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taexual · 4 months

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sleepwalking ● 18 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, mentions of violence, descriptions of smoking, ANGST, some fluff, SLOW BURN

words: 13.9k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 18 ► if everything i said was true, then why am i paralysed?

You and Jungkook spent the rest of Rated Riot’s day off in your hotel room in Manchester.

People kept coming to check on you, including Minjun, who made a hesitant appearance but brightened up immediately when he heard you and Jungkook laughing just before he opened the door to your room. And after the last visitors—the rest of the Rated Riot members, who had accidentally knocked over a lamp and broken the wardrobe door within fifteen minutes of entering the room—had left, you and Jungkook found yourselves alone in the room again.

You both reached a compromise to lie on the bed and talk since you refused to sleep, and he refused to let you out of the room.

It wasn’t exactly a pillow fort that you’d built for yourselves—really, it was more of a loose, cosy blanket hut—but it still brought back memories of the nights you’d spent in your dorm room years ago. And after last night’s conversation, you couldn’t help but think about all the nights that hadn’t happened because Jungkook was trying to do something more for you.

Really, this was all you needed—back then and, as it turned out, right now: some pillows for comfort and Jungkook laughing next to you.

He rolled onto his side, and you mirrored his position until you were facing each other. Suddenly, you both had to strain very hard not to laugh again. But the story that had amused you at first—about Jungkook and Hoseok’s failed attempt to bake a cake for Yoongi’s birthday the previous year, which was another thing Jungkook hadn’t mentioned to you after nearly setting his apartment on fire—had almost faded from your mind.

You were just happy to be in the moment.

You felt dizzy from the vitamins you’d received over the past few days. And from the shower you’d taken half an hour ago. And from the fact that lying here on the hotel bed with Jungkook was almost overwhelming. It felt a little like you had lost an important piece of yourself—just dropped it somewhere absentmindedly—and now you’d accidentally found it, fully intact.

But at the dark corners of your mind, there were worries. You couldn’t help it—not even the star-shaped pattern reflected in his dark eyes could distract you from the inevitability of the Future. And of Consequences.

What did this mean?

All the thoughtful gestures, the well-meaning mishaps, the inevitable insecurities, and the constant presence of his friends that the two of you had talked about last night. And the bet, too.

What would happen next?

You were about to pull away and succumb fully to your anxiety, but Jungkook reached out a hand—his tattoos blurred in the shadows of your dark room—to sweep a strand of hair from your cheek, and you discovered that, despite everything, your body had not relinquished its instinctive response to his touch.

You felt your breath slowing down, your muscles relaxing. His fingertips gently brushed over the skin of your cheek, and the goosebumps on the back of your neck ran wild. You closed your eyes and exhaled.

Five minutes, he’d once asked you. Five minutes that won’t mean anything once they’re over.

“I feel,” he spoke up softly, and you opened your eyes again, “a bit like we’re back in Amsterdam.”

Hesitantly—against his wishes, really—he withdrew his hand and placed it on the pillow under his cheek.

“We’re, uh—we’re very far from Amsterdam,” you replied.

You didn’t mean the physical distance, of course. You meant the moments from leaving the bed in Amsterdam to being in this bed here, in Manchester—with your arm still slightly stinging from the catheter.

“I know,” Jungkook said. You rolled onto your back, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, even though your mind kept shouting at you to look at him. “But I’m scared to leave this room because I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

You pressed your lips together and ran your tongue over them. You wondered if his fear matched yours, or if they were two opposite sides of the same coin.

You turned your head. “What do you mean?”

He observed you for a moment. The lines of laughter hadn’t faded from your face yet, and you looked breathtaking.

He realised that it was much harder to admit things in the daylight than at night. Arctic Monkeys had made a good point.

“I mean, I don’t know if you’ll be okay,” he said. “If—”

“I will be,” you cut in.

He swallowed. “I don’t know if you’ll talk to me again.”

The look in his eyes was hopeful but uncertain, and you turned back to the ceiling. There was something comforting about the smooth tiles above. They didn’t make you feel like your chest was exploding into millions of little pieces, each with his name inked on it.

“I’m talking to you now,” you managed to say, even after your voice broke on the third syllable.

“Right,” he said. “But I mean about things that really matter.”

“Well,” you inhaled, “we talked about a lot of them last night.”

“Yeah, but that was—you know.” This time, it was Jungkook who rolled onto his back and clasped his hands on his stomach. “Things that happened years ago.”

“Yeah, but they’re new to me,” you pointed out.

“Sure,” he agreed. His foot twitched as he tried to find his words. “But I’m—we haven’t decided if that changes things. Not that I’m—I mean—”

“It changes things.”

He turned his head to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I don’t know what to say because my mind is just, sort of… well, I don’t know. What I do know is that I like being here with you, and I don’t want to think about leaving.”

Jungkook thought that feeling this way was impossible.

After the existential fever that he’d gone through—and all the cigarettes he’d smoked to stay on his feet—his chest and lungs and, really, about three-quarters of his entire body should have turned to ash by now.

But lying next to you and hearing you say that you liked being here with him made him feel more alive than ever before.

“I don’t want to think about it, either,” he admitted in a hushed tone, as if he was revealing a secret. “B-but—we—we’ll have to leave, though.”

A small smile formed on your face. “You sound like me.”

He smiled, too. “I try.”

You snorted and looked away. There was a time restriction on how long you could look at him and keep your brain functioning.

“I know we’ll have to,” you said. “But here’s a, um—an unconventional suggestion. How about we don’t do this right now? How about we don’t talk about the bet, or about us, or about what anything means, and just—let’s just not talk.”

He could do that. He could just not talk.

But it would kill him—having five, fifteen, even thirty minutes of ignorant peace with you. That was simply not enough time.

He didn’t just want an hour with you. He wanted a lifetime.

“Okay. So,” he started, scratching a spot between his knuckles, “what do you want to do?”

“I want,” you replied, swallowing your inner disquiet, “not to have to make any decisions.”

“About us?” he asked. The slight hint of panic in his voice made you tap your restless fingers against the blanket beneath you.

“About anything.”

The room lit up as a car pulled into one of the side alleys behind your hotel room window.

“Reconnaissance?” he said—not really a statement, but not quite a question, either. The name of the band that he’d loved so much suddenly sounded like the start of a curse. “Have you—have you decided if you’re leaving?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, almost nauseous from the sudden surge of stress. It seemed like every aspect of your life required your immediate attention and demanded an answer to a crucial, life-altering question. It felt like everything was slipping away—and you were trying to catch it all at once, and couldn’t catch anything at all.

You really didn’t want to leave this room.

“I haven’t decided how I’m getting out of this bed,” you finally said, your groan muffled by something thick lodged in your throat. You shifted your body to face him but kept your eyes closed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jungkook. I’m so—I’m just—”

“Okay,” he cut in hastily. He didn’t like the wrinkle between your eyebrows—he preferred the wrinkles by your lips. “Well, look—we don’t—we don’t have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable. If you want to go back to work, we can do that. If you want to avoid me, then I’ll—well, I—”

“I don’t want to avoid you,” you said.

“Okay,” he said again because that was the only word he trusted himself with. Hesitantly, he added, “so… truce, then?”

You opened your eyes. “Truce?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s stop avoiding each other. And let’s just focus on our work.”

It sounded a little like another one of his five-minute promises—driven by the urgency to make it so, to drown out the doubts that this was weak. That it wouldn’t work. That you could never go back and expect everything to be okay without making any real decisions about anything: not your relationship, not your future, not even what you’d do tomorrow.

“Can we actually do that?” you asked anyway—and because you did, Jungkook nodded enthusiastically.

“Of course,” he assured. “We can do anything.”

You needed to hear that—even if it wasn’t true. Even if it was temporary.

Knowing that someone was willing to take the responsibility for a decision away from you was good enough for the moment.

“Okay,” you said. “Truce, then.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“We’ll talk,” you promised quietly, closing your eyes again. “Just not right now.”

You could almost feel the unease settling into a slumber deep inside your mind. It would wake eventually.

All the words, all the feelings—all of it had been left unsaid. Some of it unthought. But it was still there, hovering on the hazy edge of your subconscious, and fighting—the more you resisted—to break out.

But then Jungkook asked if he had ever told you about Taehyung walking in his sleep when he had the flu on tour last year, and all the anxious spaces inside of your chest eased. You smiled as you listened, and you had all you needed—and nothing less—right here again.

The next morning, you left your hotel room feeling a little lighter.

You haven’t fully processed—or adjusted to—the things that Jungkook had revealed to you, but you’d found somewhat of a common ground with him. You could tolerate each other’s presence with surprising ease despite the weight of all the decisions looming over you.

You returned to your duties as soon as you left the hotel. You saw a new text message from Nick on your phone, but you had no time—or wish—to deal with Reconnaissance right now.

At such short notice, the best solution you could find for Jungkook’s black eye was an eye patch. Fortunately, you didn’t have to go far from the venue to find one before Rated Riot started their soundcheck.

Even more fortunate was the fact that the band and the staff all found the eye patch so amusing that they kept making pirate jokes—much to Jungkook’s growing annoyance—and it distracted everyone from your fainting spell and the two days you had spent in bed.

The eye patch was black to match his outfit, or at least that was what you told him. In reality, the only place near the venue where you could buy eye patches was a costume shop.

When you returned to the venue with a dark costume bag, Namjoon happened to be passing by in the corridor. He had no choice but to become an accessory to your petty crime as you grabbed the eye patch and hid the rest of the costume in Namjoon’s suitcase.

There was no reason for Jungkook to know about the rest of the costume, and Namjoon—once he stopped laughing—agreed.

You figured that as long as the patch covered the bandages and discolouration around Jungkook’s eye, it would be okay.

Jungkook, of course, had a different opinion.

“I look stupid,” he insisted when you and Jimin were double-checking the sound equipment. The two of you wanted to make sure no damage had been done to it when the venue staff cleaned up after the flood.

“Should’ve thought about that before you got a black eye,” you mumbled half-heartedly, too preoccupied with the list of electronics that Jimin had handed you. You didn’t recognise most of the devices on the list and couldn’t even read what some were called in the awful lighting backstage.

Meanwhile, Rated Riot’s temporary opening act finished her set, allowing Seokjin to go out and prepare the stage for the band. Expectant cheers from the audience lifted your spirits as you followed Jimin’s list.

Maggie had been the one who secured this up-and-coming artist to open for the band tonight. Her name was Ivy, and she had tattoos of ivy vines all over her arms, which may have been the initial reason Maggie chose her. But as soon as Ivy started to sing, there was no question about her talent.

“Hey, Jungkook!” Seokjin called out ten minutes later, and you glanced up just as he walked down the steps from the stage. “Serious question: what has six eyes, six legs, and six arms?”

You guessed the punchline before Jungkook could even open his mouth. “How is that—”

“Six pirates!” Seokjin answered, and his endearing—and so contagious that it was almost ungodly—windshield wiper laugh made you chuckle as well. Jimin hiccupped and turned away from everyone, presumably to conceal his own laughter.

“That’s it, I’m taking this off,” Jungkook declared in frustration, reaching for the string that secured the patch.

You stopped laughing and jumped up, shouting a panicked “no!” and quickly grabbing his wrist.

He looked up, momentarily stunned by your touch.

“If you go on that stage with your bandages and a black eye underneath, the label will send us straight home,” you said. “I don’t care how much you sweat or how many pirate jokes these guys make. You’re wearing this.”

He pouted, exaggerating his reaction, but there was genuine discomfort in his healthy eye, even if it was drowning in black eye shadow. He knew it would be unprofessional to get on stage without covering up his wounds, but he worried the eye patch was a worse alternative.

“I look fucking stupid,” he said, and to be fair, he did look silly—to say the least. But you had seen him at the soundcheck. When he performed, his make-up and accessories faded against his voice and stage presence.

“You don’t,” you reassured him again. “You’re a rockstar. You can pull off an eye patch.”

He continued to watch you, his pout becoming more dramatic when he scrunched his nose. You felt a smile spreading on your lips. He had looked at you like this on purpose many times—usually to convince you that he couldn’t possibly survive without seeing you right this instant, even though you had to study for exams—and your chest immediately warmed.

You managed to nod again to reaffirm what you’d just said. Finally, he sighed and let go of the patch. You released his wrist and took a step back.

Just then, Jimin emerged from behind one of the amplifiers to your left. You couldn’t see the wide grin on his face, but Jungkook could, and he reached for Hoseok’s drumsticks right away.

“Ready when you are, Captain,” Jimin said and then quickly ducked as Jungkook tossed the drumstick at his head.

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, ignoring Jimin’s laughter and allowing Yoongi to guide him to the stairs that led to the stage.

“Do you really think he can pull this off?” Jimin asked you as the band members walked towards the dimly lit stage entrance.

All four of them stumbled over their feet at least once, but you didn’t react—you’ve been their manager long enough to know that tripping before a concert was almost a good luck charm.

“Because I assume,” Jimin went on, “that he was trying to divert attention from his eye patch by applying all the black eyeshadow he has to his other eye.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, suspecting the same. “Up close, he sort of looks like Captain Hook and Edward Scissorhands had a baby.”

“Oh my God, he does,” Jimin whispered in awe and grabbed onto your shoulder to steady himself as his laughter erupted in violent waves. “Someone needs to get him a wig, so—so he could wear Captain Hook’s hat, too—with the—with the feather and everything—”

The image finally made you lose your composure, too. Seokjin looked up when he heard your laughter and approached to learn what was so funny. After Jimin panted through an answer, the stage manager joined in.

The three of you laughed so hard that you transcended noise and just wheezed voicelessly like malfunctioning dog whistles.

Suddenly, Jungkook turned to look at you from the side of the stage as he inserted his earpiece. You had half a second to pull yourself together before he lost confidence and threw the eye patch away.

Quickly, you raised your hand and formed an ‘O’ with your fingers to signal that everything was okay—even though you had tears in your eyes and the laughter of the two boys did not help you keep a straight face.

Jungkook had doubt in his eyes—well, eye—but you bit your lip and gave him another reassuring nod. Despite your amusement, you could tell he looked ready. And from this far, his eyeshadow didn’t look all that threatening.

As you watched the intense concentration on his face, it was hard to imagine there being anything in this world that could make him look bad. Neither the eye patch, nor the heavy make-up truly managed it.

Jungkook took a step forward just as Taehyung played the first note on his bass. The audience greeted the band with explosive cries that reached you at the back of the stage.

“I have to go,” you told Seokjin and Jimin while they continued to gasp for breath—because they started laughing every time they looked at each other. “Someone has to make sure the eye patch doesn’t fall off during the show.”

“We should find him a bottle of rum,” Seokjin said, and Jimin threw his whole body backwards as he laughed.

“A parrot,” he managed between wheezes, prompting Seokjin to clap in vigorous approval as his face contorted with near-painful laughter.

You were still snickering when you walked away to watch the show from the venue.

Fortunately, Jungkook’s eye patch stayed in place throughout Rated Riot’s performance. What surprised you, however, was the effect it had on the audience.

Unlike everyone backstage, the fans didn’t find the eye patch funny or ridiculous. They loved it.

Granted, you probably should have seen this coming. When Jungkook took off his shirt in the second half of the show, which had become almost a tradition at this point, the eye patch—along with his tattoos, dishevelled hair and messy make-up—did, sort of, make your breath catch in your throat as well.

But as luck would have it, you couldn’t concentrate too much on what was happening on stage because your friends—bless them—kept giving you worried looks. It was very sweet of them, of course, but you started to feel sicker than you really were.

As the show approached its conclusion, you realised that you were feeling slightly lightheaded, after all. It usually got very hot very quickly this close to the stage, so you weren’t too worried. Still, you decided to miss the last few songs just in case.

You returned backstage just as Rated Riot started their encore. You hoped to have a few minutes alone with your thoughts and a bottle of water. However, as soon as you walked through the corridor towards the waiting area, you nearly collided with Minjun.

You pulled back, startled. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Headache,” he said, holding up his beer bottle as if that was his solution to the problem. “What about you? Do you—do you maybe happen to have a minute?”

You were surprised that Minjun would need any of your minutes at all.

“Uh—” you glanced back, even though the noise of the concert was loud enough to hear without turning around. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he explained, putting his bottle on the table near the dressing room. He shoved his hands in his pockets and paused before turning around. “Uh, first of all, um—are you okay?”

Your polite smile seemed to hide a deep weariness. The corner of your lip fluttered treacherously.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“I heard that’s your default answer,” he remarked sheepishly.

You hadn’t expected that. Unlike Sid, who only asked questions to fill the silence, Minjun observed you in a way that Jungkook often did—with a quiet determination to get you to admit the truth.

Your expression softened.

“I mean it,” you said. “I really do feel better. Just a little dizzy, but I guess that’s because it’s really hot out there.”

“Yeah—oh, can I get you water? A beer?” he asked. You sensed guilty undertones in his offer; as though he wanted to do something nice for you to redeem himself.

“Water would be great,” you said. “But I can—”

“One second!”

He hurried into the dressing room and returned half a minute later with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, its plastic cloudy from condensation.

“Thank you,” you said. “Do you want to sit?”

You gestured towards the couch, pushed against the far wall of the corridor. He nodded in response, and the two of you sat down in complete—and a little awkward—silence.

“So, was that… what you wanted to talk to me about?” you asked, unsure what to make of his discomfort as he fiddled his fingers next to you. He looked like he was about to shed his skin.

“No, um—it’s not,” he said. “Uh… I wanted to talk about Jungkook. I meant to do it earlier, but, well, you weren’t feeling well, and I didn’t want to—”

“That’s okay,” you said, hoping to hide your impatience with another polite smile. “Talk to me.”

You took a sip of your water, which was far too cold to feel refreshing, while Minjun collected his thoughts.

“Well—h-he fucked up,” he said profoundly.

You nodded, not quite present in the conversation because you were trying not to open your mouth and hah-hah-hah from the cold water like you would if your throat was burning.

“Sure,” you said.

Minjun looked a little thrown off by the word. Given the extent of Jungkook’s suffering after he told you about the bet and couldn’t convince you to hear him out, Minjun assumed you would refuse to even hear a word about it.

“Sid had a lot to do with that,” he added, crossing his arms and stretching his denim jacket.

You nodded again, still as nonchalant as before. Minjun was a little perplexed.

