#he's a middle aged dad in a teenager's body i cannot with him. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

smoochkooks · 4 years

Text

— lost stars, part 1 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst, (troubled) idol au, childhood friends to lovers

⟶ word count: 20k

⟶ summary: in dead hours of the night he stumbles upon the bars, reaching, searching, trying to feel something, for once forget about consequences and taste the bittersweet freedom. between sips of addiction and faint touches of nameless lovers he finds you again: his own long-lost star on a blackboard sky.

⟶ warnings for part one: explicit sexual content, dom!jungkook, rough sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, degradation, light breath play, unprotected sex, infidelity, mentions of mental health issues, smoking, drinking etc., this is sad im sorry

⟶ music: lost stars, young god, the hills and more here.

PART TWO (FINALE): HERE!

Jungkook can’t sleep.

Moonlight is gradually slipping through the unveiled curtains that he hasn’t even bothered shutting out for the night, letting the silvery luminescences gleam over the expanses of his room callously. It's the first full moon of the month, an argent king on the cloudless sky preventing many people that particular night from falling asleep.

Jungkook lays on his bed, long body slumped on unmade, messy sheets. Brightness illuminates over his features, making his skin glow in porcelain white. Every edge of him is chiseled. From his thin lips, through the slope of his nose and paleness of his forehead, Jungkook might be a beautiful imitation of a marble sculpture. Although he isn't, heaviness of his limbs and suffocating pressure weighting down on his chest like tons of rocks make him feel like one.

Digital clock on his bedside table reads midnight, four red zeros signaling change of the date. It's so painfully silent in the confines of his room, yet Jungkook doesn't sleep. And it's not because of some scientificly proven theory connecting insomnia to the full moon. He hasn't shifted on his bed since he laid there an hour or so ago. He stares blankly at the ceiling, inhaling the chilly air of March flowing inside through the open window. There is without a doubt too cold to lie uncovered like that, with bare legs and thin t-shirt thrown on, but he doesn't seem to care, not when shivers run down his arms, not when the sudden puff of wind blows the strands of raven hair off from his forehead. He stays like that, hands folded on his stomach, eyes glued to the silver lights on the ceiling, and time ticks.

Jungkook doesn't remember when was the last time he has gotten some good amount of sleep in the night. Perhaps it was a year or two ago, when after particularly hectics days it took him only a few seconds to fall into the peaceful slumber as soon as his cheek met the cool material of his pillow. A lot of has changed since that; it's bitterly oblivious he has changed too. His insomniac tendencies are only a small part of the whole spectrum.

Jungkook doesn't wish the sleep to come and cure him. He has stopped a long time ago, when he realised it's just pointless. There are times when it gets better, when he doesn't need to nap uncontrollably during the day instead of doing that while it's dark out. Tonight seems like one of those dead end situations. Maybe after a few hours his eyes will tire out enough to flutter shut on their own accord and bring him the awaited couple of hours of mindless numbness, and the sun will raise again, as it always does.

However, that night, like many of them before, Jungkook doesn't wait helplessly.

A sigh and a minute later, he kicks off the sheets and stands up from his bed, walking to the nearby closet. He puts on the first pair of black jeans he manages to find and replaces his worn out t-shirt he wears to sleep with a new, fresh one. He flicks the lights on for a brief moment to examine himself briefly in the mirror. He needs haircut, loose strands are falling on his forehead and he swamps them off, running his fingers through the black locks. He looks even more tired in the artificial lighting of his room, definitely not like the marble sculpture, certainly not like the spot-on idol this country loves and admires. The skincare products his stylists have given him to put on his face everyday are doing a quite good job, but not good enough to fully hide the bangs underneath his eyes. This kind of magic only stage makeup can provide.

Now, Jungkook looks painfully ordinary. He isn't Jeon Jungkook of BTS, he doesn't want to be during nights like this one. That's why he fishes out of the drawer his black mask and puts it in the pockets of his denim jacket. There is probably too cold outside to go out dressed like that, but Jungkook doesn't falter.

He doesn't falter opening the door to his room and stepping into the dark hallway of the dorm. He doesn't falter putting on his shoes as silently as he can. He doesn't falter reaching for the knob to the main door and twisting it. Even if he has promised he won't do that again, that the last time when he came home at ungodly hour, smelling of sleazy bars and cheap alcohol, with faint reminiscences of the touches of nameless lovers on his skin, was truly last.

Even if the pang of guilt is still there, at the back of his head, when he exhales the air of the night, it fades away.

If someone ever asked Jeon Jungkook to describe freedom, he would say it smells like Bongcheon Underground Station.

He’s never been there before or at least he doesn’t remember doing it. The sign indicates it’s the line number two, a green one to be more exact. He doesn’t know in which part of the city he is, maybe half an hour away from the luxurious housing estate he lives in with the rest of the boys, maybe further. At some point during the train ride he's lost the track of time.

It’s probably irresponsible, careless, unwise and stupid to be a widely-known figure using public transportation in the middle of the night completely alone, but this run-down underground station in Jungkook's head is his own manifesto of mock freedom, consequences to be damned.

Jungkook knows he's risking a lot right now. The sick thirl is already there, boiling the blood in his veins. This is all he has; the mirage of liberty, his own revolt against the unfairness of the world. His testament of lost youth.

Before someone will see him standing on the platform and staring ahead of himself with blank eyes like a mad man, he decides to walk out of the station.

A young couple around his age passes him on the stairs and he can’t help but spare a glance in their direction. They aren’t aware of his presence, holding onto each other and giggling drunkily. Something squeezes in Jungkook’s chest at the sight. It’s not any kind of jealousy, no. He’s grown up from being a rebel teenager. He’s grown up from the dreams of college parties, going on dates with pretty girls and having late-night snacks with his friends after gaming sessions.

Now Jungkook is just angry. Someone may say he doesn’t have the right to, he has everything an ordinary twenty-two year-old can desire. Yet, Jungkook is the one calling the world unfair while being on top of it.

There is a poster with his face hanging just above the entrance to the station. He stops in his tracks, scoffing cynically. Poster-Jungkook, spot-on idol from the biggest boyband in the country smiles at him, showing a row of blindingly white teeth. He has a face cream in his right hand, the softness of his photoshopped face and boyish glint in the eyes trick thousands of people into buying whatever he recommends.

What would Poster-Jungkook say seeing him now, Jungkook wonders. Barefaced, with mask covering half of his features, ruffled hair that he should have hidden underneath a cap. Poster-Jungkook probably wouldn’t like to make friends with someone like him. Poster-Jungkook is here to sing his heart out, to entertain fans and make his parents proud. Poster-Jungkook has never been at Bongcheon Underground Station.

With one last glance, Jungkook exits the station, stepping into the streets of Seoul.

The clock on his lockscreen reads 1am, Saturday, March 21th. He reaches to his face, pulling the mask down a little to inhale the chilly air. The smell of nearby Chinese restaurant reminds him it’s definitely a terrible idea to drink on an empty stomach but he shrugs off this thought, walking ahead of himself, with no plan in mind.

It’s not everyday he uses underground to travel around the city like most citizens do. Ironically, this mundane thing is a luxury he normally can’t afford. But nighttime has it’s own rules.

Using his car isn’t a debatable option when he knows he's going to distract himself with numerous sips of alcohol later. He cannot use taxi as well. Not when he hates having small talks with middle-aged men while being half-wasted, half-asleep on the backseat, head buzzing, world spinning. In worst case scenarios, the said taxi driver might be a dad of one of his fans.

(Yes, it happened before. It caused a lot for Jungkook's intoxicated brain to make up some silly story and convince the poor man he was coming home from his friend's birthday party, not running away from his one night stand's place.)

Asking one of their personal drivers to lift him up somewhere won’t do any good too because one: it definitely isn’t an emergency situation, although Jungkook would most likely argue it kind of is and two: going out in the night is too risky and most importantly, strictly forbidden for him since the last time Jimin found him unconscious on their doormat.

He wants to laugh at himself, remembering the very first time he tried to sneak out of the dorm without permission.

He was merely eighteen back then and his friend from Busan came to Seoul to celebrate his acceptance into the university. Of course, teenage Jungkook had asked for approval like the well-raised young man he was. That’s impossible, Jungkook, was the answer and I really hadn’t seen that friend for a long time, please, wasn’t enough to change minds and melt hearts. And that was when eighteen-year-old Jungkook decided it was the final straw. He had enough of watching snapshots from his friends, living their teen years to the fullest. He wanted to live too.

He had planned everything in details. Namjoon and Yoongi were at the studio, Hoseok was visiting his family in Gwangju, Seokjin went to sleep early, Jimin and Taehyung were playing video games in their room. All occurrences seemed to be on his side. Until they weren’t.

He announced to everyone he wasn’t feeling well and locked himself inside his room. He waited for the right moment, then opened the door and peeked his head out. It was dead quiet, beside muffled bursts of laughter coming from the other end of the hallway where Taehyung and Jimin were still playing. Holding his breath, Jungkook tiptoed to the entrance.

It felt so electrifying back then, when he took the handle into his hand and pushed, doing something that he wasn’t supposed to. When he found himself taking the cab to his hyung’s place, fingers drumming the unknown rhythm of excitement on his jean-clad thighs.

It doesn’t feel like that anymore. There’s a rush of adrenaline but not the good kind. What was once a silly rebellion of a boy with romantic soul, is now nothing but a routine.

That night didn’t turn out as he wished. It ended with him getting wasted to the point he had to call Seokjin to pick him up. He still remembers the furious scolding the older one gave him. He remembers how he promised it was a one-time thing, how he regretted his childish actions and irresponsibility.

But it happened again and again. And it got only worse over the years.

Jungkook keeps marching ahead of himself, looking around the unfamiliar neighborhood. It's a more industrial part of the city; it doesn’t look like leafy, peaceful area he lives in. He can only imagine how the flats inside those buildings look like - cramped, cluttered. Maybe they look just like their old dorm when he was merely sixteen, with head full of dreams, sleeping every night on a bunk bed underneath Taehyung.

Upon seeing a fluorescent, red neon sign, he stops in his tracks. The club looks nice from the outside and even though it stopped being an indicator for Jungkook some time ago, he decides to step inside with the same goal in mind as usual: get drunk and then leave.

Loud, thumping music fills his ears as soon as he enters the building. He passes the mass of nameless silhouettes, heading straight to the bar and slumping down on one of the stools.

“What can I get you?”

Jungkook looks up, meeting the eyes of friendly-looking bartender who seems not to recognize him or just doesn’t give a fuck. Both options are more than anticipated when you’re a well-know celebrity who decided to get drunk on a Friday night.

“Doesn’t matter. Just give me something strong.”

Bartender nods in understanding and Jungkook sees him reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring the substance into a glass already filled with ice cubs.

I don’t even like whiskey, Jungkook realizes. But at the same time he knows he hasn’t come here to sample. He’s here to let loose, to taste the bittersweet freedom this umber alcohol provides and represents. Each sip burns his throat stronger, yet it’s always welcomed.

After the third glass, his head starts buzzing. The world spins a little when he closes his eyes; everything becomes a blurr of colors, shapes and sounds. It’s should be a sign to slow down but Jungkook automatically raises his hand to bartender, ordering another glass.

He hasn’t even registered he’s not alone by the bar anymore.

She’s pretty. Maybe not exactly his type, whether he has one or not, but he can’t help but spare a glance anyway. Even in his drunken state he notices she’s a foreigner; blonde locks are cascading down her back and shoulders, milky skin glowing in the fluorescent lights. He doesn’t see her face clearly yet, but he observes in the corner of his eye as she bites her plump, cherry-coloured lips, while staring down at her empty glass.

Then, his eyes wander lower, to the smooth column of her throat, her provident collarbones and rich décolltage. Her black dress doesn’t do quite good job covering her cleavage and Jungkook has to swallow at the sight.

He’s fucked, buzzed and that irritating, tiny voice at the back of his head is telling him to get his shit together but every rational thought is wiped off his mind when the girl whirls around and faces him fully now. She smiles at him, or his blurry eyes are deceiving him already. Nevertheless, he smiles back at her dumbly, doing his best to maintain the enigmatic façade.

“Hi.” he says.

It’s not the first time he’s hitting on a foreign woman. It’s very much asshole of him, but he thinks it’s easier to get laid that way. In most cases he’s not the one to start a conversation, yet this time, here he is.

“Hi, stranger.” she answers and licks her lips languidly. The raw eroticism dripping from it makes Jungkook shift on his seat. If she wants to play this game, he’s ready to make another move.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks. It’s so goddamn blunt and brusque, but always works. Something about his flat English and the way he subtly smirks saying it makes women intrigued.

She contemplates for a moment, batting her eyelashes at him until she eventually agrees. “Yes, sure.”

He waves at the bartender, slurring his words a little. He hears the girl giggle and somehow, his next words leave his lips without a second thought.

“You like Korea?”

She’s very talkative when she’s drinking, Jungkook notices. The question seemed to elicit something in her and she started babbling, spitting her words so fast he couldn’t catch up even if he wasn’t drunk (and knew English better). All this time he smiles at her, nodding his head and occasionally muttering “yeah” and “oh” whenever he feels like it’s the right moment.

At some point his eyes wander to the other part of the club, where the sign shows the way to the bathroom. The girl takes a sip of her drink, showing a row of her perfectly white teeth when she catches him staring at her. And at this moment, Jungkook decides is time to interfere.

He leans closer to her, his hand ever so slightly brushing the place where the material of her dress meets her thigh. She bites her lip, waiting for his another move. Jungkook is now mere inches from her face, lust swimming in his orbs when he whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”

She says something to him but he doesn’t register it. His hand is now fully placed on her thigh and when he opens his mouth to ask if she would like to dance with him, he feels a pair of strong hands placed firmly on his shoulders, pulling him away from her.

“What the fuck, man? What are you doing with my girlfriend?” He hears a male voice saying behind him in English.

Jungkook blinks, trying to comprehend what have just happened. His head spins from the sudden motion and he feels like throwing up any second. He lifts his head, meeting the terrified expression of the girl he talked to just seconds ago.

“Are you deaf or something? I’m talking to you.”

Someone pushes him forcefully again and that’s when he turns around with reluctance, standing face to face with very much pissed off white guy. He’s taller than him and the deep furrow of his brows tells Jungkook he’s in for a trouble.

“James, it’s okay. We were just talking.”

“Well, it didn’t look like that!”

“Just let him be. He’s drunk.”

Jungkook feels like his soul has left his body and now he’s staring at the whole scene from the side. The muffled voices reach his ears but he cannot fathom anything. He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes.

Another shove at his shoulder coerces him to regain his senses a little.

“I’m not letting that fucker go that easily until he apologies. Hey, shithead!”

Jungkook feels hands grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket. And then, when he thinks this is it – Jeon Jungkook of BTS is going to get hammered in some sleazy club by a foreigner because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, because he’s useless peace of shit instead of the It Boy of his country, everything stops.

He knows this voice. Maybe his drunken brain is deceiving him, maybe he’s hallucinating or dreaming because he’s already lying bruised on the floor and unconscious. But he hears you and feels you, touching his arm and saying, “It’s alright, sir, he’s here with me. He doesn’t feel well. I apologize for his behavior.”

Your grip is stronger than he remembers to be. It hurts like you’re mad at him. But is it really you, dragging him across the room, away from those people through the crowd of sweaty bodies? He squints his eyes, focusing them on your silhouette, but what he sees is merely a blurry sideprofile of a young woman.

“I can’t believe the first thing I do after not seeing you for three years straight is saving your ass.”

There’s a wave of fresh air hitting his face. He inhales it greedily, hands extending to stabilize himself until he feels the rough texture underneath fingertips. He leans his head on the wall, eyes squeezed shut. Seconds pass, maybe even minutes, until something nudges him on the side.

“Do you feel better now?”

