#i wish i spent more time on this i might rewrite it a little before i post it on archive but idk yet

[strqyr]

gods, but this:

OSCAR: um, if you're not sure where to start, i do have a suggestion. if you'd like? JAUNE: sure. OSCAR: think about the good times. what little they might have been that you spent in the ever after. JAUNE: just focus on the positive? OSCAR: no, not like that. it might be able to help you remember what it was all for, and rewrite the story in your own way.

it says so much about oz's view on the fairy tales, especially the ones ozpin chose to include in his collection of them (fairy tales of remnant). it's also kind of similar to lewis; the story he wrote is a story as he wished it had happened.

how much of it focuses on the good times, no matter how few and far between those were? how much of it is to remember what it all has been for (ozma came back for salem, not to redeem humanity in front of the gods; that, he said 'no' to)?

how much of it is him rewriting the story in a way he wished it had happened? in a way that makes it easier to deal with the reality, the situation he has found himself in, not knowing exactly what he had signed up for?

it brings to mind his notes from 'the infinite man', which—at least to me—have a slightly different meaning behind them now than they did before:

This rendition—in which the man indeed is everything he claims to be—is the most romantic and, I think, balanced version of the story, which I have cobbled together from a variety of differing accounts in an effort to paint a larger and clearer picture, one that is slightly more sympathetic to the man. He is alternately portrayed as a hero or a fool—and again I say, why can't it be both? Less commonly, he is represented as the villain. In response, I offer another interpretation for your consideration: Good intentions do not always have good results. We are all fallible. We all make mistakes. And forgiveness of those failures goes hand in hand with trust. Although I have embellished this story slightly—attributing motives to the man's actions based on my own assumptions and, admittedly, my own prejudices and belief that there is good in all of us—no one who wasn't there could know what really happened. And even then, they would only have a small part of the story. Therefore, I leave it to you to decide whether this man is worthy of forgiveness. Truth itself is not an absolute, and everyone is free to make their own choices.

#rwby #rwby beyond #rwby spoilers #oscar pine #ozma #ozpin #he's just trying to deal with it all okay #and also--i think--trying to forgive himself while also acknowledging his own mistakes #trying to tell himself that even if his good intentions did not have good results #does not make him a “villain” #that there is good in everyone--including *him*

[waywardstation]

I'm a little sad to see this blog mostly shares polls nowadays... I miss the AU talk and random chatter about ideas or headcanons, your opinions on things and the wip wednesdays I'm still happy to see your art in between all those polls. (before forgetting: you might have already lost but to me Train of Thought IS and WILL BE my favorite submas AU. No contest. Nope. Never.) But yeah, missing the old days here. Dearly. Verrrry much. Don't get this wrong, you're either probably still recovering, you're insanely busy or maybe even moved on... either way wishing you have fun with wherever tracks take you! I was happy to be on this blog in it's prime.

Hey Anon! I will be honest with you on this cause I do want to explain what has happened with this blog lately, and where I plan to go with it. (It’s not going anywhere, don’t worry!!)

There are a few reasons for the inactivity. Part of it is just me recovering from university work. I pushed myself way harder than I should have for way longer than I should have, and now I’m kinda trying to just recalibrate my brain and mental health. It’s really foggy and I struggle with concentration and comprehension a lot currently. (And this is also why I haven’t really answered asks, when I tried to answer Papa Ingo AU asks while like this, it really only led to getting confused and correctional asks in response, because I kept getting things wrong, and that made things really overwhelming.)

AND SECOND! Most of my free time right now is not being spent on this blog, because most of it is going into writing and editing. Concentration and comprehension issues are making it take a lot longer than I’d like it to right now, but I have a lot of content on the way!

- four new chapters of HFBE

- three chapters of IWLYB

- a five chapter, 25k+ word fic titled Rain Check

- another fic titled Entropy Syndrome

None of these are out yet because Entropy Syndrome’s narrative covers a concept that spans across all of these other fics and chapters, and it’s adjusted a lot of content that’s making me rewrite things several times over to ensure it’s properly written in and connected ^^;

And lastly, sadly a lot of it is just irrational anxiety. I stopped posting for a while for university, and anxiety makes me irrationally scared to start again because it always makes it hard to start back at something once I’ve stopped ^^; (I’m hoping dumping all these fics will alleviate this when I’m done with them though! Fic posting is what diminished my anxiety enough to start this blog in the first place!!)

BELIEVE ME I miss how this blog used to be as well, but my mentality is still sort of recovering from what I did to it for four years straight, and I can’t really force it to keep going more right now. It’s certainly a process, but I’m recovering!

Lots of stuff is coming soon! I have a few minutes drabbles on hand, I will attempt to start posting those while I keep working on these fics.

Thank you for the ask anon!! It means a lot that you liked this blog so much. I still love it, and I’m taking care of myself as best I can so that I can get back to running this blog at full efficiency!!

Thank you again Anon!!! ^^

#wayward’s asks

[coraniaid]

There's so many good ones so I wanna ask one more! (Feel free to ignore of course!) Fuffy + 91. "I can't breathe." Happy writing! (Tbh I am team full season rewrite tho if/when you feel up to it! 😂 I'd love to see another! You did so incredible with the first one)

You sent this prompt in months ago, I know, but ... uh, better late than never?

(This is canon compliant and set in late Season 3, so I hope you like angst.)

In her whole short life leading up to today, Faith's only ever memorized four phone numbers.

The first of them was the phone number of the tiny apartment she’d lived in with her mother ever since she was a kid.  The dismal too-small box back in Southie that she’d spent years dreaming of escape from. Not that she ever had any reason to call that one, or to invite anyone else to call her either.  Unlike some people, she didn't exactly have a fawning little gang of sycophants and hangers-on to arrange late night gossip sessions with. 

She used to have to give that number to teachers though sometimes. Before she was smart enough to just take the hint and drop out of school entirely.  They used to demand it after summoning her to some principal’s office or some classroom for after-school detention, then get pissed at her when nobody answered.  As if it were Faith’s fault her mom was too busy enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life to pick up the phone.  As if she’d ever asked for her to do that.

(Hell, maybe if she’d just asked her to carry on drinking herself to death then her mom would’ve stopped.  God knows she’d never given Faith anything else she’d ever asked for.)

Anyway, that was one number she could go ahead and forget.  Good riddance to that.

Then there was Diana's number. Diana Dormer.

Diana was her first Watcher, and – in every way that mattered – her last Watcher too.  Snobby Rupert Giles had only ever looked at her like she was a cheap, flawed copy of his favorite golden Slayer, and lying Mrs Post had only ever been using her to get her hands on that stupid glove, and that jailbait-chasing creep Wesley was somehow worse than both of them put together. But Diana had been okay.  For a Watcher, anyway.  She’d been all right. 

Diana had given her her number early on, shortly after she’d first invited Faith to stay at her place.  "In case of emergencies," she'd said gently.  “Or if you just want to talk.”  

Faith had never known when to use it.  Never been sure what Diana wanted from her until it was too late to ask.  Her Watcher's house had been real nice, the few times she’d gone round to visit, but she'd worried that there was some kind of trick she wasn’t spotting, some strings attached that she’d not be able to escape.   So however much she’d wanted to, she'd never actually called her on it.  Not really.  

She'd rung the number once, for the first time and the last, only after Diana died.  When even a stupid little kid should've known it was way too late.  Driven by some weak childish impulse on a very bad night, after a string of at least a dozen bad nights, when she was already halfway across the country.  It rang and rang and rang and however long she waited nobody had ever answered.  

Well, what had she expected to happen anyway?  Diana was dead and she’d not been good enough to stop it and no amount of wishing would ever change that.

She could probably go ahead and forget that number too.

The Mayor had given her his number, as well, last of everyone. “Saving the best till last as usual, are you Faith?” he might have asked her, beaming at her in his office over another plate of cookies.  (The Mayor hated crumbs and mess and disorder, that wasn’t a secret, but somehow he never seemed to mind her eating at his desk.)

It was his private office number, direct line.  Not the one most people had to call.  The real one: the one Trick had used, and Mr Finch, and maybe some other dead losers Faith had offed without knowing it.  That was good. it meant he trusted her, that she was useful to him.  That she was safe.  She didn't think she'd ever call him on it either though.  What if she said something stupid and pissed him off?  What if he decided he could do better?

Mayor Wilkins wasn’t Diana.  The Mayor wasn't all right. Not really. He was a monster, and a killer, and he was wicked gross. Only … he was on her side, wasn't he? He’d set her up in this place, hadn’t he? A little nicer than that dump of a motel she’d been left to rot in.  He’d given her a chance.  He got her, the way nobody else in this town did.  The real her.  After all, she was a monster too.  Everyone knew it.  She belonged, with him, in a way she’d never belonged anywhere before.

Use it or not, she'd be hanging onto his number for a while.  It wasn’t as if she had a choice.

And then there was the third number.  The one she didn’t want to think about.  The most important number.  Her number.  Buffy Summers’s number.  The Buffy Summers, the one Diana had told her about almost a year ago. The one Faith had known about, somehow, even before that, the face she’d glimpsed in her dreams the night before she’d woken up stronger and stranger and different than before.

The other Slayer – the real Slayer, Faith supposes, the good Slayer – had given her number to Faith herself on her third night in Sunnydale, after the big fight with Kakistos.

They’d been hungry, after dusting that old monster.  Both of them.  Starving.  And, maybe, they'd both been feeling something else.  Something that Faith had been sure she’d seen, deep in Buffy’s eyes, that very first night they’d met.  A feeling she’d never been able to talk about it with anyone else, because they wouldn’t have been able to understand.  The feeling she’d always gotten after a good slay.  The high that kept her going, night after night, vamp after vamp.

They were hungry, but the only place open that late at night was a crappy little diner a few blocks away from the vamps’ old hideout.  It had been nearly deserted when they’d shown up, no other customers at all, and for a minute Faith had been worried they’d be turned away.  She probably would’ve been, she thinks, if she’d been on her own.  Something about her just had that effect on people.  She was trouble, she was a problem, and it was like everyone could smell it on her.  Like a stink she couldn’t ever wash away.

But she’d been with Buffy, Sunnydale’s golden girl, and nobody in the world had ever known how to say no to her.  That was why, not long after arriving, they’d been sitting together squashed up at a little plastic table, a table piled high with more burgers and fries and milkshakes than Faith had seen in one place for a long time.  More food than she’d ever had since she’d lost Diana.

Buffy might have claimed to crave nothing more than low-fat yogurt back when she was with her friends, but Faith hadn’t bought it.  No way that could be true.  And that night, when it was just the two of them, Buffy hadn’t bothered to pretend.  She’d torn through the burgers almost as fast as Faith, almost as if she didn’t have a mom at home who’d stay up late waiting for her and cook her hot food any time she asked.  Almost as if she was as empty inside as Faith was.

At one point, she’d looked up at Faith, mouth still slightly smeared with sauce, and Faith had had the weirdest feeling.  Because, fuck, this was Buffy Summers, the girl she’d dreamed about being the first night she was Called.  This was the girl whose death she’d lived through in her nightmares, just like she’d lived through a second death bleeding out on the library floor at some vampire’s feet, and falling through the air to the ground far below, and hundreds of other deaths before that.  

Buffy Summers, who Diana had told her stories about as if she were some kind of fairy tale.  Buffy Summers, who she’d dreamed about again as she fled across the country, running for her life, not knowing where else she could turn to.  Buffy Summers, who’d drowned but lived to joke about it, who’d never lost a fight, who blew up demons with rocket launchers and was really real.  Who was real and alive and warm and sitting so close to her, and who – even disheveled and dirty after a fight, even with fading bruises on her arms and ketchup stains on her fingers – was the most beautiful girl Faith had ever seen in her life. Buffy Summers, who was like her, but better.  Perfected.  Perfect.  

She’d looked up at her, and Faith had felt her heart lurch in her chest in a way that had nothing to do with all the greasy junk food they were eating.  And for the first time in the longest time, she’d dared to let herself hope that maybe everything was going to be okay.

If things had been just a little different back then, if Buffy had given her just the smallest, slightest sign, Faith thinks she might have kissed her right then and there.

Not a quick kiss on the forehead, like she had after their big fight back in Angel’s mansion, but a proper kiss.  The sort of kiss a girl like Buffy deserved.  Romantic.  Slow and deliberate.  Gentle and soft and forgiving  in a way that Faith could never make herself be.

But things hadn’t been different.  They never were.  Everywhere you went things were always exactly the same forever.  Buffy had glanced away; a tired-looking waitress had shown up to ask if they were going to be done soon; the moment had slipped out of her fingers, unseized.

So Faith had just helped herself to the last few fries on Buffy’s plate when she was almost finished, smirked at her with her mouth full when the other girl protested, then left her to foot the bill and made her way alone back to her motel room.

Alone.

She’d been alone for months, out on the wrong part of town, and nobody had cared.  Not really.

Giles had come round to see her once, much too late, almost a week after she’d arrived in Sunnydale.  He’d looked over the place, peering over his glasses, barely managing to hide his distaste, and asked her haltingly if she was looking for somewhere else to stay.  Well, nice try.  Faith wasn’t about to fall for that one.  What was he going to suggest: putting her up in the spare room in his place?  Out of the goodness of his heart, or something? How dumb did he think she was? 

“I’m five by five here, G-man,” she’d smiled insincerely, almost as keen to see the back of him as he obviously was to leave.

You couldn’t trust guys, even older guys who seemed okay at first.  Even guys you were supposed to be able to trust.  Especially not those guys.  Faith wasn’t naive enough to think otherwise.  She hadn’t been that naive for a very long time.

Buffy had come around to see her a few times, too.  Not so much after they’d fought over Mrs Post’s glove – well, to be fair, Faith hadn’t exactly wanted to see her then either –  but a couple of times.  The last time was just before Christmas, when Buffy’s mom had guilted her into inviting Faith over for the night.

She might have kissed her that night, too.  She might have, if she could’ve gotten away with it.  Found some way to play it off as a joke.  Lurked around the mistletoe and surprised her with a shy and furtive peck on the cheek at the stroke of midnight.  She might have kissed her, if that damn vampire hadn’t shown up to ruin everything.

As it was, Buffy hadn’t even hung around to open Faith’s crappy little presents.  She hadn’t even cared.  Just abandoned Faith again, the way everyone else did.  Left her to guard her mom like she was some kind of dog.  Like she was a stray she’d briefly felt sorry for and invited into the warmth for a night, only to regret it when she realized how flea-bitten and mangy and disgusting she truly was. 

She always thought she was better than you, Faith reminds herself angrily, hating the way she always forgets. Right from the beginning, and you never ever let yourself see it.

Sometimes she still thinks about calling her, even now.  What for, she isn't sure.  It's not like they were ever friends, is it?  Not really. Buffy was just using her, same as everyone else. She gets that now, even if she'd never wanted to admit it.  There was no way Buffy had ever been going to let her into her life for real.  There was no way Buffy was going to admit that they were alike.

Still, she thinks about it, some nights.  Most nights.  She’s been thinking about it tonight.

It’s idiotic.  She’s idiotic.  She’s embarrassing herself again.  it's just like Red had told her, back in the Mayor's office.  It's too late, it's way too late.  She knows that.  She’s known it for a while.  She’s not a stupid kid anymore.

Only … she’s never going to get another chance, is she?  One way or another, it’s all going to be over soon.

It's well after midnight when she finally screws up the courage to pick up the phone.  Not long to go until graduation day now.  Not long to go until the Mayor's big ascension.  This town will get what’s coming to it, and so will Buffy Summers.  And so will she.  Everything will be different.

"Willow?" Buffy says sleepily on the other end of the line, when Faith finally has the guts to dial her number.  "Is that you?  Are you okay?"

Faith feels herself scowling at the mention of that little witch's name, the smile she’d not been able to stop when she heard Buffy’s voice curdling on her face.

Red.  That smug little witch.  Of course Buffy would ask about her.  Of course Buffy would choose her over Faith, again and again.  Willow’s not a Slayer.  She isn’t like them, she isn’t important.  She’s soft and weak and shy and coddled and she’s got a family and a house and a future.  She doesn’t need Buffy the way that Faith needs her.  Why can’t Buffy see that?

Too late, she realizes how long it’s taking her to answer.  Now Buffy's getting impatient. Sounding a little more stern.

"Who is this?  What do you want?"

Faith freezes.  The little script she’d pieced together in her mind all evening fades into gray nothingness.  What does she want?  Forgiveness, maybe.  Absolution. For somebody else to really see her and agree that this was the only way that things could go.  That, really, none of this was anybody’s fault.  Or maybe she just wants a chance to say goodbye.

I should have kissed you, back then, she thinks.  That night after we dusted Kakistos.

She can see in her mind exactly how it would have played out. Like a scene from a movie – not one of those grainy black and white flicks she used to watch on the broken television in the motel after patrol, but a real movie, on the big screen, so bright and colorful and sharp and real that it almost hurts to look at.

You'd have tasted sweet, but just a little salty, between those fries you were demolishing and the specks of strawberry milkshake waiting on your upper lip.  You’d have tasted just like I imagined, all those summer nights on the run.  And afterwards … afterwards, you’d have gone all shocked and wide-eyed for a second and neither of us would've said anything. Then you'd have turned all pink and protested and pretended you hadn’t been into it at all, and maybe you’d not have talked to me again for weeks and weeks afterwards.  You’d probably have been weird about it for months.  

But I think it would’ve been worth it.  To show you. Who I was, and who you were.  To take what I wanted, just for a moment.  To have what I was sure we both wanted, deep down.  What we both needed.  To know that I was right, and that the two of us were the same.  To taste it.

And now it's like ... it's like I'm drowning, like I can't breathe.  I’m in that quarry the kids used to fool around in, back in Boston. I’ve jumped in from way up top like always, only something’s gone wrong. I'm stuck. I can’t get out, I can’t even move, and I'm waving for help but nobody can see me.  Nobody wants to see me.

