#Biking Interlude

[multicarinata]

"edwerd hands" the fake YA book I was reading in my dream last night was pretty fun to me because it was about a young man in a really contrived world of boats in tiered pool oceans (?) singularly fleeing people trying to shoot at him. being implicitly about LGBT self discovery while he escapes some situations by the help of a personal genie/spirit? he has who communicates by pressing words into his lips and who has a second aspect that's 100% identical but a woman. (melted a pirate into liquid with this.) it was adapted from a nonexistent phoebe bridgers album which was going to have a second part released after the book; I've never listened to her music

#dreams #brief interlude that was about a team battle royale-esque multiplayer game focused on vehicles where this one person had a regular bike w/ #absurdly upgraded weapons on it that was its world's version of a legendary artifact. except knowingly in a video game

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 4) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 30.2K chapter summary: Atlas wasn’t a god; he was just a man . . . and Jeon Jungkook could only bear so much. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, forehead touches, the first games, daisy jones and the six vibes at some point, i guess kind of public sex, well elevator nsfw, fingering, squirting, nipple play, titty fucking, explicit sex, unprotected sex, cum play, wooshik (derogatory), shit goes down, reader may have a bad leg but let my girl into the MMAs (in other words, she’d do anything for jk (not that she’d admit to it)), jungkook’s past is revealed and it’s a doozy, abuse of alcohol mentioned, mentions of past suicidal ideation, mention of past suicide attempt but nothing is explained in detail, just mentioned (please be cautious of this part; and take care of yourselves), a silent voice + the female of the species + the picture of dorian gray references/inspo, descriptions of anxiety, depression, mental illness, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter four: build me up, buttercup ( ← previous | interlude | next → )  

BECOMING SOMEONE WAS ALWAYS something you had known you were meant to do, but you hadn’t expected it to be this hard. You supposed a part of you just always thought it’d be handed to you. OK, maybe not exactly handed to you on a silver platter, but you hadn’t expected that you’d have to chase it, constantly picking up your pace just to catch up. 

It should’ve been easy, right? Being a person was supposed to be easy. Emphasis on the . . . supposed to.

Even as it was happening . . . even as the parts of you that made you a person . . . even as you graduated college . . . this new life didn’t feel like it was yours. You didn’t feel like a person yet. (And a part of you didn’t want to be.)

A part of you wanted to take a step back, restart, and move back in with your parents. A part of you wanted to be a little kid again . . . her mother still brushing her hair and tucking her into bed. Now . . . now you brushed your own hair and barely made it to the bed before you passed out for the night.

You realized for many people becoming a person meant becoming an adult and that was it. You became a person when you became an adult. But it never felt that way for you.

Realizing becoming a person meant your decisions were your own and blaming everyone around you for your misfortunes was immature, had hit you in ways you never imagined. 

It happened gradually.

If you broke a glass . . . that was your fault . . . your mess . . . you cleaned that up. But . . . you remembered as if it were recently when your father would let you cling on to his back while he cleaned up the mess you made just so you didn’t get hurt. 

Now . . . your father wasn’t there to put Hello Kitty bandaids on your cuts. Now . . . now you cleaned up the mess and if you got cut, you got cut. You sucked it up and ran it under tap water. That was it. No sugar coating. No one was there to protect you. Not anymore. 

Because you were an adult now.

But . . . you were still afraid of the dark. You still couldn’t ride a rollercoaster or a bike or even really swim. 

So what exactly made you an adult?

Your age?

You still needed a hand in yours as you navigated through your own life. So how was that fair? You supposed it wasn’t. You supposed you had to accept that there was no hand for you to hold and there was no going back.

But that didn’t stop you from remembering, and it seemed all you could do these days was refamiliarize yourself with the past.

Becoming someone when you were a kid meant so much more. It used to be something you looked forward to. It used to be something that came with being an adult, and well . . . you just couldn’t wait to grow up . . . until . . . you finally did.

You wished someone had told you to slow down; don’t be so eager about tomorrow when today hadn’t even begun.

That was just who you were.

It wasn’t something you could help; you were just always curious about what the future held. Once a competition had concluded, you got right back up there to train and practice. There were no off-seasons for you. You didn’t like to stop; it made you feel uneasy. 

So . . . you liked to keep busy . . . 

Well . . . that all came crashing down the moment of your accident. Your future consisted of hospital beds, check-ups, and physical therapy, which all equaled a whole lot of downtime.

You supposed that was why you took so kindly to literature (not at first . . . of course, because you were still a stubborn person through and through).

And you thought . . . way too much if you thought about it. Whatever.

Thinking wasn’t always kind to you. It made you remember that you had been trained to become someone, not just an adult, but someone . . . great. Sure, you had to work for it every day of your life, but it was a routine you knew well and you liked it enough. You had chosen that life for yourself. You had chosen to become someone great the moment you picked up a racket.

Until you tore it from your own hands, and now . . . now you weren’t exactly sure who you were. And sometimes, if you really thought about it, you wished more than anything you could be a kid again. You’d become someone better if you could just start over. Maybe you wouldn’t become someone great . . . but . . . you’d become someone . . . better.

Worst of all . . . and keep in mind that you were incredibly aware how independent and hellbent on being your own person you were . . . but sometimes . . . sometimes you wished someone would just tell you what to do. You wished more than anything someone would just tell you who to be; who to become. 

Things would be easier then. You were sure of it.

But you were long past those ages. You had to tell yourself what to do; who to become; how to act, and sometimes that blew up in your face but you supposed that was what it meant to be an adult. (News Flash: you fucking hated it.)

Whatever.

What you wanted to do was tell the past and the present to go fuck themselves. What you wanted to do was crawl under your bed and hide away from the rest of the world. What you wanted to do was not be a person at all. 

But the past had a sick way of reminding you that you were perhaps too much of a person.

You had always been just a little too much. Too loud. Too quiet. Too ambitious. Too selfish. Too cruel. Too stupid. Too you. You’d been told it all your life and you’d never really cared until all that was left of yourself was your seemingly horrible personality. That was what you were most ashamed of—not only being a person but being a . . . bad person.

The past had a way of sneaking up on you, reminding you of who exactly you had become and who you had been meant to be.

And that night was no different.

It was the night before the first round of games. Your entire team, Yunis, had traveled by train to Busan for the event, and to say you (and most likely everyone else) were nervous. You’d, of course, sat next to Jungkook the entire time, listening to him snore literally the whole duration of the trip. Eventually, you ended up having to fall asleep with your fingers plugged in your ears, and when you awoke, you were embarrassingly drooling all over Jungkook’s shoulder. (Now . . . nobody say anything, you were already embarrassed enough as it was.)

Anyway . . . 

Train. B-line to the hotel. Get your room key. Take a nap in the queen bed. Wake up. Get more practice in before curfew.

Check . . . check . . . check . . .check . . . check . . . and . . . check.

Only you had underestimated just how much your heart would be pounding the second you approached the arena’s double doors. You knew technically you shouldn’t have been there the night before the games, but it wasn’t illegal so whatever. That didn’t stop the fact that you couldn’t help but notice how much your hands were shaking when you reached out to grasp the door handle.

You just . . . 

It had been a handful of months since you’d joined Yunis. You and Jungkook were good now. Friends. He had been training you, and you couldn’t honestly say that while you weren’t some kind of Olympian. . . you weren’t horrible. And tomorrow, you’d get out there, play with him by your side and know that you had put your all into it. The past should have been behind you. 

But it kept seeping back in.

Your fall. The injury. Those three years.

What if you got hurt again?

What if you failed?

You were OK, maybe even good, but you weren’t . . . great.

And you sure as hell weren’t sure you could live with yourself if you cost your team a win. That nearly made you peel over and spill your stomach’s contents. And if you had to see Jungkook turn to you with disappointment on his face . . . ? That would surely kill you.

Disappointing him was something you didn’t want to do. Not after everything.

It was decided then what you would do: walk through those doors and practice until you could safely walk back to your hotel room without a sinking feeling weighing you down. That very thought stayed on your mind as you shoved open the doors, racket clenched tightly in your hand. Your eyes immediately found all the equipment set up for tomorrow’s tournament, and your heart thudded in your chest at the sight. 

The thing was: you hadn’t seen a court like this in three years. Sure, you’d practiced and practiced and practiced, but you hadn’t seen it like . . . this . . . like how you left it three years ago.

So without even thinking, your body took control. Call it muscle memory or nostalgia, you didn’t know, but you did know one second you were standing by the doors, then the next you had taken all of three steps before your hand touched the net. You walked along the court, hand never leaving the net as you remembered what it felt like to have this be your entire world. 

That was the thing about remembering: you never truly forgot. It had always been badminton to you. It had always just fit into your life. You missed it like you missed a childhood pet. 

And then you felt it: the excitement.

For a split second, you weren’t thinking of winning or losing or anything in between. No, instead, for a second, you remember how it felt just to hit a birdie, no questions asked. You remembered the late nights and the feel of a new racket in your hand. You remembered the joy you felt when you’d see your parents in the stands. You remembered how it felt to hear the crowd scream your name. You remembered it all. And then . . . you realized you were remembering how it felt to . . . love badminton.

Why had it ever been about anything else?

Badminton had fit into you so long ago because you loved it. You weren’t sure when you had lost sight of that.

But you didn’t try to scramble for explanations. You didn’t want to. Instead, you let yourself remember, and as you did, you gave into a small thought which crossed your mind. You leaned down, nose hanging just above the net and breathed in the scent, and then you began to smile. That was what you wished you remembered about your past—the scent of a badminton net. (You supposed it was the same feeling of walking into a bookstore and that scent hitting you all at once (had you told yourself that you’d come to love the smell of a bookstore, you would’ve laughed in your own face, but . . . now . . . badminton and books didn’t have that much of a difference to you.)

Raising your head once again, your eyes fell to the racket in your hand. Here you were three years later, a racket still in your hand, and for a second you swore you felt excited about it. For a second, you wondered if you’d enjoy tomorrow. 

Because maybe badminton fit into you like a hook in an eye, but maybe you had grown to hate it; to fear it. And maybe . . . maybe you could learn to love it again. Perhaps even if you did lose tomorrow . . . perhaps you could still love it. And maybe—

“Why are you sniffing the net?” you heard from behind you, and instantly you knew that voice.

Your head whipped around, eyes immediately finding Jungkook sitting at the top of the bleachers. 

Oh. (Your heart pounded a little faster now.)

Had he been there the whole time?

“Stalking me now?” you called back as you slowly made your way toward him, beginning to climb the bleachers with your racket still in your hand. (You didn’t want to admit just how relieved you were to see him there, because maybe that meant he was nervous too. Maybe you weren’t alone. And maybe (just maybe) you wished he’d come find you all night.)

“I’m not much of a stalker,” he huffed, his eyes never leaving you as he leaned back against the bleachers. “Too much work.”

You reached him with a shake of your head. “You’re too stupid anyway,” you teasingly hummed as you sat down beside him, resting your racket to the side so you could lean back and cross your arms over your chest.

“That’s rude, you know?” he remarked, nudging you with his elbow.

“Eh,” was all you hummed while you turned your head to the side, immediately locking eyes with him. “Say something rude about me then.”

Jungkook only smiled. “No.”

“Come on—” you leaned toward him, staring up at him— “tell me what’s wrong with me. Hmm? Free shot.”

Jungkook mirrored your actions, leaning toward you. “Nothing to tell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Liar.”

“Fine, you’re a brat.”

“A brat?”

“A brat.”

“You’re the brat,” you huffed as you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” he mused, taking the chance to rest his arm around the back of the bleachers where you were leaning. His arm wasn’t quite wrapped around your shoulders, but you could still feel the heat of his body radiating off of his onto yours. “What makes me more of a brat than you?”

“For starters—” you blinked up at him— “this. Oh, and when you make coffee in the morning, you do this thing where—”

But you never finished your sentence, no, instead, you were cut off with his lips pressing against yours. It wasn’t rushed or sloppy or anything like that either. It was soft, but before you could even kiss him back, he pulled away, a dopey smile on his face as he resumed his position, leaning back against the bleachers.

“Uh . . . “ you trailed off.

“Hmm?” he lazily hummed.

“You kissed me.”

“Yeah, I wanted to.”

Narrowing your eyes, you gave him a once-over. “For what?”

“Dunno—” he shrugged— “Been a long day. I like kissing you. You like kissing me. Do the math.”

A scoff left your lips and before you could stop it, you muttered, “Brat.” (Let’s completely ignore the fact that you had a smile on your face when you said it, too.)

The silence hit you two then. But it was comfortable, filled with small smiles and this warm bubbly feeling.

And then . . . 

“Are you nervous?” he asked you. “About tomorrow?”

And you knew the two of you understood each other more than you originally had thought. Because, yes, you were, and so was he. This . . . this was another chance. 

Like the two of you . . . this was a chance to start over.

So instead of bottling up your fears like you would around anyone else, you let your mind speak. “Yes,” you found yourself mumbling with a soft sigh. “A little excited too, but . . . mostly nervous, yeah.”

“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, “me too.”

“How come?”

His eyes snapped to you. “Haven’t played since . . . since last year,” he mumbled before he wet his lips and shrugged.

“Why?” you found yourself asking before you knew it.

“Something with a friend happened.”

. . . 

“Tae?” you hesitantly asked, wondering if he'd let you into his past.

Jungkook blinked. Hesitant at first, but then . . . “Yes.”

Oh.

Suddenly, you remembered the phone call you had overheard weeks ago. Taehyung. He was injured. No. No. You couldn’t jump to conclusions.

“What happened?” you asked instead of letting your mind decide for you, because this was Jungkook and he mattered to you, not some conversation you weren’t supposed to hear.

A beat of silence.

You swore he’d leave you like that. You swore he’d change the subject. Until . . . 

“We had a falling out. Jimin, too,” he ended up muttering out as he turned away from you. He . . . he couldn’t look at you. “I knew I’d fucked up. I tried to fix it, but . . . I was too much of a coward.” A heavy sigh left him. “Still am.”

“Well . . . “ you trailed off, trying to think of words quickly because here he was telling you the truth and you couldn’t bring yourself to be enough of a person to comfort him. So you ended up blurting out: “What if you—”

But Jungkook stopped you where you were. (Perhaps you had taken too much time to respond.) “It’s past that. No ‘what if’s’ will make things OK between us,” he said, his voice strained. “I ruined his life. It was my fault. I ruined everything for him. Everything.”

“Maybe it’s a misunderstanding,” you rushed out, desperately trying to reach him before he curled back into himself. “Like with us.”

He turned to you then, brows raised. “Us?”

Then you realized something . . . your own past with him. You never . . . you never apologized, because you remembered what you did. You remembered how you’d forced the blame onto him because that was easier than admitting you had ruined yourself just like you ruined everything else. But perhaps in doing so, you had ruined him, too.

And you never apologized for any of it.

So when the words “I guess I never apologized, huh?” came out of your mouth . . . you knew what you had cut out for you.

Jungkook only sat there, staring at you in confusion as if he couldn’t believe someone was apologizing to him.

And you went on. “I blamed you for what happened to me, but it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t know when to quit. I should’ve sat the game out, but I didn’t. I did this to myself, not you,” you mumbled sheepishly. One, two, three seconds of silence passed before you awkwardly touched a hand to his. “I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I’m sorry . . . for blaming you . . . hating you . . . not letting you visit me in the hospital. I’m sorry.”

He blinked in response.

You withdrew your hand.

Was he trying to make you feel awkward on purpose? You quickly cleared your throat just to fill the silence. “You would’ve been the only one to visit me anyway,” you blabbered on, trying not to seem so affected by . . . this. “Shouldn’t have turned you away for that reason alone. I’m pretty sure even the nurses would switch with each other so they didn’t have to deal with me.”

And finally, like some saving grace, Jungkook let out a clap of laughter. “You really are a brat,” he remarked with a shake of his head.

“I was lonely, OK? And miserable!” you whined, squeezing his shoulder. (Your little anxieties floated away the harder he laughed . . . and you knew things were OK.) “Plus! The food tasted like goop.”

He quirked a brow. “Goop?”

“Yep, so you—” you drilled a finger into his chest— “try not going crazy.”

“Brat.”

You shoved his chest in response, but couldn’t hide the grin on your face. “Listen . . . about the other thing . . . Tae’s understanding,” you began again. “You’ve always said that, right?”

He offered you a small, strained smile. “Not about this.”

And you nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Everything,” you mumbled with a shrug. “Tae. Jimin, too.”

Jungkook blew a raspberry. “Shit happens.”

“Well . . . my mom will be happy to know we’re finally on good terms,” you offered up, trying to lighten the mood. It also wasn’t like it was a lie either. You had yet to tell your parents that you and Jungkook were on the same team, and if your mother knew, she’d leave work just to be there to see you guys play. (What could you say? Jungkook was practically family.)

“We’re on good terms?” Jungkook questioned in response.

Oh no.

You knew where he was going with this. (You could tell by the small grin twitching at his lips.)

“We’re teammates, of course, we are,” you simply replied, trying not to give away the fact that you knew what was ahead of you.

“Are you admitting that we’re friends?” he asked immediately.

There it was.

He was going to rub this in your face.

Of course the two of you were some kind of fucked up friends, but you had yet to truly admit that, and Jungkook was going to have fun with that. (Obviously.)

“No,” you coughed out. (Like that was believable.)

He shoved a finger in your face. “You are.”

“No!” you desperately rushed out. “I’m not.”

“Oh, this is rich!” Jungkook laughed loudly, clapping his hands.

“No, Jungkook, no. Not friends. We can’t be! Our past!”

“Our past?”

You nodded vigorously, practically begging him not to put you through this embarrassment. He wanted you to admit it; to admit you were wrong and you had already done enough of that tonight.

But it seemed Jungkook had other plans entirely.

Instead of shoving it in your face that you’d admitted the two of you were friends, he simply sent you a half-grin and nodded. “Fine,” he hummed, his voice soft and smooth. “Then let’s start over . . . this time as strangers who become . . . friends.”

Oh.

You blinked.

“Fine,” you huffed, but it came out more like a dazed sigh.

With that, Jungkook kept that charming grin on his face as he held out his hand toward you. “Jeon Jungkook,” he mused, introducing himself like the two of you didn’t have a history that could fill an entire filing cabinet. “Nice to meet you.”

And you couldn’t help it: you smiled back at him, grasping his hand in yours and introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you,” you mumbled again after a second, the smile still on your face as you shook his hand.

Jungkook nodded in approval, but his hand stayed in yours and just as you gave him a look of skepticism, he tugged you into him. You let him of course. With an amused look on your face, you let him pull you into his chest, going the extra mile to swing your leg over his lap so you were straddling him. 

What could you say? You enjoyed his touch all too much.

Then you felt his lips. Similar to the kiss from before, this one was also soft. At first, it was just closed lips and nimble sighs. He pulled back after a few small pecks, seemingly content with just having you close to him.

“Sorry, it’s a ritual,” he murmured against your lips.

“That how you greet all people?” you mused, laughing through your nose.

“Of course,” he hummed as he pressed another quick kiss to your lips.

But you had always been a little insatiable . . . so, the next words to leave your mouth were: “Can you show me more of that ritual?”

All Jungkook could do was grin against the very lips that had asked him that question. He, of course, gave in to your request, pressing his lips against yours once again, softly kissing you with every atom in his body. Until . . . slowly, so slow that it was almost painful, his hands found their way to your hips and squeezed, fingers digging into you and making you crave more, more, more. You just couldn’t help yourself. He was like chocolate-covered strawberries. You couldn’t resist him, not after the long day you’d both had.

And so . . . your hands found their way into his dark locks, weaving through them as you shifted on his lap and deepened the kiss. You nibbled on his bottom lip, tugging slightly and just enough to get him to comply. His lips parted slowly and you nearly sighed in contentment, but no, instead you melded further into him, now tugging his head backward by his hair in order to lick into his mouth. You just couldn’t help it. He tasted sweet. 

It was sloppy and carnal . . . just the way you craved it to be. He only spurred you on from there. While you hummed into his mouth, biting and licking, attempting to taste more and more and more of him, he nearly whimpered under your touch. You couldn’t believe it either. Jungkook whimpering under your touch? It was almost too good to be true, and you loved it.

Craving more of this feeling, you tugged at his hair a little harder, causing him to wince . . . but this was no ordinary wince. No, the man full-on moaned. It was quiet and short, but it was still there. By now, yes, you knew one of Jungkook’s major turn-ons was getting his hair pulled, but you never got over it, and every time, you’d tug his hair just to see what kinds of sounds you could pull from him.

Sometimes (most times) he let you get away with it without a word. But sometimes . . . sometimes he bit back (and you sometimes liked to admit just how much you enjoyed that, too).

And tonight? Well, tonight, Jungkook was in the mood for biting back. 

Instead of letting you have your way with him, Jungkook weaved his fingers into your hair and pulled hard. With a muffled whimper, he pulled you just far enough away from him to press his lips to your ear. And then . . . then . . . he said words you never thought you’d ever hear fall from his silver tongue.

“Something in me wants to ruin you. Keep tempting me like that and I don’t know if I can hold back,” he muttered with a masked growl under his breath. “But . . . I don’t know if I’d ever forgive myself.”

“I would,” you rushed out, not missing a beat. Did you know what you were saying? No, but god, you just wanted him in any way. “Forgive you . . . if it meant . . . “

He pulled back so his eyes met yours. “If it meant?”

You blinked at him, eyes lidded and clouded. “That I could feel you,” you hummed as you pressed a hand against his firm chest.

His brows twitched with intrigue. “Feel me where?”

You swallowed hard. “Everywhere.”

In real time, you watched his eyes darken completely and you almost couldn’t believe it. It was the kind of thing you read about, not something to experience, and yet . . .

Jungkook was touching you a second later, and you let him. Hell, you’d let him do anything at this point. Ruining you was on the table. Perhaps that was the part of him that he liked to hide away, but you didn’t mind it. You knew you were safe in his touch. That was the only thing you knew anymore about anything.

So when the hand on your hip tightened, you let him. He pulled you in closer with his other hand, keeping it secure against the back of your head while his mouth attacked your neck. He licked a long strip from the base to just under your ear where your sweet soft lay, lapping and swirling his tongue against the sensitive skin. 

Then, he found your pulse, halting above it before grazing his teeth over it, working you up more. He continued his devious attack before he began sucking, quietly moaning into your neck as he took note of the slight gasps escaping your lips, and you were so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even realized that perhaps the two of you were going a little too far.

In fact, it didn’t hit you until you accidentally nudged your racket off the bleachers with your leg. And the sound of it clanking against the bleachers brought you out of your own mind. 

Your eyes darted to the racket . . . then . . . it set in. “Don’t mark me,” you muttered as you turned back to Jungkook.

He continued kissing your neck, but did as you said, not sucking on the skin. “You marked me first,” he breathed into your neck as his wandering hand finally found your plump ass and he couldn’t help himself. He began palming the flesh, softly humming into your neck, and making you lose your train of thought. His touch just felt so good.

Until you realized what he had said. You marked me first. And yes, he was right. Because you had. You’d accidentally left many hickeys on his neck (and all over his body) since this little thing between the two of you had begun. (What could you say? He looked pretty like that . . . and maybe there was something possessive about you . . . )

Still . . .

“Yeah, but if we both show up with hickeys—” you began, trying to find your brain with his lips still on your skin— “I think people will start to put two and two together.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you huffed, but still continued running your hands through his dark hair, refusing to leave his touch. “People are gonna think I fucked my way to the top.”

“Well, that’s simply not true,” Jungkook mumbled as he (unfortunately) leaned back, his lips leaving your neck so he could meet your eyes. “I have yet to see you fuck on top.”

You deadpanned. Of course that was where he was going with that. “You’re infuriating,” you said in monotone.

“Calm down,” he snorted, shaking his head at your expression. “I’m not marking you.”

And he was just about to continue his sloppy descent when you . . . well you . . . decided to mumble under your breath, “Well . . . “

“Oh, god, yes, honey?” he huffed out, using the one nickname that he knew you hated.

(You truly did hate it.)

You rolled your eyes at him, but nevertheless went on. “Just . . . don’t do it where people can see,” you muttered.

Jungkook only grinned, wide and toothy. “Wanna sleep in my room?” he offered up, and you knew what he meant.

A beat of silence.

(Did you even have to think about it?)

“Yeah, why not?” you hummed a second later, nodding with a small smile on your face.

(Not like you had planned on sleeping in your own room anyway.

(Duh.))

The arena looked different in the morning. Everything was a little different. For one, there was an audience, and for two, you were nervous too, but also excited? Whatever that meant. But you weren't caught trapped in your own mind for too long. As you stared out at the court, assessing the other team as well as the audience members, you felt your phone buzz in your hand. Instantly, it tore you away from the present as you opened your phone only to see a text message from none other than Jeon Jungkook. (A smile lifted onto your face as you opened the message but you refused to acknowledge that . . . part.)

Kook Ur ass looks good in that skirt

And you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, not even bothering to text back a response. Instead, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes searching for him and then . . . then you saw him. He was in uniform, except under the tee, he wore a black long-sleeve compression shirt, which you supposed was to hide the tattoos. In addition, his dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the back of his head that held most of his long locks. And you noticed that he’d taken out all of his piercings, almost making him appear like the boy you used to know three years ago. (It was an odd sense of deja vu, but . . . well . . . he still looked like . . . himself.)

You were moving toward him in an instant. Whether it was the nerves or whatever, you didn’t care about anyone else, you just needed to feel him. Maybe that would ground you. And so, you crossed the court to him, and when you did, your hands found his broad shoulders, squeezing them. And then . . . then you did something so uncharacteristically unlike you . . . and rested your forehead against his, finally allowing yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Jungkook reacted quickly to your touch, squeezing your arms as he laughed through his nose. “You alright?” he murmured, a hint of a teasing tone in his voice.

“Yeah, obviously, just . . . just feel like I’m going to puke,” you joked, because it was true. Now if it was because of nerves or excitement . . . you didn’t know. “Just normal stuff. Why do you ask?”

“You’re touching me in public,” he simply said, a hint of a grin on his face.

You blinked. Oh. Well . . . you supposed he was right . . . so you know . . . you kind of cleared your throat and backed up just an inch away from him. “Just—” you shrugged— “putting our heads together.”

Jungkook remained grinning. “Don’t be nervous,” he hummed as he squeezed your arm once more. “We’ve got this, Iris.”

You nodded. “Right.”

And you tried your best to believe him. (All the while trying to ignore the fact that touching him in public hadn’t even crossed your mind as unusual. It had felt . . . safe . . . right. 

Fuck.)

The score was eighteen to eighteen. Your side just needed to win by four more clear points. Four more points. 

This . . . this was familiar. It wasn’t like practicing with Jungkook or practicing by yourself. It reminded you of the past; a past where this could have been easy for you; where it was normal; where you wouldn’t have your heart pounding out of your chest.

You’d been here before. 

Twenty to twenty. Yurim, your college doubles partner, had been by your side back then. She had been the one who stood by you as you took that fall and lost the game. She lost it, too.

That game was both of yours to lose.

You’d let her down then. (As far as you knew she had left the badminton scene ages ago.) But you had the chance to redeem yourself.

Right now . . . now you could win this game and set things right.

Setting things right meant keeping your eye on the birdie. Obviously, the more skilled player takes the front while the other takes the back, so you stayed in your spot most of the game at the back and made a few scores, but not as many as Jungkook. He just made it look so easy . . .

He deserved this. This win should be his. And you knew you had to keep your eyes on the birdie.

The two of you had gone separate ways on a court very similar to this one. If you made those points, you could mend what had been ruined. 

A well-oiled machine you may have been but—

A whistle was blown, your thoughts cut off as you watched the other team set up the serve. And then the birdie was airborne.

Quickly, you readied yourself, fighting your present and past memories as you tried to stay focused. Eyes on the birdie. That was what you needed to do.

The birdie swirled through the air, heading straight for Jungkook, and you had no doubt he’d hit it, but as his net made contact, the birdie fumbled. The hit made the birdie fly higher into the air, and not over the net but rather backward . . . toward you.

And you acted fast.

Racing behind Jungkook, you didn’t think. One moment you were standing by like a sitting duck, then the next you had jumped off your bad leg, putting as much power into your jump as you could. Your eyes still on the birdie, you launched your arm forward toward the birdie. But it seemed Jungkook had thought the same thing, attempting to swing backward enough to hit the birdie over the net . . . however . . . the two of you acted on your own, non-cohesive thoughts and dived for the birdie, smacking your rackets together in the process and fumbling it all.

The point was not yours to claim.  But that was the least of your worries. You had been looking at the birdie, already accepting the failure. And you realized too late what was happening as your feet touched the court once again.