To be completely frank, Jungkook is scared to open his eyes. His sanity is slowly coming back to him and he hears you now loud and clearly. Maybe he’s really dreaming but if that’s true, why does he feel like he has a full control on his next move?

It’s really you. Three years older than he last saw you, arms crossed over your chest and evident frown on your face. He doesn’t know why but he wants to smooth the crease between your brows. It doesn’t suit you. Your hair is shorter, your features sharper and more mature.

You’re definitely not dream-__. His dream-___ would have scratches on her knees and some fantasy book in her hands. She sometimes visits him at dead hours of the night, asking why he hasn’t answered her calls and messages. Sometimes she stares at him from the photograph he carries in his wallet because he cannot bring himself to get rid of it.

He probably should hug you, run into your arms and thank for saving his reputation. He should hug you because it’s been three goddamn years and you were his best friend once. One of the most important people in his life, his partner in crime (and professional math tutor in primary school). God, you were his first, silly crush when you were merely ten, hair braided and pimples on your cheeks. His shoulder to lean on when he needed to cry. The girl who played football with him because there was no boys in your neighborhood with whom he could do it.

Instead, he asks, “Did you cut your hair?”

The first thing you do is raise your eyebrows, as if you’re genuinely confused he’s able to form full, coherent sentences. Next, you scoff. “Seriously? We meet for the first time in three years in a club where I work because I need to save your ass since you’re completely pissed and tried hooking up with taken woman, and that’s the only thing you have to say?”

He doesn’t like how you sound already. Your tone matches your expression, stern and slightly irritated. But at the same time, he’s not surprised you’re acting like this.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” he hesitates. He’s just what? Pathetic? Stupid? Reckless? Or maybe–

“Crazy?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. That’s a good word.”

You take a step closer, standing right in front of him. “So are you going to tell me what are you doing in this part of the city, getting drunk while being a freaking idol?”

“Isn’t it what all celebrities do?” he asks sardonically.

You roll your eyes at that, and he takes a moment to look at you more carefully now. Your cheeks are rosy from the cold and he notices a smudge of mascara underneath your left eye. And there’s another thing he remembers about you; the weird habit of staring at him intensely whenever he wasn’t aware because you were terrible at keeping eye contact.

But it seems like a lot of has changed in that department and now you’re meeting his eyes without a hint of shyness.

“Yeah, maybe they do. But not when they have a reputation to take care of.” you counter.

Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes for a second. It’s still hard for him to produce logical thoughts but he knows he’s slowly sobering, the chilly air clearing his mind. You hug your coat tighter against your body and he wonders for a moment if it’s really that cold outside and he just doesn’t feel it because of the alcohol swimming in his veins.

He’s not capable of having this kind of conversation with you under those circumstances. While you’re outside of some niche club in a part of the city he doesn’t know, reunited after three years of silence.

You have that look on your face, the one you used to wear every time he got on your nerves and he was in for good scolding. His head pounds too much to bare with it now.

He needs to smoke a cigarette.

He fishes a pack, placing one between his lips. He feels your eyes on him the entire time and after taking the first drag, he offers you to light up one as well.

“I quit.” you say curtly.

“Okay.” The smoke swirls around his features and you take a step back, cringing. You never really could stand the smell.

“Is smoking even allowed for you?”

He snickers, shaking his head. It’s funny, how you’re asking him this now, when you were the one he used to smoke occasionally with at the docks every time he visisted Busan. Eighteen, listening to Arctic Monkeys and Coldplay on his old iPhone and watching the sky burning when sun was hiding behind the horizon.

Jungkook smirks. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t smoke often. It’s more like a sporadic trespass when he’s out for the night than a regular craving. Leaving aside his favor for cigarettes, he shouldn’t let himself become addicted, not when it might easily influence his lungs capacity. And Jeon Jungkook's velvet voice can’t have a hoarseness to it.

“So, you work here?” he opts to ask you, avoiding the set of questions probably already itching to leave your mouth all at once.

“I do. I actually ended my shift few minutes ago. I had some work to do at the storage room and when I walked out, I saw that guy ready to beat the shit out of you,” you say, grimacing. “To be honest, I didn’t recognize you at first. You looked… different.”

“I guess that’s what they call the magic of stage make-up.” he jokes but his comment doesn’t make you laugh. If anything, you look even more puzzled.

Then, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his jacket. He pulls it out just to be met with tens of notifications, mainly texts and unanswered calls from Jimin. He must have found out somehow he’s been gone.

“Fuck.” Jungkook mutters under his breath, locking his phone.

“Something’s wrong?” You always could read him like an open book. He wasn’t very talkative kid back then and you, somehow, found a way to communicate with him on non-verbal level.

Jungkook scratches the back of his head, smiling lopsidededly. “You’re going to laugh at me,” he sighs.

“No, I’m not.” you promise. There’s sincerity in your voice but he knows better. You’re definitely going to.

“I’m scared to come home.” Jungkook says, entirely serious. His doe eyes widen for emphasis and you’re sure he’s shitting you yet you decide to play along.

“And why is that?”

He leans closer, smelling of cigarettes and his musky cologne and you almost wince. “Because I’m gonna have my ass whipped.”

He waits a moment, and then breaks into a grin. It’s his drunkiness still speaking through him and maybe a tiny bit of curiosity how you were going to react.

You snort loudly. “That was terrible.”

“You smiled. I saw the cornes of your mouth moving.”

“You’re wasted, Jungkook. I’m surprised you’re standing on your own feet right now,” He pouts and you sigh, shaking your head. “So are you going to tell me what is it really about?” you ask.

He shrugs, blowing out the fume from his cigarette. “I just don’t wanna go home drunk. It will be worse than coming back in the morning, believe me. I’ve been there before.”

Something flashes across your face hearing his last sentence but it quickly disappears, replaced by your usual, unreadable expression. You seem to think about what he has said, until you exhale loudly, making him look at you with raised eyebrows.

“Fine. You can crash at mine.”

Jungkook knows he might have misheard you. But you’re still staring at him as if you’re waiting for him to respond. He feels dumbfounded.

“What?”

“I saved your ass today once, I can do it again. That’s what friends are for, right?”

He hates how bitter it sounds coming from you. He knows it’s very much what he deserves. You don’t own him anything after all he’s done to you yet here you are. Offering him help even though you don’t have to do anything.

You’ve always been too good for him.

You cock your head at him, a small smile dancing on your features he wishes was genuine. Maybe you still have a sentiment for him, after all. “You coming?” It’s what you ask, and he tosses the half-burnt cigarette, following you without a word.

And that’s how your story starts again, with reckless decision, cigarettes and underground stations.

Ironically, Jungkook ends up at the Bongcheon Underground Station for the second time that night.

You led him wordlessly out of the building, taking a turn into direction he was familiar with. On the whole ride back to your home, you were silent. You didn’t utter a sentence to him, even when you reached your stop, you just stood up from the seat and he followed you like a lost puppy.

Walking from the station to your flat, Jungkook decided he’s had enough of this awkward silence, breaking it first.

“So, how have you been?”

It’s such a stupid question to ask someone you haven’t talked to for such a long period of time. Of course you can’t catch up all that have happened in last three years during ten minutes-long walk. Jungkook bites his lip, peeking at your side profile.

“It’s actually funny you’re asking this now. I’ve been good, and you? Or actually… wait! You don’t have to answer that because I know you’ve been good too, thanks to your mum who is updating mine about everything what’s going on in your life,” you say sarkily. “Oh, not to mention I also have Internet and it’s really hard to avoid news about nation’s favourite boy group, right?”

Your harsh words make him grimace. He knows he fucked up royally and your bitter attitude towards him is the effect of his wrong doings. Yet, he can’t help but feel a little bit irritated.

“You know I’m sorry.” he mutters under his breath.

“Oh, are you? Was it really that hard to call an old friend once in a month?”

Jungkook looks up at the sky, as if he was wishing it could give him strenght and fill his mouth with words that will make your stony façade break just a little. “I was busy,” he answers, regretting it as soon as it slipped of his tongue.

He hears you scowl. “Busy? Doing what? Drinking and hooking up with women?”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Are you really patronizing me right now? We just came across each other and I’m trying to be civil here. We’re not thirteen anymore, loose up.”

You stop in your tracks abruptly. “I see. You don’t need my help anymore and you’re okay with sleeping under the bridge, fine.” you spit and turn your back on him, quickening your pace.

“What? Wait!” Jungkook calls after you because one: you might be not joking and two: he’s too startled to react in time and now he has to jog up to you. “You aren’t serious, right?” he asks after catching up with your hurried movements.

You sigh, taking another turn. “God, I can’t believe you’re still that childish.”

Jungkook frowns. “What does that suppose to mean?”

“You know damn right what I mean.”

You’re now walking through a typical, industrial looking neighborhood. He used to live with other boys in an area like this, back when their name meant nothing to the world and industry, when you used to talk practically every single day on the phone.

Suddenly, you stop in front of one of the buildings, digging in your purse and pulling out the keys.

Jungkook silently follows your figure when you enter the tenement house you’re living in. He squints his eyes, trying to remember the street name and building number. For some reason he feels like this information might be useful for him sometime in the future.

You quickly climb up the stairs until you reach the forth floor, Jungkook running out of breath with mouth hang open, and that’s when you turn around to face him.

You don’t say anything to him. You just stare, expression stern yet unreadable at the same time. Your gaze is challenging but eventually you give up, sighing and opening the door to your flat, letting him in.

The first thing he notices is that your flat is tiny.

There’s barely enough space for one person in the hallway when you hang up your coat without a word, bumping into his unmoving figure when you’re trying to walk into what is probably the smallest kitchen he has ever seen.

You pour yourself a glass of water, chugging it greedily while he still stands dumbly three meters away from you, fully dressed, unsure of what to do.

He jumps, hearing you put the glass on the counter loudly. “So, welcome in my humble abode, I guess,” you say. “Are you going to stand there the whole night?” You cock your head into his direction and Jungkook shakes his head, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes.

“I know it’s small but the rent is cheap,” you add, referencing to the size of your apartment. You don’t need to explain, he wants to tell you but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes wander to the other part of the flat where your bedroom is, as he assumes.

“Ah, yes, that’s my bedroom. And living room, and bureau,” you confirm, voice laced with apparent sarcasm. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Jungkook hesitantly enters the room. There’s nothing much there beside your bed, wardrobe and a small desk with your laptop and other belongings on. One thing he realises is that you keep everything clean and tidy, despite the limited space you have here.

“But the view is nice, isn’t it?” you ask suddenly, startling him a little. Jungkook, encouraged by you, glances out of the window and he has to admit that yes, indeed, the view is beautiful. You can see the city quite clearly from the forth floor. “I’m still surprised when I look out of the window and see rooftops instead of brick walls. I guess I’m kind of lucky.” you chuckle.

That’s when he realises just how much more you deserve than you have. It hits him how privileged he is now, living in a luxurious area for rich snobs and celebrities who look out of their windows and see green hills. And one more time, his anger for the unfairness of this world only boils stronger in his veins.

“I gotta go the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

You leave him alone again, and now he has an opportunity to look at the corkboard you have above your desk. There is plenty of photos and polaroids pinned to it and he finds himself examining them without a second thought.

It seems like you have them organized chronologically. They start with you as a little kid standing in front of your house in Busan, front teeth missing and clutching your favourite doll. Next, you’re in school and surprisingly, he finds himself present on most of these photos along with you. Playing football at the backyard, eating ice cream at your favourite parlor (he has smudges of chocolate on his chin but he smiles to the camera like it means nothing). He recognizes a photo he took of you when you where in middle school, dressed as Anne Boleyn for some history project he doesn’t remember what was exactly about.

As years pass on your polaroid timeline, his face is slowly disappearing from your captured memories. He smiles when he sees his favourite photo of you, the one he also carries snuggled deeply in his wallet. It was taken by your mum on your seventeenth birthday. You went on a picnic by the sea and Jungkook surprised you with an unexpected visit, coming home back from Seoul. He gifted you a bracelet bought with the first money he had earned in his life.

He wonders now if you still have that bracelet somewhere, hidden among many other things reminding you of your past together, just like the creased photo in his wallet he still hasn’t thrown away.

Then, Jungkook eyes land on the most recent picture. You’re grinning to the camera while being hugged from the back by a man he doesn’t know. He presses his lips to your cheek in a fleeting kiss. An affectionate one.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.”

Jungkook jolts a little hearing your voice. You come up to him and he notices you have changed your clothes for something looking much more comfier. “Remember this one?” you ask, pointing at the photo of you sitting on a beach next to the sand castle you built.

Jungkook smiles apologetically. “Yeah.”

“Ten seconds after taking this photo, you decided to ruin my sand castle and made my cry.”

He can’t help but share your grin when your eyes lock. There’s the same sympathy in them he’s grown to known. It feels familiar, almost domestic. He likes it.

“So,” He nudges your side, pointing with his chin at the corkboard, “care to tell me who is this guy?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and you roll your eyes in response at his antics.

“That’s my boyfriend Minho.” you answer.

Jungkook doesn’t know why but for some reason, he feels uneasy now. He’s mad at himself he’s been really missing out what’s going on in your life. He shakes off these thoughts quickly though, mastering an amusing attitude.

“That was a very poor introduction, ma’am. Come on, you can do better than this. Tell me more about him.” he teases, making you sigh loudly.

“Minho is five years older than me. He’s working as a police officer. We’ve been together for almost a year. Are you happy now?” you grumble.

Jungkook smirks. “Very much.”

“He doesn’t sleep over here so I don’t have any of his clothes you can change into,” you add awkwardly.

He furrows his eyebrows. What are you talking about now?

You shift on your feet, turning to face him properly and now he realises why did you say it. The clothes you have on are actually your pyjamas. Right, it’s almost two. You��re probably sleepy after your night shift and he’s keeping you up. And you’re kindly reminding him it’s time for him to rest as well.

“It’s okay, I can sleep naked.” Jungkook says. Your eyes widen almost comically at that. “Relax, love. I’ll stay with my boxers on. Unless you want to see my without them.” He raises a single brow in question.

You grimace. “Jesus, Jungkook, you’re still drunk. Go take a shower. You can use the blue toothbrush and white towel.” You slump down on your bed and he leaves the room without another word.

Jungkook has been in many bathrooms in his life but yours can only be describe as microscopic.

He feels almost claustrophobic when he’s standing underneath your shower. The water is splashing on everything and he panicks for a moment if you will be angry at him for the mess but then he realises it’s practically impossible to keep everything around dry when he’s showering without any curtain or glass door around him.

He uses your shampoo and body wash, cleaning himself as fast as possible. They smell nice, flowery and exotic and somehow like you. Quick shower definitely has drained him from most alcohol he has in his system. He can now think through the situation he’s in with clear mind.

After drying himself up and putting on his boxers, he stands in front your sink. He wipes off the moist on the small mirror, just to be met with his blank, tired eyes staring back at him. He really should use some good sleep. He uses the blue toothbrush just like you told him to and in the middle of the second round of brushing, he chuckles to himself at the surrealism of this whole situation.

He’s met you for the first time in three years after not speaking to you at all. You don’t own him anything and here he is, already having enormous, unpayable debt because you saved his life from the embarrassment and possible scandal.

You were always like this, ready to put on your superhero cape and save him. Just like years ago when you stood up from your seat in math class and told the teacher you didn’t feel well right before she was about to check his homework, or rather the lack of it which was going to result in another low grade on his account. You, scaring off his fifth grade bullies. You, paring up with him for every school project and doing most of the work selflessly and without a word of complaint because you’ve always liked working alone.

Jungkook spits the rest of the toothpaste and water mixed together to the sink and splashes his face. He really doesn’t know why he deserves you.

The question is simple. He doesn’t. Not after being a total prick to you. But in some strange way, you took him back again, like nothing ever happened.

When he exits the bathroom, he sees you kneeling on the floor and putting a bunch of pillows on the carpet that lies next to your bed.