It’s just like it was back then, after I failed Diana, except I know nobody’s going to take my hand and drag me out this time.  I know there’s nowhere left for me to run, and no other Slayer I can trek across the country to find is going to save me.  I know the only way out is down into the dark.  The only thing left to do is let the water in and drown.

Faith opens her mouth.  Hesitates again, for the last time.  Buffy doesn't give her another chance.

"I don't know who you are or how you got this number, but I know this isn't funny," the other girl whispers furiously.  "It’s the middle of the night and I’m trying to sleep.  Don't ever call here again."

The line goes dead before Faith can say a word.

#btvs #fanfiction #fuffy #asks #thanks!

[lemony-snickers]

@butter--peanut ficti-gram for you!

to: @butter--peanut from: @wind-becomes-lightning message: Hello my love, I mean my rival, I am currently working through the first pages of the book you are writing and am in total awe of your work!! I want to send you this little sweet thing so you can relax a little for a minute with a good fic before you dive into rewrites again! I am very happy that I met you and that we have met in person so many times and hopefully many many more times until you leave forever! (;(). Sending you many hugs!! <3 characters/pairing: kakashi hatake/obito uchiha word count: 3,646 prompt: the smell of coffee

Obito Uchiha has always hated the smell of coffee.  Freshly roasted at a fancy kissaten or poured from a grody two-day-old carafe into a travel mug, he thinks it always smells like burnt piss.  No amount of sugar or milk or cream or flavoring could ever make it palatable, and Obito will never understand how anyone, under any circumstances, could ever find themselves so desperate for an infusion of caffeine they would resort to drinking it.

Admittedly, coffee might be a useful beverage to keep on deck in the event of poisoning, to make a person throw up.  Maybe.  He’d have to be really poisoned to consider it, and Obito sees no other reasonable purpose for the existence of such a foul liquid.

Normally, Obito is fairly adept at avoiding coffee in all its forms, but there is one occasion upon which he has little to no control over whether he’s subjected to it and that is whenever Kakashi Hatake texts him to say he’s on his way over.

It’s still relatively new, all the Kakashi stuff.  When Obito ran across his old classmate on a dating app, he’d only partially been serious when he swiped to match with him.  Mostly, Obito was curious.  He smirked when he saw Kakashi’s profile—pathetically sparse and with a picture that didn’t even show his entire face—because it was very clear Kakashi was looking specifically for hook-ups while Obito had spent hours agonizing over which photos to upload, how many of his own scars to show, and how to make an appropriately-but-not-too-seriously self-deprecating joke about them in his bio.

Online dating is a terribly complicated thing, it turns out, when half your body is marred by the mistakes of your past.

Obito had not expected to match with Kakashi in the slightest.  At best, he thought he might receive a message something along the lines of, “Fuck you, loser,” before he was blocked.

Instead, Kakashi invited him out for a drink and Obito—perhaps foolishly or at least with a dash of foolhardy optimism—said yes.

The alcohol helped soothe the awkward sting of their reunion.  They spent hours at the bar, ordering round after round, allowing the fuzziness of the booze to seep into their blood, their bones.  Cloud over all the terrible parts of their shared history they did not wish to relitigate or relive in any detail.  Their conversation remained light, easy.

Perfunctory shit only.

“How have you been?”

“Good, you?”

“All right.  What do you do for work now?”

“A little bit of everything, really. Whatever brings in enough to cover my rent.”

Kakashi cracked a grin at that and Obito turned his attention toward his beer to hide that he liked it.  There had always been something terribly magnetic about Kakashi.  Even as a kid, when they first entered school together, Obito always found himself drawn to him, desperately trying to escape his orbit with very little success.

It would take several years of distance and a decent amount of therapy for Obito to recognize the feelings of his adolescent self for what they were.  That all the jealousy and anger had been part and parcel to something else, something soft and unknowable, then.  Something he hadn’t been yet able to acknowledge or put voice to.

Obito didn’t realize he was interested in men for a long time after Kakashi was no longer part of his life.  Now, though?  It was painfully clear Obito measured every man he’d ever dated by the metric of his old schoolmate, and not one of them had ever passed muster.

So when Kakashi invited himself to Obito’s apartment after they split their bar tab, he acquiesced.  When he shoved Obito against the wall in the entryway and bruised a kiss against his mouth, Obito’s knees buckled.  When a hand shoved its way down the front of his jeans, Obito whined.

It was so easy to succumb to decades of longing.  To open the half-crushed box where he’d packed it all away and dust it off, return it to a shelf in the sunlight where he could stare at it.  Covet it.

Ignore everything else in the box except this one thing.

And now when Kakashi calls—err, texts, he never calls—Obito unlocks his front door and waits patiently for him to stride in and repeat it all again.

It’s rather infuriating if he gives himself any time to think it over.  That he allows Kakashi to wander in and out of his life like a wraith without expectation or explanation.  He comes and goes as he pleases and part of Obito hates himself for allowing it to continue.

The rest of him, though, sees it as a reward for all his patience.  For all the progress he has made since they last saw each other, broken and bruised and grieving.

Obito’s therapist tells him there might be too much history between them for any of this to work on a functional level.  But then, Obito has never really been all that functional.  At least now he has someone in his life who will touch him, make him feel good without also making him feel self-conscious of his body.

It’s complicated.  At least, that’s what he tells himself (and his therapist), so he doesn’t have to unpack the rest of the box.

But Obito knows deep down none of this is sustainable.  While he’s willing to take what he can, he’s also not a moron.  He’s willing to take what he can get and be satisfied with it; always has been.

What makes things infuriatingly more tenuous, though, is that Kakashi always smells like coffee.

Obito knows that’s probably a sign, but he refuses to read it.

It doesn’t matter what time of day or night he appears at Obito’s door, all hungry eyes and demanding touches, there is always this persistent burnt scent that lingers under everything else.  It’s pervasive.  Poisons the very air of Obito’s apartment as Kakashi swoops in without a word.

It clings to Kakashi’s clothes, his skin, his hair.  It’s on his tongue when it pushes its way into Obito’s mouth, staining itself onto his teeth.

Coffee.  Every time.  Everywhere.

And during the course of their liaisons, the scent transfers itself to Obito, sliding against his scalp and burrowing into the thick folds of his scarred skin.

The burnt piss smell lingers in his nostrils long after Kakashi departs, trailing in his wake like a vile stream, and Obito spends an inordinate amount of time in the bath afterward trying to scrub away the putrid scent and replace it with fruity-smelling body wash or the lavender oil his therapist tells him is good for promoting relaxation.

He doesn’t think he agrees, but it smells nice, so what the hell?

His therapist might also have something to say about Obito’s obsessive need to clean himself every time Kakashi leaves his apartment, but he doesn’t like to think about that much.  Each time, he convinces himself it is the smell and not their fraught and complicated history which demands another cycle of shampoo.  He dips his head beneath the surface of the water until his vision stings and blurs so he won’t imagine what his therapist’s frown looked like when he said as much during their last session.

Obito is a big boy who can make his own decisions, thank you very much.  He just wishes his potentially poor life choices didn’t come with a side of putrescent coffee bean stench.

After a brief On my way text message, Kakashi arrives this time with a soggy-looking bag of takeout and plops it on Obito’s kitchen counter.

“For me?” he asks teasingly, “You shouldn’t have.”

Kakashi rolls his eyes.  “It’s mine and you can’t have any,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.  Obito rakes his eye over Kakashi’s frame, taking in the lean, wiry muscle of it.  His posture is terrible, he looks like a shepherd’s hook the way his spine curves too much at the top.  As always, Obito’s gaze eventually finds the scar over Kakashi’s eye, traces it carefully.

Whenever he tries to touch it while their kissing or fucking, Kakashi pulls him away, tangles their fingers together or tugs his wrist down to the mattress and restrains his hand there, like it can’t be trusted not to wander.

He doesn’t like to acknowledge his scars any more than Obito likes to acknowledge his own, and Obito wonders if that is part of why they remain within one another’s terrible, destructive orbit.  Because neither of them needs to explain their scars to the other—they were together when they were earned.

Kakashi, for the first time since this all started months ago, looks unsure.  He stands in the liminal space between the kitchen and the living room, rocking slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet.  His energy is nervous.  Sizzling.  Like a crack of lightning splitting the night sky in half.

“Something on your mind?” Obito asks, trying not to let the panic he feels fluttering in his chest make its way into his voice.  It’s like there’s a hummingbird trapped in the cage of his ribs, frantic to escape.

Kakashi shakes his head.  “How, uh… how was your day?” he asks, and a grimace follows immediately, slicing its way across his face like the dull side of a kitchen knife.

Obito can’t help it, he tries not to laugh, but it takes only half a heartbeat for the raucous noise to skitter out of his chest, setting the hummingbird free as he guffaws.  Watching Kakashi try to be normal, try to treat their interaction as if it is casual and regular, is the funniest shit Obito has ever seen.

Kakashi rolls his eyes and takes two quick, purposeful steps forward.  It’s then the coffee scent slams full force into Obito, snaking its way up his nose and into his throat.  He gags a little and Kakashi halts his advance, pausing just as his knee would have brushed against Obito’s own where he sits on his ratty old couch.

“Something smell bad?” Kakashi asks, glancing over his shoulder at the takeout he deposited on the counter.

“Yeah,” Obito says, pinching his nose closed for dramatic effect, “you.”

Still, after all the years of knowing him, of provoking him—and then missing him—Obito experiences the same swift thrill whenever he catches Kakashi off guard.  And watching the confusion blossom over his features, first in the subtle downturn of his mouth at the edges and then in the wrinkles of his nose and crease of his brow, is a glorious, wonderful thing.

“Me?  I smell bad?”

Obito rises slowly from his seat, the good side of his face pitched up in a grin.  “You smell fucking terrible all the time.”

There’s that gorgeous, adorable confusion again.  Deepening.  Pulling Kakashi’s lip toward the infuriatingly beautiful mark on his chin, carving a ravine between his eyebrows.

Obito wishes he could take a photo, blow it up, and hang it on his wall.  He knows he’s probably picking a fight—knows it’s probably long overdue—but this moment is worth the risk of blowing up the very small good thing he’s managed to unpack from his past.

Of course, Kakashi does not handle discomfort well.  Obito doesn’t need a therapist to tell him that.  Kakashi is a man who thrives on control, and Obito’s revelation has clearly thrown him.  It doesn’t take long for lovely confusion to break apart, resettle itself against Kakashi’s features as something vicious.

“Fuck you, I didn’t come here to be insulted,” he says.

Obito’s grin widens.  “But you did come here to fuck me, though.”  He chuckles, and Kakashi spins on his heels.  Before he can snatch up his takeout and head back out into the hall, Obito grabs the bag first and holds it out of his reach.

An impressive feat, if Obito does say so himself, considering they’re close in height but Kakashi definitely has longer arms.  He’s always been built like a swimmer, lanky with a broad chest and narrow hips.

“Stop being such an asshole,” Kakashi says, grabbing for the bag and missing as Obito passes it to his other hand behind his back.

“Don’t be such a fragile little flower,” Obito chides, “take a little criticism for once in your life.”

Kakashi’s face hardens and he stops trying to reach for his food, which Obito knows probably means he’s gone too far, pushed some invisible button too hard.  Rather than acknowledge that; rather than walk himself back or apologize, he simply opens the bag of food in his hands, maintaining uncomfortably intense eye contact with Kakashi as he reaches in, grabs the first food-shaped thing he finds, and brings it to his mouth.

He gags when it hits his tongue, spits it half-chewed right back into the bag without any concern for the rest of its contents.

When he glares at Kakashi, nose wrinkling, pulling his facial scars in a way that tugs uncomfortably at the unmarred flesh of his face, Obito expects to see the same sharp and acerbic glare from a moment ago.

Instead, what he finds is mirth—light dancing in Kakashi’s dark eyes as his mouth splits into a smile, revealing his perfect teeth.  Obito knows his left canine is false, but it’s hard to tell since the rest of his smile is just as dazzlingly white.  And as Kakashi tilts his head back, the apple of his throat jumping wildly in time with his laughter, he wheezes out a high-pitched, “Serves you right!” and then keeps on laughing.

Obito supposes it does, to some extent.  But how was he supposed to know Kakashi Hatake, well-established hater of all things even remotely dessert-like, would be carrying coffee cake in his to-go bag?  Obito keeps sticking out his tongue, like exposure to the air will somehow cleanse the taste from his mouth.  He must look like a frog; a big dumb amphibian who snapped its tongue out only to realize it caught a stink bug.

He tosses the bag back onto the counter, content to have it as far from his person as possible.  “I thought you hated sweets.”

“I do,” Kakashi says, finally regaining some semblance of stoicism.  “It’s for my neighbor.”

Obito frowns.  “Since when have you been that social?”

Kakashi shrugs, but says nothing.  Typical.

They stand there, awkward and unmoving, for several long seconds.  Obito can feel sweat prickling at his nape, his temples.  He has no clue what he’s supposed to say, now.

Do you still get to fuck someone after you’ve told them they reek and then spit half-masticated baked goods back into their extremely kind bag of neighborly good will?

Probably not, which is disappointing.

Is he supposed to open the box, splay the contents across his floors so they can examine all the missing pieces?  Try to fit them back together?

Obito decides that isn’t something he’s ready to do.  That whatever exists between them, now, is still too new, too fragile, to bear the weight.  One day, maybe, it will be strong enough.  But not now.

Mercifully, Kakashi clears his throat, which clears the air enough for him to ask, “Why haven’t’ you ever said anything?”

“About what?” Obito asks, realizing a moment too late that he’s fucking dumb.

Kakashi knows, too, and infuses as much incredulity into his clarification as possible, each syllable dripping with a sickly-sweet undertone of are you fucking kidding.  “You said I smell, Obito.  All the time.  Why didn’t you tell me before?”

There’s no truly easy answer.  Because of course, Obito thinks Kakashi smells like burnt piss, but he doesn’t actually.  What he smells like is coffee, which is a perfectly reasonable thing to smell like, probably.

Assuming Kakashi drinks the stuff because if he doesn’t, then what the fuck?

“I hate the smell of coffee,” Obito says finally, after Kakashi reaches out and flicks him on the forehead for taking too long to answer.  He rubs at the spot where he’s sure the gesture has left a red smudge on his skin.  “You always smell like fucking coffee.”

Obito isn’t sure what he expects Kakashi’s response to be.  More incredulity, maybe.  Irritation.  Hands thrown up in the air and then a purposeful march out of his apartment.  An annoying dissertation on why coffee is wonderful and Obito is wrong.

Instead, Kakashi grins like a very smug cat, takes a step forward and presses his forehead to Obito’s, arms crossed over his chest like the smug, self-assured bastard he has (almost) always been.

Obito bristles, mostly because the move is unfamiliar.  For all Kakashi enjoys making people uncomfortable, he typically uses his words to do so.  The proximity of him, the coffee smell and the warmth of his skin and the faint tickle of his breath as he leans close to Obito’s ear are things typically reserved for the duration of their sex and that’s all.

Kakashi doesn’t like being close to people.  Obito understands why, respects the boundary for the most part.  He nearly topples backward trying to maintain any semblance of space between their bodies.

Then Kakashi rasps almost alluringly against his ear, “I own a fucking coffee shop, you dumbass.”

It occurs to Obito in that moment he has never bothered to ask where Kakashi works.  Their first meeting at that bar replays in his mind and he recalls Kakashi asking him what he did for a living, but Obito had gotten distracted by his momentary embarrassment and never returned the favor.

He groans loudly, leaning his forehead against Kakashi’s shoulder, which jostles as he chuckles at Obito’s expense.  Obito snorts, a short, half-hearted attempt at that self-deprecating humor he has so perfected over the years.  “Figures I’d fall for someone who smells like my least favorite thing.”

He pulls away, flustered and embarrassed.  The heat of his face is probably enough to warm that coffee cake like it’s fresh from the oven.  Obito wonders suddenly if the cake came from Kakashi’s shop.  Wonders where the shop is and what it’s like inside.

If they serve anything other than fucking coffee.

Kakashi’s fingers are rough against Obito’s jaw as he pulls him in for their first kiss of the day, but the kiss itself is gentle.  He doesn’t open his mouth, isn’t as greedy or demanding as usual.  And Obito relishes the temporary softening, the tender moment offered to him.  He clings to Kakashi’s shirt and tries to breathe as little as possible so the coffee stench won’t invade his nostrils.

Though, he must admit, at the moment, he cares a hell of a lot less than usual.  Because Kakashi’s kisses are delicate and coaxing, one hand skimming over Obito’s scars with a carefulness that makes his chest ache.

A carefulness he has never experienced before, not with anyone, and especially not with the man he knows deems himself responsible for their existence.

Obito pulls away first, finally in such desperate need of a full breath he can’t hold out any longer.  He doesn’t pull far, though, just enough to let his lungs expand without restriction.  And when his eyes meet Kakashi’s, the light in them is still there, less twinkling and steadier.

A porch light welcoming him home, peeling away the shadows to reveal safety and comfort.

“Let’s take a bath,” Kakashi says quietly, grinning.

Obito has the decency to laugh.  It’s a convenient enough sound, anyway, one which hopefully drowns out the erratic thudding his chest.  The hammer beat of a heart only now realizing Kakashi didn’t run away when Obito said he was falling, didn’t put up the cool partition Obito is so used to running up against every time he tries to open up, to be opened.

To drag the box out and bring its contents back into the light.

The tub is not large enough for two grown men.  Not really.  But they Tetris their limbs into the basin as well as they can, tangling together like brambles—perhaps just as prickly—and laughing at their own foolishness in unison.

“It’s smells like a department store in here.”

Obito splashes the scented water at Kakashi, who squints and spits.  “I need all the eucalyptus and lavender I can get my hands on to wash out your coffee shop’s stench.”