But really, you’ve already talked to Jungkook—and Luna—about this. Not extensively, but it was enough for you to accept that it had happened, and that you didn’t possess a watch that could magically turn back time and make different choices.

Sid had proposed the bet, and Jungkook had played along with it. It was done. And now there was no reason to scream or storm out.

“He always does,” you said.

“That’s—well, that’s very true.” Minjun looked at the ground. He knew what he wanted to talk to you about, but your reasonable responses had left his thoughts in disarray, and now his mind was throwing random, incomprehensible bits of his rehearsed speech at him. “Jungkook, um—he thinks Sid likes you.”

You were already nodding once more when you froze, frowning instead. “Excu—what?”

“Yeah,” Minjun said, feeling a little more collected now that you finally reacted as he’d expected. “Apparently, he believes that Sid pressured him into making this bet because of that. To sabotage your relationship, I guess.”

You couldn’t help a scoff. “That’s dramatic.”

Minjun arched his brow. “Have you met Sid?”

“I didn’t say it didn’t fit his personality,” you said. “I just said it’s dramatic. And unnecessary”

“Well,” he shrugged one of his shoulders, “those are his middle names.”

“I don’t think it’s true, though,” your answer was quick. As if you hadn’t needed any time at all to think if this was possible. The very idea that Sid liked anyone other than himself was laughable.

“You don’t?” Minjun asked. He didn’t seem surprised by your disagreement. Merely curious to hear your reasoning.

“No,” you said. “If he liked me, he would have done something about it. I’ve known you guys almost as long as I’ve known Jungkook. And all that Sid’s done in this time, is make my life difficult.”

Minjun lowered his head. Those were his first assumptions as well. Sid wouldn’t stay on the sidelines that long. If he wanted something, he went to great lengths to get it.

But on the other hand, if Sid couldn’t get something, he often acted as if he’d never even wanted it, and harboured a deep resentment towards the object of desire at the same time.

Minjun sighed.

“I think I agree with you,” he said.

You turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” he said. “I don’t know if Sid ever really liked you, but I think the real problem is that Sid’s jealous of Jungkook and everything Jungkook has. He’s inferior to Sid, you know? That’s how Sid sees it. And yet, Jungkook is in a rock band. He has shows almost every night. He has real friends, real talent, real support. And he has a girl he loves more than anything. All Sid has is money. He’d kill to have Jungkook’s life, and he hates it.”

You bobbed your head in contemplation. Money held such a massive significance in this world. The fact that Sid had it in abundance and still couldn’t find contentment only proved how pitiful he truly was.

“I thought the same thing,” you admitted. “I always assumed there must be some tension between them now that Jungkook is more than just Sid’s friend. Or, really, his sidekick.”

Minjun nodded. “Exactly, yeah.”

You exhaled and stretched your legs. You wondered what Minjun’s logic was, since he knew what Sid was like, but did not do anything to rid himself of him.

“Why are you, by the way?” you asked. “Sid’s friend, I mean.”

Minjun’s sad smile confirmed to you that there was something more here. No one would have willingly chosen to keep Sid in their lives.

“I’m doing a community service to rescue Jude from his claws,” he said in a very serious tone. “And to leave Sid alone and miserable.”

“I admire your mission,” you said with an amused smile. “But seriously. Why?”

He sighed. He preferred the silly, made-up versions of his story.

I’m an undercover FBI agent collecting information on Sid so we can lock him up for good.

I’m writing a book on insufferable psychopaths. Sid is my primary research subject.

All of these made him appear like he had some control over his choices. They made him feel less pathetic.

“It’s a family thing,” Minjun said, closing his eyes and pulling the corner of his lip into his mouth. “I don’t...”

He let the sentence trail off, and you interjected softly, “you don’t have to tell me everything.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “It’s just… stupid. My family—well, my parents—they’ve been business partners with Sid’s mum for a long time. She bought my parents’ company, and they signed some partnership agreement that was supposed to guarantee that my parents retained full control of their business. But, uh, you know.”

“They still answer to Sid’s mum in the end,” you finished.

Minjun clicked his tongue. “Yeah. It’s… they used to send me off to play with Sid, and they would tell me to be nice to him. Because if I upset him and it gets to his mother, my parents are the ones who suffer for it.”

“That’s—that makes no sense,” you said, lacking a better description for something that sounded ridiculous and, frankly, surreal.

“I know,” he agreed. “But Sid’s mum is—he’s her only kid. And she really, really wanted to have kids. I don’t know the whole story—I never cared—but from what I’ve heard, Sid’s parents tried everything they could for a very long time to have children. They have the money for it. Still, nothing worked. And then, all of a sudden, Sid. Their miracle baby. Their little angel. Maybe if they hadn’t treated him like he was king, he would have turned out differently. But his mum doesn’t even hear the way he talks to her sometimes.”

You tsked, unimpressed. “I’m not surprised. Nothing’s sacred to him.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t care about others. And still, his mother is ready to unleash hell if anyone wrongs him,” Minjun said, reaching to brush some invisible dust from his upper arm. “The ironic thing is, though, everyone in my parents’ company was very happy when Sid was born. His mum was—well, understandably, she wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around when she was going through… all that, you know? And I say that respectfully. She threatened to bankrupt my mum after she got pregnant with me and tried to talk to Sid’s mum about parental leave.”

You’ve never met Sid’s parents, but you’ve had the misfortune of meeting Sid, and it wasn’t hard to imagine where he got his personality from.

“Ah,” you said. “So, the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

Minjun snickered and shook his head.

“Hmm, it doesn’t. But Sid’s mum found out a few weeks later that she was pregnant, too. And from then on, she was a real saint,” he said. “So, my parents were hoping that I could be the leverage if something went wrong in their business. ‘Oh, but our sons have always been almost like brothers’ kind of thing. That way, they won’t lose all their money if Sid’s mum has a sudden change of heart.”

“Fuck,” you concluded.

“Yeah. They would have gotten him and me engaged, too.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t, actually.”

A small, ironic smile had crept onto Minjun’s lips.

“I’m sure they’ve thought about it,” he said, looking at the bottle of beer he’d left across the room. He’d put it there because he didn’t want to drink if you weren’t drinking, but now he was regretting his manners. “Unfortunately, Sid isn’t my type. My parents had the decency to respect that, at least.”

You chuckled, and Minjun brightened a little, too.

“To be fair,” you remarked, “I don’t think Sid is anyone’s type.”

“Good point.”

You looked at the floor tiles and considered this. You wanted to know if it had happened before—something to convince Minjun that he should obey Sid as much as possible, or his parents would face the consequences—but you didn’t think it was fair to ask him to elaborate.

The way Minjun looked right now, with all colour drained from his eyes as he tried to keep smiling, it seemed like he knew exactly what Sid’s mum could do if her son said one word to her.

So, the two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, while shouts of excitement from the concert echoed around you.

“And, uh—what about Jude, then?” you asked after a minute. “Why does he stick around?”

Minjun didn’t make jokes this time.

“I honestly think Jude just doesn’t know any better,” he said. “He’s known Sid the longest. Their mothers were friends before Jude’s parents got divorced and his mum moved abroad. He just doesn’t know a different life.”

“You mean he’s too used to Sid to see that he is bad for him,” you summarised.

“I think he sees it,” Minjun said, analysing the plaster on the walls of the waiting area. “He just doesn't care.”

“Ah.” You nodded your head. “He needs help.”

“Lots of it.”

“Mmhm.”

That about confirmed to you that Sid had always been the problem. The poisonous leech.

Jungkook saw the problem, even if it took him a while. And Minjun saw it, too. It was just absurdly unfair that there was nothing he could do about it.

And then you wondered if Jungkook could do anything about it. He’d fought Sid and banned him from Rated Riot shows. But would that accomplish anything?

This was Sid. Sometimes it seemed like all it took for him to be summoned was just the mention of his name. He had to be at least half-demon.

“Kind of sad, when you think about it, isn’t it?” Minjun spoke up then. You thought he was referring to himself before he added, “that Sid doesn’t have one real friend.”

You grimaced.

“I’m—not sure if I’d call it sad,” you said. “I don’t think he deserves to have real friends.”

“Yeah, no, that’s true,” he settled. “Still, though. He acts like a king. And all he really has is just paper.”

You considered yourself a compassionate, caring person. But you didn’t think you were capable of genuinely pitying Sid.

“Did you come here to make me feel bad for him?” you asked. “Because if that’s the case, we might be here for a while, and I’m not sure either of us has the time.”

“No,” Minjun said, chuckling awkwardly. “He’s the last person you should feel bad for. I’m just saying… he’s miserable and he likes to make others miserable, too. Especially Jungkook.”

He gave you a look, and you turned away, realising that you were circling back to his original reason for talking to you.

You took another sip of water. It had warmed a little and tasted less violent in your throat.

“Yeah, well.” You popped your lips. “Pretty much everyone who knows Sid knows that.”

“Yeah, and I… I should have found you earlier,” he said, lowering his head in a manner reminiscent of all the times you had seen him avoid your gaze when you entered the room. “Sid made sure Jungkook couldn’t tell you, but I wasn’t—I could’ve told you about the bet.”

“That would have—well, it would have saved us a lot of, uh, time,” you said and gave him a kind smile that was supposed to let him know you weren’t really angry. But Minjun only felt worse after he saw it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked up as he spoke and the regret in his eyes added a deeper significance to his apology. “I was… afraid, I guess. I don’t know how else to—well, it’s not a good excuse, but—”

“I get it,” you interrupted. “And thanks. It’s not really your mess to clean, though.”

He didn’t think it was. Still, he felt like he had let Jungkook down.

After seeing you two laughing together in your hotel room, Minjun hoped that Jungkook had explained his decisions—no matter how backwards they were—to you. So, now it was time for Minjun to say something, too.

“Jungkook, uh… he made the stupid decision to play Sid’s game,” he said. “And now you’re both suffering because of it. I don’t think you should give Sid that much power.”

You contemplated this for a minute and gave a slight shake of your head.

“See,” you said, “I think Jungkook is the one suffering because of Sid’s game. And I’m in this because of the consequences of a stupid decision that Jungkook had made.”

“True enough. He shouldn’t have cared about Sid that much,” Minjun agreed. The pounding in his head doubled as he tried to think of how to phrase himself next. “It’s not really my place to say, but um—I’ve been friends with Jungkook for most of my life, so I think I know him pretty well. He’s—he has always been in love with you. He’s just… blinded by a lot of irrelevant things. And I think he realises that now. He was really shaken up after the bet, and that’s when these things happen, isn’t it? Something massive strikes and it makes you rearrange your priorities. Well, his priority is you.”

Minjun felt your body tense next to him on the couch. He had never said anything like this to you—and Jungkook had never soberly told Minjun that he loved you, either—but it was about as obvious as your warm eyes and clenched jaw.

You knew it, too. You just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“He made a really stupid decision,” Minjun reiterated. “And I think he knew that right away. Except you know Sid. He couldn’t let him off the hook, especially when he saw how miserable this made Jungkook.”

You hummed, incapable, suddenly, of a verbal response.

The shouts around you grew louder. Rated Riot were finishing the final song of the encore—and it started to sound like another band member had removed a piece of clothing.

“The bet and his feelings for you,” Minjun continued, “those are two separate things. So, I just—well, which one of them do you feel upset about?”

The anxiety in your lungs didn’t have much room to spare for oxygen, but the question still knocked all breath out of you.

“I—”

“No, actually,” Minjun said, closing his eyes and drawing back, “you know what? This isn’t something I should be asking you. I’m sorry. It’s something you should talk to him about. When you’re ready, of course.”

You still looked near panicked when Minjun glanced at you, and you hurried to respond in a way that would end the conversation, because the staff and the band would soon join you backstage. You needed another bottle of water before you could return to your job.

“Yeah. Uh, I’ll—I’ll see about that,” you ended up saying, which wasn’t much, but Minjun wasn’t going to push. “I’m, uh… they’re about to get off stage—I—I have to go check on them.” You stood up. You still hadn’t made eye contact with him. “We have an eye patch situation as you’re well aware, I’m sure.”

Minjun smiled courteously.

“I know,” he said. “But make sure to think about what I said, okay?”

“I will,” you said, trying to nod, but your head felt too full. You were worried that if you moved it, all of your uncertainty and fear would spill out.

You had hoped to delay talking to Jungkook about everything a little longer, but something in your universe was pushing against that.

“Thank you,” you said almost as an afterthought.

“Hm?” Minjun raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

“For staying with him.”

Minjun’s eyes warmed as his smile spread.

“He’s my oldest friend,” he said. “Of course, I’m staying.”

The usual lines of people waiting to meet Rated Riot at the merch stand after the show had tripled tonight. It appeared that almost everyone who had bought a ticket stayed back for the band.

You didn’t know if the eye patch had anything to do with it, but Maggie’s Instagram post with preview pictures from tonight’s show, half-jokingly titled “Rockstar Pirate”, quickly became the most-liked post on her account.

However, before Jungkook could go out and meet the fans, his bandages had to be changed. The intense jumping and sweating had not been good for his wounds, and the ten-minute shower after the performance had not been enough to prevent some fresh bleeding.

But that was to be expected. Some of his cuts were narrow but appeared deep.

What was unexpected, however, was his insistence that he was fine. He would just put the eye patch on and head right back out.

“Do you have any idea,” you scolded as you forcefully sat him down on the counter next to the sink in the bathroom of the venue, “what sort of problems I’d have if these got infected?”

You brought the cotton swab over the scrapes above his cheek, and he gritted his teeth as the antiseptic burned his skin. “It sounds like it’d be me who would have problems.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Maybe even sepsis. But I could get sued for not doing my job.”

“Hmm. And if I die?”

“Then I’d have a funeral to plan on top of that, too.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry my death would inconvenience you so much.”

“It would,” you said, pulling back. “So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t die, seeing as I already have a lot to do.”

He grinned, always thrilled to tease you back. However, this time, he took the opportunity when you weren’t looking at him to ask, “how are you feeling?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, equally as determined to insist that you were okay and that the last two days hadn’t happened.

“I’m fine, of course,” you said.

“Of course,” he repeated dryly.

“I really mean it,” you said as you struggled to open the glass bottle of ointment. Jungkook had informed you earlier that the nurses at the hospital ‘had used something similar’ when he went there the other day, so you felt a bit more confident about this procedure. “I got eight hours of sleep two nights in a row. That’s unheard of.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

You finally got the bottle to open. Jungkook frowned and drew back.

“Well, can you be glad without moving?” you asked, approaching him with the ointment and a few cotton pads. You’d hoped the antiseptic had soaked into his skin by now. You didn’t have time to wait.

“Is that even necessary?” he asked, pouting and pulling his head back until he hit the mirror behind him. “This stings like a bitch.”

You were nearly leaning over him with all your weight to reach his face. One of your palms pressed into his thigh as you fought to keep your balance, and Jungkook stilled, but did not shut up.

“T-the cuts are not getting infected,” he insisted. He paused and bit into his lip ring when you exhaled and he discovered that he could feel your breath against his cheek. As soon as he realised that he didn’t actually pass out for a minute there, he continued, “do I really need bandages if I wear the eye patch? I personally think I’m—”

“You’re sweating under it,” you cut him off, your eyes narrowed in concentration as you traced the cuts on his cheekbone with the pad. You continued to speak distractedly, “and it’s a rental, in any case. You can’t put that on a bare wound.”

He blinked and jerked his head to the side, nearly causing you to topple over him.

“Jungkook, come on—”

“It’s a rental?” he repeated, his face twisted in a comical expression of disbelief. “How—how do you mean?”

You sighed. You shouldn’t have let that slip.

“I’m sure they disinfect the costumes after they’re returned, so, don’t worry about that,” you said. “Now please—”

“It’s part of a costume?!” he shouted, but you grabbed the back of his neck with your free hand to keep him in place. He felt a sudden shiver ripple down his spine. “Wait, w-what—a-am I a joke to you?”

The corners of your lips quivered as you tried to resist a smirk. You dabbed the cotton pad onto the bruise around his eye and did not speak until you finished applying the ointment to every cut and scrape you could see.

“No,” you said then. “You’re not very funny.”

Locked in place by your cold hands on the back of his neck, Jungkook realised he did not have any reflexes left whatsoever. He did not have much of anything, to be honest, aside from a severe case of hot, violent wings in his stomach.

“Not very f—I’ll—oh, I’ll show you funny,” he finally managed.

He grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. Surprised—and, honestly, amused—you tried to pull back from him, but found yourself trapped in his grip as he jumped off the counter.

You pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh. He tried very hard to glare at you, but his lips were pursed in an obvious attempt not to smile back and his cheeks were tinted with the softest shade of pink.

A part of you was glad, actually, that he was restraining you right now because you weren’t sure if you would have found it in yourself to resist the urge to bring your hand over his flushed cheeks.

After a loaded minute, Jungkook finally released you and shook his head, turning his back to you in a dramatic demonstration of defiance.

“Jungkook,” you said. He could hear the playful lilt in your voice. “Come on, sit down. I’m almost done.”

“I’m wearing a pirate costume!” he protested.

“You’re not wearing a costume. It’s just an eye patch. Sit down.”

He shook his head again, but turned around, mustering as much irritation as he could. You were smiling and he was hardly capable of being angry about that.

“I look like Jack Sparrow’s long-lost, half-blind cousin,” he accused half-heartedly.

He looked almost scandalised when you laughed at this.

“You wish,” you teased, peeling off the adhesive tape from the new bandages that Namjoon was kind enough to buy earlier in the day.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “Now you’re going to tell me I’m not good enough to be related to Jack Sparrow?”

You were glad he did not move when you approached him again and carefully applied the adhesive pad to his bruises.

“That’s Captain Jack Sparrow,” you said.

He glowered, but his image crumbled the second he saw your grin.

“You nerd,” he said, breaking off into a soft laugh. His eyes were fixed on you as you gently tapped the edges of the bandages to make sure they stayed in place.

“Hey, now,” you warned, pulling back to give him a look that was about as stern as your tentative touch. “You’re the one who forced me to watch the films.”

Jungkook felt his smile spread—impossibly so. He thought he looked a little like one-eyed Joker now as he remembered watching films in your dorm room. He remembered how the two of you had complained about the slow wi-fi, which kept reducing the film quality to 240p. Remembered pretending not to cry when one half of the couple in the film died. Remembered getting distracted by the look in your eyes as you got immersed in the plot. Remembered kissing you. Remembered making you smile as you gently pushed his chest away and told him to ‘look at the screen.’

