#but every so often it just throws a curveball without so much as blinking that has me going | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jiminrings · 3 years

Note

Hey bb! First of all, let me just tell u how much I love your writing! You're fabulous, love. Don't ever doubt yourself. Secondly, I wanted to know if u could do a college professor! Jungkook and pretty student reader where Jk is absolutely enamoured by her.. (also, with a bit of the good ol smut🤭) It's a-okay if u can't tho! Just know that you're appreciated!❤️

the probability of us

pairing: jungkook x y/n

wordcount: 6k

glimpse: jungkook’s the son of the university’s president, y/n’s cardigan is everyone’s favorite, and adjacent walls mean shared victories.

notes: there’s something so warm about this request that it made me write it as an actual fic and not a bullet one!!! i did alter it a little bit but i was genuinely so happy writing this so thank you sO much for this babe :D // gif from pinterest!

Jungkook, in his better and most definitely unbiased judgement, thinks he knows enough about you.

He knows you well enough to have noticed your patterns and habits with almost everything in between. They were predictable for the most part, and that was partly because he takes pride in being observational, but you manage to unintentionally throw him a curveball every now and then that makes him smile.

You always come into class when there’s atleast fifteen people in it and Jungkook wonders if you know it in the back of your head or if you just sneak a peek at the room every now and then. He’s not keen on being early to classes, and on the three straight occasions his dad left something in the classroom from the day before and got him to retrieve it for him, you were already there.

You’re fixated and practically attached to your knitted cardigan, seemingly having no problem wearing the same outfit for days straight — something so both adorable and visibly heart-racing when it’s almost always a tank top underneath that’s on the lower scoop, and a rotation of pants and sweats that sometimes feel so misplaced with your cardigan that it matches.

Jungkook’s found out that you probably wear atleast three rings on a daily basis, and that only took him two days to figure out because you’d exit the classroom with slight marks and indentations on your cheeks or on your jaw. Whether it’s to being sleepy, being bored, or being focused is something he has yet to discern — but yeah, he looks at you with his eyes silently when the class is dismissed, wondering if he’d see the same Pandora tiara ring mark on your cheek, or this time from a signet ring you sported more often.

He’s eight weeks in doing whatever this is. Whatever having the definition of him trailing behind his dad, a back and forth between his classes and his office, then them eating out for lunch break.

Sometimes, Jungkook forgets that his dad’s the president of this very university.

He’s only really known him as dad and he’s grateful for that, and the only times he’d see his father as the educator he was with the fancy doctorate degree was whenever Jungkook’s been a little lacking in his studies as a child up until high school. His mom, a doctor, would be on duty for nights and at home for mornings so that’d be the window she’d teach him the alphabet and addition with the carrying, something that eight-year old him would tear up just at the mention of.

His dad would just sit beside him in a very calm manor, take out two notebooks for one of them each, and make reviewers. Jungkook writes down what he knows and what his dad tells him to, highlights the key terms, and for some totally odd reason, making his own reviewers saved him from failing altogether and become an honor student with little help from his parents and most especially his dad.

It humors him that people are so rigid and intimidated by his dad, and he knows that not everyone would believe that this is the same guy that taught him how to give someone a proper wet willy. Jungkook sees people left and right going out of their way to greet him and pay their courtesies, stifling in a giggle that his dad also fights the need to laugh.

He loves and looks up to his dad, feeling a lot more thankful that he has a healthy relationship with his parents as an only child. Jungkook feels he owes that much to his dad that he took education for his college course, despite his blatant lack of interest for it.

And here he is — a senior at another college his dad’s not the professor of, studying a degree that he’s not gonna practice, and shadowing his father for eight weeks while he goes and teach for the “experience” as his dad calls it.

This has got to be a little ethically questionable, but that’s okay. Jungkook takes some comfort knowing that his dad’s the boss and he could just sit in a chair, pretending to absorb his lessons. In fact, he doesn’t even know why his dad opts to teach still even if he’s well high up in that ladder, the only explanation being that his father just really really likes teaching and not just be moving between airconditioned offices and meeting rooms all the time. And if that was enough, his dad just had to teach two classes to which Jungkook needs to accompany him in both — Statistics and English Literature.

Jungkook has a memory of stone that’s probably of the same kind the Code of Hammurabi was inscribed in (because he just swears his memory started way earlier than the age of four), because he practically knows everyone in each of his dad’s classes.

Eight weeks in. He’s only known that long.

But Jungkook knows for a fact that you’re never late — that much he knows. He refuses to believe that you’re actually gonna be late to class.

His dad comes in early and normally, he sits by his chair just when he’s a minute away from starting class. For some odd push today, he felt the need to enter the room with his dad and be early for once; but for the one time that he did this, you weren’t around for it.

You’re late, and you’re never late, and you’re throwing him a curveball, but something tells him in his gut that this just wasn’t something you pull out of your cardigan sleeve to confuse him.

You’re confusing.

You’re never usually confusing.

He visibly straightens in his seat when you enter the room with a sense of complacency and without the need to rush, the class only in the quieting down stages before the lesson begins when you walked in.

Mr. Jeon’s flickered to the entrance briefly, his tinkering with the HDMI cord continuing nonetheless. “Kook,” he just barely manages to get out because he’s already standing up from his seat, nimble fingers grabbing a slip from his desk that makes his dad perplexed.

Jungkook walks all the way to you at the back of the class, holding out the late slip to you a little too eagerly as it seems, and you can’t help but feel confused and irritated at the same time with how you started your morning.

For starters, coffee was spilled on your cardigan from the night before, and soaking it overnight in a mix of detergent, softener, and the tiniest bit of bleach wasn’t enough to completely rub the stain off — which meant you had to get up extra early to have it dry-cleaned (the staff looked at you a bit weirdly) and head off to where you needed to be, in a rush.

“But I’m not late though.”

You murmur as you peer up at him, refusing to even take the slip in between Jungkook’s fingers. He turns impatient, even more-so at your retort that honestly sounded genuine, that he settles on dropping it down your desk.

“You are, Y/N.” He says as convictedly as he can, only having to glance sideways briefly to your nosy seatmate to keep him out of a conversation he clearly isn’t a part of, and you make a note in your head to apologize to Jimin who gets scared easily, especially by the president’s son.

As if to prove his point, Jungkook rolls the sleeve of his bomber jacket in the slightest, enough for you to see a glimpse of his flashy gold Rolex in an attempt to tell you the time, one you couldn’t decipher because it was analog and your eyesight’s not that quick-witted nor clear.

“It’s three minutes before the start of the class,” you make it a point to outstretch your forearm, one that isn’t covered by your cardigan as he now realizes, your silver and digital Casio telling him that it’s 9:57, indeed three minutes away from the start of his dad’s class.

He barely even blinks before he adjusts himself to stand between your stretched legs so he could hold your arm and adjust your goddamn watch to be set four minutes later, his movements done so quickly that you straighten your back to the seat.

Jimin pretends he’s looking away, but deep down you already know that he’s gonna ambush you with questions as soon as Jungkook leaves.

“See that? You’re late,” he hums contentedly, pushing the late slip towards you and stands by himself with his hands across his chest, all-knowing that he wouldn’t leave not until you comply with his stupid request for a late slip.

His dad sees the interaction unfold from a distance, still confused but somehow amused, and a curious smile appears on his face as he now has something else to bring up on the dinner table later.

After all, he only called out to his son to tell him that they should go pick up a few groceries over lunch break — not to give you a late slip.

Jungkook collects the piece of paper from you wordlessly, letting his hand linger for the briefest moment but you pay him no mind, too occupied to looking at your left and gesturing for Jimin to scoot closer.

Something’s wrong.

His instincts are not exactly the most accurate but after all, it does account for something. He’s not the best at reading people when they’re indifferent, and normally you’re never indifferent to him.

He decides to lay low at that, sitting back on his chair and only twirling the slip in between his fingers and not once setting it down on the desk, preventing himself to look at it.

It’s only when his dad calls him to do a summary and explain to the class about his lesson’s breakdown, and he turns stern when he crushes the paper within his palm for the sake of being indiscreet that he totally wasn’t fiddling with paper for an hour and a half.

Jungkook returns and that’s when his dad starts giving out final reminders for their next meeting, straightening it out as much as he could until he can see your messy handwriting more than he could see the creases.

Tutored Hwang Hyunjin; state quizbee next week.

And why, exactly?

As far as he knows, Hyunjin’s the faculty’s favorite because he was such an intelligent student. He might be the favorite of his dad but he’s not entirely sure because his dad says he doesn’t like playing favorites, but he seems to think so nonetheless. If the guy who’s in the line-up for summa cum laude is asking help for a mere quizbee, what exactly is it for?

You’re an honor student, sure. In the dean’s list and in the running for cum laude, but you’ve said it yourself that you’re no Hyunjin and in verbatim, anyone who takes education as seriously as he does needs a hug and an emotional support system. Do you see yourself doing all the extra credits when you already have the highest average on all of them?

Did you hug him?

Jungkook scoffs to where his mind is running, a little dejected as he ponders on it even more as he stands next to his dad’s desk, nodding curtly at the students who bid him goodbye.

He’s extra quick to stepping up when it’s you who passes him, hands on his pocket as he asks under his breath.

“We cool?”

He tries to search for a hint of distaste in your face and he’s almost disappointed to find none, a genuine small smile on as you reply and come out the door without so much of a look back at him.

“‘Course we are, Mr. Jeon.”

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

“What’s up with you?”

Jungkook utters the moment the door of your apartment swings open. It was straight to the point, really. No buttering up to you and no unnecessary bullshit before he drops the question that’s been plaguing his mind the whole day.

You had only been brushing your teeth when you hear a series of crisp and heavy knocks that led you to think that your neighbor Hoseok next-door has finally screwed up the pooch completely, and accidentally set his kitchen on fire with the cookie batter he’s been doing a series of trial and error with for a dozen times already.

Oh.

It’s only Jungkook, then.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned being out in the hallway that gave everyone an opportunity to see him. Frankly, everyone who’s set foot to the president’s office, which is everyone, could tell who he is simply by looking at the few hundred picture frames Mr. Jeon has on his desk.

He’s not concerned and he doesn’t have the gall to be concerned either, because as much as he knows that although underneath his dad’s section, the housing section of the college wasn’t under his close supervision. Besides that, he finds that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this.

Jungkook only looks up to you for a few seconds, wide-eyed with your toothbrush in your mouth, and decides to let himself in.

This being yours and Jungkook’s interactions for the past eight weeks. There’s not a label to it, but it goes along the lines of the occasional fuck, and then the ranting about each other’s days, and binge-watching that either ends up as hook-up, or trying to pick up new hobbies the other’s just suggested, or whatever’s playing is actually playing and the two of you just watch, your head laid on his lap and his hand brushing your hair.

Yeah, that one. Whatever that’s called — that’s what you and Jungkook are.

It’s been painfully obvious to your tight knit of friends, namely only being Jimin and Hoseok, that those things practically yielded to the commitment of him being something that starts with boy and ends with a friend, no spaces in between and all in one word.

You blink away your internal monologue, remembering that you need to spit before replying to his question that he’s asked you point-blank two seconds ago.

“You saw me in class today.”

That one couldn’t be anymore obvious and he huffs at that, once again going on a grumpy fit of frustration while he lies on your bed upright, arms across his chest. “Off,” you swat his leg immediately, making him haphazardly throw away his shoes if he want to keep being frustrated with you.

That’s the exact bit though. Regardless if you forced him to take off his shoes while he’s on your bed, he’d be frustrated at you regardless. He doesn’t know why he’s frustrated with you in the first place and that just makes him stressed even more.

The realization hits him that Jungkook doesn’t really know why he’s so pressed about you, his tone considerably softening because now he feels a little smaller under your curious gaze.

“Yeah, yeah. I clearly know that. I, uh, I meant outside of class.”

Normally, he’d find your avoidance of things actually endearing because you seemed to worm your way out of any situation you just deem to be unrelated to you — but for the first time, he doesn’t know if you’re avoiding his question. If this was still your passive-aggressiveness or genuineness showing its head right now.

“You’re starting to sound like a professor, y’know,” you note with intrigue, relishing to how Jungkook lying on your bed and looking at you under such intensity seems normal to you at this point and at this moment. “A professor hanging out with his student outside of class, in her dorm, and on a weekday.”

The comment you add was supposed to be humorous but you find it rather odd now having said it out loud, the realization dawning on you that whatever this is, is just too ambiguous and vague that you’d never wanted something so specific in your lifetime.

“Just trying to appease dad. Do I look like I have the patience to teach a class, better yet show up?”

That’d be the actual bane of him.

Don’t get him wrong, professors must be so cool and patient with their workload and stuff, but holy fucking shit does he hate it for himself. He means no disrespect to his dad but he honestly can’t see himself doing what he does, even for a fraction of his life willingly.

You sort of envy him for the upbringing he has and the wholesome and healthy relationship he has with his family that you wouldn’t mind telling people all about. Not everyone expects Jungkook to be as family-oriented as he looks, and the little nugget of information he made you privy too puts a gentle smile of your face.

“You do have the patience to ask me if I’m okay though.”

It’s a question between reeling yourself in and putting yourself out there more, plopping to sit on the edge of your bed as you try to put lotion on your legs all the way down to your heel.

Jungkook finds it normal to see you putting lotion on and zit cream on your face, and he doesn’t question it for one second.

That doesn’t automatically mean that he’s gonna address it though.

“Well, baby, are y’okay?” he crawls the short distance from you, putting half of his body weight as he slings himself on your shoulders from behind, lips brushing against your ear as he pulls you tighter.

“Mhmmm.”

He finds it that as much as he pulls you tighter, you grow a bit more distant. You’re there with him but your mind isn’t, perhaps lost on the lotion that only adds into your scent that seems engraved in his mind nowadays.

Jungkook does as much as to tug a sleeve of your shirt to expose the slightest bit of your shoulder blades, pressing wet gentle kisses that leaves you, surprisingly, unfazed.

You make no move nor action, just continuing on rubbing your arms with your hands and him taking the momentary act of silence to look around your room, seeing your textbooks piled neatly on your desk with your lamp on.

“Long night?”

He asks and not a second later do you hum in confirmation, making him roll his eyes and his stomach churn, but it probably just has something to do with a heartburn that’s beginning to form because the ache’s spreading to his chest.

It’s got to be heartburn, right?

“Alright. Didn’t have to answer me too quick just so you can kick me out.”

He mutters underneath his breath a little hurt, taking your responses as his cue to leave. His flair for what you think is the dramatics makes you roll your eyes and slap his thigh, following him out on the way to the door.

Jungkook’s fazed because he doesn’t exactly know the essential purpose plus his expected outcome of this five-minute visit. He doesn’t have a clue, but dropping to your apartment unannounced and seeing you for just even five minutes, even if he doesn’t know why, doesn’t seem wrong.

What is wrong, is that you’d normally kiss him goodbye.

This time, you don’t.

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

Jungkook’s gut tells him to come early to class, even telling his dad that he’d come down there by himself so he could scope out his class like the great son that he is, and he does exactly that.

Some of the early-birds are pleasantly surprised to see him there, early and alone without Dr. Jeon, sitting on his usual chair.

This setting’s odd for him and as much as he wants to leave, he doesn’t feel the need to. He doesn’t really care if he’s intimidating the students because after all, that’s not the reason why he’s here. In fact, he’s aware that he seems to be quite the talk of the campus, the verdict being half and half if he was as fun, easygoing, yet stern like his father — or if he’s something else entirely. Either way, none of them could catch on to the fact besides you that he’s not here out of passion, but rather obligation.

There’s less than thirty students in the room but Jungkook could just feel it at the back of his spine that you’re gonna walk through the door soon enough. You’ve got to be, right? Jungkook stands by himself near the door, practically barricading the door with how he’s built.

This familiar guy he can’t put a name to is walking through the door carelessly, eyes completely fixed on his phone that his shoulder’s barreling into Jungkook’s.

“Oh hey dude, what’s up?”

The guy in question barely even looks up for a second, a meek smile on his face before turning to his phone again and just staying there by the door, a character paused to block it all for a fucking text as what it seems.

Jungkook barely needs a second to look at him eye to eye; tall, pale, long blonde hair, and smooth pronounced features.

Hwang Hyunjin.

He’s only seen him in passing but never on this scale, his first instinct being straightening his back. They’re roughly the same height, Jungkook shoving his observation to the back of his head that Hyunjin’s only a millimeter higher than him.

He’s probably the only one applying pressure to this scenario, thick brows furrowing as he almost grimaces looking at the younger guy in front of him.

“Are you in this class?”

What?

Hyunjin’s confused to say the least, not only because this random dude he bumped into is suddenly making conversation with him, but because someone’s actually questioning about his presence here.

He lowers his phone, putting a pause to his heated exchange of which installment of this series they’re watching this, all in the favor for staring at this guy who’s cowling at him.

“... Yes?”

His answer even sounds unsure, Jungkook’s questioning raise of his brows prompting him to explain.

Hyunjin doesn’t even know why he feels compelled to explain but he does it nonetheless. “They say I could sit in this class. Some topics would show up in the quizbee next week.”

That’s just grand.

Before Jungkook can simmer in his irritation even more, his dad slips through the door by holding his shoulders in place, looking between the two of them briefly before walking to his desk.

“Kook? Thought you’d open up the lesson without me.”

Blondie tilts his gaze, eyes narrowing as he tries to scan a Kook in his brain’s directory and why it sounds so fond coming from Dr. Jeon.

“Mmmm, sorry dad.”

Jungkook emphasizes a little more than needed, turning to him and sending him a half-hearted grin while unbeknownst to him, Hyunjin pales and is having a breakdown and a half.

Did he really just accidentally bump into the college president’s son? Is he gonna be expelled now?

Jungkook’s oblivious to the inner turmoil that’s unfolding in the guy in front of him, crossing his arms before looking at his dad once more.

“Is he allowed here?”

He questions sharply like a toddler who’s just seen an inconspicuous man by the swing, his cheeks rounding with his lips pursed.

His dad’s really confused because this is the most intrigue he’s seen Jungkook inhibit for the whole eight weeks.

Of course his dad knows; he’s more than aware that his son has literally no interest in being a professor, and honestly speaking, he’s not even mad at that. He’a outsmarted him on this one and just went along with the lengths of hi son trying to impress him, falling into this eight-week routine of them bonding together with little practice teaching, yet Jungkook still wonders where he got his wit from.

He looks back and forth between Jungkook and Hyunjin, perplexed because he’s pretty sure that the two of them don’t know each other and that doesn’t explain the tension lingering.

“Hyunjin? Yeah. President’s lister, right?”

Hyunjin grins and chuckles at that, bowing slightly as he just passes Jungkook that appalls the latter.

“You put me there, sir.”

Jungkook mocks him under his breath, not going unnoticed by his dad who just chuckles all the same. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he lies right out of his teeth, sitting on his chair and spreading his legs until his dad nudges him to be atleast decent because he wants the students to focus on his presentation and not his son’s crotch.

He feels cursed having such clear vision because even when the lights are dim, Jungkook still finds his gaze looking for you out of habit. Cursed for seeing Hyunjin sit on the other side of you and suddenly he wishes that this would be the time that Jimin interferes.

He’s unsure if you’re making him confused or he’s confusing himself, but the way his head feels like splitting just by thinking about you and what he could’ve done wrong tells him that he should be definite.

“Would you mind wrapping up the lesson, Mr. Jeon?” his dad asks outloud and for any other context, they’d share identical smiles on how they should be professional towards each other (as suggested by his dad) during class.

“Not at all, Dr. Jeon.”

God, he’s so oblivious to see how he has everyone gravitating towards him that it’s actually endearing. You sitting all the way up gives you a front-row seat to see how everyone sits up a little straighter and how heads follow his every move.

Jungkook has everyone wrapped around his finger and he doesn’t even know — you’re everyone; he can’t know.

He steps up to the plate and the natural dominance and hold he has on everyone broke through, a lesson about statistics never being this intense and a large majority of the people would really stay for another hour and a half if it’s Jungkook who’s teaching.

He’s so absorbed into summarizing as a way of destressing that he ended up giving perhaps one of the best makeshift lectures ever, his dad positively awed and ending up even more confused.

Jungkook’s coming down from his lecture high, nervously fiddling with his fingers as his dad gives the final reminders. What doesn’t help is also you coming out of the classroom with Hyunjin in tow, wearing your cardigan, and that’s what considerably sets him off.

Suddenly, he now decides that your cardigan is the ugliest and most disgusting piece of clothing he’s ever seen in his life. It’s the furthest thing from adorable, and the nearest thing into being set on fire.