Kakashi leans back against the tub with a serene smile and closes his eyes.  “You should come visit sometime,” he offers and Obito knows it’s no small thing to be invited into Kakashi’s life even such a minor way.  He looks up to wink at Obito through the steam of the bathwater.  “Maybe not on roasting day, though.”

“You couldn’t pay me.”

His therapist will probably still tell Obito this is an unhealthy attachment at their next session.  But Obito thinks today is a step in the right direction, at least.  A limping movement toward the honesty that comes so hard to them both.

Maybe they can figure the rest out together, peel back all the layers and scars until they are raw and open to each other.  Until they can repair all the marks of their shared past, their fractured future.  Maybe.  Someday.

Obito likes the idea that his past and his future might yet be able to exist together.  That one day there won’t be any dusty boxes he has to carry around, regrets and secrets stuffed between tabs of moldy cardboard.  He likes the idea that maybe he and Kakashi can unpack together.  Build a bonfire afterward and burn away all the shit they no longer need to hold onto.

The smoke would smell better than coffee, at least.  And as long as Kakashi agrees to take a bath when he comes over, Obito thinks they just might be able to make this work.

#kakaobi #kakaobi fanfiction #lemony ficti-grams #tw suggestive #tw swearing #modern au #tw alcohol #tw scars #vague mentions of Something Bad from their shared past but we leave it at that #thanks nisi for being my first ficti-gram request! #sorry kris i'm sure you would have written your otp much better a;dlsfjas but i hope you find something to like in this <3

[subwaytostardew]

falls to my hands and knees. please god let me date cilan

Just going to put a disclaimer that Cilan is in his 20s in this mod before continuing... (Since he's 16 in the anime but... The mod takes place after Best Wishes.) Kids may be able to be champion and fill government positions back in Unova, but Cilan is at a legal working age so he can open his own cafe in Stardew Valley. He didn't have to give up his job as a sommelier when moving. He would be around the Sam-Sebastian age range.

We might add that as an option later after we start on the roommate Cilan update, but that won't be until much MUCH later on our to-do list. We want to write his platonic route first (less rewriting... Ingo's whole route is going to need a rework but Emmet is mostly fine until after 8 hearts). Cilan's romance route probably won't be too different from his roommate route outside of kissing him instead of hugging. There's a lot more for him to do outside of that! He's an everything connoisseur! He'll get too caught up in his infodumps to remember to say "I love you". He's sorry!

That also reminds me........ I never drew a blushy/embarassed portrait for him! I organized the portrait sheet I posted earlier wrong! The first 6 boxes are hardcoded so they need to be in order of neutral, happy, sad, anything, blush, and angry. His angry portrait was where he was supposed to blush and the first of his many infodumping expressions was where he was supposed to be angry! Anyways... Here's his blushing/embarassed portraits.

Still planning out how to write him and what his storyline would be but this is what I had so far:

Cilan is unsatisfied with just running a resturaunt with his brothers back in Unova. After travelling with Ash and Iris, he's a little bored; he craves adventure, travel, and excitement- so he jumped at the opportunity to open a faraway cafe in a new station built by submas. The farmer introduces him to the new flavors of the valley (quite literally... Grow him some corn or something and he'll lose his mind) and Cilan takes an immediate interest in them after that. He's happy to cook up new recipies with all the ingredients he has access to!

Along the line, Cilan expresses insecurity about not being sure about what he should do with himself since he doesn't like feeling tied down with only one line of work... He loves being able to explore new experiences! Staying cooped up in a resturant doesn't stimulate his hunger for knowledge (he loves knowing it all... if he can't infodump about everything ever then what's the point 💔). Identity crisis aside, he also feels pressured to stick to one line of work since he's aware that others are annoyed by his interest in well... everything. The farmer reassures him that they like listening to him infodump and that it's good to be enthusiastic about everything! They also help him realize that he doesn't necessarily need to settle down and that he can just do whatever makes him happy. The farmer's a farmer, but most of their time is spent running around slaying monsters and stuff in various dungeons! Cilan kind of freaks out when he learns about that but it does spark his interest so he requests to tag along with the farmer on their next adventure.

Cilan ends up really liking the farmer's adventuring antics and they get closer as friends with him tagging along being a regular occurence. Farmer gets a healer. Cilan gets to forage for more ingredients while having fun learning about various monsters/swordfighting/the mysteries of the valley/etc and infodumping to someone who likes listening to him. He makes a good farmhand, too! They might as well live together. So that ends up being an option.

▷ Station Steward Thylak

#mail car connecting line #subway to stardew terminal station #Cilan #Farmer's kind of a weirdo. Main defining trait for every player because the game forces you into the mines for some reason #Cilan's having the time of his life in the valley. Rip submas. They hate the mines/everything scary. They want to stay on the railroad #Submas walked so Cilan can run #I had Cilan just being embarassed after talking about how he's insecure about how people think he's annoying for infodumping in mind #He has too many happy expressions...need to get a variety in there

[khonshuscondemned]

ksjdndbhsjshdhs i hope u don’t mind that im answering this on my mk blog instead but @tiptapricot you . you got my mind spinning . and pardon my brevity here- but during that little period of time tip? i think... marc fell in love with layla all over again. i hope to maybe go into more of a story/scene rewrite of this but for now- for now have some of my own soft marclayla hc’s yeah?

i think the moment she popped into his vision with that smile that could freeze time and melt the fuckin ice caps sipping her lil drink, he was done for.  He knew it was coming, knew it from the moment he saw her wandering Steven’s flat, her curls ever as wild and unruly as the heart that beat so fiercely in her chest, when she looked at Not-Gus and through him he knew that there was never any hope for him.  He loved her all the way, entirely.  In the way that suddenly had him . wishing he knew stupid shit like poetry. the way all she had to do was look at him and he felt.. whole. better. 

so after they met up in cairo, i think Marc was re-learning how to breathe with her so close to him- she who could be so free with her touch and her light and her smile- he’d seen it before, had known the intricate steps of they way Layla El Faouly lived and breathed and moved and existed for just enough time for him to never forget it, he cherished her so deeply.  [i think marc strikes me as the sort of person who recognises how good someone is because he’s . seen some of the worst of the worst. and when he comes across a soul that shines as bright as Layla’s?? well, i think he works to memorise everything he can, to keep close to his heart forever, because he knows - he knows there will be a time where he will be without it .]

relearning how to coexist is like ice cold condensation on the outside of a glass on a sunny day- refreshing and delightful and he keeps catching himself staring at her when she’s not looking, keeps getting distracted because he’ll be looking at her and trying to listen to the things she’s saying but the only thought in his brain is about how she’s beautiful and how her eyes shine like buried gold and sometimes when she turns around really quickly her hair will smack him in the face and he swears he recognises the sort of floral scent of her shampoo-

and i think steven comments on thoughts like that that slip through, chuckling and pointing out nice things marc could say when marc’s tongue feels a lil too thick to come up with words or  when she asks him easy questions like ‘left or right’ or if she’d been listening to a word she’s said. (’Nod and repeat the last thing she said, mate-’) (he’d been thinking about the way she’d put her hand on his shoulder to stand up earlier-) (if he took his shirt off and saw the mark of her handprint seared into his skin is it weird he thinks he might be grateful?-) (Marc. Focus.) 

i think if at any point the suggestion of splitting up happens marc is quick to find cause to work together, even if it’s kind of a reach or a stretch bc once he’s around her again it’s like. how could he have lived without? 

this got a bit longer than i meant but TLDR: i think marc spent the whole time just as starry-eyed for Layla as he was on the boat and i dont think he could bear to split up with her- and i think steven was constantly slapping his hand over his eyes bc how is it he feels more well-equipped to flirt with Marc’s wife than marc is..

#ihanswers #heheskjfhslkdjf sorry this got so long i really was just gonna write like. a little bit. omg #and im in a soft af mood so this might be like. tooth-rottingly fluffy sorry skdhfk #moon knight #marc spector #layla el faouly #marclayla my beloveds #ihdrabbles #moon knight meta #sort of? slkdfjw its just how in love marc is with layla which is totally canon soooo #beloveds ask

[usermoreid]

Darkened Nights (Violent Things)

Fic Week Day Two: Alternate ending to an episode

“I choose Aaron Hotchner. He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4. ‘Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense’.”

The silence in the room was palpable. In almost perfect synchronicity, every head turned to face the man in question only moments before he stormed out of the room, footsteps echoing throughout the house.

"I'm not a narcissist," he said, pacing back and forth as the others entered the room, slowly as if approaching a wild animal that could attack at any second.

"Come on. Look, you can't think anything from that. He's not in his right mind, Hotch," Gideon tried to reassure him, quickly stopping when he was interrupted.

"No, stop. Stop." The room fell quiet once again. "Alright, everybody right now - what's my worst quality?" His head turned frantically around the room, taking in everyone's hesitancy to answer. "Okay, I'll start. I have no sense of humour."

"You're a bully," JJ said hardly a second after he'd finished.

"I'm a bully," he repeated.

"You can be a drill sergeant sometimes."

"Right."

"You don't trust women as much as men."

"Okay, good. I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't, ever. So why did Reid say that I do?"

"Don't jump to any conclusions just yet. Reid is smart. For all we know, he could have been leaving clues this entire time. We just need to find what they are."

"Clues? We don't even know if Reid's aware that we saw that!" His voice raised at Gideon as an exasperated arm was thrown in the air. "What sort of clue is 'narcissist'? That doesn't lead us anywhere. Like you said, Reid is smart. His clues would be more obvious than that."

He turned on his foot, heading back in the direction he came from. The others all shared a look of trepidation before following after him. They'd never seen their boss so unsettled, and in turn it was fraying their nerves in an already precarious situation. Gideon was the only one to look unperturbed but even Emily, who had spent such little time around the man, could see the tightness around his mouth and the stiff way in which he stood. He may have been acting as though he wasn't bothered but they could see right through him. Despite this, they walked on without mentioning it, knowing how private of a man Gideon was.

Back in the computer room, the tension was so thick it was almost suffocating, squeezing their hearts like a clenched fist prepared to strike at any moment. They were all on edge, staring intently at each blank screen as if they would come to life, the answer to the question that was plaguing them all displayed clearly on the screen. But there were no bold letters written out in front of them. There was no easy solution. Their youngest team member was still at the mercy of an unsub that had seemingly no plan to let him leave alive and they had no way of finding him.

Hotch cursed softly under his breath and stalked out of the room once more after several minutes had passed without so much as a mumble from anyone. The team knew better than to feel any shock at Hotch's out of character expletive; none of them could blame the man for not acting like himself. Instead, they looked to Gideon for guidance. The older man held a single hand up, preventing them from joining him in going after Hotch. He searched through the rooms, not finding his colleague in any of them, and then the grounds outside. It was a few feet in front of the house that he finally spotted him. If it wasn't for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, he could've been mistaken for a statue.

"He's still alive."

Hotch showed no sign of having heard Gideon approaching or settling a few steps behind him, and yet he didn't startle at the words, his stare remaining off into the darkness.

"You can't prove that."

"It's Reid. He always survives."

A small sound filled the air. It would have passed for a chuckle if the bitterness had not been so clear, as if it had rotted within him before being set free.

"You know, sometimes I feel like God sent Reid to me for a reason; as if there was something I could do for him. I couldn't even teach him how to deal with the emotional side of this job before I sent him into what's probably going to be the most traumatising thing he's ever going to experience."

"Then you help him through the aftermath. You still have time, Hotch. Your work isn't done."

Hotch shook his head. "I can't save him."

"All by yourself? Probably not, but I wouldn't be surprised if you did. You've got an entire team in there, Hotch, ready to risk everything. You helped him become the agent he is. If there's anybody that can help him again now, it's you. You understand him. I'm sure there's something Reid mentioned that tells us where he is, but we need you to not treat this like he's already gone."

Neither of them spoke. The only noise between them was the delicate wind, soft whispers floating throughout the air as if sending a message that he couldn’t quite decipher. Hotch’s head dropped down to face the dirt below him, a queue for Gideon to leave that he thankfully took, making his way back to the house that he was beyond tired of seeing. A small breath left Hotch’s lips, almost a sigh but not quite. He knew that Gideon was right. Standing outside staring at the ground wasn’t helping anybody but Hankel, and yet he couldn’t quite find it in himself to turn around. Spencer’s words were playing on repeat in his mind.

“He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team.”

Was he right? Of course he was, Hotch thought to himself. Spencer was never wrong, and he wouldn’t use the word ‘narcissist’ so lightly. But if he truly did put himself above the rest of his team, could he really trust himself to do what was best for one of its members? After all, everybody else was in that god-forsaken house, working tirelessly to bring Spencer home, and here he was: standing alone outside, focusing on his own problems instead of helping them.

With a shuddering breath, he turned around, pausing for only a moment before heading back to his team. Reid may have been right about the narcissism, but he would do everything in his power to get him back regardless. Reid was still alive, and he intended to find him that way as soon as he possibly could.

They all worked until the sun came up, the bright gold rays almost taunting them as they shone in through the windows. It was as the morning light hit that Hotch finally managed to force some of them to sleep. Morgan, JJ and Garcia were the firsts to go, though Morgan was only out for barely two hours before he returned, letting Gideon rest instead. Hotch felt the need to ask if he’d managed to get any sleep at all but based on the drooping of his eyes and the anxious clenching of his fists, he felt it wasn’t necessary.

They continued the search, finding dead end after dead end, and all the while both Hotch and Morgan refused to sleep. Prentiss eventually conceded, taking JJ’s space once she’d woken up. Hotch was rather impressed by how well she functioned on such little rest but he didn’t spare much thought on the matter, knowing that there were more important things at hand. It was only after the third time that they’d nearly fallen asleep on each other that the two men finally accepted that it was time to rest. They needed their entire focus on getting Reid home and they wouldn’t be able to do that if they were incapable of thinking. With heavy hearts and much hesitation, they left the room.

Neither of them had wanted to sleep in the house, the knowledge that they were currently residing in the home of the man that had their friend was hanging over their heads, making it almost impossible to even stand in. Instead, they chose the comfort (or lack thereof) of the FBI SUVs. Hotch climbed into one as Morgan climbed into the other, both immediately sitting in the driver’s seat and laying it back as far as they could go.

Being mid January, there was a strong chill in the air despite the persistent shining of the sun above them. Hotch wrapped his suit jacket tighter around himself, trying to maintain any sense of warmth that the thin clothing gave him. His eyes fell shut and he attempted to fight back every thought that was swarming around in his mind, loud and obnoxious and refusing to leave. It felt like hours of trying to quieten his mind, though in reality it mustn’t have been more than thirty minutes, when the passenger side door opened. His head instantly turned, eyes flying open as the lack of sleep made him more paranoid but less alert.

“I’m guessing I’m not the only one who can’t sleep,” Morgan said as he dropped into the seat next to him, door slamming shut behind him.

Hotch grunted, eyes closing again. “I knew I should’ve just stayed there and continued working.”

“No, you still did the right thing coming out here. I want to be in there just as much as you do but we’re no help if we can’t even stand upright.”

He hummed non-committedly. “Maybe so. Doesn’t make me okay with being out here while my team is in there working.” Typically, Hotch would never speak to a subordinate in such a way. The lack of sleep, however, was really beginning to affect him, taking away his filter.

It was silent for a few beats, no sound to be heard in or out of the car, until Morgan finally spoke again.

“You know Reid doesn’t actually think you’re a narcissist, right?”

“I hardly think it matters. I’m his boss, he’s allowed to view me in whatever way he does and I have no say in that.”

“But you’re not just his boss, you’re his friend. He had to name someone so that Hankel would stop the roulette. He did it as a means of survival and that’s it. There’s nothing more to it.”

Hotch swallowed hard, still refusing to open his eyes. If he didn’t see Morgan there, he could almost pretend he was talking to himself.

“I just… he’s so young, Morgan, and he’s been through so much already.”

“I know,” Morgan replied quietly. “It’s awful just watching him go through it, I can’t imagine what it actually feels like to be trapped there.”

“We haven’t even seen a video of him in hours and I don’t- It’s not like I actually want to see him being hurt but I’m going out of my mind wondering why it’s been so long.”

Morgan sighed. “I wish I had an answer for you, man. I get it, though. Seeing him is awful but at least we know he’s alive. Right now we’re stuck in this weird limbo where Spencer Reid is both alive and not alive and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Schrödinger's Spencer.”

Morgan didn’t reply for a moment but when he did, it was with a snort. “That’s such a Reid joke to make.”

Hotch let out a light chuckle. “I suppose it is,” he said, his head gently falling back to rest against the seat behind him, “and I suppose that’s a sign for me to go to sleep.”

“Aaron Hotchner cracking jokes? Absolutely a sign to sleep. Good night.”

A small smile made its way to Hotch’s face for hardly a second but the weight that had been taken off his chest felt more permanent. “Good night, Morgan.”

It only took a few minutes after that for the two of them to drift off into a less than restful slumber, the anxiety still flowing through their veins making it difficult to stay asleep. It was enough, though, and by time they walked back into the house, they were ready to start the search again. “What have we got?” Hotch asked as they entered the room.

“Nothing new,” Prentiss informed them, a restrained disappointment seeping into her words. “We haven’t got any more videos, we’ve searched everywhere that’s connected to him, and there have been no new murders.”

“So another dead end." Morgan's fists clenched by his side but he managed to hold himself back from hitting anything.

“I know it’s difficult,” Gideon said, “but we just have to wait it out. I’m aware that the last thing any of us wants is to sit around doing nothing but until we have something to go off, there’s nothing we can do but be patient.”

“Patient,” Morgan murmured with a small scoff. “Right. I’ll just be patient while my best friend is off being tortured.” His eyes drifted around the room, lending on the stack of books sitting on the table. “I guess I’ll go through Hankel’s writing again, see if we missed anything.”

Hotch watched as he reached for one of the books. “I’ll help.”

---------

“We’ll have to watch the videos again.”