And then he remembered where he was now, and the dim bathroom brightened under your smile as you packed up your medical kit.

“Hey, so, um…” He swallowed, watching you walk away to dispose of the waste. “Can we talk, then? Later?”

Your head was still heavy, and you had a startling realisation that the only time the weight on your shoulders lightened was when you were with Jungkook—when you were smiling at each other like middle-schoolers on a clumsy first date.

“We’ll talk,” you said while trying to quiet down your thoughts that insisted that this moment here was a sign. That this was the decision. “When the time is right.”

Jungkook looked almost ready to protest, but then he realised you were teasing him for having said the same thing to you before.

He remembered how that conversation went—he remembered everything and with such clarity that his palms tingled and his heart pounded.

“3 AM, then?” he asked, grinning. “Will you come find me?”

You smiled back. “I’ll come find you.”

When the members of Rated Riot returned backstage after meeting fans, the drinks had already been finished. Everyone was leaving for the bus.

Jungkook knew better than to stay in the dressing room by himself—despite having banned Sid from his shows and being across the continent from him—so he asked Taehyung to wait for him.

Then, as he was unplugging his charger by the bathroom door, his phone vibrated with a text message—from Jude, of all people. Throughout their friendship, Jungkook didn’t think Jude had ever texted him personally, and not in their groupchat.

The text read, “come outside to the smoking area? Sid is fuming bc he can’t enter the venue.. gotta talk.”

Right away, Jungkook felt a sense of unease in the pit of his stomach.

He’d kicked Sid out in Cologne. What the fuck was he doing in Manchester?

For a brief moment, Jungkook toyed with the possibility of saying he was busy. He did have to return to the bus in case you would look for him, after all. However, he knew that not answering Sid’s call—because, really, Jude was just the proxy here—could have ugly consequences.

Why’d he fly to the UK? What was wrong with him?

It wasn’t that Jungkook felt afraid of him. He was annoyed more than anything—he’d blacklisted Sid, and still couldn’t escape him.

But Jungkook was afraid of the impact that his inescapable connection to Sid could have on you and your relationship.

“You know what?” he said, raising his head to look at Taehyung. “Maybe you should go ahead without me. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

Taehyung glanced at the younger member’s phone, then back at his face. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing,” Jungkook said as he typed back a “K” to Jude. “It’ll just be a second.”

Taehyung merely shrugged. This reaction was so casual that Jungkook automatically assumed it to mean that the older member was going back to the bus.

“I can wait then,” Taehyung said instead.

Jungkook did a surprised double-take before he put his phone away. He realised suddenly that he was embarrassed for Taehyung to witness whatever would happen in the smoking area.

“No, it’s—I have to talk to Jude,” he said, hoping that the name would deter him, but the older boy stood his ground even more firmly.

“All the more reason for me to stay with you,” he said, making it clear that one black eye was already too much.

Jungkook knew they could continue to argue about this while Sid raged outside the venue. And he knew that if he refused Taehyung’s company again, the older boy might seek you out instead.

“Okay,” Jungkook decided. “That’s fine. You can wait here. Jude’s right outside in the smoking area, so—”

“Great,” Taehyung said, taking the first step towards the door of the dressing room. “I’ll come with.”

Jungkook watched him open the door. “Why? For the fresh air?”

His bandmate gave him a sarcastic half-smile. “To make sure you won’t need a whole blindfold for your performance tomorrow.”

Aware that he’d been outwitted, Jungkook rolled his eyes and left the dressing room with a protective Taehyung following behind him.

Sid, Jude, and Minjun were all gathered in the smoking area. Sid and Jude were standing tall—with Sid towering over the other boys, of course—while Minjun looked more like he was crouching. His eyes were downcast, and his posture reflected his wish to be anywhere but here.

Fortunately, Mick, the head of security, was there, too.

“What’s going on here?” Jungkook asked, his voice surprisingly firm—as if these people had never been his friends.

“This gentleman refuses to leave,” Mick reported, casting a scornful glance at Sid. Sid, in turn, responded by raising his middle finger. “I think that calling the police will resolve this issue faster.”

Jungkook would have loved to see Sid in the back of a police car.

But he was worried that this would only cause you more problems with the label. The executives were okay with Rated Riot embodying the rockstar stereotypes, but they probably wouldn’t approve of any police involvement.

On the other hand... why not get rid of Sid once and for all? If he continued to preach his truth without listening to anyone else, it might do him good to spend the night at the station. And if he was high, too, or happened to have something on him—both were likely, Jungkook decided when he glanced at the pockets of Sid’s puffy jacket—then he might stay in a cell for a while longer.

“Give me a minute, Mick, please,” Jungkook asked, taking out his phone. He’d decided to try to handle this quietly, but he still wanted the option of calling the police.

Mick looked at Taehyung for confirmation—which irked Jungkook, because he didn’t like being reminded of his young age and relative lack of authority here.

After Taehyung nodded, the bodyguard turned back to the vocalist.

“Alright,” Mick said. “I’ll be right inside.”

Minjun raised his eyes suddenly, and Jungkook expected to see relief on his face. He saw anxiety instead. Minjun regretted that Jungkook was getting involved again.

After Mick left, Sid finally stepped into the light from the neon sign above the exit. Immediately, Jungkook started to feel more confident about his eye patch, because Sid’s face was red, black, and blue, and so swollen that he could have auditioned for the role of the pumpkin in Cinderella.

“You have one minute to state your business and get your ass out of here,” Jungkook told him. “Or I’m calling the cops.”

Sid scoffed. Challenged by the doubt in his eyes, Jungkook unlocked his phone.

“I’ll pretend I don’t know that you’ve blacklisted me,” Sid snapped, ignoring Taehyung’s presence—which was alarming, because that had never happened before. Sid typically only showed his true self to those closest to him. Or to total strangers. “But it has come to my attention that Minjun broke the rules of the bet, and I can’t ignore that.”

Of course, Jungkook thought. Of course, he would follow him to a different country, even after their fight. Sid thought they had unfinished business.

“Technically,” Minjun said, “the rules don’t apply to me, seeing as I’m—”

“Seeing as you’re the one supposed to enforce the fucking rules,” Sid finished for him, feral rage dripping from every single word he spoke. “What should I make of that, hm? You’re picking sides?”

“I’m not—”

“Your parents won’t like that, I’m sure,” Sid added because he couldn’t help but always assert his dominance with veiled threats.

Minjun clenched his jaw. He remembered the repulsion in your eyes when he told you about this earlier. He felt himself gain strength from your reaction.

“Grow some balls,” he rasped, “and keep our parents out of the shit that you pull. We’re not in kindergarten.”

Sid narrowed his eyes and took a threatening step closer to him.

Meanwhile, Jude leaned over Jungkook to provide an unnecessary explanation, “Sid knows Minjun gave you back the keys.”

Jude smelled of booze and of something intentionally sweet. Ignoring him, Jungkook kept his gaze on Sid.

“It’s just a bet, dude,” Jungkook said before Sid decided to raise a fist. Minjun had never fought anyone before. Jungkook didn’t like his friend’s odds. “Let it go.”

Sid turned his head in what seemed like dramatic slow motion.

If there was a worse thing that Jungkook could have said, he hadn’t found it yet—Sid looked about ready to bite his head straight off and tear it into little pieces before feeding the remains to baby cheetahs or whatever scavengers he undoubtedly raised in the backyard of his family’s mansion.

“That narrative works out awfully well in your favour, doesn’t it?” Sid sneered. “Considering you walk out of here with the girl, after all, hmm?”

“The girl,” Jungkook countered, “was mine to begin with.”

Sid laughed, throwing his head back. “You were ready to give her up for a game just a few weeks ago!”

Jungkook clenched his fists. He couldn’t help but notice that it was “the girl” in particular that Sid brought up as unfair.

Taehyung watched the younger boy’s body language. He knew what might happen next: Jungkook had nothing to say to that, so he seemed intent on shifting the conversation to a more physical level. A level that would likely result in more black eyes and knocked-out teeth.

God, when did he and Luna become babysitters?

He let out a sigh and took a step forward. “We should go, Jungkook. The bus is leaving soon.”

Grounded by his voice, Jungkook glanced at the older member. Taehyung nodded and Jungkook took a deep breath to relax his muscles. He turned around.

There was no point to any of this. He had nothing left to prove to Sid.

“Oh, that’s right,” Sid called out as soon as Jungkook started to walk away. “You don’t have shit to say, so you leave. Fucking typical. Once a loser, always a loser.”

Like any rational person, Taehyung groaned and opened his mouth to suggest calling the police since Sid clearly didn’t want to go away quietly.

But the older member wasn’t able to react quickly enough when Jungkook suddenly whipped around and marched back towards Sid, his expression not just determined, but downright murderous.

Minjun widened his eyes and stepped into the gap between the two boys.

“Drop it, Sid,” he said, facing away from Jungkook. His voice sounded nervous, but he pushed Sid’s chest to prompt him to take a step back.

Sid stepped back—and then took another step to give the impression that he had pulled away voluntarily.

“Why should I be the one to drop it?” he demanded.

“Because you’re the only one who still cares about it,” Minjun said.

“And I’m one part of the bet,” Sid argued. “So, it’s hardly fair, isn’t it? I won the bike.”

Jungkook calmed down when he lost sight of Sid. Instead, he noted that Jude hadn’t objected once.

Technically, three people had made the bet, but Jude seemed to consider himself part of Sid now. Or he simply didn’t care about being involved anymore.

Taehyung lingered by the door, keeping quiet as Minjun handled the unfolding situation.

It was difficult not to say anything, however, because they seemed keen on having a discussion here, yet no one was bringing up the thing that seemed the most obvious to Taehyung: the real reason why Sid cared about the Katana so much, considering that he could have easily bought twenty of them if he wanted.

Just then, Jungkook chuckled sardonically.

“You just want to win for the sake of winning,” he said, giving Minjun a grateful pat on the back and stepping out from behind him.

Taehyung was taken aback by the statement. He had assumed—perhaps unfairly—that Jungkook would resort to violence to make his point. He wasn’t expecting the younger boy to voice everything that he’d been thinking.

“You don’t care about the bike,” Jungkook continued. “You just want me to suffer. Or—oh, that’s right. She’s the one that you really want. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

Everyone in this empty lot behind the building, including the stray cat that monitored the scene from across the street while licking its paw, watched Sid hesitate.

Probably for the first time in his life, Sid was confronted with the unexpected increase in his heartbeat.

He scoffed. Then scoffed again. Then once more, so that everyone and their mothers would understand that he found the accusation ridiculous.

And everyone understood, really. But Sid’s fidgeting wasn’t making the point he thought it was.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re implying,” he retorted. “I’ve—I always get what I want. Why the fuck would I play games about—I never fucking grovel for girls. I don’t care how hot they are—”

“Right. But not this time, hm?” Jungkook countered. “You couldn’t get what you wanted, so now you’re doing everything you can to make sure I don’t either. You want to make us both miserable.”

Sid was embarrassed, Minjun realised as he watched his jaw tighten. He was utterly humiliated that someone would accuse him of having a crush.

“No. No, that was you. You made yourself miserable,” Sid deflected. “I had no part in that.”

How pathetic, Jungkook thought—but there was a satisfied smirk on his lips. He’d seen through Sid. And he’d forced him to lose his composure. Forced him to defend himself.

Jungkook remembered your description of Sid’s appearance last night; namely the comparison to a sewer rat—which was, honestly, very unfair for the rodent in question—and couldn’t hold himself back.

“Seeing your face every day actually brings me nothing but misery,” he said to Sid, “so you can’t escape the blame there.”

Taehyung looked away and puckered his lips to hide his reaction to the immature remark. Even he had to give a point to Jungkook here. Childish or not, it was clever enough to make Sid squint his eyes and hesitate once more.

“Don’t change the subject,” Sid said, which made Jungkook smile wider. “You broke the bet. The bike is mine.”

Minjun cut in with a groan.

“Sid, for fuck’s sake,” he said, tired of listening to the same thing over and over—and over—again. “It’s just a bet, so just fucking drop it. We’ll pay off the Katana if you care so much—”

“No.” Jungkook reached out a hand to touch Minjun’s shoulder, cutting him off. He glared at Sid. “You know what? You can keep the fucking keys to the bike,” he said as he pulled the keychain from his pocket, removed it, and tossed the keys roughly at Sid’s chest. The older boy scrambled to catch them. “Choke on them for all I care.”

Despite the venom in his words, Jungkook did not lose the sneering smile, and Sid’s eye twitched when he looked at him.

It didn’t feel satisfying when he held the motorcycle keys, but Jungkook was the one who looked like he won.

Jungkook turned away before Sid could come up with another mocking comment to make him stay, and headed towards Taehyung, who looked a little confounded.

The bassist needed a moment to process that the conversation had ended because Jungkook had decided it was over.

Taehyung felt quite proud of him, and when Jungkook looked at him, he reached out to tousle his hair affectionately. Jungkook backed away from his touch with a groan but still gave him a grateful look.

Instead of entering the venue, Taehyung led Jungkook to the side of the building, gesturing at the pack of cigarettes he had in his pocket.

A puzzled Minjun caught up with them a moment later.

“Why did you do that?” he asked while Jungkook turned to watch Sid and Jude walk away—both of them looked a little awkward, like they weren’t sure if the show they’d started was really over. “Why did you give him the keys?”

“He can keep the bike,” Jungkook said. “He’s never getting anything that really matters anyway.”

Minjun and Taehyung exchanged a look. They had both heard Sid stumble over his words earlier. They could tell that Sid had hoped the bet would end with Jungkook losing you, and not just the motorcycle.

Minjun still wasn’t sure if Sid’s actions were motivated by his wish to make Jungkook suffer, or if he really had feelings for you.

But he supposed it didn’t even matter anymore. Jungkook seemed ready to go to war for you either way.

“So, what—what are you going to do?” Minjun asked.

Jungkook shrugged and stuffed his hands into his now-empty pockets.

“It’s too late to do anything,” he said, smiling at his friend. “There’ll be other bikes. I don’t—it’s not what I’m worried about.”

Minjun nodded. He knew Jungkook wasn’t thinking about Sid actually trying to make a move on you. You’d snap his neck if he tried, and leave his body for the crows and pigeons to enjoy. Everyone knew it, and they would have wholeheartedly supported your reaction.

No, what Jungkook was really worried about was that Sid might have already done irreparable damage to your relationship. Minjun had hoped to help Jungkook by talking to you, but he wasn’t sure if it was any help at all.

“Good riddance,” Taehyung said slowly. “Sid, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah,” Minjun agreed right away. “Fuck him.”

“I can’t believe he’s here, though,” Jungkook said. He turned back to make sure that Sid had really left. “You think he’ll come to Glasgow, too, just to fuck with me?”

“Honestly, he might,” Minjun admitted. “He’s got the bike, but he can tell he didn’t actually win. He might want to retaliate.”

Jungkook groaned. Despite his hopes, he feared that Minjun was right.

“What can he do, though?” Taehyung asked, taking out the Marlboro pack from the pocket of his oversized leather jacket. “He’s alone.”

“Yeah.” Minjun pointed at him in agreement. “It’ll be a while before he finds someone who will follow his orders.”

“Well,” Jungkook said as Taehyung passed his cigarettes to both boys, “Jude might.”

“Jude can’t wipe his own ass unless he’s high as a kite,” Minjun said—his vowels softened by the cigarette between his lips. “I’m fucking pissed that he left with Sid, but—I mean, there’s nothing we can do.”

Taehyung opened his engraved Zippo lighter with a crisp click. He lit his own cigarette, then did the same for Jungkook and Minjun.

“If he shows his face anywhere near us again, I’m calling the cops,” Jungkook decided, shakily inhaling the smoke. “Tonight was the last time. I gave up the bike. I don’t care whether he thinks that’s enough. There’s nothing that he can hold against me anymore. We’re done.”

Minjun smiled at this.

Truth be told, he felt a little giddy from the significance of this moment. He’d never spent any time with Jungkook’s bandmates, and he knew it was because of Sid. Taehyung would not have offered them cigarettes if the obnoxious menace had been here, so this moment felt a bit like the start of something new. Something better.

Minjun exhaled the smoke while Jungkook confessed, “I don’t know what it’ll be like with him gone, though.”

Taehyung scoffed so vehemently that the smoke from his cigarette nearly got caught in his throat.

“I know,” he said. “Better.”

Minjun smirked and Jungkook nodded in agreement, but he still looked a little pale and wide-eyed as he toyed with the cigarette between his fingers.

“We’ll be fine,” Minjun promised. “Might get bored much faster because Sid won’t be here to think of ways we could kill ourselves, but honestly, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah, no—definitely.” Jungkook tried to smile, but there was something else on the tip of his tongue. He took a deep drag and slowly blew out the smoke before speaking. “This is, um—kind of weird, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you, but, uh—thank you. For being… for being yourself.”

Taehyung looked away, exhaling smoke into the parking lot to give the two boys more privacy without actually walking away from them.

Minjun was smiling, too. “Who else would I be?”

“You could have tried to be Sid,” Jungkook pointed out.

“Fuck no.”

They both laughed, and Taehyung stopped trying so hard to hide his smile.

For a minute, Sid’s absence was very palpable and it felt absolutely blissful.

“You’re welcome,” Minjun said, just when Taehyung offered, “another one?”

He pulled out another cigarette for himself and passed the rest to Minjun. While the two of them lit up another round, Jungkook finished his first one.

He was restless all of a sudden. This tended to happen to him, especially lately—the longer he was away from you, the harder it was not to think of you.

You’d told him you’d find him so you could talk.

What if you were looking for him? And he was wasting his time dealing with Sid’s temper tantrums again?

“I’m going to go,” he announced to the other boys as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He dropped the cigarette and stepped on it, twisting the sole of his shoe to put it out. “If those two come back, knock them out or call the police, I don’t care. I’ll see you on the bus, yeah?”

Taehyung chuckled, much calmer to let Jungkook wander off on his own now that he’d seen Sid leave with his own eyes.

“Sure,” he said, blowing smoke out. “You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

As he walked towards the door, Jungkook remembered what you’d told him in Stockholm. You’d been right back then.

If he surrounded himself with people who genuinely cared about him, he would have enough voices to keep his mind calm. He would have someone to call if he was alone.

He would be okay.