Because . . . well . . . your eyes had been on the birdie. They'd watched it the entire time, and you'd forgotten about paying attention to landing on your feet. And you hadn’t taken into account how close Jungkook would be, and how that might play out.

It had only been a second where you’d let yourself forget and get wrapped up in the game once again, and suddenly, it was as if you had been transported back three years. And then . . . then . . . the past repeated itself.

It'd only been a second where you forgot; the one second you'd forgotten while your attention had been on the birdie, you landed on the court, only your leg hadn't been positioned right, causing your ankle to roll, and while you had caught yourself, that didn’t matter. Jungkook was moving, too, and before either of you could react, his body knocked into yours, causing you to lose your footing as you fell backward onto the court.

In response, you tensed, waiting for the pain to seep in, waiting for your life to be ruined once again. But no pain came. Your leg was OK. Nothing had happened. And you could breathe a sigh of relief. 

The whistle blew, signifying the other team had scored a point, but your mind was still on your leg. That was what mattered to you right now. That was why you hadn’t moved from your spot on the court. That was why you had decided to ignore the world for a split second and carefully touch a hand to your hip, making sure nothing had truly happened.

Only . . . you hadn’t taken into account the fact that the rest of the world didn’t decide to ignore you.

Jungkook especially hadn’t decided to partake in any ignoring.

That much was evident as he fell beside you on the court. “Fuck, fuck, no—” you heard him instantly rush out— “Baby, fuck, your leg. I didn’t—” 

Glancing up, you watched as the shocked expression on his face turned into one of concern, and before you could interject, he called out for the ref, signaling for a timeout. The whistle was blown once again in response, clarifying that Yunis would be taking a two-minute timeout before the game was to resume. And all you could do was stare at him, trying not to burst out laughing . . . because . . . goddamn it . . . you just wanted to hug the guy.

“Koo,” you settled with instead, a small smile on your face.

But it seemed Jungkook hadn’t heard you as he whipped back to face you, his eyes wide and almost innocent. “Can you stand?” he started with as he gently touched a hand to your hip. No one had ever been so gentle with you . . . like that. “Is it—Is it OK? Pain? Any pain?”

You only blinked at him. 

His brows pinched together in concern. “You gotta talk to me? Is it shock? Fuck, are you in shock?”

And then you truly did snort.

He blinked. “ . . . What?”

With a smile slowly forming on your face, you rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine, Koo. It was just a small tumble. Nothing’s broken and nothing hurts,” you hummed. “Well . . . except my pride. I really thought I had that in the bag.”

Slowly, his face softened into relief. “Just a little hiccup. We still got this,” he said, a small smile on his face once again. “If you’ll forgive me for tripping you in the last round.”

You laughed, “I think I tripped myself on you.”

“Eh, agree to disagree,” he mused as he stood to his feet and reached out his hand toward you. “Ready to win this?”

“Yes,” you sighed in contentment as you took his hand and let him help you to your feet . . . because you really did believe you might have a chance. You just . . . you needed to trust him. He would’ve hit the birdie if you had just let him. So now . . . you needed to trust him.

Trust him, you thought as the whistle blew once again, signifying that the game was resuming. Trust him, you hummed to yourself as you got into position while you watched Jungkook secure his stance. Trust him, you believed as he glanced over his shoulder to send you a wink just as the whistle was blown once again, and the game began. And trust him you did.

Everything moved slowly then. The world was barely turning on its axis. The other team served the ball, hitting it over the net. Jungkook hit it back. Then . . . the other team attempted to hit a smash, but Jungkook was fast. One moment the birdie was flying toward the court, then the next Jungkook was diving for it. He put all his force into his legs, diving for the ground, and just in the nick of time, he smacked the birdie clear over the net, countering the other team’s shot. And as if that weren’t impressive enough, he’d made a clear . . . one that no one had been expecting.

The other team was too caught up in the potential win to be near the backcourt. Jungkook had hit the birdie, and cleared. The birdie was too fast, hitting the backcourt without a single counter.

He’d won you guys a point.

The score was nineteen to nineteen. Two more points and you’d win. You couldn’t believe it. The two of you may have actually had a chance. You just had to trust him. Yes, that seemed to be the trick. Just . . . trust him, and truly, you did.

You knew you did as you jumped for him, helping him to his feet with a grin on your face. “You did it,” you softly said with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Remind me to ice my ass when we get back,” he groaned, but somehow, someway, he still looked handsome. (And you desperately wanted to kiss him, but . . . you know . . . control yourself.)

“You good?” you asked, searching his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushed off your question with a sigh. “We got this, Rosie.” He offered up a high five, and you took him up on it, high fiving him (he enclosed his fingers around your hand a little longer than he probably should have, but whatever . . . you guys could win this).

It was your turn to serve. And with equal parts nerves and excitement in your veins, you gripped your racket tightly in your hand, gave Jungkook a small nod, and made your way to your place on the court, birdie grasped tightly in your other hand.

Everything happened too quickly from then on. You briefly heard the referee blow the whistle, signifying the resumption of the game. Then you rubbed the birdie on the side of your handle once for good luck, twice for blind hope, a third time for a chance to start over . . . before you sent it flying through the air, over the net in an almost perfect serve.

You almost blinked in shock, realizing perhaps you really had gotten a lot better. This game could be yours. It really could be. Fuck, it could be. (You tried not to grin at your thoughts.)

With careful eyes, you forced yourself back into the game and watched as the other team hit the birdie. It was heading toward Jungkook and instead of worrying; instead of racing toward it, you let him hit it, watching as he delivered another perfect clear except, this time, the other team had hit it back. Only, Jungkook was quick. He countered this too.

A few more hits were bounced back and forth, and for a second you thought Jungkook would definitely deliver a lethal smash toward the other team, resulting in a win, but no . . . this time, as the other team hit the birdie . . . it came racing toward . . . you.

You swallowed hard. That was your cue. You readied yourself, eyes on that damned birdie. It was right there, but it was high, and you realized you had been here before. This . . . this was your true test, and you wouldn’t fail it again.

So with it coming straight toward you and an odd sense of deja vu hitting you all at once, you beckoned it closer and jumped off your bad leg, putting as much power into your jump as you could. Your eyes still on the birdie, you launched your arm forward, your racket slamming into the birdie and sending it at an impeccable speed toward the other team.

Fuck, you’d hit it. Fucking hell, you really had!

Time moved slowly then. You could’ve been frozen in the air and you wouldn’t know. You just didn’t even want to take your eyes off the birdie. But memories of three years ago consumed you. This was where you’d met your end.

The match couldn’t be yours; it didn’t make sense. And defeat was right there; it still tasted just as bitter as it did three years ago. It was there on the tip of your tongue. But this wasn’t three years ago, and you were not the same person you used to be. This . . . you had rubbed the birdie against your racket three times for good luck, blind hope, and a fresh start. This was not the past, it was your fresh start.

You didn’t have to fail. And you didn’t have to win. You just had to remember.

And so as time seemed to slow down even further, you realized your eyes had been on the birdie. They'd watched it the entire time, but this time, even with the pounding in your head and the ache in your leg, you hadn’t forgotten about paying attention to landing on your feet.

The birdie would land or it wouldn’t. You’d given your all to it. You remembered that at the last second.

It'd only been a second when you finally remembered. And unlike three years ago, you landed on the court, sneakers touching the ground as you bent your knees to cushion your impact. But you didn’t dare move.

You stayed crouched on the ground, head lowered as you waited to hear what your fate had in store for you. Would it be horrified screams? Cheers? And when they cheered, would they be cheering for you?

And then you heard it: loud cheers erupting from behind you as the crowd stomped their feet on the bleachers, nearly shaking the entire arena in the process. Was it? Could it be? Had you—

No, stop. It couldn’t be. Sure, you thought maybe the two of you could win, but . . . you fully expected just to walk away from the game with a loss but a newfound love for the sport you once called your other half.

So with confusion consuming you, you finally glanced up, eyes immediately landing on Jungkook, who was already staring at you, a wide, toothy grin stretched across his face as he clapped for . . . you.

You’d been here before. That was the same look he’d given you when you’d beat him just a few months ago. That was when you first felt yourself truly care for him . . . and now . . . now it seemed you’d made him proud. Had you?

Your brows shot up in shock, your body relaxing only slightly.

Then . . . you saw it. There, on the other side of the court, laid the birdie.

That meant . . . (holy fuck!) That meant you had landed the smash. You’d made the point. You’d . . . You’d . . .

You’d . . . won.

The score was nineteen to twenty-one.

You had fucking won.

Yunis landed fourth in the tournaments. You’d won. You were moving on to the next games. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fucking fuck! Yunis would appear at another tournament. There was a possibility that your team could win it all. 

Your thoughts ran wild.

You’d won. After all these years, all the pain, the hurt, the tears, the anger . . . and you’d finally . . . won.

You couldn’t help it. The second this dawned on you, you rose to your feet and fell into Jungkook. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you held him tight, nearly letting yourself cry into his shoulder. You just . . . you couldn’t believe it. And it was all because of him.

Thank you, your hug seemed to say as you squeezed him tighter (so tight you were sure he could feel it in his soul).

Then . . . Jungkook ever so slowly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against him, and you realized the only reason this win felt like one was because of him. You hadn’t only won for yourself, but for him.

Perhaps this would get him to love badminton again. Because, truly, badminton fit into you like a hook in an eye, and you were sure Jungkook felt the same. You could only hope he did.

Let the record show that making acquaintances with the bartender in the hotel bar your team was staying at for the first round of tournaments was not how you imagined celebrating your first win after three years. It just wasn’t, and honestly, you hadn’t even expected to leave your hotel room. You expected to maybe . . . just maybe see what the minibar in your room had in stock and perhaps you’d drink a few small bottles of . . . whatever.

That had been the plan—to get mildly tipsy then head for the bathroom for a hot shower . . . but . . . somehow, someway you’d ended up taking the shower first, taking one look at the minibar, then deciding the actual bar on the main floor just might have better options. And then, well, you ended up sitting alone at the end of the bar, dressed in sweats while everyone else appeared to be dressed business casual.

You stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was embarrassing, really, but after the second drink, you stopped looking around the room and focused in on the bottom of your glass. Why was this how you decided to celebrate? You had no idea, because, truthfully, it felt a lot more like nursing an old wound than celebrating a win.

It didn’t help that your entire team was elsewhere and your own doubles partner was MIA since the court. So, really, that just left you alone in sweats at a bar with a drink in your hand that you didn’t even like.

Fifteen minutes later you decided you’d had enough. But just as you were about to stand on your feet, pay the bartender, and turn to your hotel room, something caught your eye.

Now . . . Jealousy was not something you had an issue with. You didn’t get jealous. There was no need to. You’d never had anyone to be truly jealous over. Right? Yes, obviously, duh. Obviously . . . 

But catching a glimpse of Jungkook just on the other side of the room, talking with another girl did annoy you. No, not because you were jealous, but because here you were all alone celebrating your win and he was nowhere in sight. And now . . . now you discovered he had been in the same place as you this entire time and didn’t say anything.

Were you being dramatic? Probably.

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Still . . . you continued staring, eyes narrowed and you were certain it looked as though you were trying desperately to blow his head up with just a glare. But . . . ugh! Come on, he was so—

Jungkook turned his head, his eyes locking with yours.

Your eyes widened into saucers as you quickly (too quickly) whipped back around, facing the bar once again with your drink now clutched tightly in your hand.

But you knew he’d seen you. And he knew he’d seen you.

Surely, he wouldn’t come over here, right? He was busy. Yes. He wouldn’t come over. He was—

“You have a staring problem,” a deep voice whispered from behind you.

Of course. Of course . . . Jungkook would come over.

Clearing your throat, you slowly turned to face him. “Just wondering how you bagged her,” you hummed with a small shrug as you took a sip of your drink. Yep, still the same taste. (You tried not to react to the bitter-tasting liquid.)

Jungkook ignored your jab and instead sat down on the barstool beside you, resting his elbow on the bar. “So . . . “ he trailed off, searching your eyes as he toyed with the lip ring adoring his bottom lip, “wanna come back to my room?”

You shot him an unamused look. “Is this how you treat all one-night stands?”

“Mmm, come on,” he began as he slipped the drink from your hand, taking a sip in the process, “you know I’d never ask them to stay.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, I feel so special,” you sarcastically mused. Your eyes drifted to the girl he was talking to, finding her still standing in the same spot now talking to another woman and a man. But still . . . your jealousy remained. Wait, no, not jealousy. No. “Go back to your girl. She’s waiting on you.”

Those were the words that fell from your lips the moment the fact that you could actually be . . . jealous . . . popped into your head.

Jungkook blinked, his expression faltering ever so slightly.

Then: “Alright . . .” he nodded— “have a good night, Buttercup.”

“Yep,” you breathed out, turning back to face the bar as you watched him get up and walk away out of the corner of your eye.

It was silent again. You were alone again. Until: “Can I get another one of these,” you heard yourself ask before you knew what you were doing. Why you were ordering this god-awful drink again, you had no idea, but . . . oh well . . .

Only, before the bartender could pour another one out, a hand cut in front of you, pushing the empty glass away. “That won’t be necessary,” the person said, and you instantly knew who interjected.

Turning around, your eyes fell on Jungkook for another time that night. “Kook? What?” you questioned as you watched him wave off the bartender, and sit back down in the barstool beside you.

Finally, his eyes flicked to yours, and he . . . smiled. “Told her I already had plans.”

You breathed out a laugh through your nose. “You’d choose me over somethin’ like that?” you hummed, trying to make light of the awkward situation. (At least . . . well . . . awkward to . . . you.)

“I’d choose you over everyone,” Jungkook responded without missing a beat.

And your face slowly fell into one of shock.

“So, let me ask you again . . . “ Jungkook began again while you were still in a state of shock, “wanna go back to my room?”

I’d choose you over everyone, rang through your ears again as he stared, awaiting your answer. But he couldn’t mean that, right? . . . Right?

And . . . and why did it make you feel like . . . that? Like . . . like . . . well you didn’t exactly know what it made you feel, but you did know it had done something to you. You just . . . you couldn’t put it into words, but . . . you didn’t hate it.

You didn’t hate how his words had made you feel; how he had made you feel. So, really was it a surprise that you reached forward to grasp his warm hand in your cold one? Was it really a surprise that the next few words to fall from your lips were: ‘Lead the way’?

Subtly, you, and Jungkook did not go together well. The entire walk back to the lobby, down the hall, and straight for the elevator were filled with quick steps, wandering eyes, and hands brushing (very obviously if you had to admit). Anticipation and eagerness were in the air as the two of you finally made it to the elevator.

Side by side, Jungkook pressed the upward arrow, and you watched as it lit up, the sound of the elevator gearing into action. His pinky finger brushed against yours then. It was a simple touch; one you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so caught up in the memories of the last time you’d had his body on yours (just before you’d taken the train to Busan . . . so like . . . two days ago). 

It was a consistent thing. You had nothing to say for yourself. It was fun. And that simple touch had your mind reeling and your body itching to touch his.

Then, as if like clockwork, the elevator dinged, the doors slowly opening to reveal an empty area. You didn’t even have a chance to put a name to the feeling that bloomed within your chest before Jungkook took your hand in his, pulled you into the elevator, and slapped the button to his floor before he vigorously pressed the door close button.

Leaning against the elevator wall with your hands clasped behind your back, you felt yourself laugh under your breath. “You know you only have to press it once,” you hummed, brows raised as you took in his appearance with a careful look.

“What’s the point in that?” he sheepishly questioned, pressing it one more time before he approached you, leaning his hands on the rail on either side of you. His nose bumped yours, his lips just barely brushing against yours. “Hmm?”

“Unnecessary time wasted,” you murmured back, leaning just a bit closer . . . enough to press your lips against his once. 

“But then how would I get my point across?” he whispered back, pressing another kiss to your lips.

Subconsciously, your hand raised to caress his jaw. “What point?”

Jungkook grinned against your lips.

“What?” you questioned. “What point? Hmm?”

“That if this elevator does not close fast enough—” he moved to kiss your neck— “I might be tempted to fuck you here.”

Oh. You swallowed thickly. “And that’s a problem?”

Jungkook raised his head, his eyes meeting yours as that damned half-grin spread on his face again. He went to open his mouth, but finally, the elevator doors began to close, forcing the two of you to turn your attention to them, watching carefully as they closed shut and the elevator shaft began to move.

Blinking quickly, you turned back to Jungkook. He turned back to you, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Then . . . he smiled. “Not a problem now,” he murmured, and you knew there was no going back. His hands, lips, teeth, tongue were on you instantly, trying to get as close as possible that you hadn’t even noticed he’d hiked up your leg onto his hip in an attempt to get his body flush with yours. And you welcomed it all, because fuck . . . the only thing you were thinking was him, him, him.

In the heat of things, his hand snuck under your sweatshirt, the warmth of his skin providing comfort to your chilled skin. You sucked in a breath, the hand that had been on his jaw, now snaking into his dark hair, twisting and twirling the longer strands. Without thinking, you tugged a little too hard on his hair, instantly drawing a deep moan from the back of his throat. 

You stilled under his touch. Fuck. Now . . . men who were vocal were your biggest weakness. You had known this before, but he’d never sounded like . . . that. And you barely had time to process it.

One second you were frozen under his touch, then the next all you could feel was him. He took you by surprise, the hand holding your thigh up reached for your ass, tugging you into him so your lower half was completely flush with his. The fact that he was already somewhat hard, too, was impossible to ignore, and only fed into the dizzying effect he had on you. And as if him slightly grinding the bulge in his pants against your core wasn’t blissful torture enough, his other hand had snaked all the way up to cup your breast, his thumb quickly finding your perked nipple and rolling it. You jerked against him, the pleasure going straight to your core.

“No fucking bra. You’re killing me,” he murmured against your lips, his thumb still rolling slowly then quickly then slow again . . . just how you liked it. “I’ll never get over how sensitive you are.”

And you . . . well . . . you couldn’t help yourself. It was your weakness after all. One more roll, and you were reeling, core throbbing, and blood rushing to your head. You gave in, letting your body buck against his as you practically mewled into his mouth.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” he all but whined as he retracted his hand from under your shirt, and before you could question his motives, that same hand was already crawling under the hem of your sweatpants. Quickly, his fingers found your heat as he gave a groan of approval before he began to swirl the wetness around your puffy lips. 

“Kook,” you gasped into his mouth as his middle and ring fingers plunged into your core. “Can’t you just fuck me here?”

He curled his fingers in response, and you slightly arched against him. “Shh,” was all he could fathom while he plunged his fingers in and out . . . in and out . . . in and out.

One particular plunge had your pussy squelching. You didn’t know why it was so loud this time, but every time he’d fuck his fingers into you, squelching sounds followed. But before you could become embarrassed, Jungkook lowered his head to your shoulder, groaning into your neck as he paused his hand movements. 

Was he going to say something? Was he—

“Listen,” he whispered into your neck, shocking you completely moments before the grip on your thigh became lethal as he began to quickly fuck you with his fingers, loud, wet squelching sounds accompanying each pump.

And suddenly you weren’t thinking any longer. His skilled fingers were working you so well, you barely even heard how wet you were for him, you just felt this overwhelming sense of pleasure and let yourself become consumed by it. Mesmerized by your pleasure, Jungkook continued fucking you on his fingers, dragging the pads of his fingertips against the rough part of your walls as the palm of his hand applied pressure to your clit.

One particular motion had your lower stomach muscles contracting, and that was when you felt it. Gasping slightly, you managed to raise your head, shooting your hand out to latch onto the rail behind you. “Kook,” you gasped again as your brows pinched together and you tried to focus your vision. “I think—” a small whine sounding from the back of your throat cut you off— “Fuck, I think I’m going to—” 

Another whine of your own cut you off once again, and instantly, you recognized this feeling. The familiar coil building and building in your lower stomach. Only this time, it felt different—the pressure was deeper, more intense . . . like you couldn’t control it.

Your lower abdomen muscles contracted again and you knew it was coming. “Kookie,” you all but cried out as your hand grasped the forearm of the hand clutching your thigh. “I’m going to—” you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt so dry and you were so out of breath— “I’m going to fucking . . . ffffuh . . . fucking . . . squirt.”

At the sound of your words, Jungkook raised his head, lidded eyes, mouth slightly agape, and brows pinched upward, staring back at you. Quickly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. “Be good for me, yeah? Let me have it, baby,” he murmured against your lips, still not stopping his motions. “Look at me when you do. Wanna see it.” Another kiss to your lips. “Wanna see you cum.”

All you could do was nod as you tried to keep your eyes open while Jungkook backed up from you just enough to be able to see your face clearly enough. And then you felt it: the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears until it finally snapped, your release sprinkling out of you and soaking your sweatpants as this deep pleasure consumed your being in waves. You tried to fight against it, trying to keep your eyes peeled open and trained on Jungkook, but your vision was blurry and your pussy was throbbing so hard you were sure it had gotten to your head.

In the end, all you could manage was to slump against Jungkook’s buff chest while he pumped the last of your release out of your pulsating core. And once you had nothing left to give, his fingers slid out of you before he wrapped both of his arms around your spent body, chuckling slightly as you fell limp in his grasp.

“You are so loud,” he murmured after a moment’s silence as he buried his face into your hair and finally laughed, his whole chest vibrating.

“Am—” you smacked your lips together, still delirious— “not.”

Jungkook snorted. “Whatever you say, Petunia.”

“Ugh, Koo . . . “ but your words died on your tongue.

Had you been loud? Oh god . . . did you . . . you didn’t scream, did you?

Slowly, you gained back a little mobility (enough to raise your head to look him in the eyes), and asked, “Did I scream?”

Jungkook stared down at you, a wide, toothy grin spread across his face. “Only a little,” he mused, chuckling slightly at his words. “Whined a little, too. Kinda like a . . . like a little bitch.”

Your eyes blew up. “No,” you gasped in horror. “Was it really—”

The elevator dinged, drawing both of your attention to the closed doors. Wait—Fuck, you’d forgotten you were even on an elevator. The elevator must have arrived on your floor, and you two had been too caught up in each other to have even noticed . . . until now. And now . . . now you had a giant wet spot on the crotch of your sweatpants. Just your luck.

But as soon as the doors opened, Jungkook acted quickly. He bent down and wrapped his arms around your thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder. You, in utter shock (and still mildly coming down from your high), laid limp in his grasp, and let him have his way. It wasn’t until after the people boarding the elevator got on and Jungkook got off, did you realize what exactly was his plan.

“Lightweight, you know?” he chuckled lightly to the other people, and your jaw dropped.

He was painting you as a passed-out drunk. Oh, he was going to get it. (Although . . . it was a pretty good cover. (Not that you’d admit it.))

Once the two of you were finally out of earshot, you pounded on his broad back. “That was embarrassing,” you groaned, kicking your feet in the air.

“Drunk people piss their pants all the time,” he simply hummed as he continued down the hall in search of his room. “Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.”

You pounded on his back again. “I did not piss my pants,” was all you spat out.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” he mused as he brought his other hand up to deliver a hard smack to your ass. And you could only huff against him in response.

Only when he’d found his room did he put you down, slowly and safely on your feet, and you were ready, already glaring at him the second you were on solid ground again. You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed to seal the deal further.

But that only seemed to amuse Jungkook more. “What?” he hummed, raising his brows as he leaned in closer to you.

“You suck,” was all you muttered.

His eyes flicked from yours to your lips as a small grin slid onto his face. “Believe that’s your job,” he murmured as he leaned even closer to plant a kiss on your cheek. “And you’re very, very, very good at your job.”

Narrowing your eyes, you demanded, “Open the door.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he cheerily replied as he slid the room key into the slot, removing it quickly, and waiting for the green light before he swung open the door. His eyes flicked to yours then, and he nodded in the direction of the hotel room. “After you.”

But just as the two of you entered the room, flicking on the light as the door slammed shut behind you, Jungkook pulled you back into him. You stumbled slightly, but nevertheless, turned around in his arms to face him with a confused look.

He only sent a small smile in return. “I like when you’re jealous, by the way,” he remarked as he curled a piece of your hair behind your ear.

Your brows knitted together. “Jealous? I’m never jealous,” you scoffed . . . but . . . you had a sneaky suspicion you knew what he was talking about.

The corners of his lips twitched a little further. “You know . . . she was from the other team,” he went on, ignoring your words.

“Hmm?” you questioned, playing dumb when you one-hundred percent knew what he was going on about now.

Earlier. The bar. That girl he was talking to.

“That girl,” Jungkook continued. “She was just congratulating our win. So you—” he tapped your nose— “sweetheart, were jealous over nothing.”

Well . . . you supposed that explained it, but . . . but you couldn’t have him knowing that you were jealous. He already knew way too much about what went on inside your head. He could not know you were jealous of all the disgusting things to be. So, you decided to . . . you know . . . lie.

“I was not jealous,” was the brilliant response you came up with.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, trying not to break out into a wide grin yet again. “Mhm.”

You shrugged in response as if to say, Told you so.

But those words never left your lips. In fact, you rather regretted even thinking them the moment Jungkook opened up his mouth again.

“There’s no one else on my mind,” were the words he decided to reply with.

And your face slowly fell into one of shock. “What?”

That didn’t seem to faze Jungkook. His smile still remained. “It’s just you, stupid,” he whispered, his voice like a tear on a cheek—soft and . . . sweet.

Oh. You blinked. It’s just you.

And you felt yourself smile at the words. You couldn’t even help it either. It just . . . he was sweet. He really was. 

It’s just you, rang through your ears once more, and you couldn’t help it. You leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t like the others either. It was soft and sweet . . . just like his words.

Then, you pulled back, kicked off your shoes, and walked further into the room. “Nice place you got here,” you mused as you looked around the hotel room before you bent down to sift through his suitcase, pulling out a pair of his boxers. You slipped off your soaked sweatpants and underwear before you slid on the boxers and headed for his bed, plopping down on the mattress with your legs crossed and ankles under your knees.

(That was the thing: this was normal. The two of you shared clothes. (Well, you mostly stole his clothes, and then he’d end up finding you in them . . . and well . . . he wouldn’t be able to think straight for the rest of the day.)

“Thanks,” he laughed, his hands reaching for the hem of his shirt before he pulled it over his head and discarded it on the ground, “no cockroaches found yet.”

“Oh, wow, fancy,” you remarked with a look. “You rich?”

Jungkook cocked his head to the side, a dazed grin on his face. “You didn’t know? I’m a world-famous badminton star,” he said as he approached you, leaning his hands on either side of your body on the bed.

“World famous?” you tsked, clicking your tongue. “Oh, god, oh no. I’m so sorry. I had no idea I was in the presence of royalty.” You dramatically clasped your hands together and bowed to the best of your ability, surely whacking him in the face with your hair.

“OK, you little shit. C’mere,” he all but whined as he wrapped an arm around your back and pulled you down to the bed so you were laying flat on your back, looking up at him. 

Except, the look on his face was all too much for you to hold back—you laughed. You couldn’t help it. He just looked so ruffled. It made the laughter caught in your chest bubble up in your throat, and eventually you were laughing so hard you had to squeeze your eyes shut and clutch your stomach.

As the seconds ticked by, your laughter died down and your eyes slowly opened to find Jungkook still staring at you, a dopey smile on his face.

Still holding back your quiet laughs, you quirked a brow in questioning.

Jungkook only shook his head, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “I love when you laugh,” he hummed, his voice like fucking honey or something unfairly ethereal. “Strokes my ego.”

“Like you need any more stroking,” you remarked, shooting him a look.

His brows shot up. “You offering?”

And you couldn’t help it, you laughed again, but this time tried to cover it up with a roll of your eyes. “Nice try,” you scolded as you raked your hands through his hair. “Hey—” your thoughts unexpectedly switched as your hands found his hair— “can I braid your hair for the next games.”

But Jungkook was somewhere else. His eyes were on your sweatshirt as he sighed through his nose, securing his hand on your hip to move you further up the bed so he could crawl over you. And you let him, trying to ignore how the almost possessive action made your heart thump (amongst other . . . things). He now laid with one arm holding him up, his legs on either side of your body as his free hand toyed with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“I wish you were in one of my shirts,” he mumbled almost as if he were talking more to himself than to you, but you paid it no mind. (He often lost his train of thought, staring off into space . . . and you always snapped him out of it with a bubbly smile on your face. He was . . . cute.)

“Kookie,” you hummed. 

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and brown. “Hmm?”

“Can I braid your hair for the next games?”

He smiled then. “Course,” he replied before he leaned down to press his lips against yours.

“You sure do like kissing me,” you mumbled against his lips.

He nibbled on your bottom lip. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

The only response you could muster up was to press your lips against his once again, a bit firmer now. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking on it gently before you let it go and instead licked a strip along the crease of his lips. He reacted quickly to your touch, hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer and melded your tongue with his. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your sweatshirt.