Jungkook frowns. “What are you doing?”

You look up at him. Your eyes widen visibly when they land on his exposed chest but you quickly compose yourself. “What does it look like? I’m setting up a bed for you.” you reply, patting the pillows, still refusing to meet his stare.

“Am I not going to sleep with you on the bed? We slept together before and it wasn’t a problem then,” he says with furrowed brows.

“Are you kidding? My bed is for one person only! And you’re… you’re–“

“I’m what?”

“You’re big! Bigger than you used to be.” you breathe out, standing up from your kneeling position and sitting on the bed instead. There’s a tingle of barely noticeable rednees on the apples of your cheeks and he fights an urge to tickle your sides just to see you trying not to break into laughter so he could get away with your stubbornness.

“Okay, Miss Grumpy,” he grumbles, kneeling on his make-shift bed. Upon hearing that, you freeze on your spot and then he realises what he has just done.

He called you the old nickname he’s made for you. He hasn’t done that in years.

You bite your lip, acting as if it hasn’t affected you even the slightest. Clearing your throat, you reach for the lamp on your bedside table and switch it off.

Twenty minutes after that, Jungkook finds himself lying on his back in complete silence and staring at the ceiling. You have a few fluorescent stars attached to it, the ones that shine when it’s dark. You had probably ten dozens of them in your old room in Busan, too. A whole constellation.

Jungkook won’t lie, it is a little uncomfortable to sleep on the floor. He tells himself he’s fine with that, though. It’s what he deserves for being an absolute asshole to you. The sleep will come eventually.

Another minutes pass and he’s still very much awake. Then, Jungkook thinks ‘fuck it’ and decides to shoot his shot.

“___?”

You hum sleepily in response after a short while. “Yeah?”

“I cannot sleep.”

“Not my fault.”

He bites his lip. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Jungkook…”

“Pretty please?”

There’s a long pause before you say, “Fine.”

He hears you shifting on the mattress, making a room for him. The bed creaks under his weight when he places himself right next you, back to your back. He wonders if he isn’t squishing you to the wall right now.

“Are you okay?” he asks, just to be sure.

Your comforter ruffles when you try to move but there’s no use for it, not when he’s practically pressed flush to you. “Yeah. I’m good. You’re just really hot.”

“Thanks, love. No need to flutter me like that.” Jungkook murmurs, a hint of smug smile on his lips you cannot see.

“I was taking about four freaking body temperature!”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t mean it.”

“Go to sleep, Jungkook.”

There’s mute between you for a while. Nothing but deep exhales and inhales and occasional sounds of cars or wind coming from outside of your window.

It’s been really a long time since he’s slept in the same bed with other person. He's not the type to stay over after casual fuck, he’s never done that. But when he lies next to you, he can’t help but longe for someone to just hold him; nothing more, nothing less. He wonders what would you do if he turned around and snuggled into your backside. Would you yell at him? Kick him out?

But you used to be so close together once. He won’t find out unless he tries.

Carefully, with limited space, he changes his position, mattress protesting under his weight but he rolls to his other side anyway, until he’s facing your back. He feels your body tensing a little when his breath fans over your neck but you don’t say anything, letting him cuddle up to you.

It feels intimate this way, perhaps even too intimate for both yours and his liking but Jungkook can’t help but relish in your close proximity. When he senses you’ve relaxed a little, he shuts his eyes tightly.

“___?” he murmurs. It's barely a whisper but you heard him loud and clear.

“Mhm?”

“I’m sorry for ruining our friendship like that.”

You’re silent for a moment and he thinks you might have fallen asleep but then, you let out a long sigh that sounds awfully audible in the small space of your bedroom. “You still have time to fix this, Jungkookie.”

You haven’t called him that in three years. It’s good to hear that again.

He smiles to himself, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You don’t protest. If anything, he feels you breathe out with relief.

Next morning you wake up feeling like the temperature in your room has risen to fifty degrees. You’re still wrapped tightly in your comforter and facing the wall, which means you haven’t moved even an inch in your sleep. The cause of it being a very much large, male body practically crushing you with its weight.

You let out a shaky exhale. Jungkook’s front is not only pressed flush to your back but somehow, his muscular leg is thrown over yours, successfully trapping you in.

You wiggle, trying to free yourself from his hold but when you hear his quiet groan, you abruptly stop your movements. And then, you feel it. An apparent hardness poking your backside.

You can’t help but blush, reminding yourself not to make this situation even more awkward than it already is. It happens sometimes, you tell yourself, it’s completely normal for men to pop a boner when they’re in such close, intimate position with another warm body.

But when you feel Jungkook unconsciously seeking friction and pressing himself even firmer against your bottom, you can’t help but yelp in response, throwing off the material covering your body and elbowing Jungkook's unsuspecting face in process.

“Fuck! What time is it?” he mumbles groggily, narrowing his eyes when they’re met for the first time with the sunlight gradually slipping through your unveiled curtains.

“Quarter past your dick poking my ass!”

Jungkook furrows his brows but when his eyes land on his crotch, he smiles sheepishly at you. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just been a really long time since I slept next to someone like that.” His cheeks are flushed in pink and he rubs the back of his head in a bashful manner.

“What about your one night stands then?” you can’t help but ask.

He shrugs in response. “I never stay over.”

“Oh.” You don’t even know why you’re strangely surprised. Maybe it comes from the fact that you’ve always pegged Jungkook to be the rather romantic type. People change, they say. Or sometimes your assumptions about someone you thought you know like the back of your hand happen to be wrong.

You clear your throat. “Anyway, get up. It’s time for breakfast.” you say and disappear from his sight but he still hears you fumbling in the kitchen, popping the kettle on.

He raises from the bed with reluctance, bending to lift the puddle of his clothes he left on the floor last night.

“Hey, what do you want to–“ you begin but your voice involuntarily trails off, seeing him in rather exposed state now in broad daylight. “–to drink?” you finish almost breathlessly.

You’ve been aware Jungkook's good looking. He’s started attending gym long before you stopped keeping in touch with each other. You just didn’t know he is that ripped. It’s not a surprise that his fans go nuts every time they see even a small glimpse of his muscles.

You really shouldn’t be staring but it’s too late when you see a sly smirk on his face. “Like what you see, buttercup?” he asks like the cocky bastard you didn’t know he’s capable of being. “I would like a black coffee, please.” he adds.

There’s a roll of your eyes in response to his teasing tone. “Oh, stop with these nicknames.”

Jungkook grins. “Why? Hyung used to call you that and you blushed every time.”

“Because I had the biggest crush on your brother when I was eleven, dumbass.” you scoff, shaking your head. You leave him, heading back to the kitchen to finish preparing food.

“I know you had a crush on him,” Jungkook shouts after you, putting on his pants and t-shirt. “I’m just curious why him, not me.”

“Seriously? You had emo fringe and pimples back then!”

He laughs, making his way to the kitchen where you’re standing by the counter and mixing something on the frying pan.

“Hope you don’t mind eating scrambled eggs,” you say, sparing him a quick glance. “It’s probably the only edible thing in my fridge right now beside instant ramen.”

Jungkook settles himself on the stool by the small, wooden table situated right by the window. This time, the view is a greish wall of another building. He takes the coffe cup from you and adds a generous spoon of sugar. “I don’t mind. It smells really nice.” he answers, calming your concerns. “So, am I not crushable in your eyes?” He takes a sip of his drink, peeking at you curiously.

You take out the plates from the cabinet and start putting the food you’ve prepared on them. “What kind of word ‘crushable’ even is? Beside, you have millions of fans gushing over you, I’m unnecessary in this equation.” you say, placing the plate in front of him.

“But you aren’t saying no,” he counters.

“Jungkook.”

“I know, I know,” he chuckles. “I’m just teasing you.”

You look at him then, observing thoroughly for the first time since you saw him last night. He’s indeed handsome, there’s not a hint of doubt about that. His features are more mature, the baby fat on his cheeks gone and replaced with chiseled jawline. But if there’s one thing which stays the same, it’s his eyes. Still gleaming with misheviousness when he laughs and holding starry skies in them when he’s astounded by something.

“Didn’t know you were such a great cook, ___,” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to the reality. He sends you thumbs up with his mouth full and you can’t help but crack a smile at his goofiness. Old habits die hard, they say. “Aren’t you eating?” he asks, staring at you with wide eyes.

You glance at your untouched eggs and opt for taking a sip of coffee instead. “I’m not that hungry.” you respond. He shrugs his shoulders at that, taking a bite of the toast.

You nip the inside of your cheek, hesitating, before asking him a question that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue since last night. “What are you going to tell the rest of the guys when you come home?”

Jungkook's expression immadietly shifts after registering your question. “The truth.” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You don’t even try to hide your puzzlement, repeting after him, “The truth?” in bewildered tone.

“They aren’t going to buy that anyway. But believe me, it’s better if I came back in the middle of the night completely wasted.”

Something’s telling you not to dread that conversation longer so you don’t press him about it any further, instead focusing on changing a topic. “Do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?”

He nods, swallowing. “We have a dance practice later.”

You raise your eyebrows. “New comeback?” you smile teasingly and he sends you a wink.

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

“Oh, come on. You know I can keep my mouth shut,” you pout.

He rolls his eyes at first but then a small smile appears on his lips. “I know you can. You’ve been covering for me in school all the time.” he murmurs. At that, something warm spreads in your chest. “Come on, buttercup, I’m not spilling anything until you start eating.” he warns, pointing at your untouched food.

When you grin at him and he reciprocates the gesture, it feels like you’ve turned back the time.

“And... five, six, seven, eight!”

Jungkook doesn’t know how many times he has repeated the same sequence of movements but he feels like passing out anytime soon. He asked Hoseok to help him practice but it looks like his older friend is in rather bad mood today and he seems to lose patience even quicker.

“...and spin–no! Jungkook, you’re not supposed to do it like that.” Hoseok sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Jungkook grimaces, collapsing on the floor. “Give me a few moments, hyung. I’ll do better, I promise.” he mutters.

Hoseok crunches down next to him for a moment, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly. “You did good, Kook-ah. We can call it quits for today.” he says.

Jungkook doesn’t even have strength to answer him verbally. Instead, he shuts his eyes tightly and nods. He hears Hoseok walking away and talking in the distance with Namjoon about something.

“Are you okay?”

Jungkook cracks an eye open. It’s Jimin this time. He kneels on the floor, observing him with worried look on his face.

“Yeah. Just need a minute to catch a breath.” Jungkook responds.

Jimin nods but Jungkook knows him well enough to sense that there’s another question at the tip of his friend's tongue. And he’s not wrong.

“Jungkook, you know you should stop doing that.”

Jungkook sits up, turning his head in Jimin's direction, eyes narrowed into slits. “What, hyung?” he asks, not hiding is irritation. He’s heard it too many times not to feel it already blubbering inside his chest.

“You know exactly what I mean. Partying, getting drunk, sleeping around like a–“ Jimin stops himself in time, seeing Jungkook's expression.

“Like who?” Jungkook scowls. “Come on, hyung, end the sentence.”

Jimin shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just worried about you. We all are.” He puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder and squeezes.

“No need to. Besides, you’re the last one to lecture me about smart life choices.” Jungkook spats harshly and gets up, leaving Jimin staring at his disappearing figure with defeated expression.

Back in the confines of his room, Jungkook finds himself lying on his bed again. At some point, his thoughts wander back to you. He had to leave your flat quicker than he wanted because of the scheduled practice (and the hint of guilt he felt for his hyungs).

He wonders if you can still be friends together, just like the old times. He needs it. Needs you by his side. He didn’t even know he’s been craving it unconsciously. But then he realises he didn’t even ask for your phone number. Maybe you still have the same one?

He reaches for his phone and unlocks it, searching through his contacts. He has you saved under ‘Miss Grumpy'. It makes him smile involuntarily. His thumbs hover over the screen before he starts typing.

[21:08pm] me:

hi, it’s me Jungkook. I don’t know if that’s still your number but I decided to give it a try. I wanted to say thank you once again for yesterday. and today’s breakfast.

Few minutes later, his phone buzzes.

[21:11pm] Miss Grumpy:

you’re welcome, buttercup

Seven days later, Jungkook is at Bongcheon Underground Station again. This time, it’s not his recklessness and cynicism that led him here. He climbs up the stairs and walk into the half-asleep streets with purpose in his mind.

He remembers exactly the path to the club you’re working in. Now he can only hope you have a shift tonight as well.

You haven’t talked a whole week. He felt too insecure and scared to call or text you. What if you don’t want him to keep in touch? What if your last meeting and sleepover at your flat was just a favor for old times’ sake?

That’s why he needs to see you in person. He thought about visiting you in your flat but his intoxicated brain betrayed him and he couldn’t recall your address even if he tried and he did, sitting in front of his laptop and wandering through the streets on Google maps.

When he enters the club he’s met with the familiar buzz of electronic music and the smell of sweat mixed with nicotine. It looks like it’s his lucky day though, because here you are, talking with a client behind the bar.

Jungkook can’t help but smile to himself. He observes you for a while from afar, watching you listening to someone’s tipsy rambling with a polite, yet forced sympathy. He decides to save you from the uncomfortable situation, marching to the bar and sitting on one of the stools.

He sighs to himself, remembering the pieces and bits from his memory of the last time he was there, making a total fool of himself. If it wasn’t for you, his foot would never step here ever again.

You excuse yourself and leave the drunk man, just to be met with Jungkook's smiling eyes. Somehow, his brain short circuits and he sends you a wink.

You roll your eyes, approaching him. “What can I get you?” you ask. “Although after last time I suggest a glass of water.”

He chuckles, pulling his face mask down. “When do you finish?”

Sparing a glance at the watch you have on your wrist, you answer, “In forty minutes.”

“A beer it is, then.”

You hesitate, reaching for the glass. “And you’re just going to sit here the whole time, waiting for me?” you ponder with a surprised expression, just like you’d never thought he could do something like that.

Jungkook only grins in response.

For the next half an hour he watches you work; serving drinks to clients, polishing glasses, occasionally giving a love advices to some teary-eyed girls in a short, black dresses. Just when he’s chugging the last sip of his beer, you come up to him.

“I’m done for tonight. You can wait for me outside.” you say.

When his in front of the bar, he pulls out his cigarettes and lights up one to pass the time. He wouldn’t call himself addicted. He smokes rather sporadically, mostly when he’s out getting wasted or when he’s stressed about something. Or just like now, when circumstances are conducive.

Few minutes later you appear by his side. He takes one last drag and whirls to face you. “So you really quit, huh?” he asks, making you nod curtly. “And you don’t smoke even when you’re on a party?” He's almost astonished.

“Nope, even then.” you confirm, hearing him mutter a ‘Wow’ under his breath. “Well? What now?” You cross yours arms over chest, eyebrows lifted in question.

He tosses the cigarette to the ground and tramples it with his foot. “I thought we could go to your flat, eat late night ramen and just talk.”

“So we're hanging out now?” There’s a slight sarcastic lilt to your voice and he worries for a moment you are going to tell him to fuck off but then, your features soften. “It sounds nice but I know a spot not far away from here when we can sit and talk. If that’s okay with you.” you say.

“Lead the way, then.”

You didn’t lie when you said the place you were taking him wasn’t far away. What you didn’t tell him though, was that getting there meant climbing up the fire escape all the way to the rooftop of a run-down tenement house.

“Care to explain me how do you know about this place?” Jungkook asks once he’s seated comfortably on an old, emerald sofa next to you. It’s a mystery to him how this peace of furniture was brought here but nevertheless, it was someone's good idea.

You were right. It is nice here. You have a full view to the city from up there and he’s sure it would be easy to see the green hills in daylight or watch how the sky burns during sunsets.