Jungkook came to a sudden stop in the corridor when he heard your voice inside Rated Riot’s dressing room. The door was ajar, and he could see your profile as you leaned against the dressing table and talked to someone. He bent down to listen and recognised Luna’s voice in there, too.

“Did Nick text you again?” Luna was asking you. “After that time on the bus?”

Naturally, Jungkook froze on the other side of the door.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really.

But who in the great fuck was Nick?

As quietly as he could under the circumstances—his heart had flat-lined for a second or two before breaking into the most passionate beating he’d ever experienced—Jungkook stepped to the side so you wouldn’t spot him through the gap in the door, and strained to listen.

“Yeah,” you replied with a sigh. Were you always this quiet when you spoke, or was he going deaf from his rapid heartbeat? “He texted me this morning. I didn’t reply, I was—well, with Jungkook.”

Now, Jungkook thought as he paled to match the plaster on the walls of the corridor, what—the absolute fuck—was that supposed to mean?

“But, uh, he said he’d like to arrange a formal meeting with me,” you continued, and the dressing table creaked as you moved away from it, “when he comes back from Australia with Reconnaissance.”

The terrified lightbulb at the end of the corridor flickered erratically as Jungkook frowned.

Nick Zhou—your supervisor at your first internship after graduation—returned to his memory. Jungkook had heard enough to understand that Nick managed Reconnaissance now.

That probably meant that you weren’t seeing anyone else. But Jungkook wasn’t sure if he was relieved by this.

“Are you going to go to this meeting?” Luna asked.

Good question, Jungkook thought. And then, immediately after—please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

“I… I don’t know. I think I should,” you said. Jungkook dug his nails into the pillows of his palms. “All our conversations about this had been over the phone, you know? I think it might be good to hear him out properly, face-to-face.”

“So, you’re really considering this then, huh?” Luna said.

You were quiet for a very long time.

Jungkook measured each second of your silence in the beats of his heart: bang-bang-bang, one, bang-bang-bang, two, bang-bang-bang, three.

“I guess I am,” you finally said. “N-not because I suddenly decided I don’t want to work with Rated Riot anymore. I just—well, in light of everything that happened, I think that hearing Nick out just seems like a… reasonable thing to do.”

Jungkook decided he’d heard enough.

He thought he knew what you would say next. He knew what happened. He knew what this “everything” was.

His immaturity. His constant dependence on you.

His tendency to fail at everything that he tried to do for you.

His inability to prove that he deserved another chance with you.

Finally, the bet.

So, there it was, then. He’d always been terrified of letting you down, and he did that anyway.

Exhaling shakily, Jungkook turned around and crossed the corridor toward the main exit where the tour bus was parked.

You were supposed to talk. Now he wasn’t sure if he’d find what to say.

If Jungkook hadn’t walked away, however—if he’d stayed for a minute longer—he would have heard what Taehyung caught as he returned to the dressing room, biting on the filter of a new cigarette.

“If it really came down to it, then—you know,” you were saying, “I-I couldn’t be with him, and still be his manager at the same time.”

The door creaked.

“Oh.” Taehyung stopped in the doorway, not sure if he was more surprised by your words or by the unexpected noise from the door. “Sorry, am I—? I can leave.”

You had been cleaning up backstage when Luna joined you after she lost track of Taehyung. That made you realise that you hadn’t seen him or Jungkook in a while. But now that Taehyung was here, the two of you looked at him as if you had never seen him before in your lives.

The expression on Taehyung’s face was not at all ambiguous. He knew what he’d just heard. You hadn’t used Jungkook’s name, but he was everywhere in this room and in your eyes.

Noting your expression and the way the can of beer in your hands began to tremble, Luna slid off the couch and walked over to her boyfriend.

“We were looking for you!” she exclaimed with far more anger than she actually felt. “Where were you?”

“I was—Jungkook and I just—we stepped outside for a second,” he said as he pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and tucked it behind his ear. “Sorry.”

“You could have texted,” Luna said, her voice rushed. She glanced at you over her shoulder. “We were just about to head back to the bus, weren’t we? That’s what we were discussing.”

“Right,” Taehyung said. “Well, I didn’t hear anything else.”

God, you thought. The three of you were the main cast in a poorly scripted tragicomedy all of a sudden.

“Yeah, we should go,” you said, hoping that the warmth you felt all over your body didn’t show on your face—it didn’t. But your panicked gaze still gave you away. “We’re leaving in half an hour. Is he on the bus?”

Again, the pronoun that did not need an explanation—Taehyung nodded right away.

“Yeah, he—he was on his way there,” he said.

“Okay,” you replied. “You can go. I’ll pack the rest of our things first.”

“We’ll help,” Luna offered. “You need to rest as much as possible.”

You were afraid she would say that. But she and Taehyung began to gather the empty paper cups and the staff members’ forgotten phones before you could object.

Stunned momentarily, you realised—like Jungkook had before—that you were surrounded by people who loved you.

And you were afraid, suddenly, to lose this if you left to work with Reconnaissance. Just like you were afraid of what would happen between you and Jungkook if you didn’t leave.

The hopelessness of the situation stayed with Jungkook as he got on the bus.

He chose not to wait for you, and instead went to the mini-fridge to find Jack Daniels. And while looking for that, he also befriended Jim Beam and Johnnie Walker. Jose Cuervo was, sadly, already almost empty.

When you opened the door of the bus half an hour later—surprised (and a little concerned) to see that it was empty—Jungkook was already feeling a pleasant buzz. He wasn’t quite drunk, but he definitely wasn’t sober as he stumbled a little while trying to climb out of his bunk and stretch his legs outside before the trip.

The alcohol had dulled the pain a little—as it was notorious for doing—but he still flinched when he saw the door open and heard your voice outside the bus.

“You need help standing?” you asked—louder than he had anticipated—and he spun on his axis, gripping the stair railing to steady himself.

He was happy to see you. And so tremendously hurt.

“Nope,” he said, licking his lips. “I’m perfect.”

“Where’s everyone else?” you asked.

“Flat tire,” Jungkook mumbled, slurring the consonants as he joined you outside the bus. “Driver said we’d be here for another hour. He doesn’t have a spare. Everyone else went—for a smoke, I don’t know.”

His eye patch had slid off and was caught in his messy hair. But the bandages around his eye had remained in place.

His scent was whiskey, but the look in his eyes was sober pain.

You were a little afraid of him like this because you didn’t know what he would tell you next.

“Mmhm,” you said. “And, uh—how come we’re drinking tonight?”

“Ah.” He chuckled. “We have our reasons.”

You waited for him to continue by counting the dark pebbles under your shoes. He leaned his back against the metal railing of the bus steps and gave you a long look.

“Sid’s here,” he said.

You looked up, aghast. Terror was the first thing you felt, and aggravation followed shortly after.

“What?” you questioned. “How?”

“He followed me to Manchester for the Katana,” Jungkook explained. “Minjun had given me back the keys, and Sid found out about it.”

“I thought you had—”

“I had,” he confirmed. He’d triple-checked with Mick to make sure Sid was really banned. “He couldn’t enter the venue, so Jude texted me to come outside. Mick suggested calling the police.”

You liked Mick. Everyone did. He was the quiet backbone of this entire tour.

But you didn’t like that Jungkook seemed to disagree with Mick’s suggestion.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked slowly. You thought you understood why Jungkook decided to finish off the most expensive bottles of whiskey that you had on the bus. Sid’s unexpected reappearance was a good reason to drink.

“I would have,” he said. “But I gave Sid the keys and he left. He’s got no reason to come back now. We’re done.”

You appreciated the cold wind on your face, because learning that Jungkook had given up his Katana willingly—to get Sid off his back for good—was painful. It felt heavy in your chest and in your lungs.

“Oh,” you managed.

“I really mean it. If he decides to show his face again despite that, I’m—I’m letting Mick handle it,” Jungkook promised. “He can call the cops or do whatever else he wants. Sid wanted to win the bet, well, he won it. I’m not going to see him again. I really mean it.”

His voice grew in volume despite getting hoarse. He was so distressed that he was nearing hysteria.

It occurred to you that he thought you would blame him for this. Like it was his fault that Sid was so dedicated to his craft of being a pest that he travelled across Europe for it.

“I’m not saying one word to him ever again,” Jungkook continued, all his words coming out in one breath. “I’m—I’m done. I swear. I’m not going—”

“I know,” you cut in softly before his panicked rambling could get worse. “I believe you.”

“I—” he stopped. His face regained some liveliness. “Thank you.”

“Is that your reason for drinking?” you asked, even though, deep down, you knew it wasn’t. “I thought we were supposed to talk.”

“I thought so, too,” he said, then inhaled sharply and plopped down on the bottom step, banging his thigh against the metal railing and wincing in pain. “Shit. But then I thought—I thought I’d rather get drunk than have my heart shattered. So here we are.”

Your stomach plummeted and the muscles all over your body jolted awake.

“What—what are you talking about?” you asked, looking around. Taehyung and Luna wanted to grab some snacks at the corner shop across the street, but you were still worried they’d catch you here.

Jungkook rested his head against the door frame.

“I’m... really, I’m tired of everything,” he said with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have messed around. I should have been honest with you about—about everything right away.”

You leaned your hip against the side of the bus. You appreciated him talking to you now, but you both knew that this hadn’t always been the case.

“You... should have been,” you concurred awkwardly.

“But I wasn’t,” he finished. “And now I’m too tired to keep trying. To keep knocking on a—the door is closed. Locked. I get it. You say you believe me, but I know the truth. I really fucked up. Not just with the—with the bet. I never treated you right. You do so much. You take care of everyone in your life.” He paused to take a breath. “And I’ve always been another fucking burden. I won’t—I won’t be that anymore. You won’t need to take care of me anymore. I promise.”

You looked at him with a worried wrinkle between your brows. “Jungkook, I’m your manager—”

“You’re my everything,” he cut you off and brought goosebumps to the surface of your skin. “But I’ve been fucking awful to you. You deserve so much better. I’m so—I’m so sorry. I have no right to—to expect you to come back to me. B-but I want to show you that I can be different. I want to show you the guy that I am without Sid. You know that guy. You know what he’s like. I want to show him to you again.”

You swallowed as your eyes drifted from his face to the rough gravel under your shoes, to the door of the venue, and eventually settled on your own crossed arms.

You felt tired, too, but this wasn’t what you were expecting to hear from him. You wondered what brought this on so suddenly.

“I really don’t want you to leave,” he continued. You straightened, realising what this was about. “But I… I understand if you will. I’ve always been selfish when it comes to you, but if I want—I want you to see that I’m growing. And because of that, I can’t hold you back.”

Your heart was beating too much, too intensely, too desperately for you to respond.

It felt—and, evidently, your heart realised it before your brain did—like Jungkook was making the decision about the rest of your life for you. A decision that you didn’t want to make.

“It’s over,” he said. “I get it. But the band loves you. We need you. You’re our—we’re nothing without you. We’re not Rated Riot. But we—the guys wouldn’t force you to stay. And I know I can’t do that, either. So, if leaving the band is the right choice for you… then you should go. You should always do what’s best for you. I wish I was what was best for you, but I’m not. Actually, I don’t think there’s anyone who would be good enough for you in my eyes, but—”

“Jungkook, please,” you finally whispered—the words painful on your numb tongue.

“Right, sorry,” he pulled back. You were afraid that if you closed your eyes, you wouldn’t be able to hear him anymore. “What I mean is, you deserve the best, and I’m so fucking far from it. I love you so much, but I don’t know if that’s enough. I just—I want you to know that if you decide to stay with us, I’ll never let you down again. But if you choose to go… I-I would understand. Ultimately, it’s your choice, as it should be.”

He stopped talking and allowed the night to fill the silence.

You didn’t know what was going to happen next.

He’d told you a lot over the past few days. He brought back a lot of memories, a lot of mistakes. And now he was taking action, too, to make sure to fix those mistakes. To make sure he didn’t repeat them.

He made a bet with Sid.

And this bet tried to prove that he still hadn’t changed, that his friends were still his main priority. But he black-listed Sid from Rated Riot’s shows and gave up his bike to make sure Sid didn’t come back.

The bet tried to prove that the two of you still couldn’t communicate. But he told you everything that he had been too afraid to say in your relationship.

The bet tried to prove that he didn’t really care about you. But he stayed with you when you were feeling your best and when you were at your most vulnerable.

The bet tried to prove that he only cared about himself. But after telling you how much he loved you, he was letting you go.

Again and again and again his words echoed in your head.

The determined I’ll be here, and the tentative It’s a song about my favourite thing in the world.

The terrified I can’t lose you, and the confident I’ll always love you.

You didn’t want to believe him when he had told you he loved you—and that was what this was about.

You were afraid of what it would mean—of what would happen—if all that there was to it, if all that hid under your uncertainty, was just your love for each other.

Minjun had made a reasonable point when he asked whether you were upset about the bet or about Jungkook’s feelings.

Perhaps the bet had quickly turned into an easy excuse not to be together. It was bad, it was awful, it was so terrible—but all it really did was provide a comfortable cover for your own fear and anxiety about him. About yourself. About you, together.

In retrospect, probably the worst repercussion of the bet was that it returned the two of you to the same place you were in before you learned about it. The place where you both wanted each other—so much—but you couldn’t.

As the silence continued to envelop the bus, competing with the night for dominance, it swallowed the sounds of the distant chatter of the people nearby.

You pulled back from the bus. It was time to stand up. Time to go.

“Come on,” you said quietly. “It’s getting cold.”

Jungkook looked at you from the bottom step by the door, and you realised that he’d been wrong that night in Manchester when he said that your favourite thing in the world was the night sky.

It wasn’t.

It was the stars—whole constellations, each formed after a specific moment in life—and the moon, and half of an entire galaxy in his eyes.

It was the way they brightened when he smiled at you, and the way they narrowed when you teased him. It was the way they stilled when he was listening to you speak, and the way they softened when he saw you at every venue. At every practice. Every soundcheck. Every concert. Every hotel. Every empty European street. Every night, and every morning. Year, after year, after year, after—

Your hands trembled as you watched him, realising with a startled burst in your chest that he loved you. He has loved you for as long as you’ve known him.

And against all odds, against all rational thoughts and fateful coincidences, against all wishes upon stars, you realised that you’ve always loved him, too.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

chapter title credits: the devil wears prada, “salt”

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callsign-relic · 8 months

Note

This idea has been my brainrot for months! If you've ever been on reddit, or tiktok lately you might have seen a funny subreddit titled "humans are space orcs". Well I fell inlove with that headcannon, so I wanted to put in the request for poly ratchet and drift with a human reader, reader had stowawayed on the lostlight and was lucky enough that the ship was being supplied oxygen, with occasional stops giving the chance for reader to go out and grab some supplies.

Long story short reader ends up getting caught in the medbay, battered and bruised, and gets stuck in a staring contest with ratchet, who is bewildered.

(I also find the comparison of cybertronians being possible scared of humans, like a elephant is of mice)

And my first request after my little hiatus! I apologize for the wait :) This was a fun idea to work with! This description matched the First Contact AU pretty perfectly so this accidentally became a First Contact fic, sorry if that’s not what you were looking for HAHA. Still though, i hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: SFW, GN!Human!Reader, First Contact AU

“And how did you say you found this creature, again?”

“By sheer coincidence! I was gathering some extra supplies from the crates in the back of the medbay, only to push a box aside and find… this.”

You lay flat against your elbows in the palm of a bright red servo, eyes darting frantically between the two titans above you as they conversed in an exchange of vowels and consonants you couldn’t comprehend. The two aliens were similar in color, yet couldn’t look more different— as if they were opposites, yet complemented one another all the same.

The bot that held you was square in his frame, his default expression a discontented scowl. From the platform of his palm, you could see the aged paint of his plating, full of dents and scratches galore. On the hand beneath you, specifically, you could see the chips of paint around each of his joints. Near-imperceptible to a being of his scale, certainly, but you could see the little splotches of blue peeking out from constant use.

The mech beside him was a completely different story, however. Rather than the square, boxy shape of his companion— this one was decorated with sharp angles. His color palette was like the other’s but reversed, more white with accents of bright red. Despite his triangular appearance, he gazed at you in Ratchet’s palm curiously— while Ratchet appeared more skeptical than anything.

“Have you ever seen a being such as this?” Wondered Drift aloud.

“Not in my years, no,” Ratchet replies with a shake of his head.

Wordlessly, Drift offers up both of his hands cupped before you. You pull back, head flicking between Drift’s face and his offered hands, grimacing.

Despite the language barrier, you know the sound of a scoff when you hear it, and as it echoes out from above you you can feel the platform of Ratchet’s palm start to tilt out from beneath you. You can do little to grab on— the ridges of his joints weren’t wide enough for you to cling to, so you succumb to your fate and tumble down into the samurai’s awaiting servos.

“Ratchet!” Drift scolds, “You could’ve handled them a little nicer.”

“C’mon, I wasn’t going to wait all day for it to hop off,” the medic grumbles. “Plus, it’s an organic. The texture was… off-putting.”

As if to prove his hypothesis, Ratchet reaches out a large digit and pokes at your stomach. In your injured state, you let out a wheeze, and Drift is quick to pull his hands closer towards him and away from his conjux.

“Did you hear that?” He asks, not really expecting an answer. “They almost sounded injured, poor thing.”

“Can I take a look?” Ratchet hums, and the white mech stares at him suspiciously for a moment. The older bot lets out another scoff, “I won’t handle them roughly, I promise.”

Satisfied, Drift nods, and slowly lowers his hands from his chassis to present you forwards. You were holding your stomach now, curled inwards in a fetal position, but even so, one could easily tell you were covered in marks and bruises all over your little form.

Again, Ratchet hums. “Let’s take them to the main medbay, see if our scanners can pick up anything.” As the medic concedes, a smile spreads wide across Drift’s faceplate, and Ratchet has to stuff down the urge to grin himself at seeing him so excited. He occupies himself by starting towards the main scanner, activating it and preparing any systems they may have needed. “With any luck, we can figure out just what this creature is.”

Drift starts to make his way over to the scanner as well, cradling you gently between his two hands. He lifts you up to his face, and though you scoot back up away from it, something about his innocent smile seems… endearing, to you.

“Hear that, little one? We’re going to get you all fixed up in no time.”