A small gasp escaped you when you felt the warmth of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, sending jolts of arousal to your core.

You instantly knew what he was thinking too. Ready so soon for another round . . . but like . . . come on. Who could blame you?

Certainly not him, not now, not with you like this. “Mmm,” he hummed against your lips, his hand inching toward the hem of your sweatshirt again. “Can I take this off?”

“Mhm.”

Ever so slowly as if to savor it, Jungkook pulled your sweatshirt off you as if the two of you were watching paint dry. And finally with it off and over your head, he threw it to the ground, instantly, coming back from more, molding his bare chest against yours. “Sometimes I think you want me to cream my pants,” he remarked, shaking his head at your tits while he brought a hand up to gently roll your perked nipple with his thumb.

You laughed through your arousal, tilting your head back slightly. “You’re so stupid,” you heard yourself say in a hushed voice. It was so obvious just how much he affected you. You could hear it in your voice, and you were sure he could too.

But that only seemed to spur him on further as he sunk down lower until his face was level with your tits. He began to mouth at them, leaving sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses across your flesh. “Mmm, put something on the TV?” he mumbled into your skin moments before his tongue wrapped around your nipple and he began to suck.

“While you’re motorboating me? No thanks,” you huffed, trying to keep your cool, but Jungkook was sucking and nibbling all over your tits, making your head feel fuzzy and core a little too needy to be comfortable.

“I’ve never motorboated,” Jungkook countered as he traveled to your other breast, squeezing the flesh before he flicked his tongue repeatedly across your nipple. “Not classy.” His tongue swirled and you nearly mewled.

You swallowed hard in response instead. “Since when do you care about class?”

Then there was a hand on your face. And no, not like caressing your cheek or anything like that. Jungkook had full on just placed his abnormally large hand over your entire face . . .

“Shh, let me have a moment with my girls,” he mumbled his explanation before he went back to mouthing at your tits.

“Oh, my god,” you groaned in disgust as you flicked his hand off your face, but that didn’t cancel out the fact that his skilled tongue was sending jolt after jolt of arousal to your core with every lick.

“I’ve missed you, Samantha,” he sighed as he lightly bit one of your breasts. “Mmm, you, too, Rachel.” He moved to your other tit, swirling his tongue around your areola and sucking.

You deadpanned. “You named them.”

“You’re interrupting my threesome.”

“And you’re giving me nightmares,” you huffed as you pulled away from him, turning over on your side. You were being dramatic. Obviously. And you were doing it on purpose, because, well, you wanted his attention. (And you liked being a brat . . . sometimes. (OK, fine, you thought it was funny. Get over it.))

Jungkook knew this, too, as he let out a clap of laughter, immediately reaching for you as he wrapped an arm around your middle and tugged you into him. “No, no, baby, I’m sorry, I just wanted to piss you off,” he mumbled into your neck as he pressed kiss after kiss to your skin.

“Mhm.”

“Do you forgive me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hold back your joking grin. “If I have to,” you dramatically sighed.

“I’m a weak man, what can I say?” he remarked into your neck as his hand slowly cupped one of your breasts. And then . . . well . . . he squeezed . . . twice. “Honk. Honk.”

And you snorted. “Seriously, Jungkook?” you choked out through a laugh. He was just so . . . god you didn’t have a word . . . he was just so . . . Jungkook. “I never expected you to be this much of a boob guy.”

“Well—” he blew a raspberry— “when they look at me like that.”

“Jesus.”

“They’re like dumplings.”

That was when you looked over at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Really, your unamused look seemed to say.

“What?” He blinked, eyes wide and brown. “I love dumplings.”

“You know what I love?” you asked, turning around in his arms so your body was facing him.

He leaned forward to flick his nose against yours. “Mmm?”

You scrunched your nose. “Seeing you suffer.”

“This is what you call suffering?” Jungkook remarked, glancing between your tits and your face. And then . . . then . . . he reached out and smacked your breasts.

And you . . . well . . . all you could do was stare at him in shock. Had he really? Oh, that little—

Jungkook burst out into a fit of laughter, rolling onto his back and clutching his stomach. All the while, you stayed put, mouth still agape in shock as you blinked one, two, three times. Until he pulled you into him again, and that warmth you were so used to revisited you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he laughed into your hair, his words muffled.

And then you said something that you hadn’t even realized was on your mind until you blurted out: “Do you want to fuck them?”

Jungkook choked on his laughter.

A beat of silence.

“What?” he trailed off, and you could practically hear him blink.

But you had meant what you said, and so . . . “Do you want to fuck my tits?” you repeated again, this time craning your head to look him dead in the eyes when the words left your lips.

Jungkook rolled over, caging you in as his hand reached your face, gently brushing your hair behind your ear. “You pulling my leg?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to hold back the devilish smile that was crawling onto your face. “I know you want to . . . and I . . . wanna see you do it,” you mused, searching his face.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Narrowing his eyes at you, he asked, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Why not?” you pouted, knowing damn well he was right. You took that as your chance to lean in closer to him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Want me to say I need your cum? Hmm? Is that what you want, baby? You want to know that I’m thirsty for it?”

He swallowed hard. “Fuck. You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe a little,” you hummed with a shrug. “But I do kinda miss your cock.”

Jungkook flashed his teeth, shaking his head. “Brat,” he muttered under his breath as he reached for you again, pressing his lips against yours. 

It was hard not to let yourself be consumed by him. You enjoyed it—how his lips felt like a tear on a cheek; how his kiss always felt like remembering something you were missing. You didn’t know what it meant. You rarely knew what anything meant, but you did know you enjoyed it; you relished in it; you craved it. Truly. You craved him. All of you.

In an instant, you were on your back again, and his lips were on your neck. He was whispering sweet nothings into your skin as he made his descent to your tits, paying extra attention to the old hickey on the underside of your breast which he left there just a night ago. It was sloppy, perhaps a little carnal, but you didn’t mind. 

Jungkook leaned back up to kiss your jaw. “Want me to cum on your tits, hmm?” he asked, his voice darker now, making you nearly squeeze your thighs together. You knew what that voice meant, and god did you miss it. “Want to fucking smell like me? Show everyone who’s fucking you, huh? Want them to know it’s me? That you’re my girl?”

And you couldn’t help it; you gave in. “Please, Kookie, need it so bad,” you all but whined, knowing damn well he got off on this little bratty act of yours. “Need you to cum on my tits. Need it. So bad.”

He groaned into your neck. “You’re killing me.”

“Oh, but, Kookie, you can’t die yet,” you whined, pouting slightly. “Not until you fuck me. Pretty please?” Batting your eyelashes, you knew he was getting a kick out of this, and that . . . that was exactly why you did it.

“Yeah?” he asked as he pressed into you. His cock was digging into your hip now, making your head spin, until you could no longer ignore it.

“Mhm,” you hummed, still pouting, now with your bottom lip pushed out. “I won’t be able to breathe without it, you know?”

Jungkook grinned, shaking his head. “You’re such a little shit,” he remarked with amusement in his voice. 

“Well . . . is it working?” you asked as you leaned forward and kissed the scar on his cheek.

“You don’t need to do anything for it to work.”

You quirked a brow. “Oh?”

“Don’t act surprised, sweetheart,” he mused as he nipped at your bottom lip. “Makes you look stupid.”

That little—You cut yourself off with your own actions, because really . . . sure, you’d act like a brat, but if he thought he had the upper hand, he was dead wrong.

With that thought on your mind, you trailed your hand down his chest, soaking up his warmth as you dipped into his boxers. While maintaining eye contact, a sly grin slid onto your face as you wrapped your hand around his painfully hard cock. You felt him still under your touch, but he was cockier tonight. He recovered quickly, grinning down at you as he shoved his pants down his legs and threw them somewhere in the room, his boxers shortly following. Then . . . as if he couldn’t get any more up his own ass, he looked down at you almost expectantly, glancing between your face and his cock.

It seemed the win may have worked its magic on him as well, and even if he didn’t realize it, you could tell, and that . . . that was attractive to you.

You sucked on your teeth, trying not to give yourself away, but you were sure the moment he felt your core, he’d get that much cockier. Still, you wanted to win this . . . whatever this was, and so when your thumb brushed over the head of his cock, you watched as he tried to stifle his reaction, but you caught onto him swallowing quickly the second you squeezed. Your cunt throbbed with the desire to be filled in response. 

You wanted him in the most visceral way. But god did you love watching him wither, and the thought of continuing this little game overpowered everything else.

That very thought was your main drive. You shoved him back, perhaps a little rougher than usual, but the never faltering grin on his face showed you all that he was thinking. Playing off that, you hooked your thumbs into the band of his boxers you wore and tugged them down your legs, throwing them to the floor. And then . . . then you gave him one last look, pretending to adjust your position on the bed in an attempt to showcase your glistening core to him before you teasingly tore that away from him, closing your legs. (But you made sure to note how his eyes had lingered on your legs as if he were trying to pry them open with a look.)

“I want you to cum on my tits,” you stated boldly as you leaned back down while pressing your tits together with your hands so they were on display for his gaze. “Pretty please, Kookie?” You pouted once again, playing into that bratty act he loved so much.

“Jesus Christ,” he blurted out as he blinked one, two, three times. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe this was really happening, and that made you all the more confident in your desires.

Shimming down so your tits were level with his cock, you peered up at him moments before you took his cock in your hand and guided him. Gently, you brushed the tip of his cock over your nipples, the glide being slick and easy due to the beads of precum already leaking from the small slit. He was hard, and you could tell it was taking everything in him not to just forget all about everything else and just fuck you senseless right there. And you almost let him, but . . . this was too much fun.

“Mmm, I don’t think we have any lube, do we?” you exaggeratedly huffed. 

His thumb tapped your bottom lip, but no words left his lips; his eyes were solely trained on your tits which were already stained with his precum. But no, you were not going to spit on your tits. You had a better plan.

“Too messy, Koo,” you all but scolded, and then . . . you made sure his eyes were on your hand as you slowly made your descent to your wet heat. Your fingers made contact with your wetness, and you sighed in contentment as you dipped into your heat, pumping your fingers in and out, and relishing in the loud, lewd sounds which came from the act.

Once you were sure your hand was completely covered in your arousal, you rubbed the wetness all over your tits, making sure to cover his cock as well. In response, his cock twitched in your grip, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

“What the fuck?” he remarked in utter awe.

You smiled sweetly. “Fuck them, Kookie,” you mewled as you stared up at him. And who was he to disobey?

Slowly, Jungkook took his cock from your grasp, sliding the tip around the wetness on your chest, until he slid into place between your tits. You pressed them together tightly, creating a cushioned slit for him to fuck . . . and almost as if the warmth from your breasts enclosing around his length had shocked him out of his daze, he sighed, leaning both his hands on the bed as he began to move his hips.

“You like this, huh?” he asked, his voice raspy as his thrusts began to gain in momentum. “Like being used like this?”

“Yes, only by you,” you gasped out as he began to fuck into the slit your breasts had made solely for his cock. You let some of your spit dribble down, allowing for more lubrication.

Jungkook groaned at the sight, picking up the pace until he was nearly panting. “You’re so fucking hot,” he all but growled. “You get so fucking dumb for my cock. So fucking sexy.”

You pushed your tits together tighter, beginning to whine. “Please, I need you to cum on my tits,” you cried out. “Wanna feel you. Wanna taste it.” You didn’t know where these words were coming from, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter when you could just tell he was seconds from busting. So you did your best, squeezing your tits together as tight as you could and silently begging him to give into all of your desire.

“Fuck,” Jungkook cursed as he threw his head back and allowed himself to release a deep moan. “Just like that, baby. Squeeze your pretty tits for me.”

Normally he lasted longer, but sometimes, when he was so desperate just to feel you he blew all too easily. It was times like those that you looked forward to the most. You liked seeing him all desperate and needy like that. (What did that say about you, you didn’t know. (You also didn’t care.))

When he came in under a minute, that was when you felt the most proud, because you’d done that. You’d taken this seemingly almighty man and made him submit to you. That was what you craved, and that was what had you nearly rubbing your clit raw when he wasn’t there to fuck you into the mattress. And so, you couldn’t help it. You began to rub your thighs together, searching for relief as Jungkook’s thrusts became sloppy and his moans increased. He was practically whining now, begging you to let him cum. 

You dribbled spit onto his cock and rubbed your tits together, creating enough friction to have him gasping above you. That was when you thought he was most beautiful (well . . . there were other times, but . . . ). When he was weak enough for you to moan and whine and practically cry out for your pussy . . . that was when you thought he looked like the kinds of fallen angels you’d read about in cheesy romance novels.

“Give it to me, Kookie,” you begged, knowing that tone of voice and the use of that nickname would have him right where you wanted. And then you heard it: the tell in his voice that told you he wasn’t just close; he was less than seconds away.

In utter awe, you watched as he desperately tried to pull himself together, nearly out of breath as he pulled away, his hand instantly wrapping around his length and jerking himself off. You squeezed your tits together, continuing to watch with lidded eyes as he clenched his jaw and breathed through his pleasure. And then your mouth fell open, sticking your tongue out as if beckoning him to ruin you, and he lost it.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he all but moaned as his eyes stayed on your chest while he vigorously tugged at his length, focusing on the sensitive tip.

“Please, Kookie. Need it, baby,” you rasped out, and you knew that was it. 

Jungkook released a strained groan, his muscles tensing as ropes of his cum shot out, painting your chest. He continued to milk his cock, whining softly as the last bits of his release hit your tongue, your chin, even dripping down your nipples. And once his orgasm had passed, he leaned over you, holding himself up on the bed before he collapsed beside you, still breathing heavily.

“I think that was a dream come true,” he rushed out, completely out of breath.

You laughed, shaking your head as your fingers crawled toward your cum-stained chest. And then you did something which shocked even you. You dipped your fingers into his cum, spreading it around before you brought your finger to your lips and licked the contents completely off. Only then, with your lips wrapped around your fingers did you turn to meet Jungkook’s gaze.

Jungkook only blinked at you in shock, watching as you swallowed his cum. He swallowed hard at the act, continuing to watch as you slowly withdrew your fingers from your mouth . . . and well . . . you supposed that was his last straw.

Without warning, Jungkook reached for you. One hand found your plump ass while the other tangled in your hair as he pulled you in for a kiss. But this was no ordinary kiss. No, Jungkook didn’t bother giving you an innocent peck. Instead, he immediately licked the seam of your lips, and you parted your mouth for him. Only instead of slotting your tongues together like you expected, he wrapped his lips around your tongue, sucking the muscle like he was trying to taste himself on your tongue. And if that wasn’t enough, once he’d gotten a taste of you and him, a soft, deep noise sounded from the back of his throat.

He didn’t care about the fact that your chest was painted in his cum. In fact, you were sure that only spurred him on more as he squeezed you tighter against him while he licked and sucked into your mouth.

It was carnal, messy, sloppy. It was almost sin. And when he finally pulled back, both of you now equally covered in his release, all he did was send you one of those half-grins.

“Wanna shower?” he offered. “Kitty cat’s hungry I think.” His eyes flicked down to your neglected core, and you nearly laughed in his face.

Instead, you nodded, completely dazed. Even from the look on your face, it was clear you didn’t know much. That was obvious. But . . . there was one thing you knew for sure: Jungkook would always surprise you.

Hours later, you were awoken by the sunlight peeking into the room through the blinds. Rubbing your eyes, you shuffled backward, finding that Jungkook was still there. You smiled to yourself, nuzzling further into him as you found his arm wrapped around your middle, and quickly clasped your hand around his, bringing it to your chest to cradle.

Jungkook stirred then, laughing under his breath. “Hi, baby,” he murmured, his morning voice nearly making you squeeze your eyes shut. (It really was unfair how attractive this man was. Jesus.)

But . . . then your dreams snuck back in. That was part of the reason you’d woken up. Your dreams had haunted you. Because you knew he was hiding something and your mind had made the worst of it.

Yesterday, you supposed, after the tournament, he disappeared, and he hadn’t told you where he’d gone. That . . . that had your mind wandering even in your sleep.

So you really couldn’t stop yourself when you mumbled out, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mmm.”

“Where’d you go last night?” you let yourself ask, swallowing hard. “After the court, where’d you go?”

A beat of silence.

He hadn’t been expecting that, but . . . He’d let you in, right? After all this time . . . he trusted you, too, right?

But another beat of silence passed and you began to wonder. Then you began to worry. And then . . . then you began to feel stupid.

But just as you were about to pull away and apologize for going too far, Jungkook pulled you closer. “My room,” he began as he nuzzled his face further into the crook of your neck. “I couldn’t breathe. Everything was . . . blurry . . . dizzy.”

You blinked. “Panic attack.”

And he nodded against your skin. “I had to be alone.”

The thing was: you weren’t unfamiliar with panic attacks. You hadn’t had many in your life, but during those three years . . . everything had gotten worse. You knew how it felt when . . . that happened, and you knew what it did to people. 

“That’s OK,” you found yourself saying before you even knew it.

Jungkook raised his head. “You think that’s OK?”

You nodded, because it was. It truly was.

“If that’s what makes you feel safe . . . then yes, I think that’s OK,” you mumbled, restating your thoughts. “But . . . if you don’t want to be alone . . . if you don’t want to do it alone . . . I have nothing to do. Come find me.” You glanced behind you, eyes finding his in the dark.

And then . . . then he smiled. “I’d like that,” he hummed, his voice like honey. “But—”

“I know,” you cut him off with a gentle hand to his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me why. Just . . . if you need someone . . . I can be someone.” You dropped your hand, letting it fall to his arm. “By the way . . . I’m sorry for being a bitch yesterday—”

“Eh, used to it,” Jungkook muttered with a shrug.

Pursing your lips, you shot him a look you knew he wouldn’t see. “I was just jealous,” you finally admitted, because, really, who were you kidding?

And Jungkook didn’t rub it in your face this time. Instead, he simply smiled and hummed, “I know. I like it when you get like that for me.”

Your brows twitched. Fuck, did he ever have an effect on you.

Almost as if he knew this, too, that was when he kissed you. You hadn’t been expecting it, so the startled hum which left your lips was totally called for. However, the laugh he allowed himself to make was not. (Not like you minded with his lips on yours.)

And then neither of you were thinking and nothing else mattered. You didn’t exactly know how you got there either, but you supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was just so warm and his kiss was just so addicting and well . . . his dick was hard and digging into your thigh.

How could you ignore that? And how could he?

It was almost comedic how quickly the two of you responded to each other. He pushed and you pulled. Like a fish hook in an eye, you knew your body would be craving his in an instant (perhaps it never stopped).

“This OK?” he asked against your lips, slightly out of breath.

All you could do was nod. “Need you,” you murmured against his lips, an almost silent plea. It was vulnerable. Perhaps more vulnerable than you meant for it to sound, but it was true. You needed him, and right now, you needed to feel him in the most visceral way you could.

The world blurred. Time morphed together, moving slowly as he sighed into your mouth and you reached for his hand, pulling him between your legs. He graciously accepted your offer, slipping his hand under the pair of boxers you’d stolen from him after your shower, and pumping his fingers into your core while he swallowed your soft moans. Lewd, wet sounds filled the room as the world continued to blur and blur into pleasure, and bliss, and him.

And only after he’d made you cum on his fingers did he move your thigh to rest on his, allowing enough room for him to easily slip into your still pulsing core. It was true; he fit into you like a hook in an eye. The two of you had always melded together, and you did now. But it wasn’t what you were used to. Sure, the two of you would fuck slow, fast, rough, or soft, but this . . . this was a different kind of softness. It was the kind you had only experienced with him once—the first time you’d had sex all those months ago.

It was vulnerable. And you weren’t used to it. But you reveled in it all the same, losing yourself in every deep thrust. Like an odd sense of deja vu, you knew you’d felt this before. He fucked you slow, never soft, but always deep. He was everywhere, consuming you moan by moan, and you never wanted it to end. 

As you struggled not to moan loud enough to wake the people in the room next over, you glanced down, and that was when you saw it. You could have sworn that as his cock hit the deepest parts of you, a small bulge showed. Gently, you sighed out a moan as you pressed a hand on your lower abdomen, pressing down and that was when you felt it: his cock hitting deep inside you again and again and again.

Until you couldn’t take it any longer, you grabbed Jungkook’s hand and placed it against your lower stomach. “Feel,” you rasped out, keeping your hand over his while he thrust again and again.

When he felt it; when he felt his cock creating that bulge inside of you, he lost it. He buried his face into your neck, whispering how much he wanted to have you in every way, telling you how beautiful you were, and how much he wished he could fuck you forever.

And then:

Need you, you heard your own voice whisper as he gently bit into your neck, groaning softly while he shot his thick ropes of cum into your begging pussy. Need you, you acknowledged as his skilled thumb brought you to another orgasm that night all the while he stayed sheathed inside of your warm heat. Need you, you felt as he pulled out, immediately reaching for you once again as he brought you into his body, strong arms wrapped tightly around you.

Your own voice haunted you while Jungkook fell into sleep once again. But you just couldn't get it off your mind. Why had your words entered your mind then?

Why, why why? But you already knew why. You knew because you had been battling it for a while now. 

This entire time, you had wondered why you couldn’t give up on him. At first, you thought it was because you cared about him and needed to help him. You thought he needed you, but . . . while that was true; while he did fit into you like a hook in an eye . . . you knew you needed him more than he ever needed you.

That . . . that was why you couldn’t leave him alone. And fuck . . . did that ever scare the shit out of you.

When the two of you awoke for the second time that day, you knew what was ahead of you. A long day of traveling back to the training center, which meant leaving Busan.

That went well, but then the night came and as you made it into the living area of the girls’ dorm, all of your team members awaited you. They wanted to go out and celebrate Yunis’s win at the bar, which . . . you went along with, against your wishes.

Luckily . . . Jungkook was going, but . . . He had been sitting at the bar alone for half the night, and you felt less like a person and more like another cog in the wheel as you were forced to sit with your teammates instead of your partner.

But the thing that was bothering you that night was . . . Being who you were, what you had accomplished by the end of your senior year of college, and everything in between, you’d like to say you still remembered how it felt to win. But the truth was: you’d forgotten it entirely.

As the years had passed and you’d watched old teammates of yours make it farther than you ever probably would be able to again, the electric surge victory sent through your veins had slowly diminished into an afterthought. And you never thought you’d get the chance to taste that euphoric feeling again, at least not for a few more years if you were being generous. You’d never expected to end up here—winning by Jeon Jungkook’s side, and you certainly didn’t expect to owe it all to him. But there you were: standing in the middle of the very same bar you’d visited with the rest of the team at the beginning of your contract. A beer was clasped in your hand with a small smile on your face as the rest of the team conversed amongst each other, going on and on about the winning shot you had made which landed your team amongst the winning teams progressing into the next stage of the tournaments.

Yet . . . something felt off.

You didn’t feel like you’d won anything. You had. When you’d watched the birdie slam on the floor, the whistle blaring in your ears as you looked around to be met with a wide, toothy grin from your doubles partner . . . you had felt that victory. When you had thought of nothing else other than to hug Jungkook to commemorate your win . . . that was when you felt like you had actually won something.

But this . . . this didn’t feel good. It felt like nothing. And you knew exactly why.

Now . . . you didn’t want to celebrate with them. You wanted to clink your beers together in cheers with . . . him.

As your teammates loudly spoke over each other, your eyes flicked to the open bar just across the room. There sat Jeon Jungkook alone at the bar, hunched over his drink as he inspected the small tattoos on his hands. And long were the days that you would just let this happen.

“Kook!” you called out, not missing a beat.

Jungkook lifted his head in confusion, his eyes meeting yours. Why were you calling him? That was raging through his head, and you knew it, too. And perhaps it was the liquid courage, but for once, you didn’t care what your teammates thought of the two of you. Jungkook was not going to spend the night moping at a bar, instead of celebrating both your wins by your side. So . . . you waved him over (Naturally). 

And Jungkook, albeit a little hesitantly, followed your command in an instant. Slowly, he approached the rest of the team, which had quieted down now since your sudden request. Whatever. You didn’t care. You wanted him beside you. That was all.

“While I do love taking all the credit, I really can’t this time,” you began as you reached for Jungkook, tugging him in by the bicep. “I’m not the one we should be celebrating.”

Once again, his eyes met yours, brows twitching at your words. And you didn’t break eye contact. You weren’t sure if you could.

“Jungkook’s the reason we won yesterday,” you continued, that small smile still on your face. “He’s the reason I didn’t entirely suck. We should be celebrating him.”

Not once did you look away from him and not once did he look away from you. It was like the others didn’t matter. This was your win, not theirs.

The silence which met your ears confirmed this notion. You were OK with that. You were sure Jungkook was too.

Why, one might ask?

Because Jungkook had that stupid, (almost charming) small smile on his face. And you couldn’t help but offer up one of your own. This was both your win. 

Funny how times had changed . . . Funny . . . indeed.

“Well . . . “ someone began a second later, tearing you from your own mind, “I’ll drink to that.”

Only when you finally met the others’ eyes did you realize it was Hoseok who had offered up this proclamation of peace, practically waving around a white flag while he raised his beer toward Jungkook. And for a moment you thought maybe things would actually change. Maybe Jungkook would start to sit with the rest of the team instead of opting to stay in his dorm or sitting alone at the bar drowning his sorrows. Maybe things would be better now. Maybe this was his justice as much as it was yours.

Then . . . you noticed something. . . . When you glanced back at Jungkook, his eyes didn’t meet yours. No, they weren’t on you at all. Instead, he was looking Hoseok’s way with his brows raised in shock and a small, genuine smile twitching at the corners of his lips. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe it . . . like he’d have to pinch himself soon to make sure he wasn’t dreaming this all up. But that wasn’t what you had noticed.

Jungkook was looking at Hoseok. Not his chin or his forehead or the table . . . no, he was looking him in the eyes . . . like . . . like he could see him. But . . . ?

Everyone just has this big X over their face. I can’t see them . . . even if I wanted to, Jungkook’s voice filtered in through your ears as you recalled the memory. He’d told you he couldn’t see people. It made him anxious. Instead, big X’s covered everyone’s faces. 

And yet . . . he was looking at Hoseok. He could see Hoseok.

Only then did you realize what had happened. Hoseok’s words, metaphorically raising a white flag in surrender, had snuck through the barrier Jungkook had built up so high. Even if this didn’t last, even if . . . even if it didn’t, it did now. 

Jungkook could see Hoseok just like he could see you.

Perhaps, eventually, he’d allow himself to see everyone again, even those he wasn’t too fond of. Perhaps he’d let himself look people in the eyes . . . to see the world again instead of staring at his shoes while he walked with his head down. Perhaps this was how he’d define his own justice. Perhaps, you thought as your gaze lightened and your smile grew.

Until . . . a loud clap of laughter erupted from beside you, and you felt your heart falter. Your head turned only to see the image of Wooshik leaning back in his chair with a shot of soju on hand. His gaze was lazy, barely able to keep his eyes open as he grinned up at the two of you, and yet . . . it felt oddly threatening.

Maybe he was just drunk . . . but: “This is bullshit,” he all but hissed as he swigged back the shot before he dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Fucking bullshit.”

“Wooshik,” Hoseok warned, “not today.”

Wooshik lazily swung his head in his direction. “Not today?” he questioned. “Why do we have to sit here and applaud him? When do we get to voice the fact that this shit—” he slammed a fist onto the table— “isn’t fair? Hmm?”

“We won, didn’t we?” Hoseok bargained. “Jungkook put us on the map again.”

“So that means we what? Roll out the red carpet?” Wooshik slurred. “You know what he did. We’re the ones working our asses off every day all day and we still get slammed by Coach, and Jungkook here gets to drink himself to the brink of death, not show up for weeks, then somehow he’s still paid the most out of all of us. That sound fair? That sound like something we should be celebrating?”

Hoseok crossed his arms over his chest and began to open his mouth to retort, but you beat him to it. “He gets paid more because he’s good,” you muttered, voice low and dry. “Win a match, then bitch about it.”

“Did he tell you what happened?” Wooshik instantly spat. “Hmm? Did he tell you why he’s here? Why the all star isn’t halfway to the Olympics right now?”

You blinked at him, because that was all you could do. Because, yes, Jungkook had told you something. He’d told you something bad had happened, something that ultimately had to do with Taehyung, but he hadn’t told you what. It was a falling out. That was what you knew, but the way Wooshik was looking at you, his brows pinched together and an odd, almost pained look in his eyes told you it was something so much worse than a falling out.

“Whatever it is—” you began, wetting your lips— “I’m sure it can wait. You give him shit the rest of the season. It won’t kill you to can sit down and fuck off for an hour.”

Should you have said that? No . . . but . . . whatever. Screw protecting your image. It didn’t matter right now.

