vlad had bought for him, ah that's right, Vlad had been there! He'd hired the venue, planned the whole party, it had been a surprise.

He had handed him a drink...

Danny asked another question, Jack knew it was the last, it felt heavy and final, it didn't even sound like a question.

"What's the date today."

Jack knew the date, of course he knew the date, it was the day after his birthday why wouldn't he know? He'd never been particularly good with dates but not even he could forget his own birthdate.

He glanced over to the calendar on the wall, just in case, he had a sneaking suspicion this was some kind of a trick question.

Jazz was the one to mark off the days, she used it to keep track of her assignments and her tutoring sessions. Each day would be marked with a tidy little line, not an X because they had 'a negative association with failure' or... something. He didn't really understand a lot of Jazz's ideas.

The days were marked off up to June the 18th... the 18th, it should have been the 10th. His birthday was yesterday, on the 9th, today should be the 10th.

How could he have missed a whole week? Maybe this was a joke, a way to get back at him for getting drunk and embarrassing everyone.

But this... didn't feel like a joke.

Maddie's sobs hadn't felt like a joke, Jazz's silence hadn't felt like a joke.

Danny's eyes gouged into him. Danny had always been an awkward kid, he took after Jack in that way, he was shy when he was young, always had difficulty maintaining eye contact. He had no such difficulty right now. They were so bright, had they always been so bright?

It was unsettling.

Why couldn't Jack remember what happened after the toast...

The drink had tasted strange, bitter. He never particularly liked champagne, he assumed that it was normal. Vlad had been smiling, his teeth were sharp... his eyes...

Danny's hands were clasped together tightly, his knuckles bumping against his lower lip as they shook. His gaze had shifted from Jack's face to the gravy-stained tablecloth.

"You're dead. I'm sorry, I know this is hard, I know you still feel like everything is the same but it isn't. You... you're a ghost, dad. Not the kind you're used to, you're just a haunting spirit right now, nobody can see you, nobody can hear you. You can't interact with anything, not yet."

Danny dropped his hands away from his face and looked at him sadly. Jack felt as though there was more to his expression, but he'd never been particularly good at reading people. Vlad had always been better at that sort of thing, it often felt like Vlad could speak a whole other language Jack simply couldn't understand.

Vlad... something was tickling the back of his mind but he couldn't quite grasp it, like a word on the tip of his tongue.

Vlad had given him a drink. Vlad had smiled. It looked like a real smile, but Jack felt like... there had been something more to it, Jack had never been good at reading people... Vlad had smiled, his teeth were sharp, his eyes... red, they were red.

The champagne was bitter. He could almost still taste it.

Jack jumped to his feet, startling Danny as he balled his hands into fists.

"Vlad." he growled, Danny breathed a sad sigh.

"Yeah, it was Vlad, he-"

"He was overshadowed by a ghost!" Jack roared, "It's still got him doesn't it? Mads is out there looking for-"

"No! Fuck, dad- SIT. DOWN."

Jack sat. Without thought or question. Danny's command was loud, not deafening but loud in a different way, like he'd heard it through not just his ears but his entire body. It reminded him a little of the concerts he and Maddie used to frequent back in their college days, where the music was so loud it vibrated through them, head to toe.

It took him a moment to realise he was shaking, Jack always considered himself fearless, and that was generally true, so true that he almost didn't recognise the feeling as it swept coldly over him.

Danny closed his eyes and rubbed at them in frustration, Jack was almost certain he caught a flash of vibrant green beneath his fingers.

"I'm sorry I... I didn't want to use that- I didn't mean," he sighed heavily. "You just never listen."

He was listening now, if not simply because he felt too shaken to do anything else. His thoughts rattled around trying to piece themselves together, something within him was screaming like he'd just touched a hot surface or a live wire. Danger danger danger danger.

"Vlad wasn't being overshadowed," said Danny, leaning against the kitchen bench, his body almost sagging with exhaustion. "It's... a lot more complicated than that."

"I can't be a ghost." Jack muttered, indignant, "They're monsters, they don't even look human. They don't wake up and hug their wives, they don't want to sit down and eat breakfast with their daughters."

"Not all ghosts are the same." Danny's voice was quiet, it had none of that fierce intensity like before. What was that? It wasn't normal, it definitely wasn't human. Jack glared up at him as a hot flush of rage washed over him.

"How do I know you aren't the ghost. That you haven't done... something to my family, to make them think I'm dead!" Jack growled.

He wanted to stand up, but under Danny's icy stare he felt locked into his seat. His expression was mostly blank, but Jack could see a twitch in his brow and tilt to his lips. He could see it, but he couldn't read it. Ghosts were easier to read than this, ghosts weren't usually very subtle.

"Not all ghosts are the same." Danny repeated, his voice was so quiet now, tentative and fragile.

He walked over to the sink, Jack wanted to get up, wanted to keep his eyes on Danny and the ghost that might be controlling him, but he couldn't seem to make his legs work. The command still rang in his ears. Sit. Down.

"We aren't going to get anywhere like this." Danny filled up a glass of water and placed it in front of Jack. "Pick it up."

It wasn't a command, Danny's expression had softened once more.

"Please."

Jack narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but he did as requested. He could feel the cold glass in his hand, the condensation on his fingers, but as he tried to lift it... the glass remained as it was. His hands simply slipping over it.

He tried again, and again, it wasn't as though it was slippery, or heavy, or even that he couldn't grip it. The glass felt normal, his hands felt normal, the glass just wouldn't... move.

Gritting his teeth in frustration he grabbed the glass and squeezed with all his strength, it didn't break. The water didn't even ripple.

"This is a trick..." said Jack. "It's just a trick..."

Red eyes and a bitter drink, people stood around him, faces blurred. He was falling, someone screamed.

Danny started rooting around in a nearby drawer, he pulled out a ragged newspaper cutout. The ink had run in some spots, he placed it down in front of Jack.

It was an obituary. It was his obituary. Tear stained and rough around the edges, torn from the rest of the paper instead of cut, he skimmed over it, almost unable to take it in.

Jack Jonathan Fenton... age 50... survived by his wife Maddie and two children Danny and Jazz...

There was a list of his degrees, complete and incomplete, engineering, physics, mathematics, it listed the names of his high school and university, his reputation as a local ghost hunter, a blurb about his dedication to his work and his love for his family. Jazz had written it, he could tell. She was so good with words.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, please." Danny's voice cracked, his eyes were bright with tears as he righted the knocked over chair and sat back down across from Jack, gripping his hand tightly.

Vlad leaning over him, Vlad gripping his hand, he was smiling, his teeth were sharp. Glass smashed, he'd dropped the drink. It was bitter.

He could almost still taste it.

"No..."

Maddie running past him in the lab, like he wasn't even there, crying. Jazz at the breakfast table, not seeing not hearing, eyes red and puffy. They hadn't looked at him, not once had they looked at him. They couldn't see him, they really couldn't see him.

But Danny could.

"If... I'm a ghost," the words tasted foul and heavy on his tongue, "and you aren't... why can you see me?"

Danny sighed, still holding tight to Jack's hand.

"It's complicated." he said, staring down at the table.

"Vlad, he did this. I'm..." Jack whispered. "But his eyes were... he was overshadowed. It was a ghost that-."

"He wasn't overshadowed." Danny kept his gaze averted, his expression was hard and cold. "It was the accident with the proto-portal, it changed him. He-"

Danny choked up, tears were slipping from his eyes, he gasped a few unsteady breaths.

"He blamed you, he blamed you and wanted to kill you, he's been trying since the attack at the reunion. I tried to protect you dad I tried I tried I'm sorry, I didn't know about the poison until it was too late I'm sorry, I couldn't get there in time I couldn't-"

Danny's sobs shook his whole body, he buried his head in his arms, shaking hands still clasped around Jack's.

Red eyes, sharp teeth, the reunion...

"The Wisconsin Ghost," how had he not seen it? "He's the Wisconsin Ghost."

Then another thought struck him. He looked at his son like he'd never seen him before, sobbing loudly, painfully, his body wracked with spasms as he choked on every breath. He had been trying to protect him, all this time he had known and was protecting him, alone.

When Jack had been told to sit, compelled to sit, unable to move and paralysed with terror, had he imagined the glint of green in his son's eyes? He knew a ghost with green eyes, who could incapacitate someone with a single terrifying scream, who was mortal enemies with the Wisconsin Ghost, who claimed to be a protector, who looked just like a kid.

Danny had been in the lab that day, when the portal turned itself on.

Had the portal turned itself on?

Jack stood, his legs finally acting of his own accord once more, and he rounded the table to pull his son into a tight hug.

"Oh Danny, it was you, the ghost boy, it was you."

"I'm sorry dad, I'm so sorry." The words wouldn't stop pouring from his lips, tumbling over and over. Jack's chest grew tight from the pain in his voice.

He ran a hand over his son's hair and shushed him gently.

"It's okay Danny-boy, it's not your fault, you did your best. I'm so proud of you son, we should have realised, you did so much all on your own, I'm so proud of you." It was Jack's turn to start blubbering.

"I should have told you." said Danny, voice muffled against Jack's chest.

He and Maddie always talked about all of the things that they would do to Phantom if they had ever caught him, they'd talked about it during family dinners. Danny had sat there listening, the whole time he had been right there listening.

"I... understand why you didn't." said Jack.

Danny had stopped shaking, he pulled away from Jack and wiped his eyes.

"Vlad told mom that he'd been overshadowed, she's been out hunting for the Wisconsin Ghost all week." Danny sniffed, "I wanted to tell her the truth, I wanted to so badly but Vlad he... he said he'd go for Jazz next. Said if he got past me once he could do it again. I couldn't risk it."

Jack had never understood why a ghost would choose to remain tethered, why they couldn't just move on and leave the living to go about their business in peace. He always told himself that when he died he would never return, he would take what was to come with open arms.

But that wasn't what happened. He'd gotten up to start his day as usual, but he was already dead. There had been no choice, and were he given one now, he didn't think he could bring himself to take it.

His family still needed him, how could he leave them behind? It wasn't wrong if he stayed to protect his family, right?

Jack placed a heavy hand on Danny's shoulder, and gently knocked his chin with a large fist.

"Buck up kiddo, I might need to get a handle on this whole bein' a ghost thing but when I do," Jack's voice dropped into a low, dangerous growl and, for just a brief moment, his eyes flashed a vibrant green, "I'm not gonna let him hurt anyone else."

[pastafossa]

so this is something i came up with for myself but it is very easily adapted, so: please consider a night out at josie's with the boys, and matt getting absolutely flustered as hell out of seemingly nowhere and having to hide it. why? because he can hear you singing along to the music in the bar under your breath, softly enough that it's doubtful anyone else can hear you. bonus points if that abrupt fluster is when he realizes he's caught feelings :) - thenerdlordparade

HOW do you always have such GOOD IDEAS? YOU JUST dajfkladnfeajwfkle

ASK AND IT SHALL BE DONE. ❤️

--

He’s comfortably tipsy at this point. 

And it’s not… it’s not like he’s hammered, so drunk that his senses are completely thrown into a tailspin. Instead, it’s just enough to take the edge off, to loosen some of the aching tension in his shoulders and along his spine, to let him lean into you a little more than he probably would if he were sober, to let him laugh a little harder.

A night out—with you, with Foggy, your boys—was exactly what he needed after this week, this too-fucking-long week of blood and failures in court. It doesn’t matter that the music is a little warped—speakers about thirty years past their prime—and the beer is too warm, because it’s good tonight. He’s… happy here, with his friends, people he cares about. There’s even a warm, pleasant hum coming from somewhere, faint but soft to his ears, even with it hidden beneath the dull scuff of pool cues across felt and the sniffling of the guy with the cold over in the corner booth.

He shakes it off, trying to drag his senses back inwards, back to the booth where Foggy’s—well, he’s a bit less sober than Matt is, and the story he’s telling doesn’t make a lot of sense but there’s an otter and a net involved and Matt’s missed too much to understand the context. But it’s not enough, too many distractions around him from the buzzing of the overhead lights and the rattling a.c.—and that hum, from where?—so he shifts his awareness out, searching for you up where you’d gone to get more drinks from the bar. If he can’t focus on the booth, maybe he can focus on you instead. 

And yet as he sorts through stimuli, digs down to find you, that pleasant hum slowly resolves into something more tangible, something warm and breathy. And the realization hits him. It’s—

You. 

You’re… singing.

Foggy waves a drunken hand in front of him. “Matt, are you—you ok, man? You look—”

“I,” he fumbles, composure slow to return, his senses still fully honed-in on you where you stand at the bar, shifting from foot to foot. “Yeah, I-I’m fine, what were you… what were you saying?”

He’s not sure you’ve even noticed what you’re doing and it’s so quiet, so low that he knows it isn’t something meant to be heard by anyone around you; there’s certainly no one, other than him, that would be able to hear it. Your lips are hardly moving, each word dropped so gently your breath barely stirs the sluggish currents of air, soft notes carrying to him like dandelion seeds on a breeze. 

You’re singing here, of all places. You’re comfortable and happy, unintentionally gifting him this warm hum that works like a balm on his soul, and a faint snatch of your scent drifts back to him. Affection surges up, overwhelming and sudden, and the strength of it leaves him off-kilter, the ground lurching beneath his feet because he just wants… 

He wants more of this: this bright spot of warmth and joy after weeks that are too long and bloody, this moment of musical notes hummed out in grungy bars. He wants to know if you would sing like this anywhere else, whether you’d sing louder or stay quiet as you go about your day. Wants to know if he could pick up the sound from blocks away, let the contented, quiet lilt of it lull him and lure him back to somewhere safe and soft. He wants—

Oh, he thinks, a heavy breath shuddering through him like he’s just taken a blow to the chest.

He wants… you.

“Why do you look like you just got hit with a brick?” Foggy says blearily, squinting at him. “Your cheeks are red, dude.”

“I’m fine,” he says roughly, licking his lips and trying to put on something like a straight face even as his heart begins to pound. “I just—”

“You ok, Matt?” you ask, three beers in hand.

“He’s not fine,” Foggy declares, taking your proffered beer. 

“I’m alright,” he manages, putting on something like his usual smile, normalcy grasped by fingertips as you shrug and slide back in beside him. “Just… distracted. Long week. Keep going, Foggy, you were… talking about otters.”

“What about otters?” you laughed. “What’d I miss?”

And Foggy, more than happy to have an additional audience member, launches into the story again. You’re listening, Matt can tell—even as the current song ends, and rolls onwards into the next with a burst of static.

Your lips quirk, and this close, the sensations become so much stronger: the shiver in the air currents, the rustle of your shirt as your lungs expand, and then, under your breath, the notes start up again. 

He might tell you how he feels, eventually, when the time seems right. But here, for now, he simply soaks you in, warmth and hummed lyrics in dark and dreary places… and he leans a little closer.

[angelguk]

oc is back on her bullshit!!! miss out and about im gonna forget about you!! im so sorry for this part actually. descriptions of oc sleeping with someone who is not jaykay (warning!! infidelity but not really). suppressed feelings on jks side. chayoung is still Suspicious. everyone is now mildly shitty actually. roughly 2k. listen to not gonna cry by emma steikbakken and stranger by tove lo.

titled — fuel to the fire

It's been three days since you last spoke to Jeongguk (and four weeks since your break-up). Not about your relationship or the horrendous state your sudden break-up left you in, or about the fact that Jeongguk had moved on before your heart had even registered the cracks he'd left in his wake. No, not that – none of the actual life changing important stuff, only him briefly mentioning that you needed to hand in your event proposal for the student committee before the deadline approached. It was unbelievably strange to watch the person you'd basically surgically attached to your being behave like a complete stranger. It didn't help that he didn't seemed unfazed approaching you, while you on the other hand actively avoided him and all the usual corners of campus where he liked to lurk (which sucked because those corners were some of your favourites places too). But there he was, ambling to you with an ease that made your gut violently twist, acrid bile slithering up your throat.

He'd spoken so freely, the sound of your name on his tongue a brand on your skin. You'd frozen, heart a wild animal locked in your chest, before you could summon the mettle to look him in the face.

The first thing you noted was that his hair was no longer long. Dark locks cropped short around his ears now and casually gelled back, idle strands playfully framing his face. His features are what you settled on next, eager eyes remapping the sharp slope of his nose, easily identifying the sneaky dimple on his cheek begging to burst free and then shifting down to the dark mark right below his soft pink lips.

Your first instinct was to pull him into your arms but they were frozen, glued to the table beneath you before that blinding rage rose it's head, sparking through your veins the longer you looked at him.

He didn't even seem to realise it, rattling off the list of things you needed to email him for the spring scavenger hunt or else the event could be cancelled (which sucked because that was an idea you had created with Jeongguk and now you were stuck carrying the bulk of the event alone).

Your replies had been curt, blunt as they left your lips before you'd pointedly turned away. Maybe if you had looked a little longer you would detected the lingering gaze he granted your features, how he shuffled on his feet, unsure and hesitant, words on his tongue longing to be released. Eventually he had swallowed him down, mumbled a quick goodbye and wandered off, the hands shoved in the pockets of his baggy jeans aching to hold yours again.

You, however, didn't miss the muffled giggles of girls he passed on his way out, a sick icky feeling clogging your throat. You didn't mind the fan girls when you were dating because you knew Jeongguk was yours and yours alone. But now? When he'd moved on not even a weak after your break-up you didn't know how to feel. Jealous, maybe. Furious, absolutely. For a second, you considered throwing your mini stapler at their huddled heads, weighing the odds of possibly going to jail for assault. But there was no reason to truly justify that reaction, not when Jeongguk was single and apparently available for everyone. But did that feeling still brew inside of you? Turning into something black and vile and vengeful? Perhaps.

And maybe that's why you're here now, the body of some boy pressing against yours, your bare back prickling as the night wind grazes against it. The dress you'd plucked from your closet was criminal, clinging to the dips and rounds of your body perfectly, a silky emerald backless piece that shimmered beneath the soft lights of the porch you'd abruptly accoupled. His name might be Lucas – you may have been able to accurately remember that three drinks ago but you're beyond that now. And it didn’t really matter when all you wanted was for him to fuck you. He's also big and huge, massive shoulders caving you in, and his hands is snaking it's way up your thighs, ginger kisses peppered along the span of your neck.

Which is not what you wanted. Not in a one-night stand at least. You don't want soft and gentle, you want something wild – feral even. Something harsh enough to wipe the memory of Jeongguk's hands on your skin, something bright and fierce and new. Something to make you feel alive again.

Lucas gets the hint soon enough, spurred on by the bold movement of your hand guiding his closer, right between your thighs were you wanted him. Deft harsh fingers on your clit followed, pressing against the damp fabric with no remorse. You couldn't help the whimper that floats from your lips, the tension stringing through your limbs finally alleviated.

"Cute," he murmurs, seemly pleased judging from the broad smile that tugs at his lips. You make a noise of agreement in return, drawing in him for a kiss as the pad of this thumb toys with you. There's the sillage of whiskey on his tongue, something that nearly makes you freeze because you're used to tasting that on Jeongguk. But you beat down that apprehension, a muffled moan breaking past your lips when Luca's tongue mets yours.

"My place?" He suggests, lips glimmering from your lip gloss. You smile, a familiar giddiness bubbling in your chest when he shifts a little, hard bulge bumping into the base of your stomach. You give in a little bit more easily than you normally would have, clinging onto his hand as he guides you out of the party towards the neighboring building. Chayoung and Sieun are going to kill you later for this but you simply can't force yourself to care. 

"You're in that frat?" You finally murmur out when he keys himself into the building. Lucas hums, glowing under the moonlight when he smiles at you.

"Mhm, Sigma Chi for life, babe."

Babe. A complete one-eighty from the bunny you'd grown accustomed to.

It hits a little harder when he gets you into his room, the mess unlike anything you'd ever seen at Jeongguk's (he's very anal but his room and how clean it should be, specific down even to the various scents he kept around to ensure the air he breathed was perfect). Lucas was the average frat boy, messy but neat enough that you find yourself naked on his bed a couple moments later, his tongue deep inside of you. Your brain couldn't help but recall the last time a head had settled between your thighs, Jeongguk eager to lick out the pool of cum he'd left there. But this wasn't him and as of five seconds ago you decided you’re no longer allowed to think about him.

Lucas makes it easy, tongue skilled and swift around your clit, a fervour in his movements that leaves you dripping down his chin. Jeongguk evaporates from your mind entirely when Lucas descends on you, his mouth glistening and his tongue tasting of you. His kisses are hungry now, forceful, just what you need. Your palms stray down his wide back, a strange tingle erupting in your gut when your nails dig and he groans right down your throat.

"You're so big," the comment is a mumbled slur, lost in Lucas's mouth. For a second, you think he misunderstands, his hard cock twitching against your thigh. You're actually talking about his shoulders; they're broad, muscles rippling every time he shifts to press you harder into the mattress. You like the weight of him on you, it makes forgetting easier.

But Lucas knows what you're saying, discerning your wandering fingers and clouded eyes well.

"I know," he returns with lopsided smile. "Perks of swimming."

Oh, of course he was an athlete. Maybe you had a type after all.

Before Jeongguk has a moment to resurface Lucas has you in his arms, easily twisting you around so that your face is buried in his sheets. It short-circuits you, brain sparking with how large and huge and strong he feels. The following sudden press of his lips against your ass doesn’t help, your heart thumping loud in your head as your shuffle onto your elbows.

"Good?" Lucas asks, rising to fetch a condom from his drawer.

"Mhm," you return, thighs trembling when he returns. He easily lines himself up with you, the head of his cock pressed into you coaxing a low groan from your throat. The first thrust hurts, probably because you're body isn't as on board with this as you thought. But that changes quick when Lucas's hand slides underneath you, swiftly settling on your clit until you're leaking around his length, skin tight with tension and sweat beading along the length of your back. The stretch feels strange – he's larger than Jeongguk, wider. At first it's too uncomfortable to feel good. Your senses narrow on the sound of your meeting instead, loud and lewd, your pussy squelching with every drag of his cock inside of you. The ripple of your ass helps you relax too, a pleasant almost dizzy feel spreading through your body when Lucas draws you closer, shoving himself deep inside, the whine floating from his lips painting your skin warm. He fucks you hard enough to leave marks, large fingers digger into your hips with every resounding collide of your bodies. You shiver when he finishes, a grimness appearing on your skin. It's vanished by Lucas tugging you close, his mouth light on your lip as he kisses you, cock slowly slipping out.

It feels better the second round. He's perceptive, quickly learning how you like your clit touched, or that you like when his teeth sink into your skin rather hard. You actually cum this time, spread open over his massive strong thighs, his length splitting you open, the stretched welcomed.

You forgot about Jeongguk and your sore heart for a total of two wonderous hours, before your phone starts blaring from your discarded mini-bag on the floor. Lucas is the one that gets it for you.

"Hi?"

"Y/N! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" Chayoung's tone is aggrieved, wavering through the sound of some song blasting in the background.

"Oh. I left." You hope she gets it, doesn't press any further. But what was Chayoung if not a button pusher?

"WHERE? YOU WENT HOME? WHEN?"

"No, I'm not home. And awhile ago." Lucas is pointedly not listening, pattering through the adjacent bathroom of his room. The pressure ebbs when he turns the tap on loud.

"WHAT?"

"I said I'm not home! And please stop yelling!"

There's a loaded pause. You can feel Chayoung thinking through the line. "Okay... Who are you with?"

"Fine, yes I'll meet you there," you say instead, completely ignoring her question. Lucas is out of the bathroom now, massive and still naked as his knee sinks into the mattress. He crawls to you as you scramble to get out, phone wedged between your shoulder and ear. "Yeah, yeah I know I'm sorry. I'll come get you."

"What the hell are you talking about Y/N? Who are you with?" Chayoung's words are bitter now, stinging as they hit your ear.

"Gimme five seconds, I'll be right there," you return, swiftly cutting the call. Chayoung is going to kill you the second you see her but you'd rather attempt to live through that than Lucas overhearing you gossip about him on the phone with your friend. The man in question is watching you with a chary gaze as you hurriedly tug your dress over your head. "Sorry," you supply, pulling the hem down hard over your butt. "My friend needs me."

He nods slow, strawberry blond locks swaying. He's actually very hot, an observation that has you stilling for a second.

"Cool. See you around, yeah?" His eyes are round and big, bright even – almost like Jeongguk's. That breaks the spell.

"Yeah, see you around." And then you take the chance to flee, bag swung over your shoulder. Except Lucas halts you with a low cough, raising his hand, something bunched up in it.

"You forget this, though." It's your underwear, red and lacy. Your cheeks match the colour of fabric, flushed hot as you pluck it out of his wide palm. Lucas watches you slip them on with a smug smile, one that you should hate but there's a humour in it that blooms through you. He lets you part with a fond squeeze of ass when he gets up to open the door, still grinning.

"See you, Y/N," he says, leaning against the doorframe. He's very tall too, how did you miss that?

"Yeah," you squeak back, eyes shifting from his face with speed. "See you."

He's not Jeongguk, and that's good. He also makes it easy for you to forget about Jeongguk, another plus. And you can't help but wonder as you scurry back to the party, that it might be nice to see him again.

—

That sentiment gets jumbled when Chayoung avidly spills to you later that she'd stumbled into Jeongguk with his hands tangled with another girls, leading her right out of the party as Lucas had lead you. It stings, of course it does, but not as much as the first one. Not when Lucas is in your DMs, his messages sweet albeit corny, and you can still recall the taste of you on his tongue. 

But despite everything, even with Jeongguk a new stranger and Lucas's body warming yours, you haven’t truly let go. You can feel it in how you cling to the clothes Jeongguk had left in your closet. He hadn't requested to come pick them up yet, a fact that keeps a wedge in the door you're not sure you can close alone. Your heart still spikes when you see him on campus, and there's a home game coming around the corner that you're longing to go to. Because you still want to see him. Still want to be by his side Sometimes it felt nice to want to forget but you couldn't – not yet at least, not until you know whether he wants to forget about you too.

[1magine-engine]

Obey Me: MC is Hiding Something

When MC first awakens in the council room no one thinks much of them. They’re sitting there shivering like a dog left out in the rain and refuses to meet anyone’s eyes.

Lucifer starts to wonder what in devil’s name made you a good candidate for this exchange program. You barely had enough courage to answer when Lord Diavolo welcomed you so graciously, much less look dignified in any way.

Something odd he does observe though is, despite your silence and obvious terror, you seemed to accept the concepts of a Devildom and of RAD and him and his brother very easily or maybe you were just nodding along insipidly.

Mammon’s opinion of you is even lower. He already hated the idea of having to watch and make sure some stupid human didn’t get themselves killed on their first week. Damn it! That wasn’t his job! They can’t even carry a conversation, always just staring and watching everybody.

The human doesnt seem to have any kind of motivations or idea as to what they wanna do. Lucifer will never know if he leaves you alone at school for a while considering you’ve found your friends group with the other exchange students. And at home he sees no problem with letting you go off for just an hour or two. All you really do is walk around and examine the rooms and grounds. Maybe you’re an architecture freak or something.

Leviathan barely pays you any mind when you arrive, not like he ever has the chance to, being that he never leaves his room outside of going to class. But during breakfast he does notice how interested you seemed in the game console he’s playing on. And for a moment he wonders if you’re a gamer or an otaku too

but no, ugh you’re just some normie. You watch Asmo obsess over his compact mirror and Satan over whatever book he’s holding just the same. And you’re conversation is shit like Mammon said. Listless and lacking enthusiasm. But he doesnt stop you when you watch over his shoulder when he plays.

Satan doesn’t have a problem with you. That said, he doesn’t particularly like you. But he can respect how much time you seem to spend in the library, and how many books you borrow about the devildom and kinds of demons. It made sense, you wanted to know the kind of creatures you were surrounded by.

he does wonder though, why one day you seem to be borrowing a lot of Solomon’s books and Solomon’s time as well. But then again, that makes sense too, you were both human after all. Maybe you would stop flinching and get even a little more comortable with someone your race around. When one of his tomes disappear, he interrogates Mammon because of course, it’s Mammon.

Asmo likes your style. It’s not particularly glamorous or eye-catching but it matches your aesthetic. He especially admired your choices in acessories. The amulet you’re always wearing is so pretty and he swears sometimes it almost glows. And your rings were peak Devildom fashion, sharp, edgy iron designs. But he especially adored the silver spike earring you wore.

He was both delighted and smug that he was the first one to get a little closer to you. But of course, how could you resist! You even complimented the perfume he was wearing and asked where he got it. And he directed you to his favorite oils and essences shop that supplied products and ingredients from every realm. And while applying some to your wrist he catches a glimpse of a tattoo peeking out from under your sleeve but you pull your hand away, bashful. Oh, he’ll get you to show him someday. Heehee.

Beel is curious how a human can eat so much. He’s been told human athletes apparently eat a lot to maintain muscle mass and strength and the like but looking at you, you didn’t seem the type to do anything strenuous. Except he does notice that when a demon bumps you in the hall, you’re not hurt or thrown off despite the size difference. And when you’re purposely knocked into by someone else, your reaction is fast, pivoting out of the way and behind the demon and you almost look like...

Nah. You weren’t going to attack him, you began to cower and apologize again and again until Mammon had to drag you way before it got any more embarrassing. The next time you pique his interest is at the gym in the house. You always make sure to go at a time when there isn’t anyone else and he happened to go after you. But it couldn’t have been you that just used that machine. Were you really capable of lifting that much?

Luke and Simeon are sympathetic, Simeon understands the discomfort and the adjustment and answers any questions you have about the brothers and how not to piss them off or placate them if ever you did make them angry. He answers your questions about RAD and the program but does wonder. Wherever did you get an angel relic like the one hanging from your ear?

Luke says you shouldn’t be afraid of those no good demons, if anything happens you can run to Purgatory Hall and they’ll help. He promises. He likes your company and starts up baking with you, teaching dishes and pastries. He tells you a lot about Michael and lets slip things about Lucifer and the brothers back when they were still angels. You don’t push him on the subjects but you do seem pretty interested.

it all came together, very easily. First the lights, Leviathan’s screams echo in the halls as he laments not having saved soon enough. Asmodeus’ whining about losing such good selfie lighting came next and both come out into the hall, yelling for their older brother. “Lucifer!”

If not for that, Lucifer probably wouldn’t have noticed, having been locked up in his firelit office since dinner was over. Heaving a sigh he gets up. All of the yelling told him the lights were out so how could he have expected the brilliant flash of white that burned his eyes when he opened his door. He stumbles, leaning on the door frame for support as footfalls race down the hall.

He growls, feeling his wings and horns materialize but something isn’t right. His vision doesn’t return and his skin starts to burn. In the air he catches the faintest scent of something he hasn’t smelled in a long time. Holy oil.

When the little light in the fridge fades, Beel thinks he may have fucked up. But then it turns out the whole house is out so it must just be some prank. He keeps eating, uncaring whether or not he identifies what it is he’s shoveling into his mouth. Then he smells it.

once upon a time he’d caught Luke with some kind of cookies from the celestial realm. And they were some of the best cookies he’d ever had in his existence. He could never forget that smell, so when it wafts through the air coming from the main hall, he follows. Drool begins to gather beneath his tongue.

He misses the sharp, metallic scent drifting beneath it.

Satan’s vexation spikes when his reading light goes out and his peace and quiet is distrubed by his idiot brothers. Mammon probably tried to turn the power off in Levi’s room to get him out so he can sneak in and steal his stuff again. But then Asmo starts yelling, and one cry from Lucifer rattles his bones.

It’s enough to get him on his feet. But what draws a gasp from him is the flash of lightning that gives him his sight for a moment. White lightning, an impossibility in the devildom’s ever red tinged sky. He goes to the window, knocking a stack of tomes over and unlatches it. But it doesn’t budge. Using the light on his D.D.D. he tries again but it just won’t open.

Outside Satan’s door heavy footsteps, thump along in a slow rhythm. Satan races to the door and Beel is there trudging along the carpet like a zombie, his nose perched in the air.

“Beel?! What the-? What are you doing?”

“Hey what’s the big idea!? Where are you guys!? Who’s doing that weird singing?!”

Mammon calls out into the mansions, just as confused as everyone else. Satan’s brows furrow; he didn’t cause this, then. He’s about to answer but Mammon yelps, and a resounding thwack has Satan grab Beel, and race towards the sound, almost stumbling over each other’s feet in the dark. They’re only guide is the ocassional flash of white and the sound of chanting growing louder as they grow near.

It is still pitch black but years of experience and spatial awareness tells him they’re in the foyer. Satan ventures out, almost tripping over something on the ground; it’s Mammon. He lays at the top of the steps, passed out. Satan is about to shake him awake when Leviathan and Asmo come out of a hall holding up Lucifer between them. Another flash. Lucifer’s demon form flickers in and out, smoke rising from his blistering skin. Satan freezes and Beel picks up Mammon in his arms.

“Satan! What the hell is going on!?” Levi calls out into the dark over the spell.

The chanting stops. So does the lightning and they’re plunged into complete darkness. They hear the sound of plastic and a baggie hits Beelzebub square in the chest, landing on Mammon’s stomach. “Cookies?”

He smells that first but then they recognise the other scent prominent in the air as blood.

Human blood.

“Wait, where’s MC?!” Asmo’s voice comes from the black. “Are they trapped somewhere?”

Someone laughs.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Lightning flashes again, bathing the foyer in glaring white. It’s only for a moment but their eyes are quick enough. It becomes clear where the stench of blood was coming from. “After all, I’m not trapped in here with you...”