You still smell sweet and homey when you’re nearing him, and the realization that your cardigan’s tainted by the smell of you and soon enough, Hyunjin will — it hits Jungkook too hard that he mutters under his breath, his jaw lax from being clenched.

“If you have a problem with me, just tell me about it.”

He can’t find the will in himself to care whether or not Hyunjin’s gone on without you and is waiting for you by the corridor, or that his dad’s arranging his shelf and could be possibly listening.

“I don’t,” your face reflects the same thing as your answer, devoid of any uncertainty that you have a problem with him.

“You don’t?” he prods further even if he knows that asking the second time wouldn’t even help.

“I don’t. Do you?”

There’s no malice in your tone. It’s the same gentleness laced with mischief underneath, head tilting in question.

That’s when he narrows his eyes at you, always knowing how to play your cards right without him knowing.

“With you or with myself?”

You shrug carelessly, an automatic giggle tumbling out of your lips that it bothers you too because you shouldn’t be okay with pulling yourself away from Jungkook, and the fact that it could be because you made peace long enough that the two of you will never be more is something to blame.

“You tell me, Mr. Jeon.”

He’s never hated his family name more and the formality preceding it than now. In reality, he’s just a year older than most of you in this class and the last time he’s checked, no one calls their senior, despite being from another university, like that.

Everyone assumed that he should be called with respect because after all, they’re probably looking at the future of this institution anyways.

Stable breaths aren’t enough and Jungkook seems to despise the way your slightest change towards him affects him the most, and his pride over not reaching out to your first has long been gone since.

He figures that this is just your way of detaching from him because his eight weeks are almost up, and that he should be totally fine with it because after all it’s only been eight weeks.

He can’t see another eight weeks of you pulling out from him, and even worse, eight weeks without you.

“We’re not cool.”

Jungkook says as soon as you open your door, not waiting for you to gesture him to come in. In any other situation, he’d find you adorable having traded your contacts for glasses, and absolutely sexy if his blood’s rushing elsewhere besides his cheeks. There’s no introduction of asking about your day nor catching you off-guard with a kiss either.

It’s him going straight to your bed and lying upright, looking at you somberly that you feel sorry you’ve been establishing this change in the first place.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

His question is a complete 180 from his voice that’s been gravelly since morning, sincerity underneath the rough edges.

You shake your head no, a signal that there’s absolutely nothing wrong and you don’t have anything to tell him about.

“Are you sure?”

He looks at you with wide reassuring eyes just begging for anything, atleast something, the only time that he wishes there’s something wrong going on so he could chalk it up to that instead of facing this shift with you blindly and aimlessly.

You’re wordlessly climbing up on bed too, making him automatically scoot over to his side of your bed when he stays overnight, instant warmth welcoming you just by having your shoulders touch with him. It’s a head nod of yes, I’m sure that there’s nothing wrong with your eyes closed.

Being beside him is the equivalent of all the comfortable nights you’ve slept. Jungkook’s the ultimate compilation and the most expensive goodie box of warm hugs and warm tea that tasted familiar instead of incredibly earthy. He’s white noise and eight-hour loops of rainfall against your windows and humidifier-goodness of sleep that you take indulgence and warmth in.

Jungkook’s in another realm of thought when he almost snaps at you because your roles have been reversed and it’s him who’s doting over you.

“Are you usually this non-committal?”

You’re always warm with a cherry on top when you talk to Jungkook, and just only two days of you giving him timid replies has him asking you if you’re the opposite of the adjective that people most commonly attached to you.

“I think we both know best that I’m loyal.”

You are.

It’s a word that’s almost always attached to your name. You’ve never really sustained a large group of close friends, and it wasn’t needed, but Jungkook finds it funny that you’re oblivious to how people look at you.

He’s well-acquainted with what goes around, and the only things that go around about you was that you’ve touched them in one way or another. You’re the most loyal friend Jimin has because you’ve stuck with him even if he’s spilled his guts on your bathroom floor, missing the mark of your toilet bowl. You gave up your bed for him and tucked him in even if he was still at risk of throwing up because he just couldn’t stop, and made him breakfast the next morning. You’ve only known each other for three days.

Hoseok considers you his most loyal neighbor slash friend ever, because you let him have a go at your pantry even if you knew at the back of your head that he’d screw up something in his recipe one way or another. Even started buying extra ingredients whenever he needs them, and him purposefully forgetting that he has brown sugar at the back of his cabinet.

You are loyal, and that’s what he sometimes hates about you too because it makes you more vulnerable. A little too easy to trample on. A little too easy to have you cheering for someone from the bleachers when they’re still on the bench.

Jungkook wonders if you’re loyal to him too, and if you were (which he’s sure of, and there’s no denying it), would you still be even if he feels like the two of you are growing apart?

“Then why do I feel that-“

He sighs in exasperation, head turning to face you and he’s greeted with your finger outstretched, digging in to where his dimple would appear.

He could look at you properly this time because he’s not in a rush asking if you’re okay. Eyes glazed looking up at him underneath your glasses, scrunched nose with the cutest smile and all that he wants this to never stop.

“Hey.”

You whisper in a rush all of a sudden, a toothy grin fading steadily when your thumb comes to rest on his cheek, whole hand soon pressed to it whole that Jungkook finds himself leaning.

“I’m in love with you.”

It comes out of you fluidly; no baited breath and no hesitation at all. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, actually. Not once did you think that you’d ever tell Jungkook you love him in this way, or ever for that matter, but it’s something that materialized out of thin air.

It’s as quick as a passing thought and as stable as a core memory, reiterating what is only a truth instead of a confession.

There’s no sadness in your gaze and no distrust either, but the smile that stretches on your cheeks doesn’t look as giddy.

He’s a little cross-eyed with how close you are, but Jungkook audibly whimpers when you pull away suddenly and out of the bed altogether, picking up your laptop from your table.

You don’t know what you’re doing either, but you could only hope that it looks as natural as it seemed, wanting him to know that your sudden realization that you need to make a twenty-page essay in size 12 font has nothing to do with your profession of love.

“But I know I shouldn’t, and besides, it’s a conflict of interest. Anyway, let’s just end this here now and-...”

“Are you insane?”

Jungkook exclaims in punctuation marks and of deep urgency, looking at you as if you suggested the most ridiculous thing ever after what you’ve just said, which you exactly did.

“Just continue loving me!”

He says it as the most obvious thing ever, his chest feeling an odd sense of relief after having blown up with emotion. He’s a sponge at this point in whatever relationship the two of you have. He’ll take what you can give, but this was something Jungkook would run to hell and back for to not take from you.

“You didn’t even ask if I loved you back! And that’s my honest answer, not something that would appease you when you return the question.”

He looks a little softer around the edges at the moment — arms flailing around and hair bouncing as he keeps moving his head.

His cheeks are puffed out when he’s angry and his lips are red from trying to get his point across strongly, stammering with what more he could think of in his head.

“It’s not a conflict of interest either! I only shadowed my dad to please him, but we both know that I don’t want to become a professor like him. You just think that it is because you’re up on the seats and I’m down on the podium!” he’s heated and his cheeks are warm and there’s no way it has something to do with your airconditioning.

“It’s a stint. It was a literal eight-week stint for free, because he’s the president for god’s sake — that’s it! I go back to my university in like what, a week? And they don’t even need me passing requirements, because they already know, again, that I’m the son of a university president! Honestly, it’d be stupid of them to.”

Jungkook feels like he’s gonna pass out with how overwhelmed he is. Too overwhelmed to the point that he doesn’t see you smiling out of the corner of his eye, hand rubbing down the length of his nape to his back.

It’s only then that you realize that he’s rambling and his voice is wavering, concern dripping down from you instead of amused laughter.

“Y/N, please, it’s convenient — more than convenient. I graduate this year, and you next year. The last thing I’d do in my life is grade papers. You know what I want to be? I wanna be-...”

Jungkook’s cut off with a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth that’s grounded him, blinking twice to look at you.

He should really kiss you right now.

“You could’ve condensed that into a single simple sentence,” you snort when you pull away from Jungkook’s hold, sending him a look of faux disappointment to which he whines. “It’s called I love you too, Jungkook.”

He squints at your teasing but reasons just as quick, sneaking in his head underneath your shirt to escape from your teasing and importantly, press a gentle kiss to your chest, then your boobs, and settling to lie down on your stomach as he’s content.

“I was panicked!”

Jungkook’s certain that he loves you, laughing to himself when he heard heavy knocks against your bedroom wall that just conveniently happens to be adjacent to Hoseok’s.

“Fucking finally! I was about to flirt with either of you just so you could cut to the chase and admit it to each other!”

Your laugh is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, coming out from hiding underneath your shirt and just laying on top of your clothed tummy, hand looking for yours to hold on to.

You’ve been sleepy the entire time, he’s figured. You having switched to your glasses meant you’ve already had your night shower, and only had three hours maximum before succumbing to your bed. You’ve had a long day clearly, and it’s when you’re starting to succumb into sleep right exactly where you are that Jungkook suddenly remembers.

“You know what I want to be? I wanna be-…”

“With you.”

“Mhmm?” you all but mumble, feeling him adjust your head on the pillow while he lays on his, literal weight being lifted off from you.

Jungkook feels even more endeared if that’s any more possible, the tiniest boop to your nose and the softest kiss on your forehead.

“I wanna be with you.”

#fEEDBACK PLS AND THANK U :D #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook drabble #jungkook drabbles #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fic rec #jungkook fic recs #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fluff imagine

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curly-bangtan · 4 years

Text

Heatwave Anniversary Drabble: i miss u like ... a lot (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- read first! but this drabble can be read alone

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: One night until Taehyung is back from his boys’ trip but you miss him too much.

Genre: fluff, smut, kinda crack?, boyfriend/established relationship au

Warnings: unprotected sex (oc on contraception so don’t u do it), teasing over the phone, riding and grinding, just kinda vanilla i-missed-u-so-much sex, a particular selca

Word count: 5k

A/N: It was Heatwave’s one year anniversay on the 17th so I decided to write a quick(?) drabble for this. I fully intended on posting this on time, but wanted to change up some stuff so only managed to finish this now. Happy birthday to my first fic and forver my baby!

MOSTLY UNEDITED

The absolute one thing you hate most about your boyfriend being away from you is your boyfriend being away from you.

You have never been the clingy needy type, that is more his role in this relationship, nor are you really one to show affection. In fact, you would hate for that false image to be perceived of you because all that sappy shit makes you want to throw up your dinner. But one thing you’ve learnt since Taehyung had gone away on a week-long boys’ trip down by the coast is how cold the house feels in his absence, despite being in the middle of a sizzling summer.

Everything is so eerily quiet without his random outbursts into song and fits of laughter. Having spent 3 years living together, you have gotten so used to his constant presence that you had even caught yourself several times calling out for him only to remember that he isn’t here. Waking up without his arm draped around your waist, slided up your top at some point during the night, impacts you more than you’d like to admit.

Are you glad that he’s having a great time with his friends by the beach, relaxing all day and drinking all night? Of course. Are you having a great time all by yourself over here in the absence of your boyfriend? Certainly not.

Though, of course, this isn’t something you would confess to out loud, especially to him. He doesn’t need to know how often the thought: ugh fuck, I miss Tete is crossing your mind, lest you want him to rub his smugness in your face.

It isn’t just that. Your relationship hasn’t been without its tests in the course of its years and things have only finally stabilised. It’s not that you don’t trust Taehyung to be with his ladish friends for seven days, shirtless dusk till dawn, intoxicated to the point where he calls you thinking that you’re the pizza delivery guy but…

A hammered Taehyung at a beach full of girls who are no doubt thirsting over him leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You trust him to be loyal to his core, but you don’t trust anyone else to keep their hands from copping a feel. No matter how you look at it, you would just so much rather he be at home with you right now.

You have endured this for six days. Six full days without Taehyung. Six full days with no sex, no tummy kisses, no clammy hand holding even though you’re only to get groceries. Just one more night and this torture will fucking be over, praise the lord. But you also don’t know how much more you can hold back that I miss you text because you’re combusting from the need to see him again.

It’s almost 4am. Your sleep schedule is fucked and it’s really his fault.

The bright screen of your phone offers the only luminescence at this hour. Your messages from him in the past week have not been shy of your daily dose of Taehyung - clips of the beach (always mischievously caption with something along the lines of “thinking of Mykonos ;D” where you went on your first holiday together), selfies that you dwell way too long staring at because you miss that face buried in your neck, drunk videos of the antics him and the boys get up to that you’ll definitely chastise him for when he comes back yet can’t help but laugh at. You find yourself scrolling through them every single night.

Your personal favourite: a pouty selfie he sent you after he dropped his ice cream, the picture you always go back to and the one you’re staring at right now. His hair is frizzy from the sea, lips jutted out childishly and cheeks puffy. Your chest constricts, fuck...

Just one more night, you remind yourself. And then he’s back and all yours again.

Then suddenly, the phone in your hand vibrates, short and abrupt. The bar slides down from the top of your screen reading New Message from Tete. Surprised, you scramble to open it, maybe a bit too desperately for you to be proud of.

04:11

Tete: bby

You blink at those three letters, lips pressed together because your heart is cinching.

Tete: ur prob aslep rn but

Tete: i missu

Tete: <334

The typos indicate that he is wasted, and you take a guess that he has just returned from their last night out of the holiday. The corners of your lips turn up knowing that he is thinking of you right now.

You: no im awake

Your fingers are itching to reply with i miss u too, and it takes all your willpower and stubbornness to stay true to your steadfast self. There is just something so unpleasantly moist about these kinds of texts, something that makes you cringe and gag when you read them. You refuse to be one of those people. A heart is all that you allow yourself to reply.

You: <3

You: r u drunk?

Tete: drunk in love

Tete: yes

A giggle escapes you at his god awful cheesiness - drunk, sober alike. Insufferable. But probably Taehyung’s most endearing quality.

You: did u have fun!!

Tete: yeah

Tete: but i miss u

Tete: more than i had fun

God, you feel like a teenager again, suddenly overcome with this gushing urge to roll over and scream into your pillow. You’re glad he’s merely texting this to you right now because if he had said this to you face to face, your skin would most definitely stain scarlet from neck to hairline, scalding to the touch. Even months into officially being his girlfriend, these curveballs of overwhelming affection throw you off guard.

Again, the compulsion to tell him you miss him too yanks at your heartstrings. You truly don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to say how you feel, let yourself be soft and vulnerable. You know it’s one of your flaws so it’s something that you’re working on, but you can’t say you’ve made much progress.

But just as you decide that maybe you should take the plunge, suck it up and just text him those three words, he sends you a picture.

Tete:

No, not just a picture. A selfie, of him in bed, shirtless under the covers. “Oh, fuck…”

Hand clasped over your mouth to prevent any sound from involuntarily escaping, it takes a moment for your breath to return to you and for you to stop gawking. At this hour… Really? Is he seriously doing this to you right now?

His sleepy eyes. His messy curls. And his fucking nose mole.

The undoing of your existence.

Tete: this boy misses u :]

You: bruh

You: bruhhhhhhh

You: taehyung

Tete: oui my lady :))

You: 👁👄👁

You: can u not do this to my heart

You: y did u send me this </333

You: what was the reason

Tete: coz i miss u

Tete: do u like it

Tete: :D

‘Do u like it’... Actually, you have tears in your eyes, albeit mostly due to staring at a screen for too long so late at night, but it’s certainly contributed by this selfie. You tell yourself you’re acting out because it’s been six days since you last saw him. Perhaps Taehyung Withdrawal Symptoms is the explanation behind why you want to print and frame this picture because that is definitely not a normal reaction to a picture. But this is a masterpiece.

You: taehyung my soul left my body

You: like i could weep

You: u look so soft and fluffy

You: :’(

Tete: lollll

Tete: simp

This boy has some nerve?! Simp! He called you a simp?! Laughing like a maniac, you can’t even pretend to be mad at him, not after this picture he sent anyway. So you guess you are a simp. This selfie is your kryptonite.

Tete: jkjkkkkk

You: hahahaha

You: y r u doing this to me

You: its 4am

You: u can’t send me this rn

You: i won’t be able to sleep

Tete: o yeah how come ur still up?

Tete: go to sleepppp

You: can’t sleep

Tete: aw no whyyy

Because you miss him that’s why.

You miss Kim Taehyung. You miss Tete. You miss your boyfriend, your best friend, your other half. You miss his touch, his smile, his wide eyes when he’s confused. You miss his morning snuggles and late night kisses. You miss the way he hugs you from behind as you prepare your meals. You miss the wandering hands that he can’t help when you’re out in public. You miss playing PUBG together until the sun comes out then both sleeping past noon. You miss taking baths together where bubbles would get into your mouth as your kisses get heated.

You just miss him.

It’s only been six days and you’re in this state. What has he done to you?

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you let out a great sigh and deflate. No other reason offers itself for you to be awake at this hour; he knows you cherish sleep above anything. Teeth digging into your lip, you inhale long and hard, then exhale the gust of your cowardice. It’s not that deep, stupid. Fuck it.

You: coz

You: i miss u

You: like … a lot

You: 🙄

It’s final - you guess you’ve become a mushy wet sap. Truly it is embarrassing how big of a step this is for you; but the sense of pride and accomplishment feels oddly validating. Baby steps. The eye-rolling emoji right after is subconscious because you could only betray the core of your character that much. Forgo it and taehyung might not believe that it’s you.

Tete: omg

Tete: :D

Tete: rrly?

You: *blank kissy emoji*

Tete: wow

Tete: u actually don’t know how hard i’m smiling rn

You: simp

Tete: ofc that’s my middle name

Tete: i miss u a lot too

Tete: like a lotttttt

Tete: i’ll show u how much when i’m back

Ah… Of course, the Taehyung specialty - smothering you with his affection. You freeze at the thought of his wildfire kisses and head between your thighs. Nothing screams of how much you’ve missed each other more than a good dicking down, climax after climax until you’re both panting messes of sweat and entangled limbs. The anticipation makes you squirm under the sheets, legs pressing together.

You: pls do

You: i need u

It’s uncertain what spirit has possessed you at this ungodly hour for these words to come out of you. There’s an instant flash of ickiness, but you let the self-cringing simmer and dissipate into the realisation that this is okay, this is normal. Taehyung’s your boyfriend, couples text like this. You need to grow some.

Tete: fuck baby

Tete: i’m so not used to u texting like this, it's driving me crazy

You: crazy how *cat smirk*

If you weren’t smiling before, you’re definitely grinning like an idiot now. His reaction is predictable, yet oddly still, an incredible wave of satisfaction hits you. And because you want to savour this moment, maybe give him a taste of his own medicine, you send him a picture of yourself.

Camisole strap slid off your shoulder, hair splayed out, bottom lip deep red from biting down on it too much. Just to return the favour.

Tete: y/n

Tete: call me now

-Incoming call from Tete-

Laughing to yourself, you wait a good few seconds before picking up to prolong his torture. “Yes, Taehyung?” You put your thumb between your teeth to suppress the laughter.

“Fuck.” Against the silence of the night, the low rasp of his voice permeating into you from the speaker of your phone sends tingles up your toes. You’ve fucking missed his voice more than you thought. “Y/N… You can’t do this to me.”

“I told you, I miss you. Like… a lot.” The saccharine tone in your reply is foreign to your own ears, but you like the sound of it and the deep rumble it elicits from your boyfriend.

“How much?” Taehyung eggs you on. His words are barely slurred, so you gather that he has sobered up at least for the most part by now. Yet there is still a slowness to it that suggests

“Hmm, like… I touched myself every night at the thought of you a lot.”

A sharp inhale. Then silence. But you know better so you give him a moment to gather himself.

“You shouldn’t be putting that image in my head.” Exasperation is evident in his voice, desperate and yearning. You can imagine him now, one hand on his phone, the other sliding over his pants that are getting a bit too tight for comfort. Your breath hitches.

“Then you shouldn’t have sent me that picture, Taehyung…”

“You said it was soft and fluffy. What you sent me back was not soft and fluffy.”

“Just because it’s soft doesn’t mean it doesn’t turn me on. You do things to me… okay?” Heat trapped beneath the skin of your cheeks, your grip on the phone against your ear slackening as your thighs rub together.

“Fuck, I’m getting hard, baby…” Nothing gets him going more than the knowledge that he turns you on, it’s his weakness but somewhat his strength.

“That’s… unfortunate. Are you going to do something about it?”

His gulp is audible even over the phone. “Uh…” A sigh. “Um. Maybe. Thoughts are being thought.”