“This is—” Wooshik cut himself off with a scoff.

And you went on. “It’s what?” you all but mocked, tilting your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes in scrutiny.

But before either of you could go on, a hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you back from the man. You turned, briefly, only enough to see Jungkook right behind you with a warning look on his face. “Let it be,” he muttered, his eyes solely on you. “It’s not worth it.”

Let it be. You swallowed, hesitantly. It’s not worth it.

No . . . no . . . you couldn’t believe that. Whether you liked it or not, Jungkook had quickly become something of a comfort to you, and fuck . . . fuck (!) you cared about him. Seeing this happen . . . seeing everyone treat him like shit infuriated you. You couldn’t let this happen, not when . . . not when you could do something.

It’s not worth it, he’d said, but yes . . . yes it was. It was worth it to you. He was. Jungkook was worth it to you, and you’d be damned if Wooshik walked away from this the winner.

“Kook’s a better person than I am, Wooshik,” you mumbled, still locking eyes with Jungkook before you turned to meet Wooshik’s harsh gaze. “He gets us on the map, and you’re complaining? I just think you’re a little pathetic.” You sent him a fake pout, fully aware of just how immature you were acting, but you didn’t care. 

Enough of kissing their asses. Enough of trying to be someone you weren’t. He didn’t get to win this. Not now. Not like this.

Wooshik only scoffed. “You’re just gonna let her make a fool of herself for you?” he asked, but his eyes weren’t on you . . . they were on Jungkook.

But Jungkook remained silent. 

And then: “It should’ve been you on that bridge,” Wooshik practically whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe those words had fallen from his lips.

Jungkook’s face fell, his world falling as yours crumbled into confusion. You wanted to question him, but Wooshik interrupted your thoughts.

“Do you not get it? You don’t deserve this, he does, but you took that from him,” he declared, his voice gaining in octaves as he went on. “You should’ve gone through with it months ago . . . Everyone . . . would’ve been better off without you.”

“Kook, what’s he talking about?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, because you knew the answer. You were sure you had for a while now.

“He paralyzed his friend,” Wooshik confirmed your thoughts for you.

Then . . . the world truly did fall then, at least for you. You felt it all at once.

While the world fell, all the pieces came together. Wooshik had been the one to threaten Jungkook that day on the track. Wooshik knew Jimin . . . he knew Taehyung. He had been the one you’d heard on the phone with Jimin . . . the one who had stressed over Taehyung’s condition. Only then, you had no idea what Taehyung’s condition entailed or how he’d gotten it. And now . . . now you knew the boy who’d practically been like Jungkook’s brother (meaning another menace in your life that you had begrudgingly dealt with) . . . that boy had endured an injury which led to the suffering of his career.

And it was all because of Jungkook? But . . . but . . . no. That couldn’t be. Jungkook would never do that to anyone, let alone Taehyung.

Softness ran through Jungkook’s veins. He’d always been too kind, which you’d realized a little too late. Even when you were kids, he’d never dared to squash the clover mites which infested your porch’s exterior. He found it cruel, while you had never given a second thought to it. To you, they were just tiny meaningless bugs that left a pigmented red smear when squashed. But to him . . . to him they were . . . small friends. 

Bug boy, you’d used to call him, and he’d always try to hide how his ears would flush red at the name. That little boy who cared for even the smallest of creatures couldn’t have done . . . this? 

Because, well, there were not a lot of things you knew about life. You used to think you knew the world like the back of your palm. But that was just false confidence. You knew nothing. You barely knew yourself, but . . . but you knew . . . him.

If there was one thing you knew, it was Jungkook, and he would never even think to do this to a friend, especially Taehyung. There had to be something missing. This was not the truth. It couldn’t be. 

“He’s learning how to walk again, meanwhile JK here’s winning tournaments. That seem fair?” you heard Wooshik hiss again, his words more slurred now as he went on, but all you could think was how invigorating it would feel to sock him right in the jaw. But that wasn’t the only thing you’d faced that night. No, what truly had the world crashing down around you was the words Wooshik had spoken before.

You should’ve gone through with it months ago. And that look on his face. It was like he knew just how bitter those words felt in his mouth the second he’d spoken them. Everyone . . . would’ve been better off without you.

You knew what that meant, but you didn’t want to believe it. You knew what that meant. Twist the knife, you wanted to say. That would hurt less, because you realized that if Jungkook had decided to go through with . . . it . . . there would have been no way to prevent it. He had no one. He had been alone.

So . . . you twisted the metaphorical knife wedged in your chest cavity a little more. You probably wouldn’t have even known. Twist the knife. Twist the knife. Twist the knife. You probably would’ve found out through your mother. Twist the knife . . . And there would’ve been nothing you could do about it. Jungkook would have just been . . . gone.

The little boy who refused to squash the clover mites; the little boy who cared for even the smallest of creatures; the little boy who had loved . . . everything . . . would have just been gone. And here was Wooshik taunting him for it in front of everyone.

That . . . that made the wildfire spread within you, and you didn’t give a shit about anything anymore. Something snapped in you. Something bad. Dark. “By which you mean he should kill himself?”

Everything was loud and silent at the same time. It was almost deafening the way everyone’s faces fell. It was almost as if they hadn’t expected those words to come from your lips . . . like saying the truth was something . . . unheard of.

You supposed the truth was a little darker . . . a little harsher than most would expect. But it was something you were familiar with. You don’t become embolized and lose your dream in one day and not think about things like . . . that. No, sometimes you even wonder what it would be like. If things would be better, but you never go through with it. And if someone were to taunt you for it? In front of people? Well . . . you weren’t just going to sit there.

Because, yeah, maybe Jungkook had never liked to squash the harmless, little clover mites, but you were forgetting one very small, very important detail. You had never shied away from squashing the little things. In fact, you often went out of your way to squash as many as you could find.

That was the difference between the two of you; the difference between you ruining your own career and Jungkook moving on; the difference between a child who chooses peace and one who seeks out rage. And a child born of wrath you had always been. It was time you stopped running from that. You used to squash every little clover mite you came into contact with, and Wooshik was no exception.

“Well?” you finally continued once, in rage, you found your voice again. 

Wooshik shifted awkwardly in his spot. “I didn’t say that,” he muttered before he cleared his throat.

But you had never been a fan of cowards. “Really?” You tilted your head to the side, narrowing your eyes at his figure. “You sure?”

“Listen—”

“Ah,” you clicked your tongue, pointer finger raised to your lips as if to quiet him down. And when you spoke again, your voice was as quiet as a whistle in the wind. “My turn.”

It was immature, you were sure, but you didn’t care. You were burning. Your skin felt ablaze with heat and you were sure your nails were breaking through the surface of your palm from clenching your hands into too tight of fists. But you didn’t care.

Your mother had always told you, Be kind. You’ll catch more flies with honey, than vinegar. But what if you didn’t want to catch them? What if you’d rather see them swatted? . . . You’d take your chances with the vinegar. 

That sentiment was solidified as you asked, your voice calm, almost eerily too calm, “What’s your name? Last name, I mean.”

Wooshik narrowed his eyes in skepticism. “Hwang.”

“Noted.”

“What?” Wooshik scoffed, raising a brow. “Thinking of reporting me?”

And you nearly rolled your eyes. But a hand securing around your arm brought you back to the present. And you realized who it was . . . 

“Come on,” Jungkook mumbled close to your ear. His voice was soft just like his touch, but he should’ve known better. You weren’t meant for soft things. A well-oiled machine. That was what you were. You were made of metal and bolts; you were cold . . . rough . . . worn.

Tearing your arm out of his grasp, the cold welcomed you back with open arms. “No, Kook,” you heard yourself say before you realized you were saying it, and then you realized it was too late. Your mouth wasn’t your own anymore. Your words belonged to the machine you had let yourself become, and you welcomed this just as the cold had welcomed you. “Hwang Wooshik, you’re a piece of shit. No, no . . . all of you are. You sit here and ridicule him—” you gestured toward Jungkook— “and for what? Have any of you actually asked him what happened? Do you even know the full story or have you made his life shit just to feel better about yourselves? I get it. We’re a shitty team. No one wants to be here, so why not? Right? Did you ever think why this team is shit? Hmm?”

Nothing. And then . . . Wooshik only scoffed. Typical.

But you were beyond dealing with this. “And you—” your eyes focused back on Wooshik— “you have no value, not even a soul,” you bit out through gritted teeth, fists still clenched as tightly as you could, and you had no intention of letting up. If he wanted the truth . . . then fine . . . you’d serve it to him on a silver platter. “All I see . . . is a bag of skin . . . a pile of bones. It’s pathetic how meaningless your life is. You bitch and moan, bitch and moan, bitch and moan, and yet, you have nothing to show for it except for a rotten mouth and a limp dick. You wanna show off? Wanna feel like a man? Go on . . . do it . . . but remember this moment. Remember just how meaningless you actually are . . . on this team . . . in the world . . . to yourself. Remember all the cells in your body splitting for nothing . . . just to make a worthless piece of fucking shit.”  Your brows raised, beckoning him. “Hmm? Don’t you get it now? You’re nothing.”

The world stilled. It was quiet, too quiet.

You didn’t dare look at anyone else, not even Jungkook. You couldn’t. And then you heard it: a heartbeat pounding in your ears. But it wasn’t yours. You could have sworn it was Wooshik’s or maybe it had been one of your other teammates. It didn’t matter. Your words had shocked them . . . maybe scared them.

Wooshik sucked in a breath first. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he questioned, and it was like you were seven years old again, being excluded from after-school plans with your friends. But you didn’t have much time to dwell on the past before Wooshik glanced between you and Jungkook, a look of realization crossing his face as he let out a breathy laugh. “Oh . . . I see . . . “

And you knew he’d discovered the truth between you and Jungkook. But honestly? You didn’t care. 

Good, you couldn’t help but think. That didn’t matter right now. Nothing did except this . . . 

Not that Wooshik had caught onto that. No, instead, the man had found his motive and gone with it. “Word of advice . . . he’s not the good guy,” he murmured to you, only making the wildfire within you burn brighter.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. “And you are?”

“I don’t run from the shit I do, and then cry wolf on top of a bridge,” Wooshik went on, but you were past listening. You could barely hear him. “I would’ve gone through with it. Maybe then that would set things right—”

But he never finished his sentence. No . . . you didn’t let him.

For a second time that night, something snapped within you, and you couldn’t contain it. Like a glass too full of water, your rage spilled over, and before you realized what you were doing, you pulled back your hand to gain momentum and then launched it forward, connecting your knuckles with Wooshik’s nose.

Wooshik stumbled backward, catching himself on his chair so as to not collide with the floor, while he clutched his nose in his hand. And you stood above him, hands still clenched into fists as you watched the man grovel and groan. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, an odd sense of fear mixed with bewilderment in his gaze. You realized for a second time that night, you’d shocked him. Perhaps you’d even scared him.

Be kind. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, your mother used to tell you. But you had never been fond of flies, and you had never quite liked Hwang Wooshik, either, so fuck that.

Still, Wooshik felt the need to ask, “What the fuck are you doing?”

And you only shrugged. “Whatever I want. Just like you,” you spat moments before you made an attempt to grab at his collar, but something pulled you back.

Once again, a hand wrapped around your arm, but instead of giving you the option to pull away, the person pulled you into their chest, securing an arm around your waist to ground you. . . . You instantly knew it was Jungkook (from the odd sense of peace you felt at his touch . . . but don’t tell him that).

“Take a walk,” he muttered in your ear for only you to hear, the command instilling dread within you. 

“Kook,” you whispered, but couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. All you could look at was Wooshik and his now bleeding nose.

“Go,” was all Jungkook said. And only then did you gain enough courage to look at the rest of your teammates. They stared back at you with equal parts shock and fear . . . and you knew you’d fucked up. Again.

That was all it took before you pulled away from Jungkook’s embrace, listened to his words for once, and walked out of the bar into the cold before you swatted one too many flies before the sun rose. And while you didn’t regret it . . . you knew you’d done it now. You knew you’d gone too far. 

All you could do now was squeeze your eyes shut, hoping this was some sick nightmare as you waited in the cold to probably (ultimately) be scolded by your doubles partner. That was what was ahead of you, and while you did feel guilty (you supposed), you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

A well-oiled machine. That was what you were. That was what you had been trained to become. You weren’t supposed to care about other people, and you wouldn’t let yourself. But you couldn’t let him talk to Jungkook like that. No, not to him. Not in front of you.

Jungkook used to refuse to squash the clover mites on your porch, while you sought them out. That was the difference between the two of you, and you’d be damned if some no-name on this shitty, D-list team told you otherwise. 

He was soft, not you. Give all the unlucky shit to you. You could handle it.

If Wooshik wanted to hate someone, to blame someone . . . then he could blame you. 

You supposed that was what you had done tonight: ruined yourself to save Jungkook like you should’ve done all those years ago instead of ruining the both of you. (Although . . . not like you’d tell him that. You couldn’t. This was too much. Too raw.) And worst of all . . . you knew you’d do it again.

You realized that as you waited in the cold for who knew how long. It could’ve been two minutes or twenty. You hadn’t noticed. You hadn’t cared . . . after all, well-oiled machines didn’t get cold.

Only once you finally opened your eyes to see the cold around you, did you hear the bell above the bar door jingle, signaling that Jungkook was now behind you, no doubt angry with you for your little outburst. And all you could think was fuck, fuck, fuck. You’d crossed the line again, as you always did, but you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize. Not for this. 

And so, you found yourself muttering, “If you expect me to apologize, I won't. He doesn’t get to do that. Not to you. Not in front of me.”

But as soon as you had begun to turn around to finally face him, Jungkook didn’t greet you with furrowed brows and a scowl on his face. No, instead, you could only blink once before he was falling into you, his hands caressing the sides of your face moments before his lips met yours. There was no heat behind it either, no rushing, no nothing, just . . . just bliss. His lips met yours, his touch putting out the fire raging within you, and it was like you could finally breathe again. He kissed you as if that was all he could do; as if it were all he wanted to do.

Only then, when you realized he wasn’t going to rip himself from your body as if you’d scorched him, did you finally embrace him. Your hands found their way to his shirt, bunching the fabric as you pulled him closer and felt yourself succumb little by little to him. You didn’t even care if anyone saw you. It didn’t matter. Nothing did when he was near.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days before the two of you pulled away, and you leaned your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. The point was: you didn’t even care just how out of breath you had become. You would’ve sooner passed out than let him go, and perhaps that meant more than what you were willing to admit, but you did know it meant something, you just weren’t exactly sure what. But you barely had time to dwell on those thoughts before Jungkook pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and tugging you into his chest. And you let him.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled into your hair, laughing slightly under his breath. 

You’re an idiot, you repeated in your head, and a smile slowly twitched on your face, because you knew what he really meant. Thank you, his hug seemed to say, and you knew it to be true. And all you could do was melt against him, wrapping your arms around his waist as your eyes fluttered closed and a content sigh left your lips. You squeezed him tighter, realizing perhaps maybe you’d needed this hug more than him. In a way, you supposed you had always needed this—to be hugged so deeply it comforted your soul.

You’re welcome, your hug seemed to say, but you knew what it actually meant . . . thank you.

Once again, you smiled, perhaps a little wider now. That is what you had wanted to tell him. Thank you. Thank you for being there. Just . . . thank you.

You would like to make one thing clear: you did not have a fondness for many things. For instance, you hated when random people on the internet adapted an instrumental version of a song that, to be honest, did not need adapting. You hated the rain. Now . . . you knew most people didn’t particularly like the rain . . . but you hated it. It always had a way of making your skin itch, leaving you uncomfortable and irritated. It was unnecessary . . . really (OK, fine, maybe not unnecessary, but, ugh, whatever!).

Now . . . obviously you absolutely despised losing. That much was evident . . . sure.

But most of all, you hated the vulnerability which came with falling short of victory. You hated how your shoulders fell, the self-hatred seeping in and consuming you as soon as you realized you had either gone too far or not far enough.

You supposed that was how it had always been. You supposed you had always been a competitive child. You supposed the fact that it hurt more to lose a match than breaking up with your first boyfriend . . . was normal for a child who had been born into competition after competition.

Of course you never actually expected to fail. That wasn’t in your blood. Failing wasn’t on the table, so when you did, it hit you ten times harder. And you always ended up doing the same thing over and over again: locking yourself in your room until the sting became easier to manage.

That was what had happened in your childhood, and that was what had happened three years ago. You’d locked yourself in that hospital room, ignoring the world, pushing people away. You’d learned to live with yourself, and you learned to hate yourself. (Perhaps it was easy to find that hatred within yourself because it had always been there.)

You supposed that was why you had taken to reading so kindly. (Sure, you had put up a fight, claiming you did not and would not like books, but, well, your heart kind of beat for it now. A part of you craved it. And that part of you followed you everywhere.)

The writings you’d memorized all those years ago stayed in your head and every once in a while, you’d remember something you’d read. And every time, it’d bring you a sense of something. Comfort, maybe? Acceptance? Understanding? You weren’t entirely sure, but it did bring you something you couldn’t push away. And that night, the night Wooshik had pushed a little too far, revealing who he was, you were also reminded who you were: an angry child who had forced herself to grow up too soon.

You knew that was what you were. You knew you were angry and crude and all things not pleasant or kind. You couldn’t give anything up. You couldn’t let anything just be. . . .You knew your heart was cold and you were more machine parts than bone.

A burnt child loves the fire, Lord Henry claimed in The Picture of Dorian Gray. (Your love for the Classics had begun there within that book (peculiar considering your previous distaste for literature . . . but well . . . you had no excuse).) You supposed the reason why you’d taken so fiercely to this small, almost minuscule quote had to do with the fact that you couldn’t understand it. And you hated being in the dark about anything.

The original saying was supposed to be: A burnt child dreads the fire. And yet . . . 

That was what you couldn’t understand. You couldn’t understand why there was a need for the reverse. The saying was wrong. A burnt child should dread the fire, they shouldn’t run to it.

So . . . why? Why did the child Lord Henry speak of . . . crave the fire?

Only then did you come to the conclusion. 

As soon as your fist had collided with Wooshik’s face and you saw the look everyone had given you, the answer washed over you: there was a difference between these two children. While one who has been hurt; who has been burnt by the fire will avoid it at all costs for the rest of their lives, the other will seek it out . . . perhaps even crave it.

That was why you had punched Wooshik. A burnt child loves the fire.

The day of the incident . . . that was the day the fire had scorned you and instead of taking refuge with those who cared . . . you pushed them away. Because it was easier to be angry. It was easier to feel sorry for yourself rather than to accept help.

Because accepting help meant you had failed. It meant you were weak. It meant you were not the person you had prided yourself on for years and years and years . . . It meant laying to rest the person you used to be and truth be told you missed her more than you missed feeling . . . warm . . . real. But how much did you miss her now? That was a question you had yet to answer.

Yeah, you missed the cheers as you won match after match. You missed the glorious high which came after a win. You missed team bonding and everything badminton used to be. But you didn’t miss the stress, the pressure . . . the anger. And that was the thing . . . you’d won once again after so many years and yet . . . you didn’t feel stressed to practice until your feet bled. There was still stress . . . of course, but it wasn’t consuming. 

You realized you’d never actually celebrated a win before. You were always looking looking looking into the future, too caught up in it all to just . . . breathe. But now . . . now . . . now all you wanted to do was sure . . . celebrate, but rather . . . celebrate with your doubles partner.

So really . . . did you miss the girl you used to be? Perhaps a little in the sense that when you grow older, nostalgia only gets worse. But you didn’t want to be her.

You wished someone could tell you what that all meant . . . Were you still considered a burnt child? Did you still love the fire? Did you dread it? Or . . . were you somewhere in between?

You only wished someone could help you make sense of it all. You wished someone would put a guiding hand on your shoulder and tell you who you were, because . . . really you had no clue. 

Perhaps you’d been clueless all your life. Perhaps you would always be.

A warm hand wrapping around your wrist brought you out of your own mind. And you realized where you were.

It was the present, not the past as much as you’d spent thinking about it. Most likely a half hour after you’d punched Wooshik in the nose, changing the entire trajectory of your team. The atmosphere of Jungkook’s room surrounded you as you sat on the edge of the bed, right leg crossed over the left while he tended to your cut knuckles from said punch to Wooshik’s face.

His hand was warm as it always was, and you were sure he must have winced at how cold yours had been to the touch, but you weren’t even certain if he was paying attention to that at all. No, it seemed as you took your first glance at Jungkook’s face since he’d kissed you earlier that night . . . that he was entirely focused on the task at hand.  And truly, it was almost impossible to not notice just how meticulous Jungkook was to even the smallest of cuts on your knuckles, dabbing each and every one with a washcloth. He remained focused, his brows sat low as his eyes remained focused on your hand while his lips were pursed into an almost cute (?) pout. 

But you couldn’t help but catch sight of the muscle which ticked in his jaw. Something was on his mind. No, no, he was angry. Yes, that was it. His jaw always twitched when he’d get frustrated about something. And well . . . you had never been one to keep your mouth shut.

“I thought you weren’t mad at me,” you stated almost too abruptly, nearly startling the silence itself.

Jungkook paused, but didn’t look up to meet your gaze. “I’m not,” was all he muttered before he resumed his task.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re quiet,” you said as you poked him in the chest with your non-injured hand. “You’re never quiet. I actually have a hard time shutting you up.”

“Well.”

“Well, what?” you went on, knowing damn well if you pressed enough he’d cave. “If you’re mad just say it.”

He only replied with a hiss of your name. A warning (one you wouldn’t listen to).

“Kook—” you nudged his chest once again— “speak.”

For a brief second, he shot you a look. “You’re just—!” But his words quickly died on his tongue the moment he made eye contact with you. He seemed to search for something within your gaze before his brows twitched, his eyes falling to your injured hand as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize you got . . . hurt.”

Your gaze softened then. “It’s just a scrape,” you tried to reassure but you had never been good at comfort.

Jungkook only shook his head. “But it shouldn’t be anything,” he muttered as he began to dry off your knuckles. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.”

“I know. Fuck, OK . . . I know,” he continued muttering without making eye contact as he quickly but carefully bandaged your hand. But even once he was done, he did not let go of your hand. If anything . . . he pulled it closer. “I just . . . I didn’t realize that—I just . . . I don’t want you to get hurt for me. You’re not invincible, OK?” 

“And you are?”

His eyes closed. “Come on . . . ”

“Why can you take it but I can’t?”

Jungkook breathed out through his nose, and then he was looking at you. But now there was a different tinge in his eyes. Now it was like he was hiding something . . . like he didn’t want you to really see what was going on inside his mind, and you had a sick feeling it had something to do with what Wooshik had said at the bar. And then he spoke, “Because I don’t want you to. It’s my bullshit. I don’t want you to get caught up in it.”

You realized exactly what he was doing. You had been right. He was trying to keep a distance from you, trying to keep you out, trying to protect you from . . . something. But as you had been so cruelly reminded, you were a burnt child . . . and you craved the fire. 

That was it. As a child, you had sought out the clover mites just to see them paint the rocks red as you squished them. That had been fun for you. You’d always craved the fire, you supposed . . . just in different doses. And a child who learned this way of living never backed down . . . never cowered, you faced it . . . welcomed it. And you sure as hell weren’t backing down from this. You refused to leave him alone . . . because Jungkook had never even dared to squash the clover mites . . . he’d wanted to save them . . . protect them, and someone like that did not deserve to carry whatever this was on his shoulders. 

Burned children could recognize each other . . . but he still had time to decide if he’d run from the fire or chase it, and you would try everything in yourself to not let him join you. Not now; not when you knew his heart. Not when you knew Jeon Jungkook, if given the chance, would still never, not even once, squash a clover mite for the fun of it.

That was exactly why you found yourself claiming: “I already am.”

He squeezed your hand tighter as his face fell further. “I don’t need you to fight for me,” he all but whispered.

But you had never been a good listener. You’d always acted first, thought later. Some would call it a flaw. You sure would, but you didn’t care. 

So you listened to the first thought that popped into your head, standing to your feet as you curled your joined hands into your chest. “I know . . . but it’s what I do,” you found yourself saying. “I can’t help it. I’ve tried to change, Kook. I’ve tried to be gentle. I’ve tried to speak quietly. I’ve tried not to be . . . all the things that I am, but it never works. It just feels like I’m pretending.” And as you confessed, you couldn’t help but scoff a laugh at your words. “I’m not a gentle person. I’m loud and blunt and maybe even a little cruel . . . and now you’ve made me care about you.”

You’ve made me care about you, your words rang throughout your ears, and you realized that was the truth. You did care about him. Perhaps more than you cared about most things. And it was clear your words had affected Jungkook, too. His features softened, his brows lifting slightly as his eyes rounded and his mouth parted only just barely.

You’ve made me care about you, you were sure was ringing through his ears. And you knew this, too, because he didn’t bother to tease you or shoot you that half-grin of his. No, he just stared, trying to digest your words.

It seemed no one had ever shown him this. No one had ever tried to get through to him, and you knew that well. You knew how it felt to push everyone away, secretly hoping someone would want to break through the barriers you’d put up. 

Burned children could recognize each other, and you knew exactly how Jungkook felt. Years and years of dealing with everything on your own is debilitating. You couldn’t imagine being forced into this isolation. You knew what it felt like to lose everything . . . and you could see on his face that he knew that feeling well, too.

It made you feel worthless. Stupid. Useless. It was almost gut-wrenching how much it made you feel like nothing. And, god, you were tired of being nothing. You were sure Jungkook was tired, too.

So as you went on, a slight smile on your face, your eyes had begun to water. You’d never been much of a crier, but you couldn’t help it. “Don’t you get it?” you mumbled, your voice quieter now. “I care about you more than I should. You made me. You made me fucking care about you, so you don’t get to sit here, give me whiplash, and expect me not to defend you.” You couldn’t help but let a small tear slip, because, truly, you really did care about him. “I don’t care about a lot of people, and maybe that’s sociopathic, narcissistic, whatever! I don’t care . . . but I refuse to let you put up with this, deal with this, endure this . . . alone.”

Jungkook blinked quickly, but remained silent as he chewed on his inner cheek.

“I’m in this,” you went on, squeezing his hand tighter. “Whether you like it or not . . . I . . . am . . . not . . . leaving. Got it?”

But something was preventing Jungkook from nodding at your words. He only just stood, refusing to make eye contact with you. And then, he tilted his head, his eyes on the ceiling as he mumbled, his words strained, “I don’t want to hurt you, too.” He tugged his hand from yours then and you fought the urge to grasp his hand right back.

“You won’t,” you muttered instead, eyes still trained on your now empty hand.

“You don’t get it,” Jungkook whispered in response as he stared at his own hands, almost in disbelief or astonishment. “Everything I touch . . . it’s like . . . it’s like things come to die at my hands.” 

You were at a loss for words in response, because you knew that feeling. You were sure you had thought those exact same words. You were sure a part of you still believed that about yourself.

And while you mentally rotated through the things you were supposed to say, Jungkook went on, “I can’t let you all the way in. I would never forgive myself if—“

But he never had the chance to finish the sentence. No, it seemed his body wouldn’t let him. His words tangled around his tongue, and finally, you glanced his way, finding his eyes were now glossy and he was forcing himself to keep his gaze trained on the wall behind you, careful not to blink and let the tears spill.

Jungkook believed things came to die at his hands. He believed he deserved . . . this. And yet . . . how could he be so wrong? You knew him. It didn’t matter what Wooshik or your other teammates said. You knew him. You’d grown up with him. You’d watched him throw tantrum after tantrum after every clover mite you’d squashed just to tease him.

He would never do the things that had been said. And he certainly didn’t deserve to feel like . . . this. That was your driving force. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand, and brought it to your face. Slowly, you cupped your cheek with the palm of his hand, your hand covering his before you whispered, “Did the world end?”

His eyes were on you now, warming you just with one look. “No,” he softly mumbled as his thumb grazed your cheek.

He’s sweet, you couldn’t help but think as your brows twitched at his gentle action. Then, slowly, you took that same hand and brought it to your chest, laying it just above where your heart would beat deep inside.

“Oh, look, my heart’s still beating,” you said lightly, a little more pep in your voice in an attempt to get that smile on his face again. “The world will not end and nothing will happen to me at your hands . . . OK?”

His fingers flexed on your chest. “I can’t.”

“Jungkook,” was all you could whisper, an almost silent plea as you squeezed his fingers.

He brought his other hand up to your cheek and took a step forward. “Baby . . . ” he all but begged as he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours.

Tilting your head up enough to brush your nose against his, you welcomed his embrace. “Please,” you found yourself mumbling. “I’m not going to run. You won’t lose me.”

And truly, you did mean every word.

You didn’t care for the fire or the fight or anything like that. You just . . . fuck . . . you wanted him to be alright. That was what you wanted. You didn’t know why or how it happened, but it did.