Your eyes seem to glow, vacant of whatever fear or trepidation you’ve deceived them with for weeks. In your hand is the earring Asmo admired so much, the silver tip dripping red. At your side, your palm is sliced open, already clotting as you’ve used all you needed for the seal activating the devil’s trap around the entire house. Your sleeves are pushed up to the elbows the sigils and signs inked into your skin tasting air again after so long. As you place your hand on the seal they come alight. Your lips curl over your teeth.

“You’re trapped in here....with me.”

Solomon knows a demon slayer when he sees one. And he tells you right off the bat whatever you’re planning it isn’t a good idea. You’re outnumbered and overpowered by them.

but then he sees otherworldly magic light up the skies and decides maybe it’s a good time to visit the House of Lamentations.

Part 2

[hansolmates]

the proposal (m)

banner done by the ammmahhzzing @eerieedits​

summary; Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. pairing; editor!Jungkook x assistant!reader (f) genre/warnings; the proposal!au, fake marriage au, enemies to friends(!!!), friends to lovers, bouts of flangst, dry humping, slight blood but not too bad, lang, alcohol, poor jjk discovers he has the ability to feel emotion, poor y/n is in the middle as always w.c; 20.1k of endless banter and koo hiding his romantic side a/n; yeah, it’s almost summer. But i think we need a lil holiday magic in our lives! I rewatched the proposal this weekend and whipped this up. Why is koo so gosh darn easy to write? This is my longest fic since i wrote maze runner back in 2014!! i rec this extension to get fully immersed in 2pov! Enjoy and pls tell me if there’s any errors im too poopied to proofread it again drabbles; 01

“When I hired you, you basically signed a contract that said you’d do anything for me.” 

“Yeah, Jeon. I did. That meant like, getting you coffee or working late hours—normal work stipulations,” you can feel the hair on your scalp growing thinner, “not commit fucking fraud!” 

Your boss looks moreso frustrated than you are, but you cease to care. Jeon Jungkook has been nothing but a thorn in your side since your employment at Big Hit Publishing two years ago. Being a budding author who wanted to graduate from online sites and freelancing, you accepted the job as the editor-in-chief’s assistant in the hopes of getting your first book published. 

However, your dreams of being an editor are quickly dissipating, especially when Jungkook corners you this afternoon and announces that he may have left America during the time his work visa was still processing. He may have to give over his editor-in-chief position because there’s no way he can get a work visa processed in time. As a result of this information, he may have told his supervisors that you seduced him on a late night one year ago, and you two fell in love and have been secretly engaged ever since. 

Because y’know, your citizenship to this country is an asset to the company. 

“We didn’t have to go to Norway to PR Emma Watson’s autobio,” you huff, fingers going pale from how hard you were gripping your iPad. Jungkook is an esteemed workaholic, and you have no idea where it stems from. You remember that trip to Oslo, Jungkook insisting that you and him both go to make sure everything goes smoothly.

“You weren’t complaining when we went to that restaurant with the open bar.” he runs a hand through his coiffed hair, making the pomade untack from its style. “You got so drunk that Emma held you while you cried about global warming.” 

Wholly unamused, you frown. “Jungkook, can you please take this seriously?”

“I’m taking this seriously, you’re not the one who’s about to be deported in two weeks!” Jungkook hisses, face dangerously close to yours. Not that anyone would know what he’s saying, but you can tell from his defenses that he genuinely is nervous. 

“You wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew your Visa!” 

“I wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew my Visa!” 

At least twenty pairs of eyes are watching your confrontation, probably making their own conclusions as to what you two were fighting about again. Curse this office for having full-walled windows, you often feel like an ant in a plastic farm. Your work relationship is an anomaly to the rest of the staff. Before you started working at Big Hit, Jungkook’s assistants did not last long. Within the first week of working, you understood why. 

Jungkook whirls around his desk, glaring at the glass doors as he puts himself between the staff and you. “If you don’t marry me,” he says lowly, close enough for his hot breath to fan your face, coupled with his fresh-scented cologne. It annoys you how good he smells. “You’ll also be replaced because they want to give the my position to fuckin’ Karen of all people,” you fight the twitch of your lips. The only thing you two mutually agreed upon is the hatred of his co-editor, Karen. “All of the late nights we’ve worked together, the gallons of coffees you consumed, putting up with my shit, your dreams of becoming an author,” his eyes flicker to the way the grip in your iPad trembles, “will go down the drain and turn to shit. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.” 

Pretending to be unfazed, you bat your lashes, “So are you saying, you need me?” 

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Ah-ah, Jungkook. I’m not going to ask you to get on one knee, but you should at least tell me how much you need me.” 

You assume with great confidence that the only reason you’re kept on Jungkook’s payroll is because you’re not afraid to stand up to Jungkook’s bullshit. He looks positively disgusted at the mere thought of paying you an iota of a compliment. You’d say on average, you get half a compliment a month from Jungkook. You say half because he’ll compliment you, then downplay it with whatever flaw he can fabricate to get under your skin. 

He loosens his lavender paisley tie, annoyed. “Fine. I need you. I need you because you’re the only one who knows me well enough to be my wife. You’re the only woman I’ve had full conversations with in two years and knows all my dietary restrictions, favorite books, foods, and hobbies. By process of elimination, you are my best candidate.” 

“Romantic,” you roll your eyes, “I guess I do,” you push him away with a finger to his chest, “but I want a raise. And after we finish Sorn and Mark’s project, I want you to read my novel.” 

“Done and done.” 

“Well Jeon, I guess you’ve wifed me up with your ways of seduction.” you muse sardonically, feeling more upset for yourself than anything. 

“Fantastic,” he sighs, finally throwing his tie across the desk and plopping in his armchair. “Cancel the call with Janet, call PR about Irene Kim’s interview on Ellen, and order me a medium rare steak from J.J. Bittings with a side of brussels.” 

“Right,” you mutter under your breath as you pull up your checklist, as if you didn’t just give away your life to the Devil incarnate. 

Jungkook’s back is already facing you, focusing on his computer displaying two new manuscripts. “Oh, and on your way to J’s don’t forget to pick up your ring at Saks.”

“Bitch, you’re asking me to pick up my fake wedding ring?” 

Unbothered, he shrugs. You see the planes of his shoulders stretch beneath the blazer, because he’s deemed this conversation long over and he has work to do. “Yeah, but it’s real diamonds.” 

You’ve been seeing red for days. 

While the rock on your ring finger is indeed beautiful because Jungkook has impeccable taste, it drags you down and arouses the elephant in the room everytime you show up for work. 

You get enough stares on the daily, and you were just getting used to the looks of pity and sympathy for working under Jungkook, but now there are only snickers and playful winks as you trudge down the cubicles every morning. Everyday feels like the runway at a shitshow, and you are the headliner. 

Taehyung clapped you none-too-hard on the back when you showed up to work the next morning, congratulating you on the engagement. “Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ the big boss!” 

The rest of the staff poke their eyes out of their cubicles like Digletts, and you shush them, using your hand to make them sink down. 

Coffee is spilling down your shirt thanks to him, and you reach for tissues in his cubicle. “Can you not say it like that, please?” 

“Oh, come on. I heard from the supervisors Jungkook went on about how you seduced him late at night and took charge,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows approvingly, and you fight the urge to not throw up your coffee in his face. “How do you keep it so professional? Or do you save all that pent-up energy for after hours?” 

“You disgust me,” you grimace, stepping out of his cubicle and immediately regret wasting your five-minute break conversing with the typist.

Striding back into Jungkook’s office, he doesn’t hesitate to rattle off the next items on today’s agenda. He barely looks at you when you stride in, too focused on whatever corrections he’s slashing in red ink. 

“Did you get Taemin’s second draft?” 

“No, and I told him that if he can’t get me the draft by tonight he won’t get a publishing deadline and the number of copies published will be decreased by a third.” 

“And Taehyung’s author agreed to our stipulations?” 

“Of course, she’d be dead not to.”  you mutter, “she’s a nineteen year old Influencer, what would she know?” 

“Exactly, that’s why we milk it out as long as we can.” Jungkook throws the first draft in a large, intimidating pile, mixing in with all the others like a needle in a haystack. “Which is why it’s important we snag dinner with her this weekend, we can really—”

“What, this weekend?” your sense of equilibrium cracks, and you walk forward to put his hands on his desk. “I took this coming week off for Christmas. I’ve planned this for months.” 

“I know.”

“I can’t just cancel my flight! I saved up for that!”

“And?” Jungkook brushes off your fury like a piece of lint, “I’m Korean. Christmas is a fake holiday for me.” 

“You can’t just tell me I can’t go home to my family, it’s the fucking holidays!” 

“Why not, I’ve done it before. Remember on Valentine’s day when I told you the only date you have is a date with Kwon Boa’s publicist? Or on Secretaries Day when I argued that you don’t feel appreciated by society anyway and therefore why bother taking one extra day off? Or during Easter when your family screamed in my office on speakerphone that you should quit—”

“Okay,” no need to be reminded of how much you’ve wasted your life for this man, “but this is different. I’ve already bought plane tickets and this holiday is special. It’s a whole family reunion in the Poconos and we’ve reserved over five houses to fit all of us! I can’t just ditch!” 

“But I need you!” he replied just as hotly, in a tone that reminded you so many times of how tethered you are by this man. Two years have gone by, and the only thing that kept those strings together is the constant ache in getting your first novel published. “With all the marriage stuff and stupid extentions we had to make on these writers there’s no way we can get everything done before winter ends!” 

“You’ve done it before, why can’t you just ask Taehyung to assist—”

“Trouble in paradise?” 

A chill travels up your spine, and you and Jungkook exchange panicked eye contact. A tiny, pretty blonde lady struts in the room like it's hers, plopping a fruit basket atop Jungkook’s manuscripts. 

“If by paradise you mean our relationship, then no.” Jungkook’s the first to recover, meeting you at your side and stretching an arm around your waist. “I’d say work-wise things are getting a little rough, but nothing we can’t handle. We’re a team, after all.” 

“I just wanted to stop by as I was in the neighborhood,” the woman says, making herself comfortable in a leather seat reserved for guests. “Congratulations again on your engagement.” 

You tack on a smile, squeezing Jungkook’s arm a little too hard, but it’s enough to make the lady in front of you smile back. “What brings you here, Taeyeon?” 

Kim Taeyeon is Jungkook’s immigration liaison, AKA the person responsible for making sure you’re not breaking the law. She’s a pretty thing, with eyes sharp but a smile that’s soft and deceiving. 

“It’s just a shame you two have to rush a civil wedding,” Taeyeon sighs, looking at the window overlooking the city. 

“Ah, it takes some of the planning stress off my back, really.” you force a laugh, tugging Jungkook to sit on the couch opposite her. “At least one thing is done. The thought of planning a whole wedding with over two-hundred people is so stressful.” 

You weren’t really going to have a white wedding with Jungkook (however you may have entertained the thought, which is reflected in your Google search history) but you had to keep up the ruse that you were. A civil wedding in two weeks, then a quickie divorce a year later. 

“I know! My wedding was a real mess let me tell you, straight out of a movie!” Taeyeon is certainly the type of person to make you feel at ease, so at ease that it’s simple for you to melt your front. “But besides the point, are you two doing anything special for the holidays?” 

“Ah, well I bought a flight to meet my family in the Poconos,” you start, trying not to succumb to your nervous habit of wringing your fingers. You grab Jungkook’s hand as a reprieve. 

“And you’re not going?” Taeyeon’s gaze snaps, yes snaps, to Jungkook. 

You try to step in, realizing your flaw. “We’ve just been so swamped with work, all the immigration stuff and with these book delays Jungkook suggested he stay behind—” 

“But we’ve decided to prioritize our personal life and enjoy Christmas with our family,” Jungkook swoops in, threading his fingers between yours. He flashes Taeyeon a smile, and from the way his face lights up and his nose crinkles, you could’ve mistaken it to be genuine. “I’ve never experienced a big family Christmas, y’know. I’ve missed snowboarding too, I used to do it a lot in highschool.” 

“Oh, that’s just so sweet!” Taeyeon cooes, clasping her hands together. “Do send some pictures when you come back!” 

“Of course,” Jungkook stands up and attempts to leave Taeyeon out. You follow in tow, She obliges easily, mentioning something about just wanting to check in and she also has work to do. 

“Also,” Taeyeon’s head flickers to the people sitting outside Jungkook’s office. “You should manage those workers out there,” she looks at you, sympathetic. “Apparently, they didn’t peg you as the type of person to sleep their way to the top. And that’s just what I heard from walking down the hall once!” she laughs, tinkling brighter than a windchime, but you just tighten the grip on Jungkook’s palm. “Such a childish assumption. Things can be much more complicated.” 

She tips a “happy holidays” off her shoulder, and you both are smiling like the loving couple you are. As soon as the elevator doors close and Taeyeon is really gone, Jungkook moves to let go of your hand, but you hold him in your grasp. 

“She’s onto us,” you snap, tugging him closer to you so your co-workers wouldn’t read your lips. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” he bites back. He looks offendingly at the fruit basket adorning his desk. 

“What if we get caught, Jungkook?” you start to spiral, feeling your deepest fears crawl to the forefront of your brain. You’ve done extensive Google research on commiting fraud, and if you do get caught, Jungkook will never be able to come back to this country and you’ll have a fine of up to $250,000. Your boss doesn’t pay you nearly enough to get by with that kind of debt. “We’ll ruin this company, and our lives, and any hope of being published or credible.” 

“Hey, relax,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, the tone oddly comforting. He pulls you into his arms, and you barely have a chance to recover when he squeezes you extra tight around your waist. Jungkook only ever hugs you when doing PR, and even then it’s an awkward half-hug. Hell, he never hugged you on your birthday. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna book my flight to the Poconos, bring some manuscripts so we can work remotely, and no one will ever know.” 

You sigh into his arms, nodding tiredly. It feels nice to be hugged like this. His arms are strong and warm, and you feel small and protected. It’s been a while since you’ve felt like that. Maybe Jungkook did have a heart under all that muscle. 

“I’m putting up a good show, aren’t I?” he says, and you feel your heart drop just a little. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

From your view facing the cubicles, you see at least half the employees comically bugged with  heart eyes at you, enamored by your fake relationship. 

“Do not stretch your long-ass legs on this plane, Jeon,” you nudge your smaller leg away from your section of leg room, “Jesus, we’re flying economy!” 

It scares you how little you fought against Jungkook joining you for the winter holiday. It is the logical decision after all, Taeyeon is on your trail about your sudden engagement and you both needed to keep up the ruse. That includes going on family vacations. Also, the fact that Jungkook works through Christmas because he doesn’t celebrate it does make you feel a little bad. You can’t remember the last time the man took a vacation. 

The man in question barely moves at your weak attempt, and stretches his leg even further across your seat. “Sorry, babe,” he says, fishing around his seat for the included blanket. 

“It’s fine, Kookie.” You reply sweetly, and decide to kick off your shoes to drape a leg over Jungkook’s thighs, “you’re like a portable footrest!” 

He looks absolutely insulted at your objectification, but smartly decides to choose his battles and lets you keep your position. Tucking himself in with a scratchy blanket he waves you off, “Whatever, just wake me up when we arrive.” 

“What, no.” you pull up your iPad, shoving the note entry in his face. “I know everything about you, and yet you know nothing about me. I made this easy on you and just wrote everything down. You just have to read it.” 

“Seriously? I’ve known you for over two years, I’m sure I know enough about you.” 

“Really, then how do I like my coffee?” 

“Uh… hot?” 

You give him a look and he knows. With a sigh he grabs the iPad from your hands. Within seconds he’s giving you another dirty look, as if he’s skimming a conspiracy novel. 

“You know all this random shit about me?” Jungkook asks, scrolling down as to what feels like your life story. 

“Yes, because unlike you, I listen when you talk.” 

“Fine. What’s my favorite type of weather?” 

“A warm and sunny day, which correlates to your favorite kind of date which is walking along the beach at sunset. Cliché much?” 

“Okay, rude. Who’s my favorite artist?” 

“You like a little bit of everything, but since seventh grade you’ve been pining for IU. In the office, you like to sing along to Lauv and Hozier.” 

“Favorite movie?” 

“The Marvel Series. But you really like 5 Centimeters Per Second, you like the romance.” 

“And how do you know my favorite anime movie is 5 Centimeters Per Second? I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you that.” 

“Jeon, when we were promoting Momo Hirai’s self-help book at Anime Expo you were gone for two and a half hours at 1:50 sharp.” your boss’ Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows thickly at your admonition. “And low and behold, you gave yourself thirty minutes’ time to line up early because when I checked the schedule Makoto Shinkai had a panel on ‘The Otaku’s Perspective on Romantic—”

“Alright alright, I get it.” Jungkook slumps in his seat, as comfy as it can get with your legs draped around him and a seat at the far end of the plane. You know he’s trying to hide a blush, and you feel proud for making him a little flustered. “You’re lucky I’m a fast reader.” 

The plane ride goes relatively fast, with Jungkook asking quick questions about your family and other random things. It’s like playing a game of 20 Questions, instead it’s the final boss battle with 200 questions and if he doesn’t get them all right, the penalty is deportation. 

When you land, you’re both stiff and glazed over. Once you exit the terminal, Jungkook ditches you for the bathroom and says he’ll meet you at the luggage pickup. You give yourself a few moments, gearing yourself up for the long week ahead of you. At the luggage pickup, you see a tall man watch the revolving conveyor belt with interest. Either that, or he’s zoning out. 

“Joonie!” you cry, nearly dropping your phone upon seeing your big brother. He’s dressed comfortably in a grey sweat ensemble, as if he rolled out of bed and came straight to the airport. 

A bright grin takes over his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to smush your body against his. Under his tall frame you sway, your toes barely swiping the ground. “You’re alive!” he cheers, pulling back and holding your shoulders to get a real look at you. “I can see you’ve gained a little weight, eyes are a little dark, but I’m glad the Devil let you go. I still can’t forgive him for making you skip out on Jin’s wedding.” 

You don’t appreciate the way that Namjoon picks and prods at your exhaustion, but you know he means well. While he does not know your boss by face and name, he had enough artilerary from the billions of phone calls to learn about the Devil and the havoc he’s wreaked upon your life.

When you don’t respond he gets the cue that you do not want to talk about work this week, and he smacks his lips together. “But nothing a little R&R can’t fix! The ski resort nearby has a really nice outdoor jacuzzi and we could set an appointment for facials if you’d like. Or we could do absolutely nothing and turn into baked potatoes and watch movies until our eyes burn up.” 

“Both would be great,” you smile softly, catching two familiar suitcases make their rounds on your flight’s conveyor belt. You grab your pink luggage with one hand, and Jungkook’s black chrome one with your other. 

“So, where’s the new beau?” Namjoon rocks back and forth on his heels, hoping to get a glimpse of the mystery boy you mentioned you’d be bringing as of two days ago. 

“He really had to go to the bathroom,” you squint your eyes to make out the newcomers exiting the dropoff area. “Oh, there he is. Kook!” 

Like a goddamn model, he struts in your field of vision like nobody’s business. Unlike you who stayed in your apartment all day before leaving, Jungkook decided to spend a few hours at Big Hit in the morning to tie up most of the loose ends before your trip. He’s talking to what you assume to be is a client, noting the way his brow furrows as he clutches his phone with a tight hold. He’s changed out of his tie and leather oxfords, but he’s dressed crisply in a dark button up and blazer ensemble, still wholly overdressed for a family reunion. 

Namjoon starts behind you, “He looks...” 

“Handsome?” you goad, elbowing him, “Charismatic? Undeniable presence?” 

“Hard.” 

You don’t know what to make of that adjective, and you subtly shrink further in your jacket as you mull over the implications of his word choice. 

Jungkook steps up to the two of you, ending his call. His eyes float between you and your brother, and he manages to put two and two together. “Hey man,” Jungkook gives a practiced smile, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, I’ve heard lots of things about you.” 

“Good things, I hope.” Namjoon chuckles, returning the handshake. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, though. Can’t wait to get to know you this week.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Jungkook takes his luggage and Namjoon grabs yours, leading you two out to his minivan. While Namjoon is preoccupied with getting the car started, Jungkook looks at you as if he’s already regretting making the trip down. “This girl has two braincells to her name. I just got off the phone with Sorn’s publicist.” 

“What trouble can an influencer do?” you reply in disbelief. 

“Exactly, influencing is the trouble,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “she did some mukbang and now she’s in the hospital for food poisoning.” 

“Ah, don’t get too worked up,” you help him lug your suitcases in the trunk. You spot Namjoon subtly eyeing you two from the rear mirror. Pressing a thumb between his brows, you make work to melt away the 11-shaped stress lines on his forehead. “Let’s just send her a Lush gift basket and she’ll be fine.” 

You ignore the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you longer than needed, running over to your seat at shotgun. 

The inside of his car smells like bergamot and lemon, and the sweet, vulnerable side of you wants to cry over how much you’ve missed your brother’s scent. It’s been way too long. 

Once you’re all safely in the car and driving Namjoon says, “So, are you going to hide the engagement ring or give the family a collective heart attack?” 

You tense, hands automatically floating to the teardrop diamond weighing heavily on your ring finger. The story that you two contrived about your relationship isn’t too complicated, but complex enough that it seems convincing. Instead of being your boss, Jungkook is your Literary Agent who gives you referrals to new and upcoming authors. You working closely together and bonding over the stresses of the publishing world, have kept a secret relationship under wraps for over a year to avoid any unprofessionalism or favoritism. 

“I was thinking about that the whole ride, actually,” you twirl the metal back and forth, watching it gleam in the light. “Mom and dad know, but I don’t wanna lie to the rest of my family. They’ll freak out because it’s the first time they’re meeting Kook and we’re already engaged. It’s just a location thing, y’know. You guys don’t live in the city so we’ve never had a chance to really talk it out.” 

Namjoon snorts, “Or, because your boss never gives you a break.” 

If Jungkook finds any offense, he doesn’t show it. Putting what should be a comforting hand on your shoulder, he says from the back seat, “I already told you babe, do what makes you comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to your parents early on, you don’t wanna make the situation any more complicated.” 

In other words, you better tell them about our engagement because Taeyeon could be hiding in the bushes waiting to catch us. 

“Smart man,” Namjoon says shortly, but you can’t tell whether it’s a compliment or not. 

“Yeah,” you exhale, turning to smile stiffly at Jungkook, “no use hiding the inevitable, right?” 

The next couple hours are overwhelming. There’s a party right when you walk in your winter villa, your parents throwing you a reunion party (not for your family, but for you specifically because you’ve been MIA since Big Hit) with the house filled to the brim with family members. Within seconds your favorite cousin checks out the rock on your finger and screams that you’re engaged. 

Everyone must be so high off the fact that you’ve made it to a family event that they’re elated you have a life outside of work. Jungkook is treated like a prince, charming the hell out of all your aunties and baby cousins. 

“Oh, pumpkin!” your auntie squeals, linking arms with you while you’re trying to eat your dinner, “I just hugged your fiancé, and he has abs! Lucky you!” 

“Auntie,” you hiss playfully, “you hugged him that tight?” 

“He’s part of the family, isn’t he?” 

“Right,” you force a smile, downing your glass of champagne. The bubbles burn your throat pleasantly. 

“Babe, can you come here for a second?” Jungkook manages to swim his way through the throng in the living room, holding out a hand for you, “your mom said that our room is ready, care to lead the way?” 

His smile, as pretty as you can care to admit, renders your aunt speechless, and she lets him whisk you away to a long hallway that leads to a set of bedrooms. Jungkook lets go of your hand as soon as you're alone, letting his palm run along the pictures that decorate your hallway. 

He stops at a picture of you and Namjoon as kids, faces tanned and lips cherry red from your twin popsicles melting on your hands. “Wow,” Jungkook pretends to be alarmed, “I didn’t know you used to be cute, what happened?” 

“Shut up,” you smack his hand away, walking ahead of him. 

“I thought you guys reserved a bunch of houses, why does the furniture look worn and there’s pictures of you everywhere?” 

“Our extended family has reserved houses, but this is actually my family’s vacation home. I used to go here every winter and summer break,” you reach a bedroom in the corner of the hall, smiling at your wooden name tag hanging on the front, “this is my old room.” 

It certainly doesn’t have that youthful charm it once had, but there are still bits of your childhood scattering the room. There’s ticket stubs and photobooth strips tacked to a corkboard near your desk. Books that you would reread cover to cover are organized proudly on your shelf, worn for wear. 

Jungkook groans in relief, plopping his body down on your freshly made bed. “Your family’s really clingy.” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

You turn to give him a snappy answer, but it dies in your throat when you see what he’s laying on. The familiar family quilt sinks under Jungkook’s weight, mocking you. You shriek, throwing your arms over to lug his body to the other side of the bed. Bundling up the quilt in your arms, you glare at a very appalled Jungkook. 

“The hell is wrong with you, woman!” he cries, not loud enough to escape the room, but enough to have your body vibrate in annoyance. 

“Jeon, they put the fucking baby blanket in my room,” you mutter more to yourself than him, folding it under your arms. 

The blanket is comfy in your grasp and you’re sure it’s clean, but the fact that you weren’t actually married and in love made its appearance a whole lot worse. 

“So?” his eyes are wide in confusion, “my mom still has my baby blanket too, I’m not gonna shoot anyone because of it.” 

“It’s not my baby blanket,” you admonish, “it’s the baby maker blanket. A weird family tradition when someone gets engaged.”

“Which means?” 

“They’re expecting us to fuck and have children.” 

The thought of procreating and starting a family with you must’ve caused all the champagne to return to his throat, and he looks a little pale. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” he lies back down on your mattress, and you leave him be so you can chuck the blanket back in your parents’ room. 

You’re barely out the door when a young man is waiting out in the hallway for you, poised to knock. “Hey, baby girl.” they throw you an easy lopsided grin, opening their arms to you. 

In your haste, you slam your bedroom door a little too loudly. “Yoongi!” You let yourself sink into his waiting arms, reveling in the familiar embrace you missed so much. Yoongi is Namjoon’s best friend and work buddy, not to mention the man you’ve had a crush on since you were able to walk. While you can safely say at this moment there is nothing serious going on, a small part of you always wishes there could be. 

His voice husks in your ear, “Why are we hugging in between the baby blanket?” 

“Oh!” you brush past him, opening the door to your parents’ room and flinging the offending item as far into their room as possible. “Sorry, Jungkook and I were a little freaked out when we saw it. We’re definitely not thinking about children right now.” 

“Jungkook,” he hums, and your smile falters just a tad when you see the way Yoongi tips his head down in thought, “It was quite the news. Congrats though.” 

You want to say what you’re supposed to say, that yes, you should be happy. But the selfish part of you does not want this exchange between you and Yoongi to be happening. When you get your quickie divorce in a year, the small, hopeful part of you hopes you and Yoongi could be something. 

Before you have a chance to fabricate a response, strong hands encircle your waist, and you feel Jungkook’s chin digging into your shoulder. 

“Thanks, man,” Jungkook’s voice rumbles, “we really appreciate it.” 

Yoongi gives a nod, muttering something about catching up later before he walks back to the party. 

It’s then that Jungkook’s weight feels impossibly heavy on your shoulders. “You know, you’ve been doing a really shitty job of being my wife-to-be ever since we landed,” Jungkook whispers, feather soft lips dusting across the shell of your ear. It’s an act so intimate you can imagine your family passing down the hallway could be mistaking you two for speaking unthinkable acts. A toddler cousin spots you two and giggles, babbling something to your uncle about how you’re hugging. “You did so well when we were with Taeyeon and Big Hit.” 

“It’s not the same when I’m lying to my family,” you turn to face him, equally simmering. “These are people that actually love and care for me, unlike you.” 

“At least I care about what’s most important,” he grits back, “our jobs, our futures. Is that not enough for you to keep it in your pants?” 

“Excuse me? You don’t even know him!” 

“I don’t have to know him because I’m holding you right now and you’re practically sweating through your cardigan.” he grimaces, digging his chin further into your collarbone, literally trying to get under your skin. “Your face looks like a cherry tomato.” 

You turn your head to bite back, your noses touching. The staring contest seems to last for days. Unlike Jungkook who doesn't know how to register basic human emotion, you still have hopes for a life after this. Before you have a chance to answer, your favorite cousin enters the hallway, oblivious to your concerns. Jimin’s red all over, passing you two flutes of blush champagne. “Hurry up, we’re making speeches!” 

Champagne is overflowing like Niagara, and you and Jungkook are the reason for it as you’re thrusted into the living room. Your weird uncle is in the middle of a long-winded speech about his fishing business and how dreams are made from ‘bait and a dream’. You make eye contact with him, and he gestures wildly to you and Jungkook. 

The crowd proceeds to go wild, echoes of speech! Speech! Reverberating throughout your living room. You and Jungkook share uneasy smiles, unsure of where to go with this show. 

Deciding it’s your family by blood, you start first. “Honestly, when I moved to New York I wasn’t expecting to feel so lonely,” you clutch your flute with both hands, swirling your drink absentmindedly. You then turn to Jungkook, giving him a tender smile which he returns back just as fondly. “Until I met Jungkook. I’m really happy that I get to share this week with the people I love the most, so let's drink to family!” 

Jungkook lifts his glass, “Thank you for the warm welcome, I can’t wait to spend time with all of you. This is my first Christmas with a large, loving family. Cheers to that!” 

The room erupts in cheers, allowing themselves to clink glasses and chase down their respective drinks. Even the little ones crowding the kiddie table in the back are enjoying their apple juice while making silly faces at the new couple. 

Jungkook weaves his arm between yours, and you get the signal to do a couples’ drink. He eyes you with mischief, as if to say we did it. After you two take your drink, Jimin’s the first to drunkenly yell, “Ohmygod just kiss already!” 

“Kiss kiss kiss!” 

“This is going on my story so make it good!” 

“Kiss him before I do!” 

“Oh my god,” you groan, throwing your forehead on Jungkook’s chest. Your family really is something else. 

As if the chants can’t get any louder, it’s hard to focus on anything but Jungkook’s presence. Jungkook lifts your chin up, murmuring, “Let’s give the people what they want.” and he presses his lips to yours. 

It’s awkward at first. Why wouldn’t it be, you’re making out with your boss, in front of your family, pretending to be engaged. But Jungkook doesn’t let up, parting your lips slightly to deepen the kiss. As much as you want to make up how terrible and disgusting kissing Jungkook is, it really isn’t. His lips are soft and he tastes like the peach champagne, and his grip on your waist is strong and warm. 

He leaves you breathless when you pull away, a smirk on his lips for a brief moment before he turns shyly to your family who are probably foaming at the mouth now. 

Maybe it’s the champagne coursing through your veins, but why does it suddenly feel so hot in the middle of winter? 

The first day back starts off wholly uneventful, with Jungkook working on some manuscripts and you preparing dinner with Jimin. Most of your family is on the resort hitting the slopes, so you’re quite thankful for the reprieve since the party was so overwhelming. The blonde is all smiles as he bumps the oven closed with his leg, letting your lasagna bake to perfection. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” Jimin rests his head on your shoulder, “it’s definitely not the same when we’re adults. Frankly, it sucks balls.” 

“Big balls,” you agree, gnawing on a leftover baguette from last night. 

“Speaking of big balls,” Jimin wiggles his brows as you attempt to move farther from him.

“Please don’t say it.” 

“C’mon! Just tell me if the sex is good!” 

“No!” you cry, flicking your crumbs at him. 

“I will open this oven,” his hands are already on the handle, “and your dish will undercook.” 

“Don’t you dare!” he opens the oven a tad, and you slam your hand down. “Fine! The sex is fantastic, happy?” 

“Ewh, no!” The storm door swings open, revealing Namjoon, Yoongi, and Lisa, Namjoon’s lady friend. “I didn’t need to hear that, thanks.” 

Your face looks absolutely pained as you watch the two older men walk in. They were the last people you’d ever want to share about your sex life too, even if it is fake. You can only bear to look properly at Lisa as they kick off their boots and shake the snow off their heads. Lisa pokes her tongue in her cheek, looking at you with a wild look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about your current drama. Can’t wait to hear the 411 from you, though.” 

Yoongi looks unfazed, then again you never really know what’s going on in his head. “You guys wanna go to a movie tonight?” Yoongi asks, grabbing a slice of the baguette and dipping it in a dish of olive oil. “I think the one that’s showing is based on a book your company published.”

“Is it ‘Rotten Love’?” 

“That’s the one.” 

Pushing yourself off the counter, you nod eagerly. “I’ll go tell Jungkook to get ready. We can eat dinner real quick and then go right after,” you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, “Joonie, set up the table please.” 

Jungkook doesn’t notice you walk in, and you can hear the faint sound of Muse blasting from his Airpods. He’s on your floor, doing pushups while reading a transcript under him. This time he’s using your iPad, every few seconds taking a thumb to scroll down. Sweating through his shirt, you can see the beads running along his silver reading glasses. It’s completely contradictory, your muscle bunny of a boss getting in his reps while psychoanalyzing a potential novel, but somehow it works with him. 

“Maniac,” you mutter, bending down to place the cool water bottle on his cheek. He stops abruptly, like you’ve pressed the pause button on his seemingly robotic arms. Seriously, you can’t fathom how he manages to do both. You swipe the iPad under his body in place of a white towel, which he accepts gratefully. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to snap him out of it, sometimes you’d catch him at the company gym nearing 10PM, reading on the treadmill. 

“What time is it?” he asks, fluting the water bottle down his throat. 