“Minho took me there first,” you explain, answering his question. “His police department is few blocks from here. One day they got a call from some angry, old lady, saying that someone was playing music very loudly nearby. When they arrived, they found out a group of teenagers had organized a party on top of the rooftop.”

Jungkook hums. “He’s quite romantic,” Upon seeing your clueless expression he adds, ‘’Your boyfriend, I mean.”

“Ah, yeah,” You crack a smile, although he thinks it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “He is. Sometimes.”

He decides not to press you about it any further.

He leans his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment and inhaling the chilly, pre-spring air. Then, he feels you nudging his side. “So, what do you want to talk about?” you ask, staring at him in anticipation. Jungkook lets out a groan in response and runs his hand down his face. You chuckle, “Hey, we didn’t come here to sit in silence. Entertain me a little, would you.”

He sighs your name. You aren’t prone to giving up easily, he knows it. You’re probably the most stubborn person he’s had a chance to encounter and that is also one of the main reasons he came up with the ‘Miss Grumpy’ nickname when you were in fifth grade.

“I’m pretty sure the golden maknae of BTS has more interesting life than me,” you snicker and he knows it was meant to sound playful coming from you, but he feels something heavy in his chest hearing your remark.

He musters up a small smile. “You would actually be surprised if I told you that my life isn’t as exciting as it may look.”

It hasn’t missed your eye how tired Jungkook seems. No matter how much he tries, he can’t possibly hide fully the bangs underneath his eyes or the greish complexion of his skin. It’s weird seeing him in person like this; without stage make-up and plastered smile reserved for the fans. Seeing him so humane.

For the last three years, you only watched him on your phone's screen. But it wasn’t really him. Your Jungkook is sitting right next to you and silently observing the city during the night. Your Jungkook smoked cigarettes with you by the beach in Busan and got you an autograph from one of your favourite artists he had met personally at the backstage after some award ceremony.

Your Jungkook would never got himself drunk to the point of unconsciousness, risking his reputation. But again, you might only think you know him.

“Let’s talk about you instead,” Jungkook says suddenly, pulling you out from your thoughts. “What do you do beside working in that club?”

You sigh. “You know I don’t like talking about myself either,”

“I know, but we haven’t seen each other for so long. I need to catch up with you.”

You fight an urge to scoff, “And whose fault is that?” but you’re not in the mood to argue. Nor is Jungkook, as you suppose. “I’m studying journalism. Bartending is my part-time job. I had to start working because I couldn’t afford to pay for rent just from my poor scholarship. Prices have increased so if I wanted to stay in Seoul, I needed to work, whether I wanted or not.”

Jungkook knows there’s no words that could somehow lessen your struggles. It’s been a long time since he worried about money. Now, he can have everything he’s ever wanted yet something’s always missing. And he still hasn’t discovered how to fill that void.

“You’re still writing?” he asks instead, referring to your hobby you’ve picked up when you were kids.

“Yes, I am. That’s actually what most journalists do, Jungkook. We write.”

He laughs boyishly, high-pitched and you recall that pleasant sound from the back of your memory. He used to be embarrassed of it when he was younger and often hid his mouth behind his hand to muffle it. You’re glad he doesn’t do that anymore.

“What’s so funny in that?” You sound slightly irritated, although you’re trying hard to stop yourself from smiling too. It just comes naturally when you’re around him.

He takes a deep breath and then says, “Nothing. I’m just thinking,”

You raise your eyebrow. “Thinking? About what?”

“Remember how you’ve always dreamt about becoming a writer when we were teenagers?”

You nod. That’s still very much your goal. Albeit you’re aware it might as well not come true, sadly. “I do. And what about it?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he places his arms behind his head and leans back on the couch with a coy smile. “Maybe you will write my biography one day.” he says after a moment.

“Only if you pay me shit tons of money for that.”

“Agreed.”

You find yourself coping his position and slumping on the couch as well. His eyes are closed, and you watch him from the corner of your eye. Despite the dim lighting, he seems glowing in the darkness like a single, silver spot on the noir sky.

“I think I know how would it be called.” you say suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“Your biography. I came up with the title.” you clarify.

“What is it then?” Jungkook hums with his eyes still closed.

You take a moment to answer, looking up at the blackboard night sky above you. Smiling to yourself, you reply. “I would call it ‘Lost star’.”

His brows furrow slightly. “Why is that?”

“That’s my secret for now.”

“I don’t know. I think this song needs something more.”

“It’s fine for me, Namjoon-ah. The bridge is great, stop worrying so much. We still have a lot of time before the deadline.”

“Thanks, hyung. Jungkookie, have you spoke with Hyowon-hyung about your solo?”

“Kook-ah? We’re talking to you.”

“Jeon Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks up from his phone at the sound of Seokjin's harsh voice. He sends his older friend a clueless look. “Hmm?”

Namjoon sighs. “I asked you a question, Jungkook.”

Jungkook puts away his phone. “I’m sorry, hyung. I wasn’t listening. Can you repeat it?”

“Of course you weren’t, you’ve been staring at your phone for the past twenty minutes instead of paying attention to us.” Seokjin scoffs, digging his chopsticks in the kimchi he's eating.

It’s a little past seven and they are having late dinner at their dorm after a whole day of schedule. Jungkook doesn’t even know what type of commercial they were recording. He just kept reading everything from the monitor behind the camera as he always does, trying to make it seem as unnoticeable as possible.

Truth to be told, Seokjin's right. He hasn’t been paying attention to their conversation, although he definitely should have. Telling them he was texting you this whole time is a pathetic and dumb excuse, he knows that. He doesn’t want them to ask him questions about you. Not yet.

“I asked if you talked to Hyowon-hyung.” Namjoon repeats after a moment.

A hint of realization crosses Jungkook's face at that. “Yeah, I did. He played me the first draft and told me to work on the lyrics.” he says, reaching for his chopsticks.

Namjoon nods, humming. “Do you want me to help you with that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “No, you don’t have to. I’m just waiting for the inspiration to kick in.”

And he hopes it’s going to enlighten him soon. He has a few songs written on his own but creating music for an album it’s different. The standards are higher, expectations bigger. Restricted time always makes him jittery, too.

Taking a mouthful of his bibimpap, a smile flashes across his face. He glances if anyone is looking at him now but his friends are busy talking about something regarding the next release. He reaches for his phone and writes a message to you.

[7:16pm] me:

do you remember the time when you cooked a bibimpap for my goodbye dinner at home?

Not even a minute later, he receives a response from you.

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:

yeah I do

why are you asking me this tho

[7:17pm] me:

I’m eating it know and it reminded me of that day

sorry but god, it was awful

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:

excuse me????

He remembers probably every second of that day. His mother’s tears, your extremely undercooked meat and his father’s affectionate hug.

Smiling to himself, he taps another sentences.

[7:18pm] me:

I couldn’t tell you that. you looked so proud of yourself

I just ate everything like it was the most delicious course on this planet

best acting of my life

[7:19pm] Miss Grumpy:

you asshole

i poured my heart into this

you’re right, that was your best acting. definitely better than war of hormone playboy jungkook

He rolls his eyes. The amount of times you joked about this particular moment of his career is neverending.

[7:19pm] me:

can you please stop

[7:20pm] Miss Grumpy:

fuck off. of course I won’t

how was it?

ah I know.

I’m a bad boy so I like bad girls

showstopping. truly

He tries to muffle his laughter but there’s no use for that. He snickers under his breath, hoping no one have noticed but he was oh, so wrong. Because as soon as he looks up from the phone screen, all eyes are on him.

Namjoon clears his throat. “You’re not eight anymore, Jungkook, so I won’t lecture you like a father but please, don’t use your phone while we’re eating.”

“Who are you texting this passionately anyway? You never put anything before food.” Hoseok adds, frowning.

“My hyung.” Jungkook answers casually.

In the corner of his eye he sees Taehyung leaning to whisper something in Jimin's ear and they both giggle quietly. Jungkook sends them a glare.

They stop but few seconds later, Taehyung breaks into his signature boxy smile.

“What is this, Taehyung?” Namjoon asks, frowning.

“It looks like our Jungkookie is lying.”

Jungkook grips the edge of the table tightly. He searches for Jimin's eyes but he looks away quickly, as though almost guilty.

At the other end of the table, Yoongi puts away his chopsticks and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Care to elaborate on that, Taehyung-ah?”

“He isn’t texting his brother. I think Jungkookie might be in love,” he sing-songs, giggling to himself.

Jungkook’s first instinct is to smack his friend's in the head. And so does he. “What the fuck, Tae?” he snaps.

“Language, kid!” Seokjin says automatically.

“I'm twenty-two!”

“And I’m twenty seven, so shut your mouth and listen to your elders. What is Taehyung speaking about?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

“Oh, stop bullshitting us. I looked at your phone screen when it was lying on the table. You don’t call your hyung ‘Miss Grumpy'.” Taehyung says, his fingers doing the quotation mark in the air.

“You’re not supposed to look at my phone! It’s called privacy!” Jungkook exclaims, however it’s pointless. Everyone now is focused on him and you.

“Can someone tell who the fuck is ‘Miss Grumpy’?” Seokjin asks, looking around the table.

Jungkook runs his hand through his hair in a nervous manner. He screwed up, and now they won’t let him breathe for at least five more days. “Her name is actually ___. She’s my childhood friend from Busan.”

He hears Taehyung chuckling next to him. “Oh, come on. You can tell us you’re sexting her. We won’t judge.”

“I’m not!”

“Shut the fuck up, all of you!” Yoongi says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we for once eat in peace? Jungkook, please, kindly explain us who this girl you’re texting with is.”

Jungkook pursues his lips. “I told you. She’s just my old friend. Why would I lie to you?”

Seeing their uneasy expressions, he realises he said the wrong thing. He has lied to them before about many things. It isn’t anything shocking that they doubt his words now. They have all rights to do it.

Namjoon is the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Jungkook, you know the rules. We can't freely date like we would like to. I suggest you should end things with this girl, whatever you're both doing, before it escalates into something more serious. Before you hurt her and yourself in the process.” he says.

Hoseok nods at his friend’s words. “Namjoon is right, Jungkookie. Serious relationships are just going to make everything more complicated.”

Jungkook grits his teeth. “We aren’t dating.” he spats.

“Sleeping together also isn’t a good idea.”

“We aren’t having sex,” Jungkook's eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you tell the same thing to Yoongi-hyung when he was seeing that blonde girl? He sneaked her into his room one day and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t just playing her his music.” he scowls, shaking his head.

“Hyung's older than you. Besides, he ended things with her some time ago.” Namjoon counters.

“It’s true, Jungkook-ah. Namjoon is right. No matter what you’re doing with her, you should always be careful.” Yoongi adds.

Something breaks in Jungkook at that. All of the pent-up frustration seems to leave his body at once. “You know what? Fuck off, all of you. I’m not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions and they are none of your fucking business.” He stands up from the table abruptly.

“Jungkook, wait. Let’s talk without fighting now,” Namjoon pleads but he isn’t listening to him anymore.

Jimin, who was silent this whole time, puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. “Jungkookie–” he starts but his immadietly cut off by Jungkook's harsh tone.

“Stop calling me that!” Jungkook snaps and walks away, slamming the door to his room behind himself.

There’s a knock to his door an hour after.

This pattern feels familiar. He messes something up, they give him some space to think and reflect about it on his own and then, it’s time to sit together and discuss it openly almost like a peace treaty. Jungkook says sorry, promises he will be a better person and everyone moves on.

He doesn’t bother getting up until he hears a voice behind the door speak up. “It's Yoongi-hyung. I’m not here to force you to apologize. I just want to talk.”

Jungkook's brows furrow. He stares at the door, imagining Yoongi standing behind it with his hands in pockets and eyes glued to the ceiling. He debates whether he should open the door and let him in or keep sulking just a little more until the atmosphere will loosen up on its own.

Somehow, his thoughts wander to you. You would probably tell him that communication is the key to solving problems, or something along the lines. That he can’t shut himself from the world because he feels like no one really gets him. You would also call him childish but he doesn’t dwell on that more.

“Jungkook-ah? Please, open the door. I promise I won’t patronize you.”

He exhales loudly and gets up from the bed. If there’s one person in this house whose words he can trust wholeheartedly, it’s Yoongi. He twists the handle and walks back to his bed.

The door clicks shut a few moments later, mattress dipping where Yoongi makes a room for himself next to him, clearing his throat. “Listen,” he begins but Jungkook cuts him off with a scoff.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t give me patronizing ted talks.”

“Yeah, I did. But I won’t stare at the wall in silence either,” Yoongi says. Few deep breaths later, he continues. “Jihye was a nothing but a good friend to me with whom I had sex sometimes, no strings attached. Until one day I realised our relationship stopped being solemnly based only on physical attraction. That’s why I decided to end things with her.”

“Did you fall in love with her?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. But I could. And that’s what scared me the most.”

“Why?”

In the corner of his eye, Jungkook sees him smiling sadly. “It's simple. Because being together would only lead us to heartbreak. I cared about her too much to make her hurt like that due to my selfishness.” he says. “This is the same reason why Jimin didn’t continue his relationship with our make-up noona even after she left the company. And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t get any hard feelings involved with that friend of yours.”

Jungkook pursues his lips. He understands Yoongi's concerns but his situation is different. Jimin was in love with that woman. He was ready to buy an apartment for them and move out from the dorm. If someone from the company hadn’t found out about their secret relationship, he would have still been sneaking around with her.

Jungkook though, doesn’t have any feelings for you. He’s gone past his silly crush when you were younger a long time ago. Besides, you have a boyfriend and he doesn’t chase after taken women. At least not intentionally.

“She’s just a friend, hyung.” he says finally but it sounds more like he tries to convince himself, not Yoongi.

Yoongi pats him on the shoulder. “I know. Just be careful, okay?” And with that, he leaves Jungkook's room.

Jungkook knew it was a bad idea as soon as he stepped into the club and loud, thumping music filled his ears.

He knew it when he ordered a round of shots and gulped them down one after another. When he found himself in the middle of the crowd of sweaty bodies, head buzzing and arms around a nameless brunette, his tongue between her lips.

And he knows it right now, when he’s sitting in a booth, her ass placed directly over his crotch where he’s already sporting a hard-on. The girl (Eunbi? Or maybe it’s Eunji? He hasn't registered when she shouted it to his ear because he was too busy staring down at her cleavage) grinds herself with eagerness against him and he lets out a groan, leaning to plant kisses on the side of her neck. And in that exact moment, when his chapped lips meet the porcelain skin of her throat, he locks eyes with you.

(And he’s once again reminded how stupid it was to go to the club where you work.)

After his conversation with Yoongi he felt like he needed to prove something to himself. That he’s not the one to fall in love impulsively, that he can fuck and not get feelings involved. He could have gotten himself drunk in in any other place yet here he is, a random girl straddling him while he blinks his bloodshot eyes at you.

Your gaze trails down from his face to his palms splayed on brunette’s bottom and you scoff to yourself, averting your attention somewhere else. If he’s disappointed, he hides it pretty well, sucking yet another purplish mark on the girl's neck she accepts with another roll of her hips.

Whimpering into his ear, she moves herself faster against his hardness but he doesn’t pay mind to her anymore, not when he catches you looking at him again in the corner of his eye.

The girl leans to kiss him and he obliges, tongue darting to lick into her mouth but his eyes remain trained on you the whole time. You see him slipping his fingers underneath her skirt and smirking when he feels the evidence of her lust between her thighs. He wants you to watch him making her come undone on his lap, he craves to relish in the sick thrill of having you witnessing what he’s capable of doing. But when he’s about to pull the girl's lingerie to the side, you’re turning away and disappearing from his sight.

His fingers stay pressed to the flesh of brunette's thighs, unmoving, until she purrs into into his ear. “Oppa, please. Want you so bad.”

Jungkook tsks to himself, rolling his eyes at her saccharine sweet, high-pitched voice. “Not here.” he mutters.