That was what you wanted, and you had never been one to back down from anything. So you meant it. You weren’t going anywhere. And as the silence consumed you two, you stayed by his side, proving your words to be true. Jungkook seemed to catch onto this, too, as his words changed . . . 

“But I will disappoint you,” he mumbled instead of his previous sentiments.

But who would think that would scare you off? You were all kinds of disappointing. It didn’t matter. “So? People are disappointing. It’s what makes us human,” you found yourself speaking your thoughts. “Can we just . . . carry your bullshit . . . together?”

Jungkook remained unmoving for a mere moment before he withdrew from you. For a second you thought he’d leave you hanging once again. For a second, you thought he’d locked himself away like he had months ago. But instead, he moved away from you, the cold replacing where his warmth had been as he sat down on the edge of his bed . . . and you knew what that meant.

He was letting you in. Fully. Completely. Finally.

You met him at the bed, folding your leg under yourself as you sat down facing him. A part of you wanted to reach for his hand, but you couldn’t. Something was stopping you from reaching out to grasp him, so you sat in silence, carefully taking in his features from the small scar on his cheek to the tiny mole under his bottom lip.

It must have been minutes of you just taking in his features while the silence danced around the two of you. Perhaps it went on for even longer. But you didn’t mind it. You wouldn’t run from this . . . from him.

And finally, that was when you didn’t necessarily reach for his hand, but you did rest your hand on his knee, providing as much reassurance as you knew how. You could only hope he knew what your touch meant. You could only hope he could feel . . . you.

His eyes found yours the next second, and you knew he could. He could feel you just as you could feel him. He could see you. He could see you. He could see you. That had to mean something. It seemed it did as Jungkook carefully placed his hand over yours and squeezed. Then . . . then he offered a small, strained smile before he sucked in a sharp breath, slowly exhaling . . . and then . . . then he spoke.

“It was last year . . . around January,” he began, his voice careful, calculated, quiet.

And you scooted closer, listening intently.

“We’d made it onto the national team,” he continued, keeping his eyes on your locked hands. “Taehyung, Jimin, and I . . . but it was tough. The days were long. And I wanted to . . . I don’t fucking know live a little. And there was a bar just outside the center and I . . . wanted to go. I dragged Taehyung with me. He didn’t want to leave. We weren’t supposed to leave. But I was cocky and an idiot and I wanted to get drunk before the games the next morning like we used to. So he caved . . . He snuck out for me . . . because of me. We went, we drank, until we decided it was time to go back before Coach found out. But . . . we were still drunk . . . “

As his words died on his tongue, Jungkook averted his gaze from your hands, instead focusing on the wall in front of him. But his eyes kept moving, shaking back and forth as his brain raced with thoughts of the past. 

A burnt child dreads the fire, you thought. Was this his fire?

Your thoughts remained unanswered as Jungkook continued. “There’s a bridge that leads to the nationals’ center,” he mumbled, almost hesitant about his words. “It’s small, but passes over a lake.” He cupped his other hand around his chin as he rested his elbow on his thigh. His eyes fluttered closed a second later. “It was January . . . the coldest night of the year . . . and we had to pass over it to get back to the dorms. We had to—fuck.”

The hand on his chin immediately covered his face, his thumb and pointer finger rubbing his eyes. You didn’t want to guess what had happened. You didn’t want to think of the worst, but . . . You remembered the night you caught Jungkook on the bridge, staring out at the water. You remembered the look on his face; the look you knew all too well. And you remembered wondering what had happened to him.

Now . . . now it seemed something had happened on a bridge similar to the one you’d found him on. It seemed on his drunk walk home, the bridge he’d have to pass over to get back to the dorms reminded him of the past. And you both knew how sickly haunting the past could be.

You couldn’t help it. Instantly, your other hand reached to cover your joined hands. 

“It was so fucking cold that night. I know it was, but I can’t remember it. I was too fucking drunk to be cold. I was too drunk to notice the water under the bridge was frozen solid . . . but not . . . not all the way through,” he went on, his voice weaker now. “It wasn’t—It wasn’t frozen all the way through.”

It wasn’t frozen all the way through. Your brows furrowed. Wait—

“When Taehyung drinks . . . he does stupid shit. Everyone knows that. I knew that,” Jungkook was muttering now, practically cursing himself. “I knew that.” He beat on his chest once as he shook his head in disbelief.

When Taehyung drinks, he does stupid shit. Did that mean . . . ?

“He wanted to—” he cut his words off with a curse. “He wanted to walk across the wooden railing to see . . . I don’t know . . . I don’t fucking know what he was trying to do but he was drunk and I was too. I was too drunk to realize what was going on. Fuck, I even encouraged him to do it. I put money on it. I fucking bet him if he could walk across the railing, I’d give him ten dollars. Can you fucking believe that?”

Jungkook turned to meet your gaze briefly then, and only then did you realize something. His eyes were glossy . . . and he was sniffling. He was crying. And suddenly, you knew where this was going.

Your brows pinched together in concern as you silently begged him to see that you weren’t leaving. No, no . . . you were scooting closer. You weren’t leaving, you were staying.

Jungkook nodded in response as if he knew what you had been trying to tell him, and then . . . then he continued. “And of course he did it,” he all but laughed, but it came out as more of a pathetic scoff. “He even made it to the end, but we were joking around, laughing about it, and he . . . he lost his balance. He must have stepped on something . . . or . . . or . . . I don’t know, but he . . . he slipped.”

He slipped. No. Your eyes shut tightly as you pulled your bottom lip under your teeth. No.

“He slipped and all I heard was his body smack the ice. And then I heard water . . . “ Jungkook trailed off, his words angry, hurt, and strained. “He fell . . . . and the ice broke. . . . It wasn’t supposed to break. But it broke and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t see him. It was just ice and water and black. Everything was so fucking dark and I couldn’t see him . . . so I jumped in after him . . . and I still couldn’t fucking find him. And—And when I did . . . when I finally pulled him out, I thought he was dead. But I brought him back. I brought him back and he was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be fucking fine.”

Only then did you open your eyes . . . and when you did, you saw the Jungkook that had been trapped under barrier after barrier for a year now. He sat before you, shaking his head at his memories as a few tears slipped down his flushed cheeks. And you let them fall, not because you wanted to, but because you needed him to know that it was OK for you to see him . . . let go. So you remained silent, listening to his shaky breaths until he was ready to speak again. And when he did, you stared only at him with your hands interlocked with one of his.

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, still shaking his head in denial (?), anger (?) . . . maybe grief as a whole (?). “His back was fucked up, but we both just thought it was sore from the fall. He couldn’t really walk, so I had to help him back to the center . . . I knew it wasn’t good . . . but . . . “ he trailed off, his brows twitching. “He didn’t want to go to the hospital. I kept telling him we had to just in case. Just in case there was something wrong. But he was scared. Scared he’d get kicked off the team if they knew we snuck out to drink. So we went back, I helped him get dry, changed his clothes . . . then we went to sleep.” 

He blinked. A few more tears fell.

Sucking in a breath, he mumbled as he shakily exhaled, “A few hours later he’s waking me up telling me he can’t feel his legs. Something didn’t feel right. I tried pricking his legs, pinching, anything . . . but he couldn’t feel it.” 

You squeezed his hand tighter. You couldn’t imagine . . . 

Jungkook wiped his cheeks, his eyes, even his nose, finally taking a deep breath to calm himself down. “Everything happened so fast after that. I told Coach. Tae was rushed to the hospital,” he said, his voice more stable now. “Surgery after surgery after surgery later. He slipped into a coma . . . and when he woke up, they . . . said physical therapy and rest would be all he’d need before he could get back to playing . . . but only one leg gained back some motility. The other . . . just never improved. Something to do with a nerve . . . his spinal cord. Whatever . . . his leg was shot. They said he missed the window, and getting back to even sixty percent would be impossible.”

Fuck. You couldn’t imagine how Tae or Jungkook felt. Having your entire life just taken away from you like that was worse than dying you were sure of it . . . and having to watch someone you cared about go through that . . . You couldn’t imagine.

“Just like that his career was over as well as any chance of having a normal life again,” Jungkook scoffed at his own words. “All because I forced him to go get drunk with me. It was my fault. I should’ve known. Maybe if I had called the hospital . . . told Coach . . . maybe then . . maybe he could’ve been OK. Fuck.”

His words circled around in your head for a moment longer. It was my fault. I forced him. It was my fault. It was my fault. It was my fault.

But . . . Wait—

Your brows scrunched together in confusion. This . . . this is what Jungkook thought would make him a disappointment. This is what had him blaming himself, hating himself . . . ?

Jungkook believed he had done this to Taehyung. But . . . but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an awful thing that happened to both of them . . . and Jungkook blamed himself for it.

No . . . no . . . it couldn’t be. This was what he thought you’d hate him for. 

A burnt child loved the fire, indeed. They let themselves become consumed by it, condemned to it, tortured by it, and for what? 

Why did Jungkook have to suffer for something that was not his fault?

Fuck. You didn’t know what to do. You weren’t good at this. You barely even knew how to be a person, how could you help him when he thought his friend’s demise was all his fault? 

Shit . . . and you had blamed him for what had happened to you. You had added to this. You had . . . No, no, no, no. You didn’t know what to do.

You couldn’t believe what all this guilt, this blame, this hatred had done to him. You couldn’t imagine . . . and you couldn’t contain your emotions. Your eyes were watering now. No, you couldn’t let them. Not now. Not when you were supposed to be comforting him.

Jungkook didn’t seem to notice the turmoil raging on inside your head as he was only looking at the floor. “He couldn’t forgive me after that,” he went on, his voice quieter now once again. “Everyone turned away from me then. I had to leave the team. I knew I did. There was no going back after everyone found out that I was the reason he was out there that night. I lost everything, and it was all my fault.”

It was all my fault, ringed through your ears. Your heart ached for him, but you couldn’t cry now. Not now. 

You had no trouble holding back your emotions your entire fucking life so why was it so hard now? Why were you having trouble holding back these tears? You didn’t know, but you didn’t care. You had to keep a calm composure. You had to try. And try you did. 

“I would’ve left the badminton scene entirely, but . . . my parents,” Jungkook managed to finish up with a heavy sigh. “Their restaurant wasn’t doing well. It still isn’t. They need this money. I only joined Yunis to help them. All my money goes to them. I only keep what I need, the rest is theirs.”

And suddenly it all made sense with those final words from him. Jungkook blamed himself for what had happened to Taehyung.

He didn’t feel worthy enough to continue his career knowing Taehyung’s was over, but he had to . . . because he was a good son. He had always been a good son. That you had known. But you hadn’t known their business was in trouble. You hadn’t known, and you had been such an asshole to him.

He had to be here. That was why he was here. He had to be. For his parents. Not for fame or even himself, but for them. He was a good son. He was a good person. And everyone . . . even you . . . had failed him.

Then . . . you remembered something else that Wooshik had said, and you almost let a small sob escape your sealed lips. You never imagined you could feel this way. You’d always been cold. You’d always just been a burnt child, relishing in the fire; a well-oiled machine with human parts. You weren’t meant to feel like . . . this. So why did your chest hurt so fucking much? Why couldn’t you breathe when you remembered what Wooshik had said to him?

You should’ve gone through with it months ago. Everyone would’ve been better off without you.

Then . . . you began to wonder. Had Jungkook really? Had he tried to end everything . . . And you could have sworn you felt the metal encasing your heart had begun to shrink, squeezing the muscle in a painful ache. How could Wooshik have said that knowing . . . 

“Wooshik,” you heard yourself say before you knew what you were doing, “he said . . . “

“I know,” was all Jungkook could sigh. “He was friends with Tae and Jimin. This was his team. That’s why he’s so pissed I’m here, because I knew we’d be on the same team. But Coach . . . he knew who I was too and to him it didn’t matter who did what when to who. The only thing that mattered was that I was good. I was going to come out of the nationals team with gold medals and he knew that. So he offered me a lot of money . . . and I joined for my parents, otherwise, I’d be back in Busan.”

But you didn’t give a shit what Wooshik’s deal was. No, you wanted to know why he would say such a thing. Why he—

You stopped yourself from thinking, immediately speaking the words before you even thought then, “Why did Wooshik say you should’ve gone through with . . . with um . . . “

“Killing myself?”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as your eyes shut. Wetting your lips, you gained the courage to say, “Yes.”

But the silence met your reply.

It wasn’t something anybody talked about. People just kind of danced around the subject, trying not to say the actual words, and you supposed even you were guilty of this. But no one prepares you for this kind of shit. No one sits you down and tells you how to deal with this. You didn’t know how to deal with anything. 

When you were in recovery, you had the same thoughts. You wondered if it would make things better, but you knew it wouldn’t. You knew it wouldn’t make anything better. You’d just be gone, leaving pain behind, and that was not what you wanted. 

You hoped Jungkook had realized this, too. But the silence still remained. Until . . .

“I . . . “ he began, stumbling over his words. Then: “A few weeks before you came . . . I couldn’t take it. I did something horrible and came out of it completely fine. I wanted to make things right. I wanted to pay for what I did to him. And . . . and I wanted everything to just . . . stop. It hurt so fucking much. Every day I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t want to eat. Most days the only thing in my system was alcohol. I stopped looking at everyone, stopped being able to see them shortly after that and everything just became so . . . loud . . . and . . . and lonely, too. I guess—I guess I wanted it to be quiet . . . silent? I wanted time to stop just for a minute so I could breathe and then it would be fine. I could make myself be fine if I could just stop everything . . . just for a second.”

A beat of silence once again. And then he spoke, “I found the tallest bridge I could find here and I tried to jump . . . but . . . my mom called to say goodnight . . . and I realized I couldn’t go through with it, not when they still needed the money. I figured give it one more day . . . if I get fired then I’ll know.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “And Wooshik?”

“We’re dormmates. I slipped up when I was drunk, told him I was going to off myself,” he said through a sigh, his shoulders sinking. “Fucking stupid.”

There was the silence again. He was finished. That was what had happened to him and that was why he was here. The boy who cared even for the smallest of creatures had endured and endured and endured. How was that fair?

Jungkook used to cry for the clover mites when you’d squash them, and yet, here he was, carrying the world on his shoulders. Was he even allowed to breathe? Could he? Or was that peace stolen from him, too?

He thought he was a bad person. He thought he deserved this. He thought---How could he think that?

He was still the same Bug Boy you knew as a kid. He didn’t deserve this. He was a good son; a good friend. He was a good fucking person.

And the world had made him believe otherwise.

Everyone . . . everyone had failed him.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him this without feeling the lump in your throat rise and rise and rise. You would cry if you spoke, and this wasn’t fucking about you. 

This was about him. You couldn’t be selfish.

You just needed a moment to calm yourself.

But a moment you weren’t given as Jungkook whispered, “You’re silent. You get it now, don’t you?”

He thought . . . 

No. No. No. No.

And suddenly, you couldn’t stop yourself. You glanced his way with glossy eyes and a quivering bottom lip. “No, no, I don’t,” you muttered, your voice hoarse. “If anything I don’t get it at all.”

Jungkook only blinked.

You swallowed hard. “Koo, it was not your fault.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

Fuck. That look. He looked so . . . lost.

And you couldn’t contain yourself any longer. The floodgates open, tears trickling down your cheeks. “How could you have known what would happen?” you questioned, trying to choke back a sob. “What happened to Taehyung is awful and heartbreaking, but . . . it was no one’s fault, let alone yours. You didn’t know he’d slip. You didn’t know he’d hit the ice. You didn’t know he’d fall. You didn’t know he’d get hurt . . . and you certainly wouldn’t ever hurt him. It was not your fault. I’m so fucking sorry you’ve been carrying this for so long . . . that—that you were made to believe you did . . . this.”

“But . . . I’m the reason he lost his—”

“No, no, you’re not,” you quickly cut him off. “Nobody could have predicted this would’ve happened. Had it been the other way around, would you blame him?”

Jungkook remained silent but slowly shook his head.

Brows raising in relief, you nodded. “No, because no one is at fault,” you told him quietly. “It was a horrible thing that happened to someone you cared about. Hurt people hurt people . . . and when people are hurt . . . they want to blame others. Doesn’t make it right. Doesn’t make it fair . . . but it does happen.” Looking down, you remembered what you had done to him, too. “I know . . . I know because I did it to you. It was never your fault what happened to me . . . and it wasn’t your fault what happened to Tae.”

His eyes softened at your words. Nobody had ever told him that before, you were sure of it, and that made another tear slip down your cheek. He’d been so alone.

That was why he looked so lost; why he ran; why he locked himself away because he thought he was supposed to be alone.

You wished you could take back all the feuds you had; all the times you’d pushed him away. You wished you could go back to the day in the hospital when he texted you. You wished instead of blocking him and refusing to see him, you had just accepted the food and allowed him to sit down at the edge of your bed. Maybe then things could have been different.

But you couldn’t go back to the past, no matter how much you wanted to.

He was here now, and he was looking at you with those eyes you had grown to care about. Big and brown and searching. He was always searching for anything. And you wanted to give him all the answers. But you knew nothing.

You were a sorry excuse for an adult. You were barely a person. How could you know anything? The truth was: you couldn’t, but you did know one thing . . . you knew him.

His bottom lip quivered as he continued to search your eyes. “I want to believe you, but it hurts so much,” he whispered as if it were a sin.

“I know,” you weakly mumbled.

And suddenly you weren’t thinking anymore. No, instead, you took one last glance at his glossy eyes, and fell into him. You swung a leg over him, adjusting yourself on his lap as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and brought him into an embrace. One of your hands slowly snaked into his long, dark locks, massaging his scalp as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Jungkook remained shocked, his hands hovering in the air, but you didn’t care. He needed this. You knew him and you knew he needed this just like you had needed it years ago. Instead of pulling back, you continued stroking his hair and rubbing his back all the while you tried to hide the tears slipping down your cheeks and soaking his shirt.

Then . . . something happened.

In the midst of your embrace, Jungkook slowly wrapped his arms around your body, one hand spreading out along your neck while the other caressed your back. He brought you closer to him with one motion, until he was holding you back so tightly you were sure your soul had touched his even for the briefest of seconds.

He quickly buried his face into your neck, while his grip on you never faltered. “It hurts so fucking much . . . and it feels like this all the time,” he choked out through a strained sob. “It hurts. It just fucking hurts, and the alcohol isn’t helping anymore. I don’t know what to do.” His sobs came quicker now as he shook in your embrace, and you couldn’t help but cry for him as well. “I don’t know what to do. Fuck, I’m not OK. I’m not OK.”

“I know,” you whispered against his skin, trying to keep your voice steady. “I know, baby.” You pressed a kiss against his skin. It was innocent. It was sweetness. It was what he needed. “You don’t have to do this on your own anymore. I promise, Koo.”

And all Jungkook could do was nod.

“I’m as stubborn as a mule,” you reiterated, sniffling slightly. “I’m not leaving. OK? I know this—look—” you gently pulled back enough to place your hands on either side of his face. It was just enough to get him to look at you; just enough to let him know you meant every word— “I know how this feels. Hopelessness, worthlessness, anger, hatred. I know it all . . . and I know more than anyone that this is something no one should have to go through alone. I pushed everyone away. OK? When I was at my worst, I made people leave me until I had no one, and I can tell you right now that decision . . . it broke me.” You shook your head, another tear falling. “I don’t want to be broken, and I know you don’t want to be either.”

But his eyes were elsewhere. They were trained on the tear as it trickled down your cheek. “You’re crying,” he all but sobbed as he brought a finger to your cheek, catching the fallen tear. “I don’t—”

“Will you let me?” you found yourself asking, because maybe your tears weren’t selfish. Maybe . . . maybe they weren’t tears of anything other than . . . just tears. “Let me cry . . . for you. Let me carry this with you. I’m not scared of a lot of things, and I’m certainly not scared of this or you.”

His eyes stayed round and wide, still searching. And then . . . then he began to nod, and you couldn’t help but offer him a small smile.

“Good,” you hummed as you attempted to dry your eyes, but Jungkook beat you to it, wiping your cheeks clean of tears with the end of his sweatshirt sleeve. “Now . . . how about I lock the door so that fucker can sleep on the couch, and you and me sleep this shit off, hmm?”

“Can we watch a movie?” he questioned quietly.

You fought a grin. “Can I pick it?”

“Mmm, no.”

“Then, no.”

“Buttercup, don’t break my heart,” he whined, his voice slightly nasally from his now stuffy nose. His eyes were still red-rimmed and you were sure yours were too, but neither of you cared.

Hell, you couldn’t help but give a small laugh. “What are you on about?”

“You’ve never heard that song?”

You quirked a brow.

“Why do you build me up?” he began to sing, purposely doing it off-key (because yes, he had an annoyingly good voice). “Build me up.” His voice changed octaves, and you laughed in response, shaking your head at his antics. That only spurred him on. “Buttercup, baby, just to let me down?” He pointed at you. “Your turn.”

“Kook, I don’t know the words,” you giggled.

“Context clues,” he hummed. “Come on. Why do you build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to—”

“Let me down?” you whispered in a sing-song voice.

“There it is,” he cheered, nodding his head with a wide grin on his face, but the red-rimmed eyes still remained, reminding the both of you of . . . everything.

But that was OK.

You both would be alright. 

“I’m supposed to be cheering you up, not the other way around,” you mumbled as you toyed with the longer strands of his dark hair at the nape of his neck.

“I hate seeing you cry,” was all Jungkook said, a small smile still on his face.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“You know . . . “ Jungkook began again.

Your eyes locked on his; this time you were the one searching.

“I really like being your friend,” he mumbled before he tucked his bottom lip under his teeth.

A smile found its way onto your face. It was warm. It was pure. It was what you both needed. “I really like being your friend, too,” you agreed softly.

And perhaps, truly, in some weird, obscure way, the two of you had met again as strangers who became friends. Perhaps this time you would stay friends.

.

.

.

taglist:

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#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #bts #jungkook series #jungkook scenario #bts smut #bts fic #bts x reader #bts au #kpop #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook x y/n #bts jungkook

[precious-little-scoundrel]

|| Marlon

Summary: after a strange interlude during one of their latest bike excursions, Elaine is left reeling at the new reality of sharing, and the insistence by the men around her that no more discussion is needed on the matter. Bereft, adrift and not a little curious, Elaine’s rather sure she’s finally crossed that damnable line that Elvis first nudged her up against.

Warnings: 18+ only -smut, hot tubs, pats threesome mentioned, sorta a foot job but only because that’s the only discreet body part nearby?? not trying to make that weird. public play, emotional (and some physical) infidelity. Elvis is in his Bastard era, be warned.

Authors note: this is a fragment but it may be all j ever produce on this subject, we shall see. It was requested and so here it is, such as it is. I always love answering Headcanons and theories so if this sparks interest, confusion or anger, lemme hear it. And Honestly? For those of y’all not into this? It’s not essential enough to be read or considered canon for Sarge, the breakdown of their marriage having only a small part to do with this. This entire side quest is a bit more of an exploration of Elaine, so feel free to leave it be if it’s not for you.

Apologies ahead of time for the poorly edited and misspelled content lol 💋

Circa: 1967ish

“I just saw the silhouette of a very attractive woman ridin’ an attractive man I thought I’d lend a hand.” Marlon answers her straight, Elaine deserves that with all the bullshit she has to deal with these days -threesomes included. And the kitchen is finally empty of kids. He knows whatever arrangement the Presleys have with the redhead has to be more concession than ideal. The least he can do is admit something he’s never hid before, even from Elvis himself: Elaine Presley is uniquely capable of giving him the hots and something about Elvis Presley mismanaging her magnificence tickles the masochistic tendencies Marlon has had it suggested to him by therapists might have a root in childhood perversity. Neglectful parents and weird nannies and that sort of shit.

Marlon doesn’t know. Sat at her kitchen bar, drinking her daughter’s lemonade, Elaine is owed this much, an answer to why he opened that tent flap and slurped cunt when he’s barely so much as held her hand before, not even during mealtime prayers. She’s got to be some sort of neglected if she can’t shake it, or maybe she’s wickeder than those gentle eyes has them all thinking.

“That’s not enou- thats, Marlon, you said yourself everyone used to…go at it..during those trips!” she hisses the last part as if there’s some shame left to this household where the man of the place flaunts his dalliances like it’s part of the press tour for the latest trash comedy. His wife’s dignity and pain be damned.

“Ma’am, I’m just a man.” Marlon insists- Elaine is in love with her husband, after all.

“That’s rather my point!” Elaine warms to it, “-there were a lotta couples you coulda lent a hand to and there were a lotta men loiterin’ about but only you chose to ‘lend a hand’ and you chose…us! Why! Why?”

“Have you seen the couple you make?” he asks levelly.

“What was that, Marlon? What was that?” she begs again, eyes no longer soft but wild and shimmering.

“You’re not this stupid, Elaine.” he takes a sip of lemonade Daisy made just for him, “Even if he likes it best when you act like you are.”

She doesn’t even bat an eye at it, and Marlon thinks it’s a damn shame, a crime really, for any man to wear a woman down this far. Maybe Marlon is as bad as her husband for pushing on the bruise he made. Can’t be helped, he’s always been an opportunist. He can be honest even if it’s a ugly, masculine, virulent truth that makes a mockery of vows and roles and institutions like marriage and dreams.

“Wanna show me just how clever you really are, little lady?“ he’s risen from his seat, sauntered over to her by now, no contact, except for his thumb that tugs at her bottom lip, thumbnail at the root of a tooth. Her eyes are brimming with tears -they both know it’s not sadness. If she were a woman to cry from sadness she'd never have a dry eye.

“The house is full.” Elaine sounds hoarse.

What a flimsy little objection for so virtuous a woman. The way Elaine chases his thumb as he retracts it tells him -try again, when it’s empty, test me once more.

Summers are long in Palm Springs, there’s always more lemonade to be drunk. He’ll be back, they both know that. For now, the house is full. He sits back down at the table. Elvis and five children and a buncha good for nothings he calls friends come in wet from the pool twelve minutes later. Marlon curses, he could have brought her to climax twice in that time. If only she’d stop looking at him like he’s planning to steal her from her husband, give it a few months and she’ll not be wary but eager for it.

Summer turns to Autumn and Autumn to Winter and the Presleys choose to ring in the new year in the gentle climate to California after a bracing Graceland Christmas.

Marlon doesn't know what a Presley Christmas is comprised of except for hearsay from Daisy’s long over the phone account and the toys shown him when he dropped by as soon as they were in town. He’d brought his own kids, the ones near at hand, to play for a bit and the rest had taken to them well enough while Daisy sat beside him and told him about the roller blades she’d gotten. He imagines a sickeningly happy affair with stiff smiles and a great deal of bling bought by Elvis and Elaine getting fucked in a Santa lingerie set.

Marlon doesn’t know about Presley christmases.

But he’s learning about their New Year’s -it’s past twelve, the kids are abed and champagne has been toasted, wishes swapped and the nighttime air rustling the palms has been obliging enough to even be a little brisk and chilly. Just for atmosphere, he guesses.

It’s nice as the hot tub they’re all in is bubbling like hell’s cauldron, with the jets on full blast and their buddies -Elvis’ buddies from the way Elaine is the only woman amongst thirteen men- are stacked in it like sardines. Marlon is here because he hasn’t driven himself home yet, he supposes, otherwise she’d be very alone.

The guys, the other twelve, they’re swapping stories and being loud, noisy and obnoxious as Elaine relaxes in her seat, frothy bubbles lapping around her clavicles and her neck, that lovely neck laying back on Elvis’ outstretched arm as he nearly forgets she’s there. She’s such an extension of him by now, her face lax with this chance to relax even as there’s hubbub all about.

Marlon, he can’t stop watching her and the way her eyes flit and flutter when the jets hit right, the way she melts into Elvis and the way he tolerates her adoration even here. Even at the beginning of a new year. Marlon wants to smack the man for telling anecdotes when he should be-

…

-hell Marlon doesn’t even know what he expects that Elvis should be doing, it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong or mean. no not at all in fact, he’s acting like a longtime married man and letting Elaine Presley vibrate beside him in euphoria unadmired. Talking to his buddies when Elaine Presley is turning to a puddle next to him and all Marlon knows is:

-if it were him, oh if it were him.

If it were him, Elaine would be melting sure, and he’d be watching every second of it like it were the meteor shower of the century. Turns out, even though she’s not his, he’s still watching all the same.

he’s still watching and forgetting to laugh with the cues when everyone else does. But she forgets too, floating away somewhere that makes her lips curl up a little and her face shimmer with sweat and steam. her legs float to the top of the roil from the jets, there’s a little giggle at the buoyancy. pink painted toes surfacing right in front of Marlon’s face opposite her.