#relic writes #Transformers #reader insert #Transformers x reader #mtmte Ratchet #MTMTE Ratchet x reader #ratchet x reader #MTMTE drift #Transformers drift #drift x reader #mtmte #more than meets the eye #MTMTE x reader #Transformers mtmte #lost light #Transformers lost light #lost light x reader #maccadam #maccadams

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cocteaucherry · 3 months

Text

trials and tribulations .2

summary- falling in love with your sworn enemy was not something you planned.

cws- p&p au/ bridgerton au, inaccurate use of regency language, 18+, misogyny, sexual tension, future smut in later chapters, slow slow burn, LENGTHY descriptions, ooc Suguru, suguru x f!reader, accidental groping, not proofread

taglist- @mandysfanfics

a/n-(I wanna go ahead and apologize for putting this out so late, I truly wasn’t prioritizing this part as much as I needs to ^^ but I hope you enjoy more treats coming soon)

“Y/N it wasn't that awful.”

“I feel as if I were choking, can't believe I made a fool of myself in front of him.”

“There was more than one man there.”

“Don't humor me, Mr. Geto glared at me as if I was a stain on his perfect coat.”

Shoko groaned as she laid flat on the blanket you laid out, usually you a Shoko spent your days outside when finished with chores, and seeming as it was blooming through spring it was perfect.

“He's just a highly disciplined man I guess.”

“But it's no excuse to be so rude and conceited.”

“He's a wealthy man- he can basically do anything.”

“Whatever..” you mumbled plucking a blade of grass from the ground to hold in between your fingers.

Although no matter how many times you say “whatever” you could truly never get Suguru Geto off your mind, it angered you whenever he’d make an appearance, most recently in your dreams.

Waking up abruptly to only groan and try to drift off into sleep, maybe if you just stay inside you’d never see him again.

“Y/N! Letter for you!”

Your hands halted from sewing immediately placing the sharp needle down, “From who?”

Your mother smiled giddily as she gave you the letter, the thick paper and the large G seal told you everything you needed to know.

“Dear, Y/N,

“We really enjoyed your company and presence at our estate last Friday, we’d really appreciate if you could be present tomorrow for a more formal tour of the estate,

Yours truly,

Satoru Gojo

“Wow..” you were breathless having to lightly beat your chest to restart your fear-stricken heart, “This is-”

“Amazing I know, this is your chance y/n! No more chores for you I need to make sure you're in pristine condition”

You were put on bedrest for the rest of the day.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The estate looked a lot different in the daytime, the lamps at night just fully added onto the mystical ambience but now it was just ethereal.

You had worn a nice emerald gown, contrasting perfectly with your updo, you weren’t being led through the manor alone though one of his many servants led you down the halls.

“Sir Gojo will accompany you shortly, he’s slightly busy at the moment.” The man smiled pushing his glasses further on his nose, the man had short dark hair and somehow looked old but young at the same time.

You smiled bowing politely as you glanced around the globe shaped room, “I’ll be waiting.”

“Great, if you need anything miss you may call me Ijichi,” he bowed curtly before walking down the pristine hall.

Seems like everything needs to follow a code in this place.

You thought to yourself as you stepped towards the very large window, the clouds had gathered to a moody gray but the flowers still flowed wistfully.

Somehow the walk here wasn’t as tantalizing as you thought.

If you weren’t as engrossed in your thoughts you would’ve felt or heard the presence that approached behind you.

“Nice to make your acquaintance again miss l/n”

Jolting slightly you placed your hand on your heart, “you frightened me Mr-“

Wait you knew that voice.

You turned slowly hoping to be met with the familiar snow white locks but were instead met with black hair tucked tidily into a bun and a strand of hair falling above his forehead.

Of course..

“Mr Geto,” you pushed out a fake smile trying your best to convince him and yourself that you were delighted to see him, “Delightful to see-“

“Why are you here?”

Wow, okay, very polite.

“Sir, Gojo wanted to give me a tour of the estate.”

He stared at you with narrow eyes as he smirked, “Impossible, Satoru has been ill for the past days.”

“…”

“Uhm, excuse me but..- I don’t think erm-“

“Please stop with the stuttering and spit it out.”

you let out a seething sigh composing yourself, “I was sent a letter.. stating himself he’d like to give me a tour.”

“I heard you the first time,” he groans quietly, rubbing his temple irritatingly.

You both stood in a suffocating relative silence before he surprisingly broke the silence, “I will give you a tour of the outer areas of the estate, that is all I can do. I'm very busy at the moment.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head in agreement, this man couldn’t be kind to save his life but you’d take anything at this point.

“I’d love to.” A small smile appeared on your face but before you could see his reaction he turned walking out of the room, “Follow closely, I don’t have time to waste.”

You hurriedly picked up your pace as you followed after him, hopefully a change of scenery could help the mod.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The wind had picked up as you and Geto continued your walk outside, flowers and lush trees surrounded the back area, a path of white colored flowers falling into a different path.

“White flowers lead to the garden, purple to the fruit groves.” Geto kept his hands behind his back at all times as he stared blankly forward, occasionally glancing at the now darkly gray sky threatening to spill at any moment.

“Woah..” the tone of shock came from your lips with a smile, “this is incredible.”

Geto’s jaw ticked as he stopped dead in his tracks feeling a small droplet of water fall on his forehead, “It truthfully is the standard of the Gojo’s, they’ve truly never known poverty.”

So they’re born into this, “it’s truly an amazing feat.”

he sighed quietly, feeling the light drops of water beginning to fall, “let’s get inside, looks like it’s gonna pour heavily.”

Your smile fell as you nodded quickly, beginning to walk back towards the steps of the back door Geto following in pursuit.

You were just content that he had engaged you in conversation, as you began your descent up the stairs something felt wrong and low and behold.

You lost your footing on the slippery steps.

A yelp left your mouth as you prepared yourself for the tumble and for the insults coming from Geto, you quickly shut your eyes.

Except you didn’t fall, you were caught.

You slowly opened your eyes to see and feel a pair of strong hands, one beneath your breast and one on your waist. A blush creeping on your neck feeling the warm sensation on your body.

You stared up in horror at Geto’s petrified face immediately pushing yourself off of him, the blush on the tips of his ears gave him away as he cleared his throat. “I-Ijichi should be able to help you inside.”

You hummed in response trying to contain yourself as you attempted to calm the blush and hoarseness in your throat, “I-ll get to it.” You watched your step more carefully rushing through the back door.

Once you were in the clear you met out an exasperated sigh clutching your hand to your chest, “Mr Ijichi!” You whispered hoarsely beginning to walk through the hall.

What was this feeling? What were you feeling? Surely this was embarrassment correct?

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu x reader #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto angst #gojo satoru #suguru geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto x female reader #pride and prejudice #bridgerton #regency #slow burn #jjk smut

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fizzie-frog · 4 months

Text

Look I've never been much of a shipper but Fizzarolli with Asmodeus really demolishes me I swear to God. Just the way they know each other inside and out (which, obviously, they've known each other for possibly a decade). The way Fizzarolli sleeps without his cute little jester hat on, the way he, in general, trusts Ozzie with his body and his being and just-- Agh.

And the little things too like how he finds comfort in things from Ozzie and helps him calm down (as showed above). The way Fizz can just be bare, scars out front and broken horns and know that Ozzie will continue to think he's the best fucking thing ever. How Ozzie is always so supporting and finds just the right words and brings him up when he is down.

Also I know it tends to be shadowed cause it's not discussed much, but let's remember that Fizzarolli is disabled. And I'd assume he has more issues than just being an amputee (I love fics that approach that subject but I understand why there's not many as you can go wrong with this so easily).

He was in the god damn middle of an explosion as it happened and he survived something that by all means would've killed him, by some miracle (side note: omg just the thought of him being conscious even long enough to see Blitz while burning alive, I don't doubt he'd have preferred to just black out right away). I highly doubt such a thing wouldn't give him some other sorts of physical damage too. The whole speaking and hearing thing (why he probably knows sign language), the pain stuff, so many things.

Not to even go over the mental trauma and probably years of help and sleepless nights he'd have had on a psychological level. So when I say Ozzie has been through thick and thin with him, it's probably an understatement. But he loves him and aaaaghhhh I'm just so happy for Fizz that he has someone who will be by his side no matter what, to bring him up and help him out. Not many people get that, so many turn and run the moment their partner hits even the slightest hard time.

But hey, I guess this is why it's a fictional couple.

Btw, maybe I missed it but I haven't seen anyone mention this: I don't know if I'm overthinking it - I've already seen the whole pointing out of Mammon's mirror being shaped like him, specifically his mouth, but I'd like to also go into the metaphorical senses of the mirrors. With Mammon's mirror, he's looking into Mammon's mouth, like he's eating Fizz alive. But then he turns his attention to Oz's mirror, the heart shaped mirror, and looks in it to calm down. He opens the heart shaped mirror that reads "Oz". He's looking into Ozzie's heart, and Fizzarolli is reflected in his heart.

Could totally be accidental lmao but I think it's such fkin good symbolism I-- Don't even get me started.

#Fizzarolli #Fizz #Asmodeus #Ozzie #Fizzmodeus #Ozzarolli #Fizzarozzie #Helluva Boss #how can you expect me not to go feral with this #Sorry this is long winded and all over the place #I suck at writing and it's late

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draeisgrayte · 1 year

Text

Hot and Tasty| Kyojuro Rengoku

Synopsis: Your best friend introduces you to one of her friends since you’re introverted and don’t get out much. The two of you hit it off and come to find out, this new friend is a lot closer to your heart than you previously thought.

Warning/contains: cam!boy rengoku, blowjob, mature content, mature language, oral sex, fem and male receiving, maybe a little crush, vibrator on male, slight angst

word count: 7.4K

a/n: i’m finally back, thank goodness. Finals week and then Tears of the Kingdom took over my life. This fic is a small idea I had thinking about Rengoku’s moobies. Like how nice would it be for him to stream with those? Fr, he’d be the type to not understand why he got all the hype. So I dedicate this fic to Kyojuro’s perfect pectorals.

If there was one thing you knew about yourself, it was that you were a visual person. You learned better visually, vision was your favorite sense. You used it constantly in your line of work, watching how people interact with one another, shows, and how words could come together to form a story. You wrote and you were damn good at it. Though, books hadn’t been flying off the shelves as you had hoped. So you used your skills of being an introvert and lack of a care to create a streaming channel. Fans suddenly started flocking to you and your following grew and grew until it was apparent you could make some good money off of this. You could combine your passion with something you were good at and get paid for it.

So yeah, visuals made you pretty happy. So happy that even when you touched yourself you couldn’t do so without watching someone else enjoy themselves. Though you couldn’t think about that right now because you were supposed to be meeting up with your close friend Kanroji. She had invited you out to lunch last night and who were you to decline the loveable best friend you’d had for many years now? She’d even offered to pay for your food since she knew times were a little tough for you at the moment. You couldn’t tell her that you’d had a drunk night and accidentally (on purpose) made a big donation to a streamer you watched often. She’d start to ask questions and those questions would lead down a harsh road of embarrassment for you. It’s then that you feel your phone buzz almost as if you’d summoned Kanroji.

Kan_deez_nutsfitinyourmouth

Great news! A friend I haven’t seen in a while is going to meet us there. He told me he just got a huge bonus from work so he’ll treat us to lunch! I can’t wait for you both to meet each other! I hope this is okay. ~11:37am

You read over the text for a few moments before thinking about what Kanroji’s friend would look like. She had a multitude of friends and they came in all different shapes and sizes. Surprisingly she thought of you as her best friend, out of everyone she was friends with she chose you. It meant a lot to you and even though it was narcissistic, being favored by Kanroji Mitsuri made you feel better about yourself. What if she liked this other friend more? That was something you couldn’t let happen. You’d have to make sure Kanroji didn’t abandon you. This fear was probably irrational and you might need to see a therapist about it. You shrug it off and move off your plush bed. You needed to find something nice to wear because you couldn’t show up wearing the same outfit you’d been in for the last 3 days or so. This old friend had to know you meant business. You decide on a short green floral dress that has a stretchy bust to help contain the gravity sacks. The skirt of the dress fell nicely around your stomach and covered enough of your thighs that you didn’t feel super insecure about them. You once yourself over in the mirror leaning against your wall. You looked cute, cute enough to kill. Which you were willing to do if it meant keeping Kanroji to yourself. You slip into some comfortable off-brand white tennis shoes and glance at your phone for the time. It was nearly noon, you should probably start the short journey to the quaint restaurant.

You arrive a little past noon and spot Kanroji seated near the window. Your eyes instantly track the man sitting across from her. He has long blonde hair with red tips. It falls past his shoulders in spiky waves. His shoulders are…incredibly broad, and muscular, and you find yourself staring at the lines of his muscles through his shirt for longer than you would like to admit. You move shyly toward the pair and before you can appear fully in front of them Kanroji notices you. Her face lights up with an excited smile as she waves you over.

“Y/n you made it!” She beams. The man slowly turns and then he abruptly stands up. You slightly jump at the sudden movement but watch as he bows his head and then extends his hand. You look between his massive hand and his bright red and yellow eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you y/n, my name is Kyojuro.” His eyes seem to glow as he grins warmly at you. You take his hand in yours and shake it. A pull of electricity courses through you once your skin makes contact with his. He motions for you to sit next to him with a friendly smile. You accept only because he smelt like delicious food and maybe expensive cologne. He wore a fitted black tee paired with simple blue jeans. You don’t know how he did it, but somehow he looked incredibly good-looking. Maybe it was because he was just that good-looking. How the hell were you supposed to feel confident when you sat next to two beautiful people?

Rengoku was nervous. He’d never seen someone as effortlessly breathtaking as you. He’d never known love before, but he was starting to understand what the phrase love at first sight meant. You were meadows kissed by the sun. You were birds soaring in the sky. You were melodies played by a symphony. Kanroji should’ve warned him that you were more than his type, you were perfect. Rengoku sends a glare toward Kanroji, who smirks his look off and turns her attention to you.

“So what have you been up to this fine morning y/n?” Kanroji inquires. You glance at the man next to you who doesn’t seem too interested in the conversation, so you decide to tell the truth.

“Well, I woke up pretty late, but once I cooked myself a nice breakfast I was pretty pumped to get some work done.” You reply, fiddling with the skin on your thumb. Kyojuro peers at you with an inquisitive look.

“What do you do for work?” He asks, his eyes searching your face like they’ll reveal the answer before your mouth does. You smile kindly and gesture to yourself.

“I’m a self-published author who also likes to stream on Twitch for some extra cash.” His eyes light up like a fire.

“I like to stream too.” He exclaims. You feel your heart soar. For a moment you thought Kyojuro would ask you the same line of questions everyone else seems to. When will you get a real job?

“Really? What platform do you stream on? Maybe I know it?” You quiz. Kyojuro quickly looks away from you. You furrow your brows and observe a red tinge to his ears.

“It’s…pretty unheard of. I don’t think you’d know it…” He trails off. Why did the mood change so suddenly? Did you say something wrong? All you wanted to do was support Kyojuro since it felt like the two of you were becoming friends. Anxiety thrums in your chest. Maybe you weren’t as likeable as you had originally thought. Kanroji’s favor had gotten to your head.

“Well, I have an idea.” Kanroji pipes up, breaking the silence you had inevitably created. You turn to look at her, who had been silent strangely for a while. “Why don’t you both exchange numbers and then Rengoku can send you some of his content when you get to know each other better.” She smiles slyly and Kyojuro shares a strange look with her. He presses his full lips together and lets out a short breath. She pulls out a pad of paper from her bag and passes it to you with a pink pen. “Write down your number. I’m sure Kyojuro will contact you as soon as possible.” She grins, but you can see the mischief in your friend’s green eyes. What was she planning? You scribble down your number and tear out the page it’s on. You hesitate for a moment before sliding it over to Rengoku. His eyes are trained on the piece of paper like it holds the world's secrets.

“Thank you…” He mumbles softly. You nod your head and look away from him.

“No problem.” You respond not sure what just happened. You hear Kanroji giggle and look up to find her covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. “What is it now?” You ask, frustration dripping from your tone. This only fuels her laughter more.

“You both are just so…” She shakes her head and gestures to you and Kyojuro. “So cute. We have to hang out more.”

“We haven’t even ordered our food Mitsuri. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves” Rengoku glares at her. She gains a shit-eating grin on her face. You stare at the shoes you had slipped on, doubt that you should’ve even came today seeping into your thoughts. Did he not want to hang out with you again? He didn’t owe you anything, but did he have to make it so obvious that he wanted to never do this again?

“Well by all means let’s eat because I’m starving.” She grins and clasps her hands together. You peer up at Kanroji, observing her beautiful hair and sharp face. She was the type of girl that people stopped to stare at. You were always the glance, never the double-take. The small lunch ends with mainly Kyojuro and Kanroji catching up about what they’d been up to lately. You sat watching the two interact, mostly entranced with the way Rengoku’s smile seemingly brightened up the dim restaurant. You wished you could watch his mouth all day. The way he formed words was somehow sexy. His whole face expressing his emotions without a filter or care how others would react to him. Kyojuro was beautiful. A ray of warmth in your somewhat cold life. The time ticked by in an instant, and suddenly you were standing to leave. Kyojuro had left to pay for the food and you stood waiting for Kanroji to gather her things. “So, do you like him?” She suddenly blurts. Kanroji had a sixth sense of matching people together. It was like she was a matchmaker in her past life. She just had these feelings when two people would click together in the type of love you hear about in the fictional world. Your eyes widen at her blatant question.

“I just met him.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes at the obvious answer. Kanroji on the other hand sighs loudly and rolls her eyes. You weren’t even sure if he liked meeting you.

“Y/n, I’m not asking if you want to have his children, just a simple ‘Do you think he’s a cool person’? What are your opinions on him at this moment?” She restates. You flush and look away from her prying eyes.

“I…I mean he’s really cool…” You mutter. You know Kanroji is smirking even without looking at her. You can’t seem to stop the confessions, even though you knew she’d tease you about it later. “I think his smile is the most attractive thing I’ve seen on someone, besides his obvious muscular body. He feels safe, which sounds weird because I’ve only just met him, but I think I’d grow to trust him.” You rant, embarrassed that your mouth won’t seem to close. Kanroji pats you on the shoulder and her sly smirk changes to a smile of compassion and understanding.

“I’m really glad it seems you want to be friends with him. My little introvert is growing her social circle.” She wipes away a fake tear and you shove her slightly. Her mischievous glow comes back as she pushes you back. “So you do want to have his babies?” She teases. You’re about to object because even if you want to be friends with him that doesn’t mean he wants to be friends with you, but you feel a presence and you know exactly who it has to be.