Minutes later he’s in the club's bathroom, his head thrown back and grunts escaping his lips. He looks down at the mop of her hair as she swallows around his cock, bringing him closer to the release. She peeks at him from between her eyelashes, teary-eyed and already fucked-out.

He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls hard, until she moans around him. “That’s it, baby. Gonna fuck your mouth now.” He pushes himself deeper, feeling her choke. She welcomes the pain without complaint, tears flowing down her cheeks and palms pressed obediently on his thighs. Jungkook clenches his jaw, focusing on his pleasure until he groans lowly and comes down her throat.

He pulls away from her mouth, tugging himself back into his pants. She stands up from her kneeling position on wobbly legs and wraps her arms around his neck. “What about me, oppa?” she giggles, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Won’t you fuck me now?”

He sighs, staring down at her. There are smudges of mascara underneath her eyes, her cheeks are wet with tears and her lipstick is smeared. He reaches with his thumb to wipe it, and she leans into his touch.

He feels guilty telling her to be quiet and hiking her skirt up. He feels it when she climaxes around his fingers with a cry of his name on her lips. He feels it too even stronger, cleaning her up and leaving to fix her make-up in front of the blurry mirror, but that’s all he can do. That’s everything he can provide.

Later that night, when he's finally in his own bed, your face flashes behind his eyelids. He's sick of himself, of his actions, that he let his weaknesses got best of him again.

Before he could even think of it, he types a message to you.

[3:45am] me:

I’m sorry. I was drunk and couldn’t think straight

Few bits of silence later, his phone buzzes.

[3:47am] Miss Grumpy:

I know you were

Did you at least thank her?

He scoffs to himself, thinking about proper words to answer you but strangely, he recalls your wide eyes transfixed on him and the way you held his challenging gaze when his lips kissed another woman. He’s never seen you looking at him like that before. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t affect you even the slightest.

[3:48am] me:

don’t worry. she had a good time

[3:48am] Miss Grumpy:

goodnight, jungkook

[3:49am] me:

sleep tight, ___.

There’s something apprehensive in the perpetual ticking of the clock when it's silent in the room. It almost feels like the sound keeps getting louder and louder as the time passes by, as if it’s expecting a storm to occur and shatter the calm.

“___?”

You’re brought back to the reality from your thoughts by Minho's voice. He has a questioning look on his face, watching you with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“I could see that,” Minho reaches for his tea cup and takes a sip. “Is everything alright?” he asks, but you shake your head with a smile.

“Just university stuff.” you say vaguely and he doesn’t press you about it any further, nodding in understanding.

Minho left his work earlier today, coming straight to your flat. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are dedicated to spending your time together on dates. Today, you’re going to the cinema and to your favourite sushi bar. For the second time this month.

“I’m going to use the bathroom now and then we can head out, okay?”

You answer him with a nod. Standing up, you gather your cups and place them into the sink but right when you’re about to wash them, you hear Minho's phone buzz with single notification.

You bite your lip. You know you shouldn’t look but you push it to the back of your head for now, sparing a quick glance at his lockscreen.

Sooyoung: when you will be free next time?

You frown. You’ve never heard him taking about any woman from his work with a name like this. The message sounds ambiguous but it doesn’t have to mean anything to worry about at the same time. You just have to ask to be sure. That’s what couples do, right? They communicate.

Taking a deep breath, you wait for Minho until he comes back from the bathroom.

“Are you ready to–”

“Who’s Sooyoung?” you cut him off before you’ll lose your courage and let the anxious thoughts consume you without asking him first.

He furrows his brows but then his eyes land on the phone lying on the table. He pursues his lips. “You’ve been snooping through my phone?”

“I didn’t have to snoop. I just looked at the screen when you got a notification.” you say as calmly as possible, trying to hide your nerves. “I just thought it’s a little weird that some other woman is asking you when you will be free next time.”

Minho's eyes narrow. “What are you insinuating?” he asks.

“I’m not insinuating anything. Just tell me who she is, it’s simple.”

He looks uneasy, tongueing the inside of his cheek but nevertheless, he’s still as composed as ever, gauging you with tentative expression. “Sooyoung is my friend from work. She’s a new recruit and we go to the shooting range to practice once a week,” he explains. “And before you will ask: we aren’t there all alone. Kihyun accompanies us. So you don’t have to worry about anything. Can we go now, honey?”

You lower your eyes to the ground, nodding. When you try to move past him, Minho catches your wrist. “Do you have anything more to add?” His voice is stern and you gulp.

“I'm sorry.” you almost whisper.

“It’s okay. Just don’t jump into conclusions next time, okay?” he says, hand still wrapped tightly around your hand.

“Okay.” you repeat and he releases you.

A smile appears on his face after that, and he cocks his head at you. “Let's go.”

You exhale a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding and follow him.

There are some things in our lives that we cannot predict.

Like the heavy traffic on the way to work because of the car crash happening somewhere in the city or meeting your ex you’d rather forget about in a shopping mall months after break up. And when they do happen, we can only confront what the faith has in store for us, no matter how much we resist.

You certainly couldn’t predict that after sending a ‘god I want to get drunk so bad’ message to Jungkook he would actually appear hours later on your doorstep with grocery bags in one hand and pizza box in another, grinning broadly when he saw your genuinely surprised expression.

That’s when the surrealism kicks in, when you’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, one empty bottle of suju on your account and the second almost drained to the half. When Jungkook is right by your side, tomato sauce on his chin you wipe out for him with a grimace, talking about some dumpling incident that caused a huge fight among his friends.

But no matter how much you try, how much alcohol you pour into your system, you’re unable to fully get rid of the anxious thoughts sitting at the back of your head.

It’s been a while since your argument with Minho and even though you want to believe him, the creeping feeling that something’s off won’t leave you. It’s easy to say to always trust your intuition, but what if it prompts you scenarios you wouldn’t like to become real?

Jungkook must have sensed that something doesn’t feel right because he stops his rambling mid-sentence, clearing his throat. “Are you even listening to me now, buttercup?” he asks.

You snap out of your thoughts at that, mustering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was but–”

“But you zoned out for a moment,” he finishes. “It’s okay. I know you since we were kids, I can tell when there's something bothering you. It’s all in your eyes.” he says, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“What’s in my eyes?”

“They look sad.”

You shy away from his piercing stare, looking at your lap instead. You’ve always proud yourself that you can read people like an open book. That’s why you can so easily hide your true emotions at bay before the whole world. But if there’s only one person who is capable of seeing through you, it’s Jungkook.

You can open up to him, you remind yourself. You’re safe, he’s been your friend for such a long time, he won’t hurt you.

You take a deep breath and say, “Minho and I have some trouble. I mean, it’s nothing serious but he’s been acting weird lately and few days ago we got into a fight, so yeah. I’m just... a little stressed, that’s all.”

“Should I kick his ass?” he suggests and knowing him, he might as well be serious so you brush it of with a chuckle.

“Maybe not yet.”

You reach for the empty pizza box between you, putting it to the side. You debate taking another shot of soju but eventually you refuse, placing the bottle next to the carton. You’ve had enough alcohol for tonight anyway.

“Are you happy with him, ___?” Jungkook asks suddenly, and you feel like all the air in the room has been sucked off.

You turn to face him, heart rickocheting faster in your ribcage. If you’re truly shocked he’s had an audacity to ask this, you hide it pretty well. Something in your head is telling you that the best defence is attack, so you aim.

“Are you happy?”

Your question stirs something in him. You don’t know what you expected but you could never imagine him actually catching the bait and answering you with honesty. Yet he does.

“You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question a lot lately,” he says, smiling lopsidedly. “There are days when I’m the happiest person on this planet, when I feel like I can do everything. But sometimes, when I step down the stage and lights go out, it just gets harder.” There’s a slight crack to his voice at the end and when you look him in the eyes, they’re glassy. “If I knew it could be so lonely, I wouldn’t have signed up for this. Ever.”

Some things in life we are able to predict. We know the road leading to success and accomplishment might be bumpy, yet we cannot truly be prepared for the outcome of all the difficulties we come across along the way. Jungkook was aware of the consequences his popularity may cause in the future, but he simply didn’t think it could be so overwhelming.

You scoot closer to him, your hand finding his amid your bodies. He looks down and intertwines his fingers with yours with a hint of smile in the corner of his lips. “You have all rights in the world to feel the way you do, Jungkook, remember that. But you’re not alone in this. I’m always here, okay? I’ve been for the past three years and I’m not going anywhere soon.” you say firmly, closing the distance between you.

He accepts your hug with eagerness, wrapping his arms around your frame with desperation, pulling you closer. It’s been so long since you’ve talked like this, since you’ve comforted each other and shared deepest fears.

Jungkook buries his face in the crook of your neck, where you feel him breathing out shakily. He rests his palms on your back, tracing soothing patterns over the material of your hoodie and that’s when you realise he wasn’t the only one who needed to be held like this, even just for a moment. It’s exactly what you’ve been missing, the sheer intimacy of a simple hug.

“Sometimes I just wish it was different.” he whispers into your hair and you close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Me too.”

Somehow, it seems like the most honest thing you’ve said.

Even when you pull away, you’re still mere inches from him. You feel his breath on your skin, his hands travelling from your backside to your hips. Jungkook's eyes are focused on your face but there’s no sadness or melancholy in them now. In his deep brown orbs you recognize something akin to longing.

And maybe the alcohol running in your veins is deceiving you, but when his gaze drops to your lips, you can’t do anything; you’re paralyzed, barely breathing. It’s electrifying, crawling in your skin. His right palm finds the apple of your cheek, thumb stroking your bottom lip until he releases it and tilts your chin. The moment your eyes meet his comes with realization that maybe you were right - you see the yearning in them. But it’s mixed with desire.

The first touch of his lips on yours feels almost exploratory. He kisses you so softly and carefully you might believe it’s his first kiss, but you know this is only a false inkling. Truth to be told, his experience in this area is incomparable to yours. With the shy press of his lips on yours he’s only testing the waters, sensing if you want to push him away. Yet you don’t.

You succumb to the way his chapped lips move against yours, like they’ve always belonged there. You want to be as close to him as possible, feel the heat radiating of him on you. Nothing else matters beside you and him right now, the reality outside doesn’t exist as long as you’re in the confines of your small bedroom, lips colliding and rational thoughts gone.

When your fingers almost hesitantly thread into the locks at the back of his head, Jungkook deepens the kiss. Your body is moving on your own accord, knees sinking onto the floor on either sides of his thighs until you’re straddling his lap. You taste the desire on his tongue as he runs it through the seam of your lips, seeking entrance you provide.

His hands find purchase on your hips and when he nips on your bottom lip you let out a silent moan, leaning your forehead on his. “What are we doing?” you whisper, breathing heavily down his flushed cheeks and parted mouth. You’re trying to grasp the meaning behind all of this: of your quickened heartbeat, of the evidence of his desire where you groins meet.

“Something we are going to regret later.” It’s the answer Jungkook gives, connecting your mouths once again in a searing kiss.

Everything seems to crush around you. Erupting volcanoes, cascading waterfalls, tsunamis consuming the land. It’s dangerous, Jungkook thinks to himself, kissing you like that, nibbling on your bottom lip and eliciting a moan. But he can’t help but drown in it.

You’ve never felt quite like this; consumed by the flames of forbidden desire, ready to burn into ashes. Jungkook’s palms shift underneath your hoodie and you’re surprised how warm they feel against your skin, caressing your stomach and underside of your breasts. He’s touching you with ardour, like he doesn’t believe you’re in his arms, like you’re going to disappear the second he lets go of you.

You place sloppy kisses on his cheeks, jawline, down his neck, relishing in the way he seems to be affected by your caresses, tightening his grip on your waist with every press of your lips on his skin. He grasps the hem of your hoodie, looking for any sign of discomfort in your eyes but when you nod your head, he doesn’t hesitate to lift it off you, uncovering your bare cleavage.

Biting your lip, a sudden wave of insecurity washes over you but it quickly vanishes as soon as his palms engulf your breasts almost roughly, thumbs brushing your nipples until the peeks harden under his ministrations and you can’t help but gasp. He trails kisses down your throat, teeth grazing your skin almost feather-like and you know what’s that for. He doesn’t want to live a visible mark there.

In one, swift motion, Jungkook puts his hands underneath your thighs and stands up from the floor, lifting you up with ease and placing gently on your bed. He hovers over your half-naked figure, eyeing you with the carnal hunger that makes your chest raise and fall with heavy intakes of breath, core pulsing with want.

He takes off his shirt and tosses it somewhere on the floor, and now you understand why all these girl are so drown to him. Jungkook's probably the most good looking man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Everything in him is crafted with perfection, from the prominent outline of his jaw, through the column of his throat and collarbones, to the sculpted expanses of his chest and abdomen.

Your fingerstips are itching to map every ridge and deep of his body but you remain still, anticipating his next move with rapidly beating heart. Dominance and power radiating of him nearly make you squirm underneath his scrutinizing stare. His dark eyes are telling you to obey him, and you give yourself to him without resistance. You’ve never felt this way, not with anyone. Yet here you are, stripped from the innocence and bared to the pleasure.

Jungkook reaches to the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down and leaving you with nothing but your underwear on. He straddles your thighs, his palm pressed flat to your stomach until he slides it lower, to the dip of your body where you drip with the need of being fucked until you forget your own name.

The first press of his fingers on your pussy makes your limbs jerk uncontrollably and he smirks at your reaction, seeing the material of your panties dampening with his small, teasing strokes. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly it wounds you up, blame it on your uncontrollable celibacy or maybe something else entirely.

“What do you want me to do, doll?” His question makes you whine, hips raising to feel more of his touch on you but he only chuckles at your apparent eagerness, patting your folds in reprimand.

“Anything,” you breathe out in response, looking at him with frenzied eyes and hoping he will be merciful to you.

Jungkook tsks, his fingers leaving your cunt and grasping your jaw tightly. “Be a good girl and use your words.”

You gulp, a humiliating blush reddening your cheeks. You’ve never really been a vocal person during sex, nor were people you had slept with but you can’t deny how much of a turn on is Jungkook's commanding voice.

“Please, Jungkook. Want you to touch me.”

“Where?” His other hand wanders down your body until he cups your center. “Here?” he asks in a mocking tone, making you nod silently. “You want me to touch your pretty pussy with my fingers?”

“Yes, please.”

He grasps your underwear and shruggs it off your legs, smirking when he sees you so affected by his words. He then shoves his index and middle finger into your mouth and watches as you obediently lap your tongue around them, looking at him with hooded eyes.

“Fuck.” he curses, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

You look so pliant and submissive lying naked underneath him, so willing to let him do with you whatever he pleases. His cock throbs in his pants at the thought. He’s had girls at his beck and call before but it’s a different kind of lust with you. A strong yearning, consuming him from the inside, a desperation to be as close as two humans being submerged into carnality possibly can be.

Your back arches when his calloused fingers finally make contact with your bare pussy, slipping between your folds to gather the wetness dripping from your hole. You gasp at the feeling of his thumb circling your clit, biting your lip until you taste iron. He easily finds the right way to make you moan, to make your legs shake with want.

You cry out his name when he pushes the first digit inside. He swears under his breath when he feels your warm walls flattering around him. “M-more,” you whimper, hips lifting of the mattress and seeking friction.

Jungkook smirks at that. “You’re so wet, baby. You like it, don’t you? Such a greedy slut.” You’re mewling at his words, grasping his wrist when he roughly plunges another finger into your cunt and starts shoving them in and out, not sparing even a second to let you adjust to the punishing pace he sets.

He leans his body closer over yours, eyes focused on the way your face writhes in pleasure while his fingers are abusing your pussy. You’re dripping, your arousal coating the his palm and the insides of your thighs. When he sees you reaching to squeeze your breasts, he swears he’s never seen anything sexier than this in his entire life.