He sees her, she looks to Elvis. To see if he notices.

He doesn’t.

That precious giggle of hers is lost in a roar of manly laughter over some unfortunate movie set story, as is the way Marlon’s hand reaches in the foam and puts his palm over the little pruned toes right in front of him, snapping at them with his hand like she’s a kid and he’s playing shark amongst the bubbles.

Elaine’s head swivels from watching Elvis to sending a questioning look towards Marlon.

She catches his eye, holds it. curious and pleased he’s in the same mood as her, stories and memphis mafia forgotten. A connection fizzles between them and she giggles again at having found a playmate.

But then he doesn’t let go, even as her foot goes down in the water, on the ledge, near between his legs and suddenly this isn’t playing shark.

Her posture goes rigid as Marlon starts to rub that dainty foot, engulfed in his warm hand, hidden by the discreet bubbles. He dared. It took her aback, it was offensive and flattering and she felt a violent fear at being suspected and then a pang of jealousy over the unlikeliness of it.

Between the warm water, the firm press of a man’ hand and the pummeling of the jets, her head starts to crane back again against Elvis’ shiny, toned bicep and the picture of a woman enjoying herself next to her husband but not from him shouldn’t make Brando so rash and angry but it does.

She fights for a minute but only in the way of guarding her face. but it’s been awhile since she’s been the center of someone’s universe -beyond a peg that this whole carnival that their life has turned into revolves around. perhaps a step of infidelity to let Brando see the pleasure he gives her, to see her the way Elvis once told her only belonged to him, but it was Elvis who cracked the door first, back in that tent, back in the spring.

Elvis notices, at long last, not the eye contact of a friend and his wife but the mewling body language of his woman. Not that Brando is holding her foot beneath the churning surface but that she looks nearly to the brink of orgasm from the jets. And snuggled up to him as she is -Elvis smirks. Of course his widdle baby is excited, sensitive little creature that she is.

Elvis thinks he’s being secretive when he keeps chatting with the guys but sneaks his hand to her bathing suit, not even looking over at her as his fingers find her seam and wiggle under.

Just the motion of his arm visible and Marlon sees the reflection in her face the minute her husband's hand begins to stroke her. His grip tightens on her foot involuntarily and she moans.

Her eyes are utterly focused on Marlon and it’s well that they are, if she were to tear away that frantic gaze he’s mad enough to make a scene right here and now, hopeless and damaging as it would be. But he has her eyes and the power that is in the caress of his thumb. He can see it, Elaine is imagining he’s stroking her instead of Elvis, using that suggestive tempo on her arch as a conduit to replace the coax of Elvis’ calloused pads against her bud.

Elaine braces her hand on Elvis’ thigh as she nears, just a reflex as he speeds his fingers up and she’s grips his thigh, almost wanting him not to intrude on this moment even as the brink nears. And Elvis, he thinks she’s trying to reciprocate but he is hardly in the mood for it, that would ruin his little game so he takes her hand away, puts it firmly back on her own lap and keeps up his pace against her slick petals.

When she comes, Elvis can feel her bow up beside him and without even looking he is smirking around his cigarillo, her legs kick out in a spasm and he feels bad for whoever’s crotch is opposite her. He smacks at her pussy once, twice, before quite obviously turning away from her to ask Charlie something related to arrangements.

It’s a damn game he likes to play with Elaine, seeing as she don’t mind it, she gets some benefit from it and he’s seen that face a million times, he doesn't need to look.

But Marlon.

Marlon’s gaze on Elaine is heavy enough it feels like the caress of aftercare all on its own, and some stinging part of Elaine’s battered heart feels loyalty to him for that. for watching her, delighting in her even as everyone else snickers or ignores.

She flexes her foot in his hand.

Her flex touches tender flesh and up to where he is pulsing and firm between his thick thighs. It startles her, somehow not expecting either the usual anatomy or else -not this level of arousal. Not to this degree, not in public, not when her husband just claimed her so casually. Her eyes sting at being flaunted as his little plaything, the one she’s been happy to be since that honeymoon train ride down to Texas. It feels belittling suddenly, and it’s Marlon’s aloof admiration to blame.

She flexes her foot again, heel firm to his base and eyes unwavering. A little repayment, a little show of thanks. It’s too much.

Marlon covers his eyes with his hand as if to wipe the mist away. Her coal smudged eyes are scorching his face and her foot, such a lowly part of her, and yet it’s pressing and he’s wanted her to admit to wanting for such a longtime and suddenly there’s the feel of his warm release flashing against Elaine’s foot in the broiling hot tub for an instant. Only an instant splash and a thob, then it swirls around them all, lost and sordid and utterly misused.

A waste. A deadbeat hope. A torn confession.

It’s late when they all get out, Elaine can barely meet his eyes now, dazed she willingly did that herself. Up in their room Elvis shucks his wet shorts off, relaxed and in a good mood to tease her about her being so needy for him in the tub as he leaves the shorts where they drop on the carpet and puts himself in her, into his wife, his plaything, his darling.

And God help her, for the first time in her life Elaine’s mind wanders to someone else as Elvis’ face is buried in her neck, huffing in pleasure over her swollen state.

After a long while of waiting for them to show again downstairs, the Memphis mafia laugh it off that the mister and missus must’ve gotten distracted -and it’s lights out and manly predictions about a noise complaint and a happy start to the new year.

Marlon goes to his damn car, he exits that beautiful house into the balmy night air with its twinkling stars and strong humidity that will now forever be tied to the curls at the nape of her neck and the beads of moisture on her nose, and he saunters away from Elaine Presley’s house where Elvis Presley gets to go home. Go home to lose interest and gain interest in that gorgeous woman at whim. Brando leaves it and gets in his car and stares at the single light in the house that’s still glowing for far too long.

Upstairs, throbbing and staring at the beamed ceiling and its whitewashed villa tile, Elaine startles at the sound of a car starting and pulling out of the drive. It’s late for a loitering guest, but Marlon was always one to loiter when it came to her family. Loiters with the kids and loiters with Daisy, accepting her adoption of his Godfather responsibilities with ease Elaine wants to hate him for, and he loitered in the tent on their motorcycle drive when Elvis and Elaine should have been left alone to be husband and wife, yet -he loitered. That once he had stayed. And no one speaks of it, that night gone by, though it tumbles around in Elaine’s mind like the jets that battered her flesh tonight, fresh as anything: the feel of Elvis’ shock at Brando’s presumption and then her husband’s pride warring with his excitement and for her -the feel of a man licking at her while her husband was inside her. How Elvis can think such a night can be tabled for all further discussion is beyond her, and Elaine stares at the ceiling and prays for forgiveness for this wild curiosity that has finally led her astray. She’s as bad as the papers would make her. Voracious and untamable in her appetites, finally it’s gone beyond Elvis alone, even if he was the one to crack open the floodgate with his hubris.

Now she wonders about an older face, a broader chest, almost fleshy shoulders and a hairy belly in the glow of the jacuzzi lights, Marlon had looked a man, older and impressive and unfamiliar compared to her precious and ever more pristine husband. And she had seen behind the screen of his hand the flash of agonized ecstasy her touch had caused him. She had made another man lose it. Someone besides Elvis. She knew, hypothetically, that a whole generation of boys had grown up tugging themselves to pictures of her, half of the barracks has been besotted and not in a wholesome way. But to have an older, impressive, commanding man enjoy her, want her?

Elaine throbbed.

There had been an emotional and sexual adjustment that Elaine had to make when she went from marrying a controlling manchild to being his emotional ballast and superior after losing Jo. Elaine hadn’t had a chance to think twice about how suited to it she was, how natural it felt to ease Elvis through it, whether she herself found it nice or not, whether it’s what she needed or not. Or what all she lost as she did so. It had been like pulling teeth to have him back in her bed at all, to have him something besides manically cheerful or pitifully morbid. She understood him. She didn’t even blame him. But it didn’t change how very -open, it left her to the slightest firmness of intent shown by another.

She’d been enjoying stepping into Gladys’ shoes, she’d been enjoying tossing off the role of being Elvis’ dolly and becoming his nanny, all of it had been a show of his trust in her until the load had become too heavy and when she turned to someone to rest her head, she found her husband's head already in her lap.

Until Marlon.

Until a grunted “huh” above her in the stuffy garage as she worked on the bike, only for her to look up and to find it wasn’t Charlie or Marty snickering at her for being all greasy again. It had been a wide stanced superstar looking at her like she was a specimen he wanted to inspect.

It had been Marlon and he’d come to meet her, to talk to her about bikes, to admire her shape in leathers and he stayed because Daisy liked him so.

Or maybe he’d stayed for Elaine. That had been reprehensible to imagine before tonight, perhaps only because if there was a man out there who would dare try to take her from The King, it would be him. And before now that had been impossible, not even fathomable or feasible, if she didn’t think it she wouldn’t invite it, she was sure. Marlon Brando wasn’t a good man, but he could be kept contained if kept at arms length.

Now though, that vision of him staring tonight, the feel of his hand stroking her, competing with her husband for her pleasure -there’s no ignoring now how he looks at her, has looked for some time, the way he loves to see her riled but not at him, strange how he’s never infuriated her like Elvis endeavors to on a daily basis. As if he knows his very presence is thrumming enough for her. And he wouldn’t want to see her vibrate apart. Not fully. Only because she’d hate that so. But if she ever asked he’d take her apart like a little marionette and then glue her back.

Rattling, that was more Elvis’ speciality, rattling her apart. She was tired of buzzing. If only he could always be one thing, but lately he was a myriad and she felt married to a performer more each day until she lay beneath him and wondered how Marlon would feel penetrated deep within her.

Elaine hears Elvis and his shower turn off at the same time she strains to hear the mechanical creak of the gates opening to let Brando out.

“Still layin’ how I left ya, hopin’ f’more, baby?” her husband asks her as he turns the light out and lays against her warm and familiar and moist.

In the drive, Brando bites his lip and forces his gaze from the rearview and the darkened house in it and speeds out of the hills. Daisy will call again soon enough, the call again and again, and if he’s lucky he’ll hear about how Elaine is from time to time or even hear her voice briefly as she answers before passing the receiver off to her little girl. Those are certainties in the new year.

It’s wicked of him, but his hopes are entirely different. They’re of her calling, and not another excuse being made.

Just Elaine calling to tell him “the house is empty.”

Taglist:

@prompted-wordsmith

@powerofelvis

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis imagine #fic #mine #archive #elvis and me #welcome home elvis #army elvis #elvis on tour #marlon brando #elvis x reader #elvis smut #elvis x y/n #elvis x oc #elvis presely smut #elvis pictures #elvis photos

[heart-shaped-pupa]

Pact TV show like 6 episodes per season and each episode like 50 minutes long.

First episode Last Will starts with a cold open scene of Molly running through the woods before screaming, and then "4 months earlier..." on the screen and Blake getting off his bike while a voice over says "Damn me, damn them, damn it all" - midway point in the episode is Rose telling him to run. They make it to Hillsglade house, and the episode ends with them finding the Library and seeing Rose Sr.'s names on the demon books. Second episode Under Oath cold open with young Rose Sr. at the catholic school trying to get her book back, Intro sequence happens, and Blake n Rose are in the library reading. Laird arrives and the half way point twist is them getting time jumped! Second half of the episode is them getting away from the faeries, arguing abt being witch hunters, and taking the oath of Awakening. Third episode Persona Non Grata cold open is the famulus interview w the Nightmare. After the intro sequence Blake fails to get a pizza, decides to go shopping during the window of safe passage, fails, tries his big play at the meeting, fails, but! Succeeds at winning June as an ally at the end. Fourth episode Opposing Counsel cold open with Sandra Duchamp and the High Drunk. Episode is Ms. Lewis's time to shine, but also folds in lots of the info from interlude 2.x - Ms. Lewis quizzes them about implements when fixing the hatchet binding, quizzes them about familiars while dealing with the faerie, and quizzes them abt demesnes while showing off Johannes'. Rose knows the answers, Blake mostly doesn't. Episode ends with Maggie Holt at the house Cliffhanger.

Fifth episode Fire and Brimstone Pretty much just a whole episode of a Maggie interlude. First half is the destruction of her city. Second half is her with Blake in Hillsglade, Laird comes in, sparks the conflict between them, Maggie is upset and runs off into the woods (to secret location) Episode ends with the reveal that Laird had her do it!

Sixth episode the season 1 finale! Breach - Cold open with a scene of the Briar Girl first meeting her Familiar, intro happens, Blake and Rose bottle Leonard, argue about the ineffectiveness of ghosts decide they need decisive action. Blake talks with Briar girl, learns how to use glamour, and halfway point in the episode is Blake going into disguise and walking up toward the Behaim-Duchamp Backyard Barbeque. He stops the ritual, escapes, but has to struggle home in the cold recovering from excessive glamour use. Andy watches him find out about the time field, drives off, and Blake collapses in the snow while Rose calls out for the lawyers! Dramatic cliffhanger Blake whispers "help..." and passes out.

#rly tried to find a legal word or latin phrase for maggies episode #but tbh i think it being out of theme works fine #and fire and brimstone is demon themed at least

[theresattrpgforthat]

Ok. This is a bizarre request and I apologize in advance, but it is 100% serious. Are there any ttrpgs that either take inspiration from King of the Hill, or that you would think run adjacent to the sort of themes/settings present in KOTH? (Think like semi-modern/late 90s, rural/texan setting, slice-of-life, etc?)

(Context: Me and a friend have been entertaining the idea of a KOTH podcast as something to do for fun, and I think it would be fun to do a live-play ttrpg interlude at some point, but I'm struggling to come up with something, and too tired to make my own ruleset haha.)

THEME: Rural Slice-of-Life.

Four games about everyday life or suburbia coming right up!

Dads and Decks, by CABBAGEHEAD.

Dads & Decks is a quick and easy-to-play roleplaying game about Dads and their Decks.

YOU ARE A GROUP OF DADS GETTING READY FOR THE ULTIMATE BARBECUE. But suddenly, a MUNDANE DECK-RELATED PROBLEM has occurred. Using your DADS and DECKS, you must solve this problem together or your WEEKEND will be ruined.

Solve the mystery of the creaky floorboard or journey through the dangerous lands of Home Depot to retrieve the Holy Grill. Play together, be the Dad you want to see in the world and have fun!

This is a quick, fun, Lasers and Feelings hack that I feel could really replicate the banter that goes on between Hank Hill and his buddies throughout King of the Hill. If you want to replace the Deck-related problem with a problem that rings more true to King of the Hill, it won’t take much to make a switch!

Every TV Show Ever, by rossum.

Don't touch that dial and remember to set the DVR!

This is meant to be a quick bare-bones way to construct any kind of tv show, from a historical drama, to a kids cartoon. Each character will take a different role, such as Matriarch, Patriarch, Craftsman or Clown. You spend some time building the world and then drop a problem into the player’s laps. You navigate a series of scenes represented via index cards, and use d6’s to determine how your characters do. There’s nothing fancy here, but if you want to have a basic rule set that you can expand upon, this might work out.

Kids on Bikes, by Hunters Entertainment.

Choose your OWN destiny in this storytelling rules-light tabletop role-playing game where adventure is a bike ride away. Kids on Bikes is a Collaborative World Building RPG set in small towns with big mysteries.

Kids on Bikes may look like an ill fit at first, but the game actually has mechanics for building adults! Additionally, there is a scenario in Strange Adventures: Volume One that posits you as Dads, a twist of the original premise. This module was originally called Dads on Mowers, but I think it’s currently called Garuda Lake. This is a game that’s designed to present you with rumours that turn into mysteries, and is especially designed for stories in which the paranormal and supernatural bleed into everyday life.

The Carter County PTA, by Minor Arcana Games.

Join the obsessive parents and desperate teachers of the PTA as each stands upon a hill they're willing to die on. Tonight is the long-awaited PTA meeting and everyone will vote on whatever passion project or much-needed reform you've added to the agenda. Along the way, you'll uncover the high-stakes backstory of each Agenda Item, revealing the personal politics, wacky hijinks and sordid stories that lurk behind the PTA's prim and polished exterior.

A diceless, GM-less game, this is a game for fans of Peggy Hill specifically. All of you have big plans for the local school and you will trample anyone who gets in the way of it. You’ll uncover personal politics and wacky backstories through a series of flashbacks, all the while pressuring the other parents and teachers to vote for your pet policy. Great for small-town drama and petty rivalries!

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #slice of life

[lovesongbracket]

Reminder: Vote based on the song, not the artist or specific recording! The tracks referenced are the original artist, aside from a few rare cases where a cover is the most widely known.

Lyrics, videos, info, and notable covers under the cut. (Spotify playlist available in pinned post)

Demolition Lovers

Written By: Matt Pelissier, Mikey Way, Ray Toro & Gerard Way

Artist: My Chemical Romance

Released: 2002

The Demolition Lovers are the couple seen on the cover for MCR’s next album, Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge. This song, along with much of the album, is a prequel to the story of Three Cheers… in which a man makes a deal with the devil to get his dead lover back by killing 1,000 evil men and giving the devil their souls in exchange for her. This song is most likely where the lover dies. The two “Demolition Lovers” are featured on the cover of the album.

[Verse 1] Hand in mine, into your icy blues And then I'd say to you, "We could take to the highway With this trunk of ammunition, too" I'd end my days with you, in a hail of bullets [Chorus] I'm trying, I'm trying To let you know just how much you mean to me And after all the things We put each other through and [Verse 2] I would drive on to the end with you A liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full And I feel like there's nothing left to do But prove myself to you, and we'll keep it running [Chorus] But this time, I mean it I'll let you know just how much you mean to me As snow falls on desert sky Until the end of everything I'm trying, I'm trying To let you know how much you mean As days fade and nights grow And we grow cold [Post-Chorus] Until the end, until this pool of blood Until this, I mean this, I mean this, until the end of [Chorus] I'm trying, I'm trying To let you know how much you mean As days fade and nights grow And we grow cold But this time, we'll show them We'll show them all how much we mean As snow falls on desert sky Until the end of every… [Interlude] All we are, all we are is bullets, I mean this All we are, all we are is bullets, I mean this All we are, all we are is bullets, I mean this All we are, all we are is bullets, I mean this [Guitar Solo] [Bridge] As lead rains will pass on through Our phantoms forever, forever Like scarecrows that fuel this flame We're burning forever and ever Know how much I want to show you You're the only one Like a bed of roses There's a dozen reasons in this gun [Outro] And as we're falling down, and in this pool of blood And as we're touching hands, and as we're falling down And in this pool of blood, and as we're falling down I'll see your eyes, and in this pool of blood I'll meet your eyes, I mean this forever!

Bmblb

Written By: Jeff Williams

Artist: Jeff Williams feat. Casey Lee Williams

Released: 2017

“Bmblb” is a song from the RWBY Volume 4 Soundtrack that has never been seen anywhere in the actual series (yet). It is short for “Bumblebee,” which in-universe is the name of Yang Xiao Long’s bike as well as her and Blake Belladonna’s team attack in Volume 2, but is used out-of-universe as the unofficial fan couple name for both of them. Therefore, while some interpret this as a love song between Yang and her bike, many others, upon closer inspection of the lyrics, see this as a love song between Yang and Blake, with either one expressing their love for the other.

[Intro] There's a garden where I go If you meet me there, no one will know In the springtime, in the sun We can be alone without anyone [Verse 1] All the butterflies and the birds Keep our secret, no, they won't say a word But they watch us, and they know And they're happy as they see our love grow [Pre-Chorus] We'll sit for a while as I drink in your smile It feels like a dream that's come true My head starts to buzz And my heart fills with love over you [Chorus] Baby, can't you see? You could be with me We could live inside a garden of ecstasy You could be my queen I could be your dream Our lives like a fantasy Maybe set me free Let me be your bumblebee [Verse 2] Now the flowers are in bloom And you've chased away my darkness and gloom When the wind blows through the trees And your voice is like a song in the breeze [Pre-Chorus] My doubts disappear every time that you're near Clouds seem to run from the sky The thought of your kiss Sends my soul into bliss, I get high [Chorus] Baby, can't you see? You could be with me We could live inside a garden of ecstasy You could be my queen I could be your dream Our lives like a fantasy Maybe set me free Let me be your— [Bridge] Like a serenade, every word you say Has me fallin' more and more in love with you Like a Purdie beat, you are oh-so sweet Everyday is sunny, tastes like honey Feel so alive, take me back to the hive [Guitar Solo] [Chorus] Baby, can't you see? You could be with me We could live inside a garden of ecstasy You could be my queen I could be your dream Life's like a fantasy Maybe set me free Let me be your bumblebee

#my chemical romance #mcr #demolition lovers #bmblb #rwby #polls #poll tournament #poll bracket #tournament #bracket #lovesongbracket #round1

[intoloopin]

AN INTERLUDE: IN UNITY.

TWS: A rapist and drugs are very briefly mentioned. The boys are fighting. And I believe that's all. characters (starring): Na Seungsoo. Woo Gyujin. word count: 2,457 words. time stamp: January 21th, 2024 (the day Dylan released his mixtape). author's note: not exactly super beated because I am literally dying! But anyways! Transitionary piece to get this plot going! Productivety! Hell yeah! *passes out*

January 21th.

Seungsoo doesn’t miss LOOPiN’s old dorm because he can’t miss it.

So every time he gets close to airing a complain about their current house, he instead makes a point to remember that their former two story apartment came straight out of Jiahang’s pockets, rented with a fraction of one of his many, many trust funds set by his millionaire parents for when he grew up and decided to go to college to study rare plants, or be a nepotistic model, or move to Monaco and do nothing forever. It becomes very easy to cultivate a vendetta against it that way.

But right now what Seungsoo can’t help but miss is having a bigger balcony, one that won’t cramp him when he tries to have a peaceful and quiet meltdown in his own goddamn home. There's a breeze hitting him right on the face while he’s staring at the goddamn sunset but he still feels suffocated. And he’s only sharing space with Taesong’s outside plants, their leaves a depressing shade of sick green, and Haegon’s brand new bike, which he only bought because he wasn't allowed to get a haircut after leaving Sunyoung for the nth time. 

From behind him, Seungsoo hears the sound of the balcony’s door being quietly pushed open, and of a series of steps growing closer. The living room’s light has been turned on and it’s painting his body in yellow light.

“Haruki, look–” Seungsoo breathes, turning on his heels quickly, ready to raise his arms high in rendition.

Who he finds behind him is someone else, tough, someone worse – or maybe not. Haruki hates him now, romanticizes the living Hell out of Dylan now, so he would have certainly been way worse to look in the eyes now than Gyujin.

Gyujin who, with his brand new eyebrow piercing and wet hair from his one hour long shower, greets him with a smile then says, as if he’s queued to deliver a joke, “You wish.”

“Great,” Seungsoo mutters to himself, turning his back to him, getting back at supporting his elbows on the wall. For a second, he marvels at how nasty the fall would be if he jumped to the backyard. “Get out, Gyujin, seriously. I’m not in the mood.”

“Boo-hoo. I didn’t ask.”

With that, he comes close. He sits on the thick wall in the little space the plants give him, both hands holding on the concrete while he bends dangerously backwards, dangling his feet. 

And Gyujin just stays there, barely moving and not talking, only whistling like a goddamn cartoon. In retaliation, Seungsoo frowns harder at the horizon and begins to fidget on his sleeping clothes, fingers anxious to hold onto something.

He never picked up on smoking and he kind of regrets it now, can’t remember the reason why. Maybe because he likes to smell like cologne too much, or because he hates the thought of being unable to kiss someone without it tasting bitter.

It takes a mere minute or so for him to break, because that’s what Seungsoo does best: he can’t hold back an impulse, can’t swallow a single word down. He needs a collar, he’s realized recently, a muzzle, and no one ever gets him one – no one ever gets him.

“That was just so damn childish,” He mutters through his teeth. “Releasing all the songs like that.”

“Oh?” Gyujin tilts his squared chin down. He’s almost looming over Seungsoo, with the way he’s set – taking him from up above, an angle Seungoo’s had a problem being perceived from ever since he was the youngest of his mother’s kids. “And unfollowing Chihoon on Instagram wasn't childish?”

“I don’t like when any of our private business gets exposed, no matter how vague. He knows that.”

“Didn’t you just make it more public now with your little show? Or do you really think no one will connect the two, that the timing isn’t obvious, that you aren’t raising tension?”

Seungsoo suppresses a little scream by pressing his knuckles hard against his lips.

“You didn’t think that far, did you? Tsk, you just never do,” Gyujin lets out a laugh. “So what is it, Seungsoo, really? Why did you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?!” Seungsoo breathes, straightening up quickly, viciously – he almost hits Gyujin on the forehead with his head by doing so. “What is wrong with you?! Do you really think it’s okay for him to make something like that and release it without checking with us first?! When it’s mostly about the team?! We’re not illiterate! We can understand all his goddamn English!”

“Hm. Little League’s mean, I never said it wasn’t,” Gyujin agrees, but his relaxed posture lets it clear to Seungsoo that he does so only partially, half heartedly, even – always so comfortable with the possibility of a fall, he thinks, eyeing his horrible posture. “It’s a mock song made to piss Haegon off, and it got the job done. He’s justified in everything he chose to do about it. I just don’t get why you’re so offended. Is it because Chihoon didn’t write about you?”

“Are you insane? It’s not about getting a song or not, or Dylan doing things on his own or not, I just don’t–” Seungsoo shakes his head, searching for the right words, any other words but–

“You don’t like remembering we’re not friends,” Gyujin completes – spot on like fucking always. “That he doesn’t feel like he owes us secrecy anymore.”

And to think there would be a time, not even so long ago, where Seungsoo would immediately jump to refute him, banging on his chest and saying with real pride, “We’re all friends! We’re all close!”

But saying it now would just make it sound like a blatant lie; a joke with an awful punchline. So he bites his tongue and goes back to being quiet.

“Na Seungsoo, I need you to listen to what I’ll say to you,” Gyujin tells him, his voice set on a tone deeper than his usual, making the full name ring off his mouth like an intimation. Ungrundly, Seungsoo listens. “You need to start processing the things you do before you do them.”

Seungsoo scoffs, forced and loud, and looks away from his face quickly – runs from the ice underneath his setting jaw.

“We have problems, alright? All great groups do,” Gyujin keeps up, bumping their shoulders together once, then not again; Seungsoo recoils more against the wall and lightly grates his arm all to escape his follow up attempt by a matter of millimeters. “Sometimes things get sour and they spill over, and that’s just how it is. You get around, you know I’m right. No one has it easy. Idolmaker is in the middle of a PR nightmare with all the Hosung freakout, we’ve been seeing it first hand, and you won’t find Gayoung or Jeonghun getting petty in public because it isn’t smart.”

“So what can I actually do, Gyujin, about our situation?” Seungsoo asks him. A spot on his jaw is hurting from how hard he’s clenching it.

Gyujin gives him that awful, awful look of his that always tells him ‘You’re an idiot’. “Seungsoo, please. Dylan’s vent album is not a situation–”

“C’mon, Gyujin, I know it’s not!” Seungsoo says, too close to yelling. “And I know your little speech isn’t really about the goddamn unfollow! It’s you trying to get inside my head and control how I’ll act now that I know the group’s ending!”

The words make Gyujin pause. He almost fully freezes. It’s all the confirmation Seungsoo needs, the mute answer to the question that’s been eating him alive since Christmas.

“You’ve heard the fucking rumors, you– Gyujin, you know! I know you know! The March shareholder’s meeting has been canceled, Minwoo hasn’t sat down to write a real song since October, and Jiahang’s fucking dad called him back to China last month. For what?! He’s backing out, isn’t he?! He’s selling his shares because New Wave is dying. They’re going to debut the girls and just– fate out with us in it!”

Gyujin takes a defeated breath. Finally, he makes his way down the wall. “Sony hyung–”

“Don’t you Sony hyung me, man!” Seungsoo exclaims, angling his head up to fully face Gyujin, round eyes on round eyes. “Look, I know I talk even when I shouldn’t, I know my brain is goddamn slow, that it makes me do stupid shit, but why is everyone keeping things from me now?! I’m a producer too, aren’t I?! I’m a part of LOOPiN just as much as everyone, maybe even more than some people we got! Isolating me is fucked!”

“No one is isolating you, Seungsoo. Things are just complicated when it comes to giving you confidential information,” Gyujin counters, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His voice is again different, hitting at him cutting and terminal. It infuriates Seungsoo more. “And you know why that is. You put yourself in a hard position. Face it: you broke the trust. This is your own doing.”

Seungsoo’s mouth hangs open, stays open. “I broke the– what?! Why?! Because I pushed Jiahang once when he was about to do cocaine off an Inkigayo sink?! Because I took Dylan with me to haunt down a serial rapist?! I don’t regret any of those things, and I never will!”