“What kind of thoughts? Thoughts about me touching myself and moaning your name? Thoughts about how much I wish my fingers were your cock thrusting so deep into me that I feel it in my guts? Or are you thinking about what you’ll do to me when you’re back tomorrow? Fucking my mouth until I’m crying or filling me up with your cum first?” Your hips buckle at the filth leaving your mouth. This is more like you; you haven’t abandoned your nature after all.

“Oh, fuckkkk.” His moan resonates into your skull, not quite as if he’s here with you but good enough to fill your desire. “Y/N… I need you so badly.” Breath ragged, you hear movement of his sheets in the background as he adjusts into a more comfortable position.

“Are you stroking your cock right now?” A warm slick oozes out of your own entrance. There’s something about Taehyung masturbating to you that elevates you to a different kind of high.

“What do you think, baby?” As you listen closely, you hear the slow rhythm of his pumping, and your fingers ache to pleasure yourself. ‘The things I’ll fucking do to you when I’m back.”

“Mmm, but it’s late, Taehyung, why don’t we go to sleep.”

“Wait, what?” The stroking stops instantly and surprise in his voice releases a smug satisfaction into your veins. The equivalent of pouring a bucket of ice water over his head right now. Teasing is an old undying habit, what can you say? “You wanna end the call now?”

“Yeah, we should sleep, babe.” Grin unsuppressed, you turn over onto your side, probably a bit too pleased with yourself at your success. Taehyung is an easy victim always.

“What the fuckkk?” Your boyfriend groans. “You’re seriously going to tease me this hard then leave me high and dry?” When you offer no more response than a sly chuckle, he add, “You’re so evil.”

“Save it for tomorrow, Taehyung. Think about it, we’re one sleep away from seeing each other again.”

“Fuck, I know. But you just got me so fucking horny, bruhhh. I thought we were gonna have phone sex.” You are still laughing at his whining, basking in the victory you’re holding over him.

“Taehyung, save it for the real sex.” The idea of phone sex crossed your mind several times to be honest, but you really want to collect every single drop of desire and longing and unleash it tomorrow. Raw and pent up. Nothing to dampen the fire.

A sigh of defeat down the line. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know?” You know. “How am I supposed to sleep now though? I’m so rock hard that it hurts.”

“You can figure that out yourself, big guy.” Your cheeks ache from smiling for too long; they often do during calls with him. “One sleep away, okay?”

“Ugh, fine, you demon. I can’t believe you sometimes.” He lets out another sigh. Your heart skips at the anticipation of how he will punish you for this. “Good night, I miss you.”

“Good night, I miss you more.” There’s a sudden change of tone with these words. Because you truly mean it. Sex and physical intimacy aside, you really just missed his voice, his banter.

You fall asleep almost immediately.

You don’t think you’ve heard a sweeter sound than the keys rattling at the door the next day. Practically leaping off the couch where you had been awaiting him in your Taeyhyung-less boredom, you run to the door.

As it swings open, heat courses to your chest when your eyes land on his, so full of comfort. Your boyfriend is home. Handsome as ever, much more tanned than your memory of him and much more attractive. White t-shirt and loose black shorts, a mundane outfit that only he could make look exceptional.

And as much as you want to sprint up and throw yourself onto him, your feet stay planted on the floor.

“Hey.” You barely breathe out.

Stay calm and composed, you tell yourself. It was only one week without him, it’s not like he’s returning from war.

But Taehyung doesn’t even reply, because in two long strides he is standing before you, bags tossed to the side, a sign of their insignificance in the presence of you. His arms find their home circled around you, face buried in your hair before you can utter another word. You don’t hesitate to return his embrace, holding his waist as you let yourself fall into his chest. He smells like what summer should, the ocean, sweat and young love; his familiar musk greeting you as if he never left.

Your lips meet his, strong and full of intent. He’s so unexpectedly soft when he kisses back, a timeless romantic dance like he is saviour your taste on his tongue.

With your weight leaning on him, he slowly topples back, stepping hastily until your bodies land on the couch. You fit your legs on either side of him as you burrow your nose in his neck and breathe him in, memorise him. In nothing but a large shirt, your bare thighs are exposed for his roaming.

When you pull away and face each other, you are struck by his beauty. His skin is sun-kissed and glowing, hair an effortlessly beautiful mess, the slightest hint of a stubble peeking through below his nose. Your heart belongs to him forever, you know it without a doubt.

“You smell so good. I missed you so much, baby.” And his voice… That deep baritone honey that you have taken for granted all this time - music to your ears.

“Imissedyoutoo…” You mumble, shy under his undivided attention and mercilessly unbroken eye contact.

With your chests pressed together, his chuckle rumbles into you. “What was that?”

“I missed you too… I guess.” Face flaming, you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye at your admittance, fingers twirling around his curls to preoccupy yourself.

But he cups your chin and turns your face to him, forehead pressing up to yours until your noses are touching, breaths mixing. “That’s not what you said last night.” Taehyung smirks, hands sliding down to your waist, the material of your shirt bunching up in his hands. “Do I need to remind you?”

“No…” You find yourself unable to keep your eyes open, your core pulsing mercilessly as you grind onto him. “How are you already hard, Taehyung…” And though you mean to scold him, it comes out breathless.

Lips hovering, he traces the edge of your jaw, tingling the sensitive little hairs on its way to your ear. When he reaches the shell of your ear, warm breath infiltrating so relentlessly into you, you almost lose yourself right there on his lap. “Don’t you know how much I love you?” He whispers.

“Show me.” Is all you make out.

His hands are already beneath your shirt before you even notice, palms kneading into your breasts as he takes your nipples between his two fingers and rolls. As he kisses you again, the same tenderness exchanges between your lips. It’s a different kind of desperation to be so slow and gentle, one that means so much more than sex, one that’s telling of how much you truly missed each other. Your hips roll with a mind of their own over him. One hand of his comes down to your ass, guiding the waves of your rocking. And each time his stiff clothed member digs into your clit, you whimper into his mouth.

Carefully, Taehyung rolls you over onto your back, sucking your bottom lip to keep the seal from breaking. He pulls away when he’s on top of you, and a string of glistening saliva bridges between your mouths. “Foreplay or no? Tell me what you want?” Compliant as ever.

“I need you to fill me up right now. Anything else can wait.” You watch the devotion ignite in his eyes. His fingers are in a hurry as they pull your panties off, knees spreading your legs open as he kneels between your gaping entrance. He tugs his shirt off from the collar, such smoothness in his action that your insides coil up. His newly-bronzed rich skin revealed, you can’t help but reach up and run your hands down from chest to navel, revelling in his blemishless ridges.

A low sound reverberates from the back of Taehyung’s throat as your touch travels down to unbutton his shorts. They fall loose. His hard throbbing members springs free, a glistening bead oozing from his slit. “You didn’t wear boxers?”

When you glance up, you notice his sheepish grin. He presses his mouth onto yours, still smiling, guiding you back onto your back. “I just couldn’t wait.” Taehyung whispers. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, especially since last night… Ah, fuck.” Another deep groan erupts from him as you reach down and slather that bead of precum all over his tip. His head falls onto your neck, writhing under your merciless stroking.

His tip brushing against your clit, your toes curls at the teasing of your weakness, hips jolting up involuntarily and perhaps a bit too violently. You’re so embarrassingly sensitive after this many days without Taehyung, and he notices from your breathless reaction. Smirking, he takes his shaft in his hand and runs his stiff head over your clit mercilessly. And as you roll your head back helplessly, he nibbles onto your exposed neck, faint stubble grazing your skin.

“Quit the teasing…” You whine, unable to withstand the build up of twisting pressure begging to be fulfilled between your legs. “Just put-”

Taehyung pushes himself into you so abruptly that you yelp. And there it is, that mind-melting stretch of your walls that you’ve so much missed. “Fuck, Taehyung…” Your entire core feels ablaze, so numbing that your nails dig into the leather of the couch before they find grip on his arms.

“Like that, baby?” His voice his strained, as if he’s struggling not to lose his mind as well.

Nodding because you can’t make out a word as he slowly pulls out, you grab his face and pull him up to meet your lips. You whimper into him mouth when he rams into you again, hitting your walls in full force, no mercy. His kiss doesn’t lose its sincerity despite the juxtaposition of his vigorous thrusts, though you can’t say that he is quite as gentle with as before. You pinch his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking on it as your fingers get lost in his hair.

After seven days of deprevation of his cock, your cunt is leaking with the fluid of your arousal, aiding in the ease of each plunge. You feel the stiffness of his ridges pulling you open as he slides in and out of you. “Fuck…” He pants, mouth hovering over yours.

“Let me get on top.” Taehyung’s eyes flash at your suggestion, instantly rolling onto his back. He slips out during the switch of position and the wetness of your cunt is assailed by a sudden rush of cool air.

You swing your leg over and mount him, watching him watch you pump his dick, your own liquid slathered over him sticky in your hand. Letting his member fall against his abdomen, you grind over him between your folds, hands splayed out over his chest. The friction created each time your clit would slide over the thin pinch of skin where his tip unfolded into his shaft has Taehyung a groaning mess.

He looks remarkable under you.

You push his sweat-dampened curls out of his forehead, eyes half closed in euphoria, half watching you roll your cunt so lewdly over his length. You know you could make him cum like this if you continue. But you want him to cum inside you first, you want to feel that thick hot spurt of his desire shoot again and again into you until his cock is twitching.

So slowly, lubricated by your wetness, you sink inch by inch down until the skin of your ass meets his thighs. This angle fuck with your mind; you think you feel him at your cervix. Then your hips start to do what they know best, pounding over him with a rhythm that you’re proud of.

Taehyung grabs hold of your waist, your breasts, fury in his eyes as he watches you ride him with such determination. “I love you so much.” He heaves between heavy breaths.

“I love you, I missed you more than you could imagine.” You huff, thumb running over his red swollen lips.

“I love when you admit it.” He sits up and takes the swell of your breast in his mouth, making his way to your nipples where his tongue relentlessly flickers over.

Your thighs are starting to burn, core aching because his cock is thrusting up into you so deep that you feel it in your guts. The signs are appearing - your vision is going hazy, walls squeezing tightly around him, tangle upon tangles knoting in your stomach. His are too - his head is slumped against your chest, arms crossed behind your back as he holds you close to him, whole body starting to tense as he begins to curse.

Pace quickening, you don’t let the tire of your muscles stop you from your chase. The slap of your skins ringing in your ears, you keep riding, cunt swallowing his cock whole each bounce. Taehyung breaks first. “Fuck!” He calls out into your neck. His cum squirts into you, pulse after pulse, your boyfriend’s hips jolting each thrust.

“I’m so close, babe, keep going for me.” You plead, knowing how sensitive he is right after his climax. He nods wordlessly, face still buried in you hair. The lubrication of his cum abolishes any resistance, letting you slide over him easier than sitting down. And not five thrusts later, your own coil snaps. You through your head back at the wave of pleasure that drowns you, your entire core on fire as your moans echo through the room. It takes maybe twenty seconds for your walls to stop throbbing and for the orgasm to slowly die down.

Taehyung is already growing limp inside you after his orgasm. “Thank you.” You whisper against his forehead while you dismount. His cum flows out of your slit and down the insides of your thighs, but he refuses to let go of you.

When he looks up, you are struck by an overwhelming sensationf of adoration. His long dark curls fall slightly over his eyes, in disarray but just the way you like it. His eyes are so full of genuine love and gratitude of having you that you can’t help but capture him with your lips. “No, thank you.” He mumbles against you, falling back onto the couch with you in his embrace.

After a long kiss of after-sex affection, you pull away before it leads to a second round. “I want you to know that I really missed you a lot. I can’t even call you a big baby anymore because I stared at all the pictures you sent me every night till the sun came out.”

Taehyung’s boyish smile melts your heart. You’ve missed him way too much. His smile, his goofy comments, his tender kisses. “My heart… is squeezing…” If his smile doesn’t tell how smitten he is, his eyes definitely do. “I missed you so much too. All the boys made fun of me for being such a wettie ‘coz I couldn’t shut up about you.” The thought is so endearing that you can’t help but hide your face.

“So how was your trip? Plenty of hot girls drooling after you?” Trick question of course, you know that for a fact already.

“Haha, it was good, fun. Bet you couldn’t sleep ‘coz you were trembling from jealousy.” Scoffing you land a smack on his chest. “But nah, no hot girls. Nowadays there’s only one hot girl in my eyes.”

Your own lips spread like a cheshire cat. “Shut up, cutie.”

“Rachel McAdams.”

“Let go of me. Don’t even touch me.”

A/N: Moral of the story, never sit on their couch if you’re a guest at the Heatwave house.

24/08/20

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vminity21 · 3 years

Text

+1 | kth

Pairing: HighschoolCrush!Taehyung X StillProcessingIt!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre: angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): slight language use, angst (if you read b/w the lines), pretty much smutty kissing, hand groping, mention of alcohol, breast worship, nipple play; Rated: 18+

Summary: When a crush you had in high school unexpectedly returns to your life six years later, this is the experience you have with him when you collected the courage to invite him over to hangout.

Credit to: @suhdays for the amazing cover!

Inspiration comes in the form of little expectancy especially when life seems to throw a curveball you never dreamed would be a potential possibility; but, here you are, tapping upon the keyboard of your five-year-old laptop decorated in stickers of celebs you've admired over the years mingled with relevant quotes that have bustled yet again- inspiration that motivates you day by day to continue to be the human being that you are. Inspiration though can appear in lyrical melodies broadcasted globally for millions to pine over; or, published in numerous pages creating imaginary worlds where ones can escape to; or, sketched in a meticulous design to build whatever idea had been desired to come to life; or, filmed in scenes of an edited story by talented persons determined to enter the spotlight in any way they can; or, painted along a canvas in colors of calculated detail bringing forth the picture of accomplishment. Inspiration derives from a mere moment- one that sparks the instinct to gather the materials needed to pour out your heart in ways that may bring a sense of peace.

For you, it used to be in the lines of a song penciled into a crinkled notebook from your backpack hidden away for no one to discover; it used to be countless childhood journals where you expressed your inward battles in order to find enough solace to sleep at night. You've lost your touch over the years because life changes in the blink of an eye, as you grow older, and work can distract from the time taken to focus on yourself; thankfully graduating college to gain the degree you now behold landed you a job, one you hope lasts for many years, and you are currently living in a two-bedroom apartment with your best friend, Monica, who's presently slumbering as you brush some loose strands of hair from your vision.

Your dog is curled at the end of your bed as you write, which is something that you haven't done in what feels like forever, but the reasoning behind this sporadic urge ignited when the familiar pair of brown eyes from six years prior, re-entered your world without your preparation and his presence from a recent night shared seems to echo in every space of your brain to where you've finally had enough. It's about time to reach out, the devil on your shoulder whispers, but the angel sitting on the opposite begs to differ. Shaking your head, you pause momentarily, cracking your knuckles before resting your forehead on the desk, exhaling slowly while the memory of his touch seems to haunt your skin.

He was someone you once admired in high school- roaming the hallways where girls giggled giddily each time he'd pass by; star of the basketball team, rising popularity to the point everyone knew his name, collecting homework answers from budding friendships, and it all began once he started his junior year at a new school- the school where you attended. But the difference that set him apart from the typical cliché's of the prevalent students you never seemed to relate to, was that he talked to absolutely everybody and anybody- no judgment on what group the person took part in, his kindness won the hearts of many other than the evident attraction of his physical features. He didn't care who you were or what you were into, he would be your friend, and that, considering he was viewed on a higher level, made him even more special.

Despite never admitting it then, you had a crush on him. He was more of an acquaintance, but you enjoyed his company when he came around, and when a past friend, who is now married with a few kids, used to have a crush on the same person, your heart sank, because with every guy thinking she was hot, you felt as though you would never stand a chance. Especially not with this guy who made your hands jittery and the beat in your chest skip- the guy who is none other than Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung would frequent the chorus room at times when you and your past friend would practice music pieces and he always was fond of your singing voice- something he praised you for often, while his attention was received from his talent regarding sports. Something he was so good at that it was spread that he may have gained quite the scholarship for college if he decided to go. There were memories of bravery where you seized the day just to steal a conversation and a hug; at one time, scribbling the words 'hot af' with an arrow pointing where he signed your friend, Min Yoongi's, yearbook; Yoongi playing it off as though he had no idea who the culprit was when Taehyung asked who wrote it. Utter surprise can't even fathom when you along with Taehyung were voted 'Most Likely to be Famous' by your graduating class when senior year was conquered. The inside joke was for you to hold the basketball while he placed his hands upon the keys of a piano, the picture you still couldn't process happened, but always remained grateful for.

Six years flew by and the conversation never necessarily held, but there were the rare messages from social media where he'd reach out hoping all had been well with you. Interestingly enough, a cover you posted harmonizing with a fellow singer happened to be his absolute favorite, one of the few Instagram posts he'd commented on, and one of the few singing videos he continuously would listen to repeatedly without your knowledge until a few weeks ago when he revealed that to you. A cover that is now near to be a four-year-old video that he still finds uplifting when he hears you and the way your voice blended so well with the other female. Your mind is reeling because after all this time, and even now, there are remains of the aftershock, trying to forget the feel of him, when there's no way you can, not with everything so fresh on your mind. So fresh on your heart.

It all occurred when Yoongi, who kept in touch with you occasionally after graduation brought you up to Taehyung who happened to think of you earlier when listening to his favorite cover of yours, and he agreed he'd like to hang out. He asked if his friend, Hoseok could join you, Monica, and Yoongi which of course you said yes to learn how sweet you found it, that he had traveled within the span of a day after visiting his grandparents, because he is a man of his word, planned to come see you even though the drive was five hours out of his way. The night was filled with so much laughter mixed with serious conversations to the point the card game that was supposed to be played was never finished, and it sprung the desire of wanting to see Taehyung again, and you couldn't come to terms with never knowing so after some encouragement from Monnie and Yoongi, you messaged T to hang out a few days later, but never opened his reply until you were safely home from work.

Taehyung: Gotcha! Hmmm, I haven't decided on what I intend on doing. Either being with family or hanging out with friends. If I don't hang out with family, you could be my plus 1 or bring whomever or vice versa

[Y/N]: Sorry I just got home from work! I'll definitely be your plus 1 if hanging with family doesn't work out! Sounds like a plan!

He asked if you wanted anything from the store when it was confirmed he was on his way which you responded with your typical answer of no, and with music playing from your Bluetooth speaker, you were highly humiliated when you lost track of four minutes of time, opening a message from him to see that he had been there, at your door. Heart racing you rushed to unlock it, head spinning when you saw he leaned against the stair railing with a plastic bag of two Arbor Mist wine bottles dangling from his hand, him promising everything was fine despite your profuse apologies- him slipping his phone in his back pocket while he followed you into your home.

Monnie happened to be staying the night with her family, so it would be just the two of you tonight, besides your dog who bounced at his legs while he reached down to pet her fluffy head. Taking in the sight of him, now that was something you found hard to believe. Just a simple pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt with a black jacket complementing the dark tendrils of hair spread across his forehead leading to the carefully sculpted lining of his jaw nearly brought you to your knees, but you held it together long enough to settle across from him at your dining room table. He had taken off his shoes at the door remembering upon a few days prior, and he set out the wine while you jumped to retrieve wine glasses (Yoongi happened to purchase for you) while banter still related to greetings.

One thing that truly intrigued you when first seeing Taehyung after six years were words, he had said that touched your heart more than you'd like to profess. "That's why I try to enjoy every moment with people because you never know what day will be your last," and you knew right then, that if there was anyone you wanted to share a moment with, it was him, and there he was, right before you, smiling about something you said while the sound of the fruity liquid-filled each glass.

"I really truly do not understand what you are so afraid of. What do you even have to lose?" Monnie tinkered with the lens to her camera while she sauntered through the living room. Exasperated from anxiety, you sucked in your lips before teasingly throwing her the side-eye.

"My dignity,"

"Oh c'mon," she paused, lifting a brow. You had been talking nonstop on how bad you wanted to invite Taehyung over, but fear of rejection including the fear of humiliation seemed to overwhelm you, although deep down you knew your best friend in the entire world was correct. You did not nor do you have anything to lose.

"Well!" You squawked, raising your palms dramatically in the air before slapping them to the sides of your thighs, "Why the hell would Kim Taehyung ever want to hang out with me anyway? Do you not see how farfetched this all is?"

"Bold of you to assume that my life isn't already farfetched enough as it is-"

"Not! The point!"