Ignoring the way his neck glistens in sweat, you say, “It’s almost seven. C’mon, we’re gonna eat dinner and watch a movie. You’ve cooped yourself up in this room all day, time to interact with the world.” 

“What movie?” 

“The book we published in 2018, ‘Rotten Love’? They made it into a movie,” and you can’t help the wry grin that takes over your face when you say your next words, “guess who directed it.” 

He sighs, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. The normally styled strands fall limply at his forehead. “I don’t remember, I shifted over that project to PR. Any director’s fine, but please please please don’t let it be—”

“Jung Hoseok!”

“Son of a bitch, we gotta go.” And it’s the first time in a while you see a genuine smile graze his features, one not laced with you and your marriage. It’s an old pastime for you both to get picky over Jung’s work. “I swear, he better not put his scenes all over the place like last time, I got whiplash.” 

After a quick dinner you all pile into Namjoon’s minivan, making your way to the theatre. The drive is fast, and before you know it you’re waiting in line to get inside. It seems that the PR between the film studio and Big Hit did a good job assisting, because there’s a sizable line despite being half an hour early. 

“So honey,” Lisa leans into you, squishing you further into Jungkook’s shoulder. “Did you like, help out with the publishing of this novel? To be honest I don’t even know what your job is,” Lisa admits with a shrug, “you’re not a glorified coffee girl, are you?” 

“No,” her mixed enthusiasm never fails to stump you, “Ah, but I really didn’t do much in the production of ‘Rotten Love’,” you reply easily, relaxing into Jungkook as he moves to drape an arm around your shoulder. “I just told my boss to sign some documents n’stuff. It’s really nothing—”

“Babe, are you kidding? You ran the whole freakin’ project!” and you’re in shock, because for the first time in the history of ever, Jeon Jungkook is paying you a real compliment. “It was her first assignment when she got hired as the big boss’ assistant. A lot of people in the office doubted her,” he squeezes your shoulder, “but not for one second did I doubt her, you could see how hard she worked to make it perfect. I heard the boss was really impressed, too.” 

You remember that period of time. Jungkook made you dive headfirst into the publishing for ‘Rotten Love’, letting you sink or swim in his decision for keeping you employed. After a full month of meetings, negotiations, and debating whether you should have caffeine IV’ed in your body to save time on eating, you got Jungkook’s evaluation. You remember the stoicism in Jungkook’s frame as he surmised your work, throwing you a flippant “it’s decent” before sending you off to do more work. 

Relief flooded your system after those two simple words, because that meant you had a chance and you could keep your job. But this? If what he’s saying is true, you’re on Cloud 9. 

“Awh, thanks Kook.” you squeeze his arm, letting your fingers trail down to lace your fingers with his. 

Lisa’s face is all scrunched, and she doesn’t hesitate to stretch over you to smush Jungkook’s cheek between her two fingers. Her blue nails dig into his soft skin. “I like him, honey. Keep him, he’s so cute.” 

She leaves you alone after that, skipping over to bother Namjoon about buying an extra bucket of popcorn. 

“At first I was nervous having you near my family for a week,” you say brightly, rubbing a thumb over his hand, “but I kinda like seeing you try so hard to not rip other people’s heads off.” 

He puffs out his cheeks in an attempt to soothe the stinging. “Could be worse, I could be engaged to Karen.” 

With that you laugh, loud enough to turn heads and have Jimin and Lisa send you adoring looks. Jungkook sends you a nervous smile, the one that he’d always send you during team meetings when he was unsure of how to respond to something. Instead of giving him a smart answer, you get on your tiptoes to pat his reddened cheek. “But she’s right, you are kinda cute when you wanna be.” 

Instead of replying, he squeezes your hand tighter to lead you inside. 

Everything is smooth sailing after that. You, Jimin and Yoongi are saving the seats while Jungkook, Lisa and Namjoon are getting the refreshments. Jimin is prattling on about a new job interview and you’re listening attentively, while Yoongi shoots off advice every time Jimin says he’s nervous. 

Yoongi looks past Jimin to give you that gummy smile that always made your chest ache. “Chim, remember when she applied to work at Jamba Juice?” 

“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, clutching your arm. “When you had to do a trial run in front of the manager? You forgot to put the lid on the blender and you sprayed the staff with green juice?” 

“The stains took forever to get out,” you pouted. “And I didn’t appreciate the snaps you saved of me. I got nervous because you were recording me!” 

“Am I hearing some juicy details about your childhood?” Jungkook appears, passing a huge tub of buttery popcorn to Yoongi. 

“Emphasis on juice,” Yoongi says tartly, popping a handful of kernels in his mouth. 

“Yes, do you wanna see a picture of your fiancé covered in green juice? She wore a low-cut shirt that day so it got deep, man.” Jimin says, using his hands to gesture obscenely to his own chest. 

You’re mortified, and you push down Jimin’s phone and cover whatever receipts he has on you. “Jimin, I’d like to stay engaged, if you don’t mind?” 

Your not-so-favorite cousin cackles in response, telling Jungkook that they’ll talk later. 

“Here,” Jungkook cooly hands you a King-Sized KitKat. 

“Awh,” you marvel, immediately opening the wrapper, “you actually read my notes and found out what my favorite candy was?” 

He scoffs, dark bangs blowing up. “Who doesn’t like KitKats?” but you’re giving him the look, and he sighs, “C’mon babe, just gimmie a break.” 

“Ha-ha,” but you break off a piece anyway, lifting it to Jungkook’s lips. It’s then that the theatre starts to dim, and the telltale signs of the movie begin. “Ready to rip Jung Hoseok to shreds?” 

“Always.” 

Barely fifteen minutes pass and Jungkook is spreading his legs. You’re about to kick him before he leans in to whisper, “They made Renee too dull,” he sighs in disappointment, as if he sincerely had high hopes they’d bring the novel to justice. “I mean, I get it, in the novel she’s supposed to be a plain Jane. But she isn’t grey.” 

“Right?” you lean into Jungkook, throwing your legs over his thighs like you’re back at the airport. This isn’t out of intimacy, you think to yourself, you just need to be close enough to Jungkook so you don’t disturb the other patrons with your talking. “She’s either a bad actress or they messed up her character. I really got upset when I read this part, but it’s kinda bland on the screen.” 

As much as you love Jimin, you know he’s not going to get your over-criticality over the media. Yoongi and Namjoon are on the other end of the row, but they wouldn’t be too pleased having you gab over the movie because you’re too much of an aficionado. Jungkook is the only one who can tête-à-tête, or in this case, Kit-a-Kat with you. 

You sigh into his shoulder, inhaling his clean scent. “Let’s pray Jung didn’t completely butcher the chapter where Kenzo reflects on his penniless journey.” 

“I’ll leave the theatre right then and there if that happens, care to join me?” 

“Already out the door, bossman.” 

Jungkook looks away from the screen briefly, reaching forward to take an obnoxiously big bite of the KitKat in your hand. You stifle a giggle, and before you can soak up his cheeky grin he’s already looking back at the movie. 

You wonder what Jungkook is like outside of work, if he has that side to him. A little part of you wishes that this playfulness he’s exuding is real. Not to your fake marriage, but a playfulness he can execute to a person that he really likes. Two days out of the office and you’re starting to see that Jungkook has the capabilities to enjoy life, however simple it may be. 

The movie is finished in a blur, and you and Jungkook are still bickering over the intricacies of the film compared to the novel. The night air is cold and burns your cheeks, reminding you exactly how late you’ve been out.

“Well, I thought the romance was so boring!” Lisa blurted, wanting an in. Her lime green ski jacket glares in your vision, and you move away from her immediately. “No one cheated on each other, there was no drama, or evil best friend!” 

“Whoa there,” and you see the little fire in Jungkook’s eyes, one you’ve learned early on to stay away from when you spent hours in his office debating over manuscripts and plotlines. He stares down at Lisa, really stares down. “You think every romance needs some sort of internalized conflict for it to be good? Why can’t they just grow and learn from the external conflict together? It’s literally useless for them to break up over and over just—”

And that’s your cue to walk ahead of them, because while you did agree with Jungkook, you’ve heard this debate one too many times. Ever the closet-romantic at heart. You hope Lisa doesn’t lose her patience and punch him out. 

“Hey,” you feel a hand pat your hair, and you look up at Yoongi. He looks absolutely fluffy in his long puffy jacket, and he matches your steps with his. “Do I look ugly tonight, or something? I feel like we barely exchanged two sentences with each other.” 

“What, never!” you chastise, “you always look good, Yoongi. And we have the whole week to catch up, remember?”

“Really, then why don’t we go out in two days to pick out a tree for your house? Joon and I are planning on going.” 

“I would love to go pick a tree!” you exclaim, “the last time we got a tree together was when your brother had to lift.” 

“Great,” and he pats your head again, but this time his hand lingers to finger the ringlets of your hair. “It’ll be just like old times, baby girl. I’ll pick you up at 9.” 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Jungkook’s argument ended minutes ago and he’s mulling over a new type of internal conflict. 

“Owie, ow, ow—fuck you! Ow!” 

“Well if you just hold still,” Jungkook grimaces, taking his turns with both hands to simultaneously wipe the injury with a cloth and then pressing the affected area with an ice bag. 

“Buh ih hurths!” your voice is muffled by the cloth, stained red with freshly bloomed blood. 

The ski lodge started off great. You enjoyed a fabulous beligan waffle breakfast courtesy of Jimin’s parents, and then made the trek to the slopes. You’ve been here dozens of times, so you didn’t feel an inclination to gravitate to any of the fancy schmancy sports. You were fine playing shuffleboard inside, but your inner youth complained that it’s the holidays and you should be getting out more.

Jimin and Jungkook (who claimed he hasn't snowboarded since he was 16 yet he’s doing tricks like a goddamn Olympian) were shredding on the slopes while Namjoon and Lisa were skiing on a smaller hill. You and Yoongi watched safely from the lift, riding it like a kiddie attraction. You must’ve taken the lift at least ten times, complaining about how you’re both too lazy to function and you could really use a hot chocolate and a fireplace. 

After the fifteenth time on the lift, legs numb, you stumble over with heavy boots to where Lisa and Namjoon were waiting for Jimin and Jungkook. They wanted to walk around more and see if they could try a more difficult slope. 

While you were waiting, you had to admit that Jungkook did kind of cool all decked out in his gear. A competitive, playful smile was easily reflected in his gaze despite his helmet and goggles. 

That slight admiration is knocked right off your feet when Jungkook speeds by way too close for comfort and you’re in his path. Jimin had already slowed next to your friends and family, looking at you in anticipated horror.

It’s far too late, and despite the fact that Jungkook manages to pull your body to his while you wipe out, your face crashes into his helmet and you taste metal. 

Mildly disoriented from the impact, Jungkook’s muffled string of curses nurse you back to a decent consciousness as he tries to carry you to the lodge.

“Holy shit, I got that on camera!” Jimin cries, gesturing to the Go-Pro nestled in his helmet. 

So now you’re in pain and it’s all Jungkook’s fault. Your bottom lip is split, and the burn on your face won’t go away. 

You watch as Jungkook dotes on you, his bangs pushed up everywhere due to his grey goggles haphazardly being propped upon his forehead. His pink tongue sticks out as he concentrates on not getting blood on your sweater. It’s just you and him that are stuck around in the lodge after you got pummeled, standing by the fire while everyone else continues on with the fun. 

“Why were you over there anyway, in the middle of the slope?” he scolds. 

“It was the slow down zone, Jeon. You were the only one not slowing down, you speed demon.” 

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, pressing a little too hard with the ice and you wince. He lets up and presses the cloth to your lips to soak up the moisture.

“Did you say something?” 

“I said, I’m sorry.” 

You sigh dramatically, “I wish I had a camera to save that shitty excuse of an apology.” 

“Speaking of cameras,” he shucks his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Jimin uploaded the video.” 

That man, you don’t know where he has the means to quickly upload and edit things, but if it’s for the ‘Gram, it’s worth it to Jimin. You open Instagram and immediately click on @chimmyboi’s story, immediately wincing as the first few seconds reveal the brunt of the impact. He should really put a disclaimer before uploading content. 

The tumble between you and Jungkook doesn’t look so bad, but it’s when you get up does it look gnarly. Your chin is dribbling in red liquid, and Jungkook’s throwing off his helmet and goggles in a panic. 

He makes a half-assed snowball where you’re lying on the ground, pressing it against your mouth. With his other hand he pulls you into a sitting position, not caring that you’re staining his clothes as he hauls you on his body. 

“Ohmygod,” you splutter, trying not to move your lips, “I look like I got decked with a hockey puck.” 

“It wasn’t that bad, don’t be a baby.” Jungkook sees the piecing glare you give him, and he sighs. “Okay, it looked pretty bad. I was a little worried back there, but now the bleeding pretty much stopped and holy shit—stop smiling! You’re making it open up further!” 

“You were worried?” 

“Shut up.” 

The ice bag is watery and not doing much anymore, but Jungkook still insists to cool your face down. You lift a hand to his cold ones, attempting to take the bag and cloth from his grasp. 

“You should go board with Jimin and the rest of them. I can take care of this.” 

“It’s fine,” he reasons, reaching for the ice bag but you hold on tighter. 

“C’mon, I know the only thing you were looking forward to this entire trip was going snowboarding. I’m a big girl, I can be alone for an hour or two.” 

Jungkook locks his jaw, gnawing at his cheek as he mulls on his decision. “Wouldn’t I look like a bad partner if I leave you?”

“Nah, this has happened before. Almost always someone gets injured on the trip. Last time something like this happened I was eight and I got five stitches on my leg. This is nothing. You’re fine.” 

“But still.” 

“Fine, you wanna make it up to me?” 

You scan the room for any ideas, and it settles on a trio of girls huddled by the register of the built-in café. They’re pretty snow bunnies, decked out in sweater dresses and fur lined boots. They remind you a little of The Powerpuff Girls, all in pastels and attached to the hip. Their gaze has taken hostage in Jungkook’s frame, blatantly ignoring the fact that majority of his attention is directed towards you. You wonder why you haven’t noticed them sooner, because now the staring is getting borderline discomforting. 

Slipping off his goggles with your free hand, you gesture subtly to the girls. “They think you’re hot. Go flirt with them a little and get me a free drink, I’m sure they’ll pay for you.” 

He doesn’t understand the correlation, “Why would I do that?” 

You shrug, separating the strands of hair that stick to his forehead. “Lisa and Namjoon do it all the time when they go clubbing. They compete and pretend they’re single for like two hours, and then they keep a tally of how many people offer to buy them a drink.” 

“That is completely different, but I’m open to trying it when we get back to the city.” he acknowledged briefly, getting up from his crouching position. “I got a better idea.” 

Puzzled, you watch him saunter over to the register. Like bees to the honey, the girls follow Jungkook with their eyes, watching him exaggeratedly mull over the menu. 

He spares the slightest of head inclinations to the drooling trio, “Hello ladies.” The smile is not flirtatious, but kind. 

You suppress a giggle, burying your chin in your scarf as you watch the whole interaction. You don’t even know why you asked Jungkook if he would flirt with those girls, as he kept most of his dates private over the years. You picture a college-aged Jungkook getting his daily breakfast on his way to class, ignoring the way his presence attracts heads. 

The barista hands Jungkook a tray filled with a plastic cup of ice, and a cup filled with something hot, and a chocolate croissant. He grabs a straw from a tray, stabbing it in the hot drink’s lid. 

“Excuse me,” one of the girls coquettishly puts her hands behind her back, puffing her chest out as she leans over Jungkook’s order. “The regular croissants actually taste better in my opinion.” 

“Well my wife’s had a hard day, so I think she deserves something sweet.” 

He doesn’t even turn around as he makes a beeline to where you’re seated on a loveseat, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. 

“Your better idea was making them jealous?” you ask, unsure of his intentions. 

He shrugs, “College-Jungkook always wanted to show off his girlfriend like that, so indulge me for a second, alright?”

Rolling your eyes you reply, “My life is about indulging you. Don’t forget the trips I’ve made to the grocery store when your personal fridge was out of banana—”

“I thought I said we don’t speak of those hard times,” he cuts you off, “ever.”  

You stop him from filling up your ice bag with the ice he brought. “C’mon Jeon, you’re burning daylight out there. I got this. You’ve stalled enough, go have fun in the snow with Jimin, you adrenaline junkie.” 

He scrunches his nose, but relents when you throw him his jacket and goggles. Before he pulls on his gloves, he cups your face with both hands to pull you in a kiss. His hands are cold from the ice, gluing you in place in fear of him kissing you too hard. But it’s barely that, a brushing of lips so tender as he takes extra care with your open lip. 

“Is this also a self-indulgent request?” you pucker, “who knew there was a hormonal teenager under that editor-in-chief’s body.” 

His eyes flicker to the audience in the back, and you don’t need to look behind you to note that they’re glaring daggers in your head. It’s like you’re straight out of a rom-com. 

“You’re leaving me to the bunnies,” you say teasingly. 

“Then hurry up and get better so you can join us,” he taunts, “or else you can’t help me bury Jimin in the snow.” 

It’s a tempting offer that makes you down your drink so you can enjoy the rest of your day. 

Light seeps through your windows, rays kissing your eyelashes and willing them to open. You groan, hand splaying out to wake up Jungkook. When you find his space empty and cool, you sit up and search for your fake-fiancé. 

He’s on the floor, smack in the middle of his morning workout. Your iPad is under his body, and somehow he’s managed to find a setting where the document scrolls for him automatically. He’s not wearing his Airpods, so you rasp, “Jeon, you’re crazy. I get the morning workout, but you don’t have to look over any more transcripts. I think you’ve read enough for this week.” 

“It helps me ignore the burn,” he says shortly, and you see the ripples of his back flex with every push-up. “And I wouldn’t have to do so much reading if my assistant would just do her job.” 

“I already told you, I’m not working during my vacation.” you throw off the sheets, padding to your closet. “I’m going to pick the tree today. You should go to the mall with my mom and Jimin to pick out some new ornaments.” 

“What?” he gets up, and you ignore the perfect view of tight muscles decorating his abs. Exactly how long was he awake for to have sweat clinging to his shirt? You’re going to short-circuit and it’s barely 8:30. “But I wanna go help pick out the tree.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Joon and Yoongi got it.” 

“Yoongi, really? You think he can carry a tree?” 

“This isn’t a pissing contest, Jeon.” you settle on a burgundy Patagonia jacket and grey leggings. “Besides, Yoongi and I are just friends.”

“You sure about that, baby girl?” 

You whip around to poke at his chest, and you ignore how smug he looks. “Do not test me, Jeon. Like you said, I’m with you every step of the way in this marriage. I’m not going to jeopardize that over some childhood crush.” 

“Wow, your life is really turning into a Wattpad entry,” he admonishes, “fake-fiancé still pining over his older brother’s best friend, really high-qual stuff.” 

“I’m serious.” you grit, “I took a week off so I can get away from you and that was ruined, so I would like a little bit of space today.” 

And that gets Jungkook to back away. His face deflates a little, and you feel a little guilty for making him upset, but you stab that thought down and convince yourself that he deserves it. It’s not like he cares about you, he just wants to show off to the boys.

“Fine,” he turns around to put on a fresh shirt, and you almost notice the pout marrying his face. “You could’ve just told me you wanted space. I’m getting kind of tired of you too, you know.” 

He flops on the bed and you huff in reply, quickly throwing on your attire inside your closet while he watches a YouTube video. You check your phone, and at 8:59 a knock is at your door. Jungkook doesn’t bother to get up to answer, and you open the door to see a sleepy Yoongi with a paper cup in his hand. 

“An English breakfast with two sugars and a dash of milk, baby girl.” 

You mask your wince at the pet name. It hadn’t bothered you when you were young, but its starting to feel coddling now that Jungkook is making you hyper-aware of the attention. “Perfect,” you faux-beam, the hot beverage warm your fingers. 

“I’ll just warm up the car and—”

“Babeeeeee,”  the deepest, sexiest voice echoes from your bed and out in the hallway. He sounds absolutely tempting, and needy. You freeze at the way your boss can so easily pretend he’s exhausted and wanting you, “come back to bedddddd. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Yoongi’s ears are red, “Aaand, I’ll let you finish whatever business you have.” 

The older man bolts out of there, and you snap your head back to look at an innocent Jungkook. He tilts his head at your bout of anger. 

“You know, I have half a mind to fling this tea down your shirt.” 

“What?” he looks at you like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “He can’t be the only one who can call you baby.” 

Honestly, you didn’t mean to lash out on Jungkook like that. You did need to put up a face as you were each other's significant others, but it doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time. To top it all off you’ve been feeling weird as of late, and you can only attribute these terrible feelings to a certain brunet who’s been sleeping in your bed. 

But you pin these feelings for another time, because you need to enjoy what little quality time you have with your brother. 

“Hey, whaddya think of this one?” It's just you and Namjoon picking the tree, and Yoongi’s sitting in the cabin keeping warm. He said to call him once you’ve decided, since it is your house. 

“Hm, it’s fine.” you shrug, inhaling the pine. “Maybe a little too tall.” 

Namjoon nods, and you follow him to the next row of greenery. He’s been pensive this whole time, and you have a feeling he’s hiding something. Surrounded by pine and the fresh winter air he says, “Hey, I just wanna say sorry.” 

“Why, did you like that tree over there? I don’t mind it, we can go back!” 

“What, no? I’m sorry for being weird around Jungkook.” 

“Huh?” sure, you noticed the weird language and terseness he gave Jungkook initially, but you chalked it out as big brother issues. 

You two continue to walk around the forest aimlessly, not really tree hunting. 

“I was just upset that the engagement was so sudden,” Namjoon starts, and you feel the guilt start to set camp in your stomach. “And I don’t know, at first he just didn’t seem like your type? I always thought you wanted to date someone gentle, someone you could hold and depend on. He looked so serious, and maybe a little immature.”

“He is a little immature,” you agree softly, digging your boots in the snow, “but I don’t love him any less because of it. We’re growing together.” Shit, why was that so easy for you to say? 

“Figured,” and Namjoon stops to place a hand on your shoulder, “I see the way he looks at you, and you can’t fake love like that.” 

Namjoon’s admonition is so convincing that you almost convince yourself that it is something. 

Something is bothering Jungkook, and he doesn’t know why. 

It’s not the billions of charges he made on his credit card for new ornaments, because it simultaneously inflated his ego and impressed your mom. 

It’s not the way Jimin hangs onto his every word and doesn’t let up, because it is refreshing to have your cousin find a genuine interest in him. 

Jungkook, Jimin and your mom have been taking laps around the mall for the past hour. They’ve floated around here and there, picking out whatever catches their eye for the tree. 

Jimin’s in the middle of explaining the Jamba Juice story when a glimmering window display catches his eye. 

“Hun, have you not bought her a present yet?” your mom says over his shoulder. 

“No,” he exhales, embarrassed that he just admitted he didn’t think of getting you anything in front of your mom. “She doesn’t ask for anything, really.” Besides her book published, a raise, and a potential promotion as editor, but they didn’t need to know that much. 

“Good thing you’re with the right people!” Jimin cheers, ushering him into the jewelry store. 

Funny enough, he knows exactly what to get you. Once he points it out, Jimin and your mom “ooh” and “aah” respectively, agreeing that what he chose was perfect. If you had asked Jungkook a week ago what kind of jewlery you like, he’d give you a dumb look and say “something shiny.” But that’s what’s bothering him. He just walked right into the store, saw what was right, and everything just clicked. 

Jungkook pins that thought for later, because once their shopping is done they’re back at your villa, arranging the ornaments and detangling the lights that have been holed up in the closet for eleven months. 

Jimin and he are sitting on the living room floor, stabbing thread through popcorn. He really only saw this craft in the movies, and the small part of him is amazed that you and your family go through the hard work to make your holidays so warm. 

Your mom appears from her bedroom, clutching something in her hand. She sits in front of Jungkook, a huge smile on her face. 

“Before you say anything,” and it strikes him how similar you are to your mother. There’s that tone he always receives before he gets new news, or the way you’re eager to share something that will make him happy. “I don’t want you to think this is a luxurious gift or anything. But I realized that you don’t have a wedding band so I went through my old cases and found this.” 

She opens her palm slowly, revealing a simple black band. 

Jungkook’s lips part to form words, but his vocal cords betray him. At first glance, this ring could’ve been mistaken for one of Jimin’s plentiful rings adorning his fingers. Upon closer inspection however, Jungkook notes that this band is thinner and more worn. The metal looks strong and old, the slight scratches and faded color revealing that it was a well-loved piece of jewelry. 

Your mom is offering Jungkook a wedding band. 

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay!” your mom says quickly, nerves radiating because of Jungkook’s silence. “It was my grandfather’s. Don’t feel as if you have to accept it. It’s not a wedding band persay, but I think it matches and it looks about your size and we didn’t get you a Christmas gift so—”

“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tells her firmly, sending him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, I guess we kind of rushed the engagement so I didn’t think of getting a band of my own.” 

Your mother is grateful, dropping the ring in Jungkook’s awaiting palm. “I think my daughter should be the one who puts it on you, don’t you think?” 

“Right,” he echoes, and he just stares at the ring in his hand, feeling weird in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone put this much thought in getting him something this significant. He can’t accept this ring, but he can’t refuse it either. “I could never find something with this much value from a little shop in New York, so thank you.” 

“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of New York,” Jimin puts down his completed popcorn wreath, “y/n said she already put in her off days for Easter, so you should too. It’ll be at my place this year, and I live by an indoor skydiving zone. She mentioned you’re an adrenaline junkie.” 

“She also mentioned that your birthday’s in September.” your mom pops in, “We were thinking we could take Friday off and stop by for the weekend. I’ve always wanted to see Hamilton!” 

Jungkook knows they’re trying to cheer him up. They’re trying to make him feel part of the family, feel wanted. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt wanted unless it’s for a book deal or a business exchange. It’s been so long since he’s felt this warm, and he didn’t realize how much he yearned for it until he proposed to you.

“Hey man,” Jimin puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, “are you alright?” 

“Fine,” he’s crying, and doing a shit job at hiding the tears. “It’s alright, I just,” he can’t even find the strength to get up and walk away from this. Is it pathetic that he’s breaking down in the comfort of your cousin and mom, starved for affection? “I just, I miss my family. It’s just the four of us, but they’re all the way in Korea and it’s been awhile since I’ve really celebrated anything with them. They visit sometimes but it’s not the same, y’know? And work is so stressful but I’m not in a position to say that. And your family is just so, so nice and it makes me miss them even more. You’re all so lucky to support each other like this.” 

Jimin and your mom sandwich him like an Oreo. It’s almost funny, how two smaller humans are comforting this big human and not the other way around. “Poor baby, it’s your family too.” 

Pathetic. It’s pathetic how much he wishes to have a family like yours, but he can’t have that. 

“Can we please not tell y/n about this?” Jungkook wishes, leaning his head on your mom’s. “She’s going through a lot right now with work and stuff, I’d rather just talk to her about this after the holidays, if that’s okay.” 

“It’s quite alright, sweetheart,” your mom runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes automatically flutter closed, “just remember, your feelings matter too, okay?” 

You and Jungkook slip into bed at the same time, murmuring half-hearted “how was your days” and brief descriptions of your outings. It’s a little awkward considering the morning’s events, but not unbearable. 

“The tree smells really nice,” Jungkook tries, looking up from his phone. 

“Yeah, makes the whole room smell like Christmas.” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good time shopping, find anything good?” 

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice.” 

[11:29] Jimin: hey, you know my room’s right next to yours right? 

[11:29] Jimin: we share a goddamn wall and im NOT hearing shit

[11:29] Jimin: are you putting that baby blanket to good use ;)

[11:30] You: YOU”REE DISGUSTING are we even family!!!!  Can i disown a first cousin?? 

[11:30] Jimin: i’m just sayin.. U said it was fantastic

You throw your phone away, letting it slide off to the mattress and onto the baby blanket. Yes, the baby blanket is unfortunately here to stay. Over the course of three days, the quilt is like a ball in a tennis match between you and your mother. You’ve given up and just kept it on the floor. 

“I have a question,” you say aloud, motioning to your bed partner. 

“Shoot.” 

“Was it true when you said I was the only girl you knew well enough to be your wife?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re here.” 

“I’m just wondering, because I really thought you could pick any girl in the office to be yours.” you stuff your hands under the covers, playing with your ring. “I mean, you’re kinda-sorta handsome. You could’ve picked someone just as pretty and they would have studied your whole life story for you.” 

Jungkook's phone falls in his lap, and he looks at you like you’ve lost a couple brain cells. “Normally, I would eat up the fact that you admitted I was attractive. But do you realize you’re just as beautiful, if not more?” 

What? 

“I know it’s unprofessional, but how professional can we get when we’re married, but you’re the whole package, y/n.” and he says it with such fervor, you can’t formulate a response. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. No one else can take my shit and throw it right back in my face, or debate with me for hours on end about a novel’s direction. Only you can do that.” 

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “thanks, you’re right. I’m just clouded, and stressed. And Jimin’s being an ass and it’s really bothering me.” 

His chocolate eyes flicker in the darkness of your bedroom, making note of your phone on the floor. “What’d he say?” 

“It’s stupid, he said that he thinks it’s weird he hasn’t heard us bang all week,” you force a laugh, “it’s my fault though, he wouldn’t get off my back so I gave up and told him the sex was fantastic.” 

“Are you worried he’s unconvinced?” 

“A little, maybe? I don’t know.” you’re wrinkling your bedsheets now, turning the cotton into putty as your sweaty palms wring at the edge. 

“I don’t mind giving him a show.” Jungkook blurts, and you instinctively pull the covers closer to your chest, even though you’re fully clothed. 

“What, like fake moan into the wall?” 

“There are things you can do over the clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling the sheet of his bedside down slightly. “And you just said you’re stressed. I’d be a bad fiancé to not let you relieve some of that tension.” 

Jungkook opens his arms and gestures for you to get on his lap. Your body is hot all over, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re horrified or aroused. Maybe a little of both. 

“Are you kidding—you’re my boss!” 

“And we’re consenting adults!” he narrows his eyes at you, “don’t say you’ve never thought about it before.”

And the sick, twisted part of you has, a lot. There’s something about a man in a tailored suit and owning up to its power that’s really attractive. Not to mention all those times they’d be traveling for work, stumbling for a quick McDonald's bite at 12AM and he’d be dressed casually in tight black jeans and combat boots. The energy really kept you on your toes. 

“Wow, I really hate late-night talks. All the secrets come out, don’t they?” 

“If it makes you feel better, your ass looks great in pencil skirts,” you turn to him with flared eyes, “what? I’m just trying to let you know I mayhaps find you attractive.” 

“Mayhaps you should stop talking before I regret this.” 

His eyebrows lift and disappear from his bangs, the hair freshly dried and fluffy from his late night shower. He then pats his lap with a little blasé as if to say “hop on”, and you ignore the way how good the seat looks, his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide his unmentionables. 

Trying to fight alongside your last drop of dignity, you take your time. 

“C’mon y/n, don’t make it weird.” 

“It’s been weird, Jeon! Jimin’s next door!” you hiss, backing away slightly, “Give me some time, I can’t just hump my boss!” 

“You’re not humping your boss.” Jungkook has the audacity to grin, the expression looking absolutely sinful in the moonlight. “Think of it as your lover wanting to make you feel good.” 

The bridge between love and hatred is a fine, fine line stemmed by passion. 

Careful, you lift your blankets up and slip out of them, moving to sit up. It’s ridiculous, tiptoeing around your bed to avoid any sudden creaks in the aged wood of your mahogany headboard. 

“We’re out to prove to your family we fuck on the reg,” Jungkook snips, “you can make noise.” 

Within seconds, he’s hauling you on his lap. You squeak in surprise, feeling the thin material of his boxers seep through your thin silk shorts. You wriggle around, monitoring Jungkook’s expression. He does not allude too much, but you take note of the way Jungkook secures you with his hands between the swells of your thighs. 

“I’m not a rollercoaster, stop adjusting like you’re gonna buckle up.” 

Jungkook’s dry humor lightens the mood considerably, and you can’t help but smile timidly at his attempt to make you feel at ease. He lets you take your time, and you never imagined someone so demanding in the office can be so… kind in bed. 

You dip forward to kiss his lips once, twice. He looks needy, but lets you set the pace. You appreciate that. You’re salivating at his willingness to make you feel good, and you whimper as he nibbles on a sensitive spot on your neck. 

You need more. Sensing your urgency when you jerk his chin up, he muffles your sounds with a harsh kiss, taking care to moan deeply into your mouth. The heat is luxurious on this winter night, burgundy kisses exchanged between the sheets like secrets. His tongue slips between your teeth, tasting every inch of you and exploring you like the deepest texts. 

He pulls away slightly, and you’re drowning in his gaze. “Am I still just kinda-sorta handsome now?” he nips at your neck, sucking on a spot between your jaw. 

“N-no,” and you pull him up by the chin, taking in his messy hair and glazed eyes, “you’re fucking sexy,” and you tug your mouth to his once more. 

You don’t even realize that you’re rolling your hips until Jungkook breaks the kiss in favor of grabbing your hips, making sure your core is nestled perfectly between his hardening length. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get wet, and the silk glides easily between your thighs like butter.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, one hand reaching up to cup your breast, “use me, make  yourself feel good.” 

“Please, don’t call me that,” you whine against his mouth, trying to keep the mood in, “Babe is fine, but baby girl makes me feel like a little kid and I’m not a little kid.”