Every head turned to face Gideon. They’d spent the past few hours reading the books, over and over and over, looking for any little thing they could’ve missed. Garcia had conducted the most in-depth cyber search possible, trying to find anybody and anything that could be connected to either of the Hankel men. Everything had come up empty. The only thing they had yet to do was rewatch the tapes. They knew it was the next logical step but the thought of watching Reid go through that pain all over again made them feel sick to their stomachs.

“JJ, Garcia, neither of you need to stay for this. Go see if you can get some food together for us, it’s been a while since any of us have eaten a real meal. I know it’s already dark but take a car and see if you can find something. Prentiss, Morgan, you’re free to join them if you’d rather but your eyes would be of use here.”

Once Garcia had loaded the videos ready to be played, her and JJ followed Hotch’s orders, though not without some hesitation from the latter. Morgan and Prentiss immediately sat down without a word, prepared to watch them regardless of how much they wished it wasn’t necessary. It was an unspoken agreement to not acknowledge the way everybody froze momentarily as the first video started, an image of Reid coming onto the screen, clear signs of physical trauma evident.

“The other heathens are watching. Choose a sinner to die, and I’ll say the name and address of the person to be saved.”

“I won't choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher.”

“Did you see that?” Morgan asked. “The way he looked into the camera before he spoke. What did he say - ‘leave their remains behind like a poacher’? I think that’s a clue.”

Gideon considered him for a moment. “I think you might be right. Here,” he handed him his notebook and pen, “write it down.” He played the next video.

“Tobias, help me.”

“He can’t help you, he’s weak!”

All four of the viewers flinched as skin hit against skin; as whimpers and cries fell from Reid’s lips. Morgan’s fist hitting the table was ignored as the agent on screen fell back in his chair, head hitting the floor with great force.

“You came back to life.”

“Raphael.”

Their focus didn’t leave the screen, watching intently as Reid stared God’s Will directly in the eye and didn’t flinch, God’s angel holding the trigger.

“Choose.”

“I choose Aaron Hotchner. He’s a classic narcissist.”

Hotch exhaled deeply but didn’t stop watching, listening to the words that had been playing on repeat in his mind since he’d first heard them. Morgan’s mouth opened as if to speak when Prentiss suddenly raised a hand in front of her, stopping whatever he was going to say. The men looked up at her and she put a finger to her lips, her other hand pointing in the direction of the room next door. They remained silent, ears straining to hear what Prentiss was referring to. It was a few moments later that they realised what it was - a small thump.

Immediately alert, they all reached for their weapons, drawing them up and preparing to defend each other. Hotch crept forward, signaling for the others to get behind him. He moved soundlessly, slowly approaching the door frame that led to the front room. Once at the edge, he glanced into the room, immediately spotting the man standing on the other side.

Morgan moved to stand next to his boss. Gideon and Prentiss would’ve taken the only other door in the room, leaving him with no exit, but there was no path to get there without passing him. Instead, they pressed close, ready to charge in behind Hotch and Morgan. As they were about to move, the man turned around.

“Aaron Hotchner,” Hankel said, voice low but strong, back straight as he stared down his target. “You’re a sinner. Job 15:31. ‘Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.’ You must repent.”

His arm hadn’t raised more than a few inches before four different guns went off, bullets lodging into several different parts of his body. He dropped.

Gideon immediately pushed forward, crouching down to check the man’s pulse. “Dead,” he told them.

“Did you hear what he said?” Hotch’s voice was subdued, his gaze fixed on the body on the floor.

“What about it?” Prentiss asked.

“Job 15:31. He said it was Job 15:31. Reid said it was Genesis 23:4. Why would he get it wrong?”

“He’s under a lot of stress. It’s understandable if he misremembered something,” Morgan answered, though he sounded sceptical.

“But he didn’t misremember it. He misquoted it. So what does Genesis 23:4 actually say?” They all hurried to the bookcase that contained bibles, Hotch getting there first and instantly grabbing the closest copy to flick through the pages, sparing hardly a glance at each. “Here,” he said, passing his book to Morgan, “Genesis, chapter twenty-three, verse four. Read it.”

Morgan took the offered bible, finding where Hotch gestured before reading it out loud. “I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.”

“He wouldn’t get it wrong unless it was on purpose.” Shock and relief stretched his lips into a smile.

“He’s in a cemetery.” Prentiss realised.

At that moment, the door opened and in walked the two that had left earlier, each with a bag on their arm. “Oh my God,” Garcia gasped as she saw the man on the floor, bag falling next to her feet with a thud. “Who is that?!”

“Is that Hankel?” JJ placed her bag down next to Garcia’s but paid no more attention to the food it contained, her focus entirely on the face that was currently surrounded by a pool of its own blood.

“It is,” Hotch answered quickly. “Garcia, check to see if there have been any reports of poaching in the last couple of days.”

“Okay, okay, uh…” She trailed off as she rushed to the computer with the others following, taking care to not step in the blood. It took less than a minute for her to set up the system and conduct her search. “A farmer reported two sheep being slaughtered on his property.”

“Where are we talking?”

Garcia zoomed in on the map in response to Morgan’s question.

“What’s that patch of green there?”

“Marshall Parish,” Hotch replied to JJ. “I think it’s an old plantation.”

Emily leaned forward, catching everyone’s attention. “Wait. Tobias wrote in his journals about staying clean and keeping away from Marshall.”

“Does that say that there’s a cemetery on the ground?” Gideon pointed at the screen.

“We’ve found him,” Hotch breathed. “We’re going to save him.”

-------

“FBI!”

As soon as Hotch’s foot hit the floor after kicking the door open, he was moving. Along with some of the local police, the team entered the cabin, guns drawn and eyes on alert as they searched for any sign of their missing agent.

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

“Oh! What’s that smell?” Prentiss scrunched her face up against the overwhelming scent in the air, casting her glance around the room to find the source. She spotted it on the floor: a pile of burnt fish. The smell threatened to take over their senses as they coughed against it, fighting the urge to leave immediately.

“Let’s spread out. He has to be here somewhere. Let’s go!” Hotch stormed ahead, looking as though the stench hadn’t had the slightest effect on him.

Gideon watched as everybody fanned out to search the grounds as his eyes took one last look over the room, being drawn to the pair of handcuffs laying haphazardly on a chair that he clearly recognised from the videos. Spencer had been sitting in that chair. He’d had those handcuffs on him. He’d been surrounded by that smell. So where was he now? He couldn’t have let himself out of those cuffs, but Hankel wouldn’t have just let him roam free.

With that thought in mind, he left into the darkness of the winter night, the chill immediately seeping into his bones despite the thick clothing he had on to protect himself. An image of Spencer, as frozen as the real Charles Hankel, pushed its way to the front of his mind completely unbidden. He did his best to shove it back, knowing it wouldn’t help. It didn’t leave.

They scoured the cemetery, searching over every inch looking for anything that might tell them where Spencer was before it was too late. Hankel must’ve left him hours ago without a fire or any other means of warmth, it was no wonder that he’d finally become desperate enough to leave the cabin on his own accord despite the great risks it presented him, Hotch thought.

He was aware that Spencer could’ve made it to a road by now but judging by the presumed lack of shoes and warmth, as well as his recently sustained injuries, he felt that it was reasonable to assume that he hadn’t gotten far. Just to cover all bases, he sent some local officers further up, closer to where they’d arrived from.

They’d been searching for over twenty minutes when they finally found something. A patch of soil, packed more freshly than that around it. It had been recently planted within the last few days.

“Morgan!” Hotch yelled at the top of his lungs, above the noise of everybody else calling out a different name. He instantly dropped to his knees and began clawing at the dirt, scraping it out and throwing it in random directions, not paying any mind to anybody around him. A body dropped down next to him and hands joined his own but neither looked at the other, concentrating only on the cold ground below them.

They dug and they dug until they hit something - something colder than the dirt it was surrounded with, something much paler. They continued tearing at the floor even more savagely than before, desperation leaking through at the sight of the foreign object. Fear gripped them tighter than the cold did, making them work harder and faster until suddenly a white cloth was visible, soon followed by a familiar dark red.

“No, no, no, no,” Morgan muttered, each word faster and louder than the last. “Come on, man!”

Hotch pulled away dirt from higher up, more gently this time, though he refused to acknowledge what could be under it until he finally saw it. A face, skin soft and almost glistening in the moonlight, marred by dirt and blood. Spencer.

He wedged an arm underneath his back as soon as the opportunity presented itself, Morgan having pulled enough of the ground off of his arms for it to not cause any harm, and he pulled. Once the top half of his body was fully out of the dirt, his hand raised on its own accord in search of a pulse as Morgan set to work on the CPR.

No pulse.

His breath caught in his throat but his fingers didn’t move. He was vaguely aware of the ringing in his ears but he ignored it.

“Please, Spencer. Please,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “Wake up. Come on. Wake up!”

“Not like this, pretty boy. Not like this.”

Morgan hadn’t stopped the CPR, going harder than what was necessary. It didn’t escape Hotch’s notice that any CPR at all may be unnecessary as he took a closer look at the boy in front of him. His eyes were closed and his skin was freezing to the touch. At first Hotch assumed that he must have been buried only hours before, likely just before Hankel left on his final self-righteous mission. Now, though, as he stared at the blue-tinted pallor of the agent in front of him, he doubted it.

Spencer Reid had been dead for at least a day now.

“Morgan, stop,” he muttered half-heartedly, his line of sight not moving from eyes that wouldn’t open. He’d never forced Spencer to make eye contact with him before but he was wishing with everything he had that just this once, he would; that just this once, Spencer would open his eyes and stare right back at him.

The aggressive panting by his ear hadn’t stopped, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. What if Spencer opened his eyes for only a second as he looked away? What if he missed Spencer’s final breath? What if-

“Morgan. You have to stop.” His voice was weak but it was all he could muster, still not looking away but being able to see the hands still pumping down on Reid’s chest as he periodically reached up to perform mouth-to-mouth. “Morgan.” He didn’t stop. “Morgan!”

He finally snatched his eyes away from those in front of him, becoming frozen in place as he watched Morgan lose control of the tears rolling down his face. Small sobs fell from his lips but he was clearly holding them back, trying so hard to save a dead man. It didn’t look as though he’d even heard Hotch’s words.

With a shaking breath, Hotch put his hand on Morgan’s arm, not surprised when it was instantly thrown off in a rather violent manner. He put his hand back, holding tighter but still getting thrown off. He forced himself to sit back, body threatening to collapse under the stress of it. Harsher than before, he gripped Morgan’s arm and pulled. Nothing. He pulled again. Nothing.

“Morgan, he's dead. You have to stop.”

Morgan furiously shook his head but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him, leaving Hotch with only one other option. He wrapped both of his arms around the man’s torso and pulled as hard as he could, refusing to let go no matter how much the struggling man tried to get away. Morgan’s arms flailed wildly but Hotch didn’t budge.

“You did all you could, Morgan. You did all you could. There’s nothing more to do. I’m sorry,” he murmured into his ear, the low volume not entirely on purpose.

“No!” Morgan shouted, fighting harder against the restraints of Hotch’s arms. “We can’t just give up on him!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated, finding himself unable to stop apologising despite the fact that the words were unable to reach the ears of the person they were meant for.

“Hotch, we can’t- we can’t just give up. We can’t just give up.” At this point Morgan had stopped struggling, both against Hotch and the sobs that were now ripping their way out of his throat. His head buried itself into Hotch’s shoulder as his hands came up to grip onto the arms around him, his legs slightly curling up as wails of agony tore through him.

Around them stood the rest of the team, watching the scene in front of them unfold whilst knowing that there was nothing they could do to help. JJ and Penelope were wrapped around each other, tears falling freely from their eyes as they listened to the slowly quieting cries of the usually hard-to-break agent. Emily was completely frozen, her breath slowing to almost a complete stop. Gideon’s face remained unchanged, though the tears blurring his vision were hard to miss. He took one more look at the man he considered his son, and he turned around, walking away back into the darkness.

Hotch’s arms loosened but didn’t let go of the man inside of them. His apologies hadn’t stopped even as his eyes became less focused, his mind trying to take him somewhere far away but failing to take him further than that cabin. It was ironic, he thought, that a house belonging to someone so dedicated to his worship could be so void of God. No, there was no God here, but there had been an angel, and he’d taken Spencer Reid away from them.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch whispered. “I should’ve understood.”

#hiii<3 #i wish i spent more time on this i might rewrite it a little before i post it on archive but idk yet #i know that there are mistakes in this pls forgive them i havent edited this yet #cmficweek

[chocosvt]

love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you. 

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not. 

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But  this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes,  as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[  9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than  fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was  able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout  sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,”  you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!

#caratwritersclub #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #seventeen smut #jeonghan smut #seventeen jeonghan #svt smut #yoon jeonghan #svt x reader #jeonghan x reader

[9tzuyu]

dark red

request: hii i’m not sure if you’re accepting requests rn,,, if you aren’t i’m sorry please ignore this djfjdhd could you write a nat x reader based off the song dark red by steve lacy — specifically the lines “don’t you give me up / please don’t give up / only you, my girl / only you, babe” — kind of like the tiktok trend going on right now

note: anon im so sorry i really hope this was okay. i can try and rewrite it if you want though 😭 i kinda hate it but i hope its good enough for you :[

aLSO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE.

i proofread this as quick as i could so all mistakes are mine.

warnings: none, a little angsty, terrible writing.

🏷: @c-is-writing @wandaromanova @nermalina

. . .

everyone knew natasha to be a very self-assured woman. she knew everything about herself; what she liked and what she didn’t like, who she tolerated and who she trusted. her history with just about everyone she’s close with dates back years, sometimes decades. it was very rare that she met someone knew whom she gave her complete trust to. 

meeting you caught her by surprise, something that doesn’t happen to natasha very often. your presence was refreshing, authentic, new. it was the very thing natasha didn’t know she needed in her life.

natasha watched your every little movement any time you were around. you intrigued her, held her attention by the very strand of your hair. something about you was special and she couldn’t seem to get enough.

so she allowed herself to have you, to enjoy you, to be with you. over a year into the friendship, you suggested the idea of becoming something more than just platonic. you wanted a relationship with the woman.

natasha accepted your proposal with a bright smile and a gentle kiss on the lips. she’d been more than relieved you asked her because the false belief that she was undeserving trampled any courage she had. 

it was hard to know when something was truly bothering natasha, but sometimes you were able to see the light dull in her eyes, or the uncontrollable fidgeting she’d accidentally let slip. 

which is exactly what you were dealing with now. for the past few months you’d begun to notice a slight change in natasha’s demeanor. little by little she began to distance herself in ways she knew would be looked over, at least for a short amount of time. 

natasha started out small. rather than having her face meet yours, she’d turn her back against your front while you slept. she couldn’t bear to look at someone who deserved so much better than what she could ever offer. 

you meant the entire world to natasha, she would quite literally do anything to protect you. that being said, natasha felt the need to protect you from her. 

a couple of weeks after her initial push back, you noticed the way she’d flinch when you tried to hold her. it was almost invisible, but you knew natasha more intimately than anyone else ever had, which made it easier to recognize all the small things everyone else missed.

then you caught onto the fact that she started leaving the bed early in the morning, as if she was promising herself not to see you. natasha also started to work more. longer hours, nights she had to be away, and minimal effort to keep in touch kickstarted the fighting. 

just as everything else did, it started off on a smaller scale. you’d send texts clearly stating how upset you were by her choice of actions. natasha would always have some stupid excuse on hand as a response though.

things began to escalate when natasha willingly booked her days off into cheap motels that reeked of cigarettes. the redhead would often find herself sitting on the floor beside her bed, breath saturated in store-bought vodka. the russian felt cheap and disposable, just as she did when she was a kid being used by the hands of a man with no morals.

when natasha chose to go home she’d return with her hair knotted, tied loosely in a bun with an apology already made.

this went on for nearly two months before you’d finally decided enough was enough. you’d given her time, space, everything you thought might help, but she never made any attempt to reciprocate your efforts. 

so now you stood leaning against the wall across the living room, natasha anxiously settled on the couch directly in your line of view. your focus was solely on the spy. and despite her best efforts at trying to hide it, you could tell she was uncomfortable.

“i’m sorry...” she croaked, voice hoarse from her night full of crying. 

“i know you are.” 

natasha’s fingertips met the edges of her teeth, followed by the familiar sound of a snap. 

disgusting. natasha felt incredibly disgusting, which in turn made her own self-hatred rise to a level she’d never met before. because how could she? how could she sit here and make you suffer through her own self destruction? natasha knew she was causing you pain, a kind of pain you didn’t deserve.

“i wish you would talk to me and tell me what’s going on, nat. i can’t keep doing this with you and you know that.” you watched as she clenched her jaw, swallowing a breath as her leg bounced sporadically against the wooden floor. 

“i don’t deserve you. i don’t deserve you at all.” her eyes faltered.  

you bit your lip, not understanding where this was coming from. “what makes you say that?” 

“because it’s true.”

“there’s nothing true about that statement, natasha.”

“but there is!” she practically begged, “i’ve done so much wrong, damaged so many people, ruined so many lives. there’s nothing good about me, and there’s so much good in you.” 

you moved closer to her, words ready to fall from you lips about how wrong she was. noticing this, natasha began to trip and stumble upon her sentences as you enclosed your proximity. you frowned having not been used to seeing her in such distress. 

“it sucks because i love you. i love you so fucking much—” her lip began to quiver,  “—and i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry that i still selfishly need you. just please, please don’t you give me up. please don’t give up. i’ll be better, i’ll do better.”

you didn’t bother listening to the rest of what natahsa was saying because just as you’d previously stated, none of it was true. there was nothing that natasha could say that would change your mind. you knew her as the person she is, not the person she was. 

“nat? nat look at me.” you tried. 

it was only then when natasha noticed how close you were. she tried to pull away, but you were quick to stop her by by a small, fragile grasp of the wrist. 

“natasha.” 

the redhead stopped midway through her movement, green eyes trailing from your hand all the way up to meet your own. 

“yes?” her voice cracked. 