Monnie sighed, and when she saw the way your shoulders slumped in disappointment that shouldn't have been an issue, to begin with, she stepped closer, placing her hand on your shoulder, "First off, you are overthinking this, and you shouldn't. Besides, I think after hanging out as a group, he only sees you as a friend, meaning no expectations. So, go into it with that mindset okay? I'm sure he'd love to hang out with you. Secondly," she smiled, her serene expression filled with promises she always kept, "You've waited six years for this. I think you should ask him to hang out."

"You really think so?" Your grin reached your hopeful eyes, and the feeling in your chest seemed to react more positively despite your earlier turmoil.

"Yeah. The dude owes us a chair anyways,"

"Ah!" You cackled, back pressed against the dining room table as you remembered literally a few days ago when Taehyung accidentally broke a spindle of the chair in half with his foot when Yoongi scared him just by suddenly walking down the hallway. "I don't think I've ever seen a man so embarrassed."

"I'm not saying to hold it over his head, but," Monnie held up her index finger, "I think that gives him enough reason to come back," she giggled, setting her camera on the dining room table before waltzing into the kitchen.

You shrugged, "At least we can still sit on it."

"Look at it, it's staring at me," Taehyung pointed swiftly at where the vacant spindle would have been, your laughter reverberated throughout the space.

"T, really, you do not owe us new chairs. I promise, it's fine," you reassured him, realizing your cheeks were sore from how much you'd been smiling since he entered your 'realm of refuge' as you liked to describe your apartment. He snapped a picture of it, probably with the intention of getting a new chair for you and Monica regardless, and you found that appreciative although you would be happy if he didn't.

Shit. You pause from the computer screen, leaning back into your chair before folding your arms tight across your chest. Eyeballing the cursor, your vision narrows as it blinks, waiting for you to add more words to the memory that seems to spin in a cycle with the subtle goal of not stopping. Or, so you figure. If recalling every little detail isn't already hard enough, reliving the reminiscence of his fingers twirling in your hair, his sweet laugh when he looked at you, or the way he held you so tight-

But, everything in between, leading up to those mesmerizing flashes are just as important to you as what it led to. Maybe it was the conversation- the three hours of conversation before the move to the sofa which it was hard to fully focus on what else was being said because how could you properly concentrate when the one person, you'd been so worried about spending time with was seriously conversing with you like the pair of you had been friends your whole lives?

Miraculously, you were able to gather the stories of past vacations that resulted in mild disappointment revolving around the complaints of people surrounding him, or the goal of visiting as many places as possible leading Taehyung to scribble down a list of where he'd been to reveal you both have equally been to the same amount of places. Of course, the thrill of going on a mini adventure with him brought an excitement you haven't felt in a while; even the story of why he was transferred to your high school years ago due to a misunderstanding, and when the pair of you made your way to the couch, he nestled into one corner while you gladly took the other, wishing you could snuggle closer but fear prevented you from doing so.

It seemed as though that he didn't want to watch the movie anyhow, because he talked to you as though he never wanted to stop, and eventually it led to you asking one too many times if he was okay with spending the rest of the night with you. "It's up to you, I'll stay if you want me too," he promised, the way your heart fluttered when you replied, "Yes, can you please stay? I don't want you to go."

"Alright, alright! I'll stay," he smiled widely, both of his large hands reaching out, and there was not one ounce of hesitation from you- your hands grasped his before your dog jumped to beg for attention, trying to lick at his face causing your hands to undo. Laughter was contagious with Taehyung, and still cuddled into the corner of the couch, you were so elated that he was going to stay, you reached to hug him, his arms wrapping around you, the feel of your bodies aligning putting the biggest smile on your face. It was crazy how everything was seeming to fall into place- the stars aligning as though it was all magic; and, you couldn't get past how right everything felt. How right he felt. Pulling away, his smile never left him, "Are you shy?" His arm remained draped around your shoulders, and timidly you peer at his surprised gape, his black hair almost covered his crescent eyes.

"I mean... Yeah, I can be," you murmured, reaching to hug him again, but something washed over you this time, a thought that had crossed your mind repeatedly that you just couldn't take it anymore. The side of his face was blurred, placing your palm upon his cheek, and without even a moment of doubt, you kissed him. A sudden decision, but one of the best ones you could have made.

His lips were so soft, the way his mouth just seemed to mold with yours for only a few mere seconds, and the shock on his face when you pulled away, paired with the realization that his hands were held in the air, you hadn't expected his reaction. Shit! You cursed inwardly, immediately jumping back to persistently make sure he was okay; even when he moved to cuddle with you, him claiming everything was fine, but that he couldn't believe you kissed him being the both of you never once saw this coming especially six years ago during the high school days. His hand was fidgety as he swiftly rubbed your shoulder, your head buried on his chest while your mind spun in a continuous loop of how you could not believe that you kissed Taehyung. The Kim Taehyung.

He became quiet- too quiet, concern etched in your expression, maneuvering yourself back to the opposite corner of the couch, so you could face him. "T, are you sure you're okay? Did I freak you out?"

"No, no, I just can't believe you kissed me," he was in awe, eyes dazed as he ran his slim fingers through his hair, "Like, really I never saw this coming,"

"I mean, have you looked in the mirror?" You teased, knowing damn well he'd been aware of you finding him attractive, and he shook his head in dismissal of your compliment as he chuckled; it took you a whole sixty seconds to realize you were holding his hand, fingers linked, and him asking if you were nervous due to your clammy palm, though you tried to swear up and down you were not, the next round of words he said nearly brought you to tears when he finally spoke.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short," he looked you in the eyes without any faltering, although you tilted your head in mild confusion as to why he was saying this, to begin with, "I don't think you realize how much of an impact you've made on others, especially guys," ah, he was letting you down easy, and you knew it, but you're too stunned to speak as you listened, "I don't think you give yourself enough credit either. You're a great singer, you're pretty much a musician, you love animals, you have a job, you live on your own. Really, you shouldn't sell yourself short-"

"T," you breathed, pleading almost, but trying not to make it obvious, but he never broke eye contact, "We don't have to date or anything, I just- I just wanted a moment with you." You mentioned what inspired you to spend time with him- exposing how a few nights ago when he said he wanted to enjoy every moment with people- you knew you wanted to have a moment with him, too. Memories from high school were spoken momentarily, thirty minutes passing by which included a made-up handshake as well as the subtle twirl of his fingers in your hair- him complimenting how good your hair looked which made you blush even more.

Just when you thought he wasn't already smooth enough, you noticed Taehyung started teasing your dog, her pouncing at his chest before he'd lean in closer to you. Eyebrows scrunching, it took you a hot second to realize what he was doing. Each time Taehyung would scoot closer to you, he'd kiss you, sending the pair of you in boisterous laughter when your dog would try to break the kisses by jumping in between your faces. The more your lips would touch, it'd last a bit longer and longer, your hand clinging to the side of his jacket to pull him closer when things really started moving fast, eventually your dog left the room with the hint that attention was no longer available for her.

Still lip-locked, Taheyung's hands gripped your hips while you willingly moved to straddle him, arms resting on the top of the couch on either side of his head, the tip of your tongue glided along his, while he fanned his hands along your ass. You refrained from moaning into his kiss despite how bad you wanted to, yet you held yourself together, involuntarily grinding your clothed heat where his erection was felt. T smacked your ass before slithering the tips of his fingers to your shirt, slowly unbuttoning one by one.... One by one. His eyes were hazed from how much he was craving your mouth, and with a seductive nod in his direction, he continued until he made it to the final goal, your kisses never planning to stop, the sides of your shirt being brushed away for him to take in the sight of you.

"Ooh my God," his eyes darkened in evident lust when he saw the way your black bra cupped your breasts, "Oh my God," his voice deepened, him hardly knowing what to do with himself while your smirk remained subtlety on your mouth. Though you hadn't needed him to ask, he politely waited for your permission to touch your chest, a quick pang of frilly nerves ghosted your stomach.

"Yeah," you breathed seductively, gradually moving to capture his lips, trying to hold back a giggle when he gently moved his hands to your back, "You're not going to find it there," you mused, referring to the clip. He paused as if panicked, "It's in the front," you finally admitted, but failing miserably, Taehyung let you take initiative, you unclipped your bra uncovering what is now widening his brown eyes. "Oh my God!" His reaction made you want to cum right then and there, especially when his fingers made their way to squeeze your nipples when his mouth returned to yours. Taehyung worshiped your breasts, and for some odd, yet arousing reason, you lived for it.

You're uncertain of when the tv was switched off, and even now, as your hands continue to fly across the keyboard, one thing you do recall, one of the lingering memories of the evening was your shirt being off, thrown onto the floor mingled with your bra, and without any warning, Taehyung hoisted you in the air, your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso while he tightened his hold around your body. His steps were painfully careful, kissing you roughly while your arms kept their place behind his neck, and the direction was being taken to your bedroom where your heart pounded so anxiously to be. His jacket was shed before the bold act, and all that was left was his gray t-shirt and jeans. Laying you down with a bounce from your mattress, he remained above you, and your eyes refused to stray especially when he reached to remove his shirt- his smooth skin greeting yours sending waves of goosebumps spreading among your limbs.

There was no one like him in your eyes, and there never would be. Not in your heart. And with how perfect everything was going; you were not prepared for how hard it was going to be to stop before things went too far. Because what if he doesn't exactly feel the same? He was letting you down easy not even an hour ago, and here you were, hopes so high, you weren't sure how you were going to erase them back down. He kissed you until you couldn't breathe, your fingers dug into your comforter, while his palms glided all over your frame for however long you let him, but when he went to remove your leggings, you halted him.

Now, this is where your heart aches when you relive this part, because a conversation was held, one where you mentioned what if someone catches feelings if the both of you decided to solely be just friends with benefits? Taehyung said all you had to do was communicate with him because he was easy to get along with, and you've known this about him for six years. He was always someone easy to talk to, and you knew he would never treat you poorly over a situation like this. And, he hadn't. You made the executive decision to not sleep with him for you wanted him to remember you as the woman you are, and the woman, you've always been, and with the fear of going all the way being something that could change his image of you, you were satisfied to hear the loud echoes of his snoring after you changed into pajamas, gazing at his sleeping demeanor before you drifted into slumber as well.

When the morning came, you were not ready for him to leave, but he asked if you would walk him out, him throwing on his shirt and jacket while you rushed to brush your teeth. T asked if you had any other plans for the rest of the day which you proceeded to answer honestly with a no, as he mentioned that he was going to get breakfast.

"Let me know when you make it home," you said tenderly, "I want to know you're safe,"

"I will," he promised before you embraced him, turning just enough to place a peck to his cheek. It was his smile that decided to enter your recollection- the boxy smile that would plague you until the day you accept that you will never forget it.

And when you opened the door to the apartment where he gracefully waltzed through, you merely caught a glimpse of him leaving, ahead of you quietly shutting the door to whatever could have been.

Or, what could have started a beautiful story that has yet to unfold.

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ominousunflower · 4 years

Text

Recipe for Disaster: Chapter 1

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairing: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug / Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Rating: T Chapter: 1 / 4 Word count: 5620

Fic summary: Alya bets Adrien that he can’t cook, and Marinette gets roped in as his cooking partner. Meanwhile, out of the blue, Chat Noir begs Marinette for cooking lessons. But of course, those two things are entirely unrelated.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Read on AO3

———————————–

One Monday afternoon, sitting with her three friends in the cafeteria, Marinette witnesses the beginning of the end for Adrien Agreste.

The conversation had started out innocently enough: they’d been thanking Alya for the dinner they had at her apartment the other night, where she’d cooked up a phenomenal curry for the four of them.

“We should all repay the favor sometime,” Nino suggests. “Don’t you think?”

“Oh!” Alya says. “Like, we have dinner at each of our places? And each of us cooks for the other three?”

“Yeah,” Nino says. “Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“It would be,” Alya says. “But rich-and-famous here has probably never turned on a stove in his life.”

“I know how cooking works!” Adrien protests loudly. “I’m not stupid.”

“Oh?” Alya says. She steeples her fingers in front of her face. “So if I asked you to cook dinner for the four of us this Friday, you could?”

“I—I mean. I’m not a professional chef, so it would be hard for me to juggle too many dishes. I might…uh…” His eyes slide over to Marinette, who’s sitting next to him. “Need help?”

Oh, that’s for certain. Adrien definitely needs help right now.

“Alright, model behavior,” Alya says. “So if, say, Marinette helped you out—”

“Alya!” Marinette says. “Don’t drag me into this!”

“Then you could put together a meal?” Alya finishes.

“Absolutely,” Adrien says.

Marinette glares at Alya. “Why me?”

“Because you’re clumsy enough that you won’t give him an advantage,” Alya says. Before Marinette can properly feel insulted, Alya leans close and whispers, “And because it means you get to spend quality time with lover boy over there.”

“Alya!” Marinette says.

“I don’t think you’re a disadvantage, Marinette,” Adrien says, smiling. “Why don’t we both take this opportunity to prove Alya wrong?”

Knowing that she’ll regret it, Marinette nods. “Okay.”

She’s almost positive that this won’t end well for Adrien. She’s also pretty sure that her quality time with him will consist of setting pans on fire and dropping ingredients on the ground. But if there’s even a slight chance that she can save him from embarrassment, or make a bit of progress in the romance department, she’ll take it.

“Great!” Adrien says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Judging by his slightly wide-eyed look, he is not looking forward to it.

“Ah!” Alya says, holding up a finger. “One more thing.”

Marinette watches Adrien’s entire body go rigid. “Ah—what would that be?”

“Stakes,” Alya says. “Every bet needs stakes.”

Adrien smiles uneasily. “Is that so?”

“If you win…” Alya considers. “You get to pick the next three shows we binge watch together.”

“But it was going to be my turn next!” Nino says.

“Sorry, babe,” Alya says. “I have to offer him something valuable.”

Nino groans. “You know he’s going to pick one of those anime shows that has, like, one hundred episodes, right?”

“Three,” Adrien says gleefully. “She said I could pick three.”

Of course, Marinette realizes what Alya must be thinking: that even with Marinette’s assistance—if it can be called that—Adrien still probably won’t be able to pull this off. Otherwise Alya wouldn’t have offered something so sacred to the devoted weeaboo in their midst.

“That’s right,” Alya says. “Any three shows—but three hundred episodes, max. We can only take so much.”

“And if you win?” Adrien asks.

“Make him buy us pizza that night so that we don’t starve,” Nino says.

Adrien snorts. “I can do that.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of implied,” Alya says. “But for the actual bet…”

The entire table holds its breath as she deliberates. What could Adrien possibly offer in return, that’s equal to three hundred episodes of anime?

“I’ve got it!” Alya says, grinning. “If I win, you and Marinette have to take my sisters to a Salade de Fruits concert.”

“Oh, man,” Nino says. “Alya, that’s harsh.”

Adrien’s face is that of a man who has just been handed a wasp nest on a stick. “You—you mean the kid’s band with the—the—”

“That’s right,” Alya says. “And they really like Monsieur Banane. They’ll probably want to get an autograph from him. Maybe a picture with all five of you.”

“A…picture…” Adrien’s skin looks vaguely green. Like an unripe banana, Marinette’s traitorous mind says.

“Is there something I’m missing?” Marinette asks.

Alya shrugs. “Apparently Adrien has some sort of strange hatred toward Monsieur Banane and the rest of the band. Don’t ask me why.”

At that, Adrien seems to snap out of his panicked daze. “Wait. I never told you that.”

“No,” Alya says. “Nino mentioned it to me.”

“Nino!” Adrien says.

“I’m sorry!” Nino says. “I thought it was common knowledge!”

“Why would I tell Alya about my aversion to Monsieur Banane?”

“To be fair, you never really told me about it, either,” Nino says. “I still have no idea why you hate him so much.”

“It’s the suit,” Adrien says, crossing his arms. “I don’t like it. It’s too yellow. And banana-y.”

Marinette nods. “It is both of those things.”

Of course, she has her own strange relationship with the banana suit, since she’s fought alongside it twice when Chat was forced to wear it to battle. Marinette makes a mental note to design him a backup suit that is neither yellow nor banana-y.

“S’il te plaît, Alya,” Adrien says. “Anything but that. You can even change your terms! I don’t need three hundred episodes of anime. I’ll accept thirty. Or fifteen. Or a commemorative keychain.” He glances at Marinette with wide, pleading eyes that say, Please talk your best friend out of this sadistic idea.

“What are you worried about?” Alya says. “As long as your cooking is passable, there shouldn’t be any problem.” She raises an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t know how to use an oven after all…?”

“No, you’re right,” Adrien says firmly. “I have nothing to worry about.” His feigned confidence is really quite impressive. Marinette almost believes him. “You’re on, Césaire.”

As Marinette watches Adrien and Alya shake hands across the table, though, she knows there’s no way on earth that Adrien Agreste is going to pull this off.

*** *** *** ***

Later that day, the terms of the bet are clarified over text. Friday morning, Alya will present Adrien with five recipes to choose from, and he’ll make his selection; then she and Nino will buy the ingredients and bring them to Marinette’s house after school. Marinette can tell Adrien where different kitchen utensils are kept, and she can prep or mix some ingredients for him—but the bulk of the cooking has to be done by Adrien.

Despite her nerves when it comes to talking with Adrien, Marinette works up the courage to send him a text after school. Are you sure about this bet with Alya?

Almost instantly, Adrien responds. Marinette wonders if he was about to text her. Sure! As long as she doesn’t ask me to make a soufflé or something, I’ll be fine.

Marinette frowns at her phone. She doesn’t want to push, but she’s almost positive that Adrien has no idea what he’s doing in a kitchen. Do you want me to text you some cooking guides or something?

Marinette! I told you, I know how cooking works!

It’s so adorably petulant that Marinette can’t help but laugh. So you don’t need any guides?

I guess you can send them if it will make you feel better =^.^=

“If it will make me feel better,” Marinette mutters. “Tikki, can you believe him? Who is he trying to fool?”

“He’s probably just embarrassed!” Tikki says, perching on Marinette’s shoulder. “He grew up in a different environment. Maybe he didn’t have anyone to teach him how to cook when he was younger.”

Marinette sighs. “You’re right.” Often, she forgets that Adrien missed out on a lot of common life experiences when he was younger: sleepovers, birthday parties, going to concerts. It makes sense that he doesn’t know how to cook. It’s also kind of sad, when she thinks about it. “Okay, I’ll play along.”

I’ll send you a few links, Marinette texts him. That way you can brush up on anything you’ve forgotten. Also, you should be prepared in case Alya decides to throw you a curveball. You know she probably will.

Ugh. That’s a good point, Adrien responds. Merci, Marinette! You’re the best :)

Marinette can’t stop herself from squealing. She’s glad he can’t hear her over text. “Tikki!” she says. “He said I was the best!” She clutches her phone to her chest. “The best! But—the best at what?” She glances at Tikki frantically. “What does he mean? Am I the best in general? The best at texting? The best at sending cooking guides?” Groaning, she falls onto her chaise lounge. “What does he mean, Tikki?”

Tikki giggles. “I don’t know! But make sure you text him back.”

Marinette sits up. “Right! Cooking guides.”

After searching for fifteen minutes, she manages to find three guides that are easy to understand without being patronizing. Hoping she doesn’t offend Adrien, she sends him the links.

A minute later, he replies. These look good! Thanks again, Marinette :)

Not one, but two smiley faces? Is Adrien Agreste trying to kill her? Marinette feels like she just stuck her face in front of an open oven.

No problem! she texts back. Then she throws her phone on the ground, grabs the nearest pillow-like object (her purse), and screams into it.

“Marinette?” Tikki says. “Is that a happy scream, or a bad one?”

“It’s a je-ne-sais-pas one,” Marinette grumbles. “On one hand, I get to spend hours in the kitchen with the love of my life. On the other hand, I have to spend hours in the kitchen with the love of my life.”

“Um.” Tikki blinks. “You just said the same thing twice.”

“Because I don’t know!” Marinette says. “It’s a great excuse to spend time with Adrien, but there’s no way he’s going to learn how to cook by Friday. I don’t want to watch him embarrass himself.” She sighs. “And I know I’m going to embarrass myself, too. I’m always more of a klutz around him. I’ll probably just make things worse.”

“Don’t say that, Marinette!” Tikki says. “Maybe things will work out. Adrien’s smart! I’m sure he can teach himself.” She nudges Marinette’s cheek. “And you’ll be fine, too! You’re Ladybug. You can handle a few hours in the kitchen with Adrien.”

“Right,” Marinette says. “I can…handle…”

But her brain is stuck on the phrase hours in the kitchen with Adrien. Adrien, standing in her kitchen! Adrien, using her favorite spatula! Adrien, throwing vegetable peels in her compost bin!