“You damn right,” and he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, and you gasp hotly into his mouth. It’s too late to muffle your moans, not when you’re drenched with two pathetic pieces of fabric stopping the both of you. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent, strong, amazing woman.” 

With every compliment, he does all the work, thrusting with each adjective like he’s blessing poetry into your body. 

“J-Jungkook,” the name is muffled against his shoulder, too fuzzed in ecstasy to be embarrassed by the drool coating his tank top. His hair tickles your shoulder as he nips at your clothed breasts, swirling around your nipple. “I-I, m’gonna come,” 

“You’re almost there huh?” and he slips a hand between you two to find that sweet spot, swirling designs between your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

And you’re shaking, collapsing into his embrace as he rides out your high. He cradles one hand in your hair as you rub furiously against his other, chasing your pleasure like a starved animal. 

“K-Kook,” you murmur into his neck, finding the strength to roll your hips one more time to check. “You’re still hard, do you want me to help?”

“No.” he’s forthright, and as tired as you are, you force yourself to pick your head up. Sweat lines his brow and his face is flushed, but he’s already helping you off and handing you a tissue from the nightstand. 

“What?” you’re hurt, and don’t want to admit why. 

“Don’t feel like you need to,” he grunts into your forehead, dipping a chaste kiss right in the center. “Just let me do something nice to you for once.” 

As much as you want to, you don’t complain as he tucks you in. You don’t complain when you see a wet stain on his Kirby boxer briefs. You don’t answer back when he checks his phone one more time and pulls you in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s 12:31. 

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into your skin, and turns over so his back faces you. 

Christmas is a loud and eager affair. The entirety of your family piles into your house while still in pajamas, aunts and uncles from other villas running in with their children with their newly opened toys and gadgets. There’s a buffet style breakfast piled on the kitchen island, and you’re all eating in the living room while watching holiday movies. 

Jungkook melds right in, unsurprisingly. He has your baby cousin Dante in his lap, teaching him how to use the controls of his new Nintendo Switch. 

Despite only meeting Jungkook a few days ago, you notice that some of your family have taken the liberty of giving him small presents. You spot a simple silver chain around his wrist, courtesy of Jimin, and a fluffy grey scarf wrapped around his neck, courtesy of your aunt’s impeccable knitting club. 

“He fits right in, doesn’t he?” 

Yoongi hands you your usual cup of tea, and you accept it gratefully. You’re sitting right next to the tree, and you notice that some of the ornaments are miniature books. You absentmindedly run your fingers over the carved wood, especially on the ones that are your favorite titles. 

“Yeah,” you hate to admit, so you whisper it into your mug. But Yoongi can hear, he always does. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.” 

“Easy to love him, or easy to fit into this family?” 

You splutter into your mug, and Yoongi does the right thing by patting your back. It feels a little bit like he’s burping a baby, but otherwise, it soothes your lungs. 

“I am happy for you, you know.” he says, knocking knees with you. “It might not seem like it now, but I truly am.” 

Deciding not to dwell on his subversive confession, you thank him for the tea and excuse yourself. Dante seems like he’s got the hang of MarioKart, so you tug Jungkook by the hand and lead him back into your bedroom. 

“I got you a present, but I didn’t feel like making a scene about it,” you pull out a pink gift bag, tufts of white tissue paper sticking out. “Also, it’s kinda cheap and it was a last minute thing, so don’t have any high expectations.” 

“Gee, you’re really making me feel deserving of this gift,” but he takes his time in unraveling the bag anyway. 

He pulls out a shiny onyx black mug, rolling it between his hands. On one side it’s engraved in gold cursive “World’s Best Boss” but on the other side it’s engraved, “World’s Best Husband”. 

“Subtle,” he grins, pulling you into a hug. He gets that it’s a gag gift, but because it’s from you, it's a lot more meaningful. You could’ve easily delved into his bank accounts and see what he buys for himself, but you decided to take the more personal route. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your hair. And to really throw you off he says, “For my gift, I’ve decided to publish your novel.” 

You shove him away as if you’ve been stung, and you barely have the voice to ask, “Are you serious, you’ve read my novel? I didn’t even send you the first draft!” 

“We share the same Google Drive, it was easy to find. If you had noticed, it’s the only thing I’ve been reading this week,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, but he’s in actuality giving you your lifelong dream. “You deserve it, really. I’m sorry if you felt like it wasn’t ready to be read. But it was wonderful, you’re a real wordsmith.” 

“I’m not upset,” you can’t be, not when he smells so good and he’s trying to hug you all over again. “How many copies?”

“10,000.”

“20,000.”

“15,000, and I’ll even give you permission to dedicate your novel to me.” he raises his brows irreverently. 

You scoff at his arrogance, but you don’t admit to confessing that along with professors and your family, you would be dedicating it to him. “Well my gift feels like absolute shit,” you deadpan, “can I have a do-over tomorrow? We can go to the mall or something.”

“You’ve done enough for me,” he disagrees, breaking away from you to place the mug on your desk. “Agreeing to my farfetched proposal, letting me into your home. I think that’s an amazing gift.” 

“You’ve been way too nice,” you look at him wearily, noting the rosiness in his cheeks. 

“You say that like it’s not possible!” 

“Who knows? Maybe the Christmas spirit has performed a miracle, who am I to judge?” and you can’t get enough of the man, running into his heart one more time. Pressing your ear to his chest you sing, “Well, in the Poconos they say, that Jeon Jungkook’s heart grew three sizes that day.” 

It may have not grown three sizes, but if the living room wasn’t so loud, maybe you could’ve heard his heart beating three times as fast. 

The calm after the storm is your favorite part of Christmas. Most of your extended family has left to mull in their own homes, leaving your family to laze around until it’s just you and Jungkook that are awake. 

Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Netflix, arguably the only superior rendition of the children's book. The tree is still glowing by the fireplace, soft white lights trickling in the darkened room. 

Earlier in the night, you and Jungkook had cuddled up in the middle of the couch under a blanket, and were too lazy to move even when the entirety of your family vacated. Either of you could’ve easily shoved each other off and went to bed, but here you are, making offhand comments over hot cocoa. Each second that passes by, you’re more aware of how well you two sink between the fabric like you’re meant to do this. The domesticity terrifies you, but you don’t dare to point it out. 

“How does his face do that?” Jungkook turns to you, contorting his face into funny expressions. It’s a poor attempt at the green creature on the screen, but it makes your mouth twitch and you fight the urge to giggle. “It’s like he’s made of rubber.” 

“He has a sense of humor, unlike some people.” 

“Very funny,” he says, turning away to take a sip of his cooca. 

Sinking further into the couch, you unconsciously latch onto him more, savoring his body heat. “Can I confess something?”  

“What’s up?” 

“A week ago, I loathed you. I used to have recurring dreams about you getting run over by a Wonderbread truck. And I was driving the truck.” 

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better.” 

“No really, if I had the opportunity to watch you get hit by a cab, I would’ve paid for it.” 

“If it were possible for me to file for divorce at this very second, now would be time. You are a walking red flag.” 

“Okay, but!” you shush him with a finger to your lips, and he goes cross-eyed at the touch. “After seeing your stellar performance this week and an impeccable display of human emotion. I think after all of this, we could be friends.” 

“Fwends?” he says through your finger, mouth smushed. “Why whuh we?” 

Instead of lifting your finger right away, you swipe at his cherry lips, getting rid of the marshmallow sticking to the corners. 

“Because we get along.” you say simply.

“Because we’re supposed to be getting married.” 

“No! We’ve always gotten along! We’ve just been too up our asses to notice!” you sit up, appalled. “Here’s my theory, a change of setting has suddenly spurred on your character development—”

“—y’know I really don’t appreciate your use of literary jargon, it’s really pretentious—”

“—because without your external conflict, you have a chance to let loose and enjoy your life for once!” 

Jungkook frowns, adjusting his frame so he slightly hovers you. He’s pretty like this, dressed in fluffy black pajamas and his face soft. His eyes absorb the Christmas fairy lights, and you notice for the first time in two years that there are no longer purple bags under his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice so small you wonder if he’s worried to crush the moment. “Friends are hard.” 

You shake your head vehemently, “Friends are easy, keeping them is the hard part.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being so weird about this. You’ve worked for him for over two years, you know him as well as you know your skincare routine, down to the last detail. 

“Jeon, don’t think too hard about this,” you try to get him to lighten up, the intense look in his eyes throwing you in for a loop. It makes the little hamster wheel in your head spin rapidly, and you wonder if you’re really crossing a line. “Jimin said you had a really good time yesterday, I was almost jealous I couldn’t come shopping with you.” 

He cracks a smile at that, “Yeah, Jimin and I shared a moment,” and he leans down to the shell of your ear, “and he said he really enjoyed our moment last night.” 

“Oh my god!” you grab a nearby throw pillow, chucking the rough fabric in his face. 

He breaks into a laugh, but not the wine and dine chuckles that he’d have between terse negotiations for work. It’s a full out giggle, like he’s proud to have riled you up enough to break your resolve. Who knew your angry face could be so cute? 

“I guess if we’ve crossed a line, might as well make it all the way to the end,” Jungkook says easily, running a hand through his chocolate tresses. 

You and Jungkook are leaving the day after tomorrow. Most of your stuff is packed and ready to go, and you’re currently spending the rest of your night at a sit-down dinner with your immediate family plus Jimin. 

It’s peaceful, you muse. Jungkook even offered to help cook. Back at Big Hit not once did he ever bring leftovers from home, always insisting you order something for him during work. Kimchi fried rice is a simple dish, but Jungkook had taken great care in making sure it was cooked properly and adjusted to your family’s tastes. 

Your parents are glowing and enjoying their time with the whole family, a rarity that grows more valuable with age. The meal soothes you like a balm, reminding you of old conversations that had you spew milk out of your nose or Namjoon accidentally spilling beans on your lap. 

“Oh, you should also clear your schedule for the first week of September,” Jimin says absentmindedly, shoving another mouthful of fried rice. “Besides Easter, Jungkook says we can celebrate his birthday and visit for the weekend.” 

“Seriously,” Namjoon balks, sitting up straight as he regards you in disbelief. “You’re sure your Devil of a boss will enjoy you out of his chains for two vacations, god forbid you take the holidays off again.” 

The grip on your fork tightens, but you steel yourself. Honestly, you were wondering why it took Namjoon this long to let it all out. He was always vehemently against your job, as he was the person who got the brunt of your vents when you were stressed. Probably for the sake of Christmas he let it go, but now that it’s over, the topic’s fair game. 

“Oh, c’mon Joonie,” your mother frowns, “not at the table.” 

“He isn’t that bad, Joon.” you reason, completely ignoring Jungkook as you stare straight at your brother. “He means well—”

“Means well?” Namjoon barks a laugh, as if it’s the most laudable thing. “Sis, you cried everyday for a straight month after you were hired.” he places his hands on the table, regarding you carefully, “I had to personally call your doctor in New York to get you sleeping pills, and not to mention that two weeks ago, you were crying again because you were worried he forgot your vacation and would make you work! Don’t tell me he ‘means well’ when I’ve been busy picking up the pieces!” 

At this point, you’re livid. Jungkook’s right here, and while you can’t go ahead and out the fact that he is your boss, you can still have his back. 

They don’t know that you’ve picked the pieces back up, reinforced yourself to create a better version of the person you once were. 

“He does mean well,” you cry, matching your brother’s red tone to a T. “He’s just stressed and genuinely cares about the company. I choose to work long hours because he takes his time in making sure the work we publish is worthwhile, and I support that. He’s hard on me because he knows I have potential. He’s going to make sure I succeed.” 

Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You’re seriously defending your shitty boss?” 

Jimin puts a hand over Namjoon’s in an attempt to placate him, but he shoves it away.

“Honestly,” Namjoon spits venom, “how can you possibly stand to be around someone who makes your life so miserable?” 

Your meal has gone cold, and your fists clutch desperately at your jeans. The breath is robbed from your lungs, and you can’t look at anyone for fear of them regarding you with guilt. You know since the day you got hired that your family wasn’t exactly enthused at your boss’ level of expectation and work output. But they don’t know the industry, and they don’t even really know Jungkook past the surface level. . 

But you know in their eyes, they’re right. Their daughter left their comfy home to pursue her lifelong dream, only for it to be broken in a matter of weeks. It’s natural to feel protective, and while you’re resilient and were able to get it together as of late, it wasn’t enough for them to understand. As someone who loves you, it’s obvious they’d want to blame your boss, blame Jungkook for your suffering. 

You imagine your father would ask Namjoon to step outside, or your parents would make Jimin pull you and Jungkook out. Neither of those things happen.

A warm, large hand is placed on top of yours. You look towards Jungkook, face unreadable as he squeezes your thigh. 

“Namjoon’s right.” Jungkook utters, pressing his lips together. “You deserve to be treated with respect. The boss has never appreciated the hard work you do, at least not out loud. You’re too good for him.”

“Jungkook,” you gape, putting your other hand over his. 

He pulls away at your touch, glancing at the clock. “This dinner was wonderful,” he says gently, looking apologetic to your parents. “Excuse me, but I promised to call my parents at this time.” 

The excuse is completely half-assed, but no one says anything as he leaves, walking out the door without a coat. The table is terse, with your parents attempting to coax out dessert while Jimin clears the dinner table. You refuse to look at Namjoon, who has no idea why you’re so upset. You wait five minutes before you mumble about getting Jungkook a jacket. 

However, when you open the door he isn’t sitting on the porch. He’s all the way up the street, too far for you to be heard with a yell, and walking farther into town. The black hoodie falls to your side, disappointed. 

Jungkook does in fact, call his parents. Your mother suggested it when she gave him the ring, thinking it would ease his homesickness if he made a better effort to communicate his feelings. 

And so he spends over an hour huddled in a cafe, talking about nothing and everything with his mom and dad. He tells them about the little novelties he’s experienced this week, like making popcorn strings and picking out themed Christmas ornaments. He tells him how he promises to book a flight back to Korea as soon as his work visa goes through. While he doesn’t mention the proposal, he mentions you. He prattles on and on about how strong and beautiful you are, and how you’ve crept up on him and made him realize how awful of a person he was. 

His mom prattles excitedly through the line, saying that women make you realize how much better you can be for them, but she doesn’t know the half of it. 

Jungkook sat there in your dining room, Namjoon boldly telling you off about how miserable he’s made you. 

And yet still, you defended him in ways he never imagined. Your relationship has always been mutual, and prickly at best. You balanced each other out, but he knows he doesn’t deserve you. When he first hired you, he rendered you indispensable like all the other assistants that couldn’t handle it. You’d break eventually. 

And you did break. But you picked up the pieces and put yourself back together, and you didn’t resent him for it. He hated that. How can you trust someone who’s hurt you so much? 

He can’t let you go through with this marriage. You’re wrong. You don’t need him to be successful. 

[11:09] You: mom unlocked the door for you. Jimin and i went out for drinks so idk when ill be back

[11:09] You: please don’t be mad at me

Silly girl, why would he ever be mad at you? 

His plan is simple, Sneak into your villa, grab his luggage, and try to book the earliest flight back to New York. Then, he can come clean to Taeyeon and spend the year in Korea while they work out his visa issues. He’ll quietly pack his things and clear out the office before Monday.  Hopefully by the time he makes it to Busan, he can forgive himself. He’s going to regret missing your expression when you get to hold the first physical copy of your novel. 

This plan proves difficult when he sees Namjoon waiting outside for him, sitting on his luggage and reading a book. His long legs are splayed across the porch, and he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.

“Knew something was off,” the older man doesn’t look up from his novel, “found the mug on her desk, bossman.” 

Muttering a curse under his breath Jungkook opens his arms, “Are you gonna beat me up now?” 

“What? No, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jungkook scoffs, and watches Namjoon roll his luggage to the back of the van. “And out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll save you the Lyft fare and drive you to the airport.” 

Is he that predictable? He flinches at the sudden jet of the ignition, and he takes heavy, snow-laden steps to the passenger seat. Once buckled in, Namjoon tosses the book in his lap. “Some light reading for the drive.” 

If Namjoon wasn’t the driver, he wouldn’t hesitate to chuck the book at his big, intelligent head. Instead, he glowers, clutching the book tightly. It’s only when they round the corner to a house brightly decorated with lights, does he see what novel Namjoon’s plucked. 

A Mutually-Assured Attachment. Jungkook tosses the book back and forth between his palms, noting the soft cover is so worn it could melt apart in his lap. It feels tended and loved from years of use. 

It’s Jungkook’s first novel, and you had a copy. One of the first editions, if he remembers the cover art correctly. Granted, he thought you had some of his books purely because of your job, but not one from your childhood. Frankly he thought this should have never been published, but he was nineteen and that in itself was a large feat. 

He carefully peels the pages, and takes out his phone to shine the flashlight mode. At the very front, blood red ink is scratched next to the title: “this is THE most pretentious title i’ve read in my life! Don’t disappoint me jeon!!” 

Your handwriting’s all over the place. He sees graphite, gel, and glitter pens mark the margins, as if you’ve come back each time to write something new. The annotations vary, from “this part sucks” to “shit, that’s good i should do that”. You draw little pictures of the objects he’s contrived, from the little brass locket one character cherishes to the facial expressions you imagine they hold. 

And at the very end, your handwriting sits neat and bold on the inside cover: I can do better than him. 

Jungkook chuckles to himself, turning off the light. You’re always right. 

Namjoon senses the younger one is done, and he clears his throat. “I really really don’t understand what she sees in you.” 

“I don’t understand either,” Jungkook agrees easily, his finger tracing your handwriting. He muses that you were always out to get him, even if you didn’t know it. 

Namjoon masks his surprise by clearing his throat. “But I’d rather seek to understand than live the rest of my life having my sister resent me. I don’t really know what you two are going through, but if she trusts you with her life, I’ll try. Emphasis on try.” 

“I don’t deserve your trust.” 

“You damn right you don’t,” succumbing to his impulses Namjoon makes a sharp turn, and Jungkook holds his stomach together before it flies out the window.  

You come home to find your room cold and barren. All of Jungkook’s things are gone, except your Christmas mug. 

You at least thought Jungkook would spare you a goodbye before he ditched you. You hoped you’d at least consider each other friends who provide explanations after all of this. 

Lifting the mug off the desk, you hear a little clink in the glass, the chime unfamiliar. Hurriedly, you pour out its contents. A heavy, tungsten black ring lands in your palm. You clench the metal between your fingers, hugging it to your chest. 

Mind made up, you dash out to the hallway, nearly bumping into your cousin. At the same time you and Jimin blurt, “We need to go to the airport.” 

Apparently Namjoon warned Jimin that something fishy’s going on. Namjoon didn’t know what, but he had the inkling that Jungkook was hiding something. Once Jimin received the text to meet them at the airport, he flung you in his sedan and floored it. Flushed with adrenaline, Jimin is speeding with a fervor you’ve never experienced. 

“Can you please, take the edge off and tell me what the hell is going on?” 

Just like how Jungkook didn’t want Big Hit to go down the drain, you didn’t want this week to be in vain. You can’t wait a year for Jungkook to come back, and you didn’t want to publish your first novel without him by your side. 

“Long version or short version?” 

“The in-the-middle version. I don’t think I have the brain capacity to absorb all your drama right now but I really need some answers.” 

“O-kay. Basically, Jungkook isn’t a Literary Agent. He’s my god-awful boss. Or was awful, I don’t know. Jungkook left the country before his work visa was fully processed. That’s a breach, so he needs to live in Korea for a year to come back. But he can’t run Big Hit remotely, so he proposed to marry me to attain citizenship.”

Your head whips to the dashboard and you cry out, barely stopping the impact with your hands.  

“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin’s eyes are focused on the red light, absolutely terrified. “Bitch, you’re committing fraud with your boss! You could go to jail, that’s like, the hottest love story ever!” 

“But he’s going back to Korea because now he suddenly realized he can forge basic human connection.” you mutter, “so no, we’re not going to jail because he’s decided to do the right thing.” 

“So what you’re saying is, Jungkook has achieved self-actualization and decided to peacefully move to Korea and sacrifice the company for you.” Jimin is carving his free hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you see! He really likes you.”

“Yeah, so now we need to go to the airport and tell his dumbass this isn’t the time to be selfless.” 

Once you find a spot you’re rushing out of the car, weaving between carts and people to find the correct terminal. This airport is much smaller than JFK, so it’s easy for you to navigate and get past the TSA. It also helps that Jin’s wife is an attendant. 

“He chose the 1:45 flight in Terminal 31A,” Mijoo chirps from her tablet, leading you in the right direction. She’s dressed impeccably, the odds and ends of this airport glued together by her impeccable organization. She points to the clock, which glares a digital 1:18AM. “You have time.” 

“Thank you Mijoo,” you exhale gratefully, “and I’m so so sorry I skipped your wedding!” 

“This is the 300th time you’ve said it,” Mijoo rolls her eyes, pushing you and Jimin forward, “But I’ll make sure not to miss your wedding.” 

You’re sweating from your down jacket, and you can’t believe it’s really all come down to this. The one person you’ve spent the last two years of your life doting on, and you didn’t want to stop. You wanted him not just for the publication of your novel, but because you needed him. 

Jungkook’s sitting in the waiting area of Terminal 31A, looking wholly inconspicuous as he reads a book and has his hood propped up. 

Fists balled, you stride forward only to have Jimin tug you back. “What?” 

Jimin pulls off your thick coat, making haste to wipe the sweat off your brow with his sleeves and flatten your messy hair. “What?” he tilts his head to the side, “you need to look good before the big confrontation. I’m recording this for archival purposes. Do you have any lip balm by any chance? You look chapped.” 

You slap his hands away, but those grubby fingers just come back with a vengeance. “My life is just a big show to you, isn’t it?”

“Living vicariously all day, every day.” 

While Jimin parts your bangs, the intercom cuts through the air. 

“The 1:45 flight to John F. Kennedy International airport will now commence boarding. Please line up according to the ticket class.” 

Jimin smiles at you, squeezing your shoulders and gestures for you to go. To your horror, Jungkook is first in line. Panic bubbles to your throat.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you cry, voice echoing throughout the terminal. “If you so much breathe in the direction of that plane I will call Mark Lee right this second and tell him the book series is off!” 

Like a deer in the headlights, Jungkook heeds to your voice immediately. In his stupor you jog forward to snatch his wrist and pull him out of line. You don’t let go until you’re away from the long line, and Jungkook tugs his wrist away. 

“Don’t you dare call him,” Jungkook looks serious, as if you didn’t drive all the way to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. “I will never forgive you if you terminate Mark Lee’s contract.” 

“And I won’t forgive you if you get on that plane.” 

Pain flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “I need to. I can’t let us—let you go through with this. You and your family deserve better.” 

“What? Jungkook, I agreed to this just as much as you did.” 

“No, you didn’t.” he’s adamant, and steps back with every step you take forward. “As your boss I threatened you, held it over your head like an ultimatum. I’ve hurt you,” his voice cracks, looking at you desperately, “why would you want to be stuck with me when I’ve made your life miserable?” 

“If I really wanted to leave, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” You reason, “Do you really want to leave the company behind? To fucking Karen?” 

“Of course I don’t!” Jungkook exclaims, “but it isn’t worth hurting you, hurting your family and everyone that loves you.” 

“And what about you? You’ll be hurt when you leave,” and you step forward, so close that your chests are touching. You take hold of his hands, clutching them between your small ones. “Don’t go, stay with me in New York. We’ll both work hard and try to not run each other to the ground. Let’s be better together.” 

You’re practically begging, biting your lip raw and hoping Jungkook understands how good this change is for the both of you. 

Jungkook is conflicted, looking back and forth between the airline boarding for JFK and your watery eyes. He hates seeing you like this. He can’t imagine you, the strongest woman he’s ever met, crying because of him. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind and he tries to smash it to the edge of his memory. But as always, you’re right. 

He replaces your grip with his own, and gets down on one knee. 

Jungkook says your name like it's the sweetest of songs. You’ve never seen him so terrified. “y/n, I didn’t do it right the first time, so let me try again. Please, marry me. Marry me because I want to date you. I want to take you out and give you what you deserve, what we deserve. I want to do better for myself, do better for you. I’ve realized you’re the only person that makes me feel like I’m simultaneously on fire and on thin ice,” he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket, revealing a thin band with interlocking black and clear diamond studs. It’s a pretty little thing, with a groove in the center so it stacks perfectly with your engagement ring. “This was supposed to be your Christmas present, but I chickened out at the last second,” he says sheepishly, tucking his head in. “But if you let me put this ring on your finger, I promise to be your home away from home.”  

With a sob you fall to your knees, throwing yourself onto Jungkook. A small “oof” escapes his lips, and he struggles to hold your waist so you both don’t topple over. “Yes, yes, yes!” you cry, pulling away to cup his face with both hands, pulling him into a sweet kiss. 

Jungkook’s smile takes up his entire face, and he eagerly pecks your lips one more time before ripping the ring from its holder and stacking it on top of your engagement ring. The teardrop diamond is nestled perfectly between the thinner band’s V. “Pretty,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Wait,” you pull out the black ring that you found in your room, holding it to his face. “I’m assuming this is yours?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, “your mother said it was your great grandfather’s. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s the thought that counts.” 

“It matches,” you hum, placing his simpler band in his ring finger. Once it’s on, you take a deep breath. “Shit, we’re really doing this?” 

Jungkook pulls you to stand, wiping the happy tears from your cheek. “We are, we’re a team, remember? We’ve crossed the line and we gotta finish it.” 

And he picks you up, the workouts definitely paying off as he spins you around like you’re the leads in La-La Land, drunk off the happy chemicals firing in your brain. Jimin whoops and hollers, along with all the other patrons in the vicinity of the airport terminal. 

Your real-fiancé puts you down, the both of you now hyperconscious of the stares people give you. Other people have filmed the proposal as well, completely smitten by your confessions. 

“Jungkook,” you giggle into his shoulder, “you were right. Our story is straight out of a Wattpad entry.” 

“Down to the super cheesy in-public airport proposal?” he chimes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Couldn’t have asked for a better love story.” 

“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” you whisper, quiet enough for his ears only, “for real, this time.” 

“Not that it’s a challenge,” he teases softly, “but I’m already halfway there.” 

some months later.

“Like the new office, boss lady?” your new assistant (yes, you have an assistant!) asks kindly, his bubbly presence uplifting you immediately. He leads you to the window box, filled with tiny plants. “I figured you like succulents, because you have no time to water them and they’re prickly like you.” 

“Very funny, Seungkwan.” you chide good-naturedly, picking up a succulent with a yellow flower in the middle. “But thank you, your interior design skills are outmatched. I can’t wait to work with you.” 

“Me too, your social commentary you published on the literary industry? And you managed to lace it all up in an inconspicuous fantasy novel?” Seungkwan boasts, “I applied for this position right then and there.” 

“Thanks Seungkwan, why don’t you take your lunch and we’ll meet back at one to discuss our plans for next week.” 

“Sounds good, do you want me to pick you up something?” 

“I’m good, I’m meeting with the bossman.” 

Seungkwan gives you that look, his lips jutting out in a suggestive manner that almost makes you burst into giggles. Your assistant decides not to bother you until after you’ve eaten, and bids you goodbye. 

Just when you get a moment of peace, a handsome face pokes his way inside. “Hello editor,” Jungkook knocks on your door for the sake of attention, but you’re already dragging him into the office and shutting the door tight. “Like your new office?” 

“Love it,” you moan, gesturing to Seungkwan’s light filtering curtains. They’re not dark, rather a tasteful sea green, but they’re opaque enough to stop wandering eyes from peeking into your space. Your personal space was a qualm that immediately needed to be mended after your experience in Jungkook’s office. “A lot more private than your office.” 

“A little part of me hates how much you deserve this promotion,” he sits on your desk, and doesn’t hesitate to pull you between his legs, letting you lean into his chest, “but I do love the added privacy.” 

You fiddle with the buttons of his navy collar, his strong thighs trap you between him, “Why, miss me already?” 

He shrugs, “Taehyung doesn’t look as good as you do in a pencil skirt.” 

You laugh, brushing the strands of hair that fall from his coiff. “No one looks as good as I do in a pencil skirt.” A firm grip confirms that, two strong hands cupping your backside. “Mr. Jeon!” you gasp playfully, pushing him away slightly to pinch his cheeky grin. “Can we save this for later? I’m hungry, but we can always continue this for dessert.” 

He groans in your neck, “Love the sound of that, Mrs. Jeon.” 

bonus.

“FUUUCCCKKKKKK YEEAAHHHHH!” Park Jimin’s voice bounces off the walls of Taeyeon’s office, his face taking up the entire screen of his desktop as the camera shifts harshly between him and you and Jungkook at the airport. “My cousin’s not going to jail! WOO!” 

Taeyeon pauses the YouTube video at a particularly unflattering screencap: Jimin’s nostrils are flaring wildly and he looks fairly high mid-scream. 

A low whistle escapes Jungkook’s lips, “Wow. That video’s viral,” he looks to you appreciatively, “if Jimin kicks off his YouTube career, you think we can milk a memoir outta him?” 

“Potentially,” you reply nonchalantly, playing with your rings. 

“So,” Taeyeon’s voice is icy, slashing between your casual conversation, “you’re getting married, for real this time?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook pops. 

“Alright,” and from her desk she pulls out an ungodly stack of documents, one that mirrors your own back at the office. “Jungkook, you’ll stay with me. y/n, you’ll go to Vernon’s office and he’ll give you the same spiel. We’ll interview you privately with the same questions. A hair out of place and you’re in trouble. You sure you want to go through with this?” 

You and Jungkook exchange looks, betting your own company that you got this in the bag. 

“Hit us with your best shot.” 

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Whatever Words Exist

StudentTeacher!Cal x Reader (Gender Neutral). Like mostly fluff. 

Reader and Calum have only met briefly. But when the connection is this magnetic, you don’t press fate. 

Masterlist (semi-hiatus) 

_____________________

Calum readjusts the strap on his backpack, getting the bag hitched back right on his shoulder. Just up the hill he can see a gathering of people, a general human mass but still too far away for him to make out any one person in particular. He knows he’s in the right place for sure. So he continues on and a few folks wave as he approaches. Derrick, former officemate, spots Calum first and waves him closer. 

“Meet Calum--old officemate of mine,” Derrick tells the group surrounding him. First years, Calum assumes and gives them a tiny smile and wave to the group. 

“Yeah, because this jerk decided to apply for a full time instructor position. And then got upgraded,” Calum laughs. 

“Look, gotta pay the bills how I can,” Derrick returns and then goes around the semi circle introducing everyone. 

Calum looks at each one in return and then his gaze lands on yours. As a first year to the program and student teaching, you ran into Calum during the intense two week training. Well, you two didn’t really run into each other. Calum ran a few sessions during the training and you might have purposefully lingered behind on the free range Q&A that he was a part of with a few other experienced student teachers. He seemed to be calm and level headed about all the teaching and you were quite the opposite, so listening to him answer questions gave you a small amount of peace. 

The second reason you lingered until everyone else was gone and asked their questions is because you thought he was attractive. The baggy t-shirt but nice fitting jeans and the way he titled in when he was listening to someone. He seemed to really care and take his time to answer any questions--even when he had other things he needed to attend to as well. “Hey,” he says as his smile brightens around your name. 

“Hi Calum,” you return. “Slumming it with us first years.”

“I would never call it slumming, not in the slightest,” he laughs in return. The conversation steers away from that, talking about the summer and general shared interests. But every so often you and Calum lock eyes, gazes lingering for way longer than you’d like to admit. Mostly because you don’t want to be this into someone so early into the semester. And truth be told, the semester hadn’t even truly started. 

About ten minutes pass before professors start to approach, a couple of them holding boxes of pizza. And while you definitely weren’t sure how to juggle all the responsibilities of teaching, classes, paying rent on time, you were grateful for the lunch of pizza. It also meant that you’d be taking some home if enough people didn’t go in for seconds. And getting a free meal plus an easy dinner was always worth it. 

As the pizzas are lined up, you linger back, not wanting to be the first person to get food, but close enough to the first brave souls. “So, have you done any exploring around town?” Calum asks from behind you. 

You spin to half face him to talk to him. “Not a lot. By the time we get done with training I’m too tired to do anything else. But I need to get my bike looked at, so I probably should get downtown at the very least.”

“What’s up with your bike? You said it was your main mode of transportation.”

“Just double checking tire pressure--nothing major. One of them feels like it’s not as high as the other. But rather be safe than sorry since the semester starts.”

Calum nods and shuffles up as the line moves. “If you need a ride to the shop, I have my car.”

You’re not sure if Calum’s offering just to be nice or if it means more. So you default to telling him he doesn’t have to, but he insists. And even as you’re grabbing a slice of pizza and Calum’s right behind you, you try to tell him that he shouldn’t completely disturb his whole day just for you. 

“I cannot have you blowing a tire on the side of the road. Do you have your bike with you today? We could go after this.”

If there were any way to die right in this moment, you’re wishing for it. “I do,” you answer cautiously, walking towards the metal picnic tables. “But really, I can do by myself. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, c’mon, this town’s not necessarily the nicest to cyclists and if you got stranded I’d feel like an ass.” Calum settles across from you on the bench, slipping his backpack off his shoulder. You do the same, setting your backpack next you and pulling your water bottle from the side pocket. 

“I don’t know what your plans are. I don’t want to intrude,” you counter, unscrewing the top to your water bottle to take a sip. 

“My plans were to sit in my office and pretend like I was lesson planning.”

“Where’s your office again?”