“i would never consider giving up on you, natasha. ever. don’t you know? it’s only you, my girl. i love you — only you, babe.” 

“yes, but-”

“but nothing. your past doesn’t define you. that’s what you’ve told me hundreds and hundreds of times, right? i need you to hear me out on this.” her hum was the only response you got, but you chose not to fight it.

“you are not the finished product they made you to be.” although hesitant, she nodded. “you’re good, natasha, you are. i know you’ve spent the last decade it seems, trying to make up for all the wrong that you’ve done, but at some point you have to forgive yourself. you were never at fault. i know you know that, but i need you to believe it.” 

you leaned closer, connecting your forehead with hers knowing how intimate that felt for natasha. “i don’t want anyone else. i only want you— only you, darling.”

natasha nudged her nose against yours as if she was asking for permission to kiss you, but you let her take the lead, let her take the time she needed to before she pressed her lips against yours. 

 “i love you more than you will ever know.”

you giggled into the kiss, “you’re wrong about that, natty. you know you are.” she rolled her eyes, pulling away from you to push you on your back.  

“shut up and let me appreciate you.”

you smirked, looking up at the redhead. “oh yeah? and how are you going to do that?”

“you’ll see.” 

“oh i’m sure i will.”

“yeah. you will.” 

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #avengers x reader #black widow imagine

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 15.1K

Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.

CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.

At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.

While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.

It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.

You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.

You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.

Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.

Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.

You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.

You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?

When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.

[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]

How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.

You: I told you not to fucking find me on here

It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.

Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you

Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me

You: Don’t worry I’m gonna

Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh

You: ???

Jungkook: Your legs

Jungkook: Like oreos

Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜

Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.

You: I wish I could unread 🤢

Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites

Jungkook: Just like you 😘

You: 🙄

You: I hate you so much

Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?

You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.

Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀

You: It means I’m tired

Jungkook: Of?

You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.

Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?

Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴

Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.

You: You know what? I want you

FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.

You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.

Jungkook: 😈

Jungkook: My place

Jungkook: Ten minutes

You: *to stay off my profile

Jungkook: 👉👌?

You: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

You: 🤢🤢🤢

Jungkook: 😩

Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess

Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴

You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego

Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here

He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.

Jungkook: Hey quick question

Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻

Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.

There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?

You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?

Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.

You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.

The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.

He forgot.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.

It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.

“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”

“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.

As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.

“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.

You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”

“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”

Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.

Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.

With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.

Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.

You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?

You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."

“What?"

“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”

You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.

“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”

Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.

“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”

Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?

“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”

Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."

As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.

Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.

You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.

"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.

“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”

Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?

“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”

“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”

“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”

Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”

“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.

“Zip up your hoodie.”

You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.

Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.

“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”

Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”

Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”

Even he knows that argument is flimsy.

“Guk.”

“It was always just a joke.”

“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”

Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.

Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.

Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”

“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”

“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”

“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.

"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"

The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.

"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."

You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”

Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.

After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.

"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.

He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”

“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.

“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”

“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.

Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.

You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”

In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”

“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”

“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.

“With beef,” he agrees.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“And takoyaki?”

“...You’re pushing it.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”

He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.

“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”

“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.

"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"

You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.

"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.

Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?

“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.

Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.

“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.

“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.

"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”

He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.

“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.

The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”

Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”

“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.

He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”

Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.

“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.

“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”

“What? When?”

“The other day. We hung out.”

He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.

“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”

Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”

“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”

“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.

“You guys talked about me?”

“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.

Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”

“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”

“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”

You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”

“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”

You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”

Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”

“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”

“Y/N.”

“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”

“We allowed to talk about Jason?”

“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”

He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”

“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”

“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.

You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”

He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”

You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.

“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”

His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”

He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.

“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”

“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”

“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”

“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”

“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.

If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.

“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”

He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.

NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to

JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry

JUNGKOOK: I got u

Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.

“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.

“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”

Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”

He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.

“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”

Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?

“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.

Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.

As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.

You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.

It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.

He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.

When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”

He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.

“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”

He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”

Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.

“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.

Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.

“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.

The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.

The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"

"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.

You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.

Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.

"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"

He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.

The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"

His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"

You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."

He nods. "Mm. We can split it."

"Um, how about... tempura?"

"Banana?"

Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.

The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."

The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.

“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."

"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.

He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."

“Oh, really?”

You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“No shit.”

Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”

How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”

“You don’t say.”

That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.

“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you mumble.

“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?

“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”

Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”

It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.

He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”

“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”

“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”

“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.

“For real.”

You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”

He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.

“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”

You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”

He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”

He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”

“I want that in writing,” you snort.

Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.

Princess

I’m sorry. I can make it right.

I promise. Please give me another chance.

If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.

As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook

Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.

“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”

His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.

“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”

He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.

“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.

“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.

“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”

Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”

“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”

Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”

“Joonie—”

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”

“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.

Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”

“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”

The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.

“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.

Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”

Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.

A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”

Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.

A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?

His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.

You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.

He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.

It’s also kind of cute.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.

After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.

It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.

Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.

As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.

“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.

He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”

“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.

Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.

Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.

“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”

“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.

“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.

His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.

“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.

“Like, full body?”

“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”

“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.

“Which one?”

The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.

“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”

You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.

“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.

He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”

He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”

The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”

He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”

“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”

“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”

“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.

He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”

“Really.”

You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.

“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”

The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?

“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”

“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.

“I hear a pop.”

“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.

“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Oh no. Knees?”

“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”

His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”

“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”

“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”

You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?

“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”

The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.

“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.

“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”

“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”

His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”

As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.

Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.

It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.

Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.

“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”

“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.

Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”

You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?

Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.

You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.

Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.

Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.

“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”

Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”

“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.

“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.

“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”

He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”

You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.

“I think… A lot.”

“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.

Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.

Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.

“So…” he begins.

You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.

“I was thinking. About that guy…”

You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.

“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“

Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?

“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.

It's cry hours, isn’t it?

Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”

“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.

“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”

It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?

‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”

He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”

If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.

Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.

"It's late. I should sleep."

Or masturbate.

The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."

"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"

"Just wanna stop spinning."

His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.

"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."

"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.

“You gonna make it there?”

“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.

"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.

Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.

“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.

While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.

Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.

You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.

Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.

"Princess?"

Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.

You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.

Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?

Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.

But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.

The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.

He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.

Oh shit.

You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.

“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.

The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”

You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?

Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.

Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.

Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."

Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"

As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?

He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”

He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumble.

As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.

The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.

He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.

Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.

He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.

Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.

He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.

#smutcentralnet #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #bts fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

[mc-lukanette]

Now that Wishmaker is out, how would you rewrite that chaos? The Lukanette need is strong.

"Did anyone else see me?" Marinette asked, her hands shaking as she put on the mask she'd made with her newly-given knitting powers. They were sitting down in a shadowed alley, free from anyone's curious eyes.

"No," Viperion replied, his voice breathless from the revelations he was having rather than the fly to their hiding spot. "Just...just me." He glanced down at his wrist, noting the unticked snake bangle. "...I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Marinette's gaze darted over to him, then to his miraculous. A flicker of understanding passed over her expression as she whispered a small, "Oh."

Guilt tore up his stomach, even knowing deep down that it wasn't his fault - the akuma had surprised them, giving no time for him to use his power - but he'd been brought in to use Second Chance in the first place, and yet...

Marinette's hand fell upon his wrist, making him look up. She smiled at him, her eyes reassuring.

"It's okay," she said, though her voice wavered. "It was only you who saw my face, and even if you'd used Second Chance, you'd still know anyway."

He could tell that she was still processing, but let the subject go for now and smiled back. There were more important matters to attend to.

They must've been on the same wavelength too, as Marinette pulled away and sighed, thinking aloud, "I have to figure a way to be Ladybug again. The akuma could just be destroyed, but I need Miraculous Ladybug to turn everyone back to normal."

Viperion nodded, briefly giving her a once-over. Her power and wings were useful, but unfortunately didn't help them with the current situation.

It was also distractingly cute, and he couldn't fight that way.

"Wishmaker said that he wanted people to live out their childhood dream," he murmured in thought.

Marinette brought a hand to her face, pinching her cheek in contemplation. "Maybe...maybe if I live it out then, I'll change back?" She considered it a moment longer, then groaned and stood up, starting to pace around the small area they were in. "But we don't have that kind of time! Yeah, my earrings aren't here so Shadow Moth can't make a wish, and I could definitely make enough of a living with my new knitting powers, but that would take years, and—"

Suddenly, she stopped and looked over at him, catching Viperion briefly off-guard since he hadn't said anything. Her eyes scanned him up and down, mental gears turning in her head even if he couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"...That's it!" she gasped, hurrying over to him. She knelt down, clasping his hand in both of hers as she rambled, "Maybe I just need to live out my dream to the fullest!"

He blinked in confusion, unsure of where she was going with this.

"Part of my dream was to eventually make a wedding dress and tuxedo for me and my future husband!" she exclaimed. "If I do that, I might turn back into Ladybug!"

"Ah—" He shut his mouth before anything else could come out. He couldn't deny that it was a solid plan, but he wanted to tread carefully given his feelings, not wanting to make her feel awkward. "That's a great idea." He tried to grin reassuringly, though it came off a little crooked. "Should I go find Adrien?"

"What?" She shook her head. "No, it has to be you!"

He gaped, his heart doing confused flips in his chest. "Why?"

"The guy I always dreamed of marrying when I was little," she began, eyes practically sparkling, "he was exactly like you!"

— — — — —

Marinette hadn't exactly caught onto what she'd said until it already left her mouth, but the way Viperion's face turned red had definitely given it away. Things had gone quiet after the fact, with him sitting a couple meters away while she knitted away at the tuxedo; the tuxedo for him.

She found herself blushing faintly at the thought and immediately forced it down, reminding herself that she didn't love Luka, but Adrien. They were made for each other, like everyone said, and she—

She closed her eyes and took in a steady breath, knowing that she was getting off track. Things were complicated enough with all her thoughts and fears about the future, especially now that Viperion knew her identity.

Though, strangely enough, she didn't feel as nervous about it as she thought she would've.

Her gaze darted over to Viperion, who was keeping lookout and patiently waiting for her to finish with her knitting. He thankfully didn't seem closed off from her at all, and it just served as a reminder as to how mature he was.

Without thinking, she found herself speaking up. "M...my parents..."

He looked over at her, his senses still apparently tuned for her despite his keeping watch. She averted her gaze to the knitting needles working their literal magic into the tuxedo.

"We saw a lot of movies where the girl gets the prince in the end, so they made sure to teach me that love wasn't about money or power or fame or anything like that." She bit her bottom lip, Adrien briefly flashing to mind. "So, I imagined me as the knitting fairy, and I'd make clothes for the whole world until I found him." She peeked up at him. "Someone who wouldn't laugh when I fell on my face. Someone who'd be there for me and think of me first. Someone who wouldn't scold me for everything I did or make me feel bad for it. Someone who'd see more than just clumsy, nervous Marinette."

As much as it hurt to admit, the description didn't fit Adrien. Unless they found each other by coincidence - something that actually happened today, oddly enough - he didn't go out of his way to spend time with her; it was her putting in the effort.

"And..." She trailed off momentarily, lost in her thoughts. "after we fell in love, I'd give up my powers and live happily ever after with him, because we didn't need powers to be happy and it wasn't my powers he fell in love with in the first place."

She'd finished the tuxedo at that point, courtesy of her knitting powers, but her hands dropped to her lap afterward, not making any further movements as her thoughts took over.

Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Viperion take a quick look outside the alley, then get up to move over to her. He sat next to her, picking up one of her hands and letting it rest in his palm.

"I think your dream is really beautiful," he told her gently.

She scoffed, blushing in embarrassment at what must've been fake praise. "Chat made fun of me wanting to be the knitting fairy."

"He was wrong," he retorted immediately. "Your dream might not be realistic, but that doesn't make it any less nice, and there's nothing wrong with dreaming of the perfect guy."

She met his gaze, the softness in them having not lessened even since their break-up, and found the strength to start working on the dress. Being with Luka - dating or otherwise - had always been so easy, excluding all the factors outside of just them being them. She could vaguely imagine her younger self clinging to Luka, claiming him as hers and insisting that he marry her when they grew up.

But things weren't that easy. Nothing was. Marinette had spent her whole life fighting for what she wanted, needing to prove herself to people in order to be accepted.

Fighting for years to smile against Chloe's bullying, because no one would do anything about it. Fighting to be acknowledged by her parents as someone who could do things and didn't need their protection. Fighting against herself to be the one who didn't make all the mistakes or have to be the one to apologize in the end.

After becoming Ladybug, her future became even cloudier and the fighting continued. Waking up in the morning was even harder thanks to late-night patrols, getting through tests seemed impossible due to having less time for studying, and even maintaining a romantic relationship carried the struggle of not being able to tell them her identity.

Marinette stared at the shimmering pink and white fabric beneath her fingertips, it shaping and forming to her will. The occasional sparkle or flash from a beam of sunlight that happened to shine through reminded her of the day at the TV station, where Luka had confessed and she could see only him for just a moment.

"I'm sorry."

Viperion hummed in confusion, raising a brow at her.

"I made everything complicated for you—us," she explained. "All the time, ever since we met. I even got you akumatized, twice."

"Twi—" He blinked rapidly, then leaned closer. His hand came in contact with her cheek as he directed her gaze back to him. "You mean Silencer? How was that your fault?"

"I challenged Bob Roth, and when he grabbed me, you got upset. It pushed you over to the edge."

"You were defending me and my music," he argued, a sternness in his tone that wasn't there before as he put his hand to his chest, "and my emotions are my own. I'm the one who gave into Hawk Moth, not you."

"But..." She sighed, conflicted. "Even later, I kept my identity from you when we were dating. I made us both miserable because of it. I was so upset that I ended up yelling at my friends and they all got akumatized, and then I went and gave my identity to Alya anyway."

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, though he quickly schooled his expression for reasons she didn't know. His gaze strayed momentarily before he looked back at her, asking, "Would you be upset at me for feeling happy for a moment, knowing that you were just as miserable as I was?"

"W-what?" She shook her head; if anything, knowing that he'd also been miserable made her happy as well, probably in the same way as it was for him. It meant that they both cared about it. "No! Not at all!"

"Then I don't blame you for your emotions either."

She pouted at him, but he merely smiled in response. She knew this wasn't a matter he was going to budge on, but it was difficult for her to understand when she was so commonly blamed for things. That was Luka though, she supposed, always forgiving and able to see through her faults.

She remembered her dream husband again and tried to act like her full focus was on the dress so as to not give her thoughts away. She'd only drawn the unnamed man once or twice, and it was just occurring to her that he had black hair and blue eyes as well. Having not understood the concept of kids looking like their parents in their own way at the time, the child version of her had thought it'd be "fair," because then their children would look like both of them no matter what. It was strange, just how much the "simple" version of her love ideals lined up with the boy sitting in front of her now, even with his temporarily green eyes.

Friendship had become something very precious to her ever since the day she'd gotten her miraculous, maybe even more than love itself. Despite the complications and their brief time dating, she was friends with Luka above all else. No matter what happened in regards to the romantic aspects of their relationship, their friendship remained unchanged, like they really would be friends even if they had the worst break-up in the history of Paris. It was comfortable, to the point where she felt embarrassed for ever avoiding him in the first place.

She was reminded yet again of another stark contrast with Adrien. She hadn't been scared of starting anything with Luka, yet Adrien was a constant cloud of dread above her head, the fear of being rejected or being made fun of holding her back from doing what she wanted.

If her child self could see her now, she'd be confused. Marinette could hear her now, asking why her love - or at least, what she believed to be love - caused her so much stress. That was never what she'd wanted; in fact, it had been the exact opposite. Crushing on Adrien had done nothing but humiliate her, the little girl inside her covering her eyes from the sight. Her time with Luka, on the other hand...

"It looks beautiful."

Marinette jerked her head up to see Viperion's approving gaze, then looked down to the wedding dress in her lap. It was finished, pink with flashes of white and blacks; exactly the kind of dress she would've wanted when she was younger, though obviously with an older touch.

"Thank you," she hurried to say when she realized that she hadn't responded to him. He chuckled in reply, though it was good-natured.

He reached for the tuxedo she'd set aside, but stopped halfway as if realizing something. He looked to her, then the dress, then back to her, asking carefully, "Do you want me to keep watch while we put these on?"

It took her a moment to realize what he meant; that he - wearing a bodysuit - could easily slip on the clothes over it, but she didn't have that sort of luxury due to her dress. She managed to summon enough of her inner Ladybug to focus on the importance of the task over the potential embarrassment, giving him an appreciative nod.

She trusted him not to look.

As she went to the darkest parts of the alley to change, Viperion heading in the opposite direction, her mind drifted back to the past again. The little journey there, even if it'd been unwilling on her part courtesy of the akuma, had been a nice change from constantly worrying over her future. As important as it was to focus on what she wanted to do and plan accordingly, the past was equally as important. It shaped her into who she was now and offered insight on herself that she couldn't have gotten otherwise.

"...Lu—I mean, Viperion?" she called just as she finished putting on the wedding dress.

"Yeah?"

She turned to face him, then giggled when noticing that he still had his back turned to her. "You can look now."

He hesitated, then slowly shifted to face her. He was mostly dressed, but was in the process of buttoning up the tuxedo, his hands fumbling with one of the buttons as he took her in.

She approached, gently brushing his hands aside as she started taking care of the few remaining buttons. Not wanting to delay talking to him like before, she figured now was the best time as any to say what was on her mind.

"I still don't know what I want for my future. I feel like a lot of doors are opening and closing every day, and whenever I want to try one, there just ends up being more doors, or it's already closed when I get there. There are too many possibilities and I keep being afraid that I'll trip on the one I really want to go to." Her gaze left the button she was holding so she could meet his eyes. "I just know that I really want you to be there for all of it... i-if that's what you want." Wanting to make sure instead of presuming like she tended to do, she asked cautiously, "Do you?"