What if his hips brush hers as he walks to the trash can? What if they both reach for the hand grater at the same time, and their fingers touch? Marinette can see it in her mind: Adrien glances up, cheeks faintly pink, and says, “You can have it. I’ll use the box grater.”

“Adrien,” she sighs, lying back down on the chaise lounge with a dreamy smile.

By Friday, of course, she’ll be panicking, and her kitchen will be a disaster area. But it doesn’t hurt to fantasize in the meantime.

*** *** *** ***

That night, just as Marinette is drifting off to sleep, an idea pops into her mind like spitting oil.

“Lessons!” she says, sitting up.

Tikki hums sleepily from the pillow. “Lessons?”

“Adrien,” Marinette says, feeling around for her phone. “I completely forgot he has a personal chef! I bet she can help him.” Squinting at her screen in the darkness, she pulls up her last conversation with him. “I just have to make him think it’s his idea, not mine.”

She quickly sends Adrien a text. You have a personal chef, right? If you need any refreshers before Alya’s challenge on Friday, maybe you could check with her.

“Marinette,” Tikki says, “why didn’t you wait until the morning? It’s almost midnight.”

Marinette stares at her phone in horror as the text delivers. “Oh, mon dieu. It’s midnight. I’m going to wake Adrien up, and he’s not going to get enough sleep—and sleep deprivation can affect you for days, so he’s going to be tired on Friday, and it’s going to be my fault if he—”

“Oh, look!” Tikki says. “He responded.”

“Ack!” Marinette tosses her phone at the foot of the bed. “I can’t look. He’s probably mad at me.”

Why is Adrien awake this late at night? Suddenly, Marinette has a terrible vision of Adrien staring at his phone for hours, frantically reading cooking guides until he can’t keep his eyes open.

Tikki floats to the edge of the bed and peers at Marinette’s discarded phone. “Don’t worry! He’s not.”

Hesitantly, Marinette crawls over to the phone and glances down at the text.

Probably not an option. I asked her a question about chicken earlier and she chased me out of the kitchen snapping her tongs at me.

Marinette snorts. She didn’t.

She did. I’m just glad she was holding tongs instead of a knife.

As Marinette types a response, her stomach growls loudly. “Ugh,” she says. “I shouldn’t have gotten up. Now I’m hungry.”

“Does that mean we can get a midnight snack?” Tikki asks excitedly. She’s always eager for an excuse to eat more sweets.

“I think so,” Marinette says.

Sighing, she climbs down from her bed and slips downstairs. In the kitchen, she fumbles along the wall for the light switch, until Tikki manages to find it instead. A moment later, the kitchen is flooded with soft yellow light.

As Marinette creeps toward the counter, her phone buzzes with another text from Adrien.

So is there a reason you were lying awake at midnight thinking about my personal chef?

Marinette knows she can’t tell Adrien the truth—that she’s worried he has no idea how to cook—so she settles for a half-truth instead. My stomach was growling. It made me wish I had a personal chef so I wouldn’t have to make myself a midnight snack.

A midnight snack? So what’s on the menu, Chef Dupain-Cheng?

Marinette glances at Tikki. There’s really only one answer. Cookies.

A true delicacy, Adrien responds.

Marinette smiles at Adrien’s response as she drags the cookie jar across the counter. Do those even exist in your house?

In my secret stash :3

I’ll bring cookies to school tomorrow, Marinette types. They’ll be better than your stash.

Really?

She can imagine his expression as he reads her text: wide-eyed, mouth open slightly. It’s the same adorable look he wears every time Marinette brings pastries to class.

Of course! Marinette says. It’s no trouble. I live in a bakery, after all.

Are you sure? You don’t have to bring me cookies, you know.

Tikki nudges Marinette’s arm and gestures to the cookie jar. Laughing quietly, Marinette lifts the lid for her, then types a response to Adrien. Think of them as fuel! You’ll need extra energy this week if you’re going to win Alya’s bet.

She winces as she hits send. Why did she have to bring up that sore spot again? The conversation had been going surprisingly well until she did that! Now Adrien’s probably never going to text her again.

I don’t need energy, Adrien replies. Just a little luck, maybe. Good thing I have this!

Marinette’s heart melts when a photo pops up on her phone screen. It’s a picture of Adrien’s hand, holding the Lucky Charm that she gave him.

“Tikki!” Marinette says. “He still has it!”

“Of course he does,” Tikki says, nibbling on a cookie.

“Oh, no!” Marinette says. “I left mine upstairs! I—I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll get it!” Tikki says.

For a long moment, she glances at the cookie in her paws. Then, with the kwami equivalent of a shrug, she opens her mouth wider than Marinette’s ever seen and shoves the entire cookie down her throat.

Marinette stares at her, aghast. “Tikki. Where did it go?”

As if nothing’s happened, Tikki darts back through the open trapdoor to Marinette’s room. She returns a moment later with the lucky charm that Adrien gave Marinette for her birthday.

Hastily, Marinette holds up the charm and takes a photo. She sends it to Adrien with the message, I have mine too!

Double the luck :)

Marinette finally grabs a cookie and takes a bite, texting with one hand. So if all you need is luck…you don’t want me to bring you cookies tomorrow?

Adrien’s reply comes almost immediately, and in three parts:

I DIDN’T SAY THAT PLEASE STILL BRING COOKIES marinette i swear you and your family are the only people around here who actually know how to make cookies

A smile spreads across Marinette’s face. She takes another bite of her cookie, scattering crumbs on her hand as she does. That’s because other bakers in this arrondissement are mystified by American recipes.

Well, I’m mystified by your incredible baking skills.

Blushing, Marinette pops the rest of the cookie in her mouth. Flattery accepted. I’ll bring you cookies tomorrow.

Adrien’s response consists of confetti emojis.

Also, Marinette types. I’m no professional chef, but you can text me if you have any questions before Friday. I’m not sure if I’m a good teacher, but I did teach Nino how to bake a pie for his parents’ anniversary once, so…

As soon as she hits send, she realizes that she’s implied Adrien needs cooking lessons. Hastily, she sends a second message.

Not that you need lessons! I just meant that if you have any last-minute questions, you can ask me.

Adrien responds, Yeah, Nino told me about that! He said you’re a good teacher :) And honestly, my baking skills are pretty bad. Would you teach me how to bake a pie, if I asked?

Marinette barely smothers a squeal. She doesn’t want to wake her parents up by screaming in the kitchen—but how can she not, when Adrien just asked her for baking lessons? Forget Alya’s bet. This is Marinette’s opportunity to spend more time with Adrien.

Her mind drifts back to her fantasies from earlier about being in the kitchen with Adrien. She hugs her arms around herself, imagining how he’d wrap his arms around her from behind as she mixes ingredients. His chin on her shoulder, maybe a kiss behind her ear…

Her phone buzzes with another text, startling her. Obviously you don’t have to, if it would be too much trouble.

No, no! Marinette responds. I’d love to! But let’s get through this week, first ;)

She gasps as the text delivers. “Oh, no!”

“What’s wrong?” Tikki asks. She’s clutching another cookie. Marinette has no idea how many she’s eaten so far.

“I—I sent a winky face!” Marinette says. “Oh, this is a disaster!”

Seconds later, she nearly faints at Adrien’s response: Okay! But after that, you’re teaching me how to bake. It can be my reward for winning Alya’s bet ;)

“Tikki!” Marinette says. “He sent a winky face!”

Tikki giggles quietly. “You two are flirting!”

“We aren’t flirting,” Marinette hisses. “We’re just—just—urgh!”

She decides to reply with something safe. I’m looking forward to it :)

Me too! But I should probably go to bed now. I’ll see you tomorrow! Enjoy your midnight snack.

You too, Marinette responds. I mean, I’ll see you tomorrow. I wasn’t saying to enjoy your midnight snack, because you don’t have a midnight snack. Face burning, she adds, Bonne nuit!

Bonne nuit, Marinette :)

She sets her phone on the counter, trying to take measured breaths. “Tikki! How—how many emoticons was that?”

Tikki floats over to Marinette’s phone and scrolls back through the conversation. “Five!”

Marinette gasps. “Five! He sent five?” She grabs the phone and looks through the conversation. “Oh, mon dieu. You’re right. Five! Combined with our conversation earlier…” She scrolls back further and counts three more—including a cat emoticon, which she’d somehow failed to notice earlier. Odd. “Eight! He sent me eight emoticons today!”

“You’re making progress, Marinette!” Tikki says, smiling. “Now you just need to work on talking to him in person!”

Marinette groans. “That’s harder. I can only text him because I’m not looking at his face! And because I can’t stutter over text.”

With a sigh, she peers inside the cookie jar to pick the nicest ones for Adrien. Then she freezes. “Tikki.”

“I’m sorry!” Tikki says, eyes wide. “I wasn’t paying attention!”

Marinette stares at the empty cookie jar for a few more seconds. “I can check downstairs,” she says. “There might be some extra cookies lying around.”

As she crosses to the apartment door, she thinks back over her conversation with Adrien. She’d been hoping his chef could help him, but if not…

“Maybe Adrien does know how to cook!” Marinette says. “He could just be self-conscious or embarrassed. After all, he’s smart and talented! He must know how to make something.”

“Maybe!” Tikki agrees. “But there’s nothing wrong with him if he doesn’t!”

“Right,” Marinette says. “Of course! I just meant—”

With a tiny gasp, Tikki suddenly darts into the bookshelf and hides.

“Tikki?” Marinette says. “What…”

Before she can finish her question, she hears something tapping against the window glass behind her. As Marinette slowly turns around, she can’t believe her eyes. Shaded by moonlight, Chat Noir is clinging to the window of her living room, one hand raised in greeting.

Marinette stumbles over to the window and unlatches it, then cracks it open a few centimeters. “Chat Noir!” she whispers. “What are you doing here?”

He grins. “Looking for a midnight snack?”

Crossing her arms, Marinette says, “I hope you’re talking about food, and not me.”

Still smiling, he asks, “Can I come in?”

With a sigh, Marinette pushes the window open the rest of the way. “Just keep your voice down. My parents are asleep.”

“Of course,” Chat says. He climbs inside and carefully closes the window behind him, then smiles at Marinette. “Cute pajamas, by the way.”

Marinette’s face burns. She hugs her arms closer to her chest. “I didn’t expect to have company.”

“Apologies,” Chat says. “I decided to come here rather spontaneously.”

“Of course you did,” Marinette mutters.

Chat’s ears flatten slightly, and Marinette winces. She’d forgotten about his enhanced hearing. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks.

“No! No. Um, you can follow me,” Marinette says, walking back to the front door of the apartment. “I was just about to look for cookies downstairs. If you behave yourself, I might give you one.”

With an excited chirp—how does he make such convincing cat sounds?—Chat follows her out the door and down the stairs.

As they walk, Marinette tries not to let her confusion show on her face. Of course, she’s not uncomfortable spending time with Chat, since they’re partners. But he rarely comes by the bakery. In fact, she can count on one hand the number of times he’s visited when there wasn’t an akuma attack. What could possibly have inspired him to stop by now?

Marinette knows that he probably won’t tell her his real reason. For all of his extroversion and cheer, Chat is surprisingly guarded about some things.

“So,” Marinette says, as she lets them into the bakery. “Did you run into traffic on the way here?”

Chat laughs. “No. Surprisingly, there aren’t too many cars on the rooftops at this time of night.”

Marinette flicks on the lights, illuminating the room. Although she’s lived in the bakery her entire life, she still finds it eerie sometimes to see the space downstairs empty and quiet, without the scent of fresh-baked goods or the sound of her parents’ voices.

“It’s bizarre, seeing the place so quiet,” Chat says, voicing her thoughts. His nose twitches. “Usually there are smells, and sounds, and…well, people.”

“Well, we’re people,” Marinette says, smiling. She opens one of the gigantic fridges and peers inside. “Let’s see…”

“Ouah,” Chat says. “Marinette, that fridge is huge.”

“Paws to yourself, minou,” she says.

“I’ll try.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette begins searching the fridge for leftover cookies. When that fails, she checks around the rest of the bakery, peering into various containers and shelves.

“Merde,” she mutters.

“No luck?” Chat asks. “You know, we don’t have to eat cookies. Some of those other leftovers looked pretty good.”

“But I need cookies for Adrien!” Marinette exclaims. When Chat raises his eyebrows, she finds herself blushing and adding, “I—I promised my friend that I would bring him cookies tomorrow.”

“Hm.” Chat shrugs. “If you tell him you ran out, I’m sure he’ll understand. You can just bring him a croissant or some—”

“No!” Marinette says. “No, I promised cookies.”

Chat glances around the bakery, then back at her. “Princesse, you’re not going to bake a batch now, are you?”

“Oh, I certainly am.” Marinette scampers around the kitchen, turning on the oven and pulling out various utensils and ingredients. “My parents won’t mind. It’s not the first time I’ve done some late-night baking.” She slams two mixing bowls onto the counter and grabs a measuring cup, then hastily measures out the flour into one of the bowls. “You can wait here. It won’t take too long.”

Chat strolls around to the other side of the counter and leans against it, watching her work. “I’ve never tried making cookies before,” he says. “Is it hard?”

“American cookie recipes can be a little tricky if you don’t have the right ingredients,” Marinette says, as she adds salt and baking powder into the bowl. “You have to make a few adjustments. Sometimes there are differences in flour, brown sugar, things like that.”

Resting his chin on his hands, Chat says, “Seems like you’re pretty good at this.”

“Obviously,” Marinette says. She turns to the other bowl and dumps in the sugar. “My parents are bakers, Chat.”

“Right. And, uh…how’s your cooking?”

“I mean, I know what I’m doing in the kitchen,” she says, dropping sticks of butter into the bowl of sugar. “Sometimes I overcook things or make mistakes, but that’s mostly because I’m clumsy.”

Chat nods and hums to himself, as if Marinette has said something particularly intriguing. “Interesting.”

Pausing, Marinette glances up. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Chat smiles mischievously. “Just thinking.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette retrieves the hand mixer and plugs it into the nearest outlet. She doesn’t have time to worry about Chat’s cryptic remarks. She needs to focus on making cookies for Adrien.

The next few minutes pass in silence, aside from the whirring of the mixer and the scraping of Marinette’s spatula against the sides of the bowl. As she works, she feels Chat’s eyes on her, tracking her every movement.

“Am I really that interesting to watch?” she asks, as she finishes creaming the butter and sugar. Cheeks burning, she adds the eggs to the mixture and stirs after each addition. “You’re staring.”

Chat blinks. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Cheeks burning, Marinette pours the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl. “You know,” she says, as she mixes the dough, “you could make yourself useful, instead of just sitting there.”

“I’m not just sitting here,” Chat says, with a lopsided smile. “I’m giving moral support.”

“Well, why don’t you take that ‘moral support’ and use it to pour those chocolate disks into this bowl?”

“Uh.” Chat tentatively picks up the bowl of chocolate. “Like…how, exactly?”

Marinette raises an eyebrow. “Just dump them in?”

“Sure.” Chat frowns, then pours the chocolate pieces into the bowl of dough. “Like that?”

“Yes.” Marinette gently stirs until the chocolate is incorporated into the dough. “Now, if it’s not too much trouble, you could also put some cookies on that baking sheet for me.”

Distantly, she knows she shouldn’t be so commanding with Chat. But it’s so easy to fall into their usual camaraderie, especially when he acts so casually around her. She keeps forgetting she’s not Ladybug right now.

Chat grimaces. “I could, but…I’ve never made cookies before. I have no idea what to do.”

Marinette tries not to act shocked. After all, plenty of people have never made cookies. “It’s simple,” she says. She grabs a scoop and uses it to plop a ball of cookie dough onto the baking sheet. Then she hands the scoop to Chat. “Think you can handle that?”

As if he’s handling a dangerous weapon, Chat accepts the scoop from Marinette. “Uh, sure.”

Marinette presses her lips together, watching as Chat mirrors her movements and deposits a ball of cookie dough next to the first. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him this nervous before. “Like that?” he asks.

“Just like that,” Marinette says. “Now do the rest.”

Tongue pinned between his teeth, Chat makes several more cookie balls. “You know, princesse,” he says, as he makes his seventh, “I came by for food, not labor.”

“If you want to eat cookies, then you should help make them,” Marinette says.

“But aren’t they for Adrien?” Chat asks, a smile playing at his lips. “Doesn’t that mean he should help make them?”

“I—uh!” Marinette laughs nervously and wills her mind not to conjure any more fantasies of baking with Adrien. Not while Chat is there to make fun of her. “He’s asleep right now. Even if he was allowed to leave his house, I wouldn’t drag him out of bed to make cookies this late at night.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chat says. He drops the last ball of dough onto the cookie sheet. “This is kind of fun. I bet he wouldn’t mind being woken up for this.”

“Maybe,” Marinette says, even though she doubts that Adrien would enjoy doing manual labor in her kitchen when he could be sleeping. “I’ll stick these in the oven, and then we just have to wait a few minutes.”

As the cookies bake, she and Chat talk about random things: video games, her school’s high akumatization rate, the best cafés in the area. At one point, Chat admits that he’s been to the Dupain-Cheng bakery as a civilian before.

Marinette’s eyes widen, and before she can stop herself, she says, “Have I seen you there?”

“Maybe,” Chat says, with a wink.

Marinette tries not to think too much about that.

When the cookies are done, Marinette pulls the baking sheet out and sets it down to cool. She’s pretty sure Chat starts drooling a little.

He reaches across the counter for one, and Marinette slaps his wrist. “Not yet!” she says. “They’re too hot.”

Chat wiggles his fingers. “Superhero suit, princesse. It’s heat-resistant.”

“Oh?” Marinette says, folding her arms. “And I suppose your tongue is heat-resistant, too?”

Chat looks unreasonably distressed about that. “So you’re telling me I have to sit here and look at those delicious cookies and smell those delicious cookies, but I can’t eat those delicious cookies?”

Marinette bites back a laugh. “Just wait a few minutes.”

“This is torture,” Chat grumbles.

A few minutes later, when he’s finally allowed to take a bite of a cookie, he groans.

“Oh, Marinette,” he says, chewing. “These are heavenly.”

Marinette smiles proudly. “I know.” As Chat finishes his first cookie and reaches for another, she grabs his arm. “Two more, Chat. Then I’m saving the rest.”

Chat pouts. “Fine.” He takes another cookie and breaks off a piece, contemplating it. “And, uh, well…I also have a request.”

“More cookies?”

Laughing, Chat says, “No. But, ah—I’ve recently decided to brush up on my cooking skills.”

“Okay,” Marinette says. “So what’s the request?”

“Well.” Chat pops the piece of cookie into his mouth. “Cooking is more fun when you do it with someone else, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Marinette smiles and watches as Chat devours the rest of his cookie. “Except when your baking buddy tries to eat all of the food you just made.”

Chat sticks out a chocolate-stained tongue. “I can control myself, princesse.” Suddenly subdued, he presses his lips together, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. “Anyway…could I maybe help you cook this week? Pick up a few tips from expert chef Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette squints at him. “You want to help me make dinner?”

“Yes?” Chat says, his green eyes imploring. “My family’s not really big on cooking together. And as hard as it is to believe, my skills in the kitchen are…somewhat lacking. I thought this would be a fun way to get better.”

Marinette considers that. It’s an odd request, for sure. But teaching is one of the best ways to learn—and she could stand to brush up her cooking skills if she’s going to help Adrien with the bet in four days.

Plus…although it’s selfish, she wouldn’t mind spending some time with Chat outside of akuma battles. As much as Marinette pretends to be annoyed by him, she really does think he’s fun to be around.

“Okay,” she says. “You can come by after school lets out. My parents will still be working in the bakery then, so we’ll have the kitchen to ourselves.” She shrugs. “I mean, I’ll tell them what we’re doing. They already know we’re friends, so they won’t think it’s too weird.”

Chat smiles. It’s soft and shy—nothing like the mischievous grins he always flashes her in battle. “Thanks, Marinette. That sounds great.” Yawning, he stretches his arms above his head. “Mm. I think this cat needs some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Marinette nods. “See you soon, Chat.”

On his way to the door, Chat scoops up two cookies from the sheet. “For the road,” he says, with a wink.

It’s not until he’s gone that Marinette realizes the damn cat broke her three-cookie rule.