“Jungkookie–nghh, please,” You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherent sentences. You could sense your orgasm approaching, you’re feeling it warming your body from the tip of your toes all the way to your core where you’re gushing around his long fingers.

“Come on, doll. Be a good girl and cum for me.” Jungkook murmurs. With his words and his thumb flicking your bundle of nerves with practiced ease, you’re pushed over the edge, tears spilling from your eyes and coating your cheeks. He watches with parted mouth as you come with his name on your lips, your velvet walls deliciously tightening around his digits. He gives you a moment to ride out your high, stroking your side with his palm soothingly.

Pulling out his fingers, he places them in his mouth, humming lowly at the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He wants nothing more than bury his face between your thighs and lick you clean but right now, he needs to fuck you.

He stands up from the bed, taking off his pants and boxers along with socks and catches you peeking at him from the corner of your eye. Your chest is rising with laboured breaths, lips swollen from the way you’ve been biting them to stop yourself from letting out any loud noises that could potentially be heard through the thin walls of your apartment.

He digs one knee on the mattress, his other hand wrapped around his thick cock. You lick your lips at the sight, nails digging crescent moons into your palms.

“On your fours, baby.” Jungkook commands and you oblige with flushed cheeks, maneuvering your body onto your hands and knees. You feel him behind you, his palms stroking the skin of your bare ass. A sick thrill runs through your body at the prospect of being taken in such a humiliating position.

Groaning, Jungkook rubs the mushroom head of his cock through your folds, collecting the juices spilling out of you. That’s when you come back to your senses and your whole body stiffens. “Wait,” you call out, making him pause. “We need a condom.”

“I’m clean. Besides, I never fuck anyone else without protection.”

“Fine, just–” Closing your eyes, you release a shaky breath. “–you need to pull out, okay?”

Jungkook leans over your body, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade. “Relax, ___. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” With one hand on your waist and the other on your hip, he positions the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushes agonizingly slow inside, making you moan at the stretch. You’re grasping the sheets underneath between your fingers, knees threatening to give away after another measured stroke that leaves your heat pulsating.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. When was the last time he fucked you?” he grunts, digging his fingers into your flesh. At the mention of Minho, your body tenses. You breath heavily, trying to push the unwelcomed thoughts aside.

“A m-month ago?” you utter, recalling the last time you had sex. Or rather when you sucked him off and he didn’t bother reciprocating the favor.

Jungkook shoves his cock deeper, scoffing to himself. “His stupid for not appreciating this enough.”

You bite your lip, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. His words sound affectionate, too affectionate for your liking and you don’t want to think about this moment like it means more than what it is. Your hands tremble and lose balance when he fucks into you harder, until he’s filling you to the brim. You’ve never felt so deliciously full. A few bits of ragged breaths later, you mumble, ‘’You can move.”

He tightens his grip on you, bottoming out. He sets a steady pace, fucking you slowly but deeply, making you cry out into the pillow at the sensation of his cock dragging through your walls, making sure you feel every inch of him. “You feel so good, doll. So wet and tight. I’m gonna make a mess of your pretty pussy.” he says lowly.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo through the room with the promise of merciless fucking. Jungkook is relentless, pounding into you faster and faster, like he wants to ruin you, imprint himself on your body to make you remember how easily you can give into vulnerability. His hand slips underneath you and he lifts your upper body up, pressing your back into his chest. The new found angle causes him to hit the spot inside you that has you putty in his arms.

“Don’t–nghhh–stop, fuck!”

He grunts into your ear in response, sweaty bangs ticking the side of your neck. He sneaks his other hand around your throat and you gulp. “Is this okay?” You hear him whispering and you’re nodding, tears gathering in your eyes from the immense pleasure he is bringing to you with every snap of his hips that threatens to make you lose it on his cock.

His fingers apply a slight pressure against your neck, enough to make you lightheaded with unfamiliar yet ecstatic feeling. He overwhelms you in every way possible and you’ve never felt like this; so powerless yet alive at the same time.

Jungkook releases the grip on your throat but he’s hand still remains there as if in warning. “Look at you, taking my cock in your slutty cunt. You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum all over me?” he growls, fingers rubbing your clit in fast circles until tears are spilling down your cheeks and you’re keening.

“God–yes, fuck! Please, I want to cum so bad.” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re on cloud nine, trembling in his arms. He tightens his hold on your throat again and with one last, final flick of his digits on your pussy you’re reaching your second orgasm this night.

Jungkook releases his hold on you, helping you lay down on your back after riding out your high to the brick of oversensitivity. His palm caresses the length of your body soothingly, calming you down. You’re eyes are still closed when he bends and kisses you. Surprised by his sudden gentleness, your breath hitches in your throat. He coaxes a small moan out of you when you finally relax, wrapping your arms around his neck blindingly and pulling him close.

You break away the kiss, feeling his stiff length pressing into your stomach. His cock is covered in your slick, thick and hard against his toned abdomen. Biting your lip, you sit up and enclose your fingers around his sex. Looking up, you're met with his dark orbs watching your movements. With his raven hair falling down on his face and sweaty chest, Jungkook looks painfully beautiful.

He lets out a hiss when you lean down and take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his velvet tip. “Fuck, just like that.” he murmurs. Gathering your hair in his hand, he makes a makeshift ponytail and stares down at you bringing him closer and closer to the edge with every drag of your pink muscle on his cock.

Feeling him twitch in your mouth, you take him deeper, ignoring the ache in your jaw. “Gonna cum.” Jungkook grunts and moments later he releases his seed down your throat. You swallow the bitterness of his arousal, lapping your tongue around his tip until he pulls out of you, wincing with oversensitivity.

Silence takes over the room. You don't dare looking at him, staring at your naked lap instead, thoughts screaming in your head. You know you’re going to feel the aftermath of your rough fucking tomorrow, and it won’t be only physical pain. You sit up, ready to go to the bathroom but a hand on your wrist stops you.

“Wait, I’ll do it.” Jungkook murmurs and you nod absentmindedly.

He gets up from the bed and disappears in the bathroom. Unsure of what to do, you force your muscles to move, sitting at the edge of the bed. Jungkook comes back a minute later, carrying a dump towel.

Your head drops to the ground immadietly. He kneels before you and you desperately avoid his eyes. You notice he’s put on his boxers already and now he’s cleaning you gently off, removing evidences of your sins from your skin. You will take a shower later, the water will wash you off from each other’s scents and lingering touches. Love bites will soon disappear, bruises on your hips fade. Yet the scars you left on your hearts won’t heal that easily.

Jungkook puts his hand on your knee and you bite your bottom lip. He takes your hoodie lying on the floor and puts on your naked, marked body. Your heart clenches in your chest at the simple gesture.

“___,” he calls your name. At that, you finally look up at him. He seems worried, you must tell, millions of thoughts crossing his mind at the moment as well as yours. “Let’s go to sleep for now, okay? We will talk about this in the morning.”

You don’t say anything, nodding at his words. You crawl onto the bed, trying to create as much distance as possible between your bodies but it’s pointless. You feel his breath on your neck and you're sure his itching to hold you, but he doesn’t know if he should, so he stays mere inches from you, until you both eventually fall asleep.

Jungkook wakes up hours later with a raging headache. He grunts to himself, rubbing his face with grimace and making another meaningless promise about drinking less alcohol. When he open his eyes, he realises he’s staring at the fluorescent stars attached to the ceiling. Your ceiling.

When he turns his head to the left, he finds the other side of the bed empty. It’s almost bright in the room, which means he’s stayed overnight again. And he didn’t do just that.

Bits of memories flash behind his eyelids: him coming to your flat to hang out, your conversation, the kiss that led to naked bodies and breathy moans. He fucked up royally this time.

Throwing the comforter off his body, he feels a sudden rush of coldness raising goosebumps on his skin. Frowning, he picks up his discarded clothes from the floor and starts putting them on. The door to your bedroom are cracked open, just like you haven’t closed them to not wake him up.

Jungkook raises from the bed once he’s fully dressed, and pushes the door. He finds you standing by the fully opened window in your kitchen, staring outside.

He understands now why there was so cold before. The fluffy, blueish robe wrapped around your body is probably doing little job at providing warmth, but you don’t seem to mind it at all. You don’t see him yet, your back facing him until he takes another step and the floor creaks underneath his weight.

He sees your shoulders raising and falling, as if you’ve just let out a sigh. Then, you turn around cautiously, a greish puffs of smoke swirling over your features. Jungkook raises a brow.

“I thought you said you had quit.” It’s the first thing he says, his voice still groggy from sleeping.

You shrug at that, averting your gaze to the view behind your opened window again. “I always smoke after making a bad decision.”

It sounds bitter coming from you. A testament of your recklessness and weak hearts. He could read the regret straight from your face. It’s all in your posture: you look broken. And he is the reason why you’re hurting. The guilt is almost eating him up from the inside. He needs to try fixing this before you will push him away and he’ll lose you again.

“I think we should forget about that.” you speak after a moment of silence, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your voice trembles and he feels it stabbing him right in the middle of his chest, depriving him of hope to make things good between you. “It’ll be for the better for of us if we act like nothing ever happened. We got drunk, we let our emotions get the best of us. That’s all.”

You and him both know it wasn’t just alcohol which made you let him touch you like that, fuck your worries away for a few bits of pleasant oblivion. It meant so much more but you’re too afraid to confront this. You aren’t ready yet.

When you close the window and finally look at him, Jungkook's shoulders are slouched. Defeated. Something aches in your heart at that. “I’m sorry. For everything,” he tells you. He’s clenching his fists by his sides and you know he’s hurting too, more than he could ever let anybody realize. “I should get going then.”

He exits the kitchen with one last, small smile reserved only for you. You didn't mean to handle the situation like that, like you’re quickly ripping off the band-aid, but you couldn’t think of a better way. Closing your eyes, you let your emotions decide once again. “Wait,” you call out after him, stepping into the hallway. “Maybe you will stay for breakfast.” you propose and Jungkook shakes his head.

“No. It’s okay. I don’t want to keep you busy.” he says, putting on his jacket. Reaching for the handle, he turns to you and smiles. “Take care, ___.” When the door close behind him, you let out a long exhale.

What Jeon Jungkook couldn’t predict, is that he will be the one doing walk of shame out of your flat.

#jungkook smut #bts smut #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #maknaesmutsociety #btsbookclub #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #my writing #lost stars

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obsidianfr3sk · 3 years

Text

now

Summary: “Now— do you like it?” Simon asked (still making jazz hands).

Oh, no, he liked it. But Simon had made a tiny mistake. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t allowed to make mistakes. It was just that… if he had a coin for every time Simon had made that exact mistake, he would have two coins. Which wasn’t a lot of coins; but it was funny it happened twice.

And there it was. Again. The infamous latticework pie.

AO3

Hello, friends! Obsi here. I want to start this author note by saying this fic is a birthday gift for Rita (@the-wee-woo-rita), a fandom friend of mine that I hold dear to my heart since the day they started to constantly appear in my notes and hasn't stopped since <3 Forgive me if I spent the rest of my time covering the birthday kid with invisible virtual kisses:)

Aaaah, Rita:') Feliz cumpleaños, amigue✨ I hope you have an amazing day and that you're reading this while your family and friends are giving you tons of presents and kind words <3 I gotta confessed that I noticed you almost since you entered the fandom bc you were always on my notes, so every time I saw your icon, I was like "Oh, Wee Woo is here <3". oH AND WHEN YOU STARTED YOUR FIC DKJFHKJFKJDF I wanted to read it since you started posting it, and when I finally could, it left me 💖💖💖. Not only because it's a super fun story, (go read it if you haven't, people) but also because I can tell you're writing from the heart and you're as invested in Hugh and Simon's relationship as I am skjdhksd one time I even cried because I felt so proud of you for writing it lol

I guess that you already know what this fic is going to be about. When you told me this is your favorite scene of these pair of idiots and knew I had to write something for you about it sdkjfhjksdf it came out really fluffy and funny, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did <3

Never stop writing. You got this✨ Enjoy your gift!!

When Hugh first started dating Simon, he didn’t know if he wanted to marry him. If someone had asked him, he wouldn’t have known how to answer, and everyone would have thought he was a dick, when in reality, he just hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t sorted out his life yet.

Not like other people.

She had her life sorted out. At least most of it. Hugh certainly wouldn’t have been able to take care of a child when he was that age, but from the moment Adrian was born, his mom was there for him. She told him she was able to know if he was asking for food, if he needed another diaper, or if he just wanted to see her.

“But how do you know that if he cannot even talk?” he asked her.

“One just knows,” she answered. “If you ever become a dad, you’ll understand.”

And it sounded like a threat. Because at that age, Hugh also didn’t know if he wanted to have kids or not.

Simon, on the other hand, did. He was a mess in almost every single area of his life (like him), but he did know he wanted to have kids and to get married to someone. And it wasn’t like he was trying to scare Hugh the first months they started dating. Simon didn’t talk to him about his plans for the future until they had been together for more than a year. The only reason he knew about them was that he overheard a conversation Simon was having with… with Georgie, on one of the few occasions she was able to take a break from her baby.

At first, Hugh didn’t feel something particularly strong about what he heard. He actually kind of forgot about it for a couple of hours, until he went to sleep.

In his dream— or nightmare, which was a more accurate term, he was in the kitchen trying to bathe baby Kasumi in the sink, but she kept playing with the water and wetting his clothes, even when he tried to tell her to stop. Then, he heard Tamaya screeching his name and when he turned around to see what was happening, Evander (who was the only one whose age didn’t change, so he was a teenager bullying a four-year-old girl) was trying to pluck off the feathers of her wings, with all the intention of hurting her. Kasumi threw more water at him, so he grabbed her, all wet and everything, to try to follow Tamaya and Evander to the living room and stop them from fighting, but then, Georgie, who was at least 9 years old in the dream, pulled his hoodie, and told him:

“This is for you—” and pointed at a newborn baby she had just left on the floor.

Adrian.

Her newborn baby.

“No, that’s not mine, that’s yours,” he said. “That’s yours, Georgie, pick him up.”

She crossed her arms. “You pick him up.”

Then, Tamaya started screaming again, and Evander was freaking laughing, but he couldn’t leave Adrian on the floor, so he handed a crying Kasumi to Georgie, asking himself why the fuck Simon wasn’t around the house to help him with the kids.

When he bent over to pick the baby up, Simon decided it was a good time to appear, spank him and ask him: “Where are my cigarettes, goldilocks?”

And that was enough to wake him up.

It took him a couple of seconds to process what he was seeing. Georgie was sitting on the basement stairs, feeding Adrian and singing a song to him. Evander and Kasumi were sleeping under the same colorful blanket, while Tamaya was sitting on the side of the bed, gazing at her friend and moving her head side to side, as if she were singing too.

“Hey,” Georgie called him. “Are you ok, darling?”

He opened his mouth slightly and when he was about to tell her he had a nightmare, Simon turned around and grabbed him by the arm, still asleep.

It was cute enough for him to stop being mad at him for something he did in a dream. “Yes, I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”

Maybe it had something to do with age, but the thing was that Hugh didn’t dream that often anymore. One time he told Simon that, despite that, he still had nightmares in which he couldn’t move his body but he was aware of his surroundings, just as if he were awake. Simon frowned and said that didn’t sound like a nightmare, but more like sleep paralysis. Hugh thought it sounded a little bit psychedelic and told him he didn’t believe in those things, to which Simon reacted as if he just confessed he was an Earth-flatter.

He couldn't quite understand why Simon acted as if he were some sort of dream expert. Simon told him it was because he was a dream expert, or at least he was more of an expert than Hugh was, since he got a lot more sleep than he did, and it was true. Hugh couldn’t remember the last night he slept without spending two hours staring at the dark and empty room, while he heard Simon’s body rubbing the blankets from time to time.

“You know, I don’t think that’s normal,” Simon told him when they were driving back home from the Headquarters. “I think you should see a therapist.”