His face didn't show a visible reaction, but she heard the slight sound of him swallowing, synced up with a single blink. Afterward, he absolutely beamed at her, the smile more blinding than the light being cast against his back.

"I do," he replied,

In time with his words, the final button was slipped into place. Marinette felt a warm sensation run through her body, starting from her feet and then making her shudder as it moved its way up to her head. Her body was turning white, just as before when Wishmaker first shot her, though Viperion's tuxedo had joined as well.

There was a flash between them, and she found herself back as normal, wingless Marinette when it faded.

Viperion, now lacking what she'd made for him, still looked just as happy to see her.

"I-I did it!" she gasped, genuinely surprised that it worked. "We did it!"

She threw her hands up in the air in celebration, but snapped back to reality as she remembered that she still needed to turn back into Ladybug and take care of Wishmaker. She opened her purse, easing as she saw Tikki already munching away on a macaron.

"Marinette?"

She looked back up at Viperion, noticing that he still had something to say. "Yes?"

"I might not be able to make enough sense of your inner music to tell you what you'll want, but I don't think you have anything to worry about. I know that whatever you decide to do is going to be as extraordinary as you are."

She stifled a squeak, blushing at the sudden compliment and thankful that Tikki was still chewing the last bits of the macaron. "A-ah, thank you. You too—with the extraordinary thing, not your inner music, because I can't hear that even though I'm sure it's really amazing!"

Had it been anyone else, she might've prayed for a hole to swallow her, but it was impossible to feel weird when he smiled at her the way he did.

Once Tikki had gotten her fill, Marinette transformed and they began to leave the alley together, though Ladybug stopped partway as she remembered something; something she'd done many times before and felt it time to get back to doing.

Viperion raised a brow at her sudden stopping, then stiffened when she leaned towards him and kissed his cheek. She flashed him a smile, noting silently that she missed these little exchanges between them, then leaped away to head back to where Wishmaker was likely to be. Viperion followed suit, but a split second behind his usual speed.

She was sure he'd be smiling back if she looked, but she didn't have to; they were connected, maybe not by some sort of magic thread or cosmic force, but by them and the relationship she hoped that they would continue to build in the future.

And whenever they got back to the fight, just in time to see Chat Noir allow himself to be hit by Wishmaker's attack, a few more doors would close and her future would start to look a little different than what she'd considered that morning.

Not necessarily in a bad way either.

#type: story #story: oneshot #episode: Wishmaker #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Vipernette #Viperbug #ViperFairy

[angryschnauzer]

Once Bitten

Once Bitten

Summary: Whilst vacationing on a Colorado Ranch to try and overcome your writers block, you find yourself being drawn to the cowboys that staff the ranch rather than getting any actual work done. After a small accident in the truck you find yourself a lot closer to one cowboy in particular, who has a secret you are about to discover.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3204

Tags: Chris Evans (Actor) & Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You, AU Vampire Chris NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, Vaginal Sex, Spanking, neck biting, Vampires, Oral Sex, Cum Play

Notes: This is a rewrite of a old Hiddleston fic, but i felt it fit with Chris too. The original was written 5+ years ago so may not be my finest work.

I do not operate a tag list or masterlist. All my previous stories can be found at @angryschnauzerwrites​, to get an alert whenever i post a new story, follow that blog and put it onto notifications. You can also find all my work on AO3.

You bounced in the seat of the truck as it made its way along the dirt track back to the lodge, a cloud of dust spewing from beneath the wheels. Clinging to the steering wheel, your knuckles white, you wished you’d taken the bigger, newer truck, the one with power steering. And a heater. And Seatbelts. But no, you had taken the smaller older one instead as it was easier to park.

Your cousin’s Colorado ranch had always been a refuge for you, so when you were suffering from writers block you’d asked if you could rent their lodge for a few weeks, hoping the quiet solitude of the Colorado landscape would inspire you. Little did you know that the only things around that would inspire, would be tumbleweeds and cowboys. And as a crime writer being inspired by watching lithe and toned men riding horses all day was not helping, in fact you were soon to end up in the romance isle of the bookstores, especially watching their taught and muscled thighs as they clung to the horses, sweat dripping down their bodies, hats tipped to the low autumn sunsets;

“HOLY CRAP!”

You were suddenly drawn out of your daydream as the one and only bend in the track had snuck up on you as you, slamming on the brakes but it was too late, the tyres skid on the loose earth, and you ploughed into the ditch, coming to an abrupt stop, albeit at a 45º angle.

Coughing as the cloud of dust settled, you groaned as a pain shot through your head, pulling yourself up to the driver’s seat you glanced into the rear-view mirror. A slight cut on your forehead, you touched it lightly and winced, there was going to be one hell of a lump there in the morning. Testing your limbs and you were relieved that they all worked fine.

“Darlin’, y’alright?”

The sudden voice at the side of the truck startled you, making you squeal and let go of the steering wheel, causing you slide over the bench seat to the far side of the truck. It was Chris; one of the ranch hands, in fact the one in particular you’d been trying to keep out of your mind.

“Miss?” He enquired

Snapping out of your trance you finally squeaked out an answer;

“Chris, thank you...yes I’m fine.”

“Here, lemme’ give ya’ hand.” he said, wrenching the door open and reaching into the truck as you extended your hand, and he was pulling you out of the truck and onto the side of the road. You swayed slightly, a sudden rush of blood to your head.

He steadied you, watching you sway slightly before you settled;

“You’re bleeding...” he said, his nostrils slightly flaring, those intense eyes staring at the wound on your head.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a plaid handkerchief, gently pressing it to your head wound. His tongue lightly reached out and touched his top lip with concentration as you felt his light touch, his fingers cold against your heated skin.

“Do you need a ride Miss?”

Hell yes you thought, but you realised the ride that you had in mind was probably not what he meant.

“That would be very kind of you, thank you” you replied as you managed to pull your mind from the gutter you said with a smile, hoping you weren’t stumbling on your words too much.

“Great!” He said with a smile that sent shivers down your spine; “I’ll just untie Vincent...”

“Vincent?”

“My horse.”

You paled a little. In the weeks you’d spent on the farm you’d so far managed to avoid actually riding a horse, they didn’t like you, you didn’t like them, even after a lot of trying on your part with you offering them carrots and sugar cubes over the fences, trying to stroke their noses and generally be nice to them, you’d been nibbled, snorted at, and most of the time they just ran off leaving you coughing and spluttering from the dust they stirred up.

You watched as Chris strode over to the fence where he’d tied Vincent and busied himself unhooking the reins, turning to you as if presenting his steed to you. Reluctantly you walked over, not entirely sure how to even get onto this damned beast.

“Just put your foot into the stirrup and pull yourself up.” He said as he held the animal still.

Right. Well. Ok. You might as well try, knowing you were more than likely going to make an utter fool of yourself. Foot into stirrup and gripping onto the saddle, you heaved yourself up. Imagine a toddler trying to climb over a beach ball but getting stuck halfway; butt in the air, you’d neglected to swing your free leg over the horses back and as you now tried to lift your knee the horse to start shifting. This wasn’t going well, and you were just thankful that Chris couldn’t see your face that had no doubt turned a rather comical look of indignant frustration on it right then.

“Here let me help.” As he rested his hand on your free leg “Lift your knee and part your legs, you need to swing it over to get into the riding position.”

Well duh, your mind was now not on the kind of riding you were currently attempting, but as you felt Chris’s strong hand lift your knee over the saddle you were suddenly upright and sat on the horse. You wobbled a little where your feet had fallen out of the stirrups, but your mind was soon elsewhere as Chris lifted himself skilfully onto the saddle behind you, settling in, his crotch pressing against your butt.

You chanted a little mantra in your mind to keep your thoughts of arousal at bay as he arranged the reins and you set off, the weight of his body pressing you forward in the saddle, pressing your crotch against the little uppy-holdy-thingy at the front of the saddle that you presumed was a form of a handle for when only one person was using the saddle.

Soon you were on your way, Chris clicking his tongue and the horse slowly turned towards the ranch. The gentle rock and sway of the horse as it plodded its way along the track soon had you a little worked up, not to mention the hardness you were starting to feel press into the back of your jeans. In an attempt to distract yourself you started chattering away, attempting to make small talk whilst trying to disguise the fact you were a little breathless from the gentle pressure that was tormenting you, turning you on. You were thankful for the darkness that was descending around you as you were sure when you did get off this damned animal the front of your jeans would be soaked through. Chris was more of a listener than a talker, very few words of his being part of your conversation, yet as you felt his breath on your neck, your voice faltered and you spent the rest of the journey in silence, until your cabin appeared over the hill, the last rays of the sunset making the windows seem ablaze.

As you rode past the windows, you saw your reflection in them, you riding the horse. You. On a horse. Just you. Wait, what? Before your mind could process the sight Chris pulled on the reins and Vincent came to a halt at the bottom of the porch steps, letting out a little snort as it did so;

“Let me get off first then I’ll give you a hand down.”

Chris skilfully hopped off the horse, making it seem so graceful. Now it was your turn; swinging your far leg over the saddle you got halfway there but your foot got caught in something. Giving it a little shake it caused your body to overbalance, and you watched almost in slow motion as you practically oozed off the horse into an upside down heap, your foot still caught, your shoulders on the ground and your foot suspended above you.

You heard Chris suppress a snigger; “Not a natural rider are ya’?” as he reached over and unhooked whatever had caught your foot, causing you to fall to the ground with a grunt. He quickly hooked the reins over the porch and extended a hand to you, pulling you to your feet. You swayed a little, falling against his chest. Oh the scent – spice and musk – you could have buried your face into that plaid shirt and just inhaled, but perhaps not, perhaps that’d be just slightly inappropriate, you reasoned with yourself.

Pulling yourself right again you were still slightly unsteady on your feet, you felt Chris’s arm around your hip as he helped you up the porch steps and reached for the door, pushing the pair of you inside. You turned to thank him but he was suddenly upon you, his long arms around yours, pinning them to your sides, there was a sharpness to his movements as he spun you around so your back was against his chest. He tilted your head to one side and you realised it was not passion that was driving him. You felt his lips on your neck then the sharpness of teeth. Very sharp teeth. You screamed as you felt them pierce your skin, struggling in his arms as you felt a burning on your neck, the teeth sinking deeper. You could hear the suckling noises as he drank from you, his lips firmly against your neck, his tongue massaging the spot below where his teeth had breached your skin. You started to slump in his arms, realisation that you’d fallen into the arms of a monster. But as your body relaxed, you started to feel the desire within you build again. The feel of his lips and tongue on your neck was now dulling the pain his teeth had caused. You relaxed in his arms and found your feet, pressing back against his chest, not realising your desire until you groaned as his lips moved against your neck.

You reached back, your arms grasping onto the sides of his jeans, pulling him against you. You could feel that he was hard, and very big from the feel of it. His grip around your torso loosened, and one hand moved up to where your shirt was buttoned, ripping down in one swift motion, buttons springing apart as they flew off. His hand splayed over the soft flesh of your stomach, running up to your bra, and slipping inside to grasp on your breasts. Never releasing his lips hold on your neck, but you could no longer feel his teeth within you, only the soft suckling of his tongue.

He released his grip on you but rather than running you simply span around in his arms and pulled him down so his lips met yours. You could taste a metallic tang on his lips and tongue and realised it was your blood. Rather than disgusting you it turned you on even more.

You ran your hands to his chest, fumbling with the buttons as you rid him of his shirt, running your hands over the soft jersey of his tee before pulling that up so you could touch his toned chest, down his stomach to where a small trail of hair led to further delights below.

Never breaking contact with his lips you blindly worked on his belt, unbuttoning his jeans and working your hand inside, feeling his hard dick loose within the denim. Not releasing him your other hand lowered his fly, allowing you further access and his firm hardness heavy in your hand.

Breaking away from the kiss you grinned up at him, his gaze boring deep into you, a slight look of shock on his face.

“You’re not running. Ya’ not scared?”

You didn’t answer, instead you started to drop to your knees, keeping hold of his dick as you ran your other hand down his thigh, your fingers softly running over the firm muscles, gently tickling the hairs that covered his skin. On your knees you looked up at him, licking your lips before pressing them forwards and placing a gentle kiss on the tip. Running your tongue over the slit, tasting the salty liquid that had pooled there.

Never breaking eye contact you opened your mouth and took his hard shaft between your lips. You slid your tongue along the seam underneath, bobbing your head slowly up and down. As you watched Chris’s face you could see his fangs descending again, his eyes becoming hooded until his head tipped back. Taking him deeper you felt his tip against the back of your throat, inciting a groan from above you.

Pulling back off you lightly grazed your teeth against his dick, catching around the head and gently over the crown. Well, if he was going to violate you with his teeth it’s the least you could do as payback. However he seemed to enjoy it, as his hands flew to your head and you heard him mutter;

“Oh god Darlin’, do that again.”

Happy to oblige you repeated your actions, running your teeth over him, lightly all the time and then down his length, taking him deep again. On the third pass you heard a hiss escape from his lips; “Enough”, before he roughly pulled you to your feet, and crushing you against his chest for a rough kiss.

He toed off his boots and stepped out of his fallen jeans, walking you backwards over to the couch, spinning you around so the front of your thighs were against the upholstery. Bringing his hands up to your breasts, he grasped the front of your bra, tearing it in two, before roughly pawing at them, your nipples rubbing against his calloused palms.

You felt his lips against your ear; “You’re hot for me... so desperate and eager. I like it.”

His hands lowered to your jeans, releasing your fly and pushing the material away, before rubbing his hand between your thighs, feeling how wet your panties were, pushing at your folds through the cotton, as he rutted into the crease of your butt; “So wet for me... does fear turn you on?”

“I’m not afraid.”

He chuckled into your ear; “You should be...”

He ripped the material in two, letting the remains of your panties fall to the floor before pushing you over the arm of the couch, leaving you prone and your thighs wide.

Steadying yourself on the cushions you glanced over your shoulder, admiring Chris’s near naked body, his dick in his hand as he came up behind you. He paused for a moment as he pulled his crumpled tee over his head before steadying himself with a hand on your rump and you felt his tip against your swollen pussy. As he slowly ran the tip up and down your folds, soaking it with your juices, you moaned, wriggling your hips, needing to be filled.

“Getting desperate for me?” Chris said with a heavy voice

“Just fuck me, now!” you practically screamed at him.

“Your wish is my command.” and before you could brace yourself he’d pressed into you, sinking deep on the first thrust. He seemed to go on forever, inch after inch slid into you, only for it all to be suddenly withdrawn and thrust back in one making you squeal;

“Yes! Oh God!”

“You couldn’t get farther from God if you tried.” and with that he set off at a punishing pace, fucking you hard, bent over and prone to him, his big hands gripping tightly – painfully – onto your hips as he used your body.

You’d never been fucked so hard or so well, you were writhing on the sofa in ecstasy, the man, no; the monster behind you never relenting on his actions on your body, making your juices flow down your thighs, his large hands spreading your legs wider so that his thick girth could gain further entry. You felt one of his hands flutter over your rump.

The suddenness of his palm making contact with your behind made you squeal, your breath catching in your throat as you anticipated another, not to be disappointed when his palm made contact with your other buttock moments later.

Something you hadn’t liked to admit to any of your ex’s is that done right you were quite happy with a bit of spanking, but those that had attempted it had always done it half-heartedly.

“Oh fuck, Chris... please... don’t stop.”

Never letting up on his pace of fucking your pussy he started to spank you in time to his thrusts, and as you felt your orgasm building, you gripped tightly onto the cushions of the couch;

“Yes yes yes yes yes, more, harder!” All spluttering from your mouth, begging and pleading, getting closer and closer, until your body succumbed to the pleasure, gripping onto him as you rode out your orgasm, writhing beneath his touch, rocking your body, the waves of ecstasy flowing over you as it overwhelmed your mind.

Chris smoothed his palms over your reddened cheeks before going back to gripping your thighs, his thrusts getting harder and faster as he now drove into your pleasure soaked body.

Suddenly he pulled out and grasped your shoulder, pulling you round and down to your knees. As he towered over you, his voice low and deep;

“Open your mouth” you did as he asked, on your knees in front of him, he furiously stroked his dick, you reached for your tits and played with them;

“Such a good girl” he praised as his body went rigid and he started to cum,  watching as ropes of it sprayed over your face and chest, dripping down between your tits. One last spurt, and he brought his dick up to your lips where you gently took him in, tasting your combined pleasure on it, gently giving it a single suck before releasing him.

He staggered back and found the breakfast bar, resting against a barstool. Both of you out of breath, a hungry silence hung in the air, only broken by the sounds of your breathing as you still gasped for air.

You were the first to break the silence; “How come I didn’t need to invite you in?”

“It’s not your home. I can come and go as a please as long as it’s not the persons main residence.” Chris replied.

“You’re really a vampire?”

“Do you need more proof?”

“Are you going to turn into a bat or something?”

He sighed; “Why would I want to turn myself into a bat?” a small smirk appeared on his lips;

“Anyway I suggest you get up off your knees Darlin’, I’m not done with you for the night yet”. He said with a very dirty grin now spreading over his face.

No longer afraid you got to your feet;

“I’ll be ready for you in the shower”

You made your way to the bathroom, looking over your shoulder as you swayed your hips;

“You coming?”

“Yup, and so will you be Darlin’”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x you #vampire!Chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader

[squishneedsahero]

New Beginnings

Awesomest of Them All 2.0

Part 6 of 13

Word Count: 1519

Batman x Batmom!Reader

You know what the bat family needs? Someone to pull them together and give them all the love they deserve. Who better to do that than you? An author rising to stardom in Gotham who catches the eye of a billionaire with your standoffish attitude at a huge social gathering. You are yourself and never pretend to be more or less than that. Plus you're the most stubborn person in the world, refusing to let good things go without reason.

This is a rewrite of my story Awesomest of Them All, I wanted to see how much I've improved over 3 years.