———————————–

Translations: Salade de Fruits – Fruit Salad Monsieur Banane – Mr. Banana s’il te plaît – please je ne sais pas – I don’t know oh, mon dieu – oh, my god arrondissement – city district Bonne nuit – Good night minou – kitty merde – shit, dang it

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#ml fic #ml fanfiction #marichat #adrienette #recipe for disaster #my fic

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jaeminlore · 6 years

Text

Life’s Preparations | Ten

summary: life has prepared ten for a lot, including parenthood. he’s not sure it’s prepared him for you and the onslaught of feelings you bring to him.

words: 2.1k

category: single dad!ten, F L U F F

based on this prompt: “you've been sleeping at mine because your house is being renovated and we aren't even dating, yet every time you wake up to the baby crying and sigh, "i'll go" i feel like we might as well be married”

mom i love him

There are many things, natural things, that life prepares you for. Ten believes this with his entire heart. His gymnastics lessons as a child helped him become more flexible when he became a dancer. His mother starting a part-time job taught him how to be responsible and care for himself. His part-time job at the supermarket taught him how to have patience, no matter the situation.

So he believes life has prepared him so far. Even the rocky years of college, when his one night stand had gotten pregnant and put the baby up for adoption, he had wondered what lesson life had for him this time.

Then his buddy opened up a dance studio and asked Ten to be his business partner. Ten would have the money to support him and his child, if he chose to ask for custody.

As the weeks went by, Ten realized that he wanted nothing more than custody, especially after seeing the sonogram. There it was: his child. He wondered if life had prepared him for single parenthood. He wondered if it was possible to finish school, co-own a dance studio, and take care of a newborn all at the same time.

Then the baby came, and Ten brought his daughter home to the nursery he had prepared for her. He was secretly thankful he had asked Renjun to help him paint the walls, because the mural of stars looked a lot more realistic after the younger's help.

The two become inseparable, to the point where Ten is never seen without little Jamie. She's his one surety in his life, and throughout the few months of knowing her, he's realized that life has prepared him — somehow, he marvels often — for a baby.

Because learning how to do the laundry taught him how to clean the numerous rags that Jamie loved to spit up on, and learning how to do the dishes prepared him for multiple bottle-cleanings a day. He's thankful for the business class he took, because formula is expensive, and he needs to budget for that sort of thing. He thinks of the singing lessons his mom used to make him take, and how much he hated them, but now he feels like he should thank her for giving him an arsenal of lullabies to sing to his daughter.

Even his job complies with his new addition as his partner, Taeyong, adores children and doesn't mind if Ten leaves the baby sleeping in the break room.

There are struggles, and there will certainly be more as Jamie is only a few months old, still struggling to conform to the bright world around her.

So yeah, Ten thinks life has prepared him for a baby. There seemed to be a missing link in his life for so long, and then Jamie came along to fill it. He feels full and happy with his life, and with what the universe has granted him.

It's kind of funny, the way the universe always seems to keep one in check. Ten marvels at his luck, until Jamie's fifth month hits.

Ten is •tired•. He's argued day in and day out with Taeyong about taking a week or even a day off because he just can't bare to think of coming off track. But Jamie starts teething and it's hard for Ten to keep her from the pain. It's hard for him to see his baby cry this much, especially when she's usually so quiet.

It scares him a little bit.

So he calls his mom, and she offers coming over to help, but even that makes Ten anxious. What if he's overreacting? After all, it's just teething. There's really nothing besides numbing gel that will help, and Ten's gone through two tubes of that already.

Funnily enough, life has a way of throwing curveballs to those who are already on the ground.

For Ten, it's you, his sort-of-close friend who lives just across the street. He's lived in this little gated neighborhood of townhouses for awhile now, where he hopes Jamie will stay safe, and so far he's met many lovely people. You included.

In the two years he's resided here, you and him have become rather close. He remembers the nights when you'd come over with ice cream and let him excitedly tell you about the doctor's visit that day. He remembers calling you first when he came back from the hospital so that you could see little Jamie.

He owes you a lot, so when you guys are meeting up for your bimonthly coffee and you casually mention that you need a place to stay while your house is renovated, he doesn't hesitate to offer his own place.

Somehow, you agree, which is peculiar to Ten because he's got a teething baby with an irregular sleep schedule, and you've got work. Still, it's kind of a relief, because somewhere in the back of his mind Ten has missed having another adult around. Last time he wasn't alone had to be his first two years of college, in a cramped dorm with two other boys.

So imagining having breakfast with someone besides a sleepy baby makes him feel a bit giddy inside.

Life hasn't really prepared him to be a host. He's used to it being just him and Jamie, so it hadn't even occurred to him that you'd need a place to sleep. His couch barely seemed comfortable enough, covered in old blankets after the amount of chewed up peas that had been smushed into the cushions. He couldn't let you sleep there — he had much more class than that.

You didn't seem to opposed to sleeping in his bed anyways. You dropped your pillow onto the side not obviously slept in and went into the bathroom to place all your toiletries onto the counter.

Ten had agreed to let you stay for a week, so he finds it cute that you seemed to have overpacked. Then again, he remembers his first trip with Jamie, where he brought nearly three suitcases to his mother's door. He's learned since, and he knows you will too, but for now he enjoys watching you try to figure out if you need two sweatshirts for bed or not.

Jamie is asleep in her crib, as it's her nap time, so Ten speaks quietly while the two of you chill on his bed. "I hope you're ready for a sleepless night."

You chuckle. "I'll be fine. I like Jamie."

"What about me?" Ten finds himself teasing, which is strange, because he rarely teases you.

"I like you too," you say, a brush of pink spreading across your cheeks.

Cute, Ten thinks.

Ten can't sleep. This time — surprisingly — it's not because of Jamie. It's because sometime between eleven and twelve, you grabbed Ten's arm and pulled it closer to you.

It's been awhile since he's cuddled, and Ten can't really remember or pinpoint exactly when, but he sort of misses it.

His body reacts pleasantly; he finds his chest filling with warmth and his stomach turning a quick somersault before it settles again. He falls asleep with the scent of your shampoo lingering in his mind.

It's not three hours before he's awoken by his loud daughter.

You groan and turn around in your sleep, which makes Ten chuckle. He remembers when he wasn't used to the crying, but now it's almost unnoticeable — just a quick reminder that he has things to do.

He picks up Jamie and holds her close while he gets a bottle from the kitchen. He heats it up and makes it warm before he takes the baby back into his room and sits up with her.

She'll go back to sleep after her bottle — she always does. Then Ten wakes her up for his morning classes at the dance studio. If he's lucky, the rattles and teething rings attached to her little walker will keep Jamie occupied until he's done, and then they can go home for a semi-relaxing evening.

Jamie falls asleep in Ten's arms almost as soon as the bottle empties, so Ten turns on his side and lets the baby rest between you and him.

You stir and turn, eyes blinking rapidly until you find yourself awake. "Hey, baby," you whisper it to Jamie, voice still coated with sleep.

Ten's breath catches in his chest at the sweet sentiment. For a moment, he feels most content, knowing that someone else is here with him and Jamie.

You sit up and smile at Ten. "I've got to shower and head out. Text me if you need anything, alright?"

Ten whispers something of an affirmation and watches you kiss Jamie's head.

He has a few hours before work so he slips back under the covers to sleep. Jamie stirs and coos in her sleep. When, still asleep, she wraps her little hands around Ten's finger, Ten wonders how his entire world could fit in the crook of his arm.

When Ten arrives home, he smells like formula and sweat. Luckily for him, Jamie fell asleep on the car ride home. He walks into his house and places her in her crib, setting her teething rings close by in case she wakes up and wants them.

He starts when he notices you on the sofa, curled up with a blanket around your shoulders. He looks around the room and realizes you must have cleaned as soon as you got home from work.

"Y/n," he taps your shoulder and is rewarded with a sleepy smile, "Is pizza okay for dinner?"

You nod and stretch. "Yeah, sorry. I got cozy and fell asleep before I could make dinner."

Ten finds himself confused. "You don't have to do all of this stuff, you know."

"I know, but I'm here for a whole week, so I feel like I should do something. Also, you stink. Go take a shower and I'll order the pizza."

Ten laughs and agrees under the term that you'll get him extra pepperoni.

Wednesday comes quickly, but Ten marks it as the day he thinks he's in love with you.

Jamie woke up as usual, ready for her breakfast. However, before Ten could do anything you were scooping the baby up into your arms. "Go back to sleep," you say, and it takes Ten a full minutes before he realizes you're talking to him. "I'm off today. Jamie can stay home with me."

Ten feels a sort of discomfort in his stomach, as if he should say something or do something, but he just can't figure out what. Maybe it's gratitude, but then he thanks you, and the feeling still doesn't go away. Instead, his heart seems to flutter and his chest seems to seize up, because you're cooing at his baby like you're her parent.

Some part of Ten's brain reminds him that he likes you, and he sort of always has.

He heads for the bathroom to get ready for work. Maybe that's an issue for another day.

It's the weekend, and you come out of the nursery with a prideful sort of grin on your face as you place the baby monitor on the counter. "Asleep in ten minutes. My best record."

"Please," Ten waves your excitement away, "I've gotten her to sleep in three."

You roll your eyes. "It's only because she's more comfortable with you. Give me a few more shots with her and it'll be like I'm the parent in the house."

Ten pauses, as do you. "Renovations are done tomorrow, aren't they?"

Your entire visage seems to deflate. "Yeah. Which I guess is nice, but I'm kind of going to miss this cute little family thing we've got going on."

Ten bites his lip to stifle a smile. His stomach does a small flip and to calm himself, he fiddles with the placemat. "Y/n, would you like to go out with me one day?"

"Like, a date?"

"Yeah," Ten whispers, eyes anywhere except on you. "Only if you want."

You walk over to Ten and kiss his cheek. The pink that spreads across his neck makes you giggle. "I would love to."

Ten isn't sure life has ever prepared him for this new feeling of affection that appears in his mind, but for some reason he thinks he liked diving headfirst into a relationship with you. He likes thinking that life could never prepare him for someone as wonderful as you.

And when you fall asleep in his arms at night, he is sure that the universe is on his side.

#nct fluff #ten fluff #nct scenario #ten scenario #nct au #ten au #destwrites

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blackaquokat · 5 years

Text

The World Runs to Chaos

Fandom: Who Killed Markiplier?

Pairing: DAtective (Y/N District Attorney x Abe the Detective)

Summary: In which a party goes horribly wrong and boundaries are crossed. (Or, alternatively, my DAtective edition of WKM.)

A/N: You may want to read the three previous installments for my DAtective series Law & Disorder before reading this piece. Otherwise some of the references and events may make no sense. I also played with a new kind of formatting for this particular fic, in order to accommodate what I consider to be the angsty DAtective theme song. Also, this is long. Like, really long. About 9,000 words. Enjoy!

“Screw the phone, screw you and all your stupid rules

Are you alone? Are you dancing by yourself?

‘Cause I’m out here, alive here

We’re dancing here

Chugging from the bottom shelf…”

Up until the moment Abe saw the District Attorney walk through the door, he thought he could make it through this party in one piece, despite the Mayor’s attendance.

But that had been a goal of his, hadn’t it?

To talk with the Mayor.

Maybe see what Abe’s favorite attorney sees in the guy. If he’s really as clean as they claim he is.

Five minutes into a conversation he won’t remember ten minutes later, and Abe finds that he likes Mayor Damien Goodwin. Which, of course, only makes him more suspicious. He doesn’t like many people.

Unwittingly, he thinks of the one person he does like right now. The memory keeps him from abandoning the interaction.

Besides, he’s not blind. How often does one get to speak to a drop-dead gorgeous government official?

Don’t think about the DA again.

To further prove that Fate enjoys throwing curveballs into Abe’s life, he looks up and the goddamn District Attorney walks through the door in all their stoic, ready-to-verbally-tear-you-a-new-one glory. Only for the first time since he’s known them, they’re not in working clothes, but in a casual fancy ensemble that practically makes them glow and the sight shoots straight through his lungs.

They look just as surprised to see him. He can’t tell if it’s good surprise or bad, what with their argument still lingering over his head like a pendulum.

“I thought we trusted each other.”

He chokes on whatever he was about to say to the Mayor, whose brow furrows at this reaction. “Are you okay, Detective?”

Before Abe can answer, the Mayor follows his gaze. He can hear the smile in the man’s voice. “Oh! There you are, old friend! How are you settling into your new office?”

Abe quits the room before he can catch their quiet response. But he hears the Mayor’s declaration of trust echo tauntingly after him.

Why are they here?

Abe was asked to look into all the attendees, but the DA was never on the list.

Were they a last-minute invite? Had they just not been an area of concern for Mark?

Or is it their connection to the mayor—

“Welcome, welcome, one and all!”

Mark’s dramatic entrance down the stairs derails Abe’s panic. For the moment.

While he’s thinking rationally (a rarity in and of itself), Abe decides the best thing to do is avoid them until further notice, since he’s technically on assignment right now, keeping an eye on the guests and employees for suspicious activities.

Piece of cake.

Or maybe not, Abe thinks as he watches the District Attorney down a glass of champagne without breaking eye contact with him.

Seems like they can’t stop staring at one another, no matter how drunk they get.

They want to talk, he can tell. Or at least they did before the drinking started.

He’s never seen them drunk before.

As the party guests fumble about, bumping into one another and daring and gambling and throwing cards, he finds himself close to the DA a lot, staring into their wide, ancient eyes, more vulnerable and open than he’s ever witnessed. The fifth time their shoulders brush clumsily against his (if Abe didn’t know any better, he’d think they‘re doing it on purpose), he sees their mouth twist in an odd way.

Almost…impish.

It catches him so off-guard he doesn’t realize he’s been staring at their mouth for far longer than is probably appropriate, but they don’t discourage him, and he doesn’t pull away first.

Or maybe he does.

How that interaction ended is a little fuzzy.

All he knows is one moment they were staring at one another when they went to refill their drinks and suddenly they’re both in an isolated pocket of the room, where the rest of the guests pay them no heed.

“I didn’t realize you and Mark were acquainted,” they say first.

“I could say the same of you,” he shoots back.

Their brow lifts and is it the alcohol or have they always looked this attractive when they were angry?

Well, maybe not so much when they’re mad at him.

(No, even then. It’s a completely different anger than the one they utilize when facing the defense attorneys in court. This one crawls under his skin and sets him on fire. What the hell is wrong with him?)

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, their gaze flickers to where the Mayor is sitting, still blissfully unaware of their absence. “You were talking to Damien when I arrived.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t interrogating him,” Abe reassures with a roll of his eyes.

“Then what were you doing, Detective? After all, you made your opinion of him quite clear the other day.”

Damn, they’re back on the “detective” thing. Is this how their opponents feel in the courtroom? He feels like he’s staring down the barrel of a gun again.

No wonder they got elected.

“Just…getting to know the guy, that’s all.”

He winces. That sounds like a lie even to his ears.

Judging by the look on their face, they definitely don’t buy his statement.

He sighs. “Look, I felt bad about what happened and sure, I still don’t trust the guy, but…”

“But?”

He runs a hand down his face. “I see what you mean. He seems like a good guy.”

I can see why you’d choose him.

Their brow furrows. “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

Wait, did he say that last thing out loud?

Shit!

Their eyes light up in realization. “Wait. Abe, you don’t think that Damien and I are—”

“Hey, what are you two doing huddled over there?!” jeers Mark from the poker table. “Abe, it’s your blind!”

“Coming!” Abe turns to the DA with an apologetic look before rejoining the table.

He hears them sigh before they follow.

For the rest of the game—where the DA proceeds to clean out every single of their chips because even in their most inebriated state, it’s impossible to read their expression—Abe swears they keep watching him and it thrills him as much as it distracts him and damn it, he didn’t come to this damn party to lose this much money just because he can’t stop thinking about how they were going to end that last sentence.

(Or maybe because he can’t stop wondering what would happen if he leapt across the table and kissed the District Attorney until they both forgot the Mayor even existed.)

Abe wakes up the next morning feeling stiff with alcohol and regret.

The latter baffles him until he flexes his hands and flinches.

His knuckles are bruised. So is his cheekbone.

He can’t for the life of him remember why.

Most of last night, actually, is a blur of loud music, obscenely bright lights, and the beautiful angry eyes of the District Attorney.

Could he be any sappier, for Christ’s sake…?

Abe pinches the bridge of his nose in a lackluster effort to fight against the headache hammering against his skull. His mouth feels like cotton soaked in acid.

(Why does he taste lime on his lips?)

Maybe his headache and his memory will improve once he gets some coffee and egg whites in his system.

Every movement from the bed to the blizzard-cold floor leaves him aching like an old man, so he decides to forego clothing and practically crawls to the closet to slip a guest robe on.

When he arrives downstairs, after an enormous amount of physical exertion that may have left him sweating more than he should have, Abe finds himself blinking into the maze of hallways.

Where the hell is the kitchen again?

He’s trying his damnedest to urge his hungover mind into recalling the layout of this ridiculous house when a strike of lightning exacerbates his headache by several notches.

The sudden sound unsettles him more than he cares to admit (the sun is blaring through the windows, how the hell is there a thunderstorm right now?), so Abe hurries to the nearest room to see if anyone else heard it.

And that’s when he finds the District Attorney standing over Mark’s corpse.

“I’m so sick of parties

I’m so sick of being drunk

I hold my breath, lips brush against my ear

But I don’t feel them

Or know them

I just know you

I know you…”

As soon as the room empties, the DA turns on Abe.

“What the hell was that about? I’m an attorney, not a detective!”

Jesus, Abe doesn’t want to think about that right now.

He just made the District Attorney his partner.

His partner.

As soon as the words left his lips (compulsively, stupidly; he thought his hungover had dissipated as soon as he saw Mark’s corpse, there’s no way he would have made them his partner while sober) Abe had wanted to crush them under his foot.

Has he just signed their death warrant?

“Look,” Abe says after too long of a silence, “you’re the only other person here with any kind of experience in law enforcement and I’ll need all the help I can get. You with me, or not?”

His voice comes out harsher than he means, but isn’t that just about par the course whenever he speaks to them these days?

Their eyes narrow at his tone. He suddenly notices the dark mark on their jaw and remembers his sore knuckles.

The punch lands harder than he means it to, and the DA crashes unceremoniously to the floor, hand rubbing the side of their jaw.

The mayor scrambles to their side, one hand holding their head still so he can examine their jaw. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” they respond. They push up onto their elbows and look directly at Abe’s guilty face. “Feel better now?”

No. No, he doesn’t.

Matter of fact, he thinks he might throw up.

“Of course I’m with you.”

Their declaration yanks him from the sudden memory and Abe almost forgets where he is.

Jesus, he punched them last night?

And they’re still speaking to him?

“Abe? You there?”

Abe shakes his head. “Glad to hear you’re onboard, Partner,” the title rolls off his tongue with an ease that both delights and frightens him. “Now let’s get to work. Judging by the temperature of the body that I measured rectally, which is obviously the most accurate way to get the inner body temperature of a corpse—”

“You did what?!”

“—that’s a fact, totally procedure, don’t tell anyone I did it—”

“Christ, Abe, I’m a lawyer, you can’t tell me these things!”

“—I am sure Mark was killed around 1:30 a.m. last night.” Abe thinks on that for a moment, then, because for once he wants to feel like he’s in control of something this morning, he stands up and points at them in accusation. “So what were you doing at 1:30 a.m. last night?”

“Didn’t we do this already?” they snap.

“Answer my question, partner.”

They stare up at him, challenging, and suddenly he remembers something else from the previous night.

“So you're telling me you don't agree with the death penalty?” The idea is baffling to Abe. He stares at them like they’ve grown another head.

“I'm saying that only certain crimes should be considered worthy of further violence,” they argue, “and only when the evidence is undeniable. It's also a horrifying expensive and inhumane practice, barbaric even.” Their tone is adamant, and Abe finds himself admiring the passion lining their posture, lighting up their wavering gaze, he’s never seen them drunk and God, they’re beautiful in their openness.

“So...what then? You don't think a killer deserves death?”

“I'm saying that until discrimination can be taken out of the equation, maybe we shouldn't pump human beings full of electricity, especially if there is even the slightest chance they could be innocent.”

He points at them, and he can’t decide if the almost-smile on their face is genuine enjoyment of the debate or a challenge.

“So you wouldn't want the person who killed you to pay for his crime?”

“I'll be dead. What will I care?”

Abe shoves the images out of his mind.

Meanwhile, the challenge in the DA’s mind fades into something more thoughtful. “Do you seriously not remember?”

“Remember what?”

They glance away from him, biting their lip, before standing up. “Never mind. I was in bed at 1:30. I remember staring at the clock before I went to sleep.”

Are they blushing? Why would they be blushing?

Oh God, what happened last night?