Calum rattles off the name of the building, before taking his first bite of pizza. And you swear for a moment the universe is fucking with you. It has it out for you. “I’m in the same building,” you state. 

“I’m in room 138.”

Oh, how cruel is the universe. How fucking cruel could it be. “Same,” you state after finishing your bite of pizza. “Haven’t been inside to see it yet though.”

“Oh, it sounds like I’m your personal tour guide today.” And it’s not that he’s being adamant about it. Because you know if you were in the reverse positions, you’d do something similar. But a glint crosses his eyes, his smile is a slight curl of his lips and he’s looking up at you from underneath his lashes. 

Your stomach flutters, and suddenly pizza looks and feels like lead, but you take another bite to do something other than let panic settle. A quiet settles between the two of you as you eat. Though more people are turning up and settling in around you to make up for the silence. A few more minutes pass, even with you tossing away your plate and saying hi to some other people who are also teaching for the first time this year before you hear the professors calling for the group’s attention.

As the group quiets down, you return back to the spot where your bag is and Calum’s still there, laughing at something Derrick is saying. You catch his gaze and you really only think that you should look away. But you do. He’s too fucking handsome not to keep your gaze lingering for a moment longer. The humorous smile changes, becomes more subtle as the two of you continue to gaze at each other. 

You can feel your cheeks getting hot but slowly feel your own smile over taking your face before you cast your gaze down and then flick it back up to who’s speaking. It’s good information to get, as you listen to each professor in turn talk about the program more. You get a good sense of who each person is, and it’s not too much longer before each of the new and old cohort introduces themself. 

It’s a natural break as everyone starts to talk again with the business now out of the way. You mingle with some of the instructors but gravitate towards the snacks that are available. Just as you get a good grasp on one of the oreos, your name is called out. You spin, making sure to keep the Oreos in a tight hold. Calum waves you over to the group he’s in and you walk over. You know you shouldn’t. You know you’re playing with fire. But you do so anyway and he introduces you to some other people in the same year as him. They weren’t at the student teacher training. 

You’re thankful for the introduction but slowly the conversation drifts to the group joking about something that you seem to be missing and you know almost without thinking that Calum’s going to seize this opportunity. You turn to him first. “I like the vibe of this program,” you start. 

He smiles. “I’m glad. It’s all pretty tight knit.” You nod, agreeing with this point, but also not sure if you’re reading the air between you and him correctly either. “Do you wanna duck out now?” he asks quietly. “Get that bike fixed up for the first day of classes.”

“Ye-yeah, that’s cool.”

He nods over to where your belongings are with a smile. And the two of you gather your things. As you lead Calum over to where you locked up your bike you pause. “Wait,” you start, “do you even have a place to strap a bike down?”

“My friends and I bike the trails a lot during the year. My SUV can handle it, I promise,” he returns with a laugh. The two of you walk side by side down the parking lot. “Where do you call home?” he asks. 

You rattle off the answer and in return ask him the same. “Well home home is Australia. But I came to the states with some mates and we’ve sort of always called California a second home.”

“You beat me the longest distance from home,” you laugh. 

“Well, only on a technicality.”

“So like your mom, dad, and siblings--if you have any--are like clear across the world?”

“Mum and Dad are. Sister’s in London.”

“Is she studying too?”

“Singer--she’s over there doing that.”

You hum. “Is singing a family trait?”

Calum laughs and you watch some lights blink from a car and you spy the keys in his hand. “I wouldn’t call it a family trait. But yeah, we all sing. In our own ways. Originally made some moves for music. Career paths changed just a tiny bit.”

“So you and the friends you moved with were in a band?”

“Of sorts. Went well for a while. Then we just needed rest.”

“So your idea of rest is going to school and teaching?” You laugh. Calum opens the trunk first for your bags. And when he closes it, you finally spot the rack to set your bike on. 

“Like I said, career paths took a turn. Rest or new experience--I’ve yet to decide on the name yet.”

With the bike settled and secure, you walk around to the passenger side door. Calum’s quick to turn the air on in the car once he’s inside. His radio starts up immediately and he scrambles to turn it down. “Sorry, don’t wanna blast you out of the car,” he states. 

“No, no worries.”

“Any requests? You can plug your phone in too, if you want.”

“Oh God, I take over the aux and you’re going to get some anime theme song and I’d rather save myself the embarrassment.”

Calum’s chuckle is quick and clear of the click of the seatbelts. He switches over the radio and hands you the white cord. “Now you have to embarrass yourself.”

“That’s what I get for opening my big mouth.” Plugging the cord in, you shuffle for a decent opening song as the truck starts backwards out of the parking spot. 

“So what about you? How did the universe drop you here?”

“Pure determination and spite,” you laugh as the song starts over the speakers. “I finished my undergrad, worked for a couple years and then promptly said this is not what I want to do forever and started looking to go back to school.”

“Pure determination and spite,” Calum repeats. He keeps his attention heavily on the road as he’s driving out of the park and through the neighborhoods. But once he hits a stretch of main road he can glance over to you. And you’re staring out of the front windshield, head slightly tilted. “You look lost in thought?”

“Just admiring the view.”

And Calum hums, a sound of agreement, but the view he’s enjoying isn’t the sight of campus and the surrounding area. The two of you continue on, weaving around some traffic and soon you’re turning down a side street. One that reminds you almost of home. And maybe that’s just the universality of it all. Almost anything could be home if you wanted it to be, because there was always going to be a piece of a place that you could connect too. 

“The guys here are nice and really quick about anything that’s a simple fix,” Calum offers. “Also, your music isn’t that bad.”

Your jaw drops just a little and a small squawk of indignation falls from your lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, jumping out of the car. Calum’s already at the back, pulling your bike from the secure rack. 

“It means that having an anime theme song play would’ve made it ten times better.”

You huff, but follow behind him into the shop. The two of you greeted almost immediately and when the guy working on the floor spies the bike, he’s quick to walk over and see what the issue is. You explain that you’ve noticed a difference in tire pressure. In your move your gauge got misplaced and you hadn’t quite yet had time to get someone to look at it until now. 

“Yeah, we can check that for you. No problem. So any other plans for today?” he asks, making small talk. You talk briefly about the weather, though there’s not quite a lot to talk about it. Not too long later, the guy’s able to confirm that one of tires did have something puncturing it and letting out some air. But he’s quick to let you know that they can fix it in just a few minutes if the two of you have it. 

“I’d greatly appreciate it,” you start and then look at Calum, who just shrugs. “Yeah, can you fix it?”

“Sure can. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

You watch Calum browse, trying not to linger on the way his back moves underneath the t-shirt as he reaches up for something along the walls. And it’s like asking to get into trouble. Though there’s nothing wrong with instructors dating. You just had a plan, that's all.The first semester you’d get settled, figure out what this whole student teaching life was all about. And the more you watched Calum, the more you were sure that plan was going to fall apart. 

“Here she is, all fixed up.” You look up from your spot, in the store, having migrated to the opposite end of the door and walk over to the man with your bike. “Just a little puncture. Nothing too bad.” He rattles off the costs and it’s more than you anticipated, but not so much more that you have complaints.

Calum’s quick to take over the bike and walk it back outside, smiling as you hold the door open for him. “Thanks.”

“No, thanks to you. For chauffeuring me around.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he returns, getting the bike back onto the rack. “Did you want to explore some nearby shops?”

“Oh, hmm. Maybe later. I haven’t an ounce of lesson plans just yet. So I think I should maybe get my week 2 planned.”

“Well it sounds like you have something of week one planned,” Calum counters. 

“We were forced. Thanks to orientation.”

He laughs. “Yeah, they wanted you to have that down at least.”

In the brief glance around, as you try to tell yourself, you shouldn’t explore, you spy a little coffee shop. It looks intriguing. And you point out the sign. “Have you ever tried them?”

“Yeah--it’s a really good shop.”

You take a small step towards the building, careful though because you’re still in the parking lot and about to head into the street. “Can I tack on just a tiny bit of exploring and grab a cup?”

“Of course.”

“Recommend anything?”

Calum holds the door open as he speaks. “Chai Latte, but you can’t tell anyone that it was me that recommended it.”

“Your secret it safe with me.”

In line, you try not to think about how close Calum is, as he stands behind you. But you can feel him, or maybe you want to feel it, you’re aware of him that it’s like all you’d have to do is fake a clumsy step back to be resting into his chest. You imagine it to be firm, but somehow cozy. And maybe that’s just the worn t-shirt he’s adorned in and the beanie on his head. But his presence feels soft to you. 

Your daydream doesn’t last long as the line shuffles forward and you take the step forward rather than the step backward. The coffee shop is quaint, the wide windows letting in plenty of sunlight. But the tables are dark brown and look worn from your place in line. It feels lived in and you enjoy that even though the outside was painted a hunter green, the inside is a pretty beige accented by the chocolate wood of the tables. 

“It’s like a dream,” you state in a whisper, taking in the lights in the ceiling and the scattered bodies of students with backpacks at their feet and others whom you assume live in town and are most likely trying to enjoy the last bits of quiet before the rest of the students descend onto the campus and town. 

In all your sight exploration, your order is called up and Calum has to get it for you. He smiles though, watching the wonder that fills your eyes. “The offer’s still on the table,” he states, handing over the correct cup t you. “We can explore.”

“Can we raincheck? What does next weekend look like for you?”

He still hadn’t responded to Ashton about the hike. So he doesn’t really have plans. “Free as a bird.”

“Would it be okay? To wait till then?”

“Of course,” he exhales. “I’m not the one still learning with training wheels of teaching. I can do this in my sleep.”

“Oh, so big and tough,” you joke, but head back to the front door. The two of you break back out into the bright sun and it’s warm on your skin. “Just give me a semester. I’ll be able to knock you down a peg.”

And Calum doesn’t doubt that for a second. Not with the way you talked about getting into the program. Inside the truck, you’re handed the aux yet again and this time don’t think twice about plugging it in. “To our office?” he asks. 

“You’re not even going to be doing anything for real.”

“I like the sense of productivity.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” you laugh. The drive back to the campus isn’t as long as you thought it would be. But somehow it comes all too quickly. You’re still not sure what’s happening between you and Calum. It’s easy, natural between the two of you. But your plan--you know it’s all going down the drain. All his jokes make you laugh, and you know one or two shouldn’t. And when you do laugh, Calum turns sheepish. He goes quiet, a tiny smile quivering at his lips. 

Calum parks in the employee parking lot in front of the building with your office. Both of you climb out at the same time. And with backpacks, coffee, keys and phones all in place you two trek up to the door. “I think it’s only three of us in the office this year,” Calum talks, fishing out the right key on the hook. 

“Only three?”

“This used to be an old dorm building. So they can usually stick four of us into the room. But the email we got about office assignments only had three names. There was a fourth, but I don’t know what happened to them. They were in a different English program than us. And I don’t know if they graduated or not.”

“Ah,” you return, stepping through the door behind him. And it doesn’t remind you too much of a dorm, not in the always at least. But when Calum unlocks the door, you can see where it definitely once was an older dorm building thanks to the sink in the corner. “You weren’t kidding, huh?’

“About it being an old dorm? Not in the slightest.” He drops his backpack into the desk on the left side of the room but closest to the window. A couple pictures decorate the desktop. The desk next to him as a blanket and the whiteboard above it, has something written on it. So you assume it’s the third person. The desk on the right, closest to the door has nothing on it. The one closest to the window, across from Calum is also empty. 

You walk into the room some more and Calum pulls out his laptop from his bag and then steps around you. “As a heads up, the door stays locked. So you’ll need your key if you go out and close the door. I got locked out once or maybe twice. And it’s definitely not fun.”

You nod. “Thanks for the heads up.”

He smiles and then slips out of the door and you study the empty desk. It’s stupid, trivial to take the one across from Calum, but you drop your backpack into the office chair. The next time you come, you’ll bring desk decorations. To claim which one is yours. Because right now in the depths of your backpack you don’t have much. Well you do have a book that you don’t really need to keep up with too much. Maybe you can leave that. 

Exhaling, you get mostly settled and just before you can get your laptop out of the sleeve the door opens to Calum walking through again. The beanie’s now in his hands as he strides across the room and you can’t help but stare at the curls falling from his head. You want to curse him for looking so good. But you force yourself to go back to your screen. 

Calum settles back into his chair and watches you, sitting up straighter than he’s ever seen a person sit. And he wishes he wasn’t so chicken shit about it. You fucking asked him to hang out next weekend. But still, it’s like toying the line. Trying to make sure he’s reading the cues right. Maybe not right now, maybe next weekend he can get a better read, make a move. He turns back to his own laptop and finds the syllabus he made from the last semester. He can still use most of it. Though in the spring they had a break and in the fall, now they don’t. So he can delete that week as no class and actually have time for the group project in class that the department requires for them to teach. 

A couple hours go by, silence between the two of you, but the clacking of keys makes a chorus around the room. Calum pauses every so often to look over his shoulder. Sometimes you’re deep into work, pushed up into the seat. And once or twice, he found you slouched, staring out at the window next to both of you. 

Another hour passes and shuffling ensues behind Calum. He looks over and finds you packing up. “Headed home?”

You nod. “Managed to get the first unit mostly planned. We’ll see how it goes.”

He smiles. “I’m sure it’ll go well.” He goes to turn around and then remembers your bike is still attached to the back of his car. “Oh, let me go with you to get your bike,” he says ,shooting up from his chair. It rolls backwards for a split second but then makes a sudden stop. 

“Oof,” you let out, rubbing at your stomach. 

“Oh my god,” he rushes out, stepping in closer. “I’m so sorry. Had no clue you were that close. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you laugh and then look up. And Calum’s eyes are a deeper brown that you initially thought. Now that he's closer to you. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you exhale in a breath. 

“You sure? I think the Campus Health Services is open. Or you know, urgent care?”

“I don’t think you caused internal bleeding. Just caught me off guard.”

He finally brings his gaze up from where you’ve stopped holding your stomach to your eyes. And he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let his gaze drop below your eyes, because truth be told he already stared too much at your lips during the entirety of orientation. And he already knows just how plump they are. 

It’s silent--almost uncomfortably so. “Can I--I should get your bike,” Calum says, saving himself from sure embarrassment. 

He steps around you and you stretch out, capturing his wrist in your hand. “No, what were you going to ask?” you ask. The question leaves you without much thought and you know you shouldn’t ask. But you just can’t help it. Because you almost stretched up to kiss him. 

“It’s nothing,” he returns. But he doesn’t pull his wrist away. 

“Is it really nothing?”

Calum feels you step in closer. He inhales and lets it slowly. He shouldn’t. He absolutely should not let the question cross his lips. But he turn, and sees you illuminated by the sun from the windows and god, how can he deny an angel standing in front of him. “I was going to ask if I could ask you a question.” And it’s not really what he was going to ask. But it buys him some time. 

“You can ask me.”

“Do you--is this--,” he exhales, for a moment hating that the words are getting caught in his throat. “I don’t know if you’re feeling the same thing I am. But I-I’ve been interested in you, like from the second I saw you at the orientation. And I really, really don’t want to make a fool of myself. But I was hoping, are you interested? In me?”

There it goes--the plan--down the drain in just a few sentences. “If you’re asking if I thought you were attractive, yes. And if you’re asking if I care to see where this goes, the answer is also yes. But it really wasn’t supposed to go down like this.”

The elation covers his face and makes his cheeks push up as he smiles--so much so that the skin around his eyes crinkles. “I’ll gladly interrupt all your plans.”

You scoff at the sentiment, but feel your body heating up. Calum steps in even closer to you. His fingers find yours and thread them together. “So the real question I had was if I could kiss you? But I wasn’t sure if that was too forward.”

“Too forward a minute ago. But not too forward for right now,” you state, already moving in to kiss him. It’s short, longer than a peck, but not quite long enough. Because as you pull away, Calum’s other hand is cupping the back of your head and keeping you closer. His hold is firm but his lips are soft and you melt, knees buckling just for a moment. Thankfully, you manage to recover quickly. It doesn’t stop Calum from chuckling. 

“Are you telling me that I have that kind of effect on you?”

“Shut the fuck up, and kiss me again,” you state breathlessly. He doesn’t need to be asked twice. His lips capture yours again, happy to finally get a small taste of you. And you’re acutely aware that it must look ridiculous--you with your backpack full to the nines pressed up against Calum’s chest, chasing down his lips because his touch is mixing in with the scent of his cologne and all you know for sure is that it’s an intoxicating mixture that you want to be trapped in forever. 

You pull away, needing just a moment to catch your breath and Calum rests his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to leave me now?” he teases. 

“I--I’ll be honest. The reason why I was leaving was because I knew this was going to happen.”

“Oh? You knew?”

You laugh, cupping his jaw. “Calum, I know one thing for sure. You’re a dangerous man to be around.”

“Oh you’ve just met me. I should be offended.”

“Should be?” you question. 

“You’re--I don’t know what. But I knew that I wanted to know you. So whatever words that exist for that--that’s what you are.”

“I’m flattered,” you state softly. 

“If you give me 5, I can pack up my stuff and drop you off back at home. Now I’d be an asshole not to drop you off.”

You watch him, pulling back from the closeness. “I can make it home now that my bike’s fixed. Thanks to your insistence.”

“Well, let me insist one more time that I make sure you get home safely.” 

“Fine,” you resign. And he’s quick to pack up. Out in the hallway, he takes your hand, threading your fingers again. And it’s natural, easy between the two of you. You bump shoulders, laughing as you step out in the daylight. 

Inside his car, you slip back into the passenger seat. But when Calum settles into the driver seat and gets buckled in, he rests one hand on your thigh. Not too high up, nothing too suggestive, but not directly on your knee. You try not to let it fluster you, the ease at which he establishes touch, but your heart races just a little. 

You curl your fingers around his palm--it’s something to do with your hands, but also allows you a bit of control. You direct him easily back to your apartment. It’s nearly a straight shot, minus the one left turn needed and when he pulls up into a parking space in front of your building, he squeezes at your fingers just a little. 

You face him with a smile. “Thanks, for everything.”

“Yeah of course,” he returns. “So, next weekend? More exploring?”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll text you about the date and time for sure. Unless we meet again in the office.”

Unbuckling your seatbelt, you laugh gently stretching across the console. “I have a suspicion we shall meet again in the office.”

“Lovely,” he breathes and you meet his lips, capturing them gently before pulling away and grabbing all your things. Your bike is easy to get down and then you lock it back up on the rack outside, even though Calum does help. He leans up against the door and you spy him watching. 

“Enjoying the show?” you tease shaking your butt at him at the outside door of the building.  

His laughter rings out. “Making sure you get inside safely, actually. But a show is always welcomed.”

[callumsmitchells]

i’d love you to love me (ao3)

it starts out with a pact. neither of them will date, until they can both find people to date. except, they don't expect to be honouring that years later, and when jay starts to fall in love with lola, he realises that it's time for ben to date someone too. in the most chaotic way possible.

or, a vague 10 things i hate about you au.

-

It’s a miserable day. The sky is an unrelentingly dark grey shade, cascading for miles and miles with no end in sight. The rain has been pouring down all day, and the wind mixes with it, causing the rain to hit against windows, creating a rattling sound all over. It’s that horrible misty spray that means Ben can’t even see that far in front of him, though he knows his way around Walford that well now that he really doesn’t have to look to see where he’s going. Jay’s walking out in front of him, a breaking leather ball at his feet, scraping along the wet pavement with an awful sounding scratch.

“It’s freezing!” Ben shouts over the rain, and he watches in awe somewhat, as raindrops fall onto his eyelashes, tiny little droplets clinging on for dear life. It’s true, it is freezing. The torrential rain bounces up off of the pavement and clings to his socks, climbing up onto his grey school trousers and staining them darker and darker as time goes by. There’s not a single part of him that isn’t shivering and wet, but he and Jay have a routine now, one that happens regardless of the weather.

The school’s over bell will ring out just after three, a shrieking tinny noise, one that’s surely going to be imprinted on everyone’s brain for years to come. Ben will stand next to the doors at the side of school, and then Jay will follow moments later, catching up with him. It goes unspoken, because this routine has been going on for so long without ever changing, that they’ll walk home together, strolling into a corner shop and getting as many sweets as possible, before going to their local park and staying there until they have to go home for whatever reason.

“Oh come on!” Jay turns his entire body and starts to walk backwards, the wind blowing his hood down within seconds and he scrambles to put it back up, though it’s in vain. “Are you telling me you want to go back home already? Because I know for certain you have science homework to do, and so does your mum.”

Ben looks to the ground, watching the raindrops splashing into the puddles and breaking into even tinier pieces before falling back down again. It’s almost relaxing to watch it, or it would be, if his hands weren’t currently frozen completely numb. “My mum’s got science work to do, has she?” He asks cheekily, but he knows Jay’s right. Jay’s always right. He knows that the second he walks through his door, he’s going to have to spend the rest of the evening doing his work for tomorrow, and he couldn’t think of anything worse than that, so staying at the park in the pouring rain wins yet again.

He manages to look up in time to see Jay roll his eyes, and he kicks his ball back towards Ben as they walk in the direction of the park. “You need a new ball, mate.” Ben comments, picking it up and throwing it back at Jay. He regrets picking it up, because the ball’s been collecting that much water as Jay kicked at it all the way home that it’s sopping wet and heavy.

“I know.” Jay replies, and they turn into the park. Ben’s got nowhere to sit, his usual place on the swing is collecting a puddle of muddy water underneath so the idea of sitting there doesn’t even cross his mind. Instead, he sits on the small brick wall, resting on the very edges of his coat to try and minimise how sopping wet his trousers are going to be when he eventually stands up. He realises that it probably won’t do anything sufficiently, and he’s going to be cold and wet regardless. There’s a silence that grows between them for a moment or two, but that’s normal. Jay kicks the ball against the wall that Ben’s sitting on and they both watch as chips of the bricks start to crumble away and swirl away in a stream of a puddle that runs downhill. “What happened in science today?” Jay asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ben huffs out a laugh, more sarcastic than anything else, because he’s been waiting all day for Jay to ask him, or at least, since the class directly before lunch. “Nothing.” He says, and then he looks down the road and sees cars driving slowly, headlights on full beam.

Jay nods slowly. “Right. So you’ve spent all day in a mood, for nothing? Makes a whole lot of sense that does, Ben.” He pauses. “I’m your brother. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”

Brother. It’s such a simple word. Of course, biologically, they aren’t brothers, but in every other sense of the word they are. They’ve been inseparable from the day they first met.

“I overheard Connor and Sarah talking.” Ben says, and he already he knows he sounds stupid for even being remotely bothered about this. “Saying that nobody would ever want to be with you, because I’m here scaring them off.”

“And you’re bothered about that?” Jay lets out a soft chuckle, resting his foot on the top of the ball. “Mate, I couldn’t care less about getting with anyone right now. Tell you what though, I wouldn’t be interested in anyone unless they wanted to be around you too. We’re a package deal, you and me.”

Ben looks up and rolls his eyes. “That supposed to be making me feel better, is it?” He laughs.

“If you were anyone else I’d be hurt by that.” Jay comments and kicks the ball a final time against the wall, so hard that Ben feels the wall shake slightly underneath him, and even more of the brick crumbles to the ground.

The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, and they’re both starting to get far too cold and hungry and wet. The grey sky does seem to be getting darker though, and that’s probably a sign for it both getting later, and the weather getting worse.

“How about we make a pact?” Jay asks, though it’s clear that he doesn’t think of the implication of his words before he speaks, if the shock on his own face is anything to go by. The wind blows down his hood once again as it whistles and swirls around them, causing ripples in the puddles.

“What pact?” Ben asks, getting to his feet and swinging his bag across his body.

Jay shrugs as he tries to think. “How about, we don’t date anyone, until we’ve both found people to date.”

It’s completely and utterly ridiculous, and they’re both well aware of that fact. But they’re also both just a few weeks away from turning sixteen years old and if they’re being completely honest, neither of them have anything better to do with their time.

There’s a silence between them for a moment as Ben tries to take in Jay’s words and then slowly but surely, he nods. “Yeah.” Ben whispers out, and he can barely hear his own voice above the deluge of rain, with heavy and harsh droplets falling around them. “Go on then.”

So that’s it. Ben agrees to the pact, and from that day on, it becomes Ben and Jay’s rule.

Neither of them would date anyone, until they both found someone to date.

It’s just that, the pact was never supposed to last as long as it has.

It’s over two years later, and Ben and Jay are still in Walford. They’re probably always going to be stuck in Walford really - they know far too many people who have tried to get out into the world, only to come back not long after. They’re both still just as inseparable, and again, that’s something that is probably never going to change. The pact is still there, it’s still something that they talk about occasionally, laughing at how ridiculous it is, and yet, it still stands, though not through a lack of trying.

Nobody has really shown Ben much interest over the last two years, besides the occasional man at a party or a club, but nothing long standing. Perhaps it’s because he still lives in Walford, around so many of the people he’s known his entire life. In such a small place, everyone knows everyone and knows everything about everyone. It’s not exactly the best place in the world to be finding a partner, even less to find a gay man.

Or it could be because of the fact that Ben's got this wall surrounding him, built up so high, guarding him and protecting him from any hurt that could possibly come his way. Probably both, really. But still, nobody has ever met Ben and shown an interest in wanting to break down his wall. Ever. The story was the same for Jay as well. Nobody ever showed an interest in him, but because everyone already knew about the pact. That was, until Lola came into his life.

They’re sitting in the Queen Vic, at a circular table right in the far corner of the room. They can see almost everyone else in the building, all at their own tables or standing against the bar, chatting away and laughing. There’s even people playing darts, walking to and from the board, doing the maths in their head. In their own little space, they’re sitting at a wobbly table of three: Ben, Jay and Lola.

It’s not unusual for the three of them to be sitting together, though it probably looks unconventional from the outside looking in, especially given the fact that Jay’s got one hand outstretched, holding onto the back of Lola’s chair protectively. Ben’s definitely more than aware that he looks like a spare part, a third wheel. He knows it too. But Lola was the one to invite him along for a few drinks, though they all know she’s got an ulterior motive. She knows about the pact now. It didn’t take long for her to find out, really. From the moment her and Jay started to get close, he told her about it, and although she laughed at first because really, it is a ridiculous pact to have, she’s now taking it upon herself to make sure the pact ends, once and for all.

Lola’s got her phone in her hand, scrolling through it with a smile on her face. She keeps looking up at Jay and nodding her head silently, looking at him expectantly and then, when he shakes his head, she continues scrolling.

“Really good conversation guys, thanks for this.” Ben jokingly states, rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to The Albert after this?” Lola asks, sipping on her vodka and orange.

Ben glares at Jay, knowing that Jay’s told Lola about how he’s refusing to go in there after last time. “More than sure.” He says, draining the last of his beer. “Another?” He tries to stand up, but Lola’s too quick for him, dropping her phone onto the table harshly and reaching out and grabbing his hand.

“It was one idiot, Ben.” She says warmly. “Don’t let that ruin your experience.”

He smiles tightly, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He mutters something about going to the toilet, because he doesn’t want to hear about how his first time in a gay bar was ruined by some idiot starting a fight outside, throwing about homophobic slurs and punching anyone he could get his hands onto, including Ben. He takes his time in the bathroom, throwing some water on his face in an attempt to calm himself down, and when he feels better, he rejoins Jay and Lola.

“Sorry.” He says sincerely, sitting back down at the table.

Jay shrugs his shoulders. “It’s fine mate. But Lo’s right, you know? You’re young and you’re single. You should be doing what everyone our age does and go out. Don’t let one prick stop you from wanting to do that. You deserve to be able to go to whatever bar you want to go to.”

“I know.” Ben says, smiling. “Just give me time, yeah? And then we can all go out together.”

Lola perks up at that, because she’s been begging and pleading to go to a gay bar for months now, ever since The Albert first opened it’s doors. “I could easily set you up with someone you know?” Lola says absentmindedly. “You just give me your word, and I’ll find someone.”

Ben huffs out a laugh at that, and his eyes flicker up to Jay, just in time to catch him rolling his eyes at Ben’s reaction. “Know every gay man in the area, do ya?” He chuckles, but at least it’s a genuinely happy laugh. He likes Lola, he really does. Jay really went and found someone that fit perfectly within their dynamic, and he loves him for that, because nothing would be more awkward than Ben not liking Jay’s girlfriend, or her not liking Ben. But Ben can see that Jay really likes Lola - really likes her - and they’re so good for each other. It’s obvious to see.

“That’d be impossible.” She berates, rolling her eyes. “But I definitely know a few!”

She’s looking at Ben with those puppy dog eyes and Jay’s chuckling under his breath because he knows that Ben’s going to break any second now. “Oh my God!” She practically squeals. “We could go on double dates too!”

Ben’s eyes go wide at that, and Jay just about covers up the splutter of his pint behind a cough, but Ben sees right through him.

Lola looks at Jay, practically begging him for his help to get Ben onside. “Look Ben mate, I love you, yeah? We’re not asking you to marry the next person who walks through the door, but at least try. Just go on a few dates, find out what you like. You never know.”

Ben knows he’s being stupid. He knows that now’s the time he should probably try and go on a few dates here and there, and make an attempt at letting his wall come down and try to be happy. He knows that. It’s still scary though. Terrifying, in fact. He looks between Jay and Lola, and gives in, sighing. “Fine.” He exhales, and he barely has a chance to breathe before Lola’s practically leaping over the table to hug him half to death, squealing right in his ear.

When Lola finally peels herself off of Ben, and he rubs his face in hands, Lola speaks giddily. “I’ve got the perfect person, his name is Callum.”

This is happening.

[dracoqueen22]

For Kn1ght: I have transformers prompt for rescue bots. so all vehicle modes have instincts. Ambulances are panicky, cause everything is emergency. Police car like to hunt and chase and herd other vehicles.  firetruck have this urge to drink lots of water where ever they find it...etc.  hoping for some funny odd ball moments where each frame type sorta acts on their instinctive natures.

Basic Instinct

Blades has never had an alt-mode capable of flight in his entire functioning. 

He’s usually something wheeled, staying safe on solid ground, so he’s familiar with all of the quirks and eccentricities that come with transforming to a ground-based form. 

He’s used to seeing Chase when he gets focused on a criminal, and won’t stop hunting until he’s captured the misbehaving mech. He doesn’t cycle his optics twice when Heatwave can’t pass by a body of water without sampling the contents or topping off his tank. He barely notices when Boulder sees a building in need of demolishing and instantly starts talking about how he’d destroy it if they’d let him, and sometimes, Heatwave needing to pull him back and stop him from doing it himself. 

Blades used to all of it, as much as he’s used to the lingering sense of urgency usually wired straight into his lines, but has dulled the longer he’s kept out of his four-wheeled emergency vehicle alt-mode. 

In fact, it’s not until he opens one of his lockers at the base and a near torrent of random knick knacks come pouring out that Blades thinks maybe, maybe this is something he’s going to have to get used to. 

He stares at the baubles and trinkets and shiny bits flood out and pool around his feet. He recognizes each and every item -- bag of marbles, bag of colorful dice, bag of fish bowl stones, bag of fake plastic crystals. 

Lots of bags of shiny things. 

He remembers collecting them. He doesn’t remember why he collected them. It was just a thing he did. He saw them. He had to have them. He had this idea that they would be perfect for his collection. 

Blades has never collected things before. 

“You’d better clean all that up,” Heatwave says before he grunts and strikes the practice dummy again, making it wobble and rattle before defiantly enduring the assault. 

“I didn’t realize there was so much of it,” Blades says as he scoops an armful of the stuff and tries to shove it back into the locker. 

Predictably, half his armful comes tumbling back out. 

“Why do I have so much of it?” Blades cries, tugging on his finials. “Why am I collecting this stuff?” 

“Oh. You’ve never been an aerial before,” Boulder says as he turns away from his painting, a smear of bright pink on his cheek. He’s been trying to draw a flamingo for two weeks. Blades is not sure why he wants to paint a flamingo. “They collect things.” 

Blades scoops up another armful and one of the bags of marbles splits open, spilling the glass spheres all over the floor in a loud, noisy rain. “What?” he squawks. 

Boulder shrugs. “It’s a thing they do.” He waggles his paintbrush at Blades, splattering pink everywhere. “It’s why we keep having to steal back our mesh cloths from your room.” 

“You don’t actually need a blanket, dumbaft,” Heatwave grunts with an open-palmed smack to the practice dummy. “And I swear to Primus that if you start singing--”

“Why is Blades going to sing, and why is it a problem?” Chase asks as emerges from his quarters with a book tucked under his arm. “I find Blades’ vocals quite pleasant.” 

“Because if he’s singing, he’s trying to court,” Boulder says. 

Chase lights up. “Ah, yes. Of course.” He never breaks stride toward the elevator. “It would be an honor to be on the receiving end of your courtship song. Carry on then.” 

A bag of aquarium rocks slides out of Blades’ grip and clunks back to the floor. “Why does everyone know more about this than me?” he wails. 

“There’s an extra crate in the storage room,” Boulder says as he turns back to his painting and squints at the blob of pink. “That’s probably a better place to store your collection.” 

“If Cody slips on one of those marbles and hurts himself, you’ll be on night shift for a week,” Heatwave warns with a double-tap to the training dummy and then a high-kick. 

This is so unfair. 

“I miss my wheels,” Blades sighs, and he wanders off to the storage room to find that crate. If this is going to be a thing that keeps happening, he might as well get prepared for it. 

Especially since he’s pretty sure Dani has a beautiful collection of shiny rocks. 