Simon said that a lot, too. It wasn’t bad advice per se, but for some reason, it drove him crazy every time he said it, even if he didn’t show it (or at least he liked to believe he didn’t). He remembered that occasion, specifically, because he had had a particularly bad day at work when they had that conversation about sleep paralysis. Kasumi and Evander decided that was a wonderful day to act as if they were the main characters of their new show “Dumb and Dumber”, trying to convince him to get couches for their offices with a slide presentation and everything, and Tamaya was acting like a particularly angry pregnant woman that hated everything that moved, especially if that thing was Hugh. He hadn’t gone completely feral with Kasumi and Evander (even if they kind of deserved it) and just told them to stop trying to kill the last brain cell they shared, but even so, they reacted as if Hugh had done something super offensive and if he were the one who was wasting everyone’s time. He had been even kinder with Tamaya because, yeah, she was being irrational, but at the same time, she was pregnant, and being a dick to a pregnant woman wouldn’t have been very heroic of him. Still, Tamaya didn’t even try to get her hormones under control and was actually devastated when he brought her the wrong kind of gyro from the store. She even cried and took the rest of the day for herself, which was something she had the right to do, obviously.

But anger is a bitch and one of those emotions that takes the best of you, so a little voice inside his head that took control of his consciousness every time he got mad at someone, was telling him that he should ask Simon if his therapist had told him that it wasn’t normal to wake up in the middle of the night to see if your kid was still breathing.

Because it didn’t sound normal to him.

He didn’t do it though. Maybe he was too tired.

Being angry took a lof a lot of energy.

He was still curious about whether Simon had ever told his therapist about that or if he had normalized it so much, that he didn’t think it was important to mention it. He had been doing that since the first night he met him when they were still a pair of kids. The first night they slept together, in Simon's basement, he woke him up in the middle of the night and sighed with relief.

“Good, you’re alive,” he mumbled. And then went back to sleep, as nothing happened.

Hugh thought it was quirky and funny. Now he believed it may be a real psychological problem.

His suspicion was confirmed that same night after having that conversation when he woke up at 3AM to go get a glass of water and realized that Simon had left the bed. He assumed he was at Adrian’s room, so he didn’t think too much about it and went downstairs, without bothering to turn the lights on. After all, he couldn’t die if he tripped with his own feet because his powers would protect him (and if he did, it would be the stupidest of deaths and he deserved it.)

He took a glass cup (because plastic cups were only for kids), filled it with water, and when he turned around to go back to his room, Simon flickered, and he could see him right in front of him, with his dagger in hand, as if he were about to stab him.

“SIMON, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Simon flickered again and let go of his dagger at the same time he started crying and hugged him while mumbling he thought he was a robber that wanted to “kill everyone in the house and then himself.”

Hugh could only hug him back.

Simon didn’t try to stab him again, but he still had a weird sleep schedule. Hugh, on the other hand, was sleeping a lot better now that his psychiatrist had shown him this amazing invention called citalopram.

A week before their tenth anniversary, he was about to fall asleep when Simon entered the room, got under the covers, and hugged him from behind, pressing his body against his.

“Si, it’s 2AM.”

“How do you want to celebrate our anniversary?”

He asked that question with the same tone he used when he asked Max and Adrian what they wanted to do during their birthdays. Or when he asked Nova if she wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving with them, or when he tried to convince Kasumi and Tamaya to do something fun for Christmas that year.

And Hugh answered him the same thing the others did:

“I don’t know.”

He knew being ten years married to the same person was something that should be celebrated. And he also knew Simon didn’t mean any harm by asking those things, even if they may have seemed a little bit oblivious to the fact that life as they knew it had almost ended during the supernova. Actually, he believed he asked them that because he was completely aware of what had happened and, for instance, he was trying to fix all the things the burning stardust had destroyed, covering the ears of the people he loved, hugging them, and telling them that things couldn’t be that bad if they still could have a little piece of cake to celebrate even the smallest of events.

That gave him an idea.

“I think I just want to eat cake with you,” he mumbled.

“Cake?”

“I like cake. Except when it’s wet.”

Simon snorted. “Do you remember when Oscar invited Adrian to his birthday party and he gave him a pound of cake for him to share it with us?” he asked.

Hugh remembered that. “I do.”

“And do you remember you hated it?”

“It was more milk than cake.”

“Pastel de tres leches,” Simon said, with almost no American accent.

In other circumstances, he would’ve found that voice really attractive, but now the memory of that stupid cake was too much for him. “You know, I think there is where the fucking problem begins,” he told him. “What’s the need of adding three leches? One leche is more than enough.”

Simon tried to contain his laugh and failed. “Why do you pronounce leche like that?”

“It’s not natural, Simon,” Hugh insisted. “Cake is cake. And cake is supposed to be dry.”

“Well, I loved it.”

“You love everything. Even those who are unlovable.”

“Oh, sweetie. You’re not unlovable.”

“I know. I’m talking about the fucking cake.”

Simon stayed silent and Hugh laughed to let him know it was okay.

“So you want to keep it simple this year?” Simon asked him.

“I think that would be the most… appropriate thing to do.”

“All right then—” he pretended to use his finger to write on his back “—No tres leches cake… And keep it simple. Something else, your Majesty?”

“No, I think that’s all.”

“What about gifts?”

“I’m a simple man. I like blue, I like silver things that look like chrome, and I like myself. Go crazy.”

Simon gasped. “Or I could bake something for you,” he said. “I could make a little dinner for us… with your favorite cake.”

He couldn’t tell if Simon was being serious, but he hoped he did because— that actually sounded really nice. “What about the kids though?”

“Pssh, let’s just put them to bed early,” Simon answered. “Max’s bedtime is 9:30 anyways.”

“Are you—”

“Let me do something nice for you,” he interrupted him. “Please.”

Hugh sighed

“I’m being serious. I’m going to make your favorite cake,” Simon assured him, holding him closer to him.

And then it hit him. “Do you know—”

“Of course I know your favorite cake, love,” he giggled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Hugh wanted to keep talking to him, but he started to notice his eyes were getting tired and that he wasn’t going to be able to keep them open a lot longer.

Simon kissed his shoulder. “Are you going to sleep now?”

“Yeah. But turn around,” he added. “I want to be the big spoon.”

The next morning, while Simon was looking for his mask before heading to work, Hugh realized he never told him what he wanted for their anniversary, so he took that moment to ask him. Simon just said that he would love anything Hugh got for him, which was honestly the worst answer ever because Hugh was the worst person when it came to guessing that sort of stuff, and needed to know specifically what they wanted so he wouldn’t end up giving them a shitty gift.

But then, he realized that it was a gift for their tenth anniversary. And when he gazed at Simon again, he noticed he was already looking at him through the small mirror they had hanging on their closet door, with a small smile on his face, letting him know that he had noticed the moment Hugh remembered what they did each year during their anniversary.

There was a tradition Simon heard about when they were planning their wedding, that it was all about giving a gift made of certain material according to the marital year. He didn’t tell him about it until a year later when they were talking about what they were going to do to celebrate that year, and for some reason, they ended up talking about when they met.

Unfortunately, Hugh could no longer remember when was the first time he saw Simon. It was like one day, he just walked into his life, laid down on a twin-size mattress, and just started to exist there without asking for permission because he didn’t know where he was yet. And Hugh was staring at the kid with brown skin, brown hair, and brown eyes, while hiding behind a big closet he kept there, thinking about how to tell him “Hello. What’s your name? I’d really like to know about you.”

Too bad he always stopped at “Hello”. Too bad it all happened inside his head.

When he was a kid, not a lot of people talked about prodigies in a positive light, so he grew up thinking that his powers were something he needed to keep a secret for everyone and that he had to blend in with the other kids in order to survive, and there was no adult in his life that told him otherwise. But during the Age of Anarchy, the whole Council began to know more prodigies from all over the world, who had different beliefs about what it meant to be a prodigy. During patrol, Simon told him about this old European lady he talked to, who was also a prodigy, and assured him she would be able to recognize every single one of them even without their superhero costumes. When Hugh said that sounded a little bit dangerous, Simon laughed it off and added that what she meant to say was that all prodigies were made of the same stardust and that it was always trying to find a way back to the space where it belonged, that was the reason why many prodigies were drawn to each other even if they just crossed paths by mere chance.

If it was true, then it explained why Hugh could tell Simon was a prodigy from the first moment he looked him in the eye. And it explained why he wanted to be his friend so much, even before knowing that piece of information.

Simon did remember when was the first time he saw Hugh. Or at least one of the first times.

“You were sitting on the ground and staring at a bug. like a beetle or something...” he said. They were walking through the neighborhood, holding hands, and Adrian was in front of them, trying to get the hang of his new skate shoes with wheels. He had asked his dads to give him his space because he had seen another kid at Headquarters using them too and he was sure he could teach himself how to use them. “ And you were really concentrated, completely quiet when an adult came and killed it.”

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Like— on purpose?”

“I don’t know, they were just walking,” Simon shrugged. “But you didn’t even say anything, just… stayed there. And a raccoon walked in front of you, and you decided to follow it to the trash can he lived in, and when you tried to touch it, he and his whole extended family threw themselves at you.”

Hugh probably looked worried or something, because Simon tilted his head and asked him: “You remember that, do you?”

And he didn’t. “It sounds like me,” he said, “I liked beetles when I was a kid. Not sure about the raccoon attack though because I’ve always hated raccoons and getting too close to trash cans.”

“And have you ever stopped to think about why you hate that so much?”

“Because trash cans are a focus of infection. Same as raccoons. I would never follow one of those rats with masks.”

“Hugh, when you were a kid, I saw you eating cereal out of a bucket, I don’t know why you’re acting like you’re better than the rest of us for not following raccoons— which you did.”

“I did not.”

“And you know what I thought?” Simon asked as if he hadn’t heard Hugh. “I thought—”

“You thought I was a poor kid who needed your help.”

“No, I thought you were the weirdest fucking kid I had ever met. And I walked away.”

Then he winked at him, letting him know he was joking. But Hugh felt really offended on behalf of his younger self anyways. “And why do you remember that but I don’t?”

“I was invisible. And I wanted to see what you were up to.”

Then, Adrian fell to the ground and screamed “DADDY!”. Neither of them was really sure of who he was talking to, so they just helped him get on his feet again and told him he should be more careful, ending their conversation there.

That year, he gave Simon a card he bought at the supermarket that he decorated with raccoon stickers he found on Adrian’s backpack, and he even used all his artistic abilities to draw a speech bubble that said “I love you”. Simon also gave him a card, but instead, it was decorated with hearts and flowers and looked a lot more like what a card for an occasion like that was supposed to look like. They gave each other cards because the first-anniversary gift, according to tradition, was something made of paper. He could tell what Simon gave him every single year, but some of the honorable mentions were the leather jacket he never used because Kasumi told him that buying things made of leather was unethical and “not green”, a wooden figurine of the two of them he found at a local flea market, and a pottery coffee mug he did himself when he and Tamaya took pottery classes, which Evander broke one day he went to the house.

So, yes, Simon always gave him nice things. And he kept every single one of them. The card was between the album photos and newspaper cutouts. The leather jacket remained in the closet not to be seen ever again. The wood figurine was in the living room (and will stay there even after he was dead because if Adrian ever dared to take it somewhere else, like he had tried to do before, he was going to haunt him until he put it back where it belonged), and eventually, Evander glued together the pottery coffee mug and gave it back to him, probably trying to make clear he was really sorry about breaking it, without really saying it out loud.

It was a nice tradition. Especially because it was almost impossible to fuck up and Hugh could come up with nice gifts for Simon too.

And now it wasn’t going to be the exception.

That year’s traditional theme was aluminum. At first, he was a little bit confused because the only aluminum he knew about was the aluminum foil they had in the kitchen until he spoke with Tamaya over the phone, and she told him there were a lot more things that were made of aluminum other than foil. She had stayed at her house ever since what had happened in the Arena. Simon told him and Kasumi it would be nice if they took turns to call her one time a day to check on her, and that day, it was Hugh’s turn.

She wasn’t mad at him, which meant she was having a less shitty day than other times it had been his turn to call her. She even gave him the phone number of a place where he could buy something for Simon, that was not so far away from Headquarters. Before hanging up, she reminded him to make sure Kasumi was eating during lunch breaks and made him promise he was going to double-check, just because that's what she would do if she were there. After doing what Tamaya asked him to do (Kasumi started to eat her salad as soon as he walked into the room, and he stayed there until she finished the whole plate), he called the store and knew exactly what he wanted to ask for.

It had been a little difficult to pick it up from the store because Simon was always with him, but the anniversary was on Sunday, so he said that someone had called him to go to Headquarters and headed out before anyone could ask for more explanations. He arrived at the store a few minutes before they closed and the owner told him he wasn’t sure if he was going to arrive on time. Then, he proceeded to show him the final product, and Hugh thought it looked exactly as what he had in mind. The daughter of the owner put the gift inside a box and decorated it with purple wrapping paper and a silver bow, and it was ready to go.

When he arrived at the house, Simon was already preparing dinner and the kids were eating ramen in the living room while watching a movie. He put the gift on the coffee table and told them it was time to get ready for bed.

Simon and Hugh had always been good at assigning each of them chores to do around the house. When Max was living in his quarantine area, Hugh stayed with him after Simon and Adrian went home. He bathed him, helped him brush his teeth, and then put him to bed. Meanwhile, Simon cooked something for Adrian, helped him with his homework, played with him for a while, and when Hugh went home, he helped him with his night routine the same way he had helped Max, while Simon prepared tomorrow’s lunches.

Adrian was a pretty calm kid during bath time (at least most of the time). He would dare to say he liked it, probably a little too much because he didn’t bathe himself until he was almost ten years old. Max, on the other hand, was a completely different story. It was a lot easier to control him when he was a baby, but the older he got, the more difficult it became to get him inside the tub. He tried to distract him with other things, made a lot of excuses, and even hid under the bed so his dad couldn’t see him. Simon thought it wasn’t a normal reaction and that they needed to make sure Max was alright, but Hugh didn’t believe Max’s behavior was weird because when he was a kid he threw even bigger tantrums each time he was told it was bath time. He screamed while he had shampoo on his hair, bawled while he was putting on his pajamas, and sobbed for at least ten minutes after he was tucked into bed. At the ripe age of four years old, he went as far as running down the street completely naked because he was already in the tub, waiting for his aunt to find a clean towel between all the mess they had around the house when he decided that wasn’t going to work out and just walked outside the house, without wearing any clothes. A minute later, he heard his aunt screaming “HUGH, YOU LITTLE BITCH—” and knew he was in danger, so he began to run as fast as he could until he tripped and he was taken back to the bathroom (while he screamed and kicked, like the demon child he was.)

“Well, I guess it makes sense why you acted like that,” Simon answered, “but I want to make sure everything is fine with Max. For my own comfort.”

Simon talked with Max the next day, and apparently, he came to the conclusion he was just someone who thought that bathing was a waste of time, like Hugh did when he was his age. His kid just showed it in a less… explosive manner. Because yeah, Max had never thrown a tantrum because of that. Not at least until the other night, when Simon told him to go take a shower after he spent the whole day outside with Nova and got his clothes all dirty. For some reason, Max got super pissed at the idea of his own father giving him a reasonable order, and after going to the bathroom and taking off his clothes, he started to yell that he was already clean and that he didn’t need to take a shower. Hugh and Adrian were in the living room talking about some mundane topic when they saw a naked and almost maniac Max running around the house, and a screaming and desperate Simon with a white towel in his hands, trying to catch him before he headed out of the house and the neighbors saw him.

Simon almost had a panic attack after that, when Adrian finally was the one to catch Max and convince him to go take a shower, because in his own words, “you smell like a dead dog, my friend” (Adrian knew what he was dealing with because he had done the same thing when he was a kid). And Hugh didn’t want Simon to go through the same experience again, especially that night.