“Fine then.” He can demand answers about any drunken mishaps later. Abe is more than reasonably certain that the DA wouldn’t have killed anyone. “So, we need to figure out where everyone was and what they were doing around that time or, at the very least, who saw Mark last. You need to get out there. See if you can piece together the story of what happened last night. I’ll stick around with the body and run more…tests.”

As he sniffs his fingers, the DA hurries away.

“Please wait until I’m out of the room before doing…whatever you’re about to do.”

The next time Abe sees them, it’s from behind a potted plant, just after he discovers Mark’s missing corpse. He meant to tell them right away, drag them back into the manor but…

They’re talking to the mayor again.

“Look, I’m sorry you saw that argument with the Colonel. I lost my temper, and it wasn’t right, and…he must be in shock.”

“…I’m sure he is.”

What’s with that tone? Did they speak to the Colonel already?

It doesn’t escape Damien’s notice either. “The Colonel’s an eccentric; it’s his best quality, and his worst. But, he’s my friend and…so was Mark.” His hands flail helplessly. “I know I’m supposed to be a leader in this scenario, but I can’t help but feel lost! I’ve known Mark for years, since we were kids! And he’s just gone?”

All they do, after a moment of loud silence, is lay a hand on his shoulder, lightly. He doesn’t shrug them off. As a matter of fact, he seems grateful for the attempt.

Abe hates the acidic taste the sight leaves on his tongue. Still, it’s far less of a display than he expected.

“We went to University together. We’ve been friends ever since.”

Could that really be all there is to it?

“Do you…” they clear their throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Damien shakes his head. “That’s very kind of you, but truthfully...I just need to be alone…to process all of this. We’ll talk soon, I promise,” he reassures, “but I need to think.”

He walks away from them, head bowed, and Abe has never wanted to see their face more, gauge their reaction.

Could he have overreacted over nothing?

Then he remembers he actually has a job to do. A corpse to find.

“Hey, partner!”

They spin, startled, and then hiss a curse under their breath. “Don’t do that!”

“Get over here, now! Hurry up!”

They must hear the urgency in his voice, because they drop their offended expression and rush to his side.

The tightening, foreboding knot in his gut loosens, just slightly, when they’re next to him again.

“Yeah, it might be the Smirnoff or all the Natty light

Yes, it is weak, but there’s nothing left to lose

So call me right now and I’ll cave

I’ll answer you and blame the booze...”

III

“Abe, weren’t we in a different section of the house a moment ago?” the DA asks.

Abe pauses and looks around. “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure out the layout of this place. But anyway, not important right now.” He starts walking forward, the DA just a step behind him. “What’s important to ask is this: why did Mark invite us all here? Why tonight? He said we were celebrating, but he never specified what. It’s almost as if this whole shindig of a hootenanny was just a ruse…”

He stops walking once again, the weight of the day pressing in on his shoulders. “Mark was my friend, had been for years. But then he went quiet. I knew something was wrong, I just never figured out what. Now I guess I never will.”

Could he have prevented this somehow? Stayed sober last night, visited more during those quiet months?

There’s a brushing against his fingers, and Abe looks just in time to see the DA take his hand and squeeze it gently.

He relishes in the comforting contact (when’s the last time he’s let anyone touch him like this?) until they speak again.

“I saw some security footage earlier. You talked to Mark three days before the party?” Their voice is friendly enough, but he hears the unspoken question.

Were you going to tell me?

He levels a serious gaze at them. “I’ve been working with him for years. What’s your excuse?”

You don’t look like you’d have a reason to kill him. But I’ve been wrong before and it cost me dearly.

Their brow lifts. Their hand slips from his grasp and the loss of contact is almost as cold as the look they give him.

“My only connection to Mark is Damien. I’ve only met him a handful of times over the years because he and Damien grew up together, and because he donated generously to my campaign fund.”

It always comes back to the damn mayor, doesn’t it?

Abe’s frustration must have shown, because the DA groans. “My God, will you get over yourself? Damien and I are best friends. That’s all.”

Abe coughs to cover up his disbelief. “That’s fine, I don’t know why you’re telling me—”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Abe?” they accuse. “Do you think I don’t notice when someone is lashing out over misplaced jealousy?”

Oh shit. They said that word.

That word that is absolutely not what’s happening with him.

Or is it?

“I am not jealous!” Abe defends with a laugh he really hopes sounds indifferent.

Judging by their crossed arms and furrowed brow, he is failing gloriously. He opens his mouth (to dig a deeper hole for himself most likely), but they hold up a hand.

“Look, I know this isn’t the time to have a conversation, that’s fine. But after all of this is said and done, we are going to talk.” They step closer to him, ancient eyes sharp enough to cut into his skin. “There are things I need to tell you. Preferably when we’re not trying to find a killer and a missing corpse.”

Abe wants to laugh but he doesn’t because the urgent sincerity in their face leaves him wondering if he’s seen them look like this before.

He’s almost afraid to hear what they’re going to tell him.

Luckily, murder is a valid reason to put off unwelcome conversations.

He waves his hand, falsifying a nonchalance he absolutely does not feel. “Good point, we’ll talk later about your poor taste in ‘friends’, in the meantime—”

“I swear to God, Abe…”

“—let’s keep walking.” Despite that last jab that he should have kept to himself, the DA follows him further down the hall.

“So, the real question we should be asking is: who stood to gain the most from Mark’s death? Now, in my thorough analysis of the corpse’s anal cavity—”

“I didn’t hear that,” they mutter.

The detective gestures towards the entrance to Mark’s room several minutes later. “Well, after you.”

The DA rolls their eyes, but before they reach for the door, they turn back to him. “Detective, do you remember anyone going into the wine cellar last night?”

“Not that I can recall, why?”

“When I was interrogating the butler,” they confess, “he led me to the cellar and panicked over a broken bottle. While his behavior itself was just…weird, I was wondering when and why any of us would have gone down there. I mean, there wasn’t a pool of blood or even any wine stains, but someone could have easily cleaned it up.”

“Huh…” Abe strokes his stubble chin. “That is…very interesting, indeed. We’ll have to ask around after we examine the victim’s room.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He hesitates a moment, before nodding in approval. “Good work, partner.” Maybe this won’t turn into a disaster after all.

They swell just a hint at the praise. “Thank you.”

The pair enters the room, and the DA hisses a curse at the state of the master bedroom.

Furniture is overturned, clothes are strewn about, and glass is shattered all across the floor. It looks as though a hurricane has blown through the room.

“Looks rough, but I don’t think he was killed here. So perhaps there might be more to the cellar you mentioned. Still, take a look around, see if you find anything, but be careful. I’ve lost three partners before to bedroom booby traps.”

“Yeah…if I die, do not put ‘death by bedroom booby trap’ on my gravestone, please?” They step over a pile of broken glass to a table with several photographs on top.

He doesn’t want to think of them with any kind of gravestone, but he doesn’t exactly want to bring the mood down again.

“Of course, partner, whatever you say. Make sure you don’t tamper with any evidence.”

“I’m sorry, what was that, Mr. Anal Cavity?”

“I heard that!”

Maybe Abe should have paid more attention to the Colonel’s sudden reappearance. Maybe he should have looked up and seen how unsettled you were by the man’s behavior.

But he didn’t.

Now he’s alone in Mark’s bedroom, holding Mark’s underwear, and trying desperately to remember more of what the hell happened last night, at least where the DA is concerned.

He’s only marginally successful.

“You goddamn idiot!” the DA growls. They pull away from the mayor, grab Abe’s arm, and drag him into another room whilst the Colonel calls for another volunteer.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Abe yanks his arm away. “C’mon, it’s a friendly game of Russian Roulette—”

“There is no such thing as a ‘friendly Russian Roulette,’ you drunk moron!”

“Hey, you’re drunk too! Don’t go calling the blue kettle a pot!”

The DA’s frown deepens. “I’m sober enough to know how badly you botched that saying.” They hold up a hand as he tries to speak again. “Look, obviously you still have issues to work out, and since this problem is affecting our enjoyment of the party, I say we get it out of our systems.”

“Get what out of our systems?”

“I want you to punch me, Abe.”

He certainly wasn’t expecting that answer. “What? No! Why would I do that?”

“Because obviously you’re still upset for God knows what reason, and I can’t help but notice that part of it has to do with me. To be honest, I’m still pissed at you too.”

“What, does that mean you’re going to punch me then?” he taunts.

“Yes.”

“What?”

Instead of responding, their fist cracks into his cheek.

Abe reels back, hand touching his cheekbone in disbelief. “You-you—” He can’t decide if he’s indignant or even more attracted to someone who can throw a damn good punch, but his wavering isn’t doing him any favors, “—you hit me!”

“I warned you,” they snap. They hold their arms open, leaving their face and body vulnerable. “Now it’s your turn.”

Abe raises his finger and waves it at them. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Hello again!”

Abe stiffens as the very ruffled mayor stumbles into the room, a wide smile on his face as he beholds his friend, the DA.

“Why do the two of you keep running off together?” He gestures wildly to the other room. “The party is in there! Don’t worry, I made the Colonel put away the gun!”

“That’s great, Damien, but I’m a little busy trying to get the detective here to punch me,” the DA says conversationally.

The mayor glances from his friend to Abe, and blinks several times. “Is this a new game I’m unfamiliar with?”

“It’s a quick thing, don’t worry about it,” the DA dismisses. They turn back to Abe. “Abe, hit me already and we can get this over with.”

And that’s all he’s got so far.

It explains the bruise on his cheek. It explains the discoloration on the DA’s jaw.

But…why the hell did the DA think punching each other would fix anything?

Why would he go through with punching them in the first place? He can’t think of why he would suddenly change his mind.

What did he do to anger them so much?

Wait…the group played Russian Roulette last night?

Mark was shot, along with all those other injuries…was I there when it happened?

Did he die during the game? Was I too drunk to notice?

That last thought feels like a dagger in his gut. It was so stupid of him to let down his guard last night in a house full of strangers. Mark’s blood may as well be on his hands…

Abe paces across the room and comes across the picture his partner had been looking at before they left. He picks it up off the table, a feeling of dread settling over him.

It’s a picture of the Colonel, in a frame with cracked glass. Like the whole thing had been smashed.

Abe drops the frame to the ground with a loud clatter and tears out of the room because he let his partner walk off with the guy who is most likely to have killed Mark last night.

“House parties are proof the world runs to chaos.

I go outside and that’s when I see you.

And you say, don’t talk.

I’m sorry.

I’m scared of this.

Well, I’m scared too…”

“BULLY!”

The Colonel bursts from the pool with a flourish and now you’re wondering if perhaps you need a nap or another dose of alcohol, because what in the actual hell is going on?

You turn away to try to call Damien back, but then the Colonel appears right next to you again, completely dry and dapper, like he didn’t just take a spontaneous dip into the pool.

“Oh, life needs a bit of madness, eh chap?!”

You stare at him for the longest time. “Right now I think Life is just trying to confuse me.”

“Of course, that’s what life is for, isn’t it! Now, what were we talking about? Oh yes, the grisly business inside! Well, I’m sure I’m not the first to say that our host had a great deal of enemies as of late.”

“To be perfectly candid, Colonel,” so long as he’s being open, you decide to be a little honest with him, “no one has really been open about their opinion of Mark, aside from Damien, so I appreciate any insight you may have.”

Nothing you can do about the “madness”, as he so aptly phrased the situation, but acknowledge it and move on.

“Indeed?” The Colonel nods. “Well, I am glad to help. My prying eye might suspect that the people who worked for him might have reason to stab him in the back. God knows he’s a tough son of a bitch to work for.”

You place your hands on your hips. “Is that right…?”

Unwillingly, your mind drifts to Abe. He said he’d working with Mark “for years,” but he also called Mark a friend. You decide to ask him if there’s any merit to the Colonel’s hatred.

“Oh!” He looks over the balcony they have approached, his eyes lighting up in delight. “The old golf course! I-I’ll fetch my clubs!”

“This place has a goddamn golf course too?” you whisper in disbelief as the Colonel charges down the staircase and into the greenery. “Wait, I’m not done—” you call after him.

“Colonel?” Damien reappears behind you. “Damn, I thought I heard him.”

You look back over the balcony and sure enough, the Colonel is nowhere in sight. “You…uh, just missed him. I guess.”

This place makes no. Damn. Sense.

And you can’t even joke with the Detective about it because everything is so tense between the two of you right now.

Maybe it’s a blessing that he doesn’t remember everything you did last night.

Damien pinches the bridge of his nose before shaking his head. “No matter. Would you accompany me? There’s something that I would like to discuss with you.”

“Of course, Damien.”

“Now, I know you’ve been assisting our…intrepid detective with his investigation—”

You try not to pause for too long. “Why do you say it like that?” you ask quietly, even as the urge to defend Abe rises in the back of your throat.

“…I have to bring some concerns of mine to the forefront. If we look at this situation logically, we can only assume that the killer who struck down our dear friend Mark was with us last night. And while I would stake my life on the innocence of the Colonel or yourself—”

“I appreciate that.”

“—can we really say the same of our beloved detective?”

Your mouth twists. “Damien, with all due respect, I don’t think Abe is the killer.”

You very rarely disagree with Damien. In all your years of friendship, you can count on one hand the number of times you and Damien were on opposite sides of a fight.

But this isn’t a fight. Not yet.

Damien’s gaze turns questioning. “My memory of last night is…rather fleeting, I confess, but I remember some things. Old friend, are you acquainted with the detective?”

His tone is neutral, but, at the same time, not unkind. A good start.

“I’ve helped with a few of his cases when they came to court, back when I was just an Assistant Attorney. He was actually the first detective I got to work with.” You spare a brief smile at the memory. “He’s unorthodox, short-tempered, and has a really weird fixation with corpses that I try not to think about too much, but he’s an honorable man. The only one willing to work with someone like me.”

And you may or may not have grown some not-so-trivial feelings for the ridiculous detective who is hellbent on making everything harder than it has to be, but you can’t deal with that can of worms right now.

Damien gives you a long look, long enough to raise questions. But then he nods. “I trust your judgement, and if you believe so, I’m inclined to do the same.”

You relax minutely at his words. At least with the rest of the world falling apart, you could still rely on your dearest friend.

As Abe runs, he only gives brief notice to how the hallways and doorways didn’t lead to the areas he thought they were supposed to.

These thoughts flee from his mind when he finds the Colonel, just as the man pulls the trigger of his gun and fires in Abe’s direction.

The bullet shatters the vase on the table beside Abe.

The gunshot elicits Abe to pull out his own weapon and fix it on the Colonel. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you better lower your weapon and tell me where my partner is, you murderer!” the detective commands.

“I bloody well won’t, you’re the one who assaulted me! For all I know, you could be the murderer!” the Colonel shoots back.

The thunder erupts around them with each utterance of that word, and the sight of the Colonel pointing a gun at him—

The night goes downhill when that damn Colonel whips out his weapon without hesitation at Mark’s suggestion of a game of Russian Roulette.

“Oh, count me out,” the DA hisses as soon as the gun appears. “Guns and I aren’t on friendly terms right now, bullets included or not.”

“Is anyone ever on friendly terms with weapons?” The mayor muses aloud, his hand landing on the DA’s shoulder.

Abe has never wanted to tear off someone’s arm more than in this moment.

“Oh, lighten up, chaps!” the Colonel encourages. “Just a friendly game of ‘Who’ll Bite the Bullet First’ is all it is! Personally, I think I’ll win! I have the strongest teeth!”

The DA blinks. They turn to Damien. “That’s the friend you never shut up about?”

Damien shrugs. “I suppose I’m a magnet for eccentrics.” He punctuates the statement by gripping their shoulder and when the DA rolls their eyes with a begrudging smile in response, Abe does something really stupid.

“I’ll go first!” he announces. His arms fly open, ready for bullet time and wow, he’s really drunk—

That tears the smile off the DA’s face. “What?!”

“Alrighty then!” The Colonel raises his gun and pulls the trigger.

“ABE!!”

But the trigger activates an empty barrel and Abe nearly topples over with the force of his laughter. “Of course not! That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it!” he chuckles.

He can’t even tell if he’s joking or not.

Living’s been far too hard lately.

“What the hell are you idiots doing?”

Abe jerks in surprise at the sound of the DA’s voice. They’re with the Mayor (of course they are damn it, he needs to focus) so his relief about their safety is tinged with irritation.

“Hey, partner, I’m not the idiot in this scenario—”

“Everyone, please!” Damien interrupts desperately. “I know we’re all on edge, but can’t we resolve this amicably?”

What kind of ridiculous understatement is that?

“On edge?! This psycho tried to shoot me!”

“That’s a bold-faced lie!” The Colonel denies. “I was merely doing some light target practice!”

“Inside?” The butler smacks the Colonel with a feather duster.

“Well, yes! I couldn’t go on the grounds now with that bloody chef in my way, could I?”

“You’re damn right!” the Chef interjects. “You should have remembered that, Private! Besides, you’re not my boss anymore!”

“It’s ‘Colonel’ now,” the man growls.

The DA steps closer to the Colonel and the Chef and Abe’s nerves go haywire at the sight. “Hold on a moment, you guys need to calm the hell down—!”

“Enough of this horseshit!” the detective interrupts, anything to keep his partner from getting too close to the gun-wielding maniac. He addresses the Colonel. “You knew I was onto you and you were trying to knock me off before I could finger you!”

A long, uncomfortable pause follows.

Shit.

“…AS THE MURDERER!” he tacks on too late to save face.

The lightning strikes again, as if also mocking him for his verbal slip-up.

“I will not be called a murderer in my own home!” the Colonel shouts, his statement interrupted yet again by a thunder crack.

“Stop!” a new voice cries out from the back porch.

“This is how it feels to fall in love

This is how it feels to fall

The weakness, the sadness,

The sirens, the madness

The pounding in your chest,

Like you’re racing the streets in an ambulance…”

“Mark’s death is a terrible thing indeed,” the newcomer, Celine, Mark’s ever-elusive ex(?) wife declares.

Honestly, Abe doesn’t know what to think of her. She just arrived out of nowhere and suddenly thinks she can take charge of the situation? And how did she figure out what was up with the lightning so quickly?

“We need to speak with Mark.”

“I knew it! He’s a flesh-eating zombie!” the Chef declares.

“No!” Celine shoots down.

“Well, maybe one of those smart zombies,” the Colonel suggests. “Homeo sapio zombifus.”

“Can we stop with the zombie talk?” the DA begs quietly.

Abe decides to take pity on them, since he’s the only one who heard them. “You okay?” he whispers.

“It’s bad enough that there’s some kind of magic going on here,” they hiss, “I do not need to deal with the undead too.”

“I need to commune with the dead.” Celine announces.

Of course she does.

“That…doesn’t sound like a good idea,” Abe finally decides to say.

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.”

Rude. He was just expressing a bit of concern over, you know, trying to deal with the devil.

“But you!”

The DA startles when Celine points at them accusingly. “What about me?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet through this whole thing.”

The accusation in her voice is obvious. Abe’s first thought is, yeah, the DA is always quiet, it’s just how they are, but then that gives way to more doubting thoughts.

Abe has no idea where this sudden suspicion of his partner comes from, but now it’s here, shadowing his mind with inky fingers, darkness crawling up his spine.

You don’t remember where they were last night.

They know Mark.

They didn’t like him...

Apparently he’s not the only one. The Chef and Butler express similar sentiments.

(That should have sent off a warning bell, all of them suddenly agreeing on one nonsensical thing.)

“Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted someone so goddamn gorgeous,” the detective muses aloud.

“Are you guys shitting me?”

Their utterly betrayed gaze is enough to frighten the inky suspicion from his mind. The next moment, he’s overwhelmed by cold shivers.

What the hell was that?

And why do the Colonel and the Mayor seem unaffected?

“Celine,” Damien speaks up, “this is our District Attorney and my dearest friend. This baseless accusation will get you nowhere.”

Abe hates the shame tinging his thoughts at the Mayor’s defending his partner.

“Very well.” Celine inclines her head in the DA’s direction. “If Damien can trust you, perhaps I can too. I sense that you have a far greater part to play in all of this. Will you help me find an answer?”

The DA’s brow furrows. “I…I don’t know about this.”

“Please,” Celine presses. “We need to figure out what is happening and this is the only way—”

Abe finally decides to take a stand for the DA. “Alright, that’s enough. I’m not gonna just sit around and let you drag my partner off to their very likely death. I won’t stand for it!”

They don’t reject his help, but judging by the look on their face, it’s too little too late.

“Well, I trust Celine with all my heart! I see no reason why any one should doubt her!” The Colonel defends.