“Was that all you did, really? Because the way I see it, the way it came across for everyone, was you going all vigilante over the members' private business,” Gyujin stresses. “And what good did any of these things do for anyone? You almost costed Jiahang his eye, Seungsoo. You almost got Chihoon arrested–”

“So now it’s all my fault?! We’re sinking, we’re doomed, and it’s all my fault?! Fuck you! You have no idea how or why– what do you even know about anything, really?!” Seungsoo spits at him, infuriated. “You just fucking got here, and– and you’ve been with us for a year and some fucking weeks, max! And it seems like everyone forgot that, that they all forgot that there was a time without you, but I didn’t! Do you even know what Haegon said, when he came with the idea of unfollowing Dylan?! ‘No matter what we do now Gyujin’s gonna fix it in the morning, so let’s do something dumb and tiny, so he won’t kill us!’ Like you’re in control or something! But news flash, this is New Wave Music, and you’re not in control, no one is! And if someone was, that someone would be me! Minwoo, Jimin, and me!”

“Or maybe not, now!” Seungsoo’s mouth keeps on going. He’s griping at the concrete of the balcony with one hand, pointing one straight at the center of Gyujin’s chest, and just letting a whole torrent out. “Maybe you do deserve trust more than I do! You– You know everything because everyone tells you everything, and you songwrite too, you can still play the tuba, why don’t you just take my fucking place, uh? If I get it all wrong and you do it all right?! Go be an executive producer, go on! Fuck writing all over just Beomseok, end me too! Minwoo likes you better anyway, maybe you can make his slump go away! Jimin fucking likes you better too, he won’t even mind me being gone, you might even get him to stop hiding Nicola from everyone, who knows!”

Seungsoo takes a shaky pause to breathe, his chest rising. He’s sure his face is red, that there’s a line of sweat on his forehead.

Gyujin remains too close and unmoving, his eyes semi close, analyzing.

“And what else?” He asks. He’s still grinning like he knows something Seungsoo doesn’t. “C’mon, go on. Spill it all out. I wanna hear it.”

“You sick–!” Seungsoo grunts, then takes another deep inhale, ends up almost choking on his own spit.

Coughing, he dismangles his grip off Gyujin’s shirt and forces himself to fall silent – they both do. Somewhere down in the street, a million cars honk and make out a disastrous symphony, and it pierces through Seungsoo’s ears like he’s in the middle of traffic. He’s minutes away from developing a killer migraine.

“So this is what comes out of you when you’re scared, yeah?” Gyujin eventually notes, quiet. Seungsoo can almost hear the tiny smile on his face stretching and growing warmer, showing just a flash of front teeth, white like a goddamn grain of salt. “Pretty animalistic reaction, although highly entertaining–”

“I’m not scared,” Sengsoo fires back, even though he is. He knows it deep in his bones, by the lack of good sleep: he’s terrified of blinking too slowly and missing any more warning signs, more sunny days; fearing they’re already all long behind him. He turns his head down. “Just, just– Tired of feeling– Tired.”

And feeling like I don’t belong, is what he thinks but doesn’t say: Like I’m not good at my job. Like no one will ever forgive me. 

He feels one of Gyujin’s warm hands setting over his shoulder, offering it a squeeze. This time Seungsoo leaves it there, allowing it to linger. “Hyung, I can see that. We all can. You’ve been putting on some crazy hours in the studio lately. We appreciate how hard you’re covering for Minwoo hyung. I might not have thanked you for that yet, so–”

“Spare me the prase shower, Woo Gyujin,” Seungsoo grunts, running a hand over his face, onto his hair. “Just tell me to fuck off now so I can go to sleep with at least one argument settled.”

“And make it that much easier for you? Ha, of course not,” Gyujin laughs, amused. “Besides, we’re not fighting, have never fought, and never will. You have nothing to settle with me. But I’ll give you space to gather your courage to face who you really should.”

“Fuck you,” Seungsoo says, just to be the one to get the last words as Gyujin’s walking back and away. It comes off sounding tiny and defeated, a little ashamed.

He doesn’t get that: as soon as Gyujin gets a hand on the door, he calls back, “And in the meantime…”

Seungsoo takes an annoyed peek over his shoulder to glare at him. “What?”

“Follow Dylan back, you fucking drama queen,” Gyujin says, rolling his eyes, grinning like the Devil he pretends he isn't. “And relax, okay? We’ll be fine. We always are.”

And he disappears behind the glass, pulling the curtains inside and turning off the light.

On the tiny balcony only Seungsoo and the never quiet city remain, looking as the sun goes down and down.

#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ writing . #&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ development . #&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ seungsoo . #fictional idol community #fake kpop group #kpop fanfic #kpop au #kpop oc

[noosummert]

~ masterlist nct dream !!

fluff ♡

angst ツ

smut ☆

done reading °

All

reaction :: dirty texts ☆ °

texts: “I Want A Baby” ☆ °

texts: long distance relationship! ☆ °

Reactions: Sitting in their… ☆ °

reactions: how they sound…☆ °

reaction :: touching them…☆ °

Morning sex ☆ °

sexting ☆ °

about being caught having sex ! ☆ °

Video Games Suck! ☆ °

hard hour ☆ °

accidentally sending them… ☆ °

perv ☆ °

AS YOUR BF / IG…♡ °

texts: pretending to…♡ °

texts: calling by their name… ♡ °

sending you cheesy… ♡ °

sending random i love yous ♡ °

texting “i want a baby” ♡ °

texts “i saw you cheating” ♡ °

texts “wanna makeout?” ♡ °

w a clingy s/o ♡ °

jealous texts ♡ °

reaction :: they're jealous ♡ °

Jaemin

texts (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵) ♡ °

[9:26 am] ♡ °

CAN’T HANDLE THIS ♡ °

Pretty Boy ♡ ☆ °

7:36pm ☆ °

fwb! texts ☆ °

I Want To Play A Game ft jjh ☆

bike racer ☆

water fall (interluuube) ☆

8:59 am ☆

1:37 AM ☆

work it ☆

MEMORIES BRING… ☆ °

stargirl interlude ☆

the walls are thin | NJM + LJN ☆

Walk You Home ☆

「 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧」 ☆ °

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄. ¹⁸⁺ ☆

hey angel ☆

Jeno

Arcade ☆ °

horny boyfriend texts pt. 2 ☆ °

thigh riding ☆ °

tape 001. ft 00z ☆ °

taking his gf’s… ☆ °

1:19 am ☆ °

SOMEONE WITH SECRETS ☆

wait for me ☆

My First and Last ☆

kit kat ☆ °

Deployed ☆ °

icarus ☆

mean fwb ☆

marking ☆ °

fight club ☆ °

Protective/jealous sex ☆ °

BLACK ROSES

under his spell ☆ °

7 Days ☆ °

golden boy ☆ °

DRABBLE BDAY SPECIAL ☆ °

horny boyfriend texts ☆ °

texts jealous! ツ °

[I’LL WAIT] ツ

Figure it Out ♡

lavender haze ♡

2:36 am ♡ °

silent treatment ♡

Me or the PS5? ♡ °

1:39 am ♡ °

texts jealous ♡ °

“What are you afraid of?” ♡ °

Jisung

12:14 am ☆ °

just one kiss ☆ °

8:14 am ☆ °

10:36 am ☆ °

anyway you want me ☆ °

JISUNG DRABBLE #1 ☆ °

baby doll ☆ °

dumb blond ☆ °

Special Mittens. ☆

flowers? ☆

FULL MOON ☆

Crush On You ☆ °

collage boyfriend! ♡ ☆ °

first relationship ♡ ☆ °

bf texts ♡ °

random thoughts about…♡ °

Scrawny ツ °

Haechan

(high key horny) bf texts <3 ☆ °

more situationship texts…♡ °

MANIFESTING MAYHEM ♡

Renjun

Torn ft ljn ツ

part 2 - part 3

#nct dream masterlist

[yeahspider]

we’ll meet outside the blindspot

VE’s masterlist 🫀

key : smut / suggestive ⛽️, angst/ hurt comfort 🍷 , fluff 🎈, coming soon 🍟 series 🍓

plz keep in mind my blog is for 18+ only minors or faceless blogs do NOT interact

if you want recs (both nsfw and sfw) checks out my tag yeahspiderecs <3

ot8 / multi member

sharing toys (hyunsung) ⛽️

battle of the larynx (minlix) 🍷

hotline (hyung) (maknae) 🍷

genesis (minsung) ⛽️

LATCH (minsung) ⛽️🎈

biking (solo) (hyunlix) ⛽️

bang chan

tell me everything ⛽️

apple cider 🎈

awkward 🍷

another dimension ⛽️🎈

BRAINSTORM ⛽️

bad idea right 🎈

morning light 🍷

stretch my hands 🎈

let the light in 🎈

lee know

showtime ⛽️

murder me burden you ⛽️🍷

reassurance ⛽️🍷

back to the city 🎈

DIAL TONE 🍷

HEATED 🍷

seo changbin

runaway 🍷

hwang hyunjin

back 2 sleep ⛽️

GOOD 4YOU ⛽️

THE BEACH ⛽️🎈

whoa (mind in awe) 🎈

hideaway 🍷🎈

blind spot 🎈

chill kill 🍷

one of your girls 🍷⛽️

han jisung

car tales ⛽️

berry kisses ⛽️

slide ⛽️

up at night 🍷

don’t get the deal 🎈

tooth brush ⛽️

SPIDERWEB 🍷

nonviolent communication 🎈

lee felix

casual ⛽️

but i’ll know 🎈

already over 🍷⛽️

SQUIRM 🍷

10:36 🎈

grape juice 🎈

kim seungmin

decode 🍷

yang jeongin

SDP INTERLUDE 🍓

agora hills ⛽️🎈

#yeahspider #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids headcanons #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids series #stray kids angst #han jisung smut #hwang hyujin imagines #lee know x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #lee know smut #hwang hyunjin fluff #lee felix fluff #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin fanfic #seo changbin fluff

[nickfowlerrr]

pretty when you cry - bucky’s interlude

series masterlist / chapter six

*originally posted to @bellareadsandrecs on 03/02/22*

pairing: dark!biker!bucky x curvy!reader (dark!soulmate au)

warnings: some angst and that’s it i think??? aside from the fact that this isn’t very well written and adds very little if not nothing to the story so far 💀

words: 1.2k

notes: this is not edited. also it’s very possible that i delete this and pretend it never happened bc idk what i’m doing quite honestly lol. i am currently working on chapter six but i don’t know when i’ll be finished with it so i just wanted to post a little something to make up for the delay

This is a DARK series!!! Please proceed with abundant caution.

Never had Bucky experienced emotions like this. Anger, possessiveness, jealousy, hell, love? Of course. He’s human. But these feelings, this love, so intensely? This deep connectedness to someone. No. Never.

He didn’t like it, either. Didn’t like the way it affected him. But when he was around her, the anger mostly fell to the wayside as her presence took over him. Head and heart. Bucky’s never been someone others would consider “loving”. Loyal and fiercely protective, but not necessarily loving.

With her, though, everything is different. He can feel it in his chest when he just thinks about her, let alone when he’s around her. That first night, he thought it would quickly go away. But it didn’t. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He even laid into Steve after he got back to the garage from following her to her house. First actual fight they’d had since they were teenagers, and all over some random girl at a bar. But she wasn’t random. He realized that when he stood in front of her frightened figure in her kitchen all those weeks ago. The realization that it could be something more than just a little infatuation filled him with resentment and something more carnal at that moment. Maybe anger and though he couldn’t admit it, fear, too. He wasn’t there to attack her. That wasn’t the plan. He was just there to scare her. But something dark inside of him snapped and he didn’t fight himself on his urges as he got closer and closer to her. The strong urge he had to take her. As if she was his to be claimed. The one his soul had been seeking out his entire life. Right there in front of him.

He could remember his mother telling him the stories surrounding soulmates. And how if he was lucky enough in this lifetime, he’d find his one day. He remembered feeling excited. Thinking there was someone out there meant for him, someone he’d love and spend his life with. Life had other plans for him, though. Years of loss and undeserved suffering had hardened him and he hadn’t thought about finding someone to love since he was a child. Long gave up on the idea of soulmates. He had his friends, and they were practically family. He didn’t need anything else. He didn’t need anyone else. Until you.

That night he felt your fright and nerves through the connection neither of you had consciously recognized yet. That was when it started to fall together. He knew there was a reason he had rushed out of the bar, out of his little impromptu meeting with Jack. It was strange, the moment he learned your name from Jack, that spark he felt when he had first met your eye earlier that night seemed to hit him again, even harder. Then he felt it.

He felt something was wrong, he couldn’t explain it. But he listened to his gut and found you being taunted by Steve as you tried to save yourself from the asphalt and leaned onto his bike for support. And then in the kitchen as you watched him approaching you. When you stood in your room, terrified while he ordered you to strip. He especially felt your urgent pleading as you looked into his eyes. For a split second he felt the rush of fear and embarrassment that was coursing through you. He didn’t stop, though. And you didn’t really even try to fight him, he thought as he tried to ease his guilt at hurting you. He had connected the pieces and thought back to each instant he had felt you, how was that possible. Was it true, then? The whole soulmate bullshit? He didn’t want to think on it in the moment. He convinced himself one fuck and he’d be done. Back to normal. No feelings. That blew up in his face the second he touched you. You were gorgeous and soft and sweet and those were his thoughts before he even entered you. Soulmate or not, you would have had him hooked for life. He couldn’t admit that, though. Had trouble even thinking it to himself. He told himself to snap out of it, but though his words to you were mean and hurtful, they didn’t help convince him that this would be over once he left. And it certainly wasn’t.

You invaded every thought he had, as if you hadn’t been doing it previously. And that pulling he felt to you only increased after he left you. He wanted to fight it. Tried to. Kept his distance, but sent some guys to the diner and some to the bar during your shifts, not that you really took notice. He kept watch on you, personally, too. And learned as much as he could about you online, on your social media accounts, through your family and friends posts about you. He couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to be too close, though. Physically. He knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself around you. Hell, he jerked himself off to the thought of you nearly every night. All the while trying to convince himself that he could stay away from you, that he didn’t feel this intense draw to you. That he wasn’t constantly being called to you. Until he let Peter tag along with Walker and Torres to the diner during your shift. He saw the kid staring at you the entire time and felt his jealousy spiking as you approached him and when he saw you writing down your number to give to him, he couldn’t keep himself from walking into the diner. From going to get you away from him, truthfully. He felt your uneasiness at his arrival and instinctively he wanted to hold you to help calm you. That didn’t happen, though. He needed Peter out of there, and when he heard your plans for Saturday, he was seeing red and feeling green. He reached out to touch you when Peter exited the doors, and though you tried to pull away, he couldn’t let that happen. He also couldn’t show his neediness. Instead, he went with being a dick to you. He didn’t necessarily mean to, but he was annoyed by the idea of Peter and you going out and his annoyance was expressed through his words. Then what he thought would happen if he got near you again did and he found himself dragging you into the bathroom. He wasn’t too surprised when he felt your lips chasing his as he pinned you against the wall. He knew you had to feel what he did. There was no way that it was one-sided. And he knew first hand how difficult this was to fight, try as you both might.

Though, Bucky had to admit, he was growing tired of fighting. In fact, when he saw Peter so close to you, he decided he wouldn’t fight it any longer. And he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t as affected by you as he was. Though the way you continued to try and deny it, denying him, it was becoming increasingly frustrating. If you were really soulmates, he wanted you in his life. He wanted you near him. And as you gave in to his lips, he was reminded of how good you felt, not that he could forget to begin with. He wanted you around.

He wanted you as his. In theory, you already were as far as he was concerned.

He needed you.

And he was going to make you admit that you wanted him, too. Get you to see that you needed him just as much.

#dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #pwyc series #dark!biker bucky #dark!biker!bucky #dark!bucky x curvy!reader #dark!bucky x plus size!reader #dark!bucky x plus size reader #dark!bucky x chubby!reader #soft!dark bucky #soft!dark bucky x reader

[oliverreedmasterass]

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Interlude | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Second Interlude | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Epilogue

Chapter Summary: Jake's not telling Rae something, and she begins to question who she can trust in this strange town.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: language, mentions of poor health/hospitals, missing people

Notes: Thank you to @infinisonicosm for the fic idea!!

-----------------------------------------------------

Rae watched as Jake’s face dropped, every ounce of his cool demeanor drained away. He positioned himself so he was standing in front of Sam, leaving Rae uncomfortably standing off to the side, unsure whether she should stick around or leave. 

“Sam, tell me,” Jake said in a hush, his eyes locked on the younger boy. 

Sam raked a hand through his full head of hair, and then took a shaky breath. “I found his backpack in the woods.” 

Jake frowned. “Sam, what were you doing in there?” 

Oh shit, Rae mouthed, and started to take a few cautious steps away from the two boys. Jake seemed like he was on the verge of imploding. 

“He’s my best friend,” Sam raised his voice in retaliation. “What else am I supposed to do? The cops aren’t any use.” 

Jake was level in his response, but anger seeped beneath his words. “It’s not safe for you in there, you know that. What if you went missing next?” 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” 

“Not me.” 

“I’m gonna take off,” Rae cleared her throat and raised a hand. Jake jumped away from Sam in shock at the reminder that Rae was still there. He turned to face her and shot an apologetic half-smile which was obviously forced. Behind him, Sam looked like he wanted to bike away from Jake as fast as he could. 

“Sorry,” Jake tried to turn back on his charm. “I can still walk you back to your place, I wasn’t expecting to run into my younger brother.” 

“You’ve obviously got some stuff to discuss,” Rae couldn’t help but widen her eyes. Jake looked back at Sam and sighed. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I think we do.” 

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Rae promised Jake. He looked like he wanted to say more to her, but he kept his lips shut and waved her off as she turned on her heel to head home. As she walked away, she could hear Sam pick back up his conversation with his brother. 

“Jake, there were some weird smells in that bag. I’m really worried.” 

“Hey, hey, keep your voice down. Let’s talk about this at home, okay?” 

Smells? Rae wondered to herself. What the hell does that mean?!

Rae was caught in her head for the rest of the ten minute walk to her house. While being around Jake had lifted her spirits significantly, there was a lot that was off about him and the other people in Frankenmuth. Rae felt a deep pit of uncertainty widening in her stomach about everything. Josh made her nervous, she was petrified of whatever was going on in those woods, and the conversation between Jake and Sam was bizarre. Already on her second day, she felt like she had witnessed enough drama to last a lifetime. Her friends back in Folsom were going to lose their minds when they heard about her time with the mysterious senior. But, Morgan would be the first to hear about it all. 

After receiving a frankly deserved scolding from her mom for taking too long to bring the groceries home, Rae dragged Morgan outside where they could talk in private. As soon as they settled into the lawn chairs their dad had set out at the far end of the property, Morgan shot Rae a knowing grin. 

“So, tell me about the friend you made.” 

“Morgan, literally the most interesting guy I’ve ever met.” 

“Did he have a face tattoo? Please tell me he had a face tattoo.” 

“No, he’s a senior at Frankenmuth High.” 

“Ooh, Rae,” Morgan teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hey, what do you think it means for a backpack to have weird smells?” 

“Huh?”

Rae shook her head. She was hung up on what she had overheard Sam tell Jake and, more importantly, how quickly Jake had told Sam to lower his voice. That information was obviously something that Rae wasn’t supposed to hear, which made her all the more intrigued. 

“Let’s say, hypothetically, someone goes missing in the woods and, a month later, someone else finds their backpack and describes it as having weird smells. What do you make of that?” 

“That’s way too specific to be a hypothetical situation, Rae. What the hell is going on?” 

“Just, help me think through this. Like, do you think of drugs? Bodily fluids?” 

“I genuinely have no clue. You’re kinda worrying me.” 

“I feel like there’s something off about this place,” Rae admitted. 

“Gut feeling?” Morgan checked in. Rae nodded her head. “I did see missing posters when we were driving in yesterday,” Morgan thought aloud. “I guess I didn’t really think too much about it until now.” 

“The guy I met told me to avoid the woods. I guess that’s where people have been missing.” 

“Wait, like, multiple people?” 

Rae nodded and held up three fingers to her brother. 

“Shit,” Morgan breathed out. 

“Stay away from those woods, you hear me?” Rae stared at him to make sure he understood how serious she was. Morgan was luckily quick to agree. 

“I’m not going in there, are you kidding me? What would I do in a place like that? I’m a simple guy, I listen to my music, I spend a buttload of time in the hospital, I watch hockey. No need for me to wander into some sinister woods for the hell of it.” 

Rae was relieved that Morgan wasn’t like Sam. She was haunted by the look of terror etched on Jake’s face when he had learned that his younger brother was wandering around in a deadly place that had taken three lives before, and potentially countless more to come. Morgan studied Rae when she didn’t give him a response, and leaned closer.  

“So this guy you met, he has something to do with the missing people?”  

“His younger brother’s best friend went missing a month ago.” 

“Shit. And they found his backpack?” 

“Yup.” 

“That’s a bummer.” 

Morgan was quiet for a few beats, as if giving a moment of silence for Sam’s friend, and then he nudged Rae in the arm. 

“You like this mystery guy?” 

Rae’s cheeks flushed, and she shrugged. 

“Jake’s okay.” 

“Jake? That’s a good, strong name.” 

“Dude, you’re starting to sound like Dad.” 

Their laughs carried up into the trees on the outskirts of their backyard. Rae gazed up at the top of one of the tall trees and her laughter quickly fell flat. The trees in Frankenmuth had an eerie quality to them that filled her with a heavy sense of dread. She wanted to talk with Jake more about the trees, her gut feelings, and Sam’s missing friend. She wanted to understand what he thought was going on in those woods, and if there was anything the people of Frankenmuth could do to stop it. 

She gazed over at Morgan and jumped to her feet. Deep red blood was flowing from his right nostril, pooling above his cupid’s bow. 

“What?” Morgan looked up at her. Rae didn’t need to say anything since he reached up and wiped under his nose, observing his hand afterwards. “God dammit,” he muttered. 

“Let’s get you inside,” Rae said as she helped Morgan to his feet. He retrieved a tissue from his pocket that had some red splotches on it from a previous nosebleed and held it to his nostril. 

“You know this is my third one today?” Morgan shared. 

“That’s not good,” Rae couldn’t help but comment. Her parents were always hounding her to stay optimistic around Morgan, but she knew that he could easily see through her bullshit. He liked being told things straight, even if they were bad. 

Morgan trudged into the downstairs bathroom and discarded his tissue, now soaked in crimson, into the trash bin with a look of disgust on his face. Rae sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched his downturned facial expression through the mirror as he cleaned himself up. It could have just been the lighting, but she noted that he was looking more pale than usual. 

“I’ll give you some of my tampons, you know, like in She’s the Man?” Rae attempted to lift her brother’s spirits. 

“I genuinely might borrow some before school starts,” he murmured. Rae continued to watch her brother attempt to remove any evidence of his deteriorating health from his face, and felt the weight of his situation like a load of lead on her back. 

Eight months prior, Morgan had come down with what they assumed was the flu, just after the holidays. He usually bounced back fast from illnesses but, for whatever reason, this one knocked him out to the point where Rae didn’t see him for a week straight. After 3 weeks of being entirely bed-ridden, Morgan was taken to their family doctor. They took a blood test, just for safe measures, and that was when they found it. His blood cell count was disproportionately high, and they discovered mutations happening that were overwhelming his healthy red and white blood cells. To the surprise of everyone, Morgan was diagnosed with chronic leukemia. 

Although they had moved so he could start chemo, Morgan still insisted that he attend school for as long as he physically could. Otherwise, he’d be festering alone at home, which was the last thing he wanted to do. Rae and her parents were concerned about how much Morgan could handle, both between being the new kid at school, and battling a deadly disease, but he was a tough kid. 

“Hey, those tampons are all yours,” Rae warmly replied. “You own shoving those up your schnoz.” 

She was glad that earned her a decent laugh from Morgan. 

Across the hall, they heard a knock at the front door. 

“Rae! Can you get that?” Rae’s mom called from the dining room, where she was setting the table for dinner. Rae’s knees cracked as she slowly lifted from the bathtub, which got another chuckle from Morgan. She shot him a playful middle finger as she passed by him to open the front door.  

Standing on their porch was Jake, still carrying his bag of beef jerky and taking in the modest exterior of her house. 

“What are you doing here?” Rae couldn’t help but gawk. 

“I know this is a little strange,” Jake admitted. “I just wanted to swing by and apologize for my brother interrupting our walk. He’s dealing with a lot right now which has, well, been a bit of a challenge.” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Rae cut him off before he could go any farther. Behind her, she heard Morgan creep out of the bathroom and stand just out of Jake’s line of sight so he could see who was at the door. “Is everything okay? You seemed pretty shaken up.” 

“I mean, no, but yeah. Don’t worry about me. I won’t take up too much of your time, just, uh, sorry for being a shitty tour guide. Oh, and I wanted to give you this.” 

Jake reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small slip of paper that he tucked into Rae’s hand. She uncurled her hand and stared down at Jake’s grocery store receipt from earlier. 

“You want me to know how much you spent on that beef jerky?” 

“What? No, turn it over.” 

Rae did as she was told and made a sound of understanding when she saw that Jake had written out his phone number in his chicken scratch writing. 

“That’s a 2, just to clarify,” Jake said, leaning close to Rae to point down at the paper. 

“Are you sure you want to give me this?” Rae joked around. “I’m never gonna leave you alone.” 

“Hey, that’s not the worst thing to happen to me,” Jake shrugged. Rae wanted him to keep talking, but he cut himself off at that. 

“Well, maybe we can find a place to meet up before school starts on Monday,” she suggested. “You can show me where my classes are so my first day isn’t an absolute nightmare.” 

“You’ve got it,” Jake gave her a wide grin. “See you then, Rae.” 

Jake gave her a salute, and then jumped down the three stairs leading from their porch to the walkway and hurried to the sidewalk. Rae watched him turn around and give her a thumbs up before heading on his way down the street. Morgan joined her side and watched Jake speed off into the distance. 

“I’m assuming that was Jake.” 

“Yup.” 

“He can’t stay away from you.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with that,” Rae replied. Then, she stopped. 

“What?” Morgan asked, picking up on her sudden tenseness. 

“He never walked me fully home,” Rae realized aloud. “I have no clue how he knows where I live.”

***

Note: I wrote the ending before everything that went down on twitter this week...I will acknowledge that this didn't age well, like, at all

Taglist: @lvnterninthenight, @writingcold, @myownparadise96, @i-choose-the-road, @psychedelicsprinkles, @mama-likes72

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #the frozen light #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fleet fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fanfic #gvf fic

[writeforfandoms]

Shatter Me 1

Find my masterlist and series masterlist

Okay, here we go! Brand new series. This one is going to be long, folks. I have Arc 1, the Interlude, and the beginning of Arc 2 planned. I already have written 25k, and I’m not done with Arc 1 (I did write the Interlude). This is gonna be a long haul. Strap in, y’all. 

A couple quick notes before we begin:

Mechanic is Peli’s sister. But, as our favorite armored warriors would remind us, family is more than blood. I personally do not look like a blood relative of Peli. So, take “sister” as you will - blood or adoption. It still works. Family is family. 

There will be warnings per chapter of course BUT as a general note: Mechanic did leave an abusive relationship prior to the start of this fic. We will see the repercussions of that, both in her manner and actions, and in the actions of others. 

Last note I promise! This is a SLOW BURN. Like. REALLY SLOW.

This is a story about growth, and change, and healing, and forgiveness, among other things. It’s a story of two people, looking for wildly different things in the galaxy, and finding things in each other. 

Also I just really wanted to try my hand at an epic adventure tale. 

Warnings: Swearing, brief allusion to an ex-partner, Peli is pushy, Din is a pushover, the child is still the cutest thing in the galaxy.

Word count: 1.8k

You were under a speeder, sweating in the pervasive, constant heat of Tatooine. You paused to turn your head, wiping your brow on your shoulder, and then glowering up at the stubborn wiring above you. You didn't even notice the person until a masculine but modified voice said, "Hey. Peli."

You froze for a moment and then slowly pushed yourself out from under the speeder, looking way, way up. At… a Mandalorian? Maybe? You'd heard stories but you'd never seen one in person before. 

"I'm sorry," you apologized automatically. Kriff but it was bright, doubly so with the gleaming armor the man wore. "She's not here at the moment." 

The man looked down at you, the black T-visor of his helmet daunting, giving nothing away. "When will she be back?" His voice was low through his helmet. 

You shrugged. "A couple hours, probably. Uh, she's probably at the cantina if you want to try to find her, or you can wait." Your shoulders pulled up to your neck, intimidated by the man in front of you and embarrassed by your own rambling. 