You stood in front of a mirror admiring your dress. It was a beautiful white gown, the perfect fit and cut for you. It was everything you had wanted and more thanks to Bruce insisting on Lois and Dinah going with you to make sure you treated yourself for this occasion.

You and Bruce had decided to go with a small family wedding, which is kind of ironic considering both of you were only children whose parents had passed. It was to be held in the manor's garden, a nice private little thing. You had both invited your friends, mostly the members of the League and their partners since you had never been great at the making friends thing.

As soon as Bruce spilled the beans on being Batman all the other women who were connected with heroes had swooped in and claimed you as one of their own. So now all the more extroverted women who were desperate for someone else who understood how obnoxious being in love with a superhero was had brought you, the introvert, into their group to bitch about things together. Needless to say you all had become fast friends and regularly texted in a group chat to complain about things no one else would understand and call your partners idiots for this or that.

Lois and Dinah had become your closest friends of all the women, all the other men in the league had at least a tad bit less of an ego than Oliver, Clark and Bruce did so the three of you formed a close bond. This is what had lead to you asking them to be your bridesmaids who were currently helping you with the finishing touches on your veil and flower crown. They finish up and begin chatting with you about something else when you're interrupted by a knock on the door, "Come in," You say, and it opens to reveal your pseudo father, Alfred.

"You look lovely Miss (l/n)," he says and you smile. "Are you ready?" He asks. You had asked him to walk you down the isle, since your biological father wasn't here to do it. Dinah and Lois wish you luck before hurrying to their places and leaving you to have a moment with Alfred.

You take a breath, "Yes, I'm ready," you were jittery with nervousness and excitement and you could feel your arm shaking when you hook it with Alfred's.

"Are you okay y/n?" He asks you, as he had finally begun to use your first name as you had asked him many times.

"Yes," you smile at him, "just excited to really be part of the family."

He shakes his head gently, "y/n, don't sell yourself short, you became part of this family the first time you walked in that door." With that he walks you out of the dressing room to be ready to go after your bridesmaids.

You and Bruce had asked Dick to be the ring bear and the fourteen year old had been delighted, except for the fact that he couldn't dress up as a bear. He heads out first, followed by Oliver and Dinah then Clark and Lois. It really was a small wedding, the only person you and Bruce didn't know well was the photographer.

Within a minute of you leaving the dressing room you're walking down the isle. Bruce was standing up there and when he saw you a huge grin made its way onto his face. It might be the biggest smile you've seen on his face, possibly bigger than the one he had on his face when you had said yes to him proposing. Commissioner Gordon officiates and the ceremony flies by. After you say the I do's the rest of the day is a blur. There's the dances and toasts until you and Bruce leave for your honeymoon that evening.

You and Bruce had decided to go to a cabin in the mountains, with no cell reception or WiFi, an entire week for just the two of you. The two of you spent most of the time cuddling and enjoying the fact that you could spend time together with out being needed. You had told the League members to not bother the both of you even if the world was ending, mostly joking... mostly, because you would both die happy.

Most of the cuddles happened in the morning, evening, and at night when it was cold. During the day the two of you would do stuff together. At one point you decided to climb a tree and claimed to be stuck just so he had to come rescue you, then you turned it into the two of you 'Sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G'. The two of you lived off of cheap take out food the entire week, because neither of you knew how to cook, most of your dates had been to high end restaurants in Gotham, and Alfred would never allow such food in the manor.

It was a perfect week, sex, kissing, cuddling and doing the dumbest of things together. All of the sex and kissing was just a bonus as the two of you just genuinely loved spending time together. Sure the two of you had other friends and people to spend time with but Bruce was your favorite person in the world and your best friend while you were his. You had married your best friend and that was why it worked so well because before being lovers, before even thinking of dating the two of you had been equals and respected each other.

Eventually the end of the week comes and the two of you have to head back to civilization. When you get back Dick and Alfred are waiting for you.

"Welcome back Mr. and Mrs.Wayne," Alfred says with a smile on his face that gets bigger when he calls you Mrs.Wayne.

"Mom! Dad!" Dick exclaims running to hug the two of you, and you cry. It was the first time he called you Mom, and knowing him he had probably planned it.

"Hi, baby," you say pulling him and Bruce into a hug, then you reach out for Alfred and he joins you.

Dick pulls away, "I forgot to give you your present."

"Oh, Dick, you didn't-" you stop talking when you see what he's holding out to you. It's adoption papers. You find yourself pulling him back into a hug, and crying again, silly you had thought you were done with that.

"Are you okay?" He asks worriedly, "You don't have to, I won't call you Mom if you don't want me to," he continues hurriedly.

"No I'd love to Dick, and you can call me Mom, but only if you want to," you kiss his forehead. All of those questions he had asked when you and Bruce first got engaged had fallen to the side, not mentioned again by anyone. But they obviously hadn't been forgotten, as shown now by Dick and his excitement.

"I want to call you mom, mom," he says hugging you again.

"Well, as long as you're sure," you kiss his forehead once again, "where's a pen?" You ask as you stand up straight and Dick grins at you.

A few nights after you and Bruce get back you head to the kitchen to get a snack, in the hopes of calming your nerves, because Bruce and Dick are out on patrol and you can't help but worry. They're your boys. You sneak into the kitchen and open the fridge in hopes of finding Alfred's leftover pie.

The light switches on and you turn around like a deer in the headlights, just to see Alfred standing in the doorway. "What are you doing Mrs.Wayne?" He asks, ever since you and Bruce were officially married he had refused to call you anything else.

"Worrying," you reply, turning back to the fridge, "there wouldn't happen to be any leftover pie, would there?"

"There is," Alfred says moving forward and finding it for you.

"Thank you, Alfred," you say taking the pie from him and moving to sit, not on the counter thanks to Alfred's being present. You sigh deeply, "why do I have to worry? It was so much easier not knowing."

"Was it?" Alfred asks, wise as always.

You sigh again and shove a bite of pie into your mouth as you give your father-in-law a playful glare. "I suppose it wasn't, never knowing why he wouldn't let me stay the night, but it was less stressful not having to know he's out there being Batman and that Dick is out there too."

He sets a hand on your shoulder in comfort, "it doesn't get easier-"

"Gee- thanks for making me feel better," you joke before shutting up and finishing your pie.

"Y/n, they're your loved ones, it will never be easy seeing them put themselves in danger but you knew that when you agreed to marry him. It might not be easy but it's worth it for those you love, I've found that to be true on many occasions."

#Batman #batman x you #batmom #batmom reader #batfam x batmom #batman x batmom #batman x batmom!reader #batfam #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #batfam x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n

[starryeyedrookie]

Before It’s Too Late (Ethan x MC)

Book: Set during book 2 ch. 11.

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Evelyn Long)

Word count: 1,996

Rating: General

Category: Angst

Summary: An attack scene rewrite when Ethan spends the night with MC.

A/N: Characters and some dialogue owned by Pizelberry.

I finally decided how I was going to write this rewrite. Initially I was trying to do a full chapter rewrite but half way through, I was already at 3k+ words so it would be waaaay to long. Thankfully, I managed to summarize it but also give it a ton of angst. (This was my first time writing angst btw.) I hope you enjoy!

8:30 pm

It's been exactly five hours since the attack. Five excruciatingly long hours since Evelyn’s world was turned upside down.

Travis, Senator Ed’s assistant, had slowly been poisoning him with lead. When they went to confront him, he pulled out a can and sprayed everyone in the room with a deadly unknown substance.

The Senator managed to escape and Travis was dead. But so was Bobby, with Danny fighting for his life.

Evelyn begins to cry again as she thinks about Bobby’s wife and two kids that he left behind. They would now have to grow up without their dad. He would miss so many big milestones in their lives all because of two selfish people.

“E-Evelyn…?” a weak voice calls from across the room.

She walks over to the bed where Raf is lying down, a light sheen of sweat covering his pale face.

The team had come a little while ago with a shot that they had hoped would slow the progression of their symptoms, but Raf’s still seemed to be getting worse.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, gently wiping the tears from her face.

“I was just… thinking about Bobby’s family and… everything that he… would miss. He was… just telling me… this morning that… his oldest daughter is turning sixteen this year…”

“I know… life isn’t fair. They didn’t deserve any of this.”

“You didn’t either, Raf.”

“But I saved you from having to suffer so much… and that’s what matters.”

“Raf…”

“Shh… listen, I feel… like I’m… getting worse. Will you… do me a favour?”

“Of course. Anything you need.”

“Please help me call my vovo.”

Evelyn hands Raf his phone to unlock, then scrolls through his contacts until she sees his grandmother’s name, tapping it, she places the phone to his ear.

“Olá, vovo.”

“No… I’m not well. There was an attack at the hospital today and the Senator’s assistant tried to kill him. A few people were in the room when it happened. The Senator escaped, but his assistant and one person that works here died and the other is in critical condition. Evelyn and I are in quarantine right now.”

“I just wanted to let you know… that if I… don’t make it… I love you with all my heart.”

“Alright, take care. I love you too.”

“Thank you, Evelyn.” he takes a shaky breath, his heart rate slowing and growing more shallow.

“Evelyn… I think you should… call the team… I'm sorry I couldn't save you… that this… might be the way it ends…” he murmurs, eyes meeting hers, as warm and kind as the day they met.

Taking his hand, she can barely see him through her tears.

“You'll make it through this Raf… I know you will…”

He smiles up at her before his eyes flutter closed and his hand falls away.

Moments later Ethan and June rush into the room.

“I’d hoped that the treatment would buy us more time,” Ethan says sadly.

“We don’t know that it didn’t.” Evelyn tries reassuring him.

He nods as June’s eyes fill with sympathy.

“We’ll get him to the support suite. There’s still a chance that we could fix this Evelyn.” June tells her, as she prepares Rafael for transport.

Evelyn’s almost too scared to ask, but she needs to know. “How’s Danny?”

“We… we lost him.” Ethan’s voice comes out in a whisper.

“No…”

“Before he died he… he asked to be autopsied. To help the two of you.”

As Ethan turns to help June, Evelyn reports Raf’s most recent symptom of hot cold reversal.

“Stay strong, Evelyn. We’ll know more soon.” June tells her reassuringly as she and Ethan slowly push Raf out of the room.

Now she’s all alone, curled up on her bed, the pressure in her head becoming almost too much to bear.

Her mind drifts to Danny. She remembers her first day when he was the one that told her that she had just performed a thoracotomy with Ethan Ramsey. The night of the party her roommates had when he and Sienna talked all night until they fell asleep together on the couch.

Sienna. All Evelyn wanted to do was rush to her side and hold her. She and Danny were supposed to be together. They were meant for each other. But how he was gone, and Sienna would have to live with that loss. She probably never even got to say goodbye.

Goodbye. Evelyn had to be prepared.

Picking up her phone, she sees that she has several missed calls and messages.

Calling her mom, she picks up immediately.

“Evelyn sweetie! Are you okay?! Oh my goodness, we saw what happened on the news and I thought we lost you!”

Hearing her mom’s voice, her tears start falling again.

“I’m hanging in there right now mom. It’s just me in the room now. Rafael just got taken to the support suite.”

“Oh, sweetie…”

“Mom… is everyone there?”

“Yes, honey. We’re all here.”

“Can you put me on speaker please?”

“Hey Evey.” she hears her dad’s voice say.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi Evelyn, do they know what it is yet?

“Hi Ben, no they don’t. We got a shot earlier that was supposed to slow the progression of the symptoms, but we don’t have a cure yet.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, guys… if I don’t make it…”

“No Evelyn! You can’t say that!” her heart breaks as she hears Ben crying through the phone.

“Wait… just listen to me. I’m preparing for the worst. I want you guys to know… that I love you all so much. And I want to thank you for everything that you’ve done to help me fulfill my dreams.”

Aside from the sound of soft cries, the line is silent.

Finally, her dad speaks up.

“We love you too sweetie. Stay strong and hang in there. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll try… take care.”

“Bye.”

Later, her friends and the diagnostics team are gathered outside her window. Bryce looks at her with haunted eyes while a crying Sienna buries her face in Jackie’s shoulder.

“How’s Kyra? The surgery must be over by now…”

“She’s fine and resting. We haven’t told her what happened yet.”

“Good idea.”

“So, do you know what it is yet?”

Ethan explains to her that it’s a maitotoxin that he had never seen before. It was still present in Danny’s bony postmortem and on the surface of his skin.

Processing the information, the realization hits Evelyn like a ton of bricks.

“Maitotoxin… that’s derived from parasites in fish, isn’t it? But… there’s no antidote so… I’m going to die here…” her voice now barely a whisper. “I can’t believe this. Today was supposed to be happy. Kyra was supposed to have a successful surgery and everything was supposed to be fine… but now Danny’s dead, Raf is in a coma, and I’m… I’m…” Evelyn buries her face in her hands as she begins to cry.

“Now isn’t the time to give up hope Evelyn. Because of Raf’s actions, you didn’t get much in your system so your symptoms aren’t as advanced. There may not be an antidote as yet, but I promise you that we’ll be working round-the-clock to synthesize one.” Ethan tries to sound as confident as he can, his heart breaking to see Evelyn hurting.

“You won’t be alone.”

Everyone turns around to see that the statement had come from Tobias, as he, and several Mass Kenmore doctors approached them, all prepared to do whatever it takes.

As everyone heads down to the lab, Ethan lingers behind at the window.

“Are you okay, Ethan?”

“No, Evelyn, I’m not okay. But you don’t need to hear about that. You should try and get some rest. Have you slept at all?”

“No. I can’t stop thinking about Rafael. How long he can last… whether… whether it’s already…”

“…Do you want me to stay for a while?”

“Yes, please. If this is my last night alive, I want to spend it with you.”

“If I was in your position, I’d feel the same way about you.”

“Really?”

“Really, Evelyn.”

Suiting up and entering the room, he gently guides her to the bed.

“Now lie down. I know it sounds impossible, but I need you to relax and try to think about something happy.”

As she lies down, Ethan gently pulls up the covers around her.

“Something happy like what it would be like if we went on a date?”

“If that’s what makes you happy then sure.”

Her happiness leaves as quickly as it came.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just feel like there are so many things that I should have done.”

“Like what?”

“I should have loved more.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent the last decade focusing on college, med school, work, always guarding my heart because I might be in another city the next year. It makes me wonder… what could have been,” she confesses sadly.

Ethan is quiet for a long moment.

“Since we’re sharing regrets, do you mind if I share one of mine?”

“Go ahead.”

Reaching across, Ethan’s gloved hand finds hers.

“I wish I hadn’t asked you to stay away.”

“You do?” she asks surprised.

“We’ve wasted so much time. I’ve wasted so much time. I should have held you in my arms every day and told you how much I… how much I love you.”

“Ethan?”

“Shh… I just needed you to know… that no matter what happens… I love and care about you more than I can ever tell you.”

“I love you too, Ethan.”

“You do?”

“Of course! I thought you knew that already.”

“I did. It’s just so wonderful to hear you say it.”

“I wish I could kiss you.”

“Soon. You will soon.”

Joining her on the bed, he wraps his bulky arms around her as eyes begin to flutter closed.

“Evelyn? Can you please look at me?”

“Hmm?”

Forcing her eyes open, she looks at him through his helmet.

“Promise me that you’ll keep fighting. That you won’t give up. Oh, Evelyn… our story’s only just begun and it can’t end here. Please… please promise me.”

“…I… promise,” she whispers before falling asleep.

The next morning she wakes up to excruciating pain in her stomach. Doubling over, Ethan reaches across from the chair for her.

“It’s okay Evelyn, you’ll be alright!”

Feeling weaker than ever, she can barely make out the blurry figures running to her window.

“Evelyn! We did it!” Aurora shouts.

“Huh?”

Baz and June enter the room with the antidote as Tobias explains how they did it.

“What about Raf? He’s much sicker than I am…”

“We administered it to him, but too far there’s been no chance. It’s possible we’re already too late.” Sienna gloomily reveals.

“But he hasn’t gotten any worse, that has to mean something!” Elijah adds.

As Ethan gently injects the serum into her vein, he whispers into her ear.

“Hang in there, Evelyn.”

Over the next several anxious hours, June comes regularly to take her blood.

Slowly, her blood pressure stabilizes and the nausea begins to fade.

As Evelyn looks around, she realizes that the room no longer looks blurry.

“Get up.”

She turns around to see a hazmat suit free Ethan stroll into the room with a big smile on his face.

“You mean…”

“It worked. There’s no trace of toxin left in your bloodstream. Even if there are still traces in the room, we know now that we can-”

“Oh!”

Evelyn flies into Ethan's arms pulling him into a tight hug.

“…What you’re saying is I’m finally free to do this?”

“Yes. This too.”

He leans down capturing her lips in a passionate kiss as tears fall down both of their faces.

“Ethan, aren’t you worried that someone will see?”

“No. After almost losing you, I’ve decided that there are more important things to worry about than what people will think. I love you with all my heart, Evelyn Long.”

Through her tears, she smiles up at him.

“I love you too, Ethan.”

{Two Weeks Later}

Taglist: @mercury84choices @a-crepusculo @emmasumbrella @quixoticdreamer16 @headoverheelsforramsey @mm2305 @adiehardfan @schnitzelbutterfingers

@choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed❤️

#playchoices #open heart #oph book club #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan x evelyn #oph fic #open heart fanfic #choices fic writers creations

[bibbawrites]

Family Ties - Charlie Gillespie x Reader (16+)

Request: Can you please do one where either Charlie is meeting your family or you’re meeting his and he keeps trying to be touchy/wanting to have sex but you/him don’t want to get caught xx

Word Count: 1721 words 

Summary: your annual family trip gets a little bit more hands on when your boyfriend Charlie and his family join you

Warnings: heavy makeout, touching, a little bit of grinding, swearing, mentioned and implied sex 

A/N: sorry if this editing is shit my brain is not working lol  hopefully y’all like this one, ive been debating on rewriting it for what feels like years but fuck it i dont have that motivation lol  also idk if theres beaches in canada like what we have here in aus but if there isnt oh well in this fictional version of canada they have aussie beaches  anyways, enjoy! 