“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one invited to a séance!” the DA argues.

Abe doesn’t know what it is about their tone, but that triggers something…

“If you don’t hit me now, I’ll just hit you again,” the DA taunts, but they sound more frustrated than anything else.

“I won’t hit you!”

“Why not?”

“I’d much rather kiss you!”

The words slip between Abe’s teeth before he can bite them back. He barely sees the DA (or the mayor) register the statement before he panics and punches the DA without further ado.

Oh, Crucified Christ on a platter, he said that?

He’s never drinking around the DA again.

“If it makes you feel any better, you all can stand watch outside the door, but my work cannot be interrupted.” Celine folds her hands and stares down at the DA. “So will you help me, or not?”

Those delayed warning bells kick in.

Something’s not right with this lady.

The DA stares right back at the Seer, completely unintimidated by the woman’s gaze, which Abe finds impressive. He’s barely known her ten minutes, and he already see that Celine is a force to be reckoned with.

“…Fine,” they eventually agree, not bothering to hide their begrudging tone. “But I still don’t like this one bit. I want someone keeping close to wherever we’ll be.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Partner,” Abe reassures. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on every single one of you. Even myself. Especially myself.”

They blink at him like an adorable owl and he winks back. Before they follow Celine up the staircase, he sees their mouth twitch into a brief smile.

Something sparks in his head as the DA leaves with Celine. Abe allows the memory to drift through his mind’s eye while he stands guard by the room, keeping one ear ready for anything out of the ordinary while the rest of the group lingers further away, chatting uneasily.

“I don’t have a concussion, Damien,” the DA says, not unkindly, as the mayor attempts to help them up from the ground. “I’ll be fine. Go back to the party.”

The mayor looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Abe can’t say why.

As the mayor leaves the room, he throws a suspicious glance at Abe.

Abe supposes that’s fair.

The DA sighs once it’s just the two of them. Abe can’t stop staring at the discoloration forming on their jaw.

“Do you want me to grab you ice—?”

“I want you to actually talk to me about what’s going on with you. But we can’t exactly do that while we’re drunk, can we?” They stroll unsteadily upstairs to the guest rooms.

Abe follows them, not entirely knowing why he does so.

“If you’ve got something to say to me, just say it,” he hassles. “No consequences if we can’t remember what we said tomorrow, right?”

They don’t bother responding to that.

When they enter their room, they leave the door open and look over their shoulder, as if expecting him to join them.

In their room.

Abe suddenly regrets everything he just said about no consequences, shit, why are they looking at him like they want him in—

They roll their eyes and yank him inside. “If I was going to sleep with you tonight, I’d tell you. I hate bedroom miscommunications.”

They tear the makeshift hat off of his head and toss it into the hallway. He honestly forgot he’d been wearing it in the first place.

Abe tries for a flippant laugh, but it comes out strangled because now he’s having thoughts. Thoughts he really shouldn’t be having about the District Attorney who may or may not be in bed with the suspicious mayor. “Obviously. Come on, I’d expect nothing else from you. You’re the most practical person I know.”

They stare at him in a way that honestly makes him question their intentions again because holy hell in a handbasket, when’s the last time someone’s eyes raked over him like he wasn’t…cursed?

He doesn’t realize they’ve stepped closer until their toe-to-toe with him.

“Not sure I’m being practical right now,” they whisper.

Abe can’t tell if they’re actually speaking to him or to themself.

Their hand comes up and touches the edge of his loosened tie and it feels like they’ve pried his lungs open, he’s lost all the air he can hold.

Before he can take a breath, they grab his tie and surge forward, stopping just before their lips touch his and he can see the sudden insecurity in their eyes.

Well, too late for that now, Abe thinks as he closes that last centimeter of space between them.

There’s nothing gentle about it. The DA’s hands fist into his vest, his hands grab at their shoulders tight enough to leave bruises before one trails up to grip the back of their neck, and everything about it is glorious and intoxicating, they taste like lime and gin (they must have found a stash of the drink somewhere) and for once he’s not thinking about death and solitude, just wondering at how he finally met someone like this—

They part from one another, and Abe breathes like he’s been underwater for hours.

The DA releases one hand from the tight grip on his vest to hover over the bruise on his cheek, where they punched him.

“Guess that didn’t work like I’d hoped,” they mutter under their breath. They press their lips delicately against the injury, so light he almost doesn’t feel it.

They pull away, releasing his vest, and Abe swears they’re holding his heart bleeding in their hands.

The urge to make them stay in his arms or to run out of the room before they can send him away come at him with all the force of a hurricane.

In the end, his hands lift halfway between him and the DA (does he dare steal one last touch before the night ends?) before falling back to his side. He steps towards the door.

And stops when they grab his elbow.

“We’re going to talk tomorrow,” they promise. “Don’t think too much before then, okay?”

He looks back to see that same intensity in their eyes and it sets his blood on fire.

But they don’t ask him to stay.

Did he want them to?

Yes.

So he only nods once before leaving without another word, going right to his room.

He doesn’t feel much like partying anymore. Not when he keeps getting distracted by the lingering taste of lime on his lips.

When Abe finally blinks away the memory, he feels like throwing himself over the banister.

The DA—he and the DA—they both, they—

They remembered that moment last night, Abe is sure of it.

And Abe didn’t.

God, he is definitely never drinking around the DA again, because that should and will be a memory that keeps him going until the day he dies.

He jumps from the wall at the shouts coming from the room the DA is in.

The room his partner is in.

He bursts in, the mayor close behind.

For once, he doesn’t mind the man’s close proximity.

“I’m watching you

I’m watching me

I’m watching us

Fall…”

The door shuts on the blinding lights emanating from behind the twisted silhouette of Celine and at this point Abe is quite certain he’s lost his mind.

But that’s been in question since long before he came to this godforsaken place, so he focuses his attention on more pressing things.

Like the utter devastation on his partner’s face.

Because their friend the Mayor was behind that door too.

And they look like they’re about to crumble to pieces.

What Abe wants to do is take them in his arms and hold them together. But there are too many people around and the situation is starting to implode.

In light of this, Abe settles with just putting his hand on their shoulder. They spare a glance at him, ancient eyes welling with angry, unshed tears.

They look like he did with every partner he lost.

But then he’s distracted by the Colonel’s outrage and in his haste to chase after the man, he leaves the DA behind.

Abe follows the man around a corner, but there’s no sign of him.

What the hell…?

And when he goes back to where he left his partner, they’re gone too.

Those pictures in his wallet, the ones of past partners long gone, have never felt heavier.

You drop out of that dark, warped dimension, and struggle to regain your balance as your ears pop. Your heart is pounding hard enough to hurt your chest.

The question of how you arrived at this part of the house fades from your mind as quickly as it appears.

As you lean against the nearest door frame, you realize you’re in front of a room you’ve never seen before.

Then again, it seems that the house itself is keeping secrets, as insane as it sounds.

But what hasn’t been insane about this entire situation lately?

(It takes so much effort not to think of Damien. If you try to grapple with the fact that your best friend is never coming back, you’ll be of no help to anyone.)

You press your knuckles into your eyes until tears no longer threaten. Then you make your way into the mystery room and examine the chaos.

You recognize Abe’s writing on the notes, on his board. Newspaper clippings pinned here and there. Pictures of the rest of the employees, the other guests…

The Colonel and Celine.

Together.

But you knew about that.

(Damien told you when it first happened, and you held him as he cried over his sister abandoning one of his friends for another, and how his life had suddenly splintered into fragments.)

You are blatantly obvious in your absence from this investigative wall of madness.

But how the hell did Abe have the time to collect all of this?

…why didn’t he tell you?

Your hand drifts over the typewriter, over the paper littered with scattered, smudged repeating lines:

The Colonel did it.

At the edge of the desk is the smashed picture you found in Mark’s room.

Dread weighs in your stomach like lead. The walls of the room feel like they’re closing in, pressing all the air out of your lungs.

In the back of your head is a suffocating thought desperately clawing forward, demanding your attention. Why is it so hard to listen to it?

This place is cursed, the groundskeeper said.

Eventually, you manage to pry the drowning thought open, and it whispers through your head with all the terror of an impending execution.

You need to get out.

Abe, you think, choking on the tendrils of fear wrapping around your throat. I need to find him.

“There you are!”

You jump far more violently than you should have at the Colonel’s sudden appearance.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you some questions…”

As he looks around the room, you set the picture down and back away as if he’s a wild animal.

Which, considering the look on his face…

“What is this? The detective’s been keeping tabs on us?”

“Colonel, I need you to listen to me—”

“The detective’s been keeping tabs on me. And Celine?” His voice turns into a growl. “He’s the one who orchestrated all of this! He did this!”

Oh God—

“Colonel, wait, no! That’s not true! Colonel!”

You follow him out of the room as he pulls his gun.

You are so terrified that it’s too late to save anyone.

The sight of the shaken DA behind the gun-wielding Colonel is one of the most distressing things Abe has ever seen.

It sets off dark, angry parts of himself he hadn’t known existed before coming to this awful manor.

It’s the Colonel’s fault, something whispers in his head.

“You better choose your next words carefully, Colonel!” Abe threatens as he pulls his own gun on the man. If this guy hurts his partner, not even the gates of hell will keep Abe from enacting vengeance.

“Only my friends get to call me by that name, and you, sir, are no friend of mine!”

“Well, you’re one to talk about friends, you murderer!”

The thunder claps, and Abe can feel stronger tremors under his feet than the past strikes.

“Abe, stop saying that word and put the damn gun away!” the DA pleads.

“Get away from that bastard, Partner! He’s the one who started all this when he murdered Mark!”

“Abe, you don’t understand—”

“I didn’t kill anyone!” the Colonel denies over the sound of another lightning strike. “This is madness!”

“Oh, you wanna talk about madness? Madness is stealing your best friend’s wife!”

“Abe, Colonel, you have to listen to me!” the DA urges as they try to pull at the Colonel’s arm, only for him to shove them away. “We have to get out of here, now!”

Abe keeps speaking, tries to keep the Colonel from turning on his partner. “…Madness is squeezing him for cash to fund your own sick sexual exploits with that very woman!”

“Abe, for the love of God—”

“Shut up!”

Why is there so much lightning now? Why does it feel like shadows are pooling at their feet like blood?

Abe is undeterred. As long as the Colonel stays focused on him, he’s not focusing on the DA. “Madness is plotting the death of your childhood friend because you can’t handle the—”

The echoing gunshot registers a split second before the pain in his chest does. The ground shakes beneath his feet.

“ABE!” the DA screams.

Abe crumbles to the floor like wet cardboard, never taking his eyes off his killer or his partner. There’s an obscenely loud ringing in his ears.

His killer looks oddly regretful.

“Colonel, put the gun down!” the DA orders, the horror leaving their face, replaced with determination.

“Partner…” Abe tries to call, but there’s liquid welling in his lungs, “…run…just run…”

Before the Colonel responds, the DA goes for his gun, and Abe’s mind barely catches up with the sight before another gunshot cuts through the air.

The District Attorney jolts away from the Colonel, red blossoming from their white shirt, from their ribs. They stare at their trembling, bloody hands in a daze.

No.

No, not another one, not another partner, not this one, please God, not this one—

As the world around him fades to darkness, the last thing he sees is his partner toppling over the railing, the Colonel reaching out for them.

He didn’t die.

But most days, he wishes he did.

Here’s the Link to the Epilogue

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safarikalamari · 6 years

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Coincide - Chapter 1

Summary: Race has a good life. Amazing friends and family, graduation just within reach, the past few years have been treating him well.

That is, until one night changes everything and Race finds himself spinning in ways his dancing never could.

Pairings: Sprace (focus), Blush (bg)

Rating: T

Genre: Modern Era, Sick!Fic, Falling in Love (lots more tags on AO3)

Words: 1690

A/N: uh i got impatient with myself lmao but this will be updated bi-weekly!! and i can say for sure it won’t be on hiatus ever yeeeee

Also special thanks to @seaofolives for beta-ing!!!

(tagging @marvinjuana!!)

AO3

The summer evening was cast in the glow of fireflies, bouncing around a small campfire where two friends sat, chatting the night away.

“Man, senior year. Can you believe it?” Race took a sip from his drink and tugged his hood over his head.

Mush laughed, mimicking Race’s movements. “No. Never thought we’d get to this point. But I’m ready to move on. Bigger, better things await us.”

“Always the optimist,” Race smiled, a lightness in his heart.

“You know me.” Mush added a wink at the end and Race threw his head back in laughter.

“Sure do.”

Sometimes, Race couldn’t believe how much time had passed. It felt like only yesterday that he had met Mush, the two becoming instant friends and forming a closeness that kept them inseparable. Now, with the end of their college career, a part of Race just wanted to turn the clock back. There were moments not savored enough, regrets still heavy on the mind.

Shaking his head, Race smiled at Mush, the two sharing a knowing glance before they toasted their drinks to each other.

As the evening wore on, the conversation drifted off and Race took to studying the flames as Mush leaned back, gazing at the stars. The silence was a comfortable change, Race mulling over all that had happened until this point in his life.

“Mush, I gotta say, thanks for everything. For putting up with all the bullshit I’ve put you through.”

“It’s never been putting up, Race. You’re my best friend. After Andrea…” Mush trailed off, swallowing before he started again. “We all coped in our own ways. We can’t blame each other there.”

Sinking in his chair, Race stared into the flickers of orange and red. “I guess...I just…” he stumbled as his thoughts turned dark.

If he hadn’t stayed at school so late or if he hadn’t been so testy with his brother that morning, maybe he wouldn’t be stuck with the guilt that consumed him. Race’s mind swarmed with what if’s but it was too late for that. He couldn’t change the past and that, more than anything else, hurt him the most. It chipped away at him every day, reminding him of his mistakes, his mark on everyone’s lives.

“Hey, Race,” Mush reached out, his fingers brushing on Race’s wrist.

Glancing down, Race swallowed as familiar needs grew inside of him. “Can I…?”

“Course,” Mush said, just above a whisper, holding his hand palm up. “You know you don’t need to ask anymore.”

“Still,” Race shrugged before lacing his and Mush’s hands together. “You and Blink.”

Mush nodded, his thumb running along the back of Race’s hand. “He understands. I mean, I explained it all to him when we first started dating and he was cool with it right away.”

“Does he know we fell in love with each other?” Race joked, taking another sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” Mush sighed, eyes turned up at the sky. “Star-crossed lovers, never meant to be.”

The two laughed at this, shaking their heads. Feelings shoved to the side, fading in and out at different times, in another life, Race and Mush were happy together. Now, Race was just content that they could be as they were.

Blink really was someone special. As first introductions went, Race was thrilled that he clicked with Blink and from then on, Race had been there, cheering Blink and Mush on as the relationship developed. Wedding bells were in the future and Race couldn’t wait to be best man to Mush. Or Blink. Whoever had won that rock, paper, scissors fight.

“Well, Mush,” Race sighed, grounding himself in Mush’s warmth. “Probably should head in for the night, huh? We’ve been out here for hours.”

“I suppose,” Mush smiled, squeezing Race’s hand before grabbing a bucket of water.

With the fire extinguished, Race watched the last of the smoke trails float into the night, weaving his worries in the fading grey. For now, he just needed to take it slow, be patient with himself. Change wasn’t going to happen overnight and Race had learned the hard way.

Mush’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and Race leaned into him, the two sharing another smile before heading into the house, the chirping of crickets accompanying them every step of the way.

“You’re so lucky you don’t need an internship,” Mush groaned as he fell onto Race’s bed.

With the summer nearly over, the two friends were frantically preparing for the incoming semester, Race planning out the details of his dance final as Mush played the waiting game for his nursing internship.

“Still no word?” Race turned from his notes, watching Mush press his face into the pillows.

Mush’s reply was muffled and Race hopped up from his chair, landing on his bed next to Mush.

“Talk to me, buddy.”

Lifting his head from the pillows, Mush stretched, a small groan leaving him. “They’re just taking forever. I know I’m in but I don’t know which hospital.”

Race smiled at Mush, poking at the crease of worry on Mush’s forehead. “I like your confidence. Let’s keep that up.”

Grinning, Mush hugged a pillow close to him and sighed. Race could see the tension in his shoulders, his eyes drifting away. Mush was forever the worrier and Race rested his head against the wall.

“Have you talked to Blink at all?”

Eyebrows raised, Mush shrugged. “He’s busy at the mechanic shop. I don’t want to bother him with too much.”

Race pursed his lips, nodding away his hint of frustration. With Blink hours away, living in the same city where their university was, Mush and Blink didn’t get to see each other often during the summer. Race could see the building tension and it was taking a toll on his own well-being. He cared for both dearly, but with Mush unable to outpour his love and concerns to Blink, Race was tempted to just drive Mush out to Blink himself.

“What about you? Your dance final?” Mush’s voice interrupted Race’s thoughts.

“I’ve got something,” Race looked over his hand. “I’ve got until next May so I’m not worried. Yet.”

Mush laughed then, rolling onto his back. “Famous last words.”

“Shush you,” Race shoved Mush playfully.

He’d learn how to manage his time this year. He had three years of practice after all and Race was determined.

It was time to give it his all, make everyone proud. There were going to be no distractions now, nothing to take him away from his dreams. He had promised his brother after all.

Mush’s eyebrows raised as if he had read Race’s mind and Race only smiled in return.

“We’re gonna be just fine, Mush.”

The last leg of his trip was killing him.

Music over-listened to, daydreams hardly a distraction at all, Race honestly thought he wasn’t going to reach the university. Sure, he had chosen it for the program, not caring about the distance, but now with an hour left to go in his car, he cursed to himself.

Why, why, why echoed in his mind as the road remained flat and endless before him. If it kept going like this, Race wouldn’t have much to distract himself and that thought alone was starting to terrify him.

To his relief, his phone rang then and he brought the call up on the car’s speakers, grinning at the name on his dashboard screen.

“What’s the good news, Mush?” Race asked, the gears in his mind whirling away.

“We’re bored,” Mush sighed on his end, accompanied with the sound of static. That or Blink getting caught in bubble wrap. “When are you getting here? The freshmen are starting to pour in.”

Race laughed a little, wondering how many new students he’d have to fight for his parking spot. Of course, he was used to it by now. Race was sure his last year had no more curveballs to throw at him.

“Oh, and Blink’s getting hungry too,” Mush added as Blink swore in the background.

“You guys go on and eat without me,” Race waved to no one. “I still got a while to go.”

Mush made a small noise and Race could already see the pout on his face. “We’re not gonna do that, Race. Even if I got to see you every day this summer, we hardly got a chance to be the three of us. I’ll just make Blink a PB&J to tide him over.”

Race smiled then, already seeing Blink’s expression of contorted confusion and anger. “You’re amazing, Mush,” Race complimented.

“Thanks, honey,” Mush responded almost immediately and Race couldn’t help laugh at Blink’s small protest of, “Hey…,” cutting through.

“I’m ‘honey’, Blink. You’re ‘babe’, remember?” Race teased and Blink’s laugh rang loud through his car speakers.

“Yeah, I guess,” Blink hollered very close to Mush’s phone, making Race wince at the sudden sharpness. “Turn down your radio, you’re going to ruin your hearing.”

Race rolled his eyes, but did as Blink said, then realizing his volume was maybe just a bit too high. “Okay, Dad.”

“I’m your weird uncle at best,” Blink shot back, but the rest of his commentary was lost to the commotion of what Race assumed was Mush grabbing his phone back.

“Okay, you gotta focus on driving. We’ll see you when we see you, okay, Race?”

“Catch you later,” Race nodded his goodbye, ending the call as he stared at the blue sky without a cloud in sight.

Never in all his years did he imagine he’d feel like this. Even with the looming schoolwork, the unknown after graduation, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than where he was. He was content, coming to terms with the past bit by bit. Had his younger self known what awaited him, Race knew he wouldn’t have spiraled as he did.

Life had done its worst, but Race wasn’t as angry anymore. Instead, he settled into the memories that remained, repeating forgotten promises to himself as the road stretched ahead.

Whatever was headed his way, Race was more than prepared, ready for his hardened emotions to leave him for good.

#sprace #racetrack higgins #mush meyers #kid blink #marvinjuana #safarikalamari makes newsies stuff #safarikalamari's coincide #uh there's a name here that pops up that is pronounced ahn-dre-uh #when will spot show up??? question of the day me@myself #also if u think i'm jumping on the btc bandwagon i can say you're wrong; this stems very heavily off the 92 cast #but feel free to read this with whatever fcs you have in mind #also i just remembered that my read mores don't like to work on mobile so i apologize in advance....staff why

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