***

[btsqualityy]

Assuage: Chapter 8

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) dynamics, angst, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Brief mention of a miscarriage (nothing detailed or graphic, though)

“You’re looking good Hyo,” you muttered as you ran the ultrasound wand over Hyorin’s baby bump. Since Hyorin was only a few weeks out from delivery, you had been having doctor’s appointments with her more and more lately.

“The heartbeat?” She questioned softly and you smiled as you reached over and pressed a button on the ultrasound machine, a loud whooshing sound filling the room moments later.

“130 beats per minute,” you smiled as you looked up at her. “You’re fine and they’re fine.”

“Good,” she sighed in relief. “I’m just so close to the finish line, I don’t want anything to happen.”

“Hey, we talked about this,” you said as you set the ultrasound wand aside, handing Hyorin a few sheets of paper towel to wipe the gel off of her stomach. “Just because you miscarried last year, that doesn’t mean that you can’t go on to have completely healthy pregnancies.”

“I know, I’ll just feel so bad if I can’t give Joon the family that he wants,” she huffed, grabbing onto your hand and sitting up straight. 

“I told you before, screw my brother,” you smiled, making Hyorin giggle. “He’d love you even if you two never had pups so you don’t need to worry about disappointing him.”

“You’re right,” Hyorin smiled. “But speaking of love, what’s going on with you and the lone wolf?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged as you cleaned off the wand, setting it back into its’ holder next to the machine. 

“With all of the time that you two have been spending together since the full moon party, I know you don’t expect me to actually believe that,” Hyorin snickered. 

“It’s only been a week,” you chuckled.

“And you two have eaten at least one meal together every day in that week,” she shot back.

“How did you know that?”

“Tae told me,” she shrugged. 

“Well, you can tell Tae that we aren’t like that,” you told her. “He’s cool and all, and we do get along better than we did when he first got here but that’s all there is to it. It’s only friendship.”

“If it means anything to you, Joon told me that Yoongi has been settling into the pack seamlessly and that you two would be a good match,” Hyorin revealed. “Especially given your position within the pack and him being Prime.”

“Hyo, when have I ever cared about either of my brother’s opinions?” You wondered and she just shook her head as she laughed.

“Never.”

“Exactly, so I’m not about to start now,” you smiled. 

“Alright alright, I’m not gonna badger you about it like I know Taehyung does,” Hyorin said as she held her hands up in mock surrender. “I just want you to be happy Y/N-ah.”

“I am,” you assured her. “I don’t need an Alpha to make me happy though.”

“No I know, but it’s more than that,” she sighed. “Having someone to love, it’s an amazing feeling. Joon and I have it, Tae and Kook have it, hell even Jimin and Hobi have it so I want you to have it too.”

“And I will, but I’m not gonna rush it,” you replied.

“Alright,” she relented. “Do you wanna come back to our cabin and look at some of the baby clothes that the elders gave me?”

“Sure, I don’t have any other patients schdeuled today,” you nodded with a smile. After telling the receptionist where you would be in case of an emergency, you left the infirmary with Hyorin. However, you didn’t make it far before you were stopped in your tracks.

“Hello Y/N-ah,” Sehun, an Alpha, greeted you, turning towards Hyorin afterwards. “Hello Pack Omega.”

“Hello,” Hyorin smiled.

“Hi,” you said slowly.

“How has your day been going?” Sehun asked you.

“Good,” you nodded. “Is there something that I can help you with?”

“Well, as I’m sure you know, I work in agriculture,” he began. “Growing crops and things of that sort. Well, I wanted to offer you a gift even though you probably have gotten better offers from others.”

“Oh, I don’t think,-” you started to say but you were cut off by Sehun extending his hands to you, a small bracelet sat in his palms. The bracelet was made with blue beads (your favorite color) and white thread, with small pictures of ocean waves craved into the beads.

“Oh, that’s stunning,” Hyorin whispered as she leaned over to get a better look.

“Y/N-ah?” Sehun called and you reached out to touch the bracelet, marveling at how well made it seemed to be.

“It is very nice,” you admitted and Sehun let out a breath of relief. Before you even knew what was happening, Sehun slid the bracelet onto your right wrist. 

“I hope you’ll be able to keep it safe for me,” he smiled. “Have a good rest of your day.” He then turned around and walked away, all while you were still in shock at what he had just done.

“Well, that was bold,” Hyorin noted. 

“It’s pretty but just sliding it onto my wrist without even asking for express permission first,” you scoffed, reaching down and pulling the bracelet off and sliding it into your pocket. “That’s the type of shit I hate.”

“Yeah, like that’s the only reason,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Hyorin smiled, reaching out and looping her arm around yours. “Come on, let’s go.”

.....................................

Once you and Hyorin made it to her and Namjoon’s cabin and walked inside, you both were immediately greeted with the sound of loud arguing.

“I really think having the crib below the window is the better idea,” Namjoon stated firmly.

“Spoken just like a pup who knows nothing about decorating,” Kibum muttered.

“I’m not a pup!” Namjoon shot back.

“What is going on in here?” Hyorin chuckled as the both of you stood in the doorway of what was slowly becoming the nursery. Namjoon, Kibum, and Yoongi all looked towards the doorway, and you couldn’t help but to notice the smell of irritation in their scents.

“Baby,” Namjoon whined as he walked over towards the door. “Kibum won’t listen to me and put the crib where I want him to.”

“The only reason I even asked you was because I thought you’d have more sense,” Kibum interjected before looking at Hyorin. “He wants to put the crib underneath the window.”

“What?” Hyorin said as she looked up at Namjoon. “Why?”

“I was thinking that some sunlight would be good for them,” Namjoon shrugged.

“Oh baby, your heart’s in the right place but it’s not a good idea,” she giggled. “Even though you built this house good, it’s still noticeably colder by the window than anywhere else in this room. We should put it against the wall by the door, that way it’ll be easier for us to hear them.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Kibum smiled triumphantly.

“But for some reason, it sounded so much better coming from my mate,” Namjoon glared at him, and Kibum just rolled his eyes in response before turning to look at Yoongi. 

“Can you move the crib while I go get the rattle and stuff?” He asked and Yoongi nodded his head.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Yoongi replied. As Kibum walked out of the room, you turned your head and saw Namjoon already looking at you. 

“How’d the appointment go?” He asked you.

“Everything looks good,” you smiled. “Strong heartbeat and everything’s right on schedule.”

“Great,” he grinned widely. “Baby, one of the elders heard about your craving for chicken soup and brought some over.”

“Yes!” Hyorin whispered excitedly, reaching down and grabbing Namjoon’s hand. “Let’s go get some.”

“Why do I have to,-” Namjoon started to ask but Hyorin just pulled him behind her out of the room, and you rolled your eyes at how non-subtle she was being. 

“Hey Yoongi,” you greeted him and he looked up at you as he moved the crib, nodding his head at you once before looking down again. 

“Ok,” you said slowly, not really liking the fact that he didn’t verbally reply to you. “How’s your day been?” You waited until Yoongi had pushed the crib against the wall that Hyorin said, turning around to face you and only giving you a shrug in response. 

“Oh, well the crib turned out nice,” you tried to compliment but when he only gave you another small shrug, you snapped. “Damn, what the hell did I do to you for you to go back to being a complete dickhead?”

“....Nothing,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes.

“Bullshit. I thought we were cool now,” you said. 

“We are.”

“Then why aren’t you acting like it?” You questioned.

“It’s....your scent,” he started.

“My scent?” You repeated with wide eyes. “I thought you liked my scent.”

“I do...when it smells like you,” he replied. 

“Huh?” You wondered, completely confused as to what he was getting at. 

“You smell like another Alpha,” he admitted, and your eyes widened in realization. “And it’s bothering me.”

“Oh, it must be Sehun’s scent from the bracelet,” you murmured, moreso to yourself but Yoongi heard you.

“Bracelet? What bracelet?” He asked.

“On our way over here, Sehun stopped Hyo and I and tried to offer me a gift, which was a bracelet,” you explained. “I didn’t even accept it though, he just slid it onto my wrist with no warning and he must’ve touched my scent gland when he did.”

“So you didn’t accept it?” Yoongi checked and you shook your head, holding up your wrists for him to see. 

“I told you, I rarely accept gifts,” you joked, making him smile lightly. “I didn’t even notice that his scent was on me though. I feel a little creeped out if I’m being honest.”

“Can I....scent you, then?” Yoongi wondered and your eyebrows rose in surprise.

“You want to?” You wondered.

“To help you get the scent off, yeah,” he nodded 

“Are you helping me, or you?” You teased him as you held your wrist out to him.

“Both, if I’m honest,” he chuckled, taking ahold of your wrist in both of his hands and rubbing the pads of his thumbs against your scent gland that sat right beneath your palm. His familiar scent of freshwater wafted over you and with him purposefully scenting you, you even smelt undertones of citrus and mango. 

“Better?” He checked, noticing how you had relaxed.

“Better,” you nodded. “Your scent’s nice. I’ve never smelled mangos on an Alpha before.”

“Well, I’m not just any Alpha,” he smirked, yelping when you reached out and smacked him lightly on the arm. The two of you continued to stand there together, Yoongi still scenting your wrist and you knew that Sehun’s scent was more than gone by now and that you were probably drowning in Yoongi’s scent now but you found that you didn’t really care. In fact, you kind of liked the thought of that.

“Hey!” Hyorin’s voice rung out, making you jump up slightly. “I can smell you both from the kitchen! Get out of my baby’s room with your scents! The only scents I want in there are mine and Joon’s!”

“Sorry!” You yelled back, smiling when you heard Yoongi laughing. “Well, you heard her.”

“I have to get back to the hardware shop anyways,” he said. “Can I see you later?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a large grin on your face. “You definitely can.”

.....................................

Tag List:  @jikook-enthusiasts​ @veryuniquenamegoeshere​

[pilothusband]

A lit torch to the woodpile high (part 2)

A Paz VIzsla Bartender!AU

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x F!Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, pining, some vague descriptions of wanting to be plowed, vague threats of violence

Word count: 2.7k

Description: More pining ensues, we see a lil skin (@softdin​ 👀), something eerie happens, two idiots who don’t know how the other feels. 

Author’s note: Let me know what you think!! Please go here to be added to the taglist!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

The next few weeks passed by without incident. You still hadn’t seen Orso since he initially hired you on, which was kind of strange, but you figured it was because he was busy and had other ventures he had to keep an eye on.

So far your favorite part of working at Bear’s Den was working with Harlow. When it was slow you would pass the time chatting and getting to know each other better. You found out that Harlow was in the middle of getting her Master’s in Business Administration at the local school. She wanted to open her own bakery someday and worked at the pub to help pay for her degree.

Dillon was a little more frustrating to work with. In other words, he was lazy and he tried flirting with you (and every other woman around his age) every chance he got. It was harmless, but after a while you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. 

Paz was almost always at the bar, but it seemed like he was busy most of the time. In fact, he had barely said a word to anyone all day, other than grunting a short “hello” as he stormed in.

“What crawled up his butt?” Dillon asked after he had slammed the office door. You and Harlow looked at him and shrugged. He seemed pretty surly in general, from what you could tell, but this was a whole new level, even for him.

A little while later, some customers had trickled in and there was a low hum of conversation around the bar. You were wiping down some glasses that had come out of the dishwasher. The damn  thing never dried the glasses completely, and Donny never dried them himself before carting them out to you.

Harlow came out from the back, coat and purse in hand. You instantly deflated, realizing she was heading home for the day.

“I thought you were closing up with me tonight?”

“I was going to, but Paz switched with me. Said something about a meeting he had later on anyways,” she said, applying chapstick.

Oh, just great.

“Don’t worry,” she said, almost like she could read your mind. “I’m sure he’ll be less grumpy once Madge brings him some food from the kitchen later,” she laughed.

“Yeah, he could use a Snickers or two.” You both dissolved into giggles.

It was as if Paz’s ears were ringing. As soon as you had made the comment, he stepped out of the office. He still looked pretty angry, so you figured whatever was bothering him hadn’t gotten any better. Harlow could sense his mood and all but ran out the door, throwing a quick goodbye behind her shoulder.

You waved after her, distracted for a moment. That’s when you heard your name being called, rather impatiently. You whipped back around and walked over, not wanting to sour his mood any further.

“Sorry about that, what’s up?” You asked, looking up to make eye contact.

Big mistake. You could feel your stomach clench up with desire as soon as his eyes met yours. You could have sworn you saw his expression change momentarily, but as quickly as it appeared, he blinked and it was gone.

“I have a meeting later today. If you see a couple guys wearing matching white coats walk in and I’m not out front with you, come out back and get me. Don’t talk to them.”

You bit your lip and nodded. Paz’s gaze followed the movement and he swallowed heavily. You didn’t catch yourself watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down until he cleared his throat.

“Remember. Don’t talk to them.”

“Roger,” you said, turning on your heel to get back to the bar.

You had no idea how to feel about that interaction. He either didn’t trust you enough to talk to some important business associates, or something else was going on. You felt a little uneasy, but chalked it up to Paz’s fowl mood.

Was Paz involved with some bad people? Did this have anything to do with Orso not showing up to the bar for weeks? More customers were trickling in, distracting you from all the wild conspiracies your brain was coming up with. 

Orso and Paz were in a secret society and were plotting to steal an important government document. Orso and Paz secretly swapped faces and were living each other’s lives.

You really needed to stop watching Nicolas Cage films before bed every night.

After a while, Paz came out of the office to tend the bar with you. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but it was almost hypnotizing to watch him pour drinks. He knew the layout of the bar like it was the back of his hand. There was no hesitation to look for the correct liquor types when a customer ordered a cocktail that required a vintage bourbon. He didn’t struggle to remember which spout to use for cranberry juice vs. orange juice (like you did).

There was a point in the night where he was serving 5 customers at the same time, when you struggled to juggle just two of them. It was almost embarrassing, to be honest.

You heard a woman’s voice in your peripheral, snapping you out of a detailed and vivid daydream where Paz bent you over the bar to have his way with you.

“Excuse me, can I get a glass of Merlot?” She was probably in her mid-50s, wearing a slinky black dress that looked stellar on her, with leopard print heels. Basically, you wanted to be this woman when you got older.

“Of course,” you said, turning to the shelf.

Before you could even ask for Paz’s help, you heard him in your ear.

“Red wine?” 

You had to suppress a pleasant shiver. 

“Yes, please. The Merlot,” you looked over, giving him a sheepish grin. His face was still close to yours, you could see the flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes.

You stepped back, allowing him room to get to the shelf, and tried not to drool as he reached up towards the shelf, his shirt riding up his back with the movement. Time seemed to stop as you caught a flash of skin, toned and smooth. 

“Here you go,” he said, handing the bottle over to you. “We’ll keep it over by the register in case she wants another glass.”

You nodded, your mouth too dry to come up with words. Once the bottle was opened and the glass filled up, you handed it to the woman as she handed you her credit card.

She gave you a wide-eyed look as you accepted her card.

“That man is an occupational hazard,” she said, taking a big gulp from her glass.

You laughed, but didn’t say anything in response.

“Do you want me to open a tab for you?”

“Yes, I think I’ll stick around for a while,” she said wiggling her eyebrows.

Later on that night, it was about 15 minutes past closing time and all of the customers, as well as your bouncer Rick, had long left for the night. 

Paz had gone out back to count the till and you were organizing the liquor bottles when two men entered through the front door, which was strange because you could have sworn you had locked it.

They were wearing long, cream colored trench coats with some sort of emblem on the front pocket. It looked like a cog with six spokes. Something about it made your blood run cold. You had every intention of running out back to tell Paz they were here, but something about these men had you frozen in fear.

They weren’t like any men you had seen before, with short, cropped hair that was slicked back and eyes as gaunt as their thin faces.

Good evening,” the taller man said as he reached the bar. He gave you a smile, trying to appear amiable.

“Um, hi. Paz is out back, I can go get him for you,” Paz was going to lose his shit when he found out you talked to them.

“We’re looking for Orso Van, actually. Do you know where he is?” 

“I haven’t seen him for weeks. I can go get Pa–”

“I don’t want to speak with his whipping boy,” he interrupted, his tone growing cold. “I want to speak to Orso. Now.”

You were grateful at Paz’s immaculate timing as the back door swung open.

Paz looked more formidable than ever. He seemed to grow even taller, if that was even possible.

“As I told you last week, Dax, no one’s seen him in weeks.”

The silent man who was not Dax scoffed.

Paz continued, “and I thought I told you never to speak to my staff.”

Dax gave Paz a sickly, unnatural smile. It didn’t look like it belonged on his face. “I figured she might know something, seeing as she showed up right as Orso disappeared.”

You felt as if your entire body had been plunged into ice cold water. A deep, dreadful feeling took over the pit of your stomach.

These men have been watching us.

“Leave her out of this, she has nothing to do with any of it.”

He stalked towards the men threateningly.

“Now, if you want to talk to me, we can go ahead and talk in the office. Otherwise, get the fuck out of my bar.”

The other man scoffed again and nodded towards Dax.

“Come on, let’s go. We’ll be back next week to check on Orso’s whereabouts. If he doesn’t show his face soon, you know what will happen.”

They turned, their pristine white coats whipping behind them. The door swung shut with a bang.

You could only gape after them, so many questions spinning through your head. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answers to any of them.

“I’m going to drive you home tonight,” his tone left no room for argument. You weren’t about to object anyways. Even if you had to endure a tense car ride, you were a hell of a lot safer with him than by yourself.

You both locked up as quickly as possible and made your way to his truck, slamming the doors shut harder than necessary.

The air was thick as a blanket, filled with so many unanswered questions. If you weren’t so rattled from earlier, you would have realized this was the closest you had ever been to Paz.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about back there?” You asked, already knowing his answer.

“No.”

“If I’m in danger, I want to know why,” you told him, voice trembling. Your pulse was going a mile a minute.

“The less you know, the safer you are,” he said. His tone was still final, but not nearly as hard as you were expecting. 

He looked over at you. All you could do was stare back at him, mouth agape. His face was half bathed in the moonlight, painting his face in a pale blue light that contrasted with the dark that surrounded you.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He said quietly.

You felt like your lungs couldn’t get enough air, as if the wind had been knocked out of you.

“Okay,” was all you said back. You weren’t sure if Paz even wanted to be here with you right now, but you trusted him.

He regarded you for a moment, seemingly trying to read your expression that gave way to any trepidations you had. You looked back at him, having every intention to tell him you trusted him, but the words died in your throat when you saw his expression. He looked so open, so raw.

You let yourself bask in this moment, in the dark cab of his truck. There wasn’t an opportunity before now to just look at him freely. He had a scar below his right eye, and his nose was just a little crooked. You wondered if it was from getting in fights. You wondered what, or who, he had fought for.

He was quite beautiful, in a hard, unrelenting kind of way. You wanted to find out why he had built a thick wall around himself. You wanted to trace the lines of his jaw and feel the contours of his lips. 

His lips. Your eyes were laser-focused as his tongue came out to wet them. You found yourself thinking about what it would be like to taste them, to chase his tongue with yours.

He let out a shaky breath, snapping you back into the reality of the moment. You looked away, staring out the windshield, still watching his movements in the corner of your eye.

“We should go,” you wanted to flinch at the anxious edge to your voice.

Paz looked down at his lap and nodded.

“I’ll need you to navigate.”

You were grateful that Paz had stuffed a wad of cash in your hand last night before he dropped you off at your front door, mentioning to use it to Uber to work the next day. That meant you didn’t have to rush getting ready this morning to catch the bus to work, since you had left your car there.

It only took one tense night of locking your doors and windows, double checking the locks, drawing up your curtains and checking the locks again, followed by tossing and turning for hours on end only to fall asleep an hour before your alarm went off. It only took that one night for you to overthink everything.

It’s not that you were thinking about the creepy men that came in after closing. You had spent enough time to fret about that while you were trying to force your amped up body to relax last night.

This morning was spent overthinking every single interaction you ever had with Paz. He already had so much weight on his shoulders, running a business while his boss was off doing fuck knows what, while some seedy men were breathing down his back and basically stalking him at work.

Why should you add yourself to that list of responsibilities?

You had every intention to say good morning to him when you first saw him. He was walking out from the office, looking just about as exhausted as you were. You must have looked like a deer in headlights, because his eyebrows were raised in question, his head cocked to the side.

“I um, I was just going to the kitchen,” you said in an almost robotic voice.

You hightailed it out of the room before you could see the expression on his face.

Your heart was still pounding as you burst through the kitchen doors. This crush on your boss was really getting out of hand, and it only got worse after being in such close proximity last night. God, you probably looked ridiculous right now.

“What’s got you bursting in here like a bat out of hell?” You almost jumped out of your skin. Had Madge been next to you this whole time?

“I um, need coffee?” You said, accidentally wording it as a question. “If you have any extra, that is,” you added quickly.

Madge smirked, seeing right through your lie, but she didn’t question it.

“Just brewed a fresh pot. Knock yourself out.”

A little while later while you were back out front, stacking glasses between sips of coffee, you saw a plate slide into your peripheral.

“You look like you need this,” Madge winked. You looked down, mouth watering at the large pile of french fries.

“You’re a fucking saint, Madge.” You deadpanned. She cackled all the way back to the kitchen, throwing you another wink.

You didn’t see Paz much that day, and you were kind of grateful for it. Every time he entered the room you found some way to keep yourself busy to avoid his gaze.

He could probably tell you were being extra squirrely. Hell, everyone could tell. 

Donny had taken you aside earlier and offered to let you take a hit of his cousin’s homegrown, to which you politely declined. Dillon remarked on how tense you looked and offered to massage your shoulders, to which you told him to fuck off. 

Harlow didn’t say much, but she looked concerned. You pretended not to notice the sideways glances she was giving you.

A little while later, you were hunched over the bar, in the middle of writing out a supply order when you heard a throat clear from above you. It was a distinctly male sound. You almost dropped the pen in surprise when you looked up and saw Paz was standing before you, arm resting just a few inches from where yours was resting on the counter.

“I um,” Paz trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to see how you– how things are going out here.”

He sounded unsure of himself. He was standing a little less tall today, with his shoulder slumped over. Weary to the bone.

“I’m great, so good,” you babbled. “Nothing going on with me. Feeling peachy.” 

“Uh, cool, yeah. Okay, I’ve got to uh...” he removed his hand from his neck and gestured towards the office before making his exit.

You collapsed, letting your head hit the bar with a thump. God, you hoped no one saw that go down.

“So, what the fuck was that?” Harlow said, walking over. 

You sighed dramatically, your entire body feeling like it was being held down by bags of sand.

You lifted your head up a little, giving Harlow the most pathetic look you could muster.

“It was nothing,” you told her. You stood back up fully and busied yourself with organizing the coasters on the bar, hoping she would let it go.

“That didn’t look like nothing,” she said, trying to hide a smug smile.

You had two choices here. Tell Harlow about the sketchy men from last night, which was not an option, or tell her about the pathetic crush you were harboring for your boss.

You turned around to make sure no one else was around. Thankfully, Dillon was on his lunch break, Paz was holed up in the office, and Donny and Madge were both in the kitchen.

“Please don’t tell anyone–” you started, but were interrupted with a squeal.

“Harlow, shhhh!” You admonished her, desperately trying to reach out to her to clap a hand over her mouth to no avail. She danced away, wiggling like a toddler at a birthday party.

“You guys are totally fucking,” she whispered, her brown eyes wide as saucers.

“I– what? No we aren’t.”

“Come on,” she scoffed. “I saw that little trainwreck of an interaction back there.”

“No, really, we aren’t,” you told her, and added with a whisper, “though, I kind of wish we were.”

“Well,” she said, chewing on her lip in thought. “Judging by the way Paz was bodysnatched back there, he’s in the same boat.”

You rolled your eyes. No, that was absolutely because of the threatening men from last night. He just felt guilty you were now in the middle of all of it.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, missy,” she admonished, good-naturedly. “He totally looked scared shitless back there. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You frowned in thought. He must be really freaked out by those men. You felt bad that you hadn’t noticed.

“No, I think it’s just a big misunderstanding,” you told her. “I think he thought he offended me last night because I was in a bad mood.” You were kind of impressed with the lies pouring out of your mouth at the moment. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Okay then,” Harlow  said, smirking at you. 

You charged towards the office and barged in before you could talk yourself out of it. It was Paz’s turn to look like a deer caught in headlights.

This was the first good look you had at him all day. The scruff on his chin was longer than usual. His eyes, despite being open wide in surprise, had dark shadows under them.

“I’m sorry, I should have knocked,” you said, turning to leave.

“Wait–” Paz reached out, grabbing your shoulder. He let go almost immediately, as if the touch burned him. “Come in.”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing after last night. I didn’t ask you how you were doing and I– I’m sorry.”

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me all day? Because you feel bad for not asking me how I’m doing?”

You blanched. Yeah, you felt bad but that definitely wasn’t why you were avoiding him.

“I guess, yeah,” you said, huffing out a laugh.

“I wish I could tell you more, I really do.” Paz said, sitting on the edge of the desk. It immediately groaned in protest, so he stood back up. “I don’t want any of the staff here getting involved with Orso’s bullshit. The less you all know the better.”

You nodded in understanding. You really did understand it. But something nagged at you.

“But what about you?” You asked him. “You’ve already been dragged into it.”

The sad, fleeting look on his face was devastating. You could tell he wasn’t used to others worrying about him. He must have caught himself, because his expression hardened in resolve a moment later.

“I can take care of myself,” he said. “I’m working on getting a hold of Orso. Once he’s back they’ll leave us alone.”

You weren’t sure if you believed him, but you let it drop for the time being. You would just need to keep an eye on him in your own way.

“You should get going,” Paz said, changing the subject. “Your shift was over 10 minutes ago and I’m sure you need to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I really do,” you said, giving him a tender smile. “Make sure you get some sleep tonight too.”

“I’ll try,” he said, his smile matching the one on your face.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @maybege @recklessworry @cannedsoupsucks @pocket-pudding @simping-for-clones @gallowsjoker @idiotonastar @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @devanthus @legally-a-bastard @my-awakened-ghost 

[georgemackayhey]

Hotter Than Summer

a/n: Remember when I promised more NSFW stuff? Yeah so this is by far the smuttiest thing I've ever written. Do Not interact with this is you're underaged. But if you're legal, have fun! 18+ only

w/c: 8k

───※ ·❆· ※───

Every year, you went on a trip with your family.

Your parents and siblings would cram into one car, and meet up with your neighbors in the countryside, under the same roof. A cabin that over looked a lake, that housed a forest, that wrapped all the way around to where you were.

You'd go in the dead of summer, when school let out. When the mosquitoes were rampant and the heat was crippling. You couldn't ever figure out what was so enjoyable about heading into the middle of no place to melt inside a rented home for a few weeks, but you went back each year. Of course, swimming in the lake was a blast and campefires at midnight were such fun. But that was mostly due to the fact that you got to spend such quality time with your favorite old neighbours.

Your fathers best university pal, and his wife only moved across the street when you were well into your high school career. But your dad was chuffed still to have his oldest friend one hop skip and jump away. Your mom was just as fond of the family, and soon you were sharing dinners and going to festivals and movies with them and their son, George.

When you met, you ignorantly assumed there was no way he wasn't a jock, or something equally as brain dead. No one with a face that pretty could possibly be smarter than a blade of grass.

But it wasn't long after they moved in, untill his parents asked you to show him around the school. And even though he was older and so vastly different from you, one morning, you found out George wasn't at all how you'd imagined. As you took him through the school halls, he went on and on about the theater program and marveled over your decently sized and poorly decorated library. He even thanked you for wasting your free break guiding him round to help him make sense of the schedule in his hands.

And after then, you had it bad. So that was precisely the reason you decided to steer clear. You gave small waves in the halls, and pretended not to scream internally when he sat next to you at lunch, every now and again. You went about your day pretending you were much more preoccupied with your other friends, and saved all your hopelessly romantic daydreams about George for your diary.

Until summer, of course. When you showed up to the cabin with your family and your siblings and some of their friends. George would be there, and you let yourself trail behind him like a puppy then. But he always asked for your company, really. He always dragged you to go swimming or to walk three miles to the nearest convenient shop for snacks. He'd sit next to you during rainy afternoon movie marathons and entertain all of your fireside ramblings.  

But it had been three years since you'd spent a summer in the cabin. Your last time was the summer after you graduated. George's last time was two years prior, and nothing had quite been the same since.

///

You knew he wouldn't be there, this year. You should have been off, just as well, drinking till dawn or whatever else college kids wasted evenings doing.

His parents were there, though, and spent at least a minute each hugging you hello. After then, you trekked through the familiar home, up to the room you always claimed as your own, and you pretended not to feel dramatically sad. And for the next week, you sat around the fireside with your siblings, and laughed at their dumb jokes. You swam in the lake all alone. And you listened to George's parents yammer on about how proud they were of all his latest and most admirable achievements.

The last day of your visit, you sat alone in the sun room with a book, but only used it as a fan while you reminisced of all the times you'd sat doing the same before.

"I don't know why we come here when it's this hot." You sighed across the table full of left over breakfast food. Your family had migrated toward the back garden to play volleyball, but you couldn't be bothered trudging through the heat.

"I've always wanted to come in the autumn, watch the leaves change, make better use of all this firewood." You never did, because that's when school started and holidays were left to plan in for insufferable days like now.

George's mother was setting a pitcher of spiked punch on the table, something she made every year you'd been old enough to enjoy in her company.

"You know, it's so funny you say that." She grinned, shooting you a bright glance as she moved to pour you a drink.

"Our Geogre will be home this fall and he was asking about heading up to the cabin." She began. You used your book fan with a little more vigour.

"We, unfortunately, won't be able to make that happen of course, with his father's job and my plans of travelling before snowfall." She rambled, the ice in her drink clinking as she raised it to her lips. Your family's laughter rang muffled from beyond the glass wall of windows that made up the breakfast nook. And the heat, like a blanket over you. Like a pool you stayed trapped drowning in.

"You know- you kids should come here on your own! You're plenty old enough now to handle that responsibility and you always were such good friends. I bet Georgie would just love that." His mother's smile was audible in her tone and beaming from her face. You tried not to gawk at her, not to scrabble to sit straight. You casually lowered your leg from the arm of the chair and looked to the woman with a turn of your head.

"Oh I don't know, do ya think-"

"Yes, yes!" She interrupted with a furrowed brow like this was very serious. "I'm meant to call him later. I'll pass the idea along for you, love."

With a soft grin, her mind was made up. You shrugged, hoping it would make her believe you wouldn't be let down either way. But you'd never wanted anything more.

///

She got through to George, and apparently, according to his mother, he very excitedly accepted the plans. You weren't too sure that was entirely true, but you couldn't help but do a little happy dance behind the closed doors of your cabin bedroom. It was always as you left it, green quilt, matching rug, and the few framed albums you hung to make up for the bland wallpaper.

You left it, thrilled by the thought of returning in two months, and stayed glued to your phone till then. Geogre was meant to text you when the time crept nearer for your roughly made plans to become a little more organized.

You weren't sure what you were so excited for. He'd probably bring a girl, or a least mention one. There was no way he didn't have his pick of dozens vying for his attention. Still, the idea of spending a weekend in the cabin in such close quarters with your old crush was thrilling.

///

He texted you a month before you ended up planning to stay, and your exchange was jarringly short. George shot you a date and time. You agreed. Then he asked if you minded if a couple of his friends tagged along. And of course, you didn't. And that was that.

The summer dragged on, and at the first sign of autumn in the air you practically had all your bags packed.

When the time came, you gave your family quick goodbyes and arrived to the cabin a couple of hours early. The air was crisp, and the lake looked cold from your safe distance away. You breezed through the thin fog and smiled to yourself when you stepped into the place.

Everything was just how you'd left it. There were even still a few notes tapped to the refrigerator. You moved through the wooden structure and noticed how high the ceilings were for the first time in a while. And after washing a few sheets, and sorting out some of the food you'd brought for dinner, your solitude was interrupted.

There was a rattle at the door, and when it opened your heart stopped. He was here. George was all grown up. You hadn't seen him since the last time he came out here with the lot of you, the summer after he graduated. Years had passed, and now his hair was a little longer. He was a little leaner, a little taller, maybe. His nose was reddened by the cold but his smile was familiar. You tried not to gape at him and the way he seemed like an actual supermodel while he rested his bag by the door and looked to you, his grin growing wider.

"Hello, stranger." You smiled.

"Y/n!" He called with outstretched arms. You abandoned your place at the stove to accept his embrace and prayed he wouldn't be able to feel your quickened heartbeat.

"George." You beamed. Because he was your friend. At least, he had been once. His smile remained as he wrapped a strong arm around your middle and mumbled a hello right in your ear.

"Where are all your friends, then?" You cleared your throat, trying everything to keep your cool. Did he really have to speak so low in your ear? This weekend might prove to be incredibly awkward...

"Ah, yeah, one cancelled and the other might just as well. He said he'd keep me updated." George winced, running a hand across the back of his neck. "Hope you don't mind boring old me?"

"Of course not." You produced a chuckle. "I'm just making dinner."

And just like that, it felt like old times. George took over the kitchen for a bit, while you bickered over spices and seasonings. And in between stirring up an evening meal, George tucked his bags away in the room he'd always stayed in, and came back to help you set the table.

Conversation never lost its steady pace. George asked you about your budding life after highschool. He asked what you were doing for money and what you dreamed of doing for good. He laughed at some of your best stories and started to trade some of his own.

You'd always felt a bit intimidated by George, but worse now than ever before. He was musing about Hollywood and rambling about his life on movie sets. You nodded along, and watched George's pretty structured face light up as he spoke of his dreams and how some of them had come true.