“Who’s babies?” Kyojuro’s deep voice asks from behind you. Your whole body freezes and then goes warm. Kanroji on the other hand starts to laugh. At times like this, you really hated your best friend.

“Doesn’t matter.” You grumble and push past the both of them. “I’m leaving.” You don’t wait for either of them, just walk out the door and start the short walk to your apartment. What were you thinking? You got too comfortable with something you didn’t even have. It’s not like Kyojuro would ever look at you like that. You were stupid and… and insecure. Stupidly insecure about your body. What Rengoku lacked in body fat you surely made up for. He probably wanted someone built like himself, able to keep up. You’d just end up slowing him down. You feel a cold coil of anxiety and sorrow wrap around your body. It’s then that someone runs up behind you. You turn around expecting it to be Mitsuri, but Rengoku stands there panting slightly. He was a sight to see. The dimming light of the evening made him glow like an ember. In a way he reminded you of the sunset; once he left you’d be all alone in the dark with only the light from your monitor illuminating your face. He searches your face for some sort of sign that you were displeased. He was worried he’d said something that offended you. He didn’t want to admit it, but he wanted to get to know you enough that you might consider becoming intimate with him. He’d never met someone like you and he was damned if he let you go now.

“Did I say something wrong?” He finally asks. Might as well get to the point. There was no need to dance around what he wanted to ask you. You raise your brows and shake your head slowly. Why would he think that? Was he being serious? Never the less, it wasn’t him who had sent your emotions necessarily into a frenzy. It was the pushiness of your best friend.

“No Kyojuro, Kanroji just takes her jokes too far sometimes. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that…” You sigh and press your lips together. Kyojuro’s face relaxes and you are blessed with another one of his smiles.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Can I say something weird?” He rubs the back of his neck and looks off to the side. You tilt your head and shrug, but you can’t help the nervous butterflies the creep up to your sternum. You want to shove them down and tell them there’s no place for them here, but you almost enjoy the way they make you feel.

“I don’t have a problem with whatever you want to say. Go ahead.” You reply. He clears his throat and your eyes meet.

“I’m glad I got to meet you today. You seem really cool and I look forward to getting to know you better.” He mumbles shyly. You can’t help but swoon at the adorable tone of his voice. All your anxietys melt away and are replaced with a steadily beating heart and throbbing lower region. This man had such a hold on you after a few hours of being next to one another. Your face contorts into an idiotic grin.

“Me as well.” You pause and you notice your heart pounding in your chest. You can’t tell if you are nervous talking to someone you want to be friends with… or if it’s the easy attraction you have for him. You decide it’s probably a mixture of both. You also decide to be bold. “Make sure to text me, I want to see your content sometime soon.” You bow your head and go to leave, but before you turn around you catch Rengoku’s face flushing a bright red. Hmm… what an interesting reaction. Maybe…just maybe you should give love another shot. If with anyone, surely Kyojuro would be an excellent choice.

Kyojuro’s heart was nearly pounding out of his chest as you walked out of his view. He watched you until he couldn’t anymore. He stumbles toward the wall and braces himself against it. He attempts to catch his breath and places a hand over his heart. How was he supposed to show such an innocent person the type of content he made…? He couldn’t possibly share his deepest darkest secret with you. You would surely leave him behind if you learned of it. Maybe it was time for him to branch out into the gaming genre so he’d have something to show you.

You got home around 5:30. It didn’t seem like you’d stayed out that long, but here you were nearly 5 hours later finally getting home. You’d somehow made a new friend. This was huge. A momentous occasion. You should celebrate. You look down at your phone and then remember the pounding of your heart earlier. You knew an excellent way to relieve some stress.

It’s not long before you’re in your room propped up on your bed. You grab your laptop from your bedside table and place it on a pillow in front of you. You type in the URL of one of your favorite sites. A horny smile curls the corners of your lips upwards as you search for one of your favored content creators. Yoro was a hunky man, with huge pecs. You could only imagine what they must feel like. His content was very straightforward, but he specialized in role-play, pillow talk, and was famous for his incredible whimpering. It…did things to a person. He always had his hair tied back into a low ponytail, so it had to be long. You wonder how much he’d beg for you if you pulled his hair…Needless to say, this man had you wrapped around his finger. If you ever got the chance to meet him… goodness you don’t even know what you’d do. Probably drop your pants to let the flood free. Yoro also wore a black mask and sometimes a black cap that he pulled over his eyes. It was a little disappointing that you couldn’t see his face, but the rest of him more than made up for it. His body was a work of art and you’d never seen a cock prettier than his. It had to be around 5 to 6 inches long and was so girthy. You wonder if he’d be able to fit inside you. In fact, he was the biggest expense in your life. He was the reason you had spent a lot of money when you were drunk. You had to be his number-one fan. Had to be.

You pull up one of his recent videos and lean up against your headboard. Yoro’s setup was very simple; a view of his bed, which had deep red sheets on it, his gray walls, and a small view of his desk where he sat for Q and As at times. He starts off the video sitting at his desk and explaining that he’ll be trying out a new toy a fan had sent him. It was a small vibrator that could be wrapped around the penis. He looked excited from what you could tell and that made you horny for some reason. You shimmy out of your underwear and toss them on your floor. You spread your legs like you’re showing Yoro your pussy. He’s already strapped the toy onto his cock and has it turned on a low setting.

“Fuck, this feels weird.” He chuckles in a deep voice. You bite down on your bottom lip as your fingers duck into your folds. “I’m going to turn it up higher.” He explains and presses the button a couple of times. You can hear the buzzing from here and your heart pounds with lust. You wanted to be there teasing him with the vibrator. Making him whimper and whine for you give him sweet release. Your eyes close slightly as you gaze at Yoro on your screen. His hair was tucked into his hat this time and you never desperately wished to see someone’s face as they were being pleasured as you do with his. Yoro doubles over on the bed and his legs start to shake. “Ngh. Fuck. It feels so good.” He whines. His eyes dart to look at the camera as he struggles to stay standing. You flutter your eyes closed as you massage your clit with your fingers. God this was so hot. “I think- ahh- close. I’m going to,” His breath shakes as he tries to talk. His muscular arm contracts as he grips the sheets of his bed. “F-fuck, holy shit.” He sputters out as cum spurts from his tip. You bite back a moan and fall off your climax with a shiver running up your spine.

“Wow.” You pant as the video ends. Your eyes shut. You were worn out from everything you did today. Socializing and now this? You’d clean up tomorrow. Right now you were going to fall asleep.

You wake up with a notification from an unknown number. You rub your eyes and read over what the number had said.

‘Did you get home safe?’

It then clicks that this must be Kyojuro. You smile to yourself and save his name as apricot since that’s what his name and hair reminded you of.

Yes, I got home safe and sound. I Fell asleep right after I got in the door.

Apricot

hahaha, did you fall asleep in the entryway?

Lmao, no I at least made it to my bed.

Apricot

damn, so I can’t bully you about being one of those people who sleep on the floor?

I’m afraid not 🙁

Apricot

dw, I’ll find something else to bully you about

jeez I thought we were friends, but now I find out you’re actually a horrible person

Apricot

yup, I’m a monster 👾

wtf emoji is that

Apricot

he’s a cute lil monster wdym?

oooh sure, ‘cute’

Apricot

>:( so now you’re bullying an inanimate object? Who’s the monster now?

caught red-handed, I actually eat children in the night

Apricot

:0 how scandalous

You shake your head and toss your phone to the side of your bed. How could one person be so damn adorable? You remember last night as your face flushes. You should probably clean up and then start planning out your next few streams. After donating nearly 1k to Yoro, you needed to pump out some streams to earn more money.

Apricot

What’s your favorite color?

You bite your lip and think for a beat before typing a response.

I’m partial to greens and pinks, but I can’t lie and exclude reds and purples 🙂

Apricot

I like red too, it was my mother’s favortie color

Is she…?

Apricot

Yeah…it happened when I was young so I’m mostly over it

You don’t have to be over it Kyojuro, grief doesn’t have a deadline

Rengoku doesn’t respond quickly so you set your phone to the side of your desk. You’d put in a load of laundry and starting scheduling streams for next week while texting him. You’ve barely begun to move some items around in your plans when you hear your phone go off.

Apricot

You’re right, my father was never the same after she died and I think he took it out on me. Maybe that’s why I’ve made some of the rash decisions because I wanted to live up to the disappointment he thought I was. It didn’t help that my little brother watched as our father beat me down with his words nearly every day. That’s why I’m working so hard, so I can provide a better life for my brother…and for my father.

You stare at the message, tears threatening to spill from the corners of your eyes. The thought of anyone thinking Kyojuro Rengoku was a disappointment was practically unthinkable to you, and you just met him yesterday. You feel angry, sad, and sadistically happy that he felt comfortable enough to tell you this.

Firstly, I want to tell you thank you for sharing. That was incredibly brave of you.

Then there’s what you said, Kyojuro I don’t think you could ever be a disappointment. You’re a product of what happened to you and the environment that was pushed upon you. You grew up damn well, you’re kind, funny, and intelligent. Grief effect people in the strangest ways, I’m just sorry your father got the short end, I can’t imagine how it must of been for all of you. Your father lost the love of his life and you lost a mother. I hope you and your father can make up.

Apricot

I will fight my whole life if it means I can see him. That’s what love is. Thanks for listening to my rambling. Sorry if I overwhelmed you with the sad boy vibes.

No no no, it’s nice to know you’re human. When I met you yesterday I was convinced you were some sort of God

Your face flushes as you boldly send the last text. You flip your phone over and ignore the buzzing. You had to get back to work anyway.

Rengoku was curious what you meant, but for some reason you weren’t reading his messages. He sighs loudly and presses his lips together. You were too cute for your own good. The beast inside of his chest was throbbing. Then there was the aching in the confines of his pants. He was a gentleman, but you were making him think of ungodly things to do to you. How cute your face would look high on pleasure, cumming for the 100th time for him. You’d be such a good fucking girl for him. Opening up your sweet legs and exposing your cunt for him to taste. You’d be absolutely delicious. Thats when he notices a text back from you.

I never thought I’d see a sunrise and sunset simultaneously. That’s what it’s like being with you. Is that weird? You’re a very warm person lmao

I feel like that’s weird.

Ignore that.

Kyojuro, don’t get the wrong idea

Fuck

He can’t possibly contain his smile. Delicious.

It’s been about 3 months since you initially met Kyojuro Rengoku. The two of you had been messaging back and forth nearly everyday, hanging out occasionally, and it was apparent how attracted you were to him. He was intoxicatingly charming over text and when you’d see him in person his smile would wrap your body in a warm coat of giddiness. No longer were you controlled by the cold hands of anxiety. Rengoku’s presence and persisting nature made you realize that you simply shouldn’t give a fuck. You’re you and that’s priceless. Kanroji was ecstatic when you first told her Rengoku asked you to hang out alone. She was convinced you were in love with him, which… probably wasn’t far from the truth. You knew so much about him, but the one thing you were still curious about was the content he made. One part of you felt like it was too late to bring up that topic, but the other part was dying to know if he played games or was more of a talking streamer. What type of things did he do to entertain his viewers? As if summoning him a text message buzzes from him on your phone screen.

Apricot

You wanna come over and chill tonight? I got that new movie you were asking about 😎

Ahh sick, yeah I can be there by 4

Is that good?

I could come earlier but I have some work to finish up before I can make it

Apricot

Yeah that should work

I do have some things I’ll need to finish up in my office though, so if you’re fine just chilling by yourself for like an hour or so until I’m finished then we should be all set

Hell yeah man, I’ll take a nap on your comfortable ass couch

Apricot

Just don’t drool on my poor pillows like last time 🙁

Yeah sure, or I could just not come over

Apricot

FINE, at least hide the massive puddle from me instead of showing me like some proud child who just drew on my walls 😭😭😭😭

Sorry you give off daddy energy 🤷‍♀️

Apricot

It’s my daddy issues rubbing off on me 🚩😭

🚩🚩🚩🚩 problem child alert

Apricot

Hey! You have no idea how evil Senjuro can be. He may look cute, but he uses that against you

Sounds like a child is able to outsmart you

Apricot

Just hurry up and get your ass over here

Yes sir 🙄

You grin to yourself and those happy butterflies fill your chest yet again. Over the past few months you’d gotten used to the wishy washy way they made you feel. Kind of like you were sinking through a cloud, but a big hunky man would catch you when you fell through. It’d been a while since you masturbated to Yoro since you mostly thought about Kyojuro now. In a way you felt bad, but not too much. You hum happily to yourself and finish up the last minute touches to a cover you were working on. You shut down your computer and glance at what you were wearing in your mirror. Oversized gray sweats and a knit blue tank with a heather gray cardigan loosely covering your shoulders. You looked incredibly sexy. A large grin overtakes your face as you make your way to leave for Kyojuro’s, who happens to live a small jaunt north of you.

Rengoku paces nervously waiting for you to arrive. Tonight was the night he wanted to tell you that from the beginning he thought you were the most attractive person he’d ever met. How he would say that without sounding creepy…? He didn’t know. He just hoped you’d take it as a compliment. His breath was short and for a moment he thought he might pass out. He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and instantly reaches for it. When he realizes it’s a call from his manager he furrows his brows. He hesitantly answers.

“Yoro, listen, I need you to stream sometime tonight. Views of your colleagues are down to I need you to fill in the donation gaps.” Before he can argue the phone goes silent. His eyes darken and he throws his phone against the couch. He’d planned on editing some videos, but now he had to stream by contract.

“Fucking hell.” He curses lowly and clenches his fist.

You arrive within 10 minutes of leaving, the wonderful air making you in an even better mood. Your smile hadn’t left your lips since your conversation with Kyojuro. You take the elevator and knock on his door around 4:33pm. He opens it briskly, his blonde and red hair in a mess around his face. His chin is scruffy and he wears a loose fitted white shirt with black sweats. He looks amazingly sexy.

“Hello Kyojuro,” You sing and step into his apartment. You wander over to his plush couch and flop down into the cushions. “Don’t mind me, I’ll be here watching some videos while you busy yourself with important secretive content things.” You tease. Little beknownst to you this stikes a nerve in Rengoku. He grits his teeth together and stalks past you.

“Just stay quiet. I’m going to lock the door.” He quips sternly, barley looking at you. You furrow your brows and watch as he stomps into the office and closes the door. You listen for the click of the lock but it never comes.

“Who peed in his cheerios?” You whisper to yourself and sigh loudly. His grumpy demenour had certainly put a damper on your mood, but you were too excited to take another nap on his couch to really care. You were sure when you woke up he’d be back to his bright and cheery self. Not long after you lay your head down you fall asleep.

Rengoku is in your dream, but so is Yoro. They’re both looking at each other and then Rengoku is shirtless and you don’t really care about Yoro anymore.

You awaken from what seemed like a short dream to a loud noise coming from Kyojuro’s office. You grunt in response, upset that the real Kyojuro probably won’t become shirtless. Your eyes slowly adjust to light and you stretch out your legs and arms while making a silent screeching noise. Not sure why stretches felt so good while making a noise, but it had to be scientifically proven. You should probably check on Kyojuro. You glance at your phone and realize you’d been asleep for nearly an hour. How long does it take to become shirtless? You roll your eyes and smack your dry lips. You stand and stretch one more time before wandering over to the office door. You grab hold of the knob and knock softly.

“Kyojuro?” You whisper hesitantly and twist the knob. The door slowly opens into the office, or what you thought was the office. Your eyes first land on the bed over to the left of the room covered in red sheets. Your eyes flick to the gray walls and then to Kyojuro, who’s eyes are widely looking into yours. It’s then you realize this Kyojuro is in fact shirtless. And pantless. Dick out. Mask on. Hair tucked into a hat. Yoro. The man you touched yourself to and would do anything to fuck. Shame for watching Kyojuro’s content without his consent rushed through you for a moment. It wasn’t like you had purposefully sought out what he posted, but happened upon it before you even knew each other. As long as you never told him you were a fan, things would work out. You wanted to keep this between the both of you for as long as you could. You notice the camera flashing and scoot back toward the door, eyes still trained on the magnificent body in front of you. A wash of overwhelming feelings crash into you, but for the sake of whatever the fuck was happening, you stayed calm.

“Sorry guys, my cat almost knocked over a plant.” Kyojuro laughs and turns back to his audience. You notice the vibrator strapped to his dick again and the hunger you had tried to keep calm all this time nearly bubbles out. You’d definitely have to talk this out later, but right now you didn’t want to leave the room. You observe him glance at you a couple of times, but he’s trying so hard to keep his cool. He must think you’re in shock. Appalled. Grossed out. Nope. You’re just really fucking horny. It’s taking all your being to not jump him in front of his camera right now. Everything seemingly clicks into place. Why he got so weird at the restaurant. He didn’t want to tell you he was a cam boy. Why he never shared his content with you. Why he was always so secretive with his office and planning. He also happened to be the one streamer you would do anything for. Which meant in a way you were double horny for him? Maybe after he was done you could convince him to give you a private show? Or was that weird? Maybe that was weird. No harm in asking though. “Yes yoroslut the donations are hooked up to the vibrator. If you send a certain amount it correlates with a certain power setting on it.” He smiles as he replies to a comment. Your heart beats faster in your chest as you watch the live show. You could have some fun with this…

You pull out your phone and notice Kyojuro tense. You smirk and sit down on the ground, back against the wall. He furrows his brows as he watches you, obviously confused on what’s happening. You pull up his stream on your phone and lick your lips with anticipation. You click the donation button and the small gift option. After a couple seconds a low buzzing can be heard from Kyojuro. He tenses and his eyes widen as he realizes what you’re doing. His cock stiffens and you can feel your pussy throb hungrily. He’s trying to pay attention to the stream in front of him, but you were distracting. You donate a medium gift. Louder buzzing and Kyojuro lets out a breathy moan, eyes trained on you. He was searching your face, his muscles tensed because of you. His chest is heaving and you enjoy the way his cock twitches because of the donations you’re sending. Next was the large gift. Incredibly loud buzzing fills the room and Kyojuro doubles over gripping his desk. He whimpers and it cracks into a loud moan. You can hear his breathing from where you sit on his floor. The buzzing continues and Kyojuro starts to shake, his muscles flexing like crazy as he tries to contain himself. You read some of the comments flying by.