He nodded once, curt, and strode off, out of the hanger. You let out a little sigh of relief. 

Peli could deal with him when she came back. 

Satisfied for now, you tucked yourself back under the speeder to finish up. It didn't take that much longer, and you cleaned up as you waited. 

You heard them before you saw them. Your sister didn't sound upset, exactly, just excitable. Which was, honestly, her default. 

"So, what's the damage this time?" Peli asked, barely glancing at the Mandalorian beside her before she looked at his ship. It was old, a Razor Crest. Didn't see ships that old very often, anymore. 

"She needs a good once-over," the Mandalorian said. 

"Sure, sure. No problem. Hey! Would you watch what you're doing?" Peli shouted at a couple of the pit druids, and you chuckled softly. "Anything else? Don't suppose you're gonna leave the little darling here?" She looked hopefully down at… a sack? 

Then the little green thing inside the sack moved, and the biggest pair of eyes you'd ever seen blinked at you. Oh, stars. It was a child. The Mandalorian was carrying a child. Your heart just melted. 

"He stays with me," the Mandalorian said with a little shake of his head. "You still have that speeder bike?"

"Sure do. It's a bit rusty." Peli shrugged and led the way over to the bike. 

You left the two of them to their business, instead going to supervise and direct the droids. Honestly, your sister had the dumbest droids, you just couldn't understand it. 

Peli found you on top of the ship a while later, elbow deep in one of the engines. "Having fun?" She called up to you. 

"Oh, you know me," you shot back. "Always having fun." You frowned when you felt something out of place and jiggled it loose. Huh. An extra piece of metal. You tossed it off to the side, letting it roll into the faint shadows around the edges of the hanger.  

"Well, don't stay up there too long. I'm not saving any dinner for you if you're late." 

You waved her off, well aware that her bravado was just that. She wouldn't let you go hungry, no matter how late you worked. 

Besides, working late and wearing your body out was one of the only ways you had quiet, restful sleep. 

The Mandalorian wasn't back by the next morning, so you went back to work. There were a lot of issues with the old ship. Some of them were minor, some were of more immediate concern. You had a mental list going. 

From what little you'd been able to wheedle out of Peli, that seemed to be the norm for him. He was always on the move. 

Besides, the ship was a good challenge for you to work on. You enjoyed the methodical process of taking things apart and fixing them, making them better. You even hummed while you worked. 

"You work too hard," Peli called. "I'm going down to the cantina to play a few rounds of sabacc. Come with me!" 

"I'm good, I'm almost finished here." You shot her a smile over your shoulder. "You go." 

Truthfully, you didn't want to be around that many people. Too many unknowns. Too many possibilities. You'd rather not take any chances. 

Peli sighed but left, waving a hand over her shoulder. 

Content with the quiet, you hummed as you buttoned up your work. Not bad for less than two full days, really. Especially considering the age and state of the ship. 

You had just finished gathering up your tools when you heard Peli come back, chattering away at someone. You turned to find the Mandalorian. He had a makeshift yoke over his shoulders, packages swaying down on each side. 

For a moment, you were completely distracted by the breadth of those shoulders. Stars, he was huge. And strong. You swallowed. 

And then that visor turned on you and you stiffened, your heart picking up speed in your chest. Fortunately he looked away as Peli started barking orders at her droids, setting up a cooking space. 

"What is that?" You asked when the large chunk of meat was affixed to a skewer to roast. 

"Krayt dragon," the Mandalorian answered. He wasn't looking at you, instead watching his small green child. 

You thought about asking where he'd gotten that… and then shrugged. That was his business. 

"So, great news!" Peli grinned at the Mandalorian before barking at the droid, "Don't overdo it! I like my meat medium rare. I'm not a Rodian." 

"What is it?" The Mandalorian turned to look at her. 

"My contact knows where there are more Mandalorians! And they're close, they're in this sector."

"And the bad news?" He asked dryly. 

"That's it, no bad news." Peli hesitated, and you knew there was more. "Well, and she wants passage to that sector." 

The Mandalorian put his hands on his hips, looking down at Peli. "I'm not a taxi service," he growled out. 

"I know, I know, but this is the only way she'll tell you! I swear, I vouch for her. She'd got good info." Peli nodded a few times, hair bouncing around her face. 

Peli was absolutely bluffing. Oh kriff, she was bluffing, he was going to figure it out and then– 

He sighed. "Fine."

"And you can't use hyperdrive." 

"What?" He shook his head, making a cutting motion with his hands. "No. Deal's off." 

"It's in the same sector!" Peli wheedled. "And she's got extenuating circumstances." 

"What extenuating circumstances?" He growled out, hands balling into fists. 

Just then, someone rounded the corner and stepped into the bay. It was a… frog. Person. Frog lady. Okay then. There really were all kinds on Tatooine.

"It's her spawn," Peli told him. "She's going to meet up with her husband. These eggs need to be fertilized by the equinox. If you go faster than light, they'll die." 

The Mandalorian sighed, sounding aggravated. "You're sure her info is good?"

Peli made some croaking sounds at the lady, who made sounds right back. "She says her husband has seen them." 

He wavered for a moment more before he sighed in acquiescence. "Fine," he ground out. 

"There is one more thing. For me." Peli shifted her weight, refusing to look away from him. 

"What else?" He sounded almost tired now. 

"Take her with you." Peli nodded to you. 

"What?" You squeaked. 

"What," the Mandalorian echoed you flatly. 

"Look, Mando, your ship needs a lot of help. More than I can do in the very short time you give me. So, take her with! She's as capable as I am. It'll be like having your very own pocket mechanic!" Peli beamed, clearly pleased with herself. 

You took back every kind thought you had ever had about your sister. You were going to murder her. 

The Mandalorian planted his fists on his hips, helmet lowering as he sighed. Deeply. But he didn't refuse. The child blinked big eyes up at him, and the Mandalorian's shoulders dropped. "Fine," he growled. "We leave as soon as you're ready." He bent to pick up the kid and walked away. 

The frog lady croaked something and went to settle herself on the ship.

Giving you a chance to whirl on your sister in a panic. "Peli, what do you think you're doing?" 

"Relax, it'll be fine!" Peli stepped closer to you, grabbing one of your hands. She lowered her voice too, this conversation just for the two of you. "I know you needed to stay here, but you also need to get back up. Don't let that slimy skeezeball keep you from your life forever. This'll be good for you! You'll be safe with Mando. You can travel in style, work for him for a while, see more of the galaxy. You always wanted to travel!" 

"Sure, but not like this," you hissed. "Maker, Peli, how well do you really know him? What if he… if he…" you trailed off as the many, many awful consequences of this loomed in your mind. It could be even worse than before, if you were trapped on a ship with him. 

"Mando is a man of his word," Peli assured you. "He is honorable. I promise he wouldn't do anything to hurt you. And besides, I wanna make sure the frog lady makes it to Trask okay. She has trouble communicating with a lot of people, you know."

"Peli…" you trailed off, unsure what to say. There were so many things swirling inside of you: anxiety, fear, begrudging affection, and just a little bit of hope. 

Peli stepped back, back to her normal self. "You better grab your tools. Go on, scoot!" 

She…. Was not wrong. You scrambled to grab your tool belt and your kit, throwing everything into the same duffel bag you had used those months ago. 

You did manage to eat some of the meat before you left, and you saw a pit droid carefully take a package up to the Mandalorian and his child. 

You hesitated just before the ramp, swallowing hard. You didn't know exactly what was going to happen now. Part of you was terrified, thinking of all the things that could go wrong. Part of you was elated, an almost childish sense of adventure that you had long thought yourself incapable of. 

Most of you, however, was focused on the Mandalorian. Peli had assured you that you would be safe with him… but she was prone to exaggeration. And flat out lying when she needed to. 

So how trustworthy was he, really? 

You sighed, shoulders drooping, before you started up the ramp, your steps clanging gently on the metal. 

You turned and took one last look at Peli, the droids, the hanger, before you turned and moved further in to the belly of the ship.

--

Taglist: @quica-quica-quica @littlemisspascal @queridopascal @miraclesabound @ezras-channel-rat @harriedandharassed @fandom-blackhole @shoopidly @sarahjkl82-blog @cannedsoupsucks @liviiii98 @adriiibell @pbeatriz @oonajaeadira @kiizhikehn-cedar @green-socks @withakindheartx @linkpk88 @anditsmywholeheart @amneris21 @myguiltypleasures21 @javierpinme @grogusmum @eri16 @pintsizemama @pedrostories @luxmundee @kirsteng42 @5pectre @alexxavicry @elegantduckturtle @litakino @pjkimrn @trash-dino-5000 @mandalwhorean @mswarriorbabe80 @magikfanatic @ickystickysap @luz-introvertida @hb8301 @saradika @bruxasolta @lowlights @seasonschange-butpeopledont @princessxkenobi @chaoticgeminate @thirddeadlysin @beskarprincessjenny @evyiione @stevie75 @the-feckless-wonder @janebby @reader-without-a-story @idreamofboobear @jaime1110 @recklessworry @hotchlover @snarwor @mindidjarin @bowtiesandsandshoes @scorpio-marionette @buckybarneshairpullingkink @borinquenasoy @bearcina @heyitsmeghann​ @hoodedbirdie​ @practicalghost​ @beecastle​ @phandoz​ @tintinn16​ @avatarkanemi​ @tanzthompson​ @the-fic-baker​ @churchill356​ @tentacruels​ @fabilei @the-chaotic-cow​ @trickstersp8​ @ruhro7​ @tinkywinky27​ @karlawithacapitalk​ @thesmutslut​ @kurlyfrasier​ @hp-hogwartsexpress​ @aynsleywalker​ @gingersnap126126 @od-ends​ @justnat15​ 

#shatter me #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #f!reader

[mochidreambubble]

From Golden Grove, Love Sunset Bird

[ongoing fic]

Ao3 link

Chapters on Tumblr ~ 1 2 3 4 (you're here!)

previous - next (WIP)

{Baxter doesn't know it yet, but when he's back from his dance circuit, he owes you the biggest milkshake.}

[I left a long note on the previous chapter so it may be worth looking through that if you'd like to know about how this fic may be going on forward?

Also chapter title will say step ‘1.2’ because this happens the next year after Step 1. A short interlude of a chapter if anything. Chapter title makes sense in context, I promise.]

Out of all the seasons, you can say for sure you like summer the least . No amount of pictures or pretty postcards of Sunset Bird in this season would deter you from that. 

It was your first summer in your new home though, so that was something. Summer, when you lived in the city meant trips to the pool sometimes, and small carnivals set up in the parks. You mainly got dropped off at the library or at dozens of art or drama week-long day camps before Mama had to make a mad dash to work.

At least things were going to be pretty different this summer. You even had a camping trip with the Murrays coming up soon! A little weird to be spending summer break with a teacher, as both Tamarack and even Qiu would remind you, but it was going to be so much fun! You had your school activities too, but you were mainly looking forward to all the sleepovers and adventures your two friends promised to do.

Well, it wasn’t really gonna be different from what you three usually did, but summer break just made it extra special. You knew that all three of you would still prefer the season that came after, but it's not like it could be autumn all year round after all.

As you think of the two of them, the fact that they weren’t with you made itself known even harder. Qiu had promised to hang with Darren and Tamarack had left a note for you that she was helping out Granny today. Mama still had work to do, and with no activities on your list, you decided it was time to get some new postcards and stationery. Maybe some stickers too! Anything to distract that you were by yourself today…

You liked the cosy post office of Golden Grove, and you’ve been there enough times since you moved in that the people working there knew your name. They even knew you were sending letters to your pen pal! 

You were skipping to your destination when you spotted Mr B.A.W, looking at a window display of the bookstore. You can’t say for sure if Baxter liked you. He was always really nice, and he was never mean to you or Tamarack, but it felt different from how he treated the original members of the Boys Club.

Baxter recently dyed his hair, the dark grey now unmistakable to be black. He was still dressed in muted tones, just like the first day you’ve met him. You haven’t seen him in anything as eye-catching - blue beanie aside. 

He didn’t seem to notice as you walked closer, so you stand on the tippy toes and whispered “Hey Baxter, watcha doin’?”

If you caught him by surprise, you couldn’t tell. He simply smiled and turned to you. “Simply browsing the new books that came in. Hello to you too.”

You on the other hand, liked him quite a bit. You both had the same two favourite colours and Baxter always had the best taste in books. He had recommended quite a list when you asked and enjoyed them thoroughly. 

You bounce back and forth from your toes to the back of your foot, swinging as you look at the window display too. “I’m surprised you aren’t hanging out with Autumn and Darren today.”

Baxter gives a small snort and sighs. “I’m afraid biking with the two of them right now would not be the best of ideas, considering the dance circuit is around the corner.”

Oh right, Autumn had mentioned something about that too, that Baxter was going to be away for a little while. “Right, around California and some other places nearby, right? Make sure to bring back snacks for us.”

“If I can manage,” he simply shrugs.

“You don’t sound very excited.”

“Do I? Hm, it’s simply another round of contests, so it’s not as if I’m travelling to play.”

“Boo,” you stick your tongue out at him. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Baxter? C’mon, think about it for a bit! Dancing out of town, new places to be!”

You clasp your hands in a sudden thought. “Oh, oh!” You felt like glitter and starlight as you pictured it. “What if you, like a mysterious stranger, sweep someone off their feet and you start some type of fairy tale?”

He raises a brow, one side of his mouth upturned. “I had forgotten for a moment that you’re quite fond of such romantic ideals.”

“I’m serious Baxter! You fit the look of a prince, you know?”

He snorts again. “Mm, I suppose I do have the family fortune for it.”

“Not only that silly! You dance, you’re charming. Whose to say you won’t be someone’s Prince Charming, hm?”

A car honks catches both of your attention before he could respond. It was one of the Ward’s family car. Baxter looks back at you apologetically.

“It may not be midnight, but it seems my pumpkin calls, fair friend,” he gives you a bow and you laugh, returning it in kind. “See you when I get back.”

He turns to enter the car as you call out. “You owe me a milkshake or something if I’m right! You’re totally gonna meet someone!”

Your Mama wasn’t back yet, so you went up to your room to unceremoniously dump your shopping bag into your bed. You’re half tempted to call your Mermaid pal, but you weren’t sure if they’d be home. Their summer always seemed to be filled with activity, more so since Cove arrived. 

Calling them up seemed to be a more common thing between the two of you these days, but that didn’t mean you stopped sending them things. There was just something different about a letter, postcard or package. It was nice when you got to hear their voice for the first time, and Cove was there too!

Last time you managed to check in with your Sunset Birdies, they had just returned from a short road trip. Apparently, some silly loft-sharing shenanigans and pretty nature walks were in the mix. You were promised pictures of trees from said walk.

“Mine won’t look at good as yours but you asked for them, so no complaining!” Your Mermaid friend had always insisted the pictures from you were always nicer somehow.

Said letter had yet to arrive, sadly. Your own letter was sitting on your desk, still blank. Not much had happened on your break, mostly the same ol` same ol`. It’s funny you can say that when it hadn’t even been a full year in Golden Grove, but Tamarack and Qiu had managed to make a stable rhythm in most of your day-to-day.

You ponder for a moment, wondering if you should write about your short encounter with Baxter. You’ve never really mentioned him to your pen pal at all. You’ve written about Darren a few times though. With a shake, you decide against it. It be kind of out of the blue to start talking about your elusive kind-of a friend. Pity, as Baxter would be in California for a short bit too. You’re not sure when would your letter arrive anyway, and you don’t know when and where exactly Baxter would be during the dance circuit. 

You think it be kind of funny if the two of them met by chance though. But what even were the chances of that happening anyways?

[last note from me: sweats in: look this was gonna be a Cove/OL1MC fic but since the last time I wrote this fic at all like… Uh…. A lot of Baxter related stuff happen and uhhHHHHH so Maybe it will also Baxter/OL1MC fic also. IDK, I haven’t added the Baxter ship tag on Ao3 yet-]

#our life beginnings & always #my fic #my writing #our life now and forever #From Golden Grove Love Sunset Bird fic #We're still friends even if we're miles apart fic series #baxter ward #it's kind of a Baxter chapter somehow lol #franky second #qiu and tamarack get mentioned only this chapter

[ryo-topia]

i might be speaking into a void here but i have a couple wips i wanted to talk about!

first up, i have a sterek slice-of-life/kinda second chancey fic set in a near future. i have 1 of 3 chapters done and 1 of 2 interludes done and i think I'll start uploading mid-june. here's an excerpt:

It’s been 12 years. And Derek is fine. He has a kid. No more running away. Even if there’s no fixing anything, they can at least afford some closure.

All the noble thoughts leave his head the moment the door swings open. Derek wore a faded green henley (Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same one from a decade ago) and black jeans. And a light green apron. With bears and butterflies decorating the front.

“Stiles?”

“Derek.”

He was beginning to think all their conversations were cursed to start this way.

*****

second up, i have a new multi-chaptered fic for buddie! im not sure how many chapters it'll be because im yet to draw up a timeline but it's set kind of in canonverse but it's got biker!eddie and kinda biker but not really a biker!buck and them also working together at the firehouse AND we've got some fake dating in the mix too. here's an excerpt from the first scene:

That was the last thing Buck needed - a reckless, hot-blooded hooligan with no regards for his life pulling up to the races every week. The disaster mitigation he would have to do would not be worth it, no matter how attractive the man was.

"You're staring," Lucy added, following his gaze.

"I'm on clean up duty today and I already know I'm going to have to start with him," Buck replied.

"He's hot. Your type?"

Buck knows the answer is yes.

"God, no," he lies. "I'm just trying to figure out where he came from."

Buck ignored the spark of fire that started in his chest as he watched the stranger lean forward on his bike, his shirt riding up to reveal the tail-end of a large tattoo covering what seemed to be his whole back.

"You sure about that?" Lucy prodded, passing him a fresh beer.

Buck looked down to see the remains of his last beer spilt all over the floor, the bottle tilted almost completely downwards.

"Positive," he replied.

#fanfiction #ryo updates #fanfic #teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #911 #911 abc #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #if you've read this far and have any thoughts #let me know! #i have the first one planned out really well and it should be up by next month #but the second will definitely take longer although im aiming for next month for that too #im excited to write bucklucy as besties #and i might bring back felisa as eddie's friend #i also have a buckley diaz family scene planned out that im super hyped about #fingers crossed i get this done on time

[purplehanfu]

KinnPorsche: Episode 5

notes: Spoilers! Ep 04 /// TOC /// Ep 06

Kinn is waiting for Porsche to wake up. When he does, Porsche asked what happened and who would want to target him. Kinn says "You work for a crime syndicate now, don't take the attempted murder so personally". Kinn does not mention what happened the night before, and it's unclear if Porsche remembers.

Kim brings his dad a tray of deep fried dough sticks and when he sees dad isn't in the office he starts snooping. 

He messes with the wall clock pendulum and instead of getting yelled at for touching great-great-gramma's clock that she brought with her all the way from Alsace, when Kim does it a previously locked drawer in the office slides open. 

He rifles through the drawer and finds a Filofax with two red handprints on one of the pages. 

Unfortunately Kim is interrupted by Dad returning. Kim asks his dad about Porsche's background. Then the two stare at each other while tense background music plays. They don’t even eat the donuts.

Kinn also visits his dad. Instead of asking "why did you spend three million dollars on an ugly necklace at that auction last night?" Dad talks generically about business as the two play chess. Then Kinn confesses he's not focused today because Porsche was drugged last night. As a boss shouldn't I take care of him? Yes says Dad, but take care of does not mean sleep with. Zing.

Glad Dad has time to keep up on all the latest gossip. Don't these people ever do any crimes?  

That evening Tankhun is feeding his fish and knows Kim is up to something. Kim calls Chay and asks if he wants a guitar tutor.

All of a sudden it’s a bodyguard CrossFit competition. Kinn calls Porsche a failure as a bodyguard and makes him do the worm crawl across the gym floor shirtless and with his hands tied behind his back.

please, he's way finer than Gretzky

Afterwards in the bathroom Porche remembers everything from his encounter with Kinn. He falls into a deep reverie. Pete tells him he looks awful, then drops a bombshell- Pete says Tankhun has done the same to him. 

Porsche looks disgusted on Pete’s behalf. Then Pete reveals he meant the physical punishment, not the sexxxin.

It’s Getting Dark in Here

Both the lighting and the psychological tone get dark. Kinn has a new temporary romantic acquaintance come visit. Porsche takes the night off to go to Yok's bar with Tankhun. Porsche gets frisky with a lady customer from the bar; but all he can think about is Kinn. 

Kinn is getting busy with his date for the evening, but all he can think about is Porsche. 

Neither of them can finish the deed.

At the end of the evening Tankhun needs to be carried out of the bar. Vegas shows up on his new bike. Porsche and Vegas bond over a shared love of cherry red motorcycles.

This is the happiest we’ve seen Porsche in quite some time.

wait till you see his Pilates studio!

They end the ride with a promise to be bros. Porsche heads inside where Kinn has fallen asleep in a chair while waiting up for him. Arguing ensues.

But... Engineering!

Meanwhile Porchay is preparing to throw it all away on a music degree. He visits Kim for some guitar lessons and Kim suggests they write a song about Porsche. Chay you dumbass, he's just trying to get info on your brother. 

Kim borrows Chay's phone so he can snoop through it. Strategic intel gathered: Porsche is a cool guy, loves his little brother and is good at everything. Phone gallery- cats and food. 

Chay charms Kim as they work on the song together. For some reason the song “Just a Friend” by the incomparable Biz Markie popped into my head as Chay and Kim collaborated. Probably because I had the volume turned all the way down during this musical interlude and Biz Markie turned all the way up (see the bonus round below for the unfortunate result of that).

Hot Water

After the argument with Kinn, Porsche goes home to visit his brother for a week.

This week’s sponsor appears to be the very boring Stiebel Eltron tankless water heater which we see for two seconds before the camera lovingly slides down Porsche's body as he showers.

Back at bodyguard HQ Kinn visits Porsche's roommate Pete. Pete has surprisingly insightful advice for a man with no pants on, telling Kinn to be patient and calm when speaking to Porsche.

Kinn pays Porsche a visit and crashes his BBQ with friends. Kinn then tries to be the patient, sensitive boyfriend/mafia boss. 

It leads to more arguing which is interrupted by the appearance of masked gunmen. 

Kinn and Porsche are abducted and thrown in the back of a truck. As per the rules of dramas, they are handcuffed together so we can get some HIStory3: Trapped style shenanigans in the next episode. 

Cue an action sequence with plenty of car chases, motorcycle crashes, and shooting. At the end of the episode the truck crashes and we see that Kinn and Porsche have made their escape.

Bonus Round: Songwriting w/Kim

(to the tune of Just a Friend by Biz Markie)

Have you ever had a bodyguard you tried to stalk; But his brother was clueless and wouldn't talk? Let me tell you the story of my frustration; He was just another piece of my investigation. The way that we met was on a career day tour I autographed the uniform shirt that he wore; He had hearts in his eyes and a song in his heart; so I knew I could reel him in right from the start. I whispered in his ear come to my recording booth; So I can ask you some questions to see if you've got the proof.

Ep 04 /// TOC /// Ep 06

Master list of all recaps

#Biz we lost you too soon #kinnporsche #kinnporsche episode recaps

[cyberslam]

you will always wonder how

Marty Janetty & The 1-2-3 Kid & The Undertaker

Heartbreak Hotel AU

tw: none

Basically, what happens to Marty after my previous HBH fic. Think of this as an interlude.

[Ao3]

Kid was in Austin. Marty didn’t know by what stroke of luck that he was, but the little guy was and he knew he had to thank the stars for that. It was only an hour and a half out with the current traffic getting out of San Antonio.

Compared to that motel, it seemed like time dragged on. He was almost hesitant to drive out of San Antonio, but he knew he had to get away from the city. The wounds that Shawn Michaels’ left on his heart were being torn open. He couldn’t stand being in the city any longer than having booked a motel for the night to sleep in at. Even then his sleep was restless and tiresome. 

Nightmares of the way Shawn stared him down as he tried to drive away were stuck in his head. Those haunted eyes, the howling wind…He swore his car was going to be blown away with him in it.

The honking of the car behind him snapped him out of it. Light was green for go. He was meeting Kid at some abandoned apartment building which was fine by Marty. Anything but a motel for a while would be good.

Marty parked a block off from the building. It was early, he was sure Kid was asleep despite the younger man assuring him he'd be awake. It was too early for him to be up, unless he was already up all night.

The papers had shown that only a day had passed, when it felt like much more at the Heartbreak Hotel. Marty parked his car, stepped out, and made his way over to the abandoned building. He noted the lone motorbike parked right outside the place, surprised that the owner felt comfortable enough to leave it there.

He was going up the dusty, worn down stairs and swearing at Kid inside his head about why he decided they had to meet up on the third floor of all things. Marty was tired, his body trying to play catch up with the real world. There were ideas and thoughts swirling in the party boy’s head, things that weren’t explainable to just about any normal person. But he knew Kid would believe him, and believe him that it wasn’t just a bad trip.

Marty knocked on the door of the apartment number Kid had told him, 312. He waited a moment, before the door pulled open. Noting the lack of a peephole, he was about to chide Kid about not double checking who he was letting in when he noticed the figure standing towards the back of the room.

“Hey Marty!” Kid was happy to see him, as if he ever wasn’t. The man nodded his head in greeting. He was tall. Taller than the both of them. Dark, braided hair that was clearly dyed if the ginger roots peeking through were anything to go by. A leather jacket that was clearly too big for Kid was slung behind a chair. He was clearly the owner of the bike outside. Black, faded and cut into a muscle-tee Metallica shirt, leather pants. Bandana tied around his head.

“Kid, who is this.”

“This is uh, Mark. He said he needed to be here…I think he’s like, homeless or something. Y’know, crazy guy.” Kid leaned in and whispered, looking over his shoulder. 

To Marty, the man looked way too clean and well kept for someone who would be homeless. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to think of what to do.

“You…nevermind, I’m too tired. He hasn’t tried to do anything to you has he?”

“Oh I just met him like, a few hours after you called me last night.”

So he stayed up all night.

“Right…”

“Pardon me, gentlemen.” Mark interrupted. His tone was far more polite, and his voice was far more gravelly than Marty had expected. “You…you’re Marty, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been…there. Recently.”

“There?” Marty felt his heart drop, but he kept his wits about him the best he could.

“The Heartbreak Hotel.”

It was like ice was coursing through Marty’s veins. He wanted to throw up.

Kid gave him a worried look. “You don’t look too hot man…wait…what’s the Heartbreak Hotel? Some fancy place you hitting up without me?”

“Shh.” Marty made a face at him, thinking for a second about his response. “Hey. How do you know about it?” Something in him knew not to question how he knew that Marty was there. Who cares? He did. Marty wanted to know what Shawn had been through.

“I was there. I met Shawn.” 

Marty’s heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to sink or stop or what.

“I was there.” Marty confirmed Mark’s suspicions. Or his accusation. Marty wasn’t sure. “How did you know Shawn?”

“Know…I met him there.” Mark seemed perplexed by the question.

“You met him–” Marty felt confusion take him over too. “You didn’t know Shawn? Kid you remember Shawn.”

“Michaels?” Kid titled his head.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I remember him a little…we’d just met and then he went missing.”

Mark looked between the two of them, just as confused as before. 

“I did not know Shawn before I met him at the Hotel.” He confessed. “I…assumed he had no human origins.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Kid pouted, feeling out of the loop.

“I-I’ll explain later Kid, okay?” Marty put his hand on Kid’s shoulder, getting a nod in response. “And Shawn was a real, living, breathing human with blood in his veins. He was a friend of mine.”

Mark’s face hardly changes, and Marty wonders what he’s thinking. Did this guy think Shawn was just some random spirit or something? Hell, it’s not like Shawn was famous or anything but with this guy’s accent, he had to be local. Austin was the kind of city Shawn would love to live in too. 

After a while, he speaks.

“I see. That changes my thoughts. You need to come with me.”

And with that, Mark was out the door.

Kid and Marty exchanged glances.

“Kid–”

“GO! I don’t know what’s going on but it’s important to you Marty.” Kid is practically pushing his friend out the door.

“Okay, okay. Love ya, I’ll be in touch when I can, okay?”

“Yeah yeah, just go.”

Marty catches up to Mark, who’s confirmed to be the owner of the chopper that was sitting outside. “So uh, let me go grab my car–”

“I’ll give you a ride to it. When you’re following me, stay close. I won’t hesitate to leave you in the dust.”

Something in Marty’s stomach that was twisted just wrenched even harder. He didn’t doubt the pale man, but it was like being around him there was a shift in the air. Colder, deader.

“Alright.”

#d is writing #heartbreak hotel au #marty jannetty #the 123 kid #undertaker