When you'd finished dinner, your nerves really started up. Here the two of you were, all alone for the first time, maybe ever. There was always someone else near by in your knowing each other. Whether it be here, back home, or at school. You weren't sure how to handle all the empty space, so to occupy your time, you started a fire in the den. It was a cozy little room where everyone usually spent movie nights curled up on the small sofa. You liked to come here to read, when the sun shone brightly through the picture windows.

But it was dark now, and the fire was small. So you stuck nearby to help make it grow and wondered why you and Geogre were here. You wondered if his friend would ever show. You wondered if he'd ever really invited anyone at all.

"I brought beer, but there was some rum stashed away," George spoke himself into the room, holding a bottle and a glass in hand. He held each out to you, offering you take your pick. You picked the rum and thanked him for thinking you might've wanted a choice.

"I think I know you pretty well after all this time." George grinned, sitting on the floor in front of the fire. You were stood there, watching the flames flicker higher, and it took an internal debate for you to sit at his side. Were you making things weird or had they been weird on their own? Just moments ago you were mulling over how normal everything felt. Yeah, must'a just been you.

"I dunno," You huffed as you crossed your legs. "I've changed a lot since the days we used to tolerate each others company."

"Tolerate?" George chuckled. "We both know half our stays in this cabin were made most enjoyable by all the times we band together. We always had such fun."

"We did. Do you think we're too old now to have fun, this time around?" You asked, taking a sip of the rum he offered you. George stalled for a beat, like he was really considering the answer to your question. And then he looked at you and shook his head.

"I hope not." His lithe grin made your throat go dry. So you finished off your rum and stood for a refill. When you settled back in the den, George was halfway through his beer, and you got to talking about life again. He told you the scariest stories of his time away, and you reminisced about some of the traumas of life you and Geogre had been caught up in together when he was only one house away. George went for another beer, and you stayed watching the fire steadily burn.

He returned in silence and the quiet lingered for a long while, with both of you fixated not the flames.

"Remember when you said you'd let me stow away in your luggage when you left, so I could skip out on my physics finale?" You laughed into your drink.  You felt George's eyes turn to search for your own, but you were still too deep in thought. "I failed that quiz, George. You were supposed to be my way out of this town."

"Hmm." George took a swig of his beer as you finished your second glass of rum. "Maybe that's why I've come back."

"That's rich." You chuckled and pointed a look to George. You couldn't hold back your nervous breaths of laughter now. Because he was watching you. His sea blue eyes seemed to search your face. You never recalled a time he looked at you with such undivided attention.

"What's so funny?" George rose a pale brow, taking another sip of beer. And as the answer formed on your lips, you blamed the rum entirely for your lack of critical thinking.

"I used to have the biggest crush on you." You admitted, turning a glance to George. His gaze had yet to break from your face, but you swore his smile grew ever so slightly. He furrowed his brow and shot you a sidelong look, like he didn't believe what you were saying.

"I did!" You laughed, the voice in your head reprimanding you for being so bold, as the words kept pouring out of your mouth. "You were my older, smoking hot neighbour boy. It was all very cliche but true." You shrugged. A blush burnt your cheeks and your mind suddenly caught up with your actions and you'd started to regret everything that had just transpired.

You mumbled a weary curse as you ducked your head away, hoping George wouldn't go on embarrassing you too much about this. You really hadn't planned to out yourself on the first night of your staying here with him. You hadn't planned to ever tell him that.

But George wasn't saying anything. He was just looking at you, like he had been. Like he was trying to figure you out. His eyes travelled from your face to search the reset of you. You watched George's gaze roam across your build while you tried not to combust in a self conscious worry. But the strange tension was too much not to break.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" You feared, hiding your bashful grin by lifting the nearly empty glass of rum to your lips.

"Because you're beautiful." George grinned, laughing a little like this was some big obvious fact.

"You're just tipsy." You shook your head, pointing to his empty bottle of beer and its half full replacement.

"No, you're just beautiful. You always have been." His tone grew more serious. You dared to catch his eye. The flames from a foot away were reflected in his gaze, and something else too. His eyes flicked away from yours to land on your lips. And his parted ever so slightly. If you hadn't dared to glimpse at his mouth, you wouldn't have noticed the way his jaw slacked.

His eye caught yours again and you realized he was moving closer. George was leaning in and your heart was beating a mile a minute and the fire seemed hotter than the dozen summers you'd wasted away here before.

His lips brushed yours before anything, and neither of you moved for a moment. His warm breath ghosted across your face and all your dreams seemed to suddenly come true as his mouth closed against yours.

Slowly, your lips started moving together. But they moved in perfect time, like they were made for it and waiting for this day to come true. George kissed you with a little more intent, as you kissed him back like you'd never get the chance to again. Because you had never once believed anything like this would happen with George. Maybe he was just tipsy. Or lonely. Or bored. You didn't care. You started to believe he had at least a little bit of actual interest in you, with the way he leaned closer and pressed his grip into your side. His tongue brushed against yours as his fingers started creeping closer to your chest. You wondered if he could feel your heart beating like a drum, and if his hand would ever reach its destination. You kissed him hard as encouragement, and he let out the sweetest whimper that would have made your eyes roll if they were open.

And then there was a knock at the door.

"Shit." You let out another nervous laugh, pulling away and catching your breath. You thought George's friends had all cancelled.

"I'm- I'm sorry." George shook his head, swiping hand at his lips and furrowing a brow at another knock on the door.

"Don't be?" You searched George's eyes for a moment and hoped he knew what you were asking. You hoped he watched as you hurried away. Had that really just happened? Had you just been bold enough to do the thing you'd wished of doing since sometime in high school? Was all the gentle passion in his kissing you back fueled by the drinks? Or had he really meant it?

The knocking kept on as you drifted closer. Geeze, for someone who wasn't sure about coming, they sure seemed excited to be here in the middle of the night. You adjusted yourself on the way to unlock the door, and tried not to blanch when you saw who was on the other side.

"Hi kids!" George's mother beamed, a bag in her arms. "My trip got cancelled and your folks weren't busy so we figured we'd come surprise you!"

The group of parents shuffled through the door. Your father toted a bottle of whiskey and your mother held a stack of films in her grasp. They each hugged you, and you scrambled to steady your tone.

"What a treat." You laughed through your teeth. The change in the pace of your evening could have given you whiplash.

"Oh, it's just like old times!" George's mother squealed, finding her son shuffling toward the kitchen to find what all the commotion was about.

"I suppose so." He grinned, accepting his mothers embrace and nodding as she explained that his father was too busy with work to crash the party. With all the tender sweetness you'd fallen for over the years, George said he understood but greeted his mother with kindness all the while. And as your parents rushed to pass hugs his way, George caught your eye. You wanted nothing more than to ask about the question in his gaze. But you feared your weekend with George wouldn't be as you'd once dreamed, like always.

///

You were glad to sit around the dying fire with your family. His mother's laugh was music to your ears. Your father's jokes had George doubled over with laughter. Your mother mused over and over about how glad she was for this surprise getaway.

And you couldn't be too upset, because you relished every moment you got to spend like this. Usually, this cabin was an escape, a place you could come without a care in the world. But now, there was a nagging little worry tumbling around your head, as everyone sat dragging the night on. Loose plans for the next day were made, talk of enjoying nature and making use of the big kitchen. You said something about sleeping in, because that was a rare occasion in your life these days. And here was a place where your wishes were supposed to be granted.

Your mother was the first to head to bed. The other adults decided to as well, but not before recruiting George to help clean up the kitchen neither of you had been very worried about taking total care of earlier in the evening.

You trudged up the stairs and took your turn in the shower, after wishing your mother a lovely night's sleep. She kept walking to the end of the hall, where she and your father enjoyed the best view just overtop of the forest of trees all around you.

While you washed up for the evening, your mind raced in every direction. What had just happened? And what was going to happen now? You'd been through all sorts of unexpected events with George, growing up. But never anything remotely close to... whatever this was. So far, this wasn't at all how you'd envisioned your long-awaited autumn visit in the countryside.

George's mother was soon making her way to bed too. She passed by as you opened the bathroom door and paused to give you a kiss on the cheek. You wished her goodnight and started your creep toward your own room. Before you could get there, George was walking with your father up the stairs, sharing chatter about a sports game from last year.

"Alright well, I'm off to clean up before bed." Your father noted, ruffling your hair on his way past. "Unless you need in here, George." Your father spun and pointed. There was another half bath downstairs, but the one on the second floor was the only one completed with a big shower and a separate tub.

"Ah, just holler when you're finished and I'll have a turn." George nodded as your father spun back toward the loo wishing you goodnight. You caught George's eye as you started back to your room, and prayed the creaking of the floorboard behind you were his footsteps and not just another one of your daydreams.

Sure, and strangely enough, a set of fingers curled around your wrist before you passed through your doorway.

"I believe we have some unfinished business." His voice muttered over your shoulder. Holy shit. How was this happening?

You didn't have time to waste questioning any longer. You only pulled George into the room you'd come to call your own, and shut the door with a gentle click that wouldn't cause any unwanted attention. No sooner than you had, George was on you.

His lips captured yours in a flash, like you'd been lost at sea and were only just being reunited. You threw your arms around his neck and barely held back a shocked giggle when George pulled you flush against him. You could have spent forever this way, in George's strong embrace, sharing the same breath.

He kissed you dizzy and spun you toward the wall. His hands found your chest at long last and he sighed against your mouth as you pulled him closer best you could. His hips pressed into yours and his hand trailed down your front, till his fingers stalled at the button of your sleep shorts.

"Can I?" He asked in a husky breath, looking right at you. You raised a brow, and gave him a nod, only just attempting to catch your breath. You could hardly believe it. But you'd never been more sure. George kept an eye on you for a beat, as you pressed your teeth to your lower lip. And when his hand started to move, you couldn't help but smile.

"Do you have any idea how badly I've always wanted to do this?" George asked, breathing in your ear as his hand disappeared below the fabric of your shorts. "For how long I've dreamed of having my way with you?" A shiver shot through you as he nipped at your neck. It was all very overwhelming. His word. His lips. His fingers, steadily starting to trace all the right places.

"Holy shit, George." You whined, gripping his shoulder for support from melting into a puddle on the floor.

"What? Am I doing alright?" He asked in a snide way, keeping his mouth pressed below your ear, and pressing his fingers against you with more vigour. Your breath caught at the feeling and George hummed happily against your throat.  His fingers travelled further, deeper, till there was no place left for them to go. And when he set his digits into motion, you couldn't help but let out a noise, a small broken cry that tore George's focus from your neck right to you. His fingers stopped moving and his free hand reached your jaw. He held your face in his grasp and seemed to stall a question on his lips. Then with a breath, George asked,

"You're not gonna keep quiet are you?" At the same moment he'd decided your reaction, his fingers started moving again, and his hand that held your jaw moved to cover your mouth.

"Still try, darling, this cabin isn't very big you know?" George grinned, putting his fingers to good use. Your eyes rolled back, and tried as you might, another cry escaped your throat when George picked up his pace. His one hand stayed firm over your mouth as he worked you up and whispered sinful encouragement in your ear. When you could barely feel the floor under your feet, a noise came from the hall. A knock on a distant door.

You groaned as George stalled, and chuckled at your disappointment. His free hand slid down to your throat and his fingers gently curled around there as his eyes watched yours. From behind your door and down the way you heard your father.

"George! Showers free. And don't forget to see your alarm. We're still hiking at dawn!"

You could have cried, really, when you realized your night of fun was halted till further notice. George slipped his fingers from your shorts as you sucked in a breath and let it out like a sigh.

"Don't worry love," George cooed. "I plan on taking good care of you... eventually." The fingers he'd been using found their way to your mouth. You watched his pretty blue eyes flutter as you wrapped your lips and swirled your tongue around his knuckles. You swore he almost reconsidered his leave. But then George straightened and backed away with a clenched jaw and a smile on his lips.

"Get some rest. We're hiking in the morning!" He announced with a wink as he reached for the handle of your door.

"Oh, fuck you." You grinned, feeling empty and full of fire all at once.

"With any luck." George said, before shutting the door behind him.

///

"It's too high!" You worried, searching for a broad rock to step down onto. You and your family had found yourselves at the top of the trail that wound through the forest. But had decided to take a different route back down, around the lake.

"Here look, step there." George spoke up, from the bottom of the path that was broken up. He pointed to a patch of dirt you envisioned crumbling the moment you relied on it. Your mother tutted, and moved past you to take George's advice. Your lovely neighbour extended his hand to your mother who managed her way to safety with his help. Your father followed, helping George's mother, until you were the last one left.

They all stared up at you as you bit your nails and mulled over your game plan.

"Right- we're walkin' on. Get her off, George." Your father waved and turned to follow your mother and George's, who were already ahead gossiping about some tv show. You struggled to hide your blush as Geogre shifted his weight and grinned up to you.

"Do you trust me?" He asked.

"Obviously." You pointed. George reached out, and you held your breath, and stepped where everyone else had. George's hand was strong, but your prediction came true. As you balanced your weight on the patch of dirt, it began to give way. But George was there. He swept you away with ease and balanced you on both feet on the same level of ground as him.

"Did you just want me to save you all along?" George mused, keeping his arms snug around you as you stood.

"Come on." You bit back a smile and pushed George to lead the way, noticing your folks posed for a self at the opening of a man-made bridge.

You all walked on, till you spotted a weather-worn gazebo near the opening of the lake. The sun was unusually bright for the seasons, though a chill balanced in the air. Your gang stalled to rest in the small enclosure and laughed about the adventure you'd been on, and how none of you had ever realized this little nook was out here in all the years you'd been staying right around the bend.

George's mother was the first to head in, saying something about a midday nap. You didn't blame her. You all really had risen with the sun to enjoy the trails before a late lunch. Your mother was next to leave, mentioning just that. Her plans to make a big ridiculous afternoon meal that would likely count as some kind of dinner,  too. Your father followed after her, paranoid about the trek from out of the woods alone.

George stayed and shot you a look as you watched everyone walk away, and turn around the lake. And for a moment, you just talked. Like how you always used too. About life and death and everything in between. All while each pause between topics grew long and heavy.  Soon, you rose from the bench, tired of sitting, but excited to find yourself lingering out here in the sole company of the man you'd been dreaming of keeping all to yourself.

"Do you prefer it here in the summer, or now?" You wondered aloud, because you really wanted to know. The area you'd come to know so well seemed like a different world in the cold.

George followed your ambling, back down the skinny trail from where you'd just come. He waited to respond until he stepped to face you and stalled your meander.

"Now." George smiled, searching your eyes and pushing his nose against yours. The action made your heart flutter and your fists curl in the pockets of your jacket. Then he kissed you so tenderly, like you'd kissed thousands of times before and he was used to the sensation. You, however, were still dazzled by it. Your hands flew up and clung to the jacket he'd left unzipped. You kissed him back like this was your last chance to prove how badly you'd always wanted too. At your fervour, George snaked his arms around you. One of his hands tangled in your hair as his other trailed to your backside.

You had no excuse to hold back your pleased sighs, as George pressed against you, digging his fingers into your thigh and pulling it nearer to his hip. Your own hands started to wander, right between his legs. George let out a groan as you pressed your palm against his tight jeans, and you thought of doing it again just to hear his reaction. But you had something better in mind.

You broke your kiss and grabbed both of George's hands. He watched as you dragged him a little deeper into the green, and fell against a wide tree when you pushed his toward it.

When you started to fiddle with his belt buckle and bend your knees, George flushed and gapped at you.

"Here?" He asked with a nervous grin, looking much more innocent and shy than he'd appeared last night. Maybe ever.

"Would you rather trade bakewell recipes, George?" You asked with a snicker, sitting back against your heels and peering up to him. "We really don't have to, though." You spoke again with a serious nod, making sure he knew you really didn't want to do anything he didn't want to. But damn, you really wanted this.

"I'd really like if we did." George swallowed, and your grin stretched back to life. "I was just surprised is all."

"Why? Don't you think I'd like to show you as good a time as you started to show me last night?" You unzipped his trousers and kept your gaze fixed to George.

"I promise to make it up to you." He breathed as you started to pull at his boxers.

"You already are." You assured, just before the time for talk had ceased. Your mouth had better things to do.

When George lost his fingers in your hair, and tugged, you were motivated to deepen your interaction. Then you got to hear the way George whined and hissed and cursed your name under his breath. Even if you could reach your free hand to his lips, you couldn't dream of keeping George quiet. His sounds were the sweetest encouragement you'd ever known.

You stayed on your knees until your efforts paid off. Then you helped George pull his trousers back in shape as you rose to meet him, and were pleasantly surprised when he grabbed your face and kissed you. But when his hand started to trail below your waste you broke your kiss and shook your head.

"We don't have time." You sighed, brushing back some of George's unkempt blonde waves.

"But-" His perfect pale brows furrowed and his thumb brushed your cheek.

"It's okay. We'd better get going." You nodded. George nodded too, but then stole another quick kiss. It made you wonder what this was about. It made you wonder what George thought of you, and what he thought of you with him. You didn't let yourself wonder long. The sky was starting to darken with clouds. So you brushed the dirt from your knees and let George lead the way back to the cabin, biting back your broad grin every time he turned to make sure you were close behind.

///

The next morning was spent lazing about the breakfast table as a drizzle locked you all in. Your parents were each still in the kitchen, arguing over cinnamon rolls and other breakfast treats.

"I always wanted to come here to watch the leaves change." You piped up, setting a steaming coffee mug to the side, with your gaze stuck out the rain covered window. George sat by your side, with his head in the crook of his elbow on the table.

"We must have come too early in the year." You sighed, searching for a glimpse of orange or yellow in the distance. All you saw was brown and green against a dull grey sky.

"Well," George spoke up, quietly so. You lowered your eyes to find his, and fixated on his small grin. "That just means we'll have to come back."

"Yeah?" You hesitated to ask. What had he meant? Why had he said so? George only rested his hand on your thigh below the table, tracing patterns on your knee with his thumb. You kept your gaze on him and realized you had fallen hard and fast.

You'd always had it bad for George, but with all this new and very exciting attention he'd been giving you, it was game over. You'd thought of nothing but George each night you fell asleep one room over. Your heart practically leapt out of your rib cage every time you caught his eye across the room, since the beginning of the weekend.

But you didn't understand it. Neither of you talked about what you'd done or mentioned doing anything quite like it again. You just waited up in empty halls and hoped he'd come around the corner in the least suspicious amount of time possible.

But today was hard. Today you couldn't sneak out in the woods, or around the corner. You were trapped in by rain, and if you and George snuck behind closed doors there wouldn't be a question as to why, and that would be utterly embarrassing.

So you sat across from George as your father rallied everyone around an old tattered board game. You caught George's eye as your parents bickered over game rule, and wondered what he was thinking as his pretty blue gaze locked on yours.

When you followed your mother's instructions to go and find a stack of movies in her room, George's mother shuffled off to go make snacks. So your favourite pretty blonde said something about taking a shower, and followed as you trekked up the stairs. But no sooner than you found the stack of movies, and George lingered outside of the bathroom did your father spin into the hall in search of his glasses.

You and George only got to share a look before he shut the bathroom door, and your father recruited you to help in his hunt.

As you all curled up for a movie marathon, Geogre helped you pour everyone a drink. While he reached for a set of glasses, he sneaked past you with one hand grazing your lower back for as long as he could get away with.

And when your parents took residence on the love seat and his mother kicked back in the chair, you and George were left to make the floor comfortable. You dumped all the extra blankets in front of the coffee table and sat a few inches away from George while some romcom played on. It was almost painful, how close he was without being able to reach out. What a strange turn of events.

His mother fell fast asleep by the second film, and your parent's dozed off by the third.

And as the last film played on, you felt George's hand creeping closer to yours. His fingers fit between your own, and his thumb brushed against your knuckles every now and again, as you sat holding hands.

You hadn't really seen that coming. You hadn't known what to expect of this whole thing with George, but an innocent lasting touch wasn't it. All the questions you'd always wondered were louder and scarier as the movie dragged on.

And when it was over, George walked you up the stairs. You kept quiet as not to wake your parents, and watched as he moved in the dark. When he stalled in the doorway of your room, you gazed up to him with a pushed in brow. Then he kissed you. Just a gentle, lingering peck. He left you in your doorway with that, and you stayed up staring at your ceiling wondering why.

///

Your parents left the next morning. They hadn't planned too. But your father got a call from work and since they'd all arrived as a group they decided to leave that way. You had awoken early and found yourself staring at the pages of a book when your mother bustled down the stairs to let you know.

"We'll see you kids at the start of the week!" George's mother waved on her way out of the door. She hoped you'd both enjoy the last day of the weekend in the cozy little place you'd always come back to.

Your parents scrambled to pack their things and followed her out of the door in a dazed rush, rambling about how they wished they didn't have to leave as they headed to the door.

Just like that the cabin was quiet, more so than you'd ever noticed, even when you'd been the only one creeping through the halls. You had no idea what to expect. You didn't want to get your hopes up. And you didn't want to make this already strange situation even weirder. So you took to doing the dishes at the sound of your parents peeling out of the gravel drive. You scrubbed every plate and focused on every soap bubble to stall time as you thought up what to say.

One of you had to say something, right?

When the staircase finally creaked, you'd finished the leftover dishes and were nearly done sorting the last of them away. George stretched into the room, looking around to realize the cabin was missing your surprise guests.

"Dad got called into work. You just missed telling everyone goodbye." You shrugged, meeting George's eye for a moment before you spun to put the last dish away. You listened as he softly floated toward the space you occupied yourself.

"So I finally get you all to myself then?" George seemed to really ask. He looked tired, still. But there was a gentle smile on his face, some kind of hopeful glaze painted over his features. George reached out to you, both of his hands softly holding your face. He peered at you, searching your features as his thumb traced your bottom lip.

"You really wanna spend the rest of this weekend with me?" You wondered, ducking your head as a twinge of fear started to take hold. But Geogre straightened your gaze once more, he made you look at him as he chose his words.

"I'd like to spend much longer than just this weekend with you," He spoke gently like every word was precious. You couldn't possibly think of what to say. You could only smile. You grinned without holding back and watched as George shut his eyes and kissed you.

You kissed him back and decided the pouring rain was cause enough to start a fire. George trailed behind you on your mission to throw a few logs in the fireplace. When you turned from sparking a flame, you watched George settle onto the floor that was still a mess with blankets and pillows from last night's movie marathon. He reached up to you, fingers moving from their latch on your wrist to press into your sides as he pulled you right into his lap.

Just like that his arms were around you and his mouth opened against yours. The fire was nice, but the warmth coming from George was heavenly. You moved your kisses to his neck, relishing the way his pulse beat under your touch. You trailed your lips back across his jaw until you were kissing him again, and dissolving in his strong hold.

You held his face in your hands as your mouths moved together, and only released your grasp to raise your hands over your head as George lifted your sweater up and away. His kisses trailed across your exposed skin, to the swell of your breasts, while his fingers managed to unclasp your bra. With your knees on either side of his hips, you rocked against George, feeling more desperate for his touch than ever.

"Are you sad your friends ditch you?" You asked in a breath with a smile and George was busy pressing his tongue to your skin. You felt him smile, and the warmth of a chuckle escape him.

"Are you glad our parents came and ruined our chances of spending the whole weekend this way?" George shot back, as you pulled his shirt away. You rolled your eyes and pushed George back against a stack of pillows, reaching for his belt. You laughed as he kicked his trousers away and pulled you down for a kiss, like he couldn't fathom parting from you for a second.

You spent a while wrapped up in his tangled limbs- kissing him, trailing your fingers against his burning skin, rocking against each other while the last of your layers kept you from doing what you really wanted.

"You know, I always had a crush on you, too." George propped himself up on both elbows as you'd started to pull his boxers away. You paused your mission for a moment to look at him. His half-lidded gaze and the mess of his hair. The marks starting to darken on near his throat, from you. He was more beautiful each new time you caught a glimpse, it seemed.

"Sentiment not required, but appreciated." You grinned as George sat up, free of the last of his clothes, reaching to free you of your own with his sea blue eyes on yours all the while.

"I did." He rose a brow, and something about his confirming so made your heartache, as it already beat like a drum. You brushed back his tousled waves and searched George's face for approval. He blinked up at you, totally enraptured. You could have stayed in this paused state forever and you swore he might have been content, too. But you couldn't wait any longer. You'd waited long enough.

When you lowered yourself into George's lap, you watched his eyes close and his jaw slack. A sigh escaped his lips, like he was totally relieved. And not just by the pressure you'd both felt now, but by the build-up of this whole weekend. Like something from very deep within him was finally settled. You might have laughed a little at that state of him if you weren't feeling the same. You'd never felt so safe. A strange word for a time like now, but the only word that seemed to fit.

Neither of you moved for a while. At first, you'd focused on settling into the feeling. Then you became totally distracted, brushing back George's hair and peppering his face with kisses. His hands stayed loose around your sides and his nose nudged your own in a way that made your heart sing.

"As much as I love this, I really would like if you moved a little, dove." George cooed in your ear and kneaded his fingers into your hips hoping you'd get the hint.

So you did what he said, and rolled against him. George kept his grip firm as he let out one of those melodious groans of his. You picked up the pace then, not daring to hold back your own hums as George's eyes opened to find yours.

You shared another kiss as you found your rhythm, but couldn't keep it up for long. Your lips parted but lingered close to his when you couldn't hold back a broken cry.

George wrapped an arm around your middle and moved swiftly to lay you down. You watched as he loomed over you and searched your features like he did the first night here. You were in the same place as you had been when you confessed your stupid crush. And you were in the same spot you had been when he kissed you for the first time. And when he closed the distance between you once more, it felt better than ever.

You pressed your heels into his back and tried to tell him how fucking great he was at this, but incoherent mumbles were all you could manage.

"That good, huh?" George strained, barely getting the words out himself. But the little laugh that followed his statement seemed easy and sweet. As if you weren't feeling enough, your heart threatened to burst. Everything felt near bursting, actually.

"It's okay, baby." His saccharine voice rang in your ear as he somehow pushed you deeper into the mess of blankets. "It's just you and me now, and you feel so fucking good. You can let go now, love. I wanna feel you to let go."

He could have kept up talking that way and you'd fall to pieces in no time. But when his hand travelled below your stomach you nearly k.o'ed. Between the things he spoke just to you, the way he paused talking to curse a little, and the rhythm of his hips against yours, it didn't take long until you came undone. He kept you pinned in place until you nearly couldn't see straight until it seemed he couldn't either. When it was all said and done, neither of you moved for a moment. You were less irked by the fact you could have been doing that all weekend, and more moonstruck by the reality that it'd happened at all.

///

It wasn't long before you decided to get cleaned up, but it took awhile to get to the bathroom. George stopped you in the hallway to do everything over again, somehow better than the first time. He stopped you from finding clean clothes to pin you to the bed you'd called your own. You tangled your fingers in his hair as he made his way between your thighs, and made you forget all about doing anything else for the rest of the evening.

And when you finally made it to the bathroom, he followed you into the warm bath. But there, you only relaxed. The water soothed your aching muscles, and the whiskey your dad left behind was passed over the bubbles as you and George sat together till the water grew cold. You talked as you cleaned yourself up, about things you'd always talked about before. You watched as George changed into a pair of joggers you recognized from days gone by. You let him wrap you up in a towel and hold you close in the steam-filled bathroom, and you decided it was paradise.

Your night went on like normal. Like most nights had, in the cabin. You made dinner, and joked about the time your siblings nearly burnt the place down making cookies during a heatwave. And after you ate, you left the dishes for another day, like always. Then you followed George to the den, and watched as he turned the telly on to some slasher marathon. Your autumn dreams were alive and well, as you curled up on the sofa at his side.

You stayed happily tucked against him, one arm and leg across his frame. One of his strong arms nearly pulled you on top of him in an effort to cuddle close as possible. You nuzzled your face into his neck when something especially upsetting flashed across the screen. And eventually, the comfort of his secure hand splayed across your head, and his other arm holding you firmly in place, sent you into the most peaceful sleep you must have ever slipped into.

///

"Wake up, love."

Your eyes were heavy, and your limbs ached. The blankets felt so warm in the morning cold, and George's breath tickled your ear.

"My darling, wake up." He said again, tracing a finger along your jaw as your eyes fluttered open.

"M'up." You sighed, focusing on George's pretty face, his brilliant blue eyes and the easy smile on his full lips. You realized he wasn't curled close, but kneeling at your side like he'd been up for a while now.

"Come and see." His smile widened as he grabbed your hand and tugged you to stand. You pushed in your brows and only sat up so quickly because of George's unusual excitement. He kept your hand in his and dragged you across the room to the fog tinted windows. What time was it? George moved you to the clearest view, and snaked his arms around your middle from behind.

You rubbed your eyes and looked. And past the mist, you saw the trees. Among the usual green and grey, you saw spots of dark red and orange starting to appear. The further you looked the more colours you noticed, and then you realized George had noticed before you.

"Now we know." He mumbled in your ear, as you tore your gaze from the stunning view to look over your shoulder. George really did get prettier with every glance. And now you knew, indeed. You knew how he felt, and you knew you'd get to go home with him as more than neighbours. You knew the perfect time to come back to this cabin, too, when the colours were brightest and the fire's warmth would be most coveted. And you knew George would come back with you. The only thing you weren't sure of was which room you'd stay in together, in all the years to come.

───※ ·❆· ※───

[venusdeus]

Court of Kings - Chapter 3

Summary: Sent to a neighboring kingdom to secure an alliance, forced to give up your dreams and ambitions, disregarded as a means to an end. You however have no desire to fulfil their wishes. And neither does Oikawa.

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x female reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy, angst, royalty au, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au (enemies to allies to friends to lovers), eventual smut?

Word count: 2380

Warnings: All the characters are adults unless specified. This chapter is sfw. Minors do not interact.

Notes: This is Part 3. To start from the prologue, you can use this link. This chapter finally ties into the events of the prologue.

Masterlist

Part 2 <…> Part 4

“Do you play cards your Highness?” the Mistress of the House, Countess of Webstier asked a few hours into the journey.

After a strenuous fifteen day ride up north you have finally arrived at the border that separated the two kingdoms, yours and Seijoh, at the first light of dawn.

When Tooru left two weeks into his arrival you were not given sufficient time to stomach the idea of your upcoming union with the rude prince before you were cast into a carriage with two of your ladies in waiting, chosen by the trusted council to spy on you no doubt, and sent on your marry way, followed by countless guards and staff.

You did not confide in them of course, for you could not. If you were to even say anything negative about the smallest thing, you knew they would carry it back. They already disliked you enough as it was, as to them you were a spoiled princess that did not appreciate her status and her wonderous fate. Oh, how they wished they were betrothed to such a fine man, the most desired bachelor in this part of the world no doubt, and they could not seem to stop talking about it.

The talks bordered on being completely inappropriate most the time, comments on his looks and his skills in different ways thrown out constantly, followed with giggles. So, you sat there silently, looking out the window and occasionally tasting the wine that seemed to be never ending.

The only time you had some peace and quite was when the others were asleep, but then again you gave up your own rest to be able to listen to your thoughts for a short while.

So, when the carriage doors opened at the border for your official handover you were quick to follow. And when they told you that your ladies could not come with you any further, you did not feel disappointed. They were never really your friends anyway.

You thought with the short time between your leave and your fiancé’s, you would have arrived at Seijoh around the same time, or maybe even caught up halfway. Against your expectations however, you were told that the Prince arrived at the kingdom a few days ago but travelled west to pay his respects to his late uncle who passed away three weeks prior when he was visiting your court, while you still had half a month to go.

It was because you traveled heavy with gifts and all the staff that accompanied you, the Countess said once you were introduced. She was an older woman with a stern tone and frown that never left her face. Her thin eyes looked as cold as the harsh winters that her nation was famous for. It was evident that she or any other woman that was assigned to accompany you to the palace did not approve of you. It was not their place to comment on it of course, but you could see it in their manners.

See that they thought you were a child when they took away your dark red dress that they said was behind the current style before dressing you in light blues inside a tent that was fashioned in the middle of the woods where the handover took place. You could see it when they put your hair in a tight bun that sat awkwardly against your face. When they tightened the corset to the point of taking your breath away. And you could see it when they put countless pearls and diamonds against your neck.

You thought you resembled one of your dolls that sat in your room back home with all the unnecessary display of wealth that were thrown on you.

“I’m afraid not.” You lied meeting her eyes “I prefer chess.”

“You must learn soon than. It is quite popular among the ladies at court.” She smiled cockily.

Just as you have crafted your false persona that of a naïve child back at your old home, you thought to continue the act in your new one. It also helped that when you robbed all of them on the card table from their money, they blamed it on luck. The first few times of course, as they would get used to it in no time just like they did in the past.

“Once we arrive you will be presented to the King first. You will not meet his Highness Prince Tooru for another week until the official ball to celebrate your engagement.” She said when you were two days away from your arrival at the palace.

They were using his first name, you pondered. You always made it a point to call him with his title, or simply as Oikawa, but his subjects did not deem it inappropriate to use his first name.

You knew there would be a difference between the cultures of two nations but the people at the Seijoh court seemed to be too unrestrained in their escapades as well as their morals. Although, it was a stark contrast to how they behaved towards you. This cleared the doubts that clouded your mind over the two-week journey from the border to the capital. They were cold to you because you were a foreigner.