Great show. This is so hot!

This is why Yoro is my favorite!

So glad you decided to stream tonight!

Rengoku is letting out soft moans and his eyes squeeze shut. You can’t handle the hunger building in your chest and pussy so you crawl over on all fours to his chair. He’s already scooted out pretty far from trying to contain himself, so crawling under the desk is a simple task. Once you’re there you peer up at him. His blazing eyes meet yours and from the way he’s breathing you can tell he’s close to climaxing.

“I want you to be a good boy and cum in my mouth.” You whisper ever so lightly. His eyes widen slightly but then they flutter shut and he gives you the tiniest nod. You rip off the vibrator from his throbbing and twitching cock. You wrap your hand around him, but since he’s so girthy your hand barley covers any space. You work him as best you can nevertheless. Kyojuro grunts softly and he tries to look back at the comments. You like the way his dick feels in your hand, theres a slight curve at the tip that helps him not slip out of your handjob.

“I-I like,” He groans and his eyes shut again. “I enjoy ramen.” He pants. He must be answering a comment. It’s time for the finishing move. You smirk to yourself, even though you’re a little nervous. You were having fun now, but what about later when everyone had their clothes on and it got serious? You push those thoughts to the back of your head and kiss Kyojuro’s tip and make eye contact with him. You smooch it again and his body visibly shudders. You then take him in your mouth, lips curling around his length. “F-fuck.” He curses and you hear him hit the desk above you. “Sorry guys, I-I-I,” His eyes roll back into his head and without finishing you hear the end of the steam noise. You still bob your head up and down his cock. You can feel him tensing in your mouth. He tears off his mask and hat, watching you suck his pretty cock. He runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair, letting out a low rumbling moan. You hum against his dick and his hand is suddenly in your hair, tangled with the soft locks. He pulls your mouth off him and stares at you, breathless. “What the fuck are you doing princess?” He growls. The angry look on his face tells you that you should be scared, but the fact he called you princess in that tone makes you squirm with excitement.

“Reciting the declaration of independence.” You reply like a smartass. Kyojuro looks you up and down, spit dripping down your chin and a bit of his precum smeared under your lip. You glance down at his erection and then meet his gaze again. “Are you going to let me continue…or?” You trail off moving closer to him on your knees. Kyojuro’s last bit of humanity is thrown out the window as he can smell your delicious scent.

“No.” He replies in a raspy voice. You tilt your head as he stands from his chair and flops down on the bed. “Come over here y/n” He commands. Your eyes widen and heat crawls all over your body. Rengoku lays on the bed, putting a pillow underneath his head. His eyes track you as you slowly rise to your feet. You sheepishly drop the cardigan and step out of your sweats. Your tank top is easy to slip off over your head and your sports bra comes off with it. You then slowly shimmy out of your underwear. Rengoku’s eyes flit over every inch of your body. He looks away before glancing back. Taking a double take. You feel your whole body warm. “Now get over here princess.” His usual fiery eyes are dark and hungry. With the way your needy cunt pulses, you don’t waste any time. You crawl up on the bed with him and slowly start to position yourself over his chest. His eyes practically eat you up as you scoot a little closer. “Come on my love, you need to be on top for me to use my mouth.” He coos. You nervously bite your lip and sit down on his face. His nose to your clit and he doesn’t miss this oppurtunity to be smothered by your thick thighs. The tip of his nose rubbing against your clit and a soft moan slipping from your mouth. Before you have any time to react his tongue slips between your folds. A surprised yelp comes from your mouth as he continues to explore you with his tongue. It swirls against your clit, prodding the sensative spot like it was something stuck in his teeth he was trying to get out with his tongue. You try to find friction against his nose, biting your lip to contain your moans. Your breath becomes heavy and labored as Rengoku fucks you with his long tongue. You bring your finger to your mouth and bite down.

“Ah, Kyojuro, oh my god.” You murmured. Your words must motivate him to not let up on nudging your clit with his nose and lapping up your juices. “F-fuck, ungh, yes, right t-there.” You can feel the pressure of an orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. You feel like you’re seeing stars as he continues. Your hands are suddenly tangled in his hair holding him to your pussy. Your legs start to jerk as you ride out the shockwaves of your orgasm. You let out a howling moan, finally not holding back the sounds you wanted to make. You slide off his face and flop down on next to him. Kyojuro pants and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He licks the juices off his hand and maintains eye contact with you.

“Fucking tasty. Best thing I've ever ate.” He pants, looking you up and down. “Don’t hold back those beautiful noises from me my love.” A boyish grin replaces the serious look on his face as he props himself up on his elbow. “So I guess you know what I do for a living now.” His cheeks are red and your heart pounds in your chest. Yeah and you were his top donator. “I hope you don’t mind, I mean it seems like you didn’t because…you know…we…” He glances away and bites his bottom lip. “What I’m trying to say is…what are you thinking right now?” His eyes meet yours again looking for an answer.

What were you supposed to say? You knew about him before so the shock of finding out that Yoro and Kyojuro were the same person hadn’t phased you. What was bothering you was Rengoku finding out that you were a fan of his. You feel like that would cause problems between the both of you and all you wanted was to be able to fuck him as you pleased. Hell, maybe you’d even start to date. You didn’t know, but him figuring out that you’d watched him before wouldn’t be good news.

“I think we should continue where we left off.”

Yeah, this was for the best.

780 notes · View notes

meowzfordayz · 7 months

Text

when you're feeling insecure about scar tissue — kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Author’s Note: just lil moments of comfort. 🥺 You, your lover, scarring (from a burn), and reassurance. ❤️‍🩹 Ngl, Giyuu’s is pretty brief, but sweet nonetheless. 😅💙

when you’re feeling insecure about scar tissue — kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~1,300

CW: explicit language, traumatic references

Emergency Request Fulfilled: i kinda accidentally burned myself and had to go to the hospital🤠 and the doctor basically said that my arm is going to have a huge scar on it & i’ve been feeling really insecure about it bc like…it’s kind of a permanent alteration of what my skin looks like lol

i guess i was maybe hoping for some sanemi comfort? idk if that sounds stupid or not but he was the first character that came to mind when this happened to me haha Suggestion Fulfilled: I have a request for Giyuu and if you'd like, anyone else you feel like doing. I have any scars I have insecure of, but I love this one burn scar that is shaped like a butterfly near my collar bone from a pretty traumatic incident (But I think I'm good now???), and I was wondering what he would think of it.

~faqs~

“If you insist on keeping your feelings to yourself, then I may be forced to kiss them out of you,” Kyojuro declares, body emanating a secure heat despite the warning edge in his tone.

Glancing up from your book, you offer him a wry grin, “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

He frowns, mouth twisting in focus, comforter slipping off his shoulder as he scoots closer to you, his hair a soft, simmering ember in the yellow light of your bedside lamp.

“Am I so difficult to talk to?” he asks quietly, your hands instinctively closing your book at the shade of seriousness in his lowered voice, eyes tentatively raising to meet his steady gaze, “Am I unworthy of sharing your troubles?”

“Of course you’re worthy,” you reply lightly, melting in the tender embrace of his expression, “I just… it’s not a big deal,” you shrug, about to reopen your book when a large, warm palm stops you, curving to cup your knuckles while his frown deepens.

“I want to be here for you.”

Something about the hint of pleading in his statement makes your chest twinge, guilt darkening the haunch of your posture, the mattress feeling too small yet too vast for the both of you. The urge to shrug him off again clambers up your throat, the grounding anchor of his touch keeping it from spilling off the tip of your tongue. You sigh.

“Does that sound mean you are ready to confide in me?”

“You’re annoyingly persistent, is what it means,” you mutter fondly, “I swear, it’s not a big deal.”

He huffs, squeezing your fingers as affection smooths his frown, earnest now, “Whatever it is, big or little, important or fleeting, I want to be here for you.”

“Okay,” you groan, unable to wiggle away from his triumphant chuckle, “I was just feeling insecure about my burn scar earlier, that’s it. See! Not a big de-”

“I love your burn scar!” he interrupts brightly, “It may not fit your preferred aesthetic, but it is simply a part of you, and I happen to cherish all of you!”

“My preferred aesthetic?” you deadpan, eyes rolling with amusement.

“Not all scars are beautiful, but perhaps they do not have to be.”

“Did you just imply that my scar is ugly?” you exclaim, playfully jabbing at his legs with your toes, “I thought you were supposed to help me feel better!”

Flabbergasted, Kyojuro blinks helplessly, casually trapping your feet between his shins while his head tilts in confusion, “Is the truth insufficient?”

“What does that even mean?!” you wail, jokingly bumping your forehead against his arm as though it was a wall.

“Well,” he begins carefully, “The way I see it, a scar is a scar. Nothing more, nothing less. And you are nothing less for having one! …” he trails off, uncertainty pursing his lips as he blushes faintly, “I am unsure how to make this romantic… I only wish to assure you that your scar is fine.”

“Y’know what,” you grumble, “let’s cuddle and call it a night. I suddenly feel more secure about my scar.”

“Really?” his brow furrows, “How so?”

“You love me, right?”

“Absolutely!” he nods, releasing your feet, smiling when you promptly tuck them back into the warmth of his legs.

“And your love-”

“Has never been dependent on your physical appearance,” he interjects solemnly.

“So whatever,” you yawn, attention finally returning to your long forgotten book, “This is silly.”

With an agreeable hum, Kyojuro murmurs gently, “You were on page 237.”

“And this is why I keep you around.”

“You’re thinking too hard,” Sanemi grumbles, body propped up against the kitchen island on folded arms, voice low with morning grogginess, “I’ve never seen someone stir their coffee so aggressively.”

“So close your eyes,” you retort, standing across from him, tucking a yawn into your hand, “I can stir my coffee however I please.”

“I’m not denying that,” he chuckles roughly, slowly blinking away sleep as he says pointedly, “But how about you take it out on me instead of your poor beverage?”

You huff, “My poor beverage doesn’t have any feelings,” taking a tentative sip from your steaming mug, “You do.”

“And?” he scoffs, grinning lazily, “I can handle your feelings.”

“How about you handle breakfast,” you smirk, “And then we’ll dissect my feelings.”

“Bossy,” Sanemi mutters, heading to the fridge nonetheless, “Bossy, and an aggressive stirrer of coffee.”

“You love me,” you shrug, winking playfully, “Which is why you’re worried about me.”

“And also why I’m about to cook us breakfast,” he sighs, placing a carton of eggs near the stove, “‘Course I’m worried about you, you have that little dent between your eyebrows going on.”

Snorting softly, you wait until his back turns away again, grabbing a pan, picking a spatula (you have waaay too many), turning on a burner, his fingers wrapping around the neck of the olive oil bottle when you quietly confess.

“I’m thinking about the scarring from my burn,” you hesitate, sensing the tension in Sanemi’s jaw. He cracks an egg. The pan sizzles. You continue, “And I’m… I’m feeling… insecure. Different.”

“You might appear different,” he remarks, cracking another egg, “And that’s life.”

You nod to yourself, about to hurry past the awkwardness with an ill-timed dad joke When life gives you eggs, scramble them! when he gently tacks on, “You’ve seen me shirtless, looked at my face. You love me. My scars too. Sure, I’ve had more time to adjust to them, and yeah, they still bother me, but life goes on. Trauma, joy, and all their scars.”

“But Nemi,” you whisper, “Am I beautiful?”

He laughs loudly at that, whirling around to fix a stern glare on your glassy eyes, spatula wagging scoldingly in your direction.

“Do you lie to me?” he asks simply, “Every time you tell me I’m beautiful?”

You frown immediately at the mere suggestion, shaking your head adamantly.

“So there you go. You see me, and you love me. I see you, and I love you. And we’ll have this conversation as many times as you need.”

When he sets your plate in front of you, the first things you notice are the pepper and salt sprinkled hearts atop your eggs.

—

“Gee, what an incredible chef! One super salty egg, and one super peppery egg!”

“Shut the fuck up, you ungrateful dumbass.”

“Does it ever hurt?” Giyuu murmurs, standing behind you as he stares at you in the tiny patch of wiped off mirror, bathroom still hazy with condensation.

“Not really,” you smile lightly, cheeks warming as he rests his chin on your damp shoulder, wet strands of hair tickling your neck, “Not anymore.”

He hums softly, “That’s good,” fingertips collecting water droplets up the sides of your arms, “It looks pretty,” carefully stepping back to readjust the hastily tucked towel around his waist, “Pretty, but painful.”

You nod in agreement, reaching out to open the door a crack, “It was,” smile brightening as Giyuu’s face gradually becomes clearer and clearer, condensation dissipating as cool air seeps into the heated space, “But now I carry a butterfly with me, wherever I go.”

“And what about me?” his eyes gleam playfully, gently tugging at your waist till you’ve spun around to face him, “Do I get to carry anything cool?” contorting his body to display his various scars, skin pink and soft from the shower.

“Hm…” you pretend to contemplate deeply, nose crinkling before you flick his chest with a decisive snort, “Maybe a blob? Or a straight line drawn by a toddler?”

Giyuu pouts, “You’re so rude,” promptly spinning you back around, ignoring your cute squeak as he grabs a second towel to pat dry his hair, “I totally have a cool lightning scar… somewhere.”

#preferences #modern au #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x reader #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader

381 notes · View notes

zepskies · 1 year

Text

Never Say Goodbye - Part 5

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,800 Warnings: **(Trigger warning) physical assault, mentions of blood, language.

Part 5: Self-Defense

Your scream muffled as another hand grabbed your arm, pulling you tight against someone’s chest.

Terror was a living thing inside you. It paralyzed your heart and lungs and mind, but thankfully not your instinct to get away.

You thrashed and kicked over a lamp trying to escape the hold. You were all but dragged across the living room and into the kitchen. There you caught a glimpse of your attacker through a reflection on the microwave—it was a man and he was tall and blonde.

Your mind finally cleared of your panic just enough to remember the years of self-defense your dad had taught you. So you used your somewhat free arm to grab the man’s hand and bite down hard.

He yelled in pain and loosened enough for you to throw an elbow back into what you hoped was his face. (It was his throat, but you didn’t know or care at the time.)

You were able to scrape a bit of freedom, getting just a few steps away until he grabbed at you again. This time he forcefully turned you around and slammed your head on the counter. Your senses fuzzed as you slipped and fell into a heap on the ground.

You struggled through a haze of pain to open your eyes, but your vision was blurry. Your face felt wet. And for a second, all you could see were shapes.

Those blurred edges cleared up when the man knelt down and took your throat in his hand. You blinked through a few drops of blood dripping down your face, when you finally saw his. And you recognized him.

But then he started squeezing. The panic started in earnest as you clawed at his hand on your throat. Behind him on the counter were the kitchen knives, but you couldn’t even get up, let alone reach.

He had you pinned on the floor and you couldn’t fucking breathe.

Dean was in a panic.

One moment he was washing his and Sam’s dishes in the kitchen, teasing his girl. The next, the icy grip of your fear (and your scream) squeezed around his heart like a vice. He’d felt the intensity of your fear before, but not like this.

The force of it actually made one of his knees buckle and he accidentally cut himself with a small steak knife he’d been washing. Fuck!

But the pain persisted. It brought him down as he tossed the knife into the sink and clutched his chest.

He could only try to make sense of your thoughts. You were instinctively imparting to him one after the next, but it was a blur of jumbled words and emotions that he couldn’t make out.

You couldn’t hear him calling your name either. All that came through his connection with you was your terror.

And then…nothing at all.

It terrified him into stillness.

Dean slowly raised himself into a sitting position on the floor, and he called your name, repeatedly.

Hey, can you hear me?

After along moment, he realized that the silence didn’t mean you were gone. He could still feel you. You were just in shock. Frozen.

Sweetheart, you with me? he pressed. You finally roused enough to reply.

Yeah…I’m…here.

Good. Dean closed his eyes and released a breath. Fuck, sweet relief. He sat up against the kitchen cabinet. His hand was still bleeding all over him, so he held it closed with his other hand.

Good. I need you to tell me what happened just now. Are you hurt?

You looked down at the body in your kitchen: Danny Schmitt. He laid face down on the yellow tile with a chef’s knife lodged deep into his spinal cord.

Your throat and neck hurt (along with your head), so it was a good thing you didn’t have to speak to communicate with your soulmate.

Someone broke in, and…

You realized that your hands were shaking. As you saw again in the microwave reflection, tears streamed down your face. You had a stream of blood drying on your forehead and down your cheek.

And you had no idea what to do next.

Dean swallowed a surge of protective anger and nervous suspicion, trying not to assume the worst.

Did he hurt you? he asked.

He um…he’s dead. And I…

Your reply shocked him, but he let out another relieved breath. He carefully picked himself off the floor. Okay, call 9-1-1.

My…my dad is a cop. I have to call him.

Interesting.

Good. Call him now, Dean said. But what’s your address? I’m coming now.

On shaking legs, you left the kitchen to find your phone—in your purse in the living room. There was broken glass everywhere.

What’s your address? he asked. I’m coming now.

You froze, clutching your phone to your chest. No.

No? What do you mean no?

Fear and shock were making your erratic, but all you could focus on was the fact that you were in absolute shambles. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want to meet him like this—with literal blood on your hands.

No, you repeated.

This isn’t up for debate. His tone was firm and worried. Don’t do this to me. Come on.

He called your name, but you stubbornly shook your head.

And you shut down the connection between you two. You didn’t know you could do that, but you did. And then you sat on the couch and wept.

Dean was paralyzed with shock. I can’t believe she just did that.

You were still terrified, probably hurt, and now he couldn’t get to you. He didn’t even know your last name. He didn’t have your number or anything to go on.

“Shit!” he growled, slamming his good hand on the counter.

“What the hell happened?” Bobby asked from the doorway. He took in the blood on the floor and Dean hunched over the sink with a bleeding hand.

“Think you can guess, right?” Dean snapped, gesturing to his hand. That was frustration enough for anybody, but he knew that Bobby didn’t totally buy it.

Right now, he didn’t care. He had to find you somehow. Right fucking now.

Your dad’s embrace was warm, protective, tight with worry and relief simultaneously. You sat in the back of the paramedic truck while they wrapped your injured head and checked your vitals. Jack was patient as he went through the questions he needed to ask about your attacker.

Your house had already become a crime scene, swarmed with police personnel. They’d already taken the body out of the house.

The paramedic advised getting you to the hospital for a head CT. Your father agreed, but you held onto his arm.