Tag List:  @happinessinthedarkesttimes​​ @littlemissaddict​​ @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic​​ @headheartbellarke​​ @lovesanimals​​ @bartok-the-magnificent​​ @juliefromaustralia @multi-universe21 @rangerelik @kaitieskidmore1 @katrina765​​ @fandomxreaders​​​ @ifilwtmfc

It had all started when you had jokingly suggested that you should invite your boyfriend Charlie and his family along on your annual family trip to the beach. Your mother had agreed, and before you knew it she was on the phone to Charlie’s mother working the whole plan out. 

Your family lives in Quebec, and Charlie’s in Dieppe, so your mum’s quickly decided that your family would drive to his house, and then the two families would continue the rest of the way together.

So that’s how you ended up in your dad’s old truck, pulling into the driveway of the Gillespie house at 6am in the morning after almost 8 hours of driving.

You jumped out quickly, wanting to get away from your brother’s annoying rap music and your sister’s constant whining about being bored as quickly as you could. The front door of Charlie’s house swung open and within a few seconds you were being pulled into the arms of your boyfriend, inhaling his familiar scent.

“God I missed you.” He murmured into your shoulder and you grinned.

“I missed you more handsome.” You replied, exchanging a soft kiss. 

Charlie’s family joined him outside and after a few quick introductions, you were on your way to the beach, this time tucked away in the passenger’s seat of Charlie’s car. 

- 

Once you arrived your families spent the day at the beach, and Charlie couldn’t keep his hands off of you. By the time you finally headed off to bed you were certain that every other person in the house was sick of his touchy behaviour. 

You made yourself comfortable on the bed, watching Charlie as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him. 

“I don’t think your dad likes me that much.” He said with a giggle, flopping down onto the bed. You rolled over to look at him.

“He’d like you a lot more if you stopped looking at me and touching me like you want to fuck me at every free moment you have.” You stated, and a light blush appeared on Charlie’s cheeks.

“You think he noticed that?” He asked, pressing his nose against yours.

“I can’t imagine he wouldn’t. You haven’t been subtle at all. We’ve only been here for the day and you’ve tried to jump me three times and that’s not even counting the shower sex.” He grinned cheekily at your words.

“I can’t help it, you’re just so hot.” He whined, and you rolled your eyes.

“But we’re on a holiday with both of our families. You gotta tone down the horny.” You said. He sighed dramatically.

“Fine, I’ll try to be better tomorrow. But for now, we’re all alone... and it’s our first night...” He trailed off, pouting, his eyes dark with lust. You nodded once and that was all the consent he needed, crashing his lips against yours and making quick work of climbing on top of you and sliding his tongue into your mouth.

You moaned, your fingers scraping down his back as he grinded his hips into yours. 

“Fuck.” You mumbled against his lips, your hands finding a place in his hair. You tugged lightly on his hair causing him to moan into your mouth. 

“Hey Y/N?” Your mum’s voice called. 

“Shit.” You exclaimed, pushing Charlie off you. Not expecting the reaction, he jumped slightly, falling off the edge of the bed with a thud. 

You giggled as your mum opened the door, frowning as she took in the sight. 

“Charlie, why are you on the floor?” She questioned. You laughed harder. 

“Fell.” He replied simply, rolling over to stand up, climbing back onto the bed. 

“What’s up Mum?” You asked, hoping that you didn’t look like you had been making out with your boyfriend only moments ago. 

“Did you remember to grab the bag of board games? We were going to play Monopoly.” She said, leaning against the door. You nodded. 

“I put it in the little den room.” You told her and she smiled. 

“Thanks Hon, you two are welcome to join us if you’d like.” She invited. Charlie shook his head. 

“We’re good thanks Mrs Y/L/N. My mum is scary good at Monopoly so I’d rather not lose to her again.” He grinned and your mum returned the smile. 

“Well the offer is there if you want it.” She said, before leaving the room. You let out a sigh of relief. 

“That was a close one.” You mumbled. Charlie nodded, leaning in to kiss you again. You pulled back, giving him an incredulous look. 

“Really? You’re still horny after being interrupted by my mum and monopoly?” You asked. Charlie pouted. 

“A bit.” He admitted. You rolled your eyes at him, pushing him away. He whined but gave in, curling up next to you instead. 

“Tomorrow night.” You said, flicking the tv on. Charlie snuggled his face into your upper back. 

“You promise?” He mumbled against your skin. You nodded. 

“I promise. But only if you’re good during the day.” You bargained. He thought for a moment before humming in agreement. 

“Deal.”

- 

“This is not being good.” You whispered to Charlie as his hand crawled up your thigh at lunch the next day. 

It was tradition for your family to get lunch at your favourite restaurant on the second day, and you had barely been there twenty minutes when Charlie started to get fidgety. 

“I’m not doing anything.” He lied, giving you an innocent smile. 

“Bullshit.” You muttered in reply, and Charlie shook his head, making a disapproving sound. 

“Language.” He faked disappointment. 

“Fuck you.” You rolled your eyes. He gave you a flirty smile. 

“Oh I wish you would.” He teased, his voice deepening slightly. 

“Charles.” You warned, and he sighed, sitting back up again, his hand returning to your knee. 

“Remember our deal?” You said quietly, and he nodded. 

“How could I forget, I’m so sexually frustrated I might explode.” He admitted. You stared at him in disbelief.  

“We literally had sex yesterday evening.” You whispered, your voice hushed. Charlie nodded, eyes wide. 

“Exactly! It’s almost been a whole 24 hours.” He sighed. 

“A whole 24 hours since what?” Meghan questioned, and you choked on a mouthful of fish, grabbing your glass of Coke quickly to wash it down. 

“None of your business.” Charlie retorted. “Stop eavesdropping.” 

“Don’t have private conversations around other people then.” Meghan bit back, but dropped the conversation anyway. Charlie gave you a relieved look. 

“That was close.” You muttered. 

“You’re telling me. Almost enough to get rid of the semi in my pants.” He winked and you hit his arm.

“Charles. Stop it.” You reprimanded. He grinned cheekily. 

“You love me.” He sung, placing a wet kiss on your cheek. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

“I’m reconsidering.” 

- 

“So what were you and Charlie discussing at lunch that was so private?” Meghan questioned, once you, her and your sister Isabella were alone sunbathing later that afternoon. You cringed slightly. 

“You don’t want to know.” You replied. 

“Oh god was it a sex thing?” Isabella gasped, and Meghan’s eyes widened in fear. You blushed. 

“I told you that you didn’t want to know.” You said simply, and they both squealed in disgust. 

“Do mum and dad know that you’re sleeping with Charlie?” Isabella asked after a pause. You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m a fully grown adult Bel, I don’t need parental permission to have sex with my boyfriend.” You told her. Meghan fake gagged. 

“Can we not talk about this? I do not want to think about my brother having sex.” She begged. You grinned slightly. 

“You were the one who brought it up.” You said. Meghan sighed. 

“If I’d known it was a sex thing I would have never.” She replied. 

“With Charlie it’s always a sex thing.” You answered. 

Meghan and Isabella groaned in unison as you giggled, flopping back into your chair. 

You really needed to get some girl friends who weren’t your sister and your boyfriend’s sister.

- 

“Was I good today?” Charlie questioned, jumping onto the bed next to you as you scrolled through Instagram that night. 

You put you phone down, pretending to think. 

“Well, you tried to tease me at lunch and then tried to discuss it, which then led to me having a very awkward conversation with our sisters about our sex life. So I’m gonna go with no.” You said. Charlie’s eyes widened. 

“Y/N!” He gasped. “You can’t do that to me.” 

“Why not? I told you to be good and you weren’t so that’s on you.” You replied, returning to scrolling on your phone. Charlie placed his head on your chest, pouting.

“But...” He trailed off. You raised an eyebrow.

“But what?” You questioned. He sighed loudly.

“But I’m so horny.” He complained. You rolled your eyes.

“That sounds like a you problem.” You replied.

“Baby.” Charlie whined, dragging out the ‘y’. “I’m gonna get blue balls, do you want that?” 

“You’ve got hands. And I know you know how to use them.” You said. He sat up, giving you his infamous puppy eyes.  

“Please?” He asked. You stared at him, not wiling to budge.

“Your sex drive is frankly disturbing Gillespie.” You told him.

“I know.” He agreed, batting his eyes at you. “Please?” 

You groaned.

“Fine.” You said. His eyes widened.

“Really?” He questioned, a grin appearing on his face.

“Yes. Quickly, before I change my mind.” You nodded. Charlie moved forward but paused.

“Wait.” He said. You frowned.

“What now?” You questioned, your tone clearly showing your exasperation. 

“You want to do this, right? I’m not making you do anything you don’t want to be doing?” He asked, suddenly serious, and your frown fell as your heart filled with love for the boy in front of you and the fact that he was still asking for consent despite how desperately horny he claimed to be. You lent in, kissing him gently. 

“I promise you’re not forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do.” You said softly.

“You’re sure?” He checked. You nodded. 

“Positive.” You reassured him. He grinned. 

“I love you.” He whispered, leaning closer. 

“I love you too.” You replied. 

And with that Charlie pulled you towards him, ready to show you just how much he really loved you. 

#charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #reader insert #charlie gillespie smut #charlie

[spencers-renaissance]

a touch that never hurts

Summary: a rewrite of the Tobias Hankel aftermath, in which Spencer gets plenty of cuddles and physical affection from his father figure

Tags: aftermath of torture, hurt/comfort, platonic cuddling, whump, protective hotch, dad hotch, fluff, angst TW: brief mention of the non-con drug use that occurs in the Hankel arc, as well as the physical torture Spencer underwent

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid; Platonic

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Happy bonus fic Thursday :) I wrote this because I noticed how gentle and kind Hotch always is to the victims he rescues, and I was in the mood for some good, mushy Dad Hotch fluff. Title from Charles Dickens' Hard Times: "Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts."

When Spencer Reid falls into Aaron Hotchner’s arms — his feet whipped and bleeding, his veins throbbing with dilaudid, his body bruised and aching — he decides that he never wants to let go.

He’s spent countless hours at the mercy of three different personalities, only one of them even close to resembling something kind, and all he could think while he was tied up in that chair was how much he ached to be held and comforted by the man he trusts most in this world.

So when Hotch saves him — and he does; he sent that message directly to him and it was heard loud and clear — he can’t help that he breaks down, that he cries into his shoulder in front of the entire rescue party, that he falls apart in the most painful way possible, until he’s not sure he can ever be put back together again. But when Hotch speaks soothingly into his ear, caressing his hair with the gentle touch of a father, he thinks that maybe he can be. Maybe he’ll somehow make it out of this in one piece.

He’s driven promptly to the hospital, of course. He’d anticipated an ambulance, but apparently it’s harder than you’d think to get an ambulance to a crime scene at 3am with absolutely no notice in deep, rural Georgia.

Derek drives, eyeing him anxiously in the rearview mirror, and Spencer sits glued to Hotch, refusing to be separated from him for even a second. He considers vaguely that he should probably be embarrassed of that fact, but he can’t find the energy. Not when Hotch is sitting just as closely; seemingly matching his need to be comforted with his own need to protect.

“It’s gonna be okay, Spencer,” Hotch murmurs, a little too quiet for Derek to hear over the noise of the car engine. “I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything. He’s not entirely sure he believes him. Instead, he just burrows closer into Hotch and hides his face from the soft illumination of passing car lights and the sporadic street lights of rural Georgian roads.

He accepts the wheelchair Derek runs in to grab from the hospital because his feet are suddenly screaming in agony. When he’d had to stumble through the graveyard behind Tobias Hankel’s cabin, the adrenaline had prevented him from feeling the true extent of his injuries, but now, with the adrenaline seeping out of him like a river through a broken dam, he can feel every single fractured bone, bruised patch of skin, abused and broken tendon.

Panic immediately arises when he sits down in the chair, though. All of a sudden, he doesn’t have that connection he’s had to Hotch since he was rescued, and he’s almost instantly on the verge of hyperventilation until Hotch crouches down in front of him.

“Hey, Spence,” he says gently, patient and soothing in a way the team doesn’t often get to see. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. How about I hold your hand?”

Spencer nods, and Hotch smiles at him encouragingly before giving the nod for Derek to push the chair towards the Emergency entrance. Hotch’s hand clutches tightly at Spencer’s, and he squeezes his eyes closed against the panic, against the memories, against the fear of what’s to come, and focuses all his energy on the firm, unwavering connection he has to Hotch.

It makes the minutes that it takes them to cross the parking lot bearable, and he’s grateful for that much.

As soon as Hotch explains the situation to the ER doctor that greets them at the door, Spencer is rushed into an examination room.

“I’ll wait outside, Spence,” Derek promises. “I’ll be right here.”

Hotch doesn’t let go of his hand.

They examine his feet first, using a portable x-ray machine to find three broken bones overall. Spencer cries when he hears that. Knowing they’re broken doesn’t change how much they hurt or how scary the situation feels, but it is a tangible acknowledgement of the torture he’s just been put through, and he thinks that that’s probably enough to make most people cry.

“It’s alright, Spencer,” Hotch soothes him, laying his palm on his forehead and smoothing it over his hair gently, slowly. “I’m right here. The doctors are going to help you out.”

“The good news is that most of the fractures are fairly minor,” the doctor explains. “You’ll need a cast for your right foot since the damage to the metatarsal bones is much more significant, but most of the damage overall appears to be torn tendons and bruised muscles, which means plenty of rest and a simple brace or boot on the left foot should do the trick.”

She smiles encouragingly at him, but he barely reacts. He’s so tired. It feels like he’s not even in the room; the only tether to reality being the soothing hand in his hair and the occasional whispers of support.

They treat his feet before sending him off to a CT scanner to check that the rest of his injuries are minor enough to heal on their own, and rule out internal bleeding. Spencer cries the whole twenty two minutes, because this time Hotch can’t hold his hand. He’s stuck watching through the observation window, trying not to cry himself as he listens to Spencer’s sobs over the intercom.

Thankfully, he manages to stay still enough to ensure clear enough images of his body to confirm that rest and pain medication should take care of the rest of his injuries.

A specialist comes round to talk to him about withdrawal. He’s been moved to a room on the assessment ward, which is at least a little more comfortable than the bay in the Emergency Room, but it still feels foreign and frightening, and he’s had quite enough of that in the last few days, thank you very much. At least Derek’s been allowed to join them now. He feels safer with both of them as close to him as humanly possible.

“The good news,” the doctor starts — and God, Spencer wishes they would stop associating any of this with the word ‘good’ — “is that you haven’t taken enough doses to become truly dependent on the drug, which should make your withdrawal easier. I’m prescribing buprenorphine, clonidine, acetaminophen, and ondansetron, which when combined, should make your symptoms significantly more bearable. We do advise that you stay with somebody—”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Hotch interrupts firmly, both of his hands clasped warmly around Spencer’s as he eyes the doctor with an unwavering gaze.

“Well, that’s perfect, then,” the doctor says cheerily. It feels grossly misplaced. “You’ll need to prepare for the coming symptoms and ensure that he has no way to get his hands on more dilaudid.”

Spencer resents the doctor for saying that. He has no desire to inject more of that poison into his veins: it might have been a pleasant distraction when he was being whipped and beaten and forced to choose someone to die, but now that he’s back with his family, now that he’s safe, the last thing he wants is to keep reminding himself of that god-awful man in that god-awful cabin.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just closes his eyes to try and smother the turbulent emotions threatening to show on his face.

“That won’t be a problem,” Hotch confirms.

They wait for an hour in relative silence, Spencer enjoying the solace of a safe, quiet room with the people he considers protectors both holding his hands and soothing him when panic threatens to overwhelm him, before the discharge doctor comes round. She checks him over one last time, before helping him into a wheelchair, handing him his medication, and wheeling him towards the entrance.

Derek goes ahead once they reach the airstrip where everybody’s been waiting to go home and herds them onto the jet first to give Spencer some privacy going up the stairs.

“Are you okay for me to carry you?” Hotch asks as he climbs out of the car first, speaking gently as he has done since he rescued him.

Spencer nods. Of course he is. It means he’s even closer to Hotch.

Hotch carries him the short distance between the parked jeep and the jet before ascending the stairs as carefully as possible, making sure Spencer’s feet don’t so much as brush the railing. He sets him down on the sofa, but Spencer clings to his hand, looking at him desperately as he tries to get him to understand what he needs. Thankfully, he’s obvious enough that Hotch simply smiles and sits down on the sofa with him.

They get settled in a horizontal position, Spencer resting his head on Hotch’s chest as he revels in the feeling of safety that having both of his arms wrapped around him provides. A gentle hand finds its way to Spencer’s hair again, and he closes his eyes against the relaxing feeling, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

He vaguely hears some quiet laughter in the background, and he’s been with the team long enough to predict the raised eyebrows and teasing expressions on their faces.

“You’ve gone soft,” Derek accuses warmly, making sure to keep his voice down, and the others chuckle in agreement.

“Wait until Penelope hears about this,” JJ teases quietly.

Hotch laughs, and Spencer feels the pleasant vibrations against his cheek. It makes him feel even warmer inside than he did before. “You wouldn’t dare.” Spencer imagines the smile on his face and burrows closer to him.

“It’s a good thing, Hotch,” Emily chimes in, her voice bright and easy. Spencer really likes her. “It’s nice to see this side of you.”

“Well, you’d better savour the moment because it won’t happen again.”

He must feel Spencer’s panicked tensing, the way his muscles go rigid and his breath hitches, because he rushes to add, “unless Spencer needs it of course.” His hands resume their gentle caresses of his back.

“I’d do anything if Spencer needed it,” he murmurs, and the team might hear, but the words aren’t for them.

Spencer hears them loud and clear, and somehow — when he thought only hours ago that he might never be put back together — he falls asleep feeling calm and safe, with a small, hopeful little smile on his face.

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