This did not dampen your mood in the slightest. On the contrary, suddenly you were excited to be introduced to the court, a sly smirk forming on your face. You wanted to see the reaction the ladies would have when they learnt their beloved bachelor prince was now betrothed to an ignorant foreign girl. Would they be appalled? Angry? It made you giddy to anticipate their reaction.

On the last day of the ride however, right after the outskirts of the capital became visible to you, a plan formed in your head.

You would simply leave.

Bid your time until all the official appearances were over and done with and just leave. They certainly would not expect you to make an escape alone in a foreign land so you would use this as an opportunity. You had a week to learn your way around the palace.

Of course, it was never your intention to be gone forever. You knew better than trying your chances as a woman in the outside world all alone. It was to stall enough time until the wedding arrangement would be delayed. Where you would go however, was a topic that you needed to reflect more upon.

The solution though, came to your feet without you even trying, in the form of a ditzy little thing called Lady Alisa.

She was introduced to you at your arrival to the palace to accompany you till you were to be presented to your fiancé once more, this time formally. You were yet to be given your own ladies in waiting so they opted to bring a temporary solution with this tall and beautiful blonde.

“I live in our estate two-hour ride away from here towards the east, with my mother and my younger brother. Father passed away not long ago you see.” She rattled on as you walked through the corridors “My brother inherited the title after him. Now he goes by Earl Lev, I hope I can introduce you at the ball. But of course, you could visit our estate whenever you wanted to your Highness!”

You did not sense any malicious intent or lies behind her words. She simply was an innocent woman that did not understand that a Princess that were to be married in a weeks’ notice to the Crown Prince would never be able to visit her.

But you were thankful, as her innocence gave you the perfect escape. They would believe that you, a credulous girl, decided to pay a last-minute visit to her newfound friend who was as gullible as she was, to sooth the excitement that was to come. So, you played the part of a good friend.

When they found you, surely the wedding day would almost be over, and with all the guests on their way back home they would be forced to delay it for another month or two. They would never say that the princess was gone of course. Probably they would make up an excuse that would save them face. And you did not care for their reputation.

Just like how Oikawa did not care for yours when he insisted on being alone at the greenhouse.

You would leave the palace the night before your wedding by hiding from the watchful eye of the guards and take the carriage to the estate of Lady Alisa. Or at least that was the plan you made in haste.

You spent a week as a mere guest before your engagement was announced in a feast given in your honor on the seventh day, followed by a ball in which everyone who was anyone attended. That is when you were formally presented to Oikawa where you walked hand in hand to the floor where you had the first dance of the night.

“I remember you telling me that you would never marry me.” You whispered in his ear when you were sure no one else could hear “How sure you were of yourself.”

“The night is still young dear.” He replied, “Anything could happen.”

His answer sent a shiver down your spine, fearing he might have figured your scheme. But how could he when you never told anyone.

You were right about the reaction of others of course. Some ladies were left in tears when they were supposed to smile and clap right after the announcement. One even swooned! Although it was entertaining to watch you thought, tomorrow they could rejoice.

You were quite lucky to be given a room on third floor, not too high from the ground, and what is more right above the road that led to the stables. You waited until what you thought was a time that all the guests and the royal family went to bed to start your mischief.

You refused the maids that wanted to help you change out of your dress to your nightgown, saying you wanted to be left alone, after all when you appeared on Lady Alisa’s doorstep you had to look presentable.

Tying the linens around your bed together, once the palace engulfed in silence, you swung them over the open window in a desperate attempt. It was the only way to leave your room without the guards that were situated behind your door noticing.

Just when you wobbled your way down to the second floor, your arms shaking from carrying your weight, you were startled from a noise coming above you where others resided. It did not take long before a lengthy rope was tossed to the garden below. Shocked to silence over the possibility of being caught by palace guards you seized your movements.

Nothing, however, could prepare you for the eyes you caught as the person responsible for your concern made his way down to your level. He looked as terrified as you were when you came face to face, momentarily losing his balance before quickly gaining his posture by placing his feet on the walls, his hands gripping your sheets.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” he hissed.

Apparently not only did Oikawa have similar feelings towards his soon to be wife as you did to him, but he also had the same idea on how to escape his current position, as he was trying to leave the castle in his nightgown by dangling himself out the windows of the tower to reach the stables.

Even though you wanted to answer him with a question of your own you could feel the strength leaving your body.

He must have seen your torment however as he started climbing down quickly.

“Try to come down slowly, I will catch you at the end.” He whispered as you tried to balance yourself over the wall.

“Bend your knees and let go.” He said once you were close enough “Do it now Princess.”

Silenced into submission over his kind voice you let go of the sheets only to be caught by strong arms followed by a grunting sound.

You took a deep breath when your feet touched the ground. Your newfound relief did not last long however as Oikawa caught your wrist in a bear like grip and turned your body around to face his.

“Now tell me you insufferable woman what do you think you are doing?” he spat lifting both your hands over your head, practically pinning you to the palace walls.

“What were you doing you bear of a man?” you gritted your teeth “Let me go you are hurting me!”

He opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted as both of your heads snapped right, towards the sound of a loud gasp that came just next to you, his hands quickly letting you go.

And there stood a group of twenty to thirty guests that were in attendance that day laughing and jeering while coming down the gardens, most probably from a walk to sober up.

“Love birds couldn’t wait till tomorrow evening!” a man yelled behind the group making you and Oikawa jump away from each other “To be young and in love!”

And that is how to both your horror, your entire plan crumbled to the pieces and the rumor that the naïve foreign Princess and the insatiable rake Prince Tooru were a love match started in a single night.

Reblogs are appreciated! English is not my first language so if you see any mistakes let me know.

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Disclaimer: No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without permission. I do not own the character of Oikawa Tooru. This is a work of fiction.

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@sassyglassesbunny @triskoof @m-a-r-i-a-s-b-l-o-g @heroesfan101​ 

[drowningbydegrees]

This prompt from the  Music Prompt List wouldn’t leave me alone, so have Geralt being awkwardly kind of fluffy. <3

incidental music background music for a play, movie or television show. It sets the mood and illustrates the action for a play~unnoticed

Read on AO3

Does anyone ever mean to fall in love? Geralt doesn’t. It doesn’t happen like the ballads say, with flowers, and sonnets, and grand gestures. It happens in the in between, the quiet moments that Jaskier’s songs never touch on. Love creeps like a vine on a building, sneaking in and sprawling out so slowly that by the time it covers the wall, you can’t remember a time before it was there anymore.

It starts, at least, in things that make sense. It’s a lopsided little smile Jaskier gifts him with when he catches Geralt listening to him play. It’s the soft hum on the other side of the campfire one night when Jaskier knows Geralt can’t sleep. It’s warm hands patching up Geralt’s torn shoulder with a tenderness he doesn’t really require.

But then the feeling strays so unfairly, into the ridiculous and sometimes thoroughly obnoxious. It’s Jaskier looking hopelessly disheveled, his hair sticking up in strange directions from a hand absently run through it, a splotch of ink on his cheek where he tapped his quill against it, deep in thought. It’s listening to him complain off and on for two miles because he can’t think of a rhyme for bloedzuiger. It’s coming back late from a contract to find Jaskier has fallen asleep curled up in the entirety of the bedding in their room. These aren’t precisely lovable things. They’re messy, irritating even. And yet. And yet. And yet...

For so long, Geralt does not think they are things he loves. They’re just things that are, like the din of conversation at an inn. They’re the suggestion of something distant in a painting, smudges devoid of details that exist all the same.

***

Much like affection, winter sort of ambushes Geralt. Rich green foliage goes red and gold until all the world is ablaze. It’s beautiful in the way that these fleeting moments so often are, a riot of color that withers away even more abruptly than it arrived. There’s a chill in the air that promises snow will soon cover the dead leaves crunching under their feet, a sign Geralt can no longer ignore.

It doesn’t matter. They flit in and out of each other’s lives all the time, and already Jaskier has traveled with him almost nonstop since the spring. Geralt most certainly doesn’t need the company. To go their separate ways is as reasonable in this moment as it has been every other time they’ve done it over the last decade. Somehow this time it leaves Geralt feeling inexplicably hollow.

Geralt has always been at home with silence. It’s a quality that lends itself well to the life of a witcher, this ability to find peace instead of loneliness in the quiet of his own company. But they spend that night in their room’s single bed and Geralt lies awake wondering when the warm press of Jaskier’s face tucked against his neck became such a welcome thing, when his fingers tangling in the bard’s hair got to be so instinctive. When did Jaskier get to be so wrapped up in his life as to leave Geralt dreading the absence?

None of that chases away the sunrise, or the silence that promises to follow in its wake. They break apart the way they always do when their plans take them in different directions. Could be a week, a month, a year even. They’ve done it a hundred times, and they do not belong to one another, so Geralt doesn’t know what to make of the unexpected urge to look back.

He lets the Path carry him away as it always does, and it’s fine, really. A day passes, and then another, and a third. At this pace he’ll easily reach Kaer Morhen before the snow really starts in. It’s fine, as it should be… except when it’s not.

There’s no familiar face smiling at him from the other side of their fire. There’s no strumming of lute strings. There’s no endless, exhausting conversation. What he’s faced with now is everything his life was ordained to be, everything Geralt has been used to for decades, and yet this time it feels all wrong.

Maybe he’s always been lonely, but it’s the first time Geralt recognizes the feeling for what it is. Loneliness is a stone’s throw away from grief, and this is grieving in some strange, subdued way. It’s a hole in the shape of another person’s life and for a strange, fleeting second, he lets himself wonder if he ought to have gone to Oxenfurt with Jaskier.

That’s an absurd thought. He always goes to Kaer Morhen and Jaskier nearly always goes to Oxenfurt, and they’ve never broached the idea of any alternative arrangement. It’s only a few months, probably. Maybe. They always find each other again eventually don’t they?

Geralt sets out for Oxenfurt before the sun comes up.

***

He does not know, Geralt realizes, what Jaskier does in the cold months where they part ways. He knows the bard teaches when he's not entertaining in some court or another, but that's a sorry excuse for an answer. It's as paltry as it would be to sum up Jaskier's life in Geralt's company with the performances he gives in inns along their way. Both of these things are true, but neither of them are whole.

Does he sit in crowded spaces to soak up the atmosphere? Does he luxuriate in having a place that is his own and a roof over his head for a few months? Geralt has no idea, but he wants to.

Oxenfurt turns out to be less straightforward than he had hoped. He tries the college first where a young woman waxes poetic about the bard until Geralt finally manages to interrupt long enough to ask what classroom he’d be in.

“None today, I’m afraid. He’s probably- Oh, you must be the witcher.” The words hold an unexpected warmth. He’s not sure what to make of it, but before Geralt knows it, she’s rattling off Jaskier’s address.

The house is lovely from the outside. A gabled roof sits atop the gray stone exterior, not nearly so ostentatious as Geralt might have expected. It’s also further off the beaten path than he’d anticipated from someone so keen on being the life of the party.

But Geralt doesn’t even get as far as knocking before one of Jaskier’s neighbors spots him, a smartly dressed academic of some sort. “I doubt the professor is home yet.”

It’s so strange to hear anyone call Jaskier that, an uncomfortable reminder that the bard has a whole life beyond the time he spends with Geralt that the witcher doesn’t know about. Likely because it’s never occurred to him to ask, but Geralt finds himself sorely wishing he had now. “Where would I find him?”

“Are you a friend of his?” The man’s eyes narrow a little like he’s waiting for Geralt to slip up and give himself away as a thief or something.

“I’m his…” Geralt sighs. “Yeah.”

“The witcher, then.” The neighbor smiles in that absent, polite way that villagers tend to smile at passersby. It’s not a response that usually applies to him. Geralt has no idea what to make of the shift in demeanor, but the man does point down the road. “There’s an inn down that way. I’d check there this time of day.”

“Right...” It just figures, even in his absence Jaskier manages to be exhausting.

There’s a creak of hinges on Geralt’s left, and the neighbor smiles and waves. “I guess he’s home after all.”

Not entirely exhausting, then. Geralt forces his expression to remain neutral. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier lights up when he meets Geralt’s eye like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s such a tiny, inconsequential thing, but wonderfully, terribly, the world feels like it’s slid back into its proper place. The warmth that takes up residence behind Geralt’s breastbone is just further confirmation of the ruin he’s courting.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you… don’t you have some witchery thing to run off to? It may shock you to know, but the Kaedwani mountains are that way.” As Jaskier ushers Geralt inside, he points in… well, it’s definitely a direction.

“No.” Geralt shakes his head. What a pair they make, the both of them completely ridiculous.

“No what? And will you please sit down already?” Jaskier clears some of his papers away, as if what’s on the side table has any bearing at all on Geralt’s ability to sit in the armchair beside it.

Too restless to actually sit down, Geralt leans against the doorframe as he takes in Jaskier’s slightly ruffled appearance. There’s no doublet. Just trousers and a chemise rolled up to his elbows. It shouldn’t be so hard to look away, and yet he has to force himself. “The mountains are that way.”

Jaskier follows the length of Geralt’s arm where it’s pointed north. He purses his lips as he turns back to the witcher. “Okay fine. I got a bit turned around, but nevermind that. They are… wherever they are, but you are here. Why?”

Fuck. Geralt had been so focused on the coming back and finding Jaskier, there wasn’t much consideration to what reason he’d give when he got here. What can he possibly say? That it was too quiet without his endless chatter? That Geralt’s world was somehow less for Jaskier’s absence. It’s too vulnerable, so he gruffly replies, “Didn’t think I could beat the snow.”

“I see.” There’s a sweet, uneven quirk to Jaskier’s lips. The minute Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes he knows he’s been found out to some extent, but Jaskier responds in the least Jaskier-like way he’s ever seen. There’s no gloating, no teasing. Jaskier doesn’t even acknowledge that they both know he’s lying through his teeth. Most strangely of all, he’s quiet. “Well, it snows here too. You’ll probably want to think about taking a break somewhere until the weather clears up.”

Right. He hadn’t quite gotten that far either. On the road together, it’s just a given that they’ll share a room, but that’s quite a bit different from inviting himself into a space that is Jaskier’s. Not willing to admit that he’d sort of hoped to go back to the normalcy of that, Geralt sticks to answering vaguely. “I’m sorted out.”

“Are you? Because I thought you might just stay with me.” He’s seen this a thousand times. Jaskier has a knack for offering things the other person is too proud or afraid to ask for for themselves. It’s just Geralt usually isn’t the one subjected to that particular talent. “Unless I’ve got this all wrong and you didn’t come back because you missed me. Well, no. You could stay with me either way. It’s just that the appeal probably isn’t the same.”

“I could do that.” Geralt replies quickly to the offer while making every effort to sidestep Jaskier’s more dangerous insinuation. It’s kind of Jaskier to tolerate this thing Geralt can’t quite get to settle, but the witcher harbors no illusions that it’s anything more than tolerance. He tries for nonchalant and has no idea if he succeeds, but Jaskier’s lopsided smile suggests that no, he really doesn’t.

“Perfect.” Jaskier offers Geralt a hand. “Let me show you around.”

***

“Well, I guess there’s no backing out now,” Jaskier says as Geralt walks him to class. Well, no. That’s definitely not what this is. It’s just that he had an errand to run, and the college is in the same direction, so not walking together would be weird and awkward.

“What?” Geralt’s brows knit in confusion, and he watches Jaskier try to catch a snowflake on his tongue as if that will somehow give him the answer.

Jaskier smiles at Geralt, a little toothy. It’s the kind that makes Geralt feel pinned like a butterfly to a board. “It’s snowing.”

Oh right. He had said that. He knows Jaskier hadn’t bought the excuse when Geralt turned up, but the bard hasn’t said anything about it since. It was probably foolish to think that meant he’d gotten away with it. There’s nothing he can that won’t give himself away further, so Geralt opts not to say anything at all. That, at least, is normal.

And for a little while, it seems like it works. Jaskier prattles on about the weather and how beautiful Oxenfurt is at night when it’s snowy and the moon is out, and Geralt just immerses himself in the comfort of how normal this is.

At least until it’s not. The silence that falls between them is abrupt, and draws out so long that Geralt looks over at Jaskier. It’s a terrible mistake though, because Jaskier is looking right back, entirely too expectant. “Sooooooooooo. Are we going to talk about this?”

The question is oddly free of dramatics, but it doesn’t make the subject matter any less terrifying. Clinging to whatever balance they’d found since he got here, Geralt insists, “Nothing to talk about.”

“Okay.” For a second, Jaskier is quiet. His expression is thoughtful, teeth dragging enticingly along his bottom lip. “But just… It sort of seems like there is.”

He could maybe leave, say he forgot something at the house. Jaskier would probably even let him go, but they’d both know it for the retreat that it is, so Geralt doubles down. “There isn’t.”

Geralt doesn’t really know when he learned to recognize Jaskier’s ‘you are being exceedingly difficult right now’ face, but he knows the tightness at the corners of the bard’s eyes and the flat line his mouth pulls into. Yet, there’s no mockery or sign of irritation when Jaskier insists on pressing the issue. “Alright, but see there’s this one thing. Here’s what I know about you on account of traveling with you for a decade. You are generally consistent and you have never once in the entire time I’ve known you passed up an opportunity to tell me when I was wrong, or to poke fun.”

Geralt knows exactly where this is going, but arguing such an obvious truth would just bolster Jaskier’s point, he thinks. Silence isn’t really better, but it’s what Geralt sticks to as Jaskier keeps talking.” So, when you don’t tell me I’m wrong to assume you came back because you missed me… It’s hard not to assume that you came back for more than just a roof over your head.”

“What do you want me to say?” Geralt replies irritably, because if this is Jaskier’s idea of softening a rejection, it’s not helping. If he’s lucky, Jaskier will just laugh it off and Geralt will swallow everything back down, and they can move on to something less embarrassing.

“I don’t know.” Jaskier is biting his lip again, and despite the nervous tumult in his stomach, Geralt has never so badly wanted to kiss anyone in his life. “I just want you to say what’s true.”

What’s true. For the first time since they set out, Geralt pays attention to what’s there beside him. Jaskier’s heartbeat has picked up somewhere along the way, and when Geralt looks over, the bard’s cheeks are flushed from more than just the cold.

What’s true is that there are a thousand ways to tell a person you love them. Sometimes it’s a fond smile or a gentle touch or… oh. Geralt swallows and does not look at Jaskier anymore as he says, “Life is… quiet when you’re not in it.”

He knows that self-deprecating laugh he gets from Jaskier and regrets being the one to cause it. “I thought you preferred the quiet.”

“Me too.” It’s hardly more than a whisper. “But it’s not the right kind of quiet.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means,” Jaskier says and Geralt sort of hates that he’s the one struggling to say what he means and yet Jaskier is the one being apologetic over it.

“It’s like… fuck. I don’t know. When you think about the woods being quiet, it doesn’t mean silence. You still hear the wind and the birds and all that, but it belongs there, so it’s not noise.” Somehow, this doesn’t feel like what he meant to be saying at all either, but he’s committed to this ill advised analogy, so that’s a thing. “If those things stop, it’s not a good kind of quiet. It just means something’s wrong.”

“Geralt. Are you suggesting my company provides some sort of ambiance to your travels?” Jaskier’s eyes light up with some sort of mischief and Geralt scowls because he can’t decide if he’s being encouraged or teased.

Actually, Geralt supposes that is what he’s suggesting, but it doesn’t feel like a clear enough conveyance of what he means. Geralt might not need words, but Jaskier does. Sometimes ‘I love you’ is digging up the courage to admit, “The world around me feels wrong when you’re not in it.”

“So your solution was to drop the routine you’ve kept to for, actually I don’t even know how long to come back to me?”

“Obviously not. I-” With no small amount of horror, Geralt realizes that’s actually exactly what he’s done. He’s honestly very relieved that it’s still quite early and the streets are still largely empty, because Jaskier stops in the middle of the street and the witcher strongly suspects he’s about to make a very embarrassing scene. “Is that a problem?”

“Why would it be a problem? It’s absurdly romantic. I didn’t even know you were capable of that.” Sure enough, Jaskier is suddenly very close, a hand lifting to cradle Geralt’s cheek. Jaskier doesn’t say anything, but he signals his intent, giving the witcher plenty of time to pull away. As if he possibly could.

Geralt’s throat is suddenly dry, and when he finally manages to say something, it’s quiet. “What are you doing?”

“Well, you came all this way to get back to me.” Jaskier presses his forehead to Geralt’s. “I figured I could meet you partway.”

Geralt isn’t actually sure which of them closes the last couple of inches between his mouth and Jaskier’s. It’s just warm, liking what he imagines coming home would be like. Jaskier’s arms wind around Geralt’s back between his shirt and his cloak, and Geralt’s fingers tangle in Jaskier’s hair, and actually it turns out that he doesn’t care in the slightest if they’re making a scene.

Everything runs a little bit together after that. There is only the solid presence of Jaskier pressed against him and the snow coming down around them in fat, fluffy flakes that are just beginning to stick to the ground. Distantly, he thinks maybe they could just go home. It’s not as if there’s any reason to be out in the cold, except… With a disappointed groan, Geralt mumbles between kisses. “Don’t you have class?”

“Class… oh bollocks.” Jaskier pulls back, flushed and glassy eyed and Geralt wants nothing more than to pull him right back in. But there will be time for that later and the flustered way Jaskier stumbles back and looks around like he’s only just remembered they’re in public is terribly endearing. “Yes, well just… we’ll come back to this.”

Geralt laughs with unexpected ease at Jaskier’s reluctant efforts to get moving again. It’s another minute or two before Geralt remembers the one other thing that keeps crossing his mind. “When I was trying to track you down, people knew who I was.”

Jaskier’s mouth turns up, and it’s clear from the sheepish way he ducks his head that he hears the question Geralt isn’t asking. “You’re not the only one who prefers life when we’re both in it together.”

“You talk about me?” And sure, Jaskier talks about him all the time in songs and stories, but this is different.

Jaskier shrugs like it doesn’t mean anything, but they both know better. “It’s what I get to hold onto, what I get to keep when you’re not here.”

“Well, I’m here now.” Their fingers thread between each other’s and Jaskier hums the song he’s been working on. Geralt allows himself the faintest of smiles. Sometimes, love is choosing to share your existence with someone else and taking unexpected refuge in the background noise.

You can find the rest of my Witcher fanworks here. <3

[v3nusaphr0d1t3]

i’m in love with a stripper

crossposted on ao3: <3 rating: mature warnings: strip club environment, suggestive themes (no actual smut tho) gender neutral stripper!reader x hawks. afab implied but can be read either way.

your job was to look good, feel bad, and entertain. in the most literal sense.

life as an ‘exotic dancer’ wasn’t nearly as glamorous as movies and shit made it out to be. your body ached constantly, you had nearly fought about 4 people in the past two weeks, and you came home in the morning smelling like alcohol and sweat and some random cologne. the pay wasn’t amazing on its own, so you had to rut yourself against old men to pay your rent.

and yet, it was addicting in a way you couldn’t exactly explain. you had wanted to work in the entertainment industry since you were little, a star up on the big screen. this was sort-of similar. you had eyes on you at all times, and it was your job to put on a great show. but instead of red-carpets it was party favors and gross back-room carpeting. 

it was good workout, and you knew you looked good enough to taste, so that was always a plus. tonight, you were all dolled up, one of your more femme looks. your shorts were riding low on your hips, yet still stopped so high on your legs that it could be considered more of a belt than a pair of shorts. your thong straps framed your hips, bright red in comparison to the blue jean shorts. you had a red bikini top on, and a crop top that was yet again just another shred of fabric framing it. your shoes were red and tall enough to make you feel like you were on top of the world. 

you had gotten used to the sashay and drama of all the bullshit presentation, perfected your sultry stare, and polished your pole skills. yes, you could use work. but so could everyone, it was an art that you were still constantly trying to learn more about. 

so as you walked your way out on stage on a busy friday night, you could tell that tonight would be a good tip night. first off, there was MUCH more security than normal, which meant that someone important was probably in attendance for some kind of ‘special night’. they got bachelor parties and birthday parties all the time, but usually they weren’t this… guarded?

 it was strange, but you instead focused on feelings the rhythm in your bones as you strutted your way up to the pole, starting to go into one of your choreographed routines that you knew like the back of your hand. though you supposed you could throw in some more risky moves, for whoever was currently paying for your console gaming subscription. being in the air was always exhilarating, but you were always worried about flashing too much. you knew that it would happen eventually, but you would still prefer for it not to.

you spun too fast on your way down and got that wobbling feeling in your stomach as your heels hit the stage a bit too hard to be ‘graceful’. oh well, you thought as you moved to the more floor-based part of your routine. you brought your hands up, running them over your body and pulling at your crop top, pulling it off and throwing it further back on the stage to be retrieved when you were done with your set. 

you made it slow, teasing, swaying your hips to the beat of the song and running your hands back down, under the strings of your thong to snap them against your hips. it was effective, but it was hard not to wince in annoyance. you were too salty to do this shit. it was a lucky thing that you were so good at acting. you slid further onto your knees, back arched as you looked some random guy that was halfway decent and crawled forward. that was something that always racked in tips. it made folks feel engaged with the whole experience. the guy held up a 20 and you stuck it under your thong strap, moving to collect more of the money that had been thrown at you.

you were honest with yourself when you said you loved the attention that this job brought. there were many people out in the crowd that wanted you, that sat in their chair or stood amongst the sweaty crowd with a white-knucked grip and lust in their eyes, and you ate it up. you loved being wanted, it was one of the worlds wonders. 

eventually, you finished your set, hair tousled from flipping it, back of your knees and your hands sore from gripping the pole, but ultimately you felt invigorated. energized. like someone had wound you up like a toy. and now you had to pounce on someone in hopes of attention and the money you needed to buy that new game you had been saving up for. comical.

you could tell a bunch of the dancers were anticipating the party that was in tonight. it was obvious they were important, and important people had money. so the dancers that weren’t on the stage currently were prowling around the VIP area, looking to advertise themselves.

you decided to do the charity work and tend to the rest of the forgotten crowd. you knew from experience that eventually the richer guests would get tired of giving their money away and eventually leave. and the rest of the crowd was just sitting there, so you slipped your way in to the seats that were closer to the stage (shitty stripper etiquette, but some of thesen dancers were fuckin’ shady sometimes) and found some dude who looked wimpy enough to play the whole deity act with. 

you walked your way around the chair, placing your hands on his shoulders and beginning to rub them, your hand making it’s way down his chest as you whispered a greeting in his ear. you used your other hand to run through his hair, plucking the bill in his hand out of his hand and into your g string on your hip with the rest of them. you moved back around the chair and plopped down on his lap, feigning interest and asking him about his day, making him feel special with the whole shebang. you eventually were able to make quiet some money from that guy, surprisingly. and you left him alone and unsatisfied when the lights dimmed between sets. 

now, to find someone else out of sight of the first guy. you were on your way to do that when something caught your eye. a glimmer of gold, no- not metal, someones eyes. you were momentarily mesmerized before you realized that the person attached to those honey irises was staring at you. at you. from the VIP booth. while you were in the middle of the crowd. you were never flustered, so it was new when you felt a heat in your cheeks. 

you quickly put your act back on, throwing him a wink. he made a ‘come here’ motion with his finger, but you gave him a playful grin and a little teasing wave of dismissal. you had no idea what came over you to do that, but you decided to stick with this little ‘hard-to-get’ persona, and you disappeared into the crowd. 

not 10 minutes later you were grinding on some guy through your shorts, just to work that 50 out of his hand. he was one of the assholes that would promise and never give. it was hypocritical for you to think that way, you supposed, but it was your job. either way, you got it from him by nosing up his neck (too much cologne) and giggling in his ear. and he put the bill in your g-string himself. gross.

you slid away from him between sets like you always did, and once again felt the heat of eyes on you. this was different, however. it wasn’t like the usual eyes on you, the gazes you had grown to crave and expect. this was predatory. you were being watched like a hawk. you spun around to find him staring at you again, this time split off from his little friends and instead sitting in a chair further back from the stage. he gave you a certain look and raised his hand, waving a bill in his hand. like bait! that was hotter than it should have been. 

still, decided to make your way over to him, stopping in front of his chair, towering over him in your platform heels as he sat in the chair. he didn’t seem too physically imposing, but his energy was cockier than shit and you could tell he was bulked up. you usually didn’t fuck with these types, but something about him was just magnetic. it was insane. he leaned back in his chair, obviously insinuating that he wanted the same treatment as the others. you instead took a singular finger and raised his chin up to meet his eyes as they ran you up and down. 

and that was when you realized, under the dim lights, that you were a complete and total idiot. you hadn’t even realize that the man in front of you was hawks, number two pro hero and the man too fast for his own good. you tried not to make a face, but you knew he could most definitely see in your eyes the minute you put the puzzle pieces together. what the fuck was he doing in a place like this?

“what the fuck is someone like you doing in a place like this?” you asked, coming out of your mouth before you could really stop yourself. he only chuckled, grinning as you felt his jaw tense against your finger. the main reason you didn’t recognize him is because there was a lack of giant red wings.

“what anyone else is tryin’ to do. have a good time! it’s my friends birthday, i have a life outside work, you know?” his voice was barely heard over the pounding of the music and the bass rattling under your feet. 

“what about your reputation? i’m surprised there isn’t a line to gag on your dick at this point,” you held no filter in speaking to him. you never had it with anyone else, really, and what was so special about him? he was just another dude in the club, so you did what you always did and slid into his lap, pressing your bodies together in all the ways you knew did the best. you watched something flash in his eyes as he bit his lip for a moment. he looked back up to meet your eyes again.

“well, how long did it take you to recognize me? and you’re sober, aren’t you?” hawks brought a sculpted arm up to wrap around your waist, and you slapped it away as you worked your hips against his to the beat. 

“no comment. and no touching, unless you want to pay for that too.”

“i might just have to. what’s your name, gorgeous?” his face was too smug for a man who could buy the building, yet completely in the the eye of the public had a semi hard-on for a stranger in some daisy dukes. 

“i don’t know, what’s yours?” you asked, raising your eyebrow. you didn’t know his real name, no one did. it was a mystery highly speculated about online, not that you checked or anything. 

“fair enough, fair enough. pick one before i blow a couple hundred on getting free roam to touch you.” he said, rolling his hips up to meet yours. this shocked you, catching your breath, and you knew he had noticed by the shit-eating grin he wore. 

you gave him your stripper name. it was sufficient enough to add another layer of mystery, because even though you were in his lap, you wanted to keep up this game of cat and mouse. predator and prey.

the thought of that made you tingle. you told him your rates, and he forked it over quite a fuckin’ bit. you stood up from where you were sat in his lap (thought the loss was more upsetting than you would care to admit). you took his wrist (his hand was big) and started to drag him back to one of the more secluded areas. 

you had to pass the VIP area to do that, and when you did, you heard a shout. it scared the shit out of you for starters, but hawks seemed to recognize the voice. it was coming from a woman with white hair and rabbit ears, currently cheering hawks on.

“fuckin’ get some, dude!” she said, and her voice was strangely familiar as hawks flashed an award-winning grin and a thumbs up. you winked at her and pulled hawks on with you.

you pulled him into a pseudo-room in the back. not cut off by doors, but isolated and split off by room dividers. you pushed him back onto one of the booth-like seats lining the wall.

the music was quieter back here, and it was easier to hear yourself think. the lights were dim and the bass was still thumping through the floor. there was no one back here, just you and him. 

“ ‘kay, so i’m technically not supposed to let you touch me, but you just paid for my groceries and they don’t really check the cameras here. also, you’re cute.” you rambled off, more genuine and clearer now that the music wasn’t so intense in the middle of the madness. and then, catching the beat, you started your ministrations, rolling your hips against his and hearing his breath catch as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 

“so i’ve been told,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

“don’t let it go to your head, princess.” you said, and he didn’t reply, too focused on oogling you.

his hands came up to hold your waist, and he put his effort into moving along with you, and his grinding did not go unnoticed. or unappreciated, for that matter. with his hips at your waist, he raked his thumbs under your thong straps and snaps them against your hips like you had earlier. it earns a breathy chuckle from you as you watched his pupils pin. you pulled back, standing and watching his face sour as his hands were pulled from your waist. but you decided to give him a little show, just ‘cuz you had a case of the hots for him and the way he was looking at you was much appreciated.

you now stood in front of him, towering above him as you toyed with the waistband of your daisy dukes. he simply bit his lip, practically eye-fucking you. it was exhilarating. you enjoyed the lustful gazes from customers, but this was on a different level. you felt truly alive, and yet like you were melting all the same. your insides felt gooey but you kept your perfected expression hard, movements practiced, sex appeal seasoned to flawlessness. and now you unbuttoned your shorts, pulling them down to reveal your bright red thong, hips, legs and torso all one long line. he looked at you like dinner and you were fucking living for it.

you kneeled inbetween his legs, laying your head on one of his thighs in the way you knew drove people crazy.

you heard a small “god damn,” exit his mouth as he looked at you, entranced as you caught his t-shirt on your way up his body with your teeth, pulling it up and dropping it back down, promptly standing up to slide backwards into his lap. you roll your ass where you know it’s appreciated and hear his breathing speed up behind you. you can practically hear his heart pounding to match your own, like a drum to the beat. your body laid down the bass, your eyes were the melody and he was drowning.

and when it was all over, poor guy walked out of the club with his fellow semi-disguised pro-heros with a raging hard on.

and later on, when you were pulling all your money out to count it, you caught a piece of paper rolled up along a $100 bill. it was his number. a pro-hero gave you his number. that was risky, especially in the type of place they were in.

you liked the risk he took. you put his number in your phone.