“Can you give us a minute?” you asked the paramedic. The woman was probably just a few years older than you. She nodded and went to connect with her partner on getting ready for your transport. Slowly, you got off the back of the ambulance.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Jack said in alarm.

“Dad, listen to me,” you said. You guided him closer to the house and away from his unit of policemen. You opened your coat enough to give him a folded towel. He took it and unraveled it, revealing the bloody knife.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Okay, don’t worry. This is standard self-defense.”

“Dad, I don’t remember grabbing the knife,” you said.

Jack rested a hand on your shoulder. “That happens. You’re in shock—”

“No. I don’t remember because it was never in my hand,” you whispered harshly. “I didn’t grab it. The kitchen knives were too far away. It’s impossible!”

“Okay, calm down,” your dad said gently. “You…you’ve been through a lot. You’re just in shock. You’ll get checked out at the hospital, but when all this clears, you’ll be fine.”

“Think what you want, Dad. But when they dust that knife for fingerprints, they’re not going to find mine,” you snapped.

Slowly Jack’s expression dimmed from patient to understanding. At the very least, he finally believed that you believed what you were saying–that you had no idea how that knife ended up in Danny Schmitt.

After discreetly taking a quick look around, Jack held out the knife to you, hilt first. He looked into your eyes. “Grab it.”

You released a breath and, for the first time, took it in your hand. You held it at the angle you would’ve needed to stab the knife downward. As if you had really stabbed that man.

Then Jack took the knife back.

“It’s cut and dry this way,” he told you. “Self-defense.”

You nodded, even though you regretted the motion immediately. The left side of your head ached terribly.

“This place is still going to be a crime scene when we get you out of the hospital,” Jack realized.

“I could ask Bobby if I could stay with him,” you said.

“No,” Jack said firmly. “The last thing you need is to be around that drunken idiot. No, you can stay with Jody Mills. She’s good people.”

“Dad,” you tried, but he was already calling Jody over.

“Hey Jody, can she stay with you tomorrow? I’ll bring her over once we’re done at the hospital tonight,” Jack said. Jody nodded and rested a hand on your shoulder.

“Of course, hun. Call me when you’re on your way,” she said. Jack nodded, and Jody got back into the fray of policework in your house.

You glared at him. “I’m not a kid. I can make my own decisions.”

Though you rubbed at your aching head. Jack ushered you to the ambulance and the paramedics strapped you in.

On the bumpy ride to the hospital, you felt terrible. Not just because your body was a walking welt, but because you shut him out of your mind. Whatever his name was.

You craved feeling his presence. Even though you still didn’t know what your soulmate looked like, you could imagine what it would be like to be held by him. Comforted, safe, with that deep voice like rich whiskey and still somewhat boyish, to tease a smile onto your face.

You wanted to open the connection and say, I’m sorry.

You almost did. But right now, you were a coward that let your fear win.

You kept the connection closed.

The next morning, Sam and Bobby sat at the kitchen table with mugs of coffee. They shared a mixed look of confusion and annoyance as they watched Dean make a pan of scrambled eggs.

It was the aggressive stirring and none-too gentle banging of various spices and cooking utensils that had them concerned (and significantly weirded out).

When Dean served up the food and set down their plates with a clang, Sam looked up at his brother with a raised brow. Dean didn’t notice though. He just sat down and tasted the eggs. A bit dry. Goddamn it.

“Dean?” Sam tried.

“What?”

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Dean said. Even he knew it wasn’t convincing, but he didn’t care. His mind was too preoccupied with what happened with you last night. His connection with you was still on radio silence. He heard and sensed nothing at all…

And he was worried.

He debated going through the old-school yellow pages for every person with your name in Sioux Falls, but that could be hundreds. And he didn’t know your last name, or anything concrete about you except…

Shit, I’m a freakin’ genius! he thought. Dean remembered one thing: you were a student at the University of South Dakota. History major.

“Well, I’m gonna head out,” Bobby said. “Got a sixteen-wheeler to fish out of a gutter.”

He purposefully didn’t mention the tense atmosphere, but he gave Sam a look. Work it out, it said.

Dean turned to his brother after finishing up his coffee. “Look, before we hit the road, I’ve got something to take care of.”

“Oh yeah? Is it whatever’s got you on edge right now?” Sam asked.

Dean kept a stubborn lid on it. “It’s just an errand I’ve gotta run.”

“Uh-uh.” Sam shook his head. “What’s going on with you? Where are you going?”

Dean got up and ignored his brother’s questions. He didn’t know why his instinct was to keep this to himself, but it was easier than explaining the mess he’d gotten himself into.

Sam followed him into the living room and watched Dean grab his phone and the keys to the Impala. So Sam grabbed his wallet and phone too.

Dean shot him a firm look. “Stay here, Sam. It’s no big deal.”

“If it’s no big deal, then I’ll just come with.”

Dean made a sound of aggravation. Sometimes, Sam could be a massive pain in the ass. Dean’s lips were tight as he left Bobby’s house and headed for the Impala. Sam was hot on his heels. They got into the car and soon enough, Dean drove onto the highway going south.

“So where’re we going?” Sam asked.

Dean shot him an annoyed look, but his brother was unrepentant. So he gave up. “To the university.”

Sam had to think for a moment. “Of South Dakota?”

“That’s the one,” Dean said flatly. He stared out at the road ahead.

Sam had a feeling this wasn’t hunting-related, or Dad-related.

“What, are you scoping out chicks or something?” he asked, only half serious. He watched his older brother’s expression tighten.

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

Dean glanced at Sam, then made a sound of both frustration and defeat. “Chick. Not chicks.”

“Excuse me?”

“As in singular chick,” Dean emphasized. “A girl, Sam. My…well, not my. Not yet anyway—”

“Dean,” Sam interjected. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m looking for someone, okay?” Dean snapped. “You could say I’ve been hearing thoughts that ain’t mine, if you catch my drift.”

For a moment, Sam couldn’t compute. He stared at the side of Dean’s face, burning a hole in his head.

“Damn it, would you just say something? My head’s about to spontaneously combust,” Dean snarked.

“Your soulmate?” Sam clarified. “Your damn soulmate. You couldn’t just tell me that?”

Dean shot him a defensive look. “It’s a little personal.”

Sam released a frustrated sigh.

“Fine. You know where she is?”

“Kind of,” Dean admitted. “We haven’t met in person yet.”

Sam blinked in confusion. “Okay…this still doesn’t entirely explain why you’ve been so on edge. Damn near crazy.”

Dean hesitated, but eventually he explained.

“Something happened to her last night. Some guy broke into her house.”

Sam frowned in concern. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Well, she’s alive. But she isn’t fine,” Dean said. “Anyway, I just want to be sure.”

Sam’s eyes widened a fraction, both incredulous and recognizing his brother’s knack for downplaying these things, like he had with Cassie.

Well, it didn’t matter. Sam wasn’t going to let Dean let go of his happiness this time.

After you were cleared to go home from the hospital with a concussion, but nothing else majorly wrong, your dad dropped you off at Jody Mills’ house.

You liked Jody, but you didn’t appreciate your dad controlling the situation—and by extension your life, as he usually tried to do.

So once you’d said goodbye to Jody and her husband when they left for work (and to drop their son off at pre-school), you took your keys that Jack had left you, grabbed your bag, and snuck out of the house.

It was more effort than you should’ve exerted, but you walked the two blocks home. Then you grabbed some more clothes, toiletries, and your car keys.

While the brothers Winchester searched for the university’s History department, Dean continued to beat himself up internally. Sam noticed his brother’s less than peppy attitude and shot him a questioning look.

“I should’ve just gone to meet her the first night she reached out,” Dean muttered. “I should’ve told her my name, at least.”

He should’ve reached out four years ago, when he had the chance.

“You didn’t even tell her your name?” Sam asked. His surprise was followed closely by anger. “You’ve got a chance here that not many people get in life, and you’ve been playing games.”

“I’m not fucking playing,” Dean shot back. “Do I really gotta remind you what Dad went through after Mom died? Not to mention how freakin’ insane our lives are. How can I seriously bring someone else into this?”

Sam understood how Dean felt, to a degree. He felt guilty for what happened to Jess every day—for not being there. He’d loved her with everything he had, and he still missed her. He wouldn’t stop hunting the Yellow-Eyed demon until he avenged her.

But he wasn’t like Dean.

Jess hadn’t been his soulmate.

Sam had a feeling Dean was hesitating because of something else. Something deeper than Dad’s example. Something that had a lot more to do with how Dean saw himself.

So as they walked down the hall towards the Dean of Ancient Studies’ office, Sam held Dean back a second by his arm. He was gentle, but firm.

“Dean, most people spend their whole lives looking for this, waiting for this to happen to them,” he said. “How can you shut her out?”

Dean slipped his arm out of Sam’s grip. “Right now, she’s the one shutting me out.”

Sam frowned, but Dean didn’t give him a chance to reply. He followed Dean over to the office and watched him knock on the door.

A woman answered. She looked refined, with her pencil skirt and severe heels. Her thin blonde hair was twisted into a tight bun, peeling back the skin of her face. She also looked irritated to be bothered by anyone.

“Yes?” she asked. Dean glanced up at the name plate on the wall. Dr. Helen Birch.

“Hi there, Dr. Birch. We’re looking for a history major, graduate student,” Dean began. When he gave her your name, she recognized it instantly.

“Yes, she’s my graduate assistant. She’s not in today,” said Dr. Birch. “She had an accident last night, poor thing.”

“Well, wasn’t really an accident,” Dean said, his mouth quirking humorlessly. “Someone broke into her house and attacked her.”

Dr. Birch nodded.

“A hellish thing, to be sure. But she sounded all right on the phone this morning,” she said, adjusting her Prada-framed glasses. She released a hum of a sigh. “Though you know, my husband died last year. I still came to work bright and early the next day.”

Dean’s gaze hardened, and Sam knew the tell-tale signs that his brother was about to lose his temper.

He laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder and cut in quickly, “Well, we’re her cousins. We just wanted to grab some of her things for her.”

Dr. Birch pointed at a room to the left of her office. “That’s her office right there. Give her my best for me.”

“We’ll do that,” Dean smiled thinly, but he allowed Sam to pull him away towards the office. Sam gave him a warning look.

“That lady’s lucky I’m a gentleman,” Dean muttered. “Freakin’ old bag.”

She wasn’t that old, but Sam wasn’t going to point that out.

“Just calm down,” Sam whispered back. They squeezed into the closet-like office and went over to your desk, where Sam sat and opened up your laptop. It was password protected. He worked on cracking it while Dean surveyed your work desk.

It was very organized. Your notebooks were piled neatly with various pens and highlighters in their own container. He felt bad about this, but he looked through the drawers next and found an old picture. He had a feeling it was of your parents when they were young. It was even labeled on the back: Jack and Christine — November 1985.

“Sam.” Dean showed him the picture. Sam nodded, taking the hint. He thought for a moment, then tried Christine as the password.

It wasn’t a match…until he tried Christine85.

Then the home screen finally booted up. From there it wasn’t hard for Sam to get into your email so they could find your full name. Next, he found your address from a PDF scan of a payroll stub in your documents folder.

“You’re too good at that,” Dean said. His guilt was growing; normally he would have no compunctions about rifling through people’s junk, but this was your stuff. They were invading your privacy to the nth degree. This is an emergency, he rationalized.

“There,” Sam said, after taking pictures with his phone. They knew exactly who you were and where you lived.

“How do you want to play this?” Sam asked, once he and Dean were on the road back to Sioux Falls.

“Let me handle this,” Dean said. It was a delicate thing. Their plan was essentially dropping in on you, whom he’d never officially met, after stealing your private information. Not to mention, you’d already gone through a lot in the past 24 hours.

Dean shook his head. “Let’s just regroup at Bobby’s. I’ve gotta think.”

An hour later, they were pulling into the driveway at Singer Salvage. Next to Bobby’s truck was a blue Camaro.

“I guess his niece dropped by again,” Sam said. Dean was curious, but that was quickly swallowed up by his ever-mounting problem: going to see you. How the hell am I gonna do this?

His mind was so consumed when they walked in, that he almost missed seeing Bobby’s guest in the kitchen.

You were sitting with Bobby at the kitchen table, drinking lemonade. Sam and Dean shared a curious look though, because you had a bandage on your left temple and scattered bruises on your neck and arms, but you still looked friendly, casually dressed in jeans and a soft college shirt.

Dean noticed your pretty face, the shade of your hair, your curves…but he narrowed in on the shirt. It read University of South Dakota.

His heart started to beat faster, though he didn’t realize it.

“Boys, this here’s my niece,” Bobby said. When you stood up and greeted them with your name, Dean knew it was you—the girl he’d practically been scouring the entire state for.

His brain caught up with his heart, which had already recognized you from the second he stepped through the door. Your name fell from his lips, and then your head tilted curiously, like you’d recognized his voice.

Finally, finally, the bond between your souls flared in his mind and warmed through his chest. You’d opened the connection again, and he felt your shock, your recognition, your wonder. Dean grabbed ahold of that pulsing thread of energy.

Hi, sweetheart, he said with a crooked smile. Except, you didn’t exactly have the reaction he was expecting.

You gasped and nearly dropped your drink.

All three men lunged to help you, but you caught the glass yourself. “I got it!”

You then set it down carefully on the table.

“What’s happening here?” Bobby asked. He seemed very confused. Dean couldn’t blame him. He only just now realized that Sam and Bobby were still in the room watching their little movie play out.

Bobby turned to you next. “You know Sam and Dean?”

You wiped your hands on your jeans, looking embarrassed. You gestured vaguely at Dean. “Well, just…kind of…”

“Me,” Dean said, pointing at himself, then at you. “I’m…we’re…”

Because Bobby was smart and intuitive, his face slackened in realization. “Hells fuckin’ bells.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded with a smile.

Meanwhile, you and Dean took each other in. Slowly you approached each other from opposite sides of the room.

Your gaze fell to the cut on his hand, which he’d bandaged up last night.

“Are you okay?”

Dean gave you a rueful look. “I’m the one who needs to ask you that.”

Your eyes lowered as you bit your lip. “I’m fine.”

Dean would be the judge of that. He drew close enough to examine the gauze bandage on your head. His hand raised to ghost along the bruises on your neck. It stirred his protective, righteous anger again, but he did his best to put a clamp on it for your sake. You were a scrapper, a survivor, and for that he was proud of you.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

“The meds work just fine,” you said with a smile, but it soon fell as you chanced looking up at him. Dean looked into your eyes for the first time. They were beautiful, but sad and contrite.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out,” you said.

Dean huffed. “Yeah, that wasn’t pleasant.”

Behind him, Sam snorted and gave his brother a pointed look, which Dean ignored.

“I know. I was just…scared,” you admitted, gesturing with a hand to your injuries. “I didn’t want this to be the way we finally met.”

Dean could understand that. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Still, can we keep the heart attacks to a minimum?”

You smiled again, and it reminded him of all the times you’d teased him through his mental connection with you. “No promises.”

Then you stared up at him with more of that wonder on your face.

“What?” Dean quirked a smile. You were starting to blush; he could see the faint pinkness spreading across your cheeks.

“You’re…tall,” you said.

Dean grinned. “Just tall?”

You crossed your arms in amusement. “And other stuff.”

“Yeah, that’s nice. Poetry, really,” he teased. “Definitely uh, putting that college stuff to good use.”

Sighing a laugh, you covered your face with a hand, fighting further embarrassment. It made Dean chuckle.

“All right, just teasing,” he said. “No need to hide.” He bypassed your hand to prop a finger beneath your chin so he could see your face. You met his gaze, waiting somewhat patiently while he looked you over. He could feel the heat rising off your cheeks though, and his smile deepened. You were adorable, and all too easy to tease.

But you were also beautiful.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Dean found himself leaning down to brush his lips with yours—

Until your voice stopped him. “I, um, have to go. Take a shower.”

Your eyes were wide and somewhat nervous. Dean backed off, cursing inwardly at himself. His hand fell from your face.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Need help?”

Your lips fell open in a soft “o” shape. Once Dean realized what he’d said, shock gripped both of you.

“Up the stairs,” he clarified. “The shower’s upstairs.”

Behind him, Sam made a pained face—like he was watching a car wreck and couldn’t stop. It made you smile, despite your lingering embarrassment.

But for Sam, he’d never seen his brother tripping up this bad over a girl. Usually he prided himself on being “Señor Smooth” (Dean’s words, not Sam’s).

Meanwhile behind you, Bobby rolled his eyes at you both.

“Sure, thank you,” you said.

You took Dean’s hand as he led you up the stairs. Maybe you shouldn’t have been trying to climb stairs with a concussion, but the pain medication really was helping you enough to be functional. Besides, Dean was supportive and went slow to help you.

When you made it to the top, you let go of Dean’s hand to grab your bag of clothing from the guest bedroom. When you came back, Dean was still waiting outside the bathroom with his hands in his pockets.

He really was tall, you thought. His grip while helping you had been gentle, but you’d felt the strength in his arms. You knew he wasn’t going to let you fall.

There were so many things about him that you hadn’t expected. His green eyes and sandy brown hair, his boyish, charming smile, his confident swagger, his lips…

“I’m sorry for putting Sam out of his room,” you said, mostly so you would stop staring. Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

“Nah, Sam’s like a dog. He can sleep anywhere,” he said. “On the floor, even.”

You laughed, though you tried not to at Sam’s expense. Dean smiled at the attempt.

“So, you’re Dean, the traveling exterminator,” you said.

His smile kicked up into a smirk. “Guilty.”

Your lips curved, a bit shy, but also a bit mischievous. He had spent a long time playing games with you. Now it was your turn.

You leaned up toward him on the tips of your toes, so you could reach his lips. With a raised brow, his body bowed towards you.

Once your lips were just a whisper away from his, you stopped.

“Good,” you said simply.

And you closed the bathroom door in his face.

AN: Okay, so an action-packed chapter for ya. And yay, they finally meet! Dean also encounters the infamous Dr. Birch, Jody Mills makes a brief cameo, plus Sam being a supportive brother.

One thing I want to note, in case people have questions about "Jess not being Sam's soulmate" here. I just really couldn't do that to him (losing his soulmate in his 20s on top of everything else). It was really so I could keep things open for Sam, not anything against Jess as a character.

That being said, let me know what you think about the first meeting!

To keep reading: PART 6

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