“I was a well-behaved kid,” Simon told him, while they cuddled under the covers. “I almost never cried. And I most certainly never complained about bath time.”

“Everyone has a childhood story that involves running around completely naked because you didn’t want to get on the tub.”

“I don’t… think so.” Hugh scoffed in response. “Actually, I was so well-behaved, one time my mom closed the car door and smashed my fingers, but I didn’t even complain about it—”

“You should have complained about it,” Hugh said.

Simon didn’t hear him. “I think maybe Max is just going through a phase.”

“Or maybe our son is a normal kid and you are the Antichrist for not crying when your mother smashed your fingers.”

And he whispered: “Well— maybe, I guess.”

Luckily, Max was feeling nice and he followed the night routine without causing any more problems, and just asked Adrian to read him a bedtime story. Forty minutes later, Adrian went back downstairs and told them he was going to sleep too (but Hugh knew he was going to stay up late talking with his team.)

Simon took a few minutes after that to finish the dinner because the dessert was still in the oven. Hugh waited for him, sitting on the couch, eating the leftovers of Adrian’s ramen and watching whatever thing was on TV, when suddenly had the feeling someone was staring at him. He turned around and even though he didn’t saw anyone, he still said:

“Simon, I know you’re there.”

And he got no answer.

Then, when he decided to let it go and continue watching TV, Simon was sitting on the coffee table, with the gift box on his lap.

“Can you stop doing that?” Hugh asked him.

“No, it’s part of my charm—” Simon shook the box a little, like a kid would do on Christmas morning “—Is this my gift?”

“No. I bought it for my other husband. But you can open it, I guess.”

Simon shrugged and opened it. He gasped and covered his mouth with his hand, but he still could tell he was smiling. “Love—”

“You like them?”

Hugh had bought a couple of aluminum wine cups, decorated with a blue and purple stripe on the top. He extended his hand to turn on the lamp next to him and then patted the space next to him. “You wanna see something really cool?” he asked him.

Simon sat down next to him, holding one of the cups. Then Hugh grabbed him gently by the wrists and put the cup under the light, allowing both of them to see the hidden message written on the aluminum.

He couldn’t exactly read it because he wasn’t wearing his glasses, but Simon could.

“I’ll forever choose you,” he read. “It’s what—”

“It’s what I said during my vows,” Hugh answered, “and I still mean it.”

Simon leaned against him and Hugh took it as a chance to kiss him on the corner of his lips. “I’m going to kill your other husband,” Simon whispered.

“I don’t think you got it— but actually you’re the other husband.”

“I’m allowing you to make those jokes because I’m too happy to pretend I’m mad at you for saying them, okay? Just wanted to make that clear, so you don’t go around trying to push your luck.” He continued looking at the cup and putting it under the light to read its message again and again. “Can we use these cups? You know— are they made for drinking or are they just decorative?”

“I guess we can,” Hugh answered. “I don’t see why not. Cups are made for drinking.”

“Then it’s a good thing I brought us wine—” he got up with difficulty and grabbed the other cup from inside the box “—Are you hungry?”

He really wasn’t. Adrian’s leftovers were enough for him. But he still had a little space for more, so he nodded and took Simon’s hand before he got on his tiptoes and put his hands over his eyes. “Follow my lead.”

Even after arriving at the kitchen, Simon asked him to keep his eyes closed. He obeyed, and a couple of seconds later, he finally gave him the sign to open them, appearing behind the kitchen bar and waving his empty hands with a silly smile on his face.

Hugh covered his whole face with his hand to hide the fact that he was laughing.

“Now— do you like it?” Simon asked (still making jazz hands).

Oh, no, he liked it.

But even if he did, he could hear his own voice saying inside his head to make sure to sugarcoat whatever he had to say about one small detail that, unfortunately, was the first thing he noticed because he was that mean.

It was an amazing dinner. The main dish was chicken alfredo, and there was a small basket with bread from the supermarket they went every week to buy groceries (the same one Hugh didn’t go to anymore because last time he had almost hate-crimed a cashier because… reasons, maybe). He had lighted up some candles they kept around the house in case the power went out during the night and there was a white tablecloth covering part of the kitchen bar. Simon also took the time to look through the garage for the chinaware they only used for very special occasions and that Hugh insisted on hiding it in the garage since he didn’t trust his kids and believed they would break it at the first chance they got. And he didn't lie when he said he had bought a bottle of wine. Actually, he knew it was an expensive wine because it was the same brand as the one they drank during their wedding. It must have been an absolute hell trying to find it, considering that ten years had gone by since then.

But Simon had made a tiny mistake.

And it wasn’t like he wasn’t allowed to make mistakes. It was just that… if he had a coin for every time Simon had made that exact mistake, he would have two coins.

Which wasn’t a lot of coins; but it was funny it happened twice.

During the Gala, there had been a silent auction to replace some of the stolen drugs. Hugh was going crazy, trying to make sure everything was going according to plan, but Simon insisted that, as members of the Council, they needed to support the fundraising.

At first, Hugh didn’t notice what Simon had done. He had a lot of things going through his mind, like what if someone put a bomb on the ceiling and blew the whole building, if Adrian had drawn a callalily for every single centerpiece, or if Max had asked him to buy him more markers and construction paper since last week or last month. He also was trying to ignore how uncomfortable the suit he was wearing felt, which felt kind of tight when he raised his arms a little bit. Plus, the lights were too bright, the music was too freaking loud for a formal Gala, and for some reason, he was sure he could hear every single conversation that was going on there, at the same time he didn’t understand a single word coming out of those people’s mouths.

But suddenly…

Suddenly Simon grabbed him by the arm and said:

“I got this for you.”

“Huh?”

“I got this for you—” and he pointed at something on the table.

For the split of a second, he thought that Simon was referring to the chocolate cake that was right in the middle of everything, that was decorated with small pearls of white chocolate and a cherry on top. Which would have been a really kind and romantic gesture because chocolate cake would always have a special place in his heart.

But then, he noticed that actually, he was talking about the latticework pie that was right next to it, inside a little transparent box with a golden ribbon around it.

It looked nice; but the chocolate cake looked a lot better from his point of view.

“Simon—”

“Yes, I know technically I haven’t gotten it yet,” Simon said while jotting down his bidding number on a sheet of paper, “but I’m gonna win this and we’re gonna eat pie, like the winners we are.”

“Simon—”

“Do you wanna be a winner or not?”

“Simon—”

Simon finally looked at him, still holding the pen he had used to write down the bidding number.

Hugh had reacted a little bit too late.

So he just sighed, rested his chin on Simon’s head for a couple of seconds, and then asked him if also thought the lights were too bright (“No, but you can talk to someone and see if there’s something they can do about it. Just don’t go all Captain Chromium on them.” “That’s not a phrase other people use.” “Kasumi does.”)

Now, the Gala wasn’t a memory he liked to replay inside his head constantly because while they were there, their kids were risking their lives fighting against people they shouldn’t even be worried about. He felt guilty when he remembered that he was dancing with Simon in a small corner of the room, where they were sure no one could see them (not because they were embarrassed or scared but because Simon didn’t like to be surrounded by a lot of people, and honestly, Hugh wasn’t in the mood for dealing with that either). He was starting to think “Hey, maybe I’m having fun” and Simon was this close to kissing him, but one second after that, they were notified about what had happened to Max and had to rush to the hospital.

It had been one of the worst nights of his life. The last time he thought about it, was while reading Max a book they had just bought for him (“Tough Guys (Have Feelings Too)”). Max mentioned something about Adrian taking him to eat pie that afternoon and “going all Captain Chromium” on him for something he didn’t understand but sounded like normal sibling stuff, and suddenly Hugh vividly remembered the latticework pie Simon had put a bid on.

They never got to eat it.

Which was good because he knew that if he had gotten to eat some, knowing there had been a chocolate cake right next to it that they could have gotten instead of that freaking pie, his night would have been even worse.

Not like your kid almost dying was bad enough though.

“Keep reading the book, Hugh,” Max told him, pretending to be disappointed after he told him that story about the Gala. “Let’s keep the trauma talk for Therapy Thursday.”

(That was how Simon called Thursdays now. It was the day the four of them went to family therapy. Everyone thought it was a stupid way to call it, even Hugh, but he always told his kids it was an incredible way to motivate them, that Simon was trying his best, and that next time he heard them make fun about “Therapy Thursdays”, calling it “$200 Nap Thursdays”, he was going to tell the fucking shrink and they were going to go to family therapy two times a week.)

And there it was.

Again.

The infamous latticework pie.

But when he saw it, he didn’t feel anything else but the impulse to laugh out loud.

“I like it a lot,” he answered.

“You’re putting on the sugar jacket!” Simon exclaimed.

“No, I’m not!” Hugh told him, still laughing.

“No, I can see it!” Simon insisted. “You’re doing it, you always laugh when you do it!”

“What are you talking about?” He cleared his throat. “I’m way too good at sugarcoating, no one notices when—”

“I’m going to keep calling it sugar jacket,” Simon interrupted him, crossing his arms and staring at him with narrowing eyes. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

“And I’m going to keep making fun of you for it. Imagine me putting on a sugar jacket, Simon. It would have to be a huge jacket. The house would be infested with ants.”

But Simon wasn’t interested in the logistics of keeping a sugar jacket inside the house. “It’s like what you did last week. Oh, yeah, Simon, that’s so good—” He scoffed “—I know you hated that souffle because I hated it too.”

“But I liked that souffle! It was pretty good, I don’t know why you hated it.”

“The more you insist on that, the less I’m going to believe you.”

Hugh sat down on one of the kitchen bar stools and hid his face with his hands until he stopped laughing. When he finally did, he saw Simon smiling, even if he was trying to hide it.

“Si—” Simon raised his eyebrows as if he were saying “Hey” with them “—Can I get some wine?”

He thought about it for a second.

“Just because I love you—” and he began to pour it into one of their wine cups. Then, he walked towards Hugh, and with one hand, he took his wine cup, and with the other, he pulled Simon closer to him.

“And I love this,” he whispered. “I loved what you did for me, it’s just what I asked for.”

Simon’s smile got even wider. “I know I said we were gonna have cake but— I know you like pie a little bit more.”

Hugh took a sip of wine.

“Because… you do, don’t you?”

So he left the wine cup on the kitchen bar, grabbed Simon by the waist— and he told him the truth.

“I do now.”

Before Simon could ask him what he meant with that extra “now”, he leaned over and kissed him.

Now it was not the time to talk about that.

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #hugh everhart #simon westwood #the warden and the captain are sitting in a tree #sorry but i had to complain about tres leches cake #i reflect all my hate for that thing in my problematic son lol #plus the chicken alfredo is a reference to royal jewels #and there's also a hcttr reference kjsdfhksdfj #and the story of the naked kid running down the street... yeah parcially based on real events <3 #one time i saw one of my neighboor's kid playing outside without any clothes on #it was so weird i had to ask my mom if she saw it too #and she told me a lot of kids do that so JSHDKJSJK #well now im going to stop talking-#tags are supposed to be used for useful things #dUDE I HAD TO LOOK FOR THE ENGLISH VERSION OF ARCHENEMIES BC A LOT OF SMALL DETAILS GOT LOST IN THE SPANISH VERSION #and i wanted to be as acurrate as posible x'd #ok im going to go now x'd #obsi's writs

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pedropascalunofficial · 4 years

Text

My Cousin, Pedro Pascal

Ximena Riquelme

16 NOV 2017 12:53 PM

Before being the protagonist of Narcos or filming with Colin Firth, José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal (42) was a child whom I knew very well because we are from the same family. A man who today looks with nostalgia and some perplexity at his place of origin and his history and who still does not answer what would have happened if he had stayed here.

The first memory I have of Pedro is in the arms of my mother during his baptism, in the garden of my house. She was a weeping bus and had huge black eyes. I was 9 years old. It was cloudy. Years later I learned that the priest was Gerardo Whelan, the legendary rector of Saint George's College. Pedro's parents were not at his baptism: my uncle, José Balmaceda, my mother's only male brother, and his wife Verónica Pascal were asylees at the Venezuelan embassy, which was on Bustos street, near my house. Pepe, as we used to say to my uncle, who years later would become a famous gynecologist, an expert in fertilization, was then a 27-year-old young doctor, in those days wanted by Dina. Some time before they had hidden Andrés Pascal Allende, Mirista and his wife's uncle. One day they came to take him to the José Joaquín Aguirre Hospital and he managed to escape by jumping through the roofs. It was October 1975.

Like most of the Chilean families, there were supporters of both sides in mine: for and against Pinochet. Trying to help Pedro's parents, my dad called a relative who held a high position in the Army. "Tell the children to get asylum, because I cannot guarantee their lives or that nothing happens to Veronica," was his reply. She was 22 years old. Then began the journey of my uncles and with them that of my cousin José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal. Pepe and Verónica had to start living secretly in different houses. Pedro, who was only 6 months old at the time, and his 3-year-old sister Javiera were left in charge of my mother's older sister, "Aunt Juani."

The second memory I have of Pedro is when I accompanied my parents, who carried him and his sister in their arms, to stand on the sidewalk in front of the Venezuelan embassy so that their parents could see them through the window.

My uncles left the Venezuelan embassy for the airport in January 1976, Pedro was 9 months old and obviously does not remember anything. I just remember that they didn't let me go. Pedro could not record the image, which I could not see, of his grandfather Luis Pascal Vigil - a very prominent lawyer - singing the National Anthem on the balcony of Pudahuel. A memory that is not mine but that I adopted, for cute.

As the people of the International Red Cross advised our family on time, Pedro and his sister did not leave the embassy with their parents, but arrived directly at the airport: this allowed their passports not to be stamped with the "L" for " limited to circulate "that stamped on the exiles who left. Therefore, the years that Pedro and Javiera came could come to Chile without problems. And for that reason, the choclón of cousins, we were able to share long summers in Pucón and some winters in Santiago.

The Balmaceda Pascal first arrived in Aarhus, Denmark, in October 1976. A year later they left for San Antonio, Texas, where Pedro's father was able to continue improving himself thanks to a grant from the Rockefeller Foundation. Veronica earned a PhD in Child Psychology.

________________________________________

"But Denmark is invisible to me," Pedro writes me by email. A while ago I proposed to interview him at a distance to travel a little about his history, and here we are, in front of the computer, sharing memories. "It is invisible to me, like everything that happened before. Although once, after telling him about my childhood, a doctor told me that the temporary separation with my mother was trapped in the memory of my body and that I could remember it through the senses".

My cousin, far away

The third memory I have of Pedro is a summer in Pucón. It must have been in 1978. "Pepelo", as we said, was no longer a guagua but a restless, very blond boy, who was so impacted by poverty in Chile that when he went out on the street with his gringo accent, he asked any person: "Are you poor?" He took food out of the pantry and gave it away. With my cousins we rented a warm wooden house, colorful, with the door frames out of square. It was summers with trips to those black sand beaches that burned the feet and picnics in Caburgua with lamb on the stick. They took us to mass and Pedro sang very inspired.

"This is where the memories become more vivid, like dreams," he writes. "I remember so many details: my older cousins, children my age who were like family. The beach seemed endless. I also remember running down the hallways and stairs of Aunt Juani's house looking for Santa Claus at Christmas."

XR: What was it like leaving your parents in the United States?

PP: "I think the trauma was going back to the States, although I obviously wanted to be with my parents. But childhood in Chile, with the Balmaceda and Pascal, was a dream, a world where nothing was missing, pure adventure and love."

Now that he tells me that, I remember that image of Pedro hanging on the neck of our aunt Juani, crying in Pudahuel because she did not want to return. At that time going to the airport was a panorama: we were going en masse to leave him and his sister, who traveled in charge of the stewardesses.

In 1981 I went with my parents and my two sisters to see the Balmaceda Pascal in Texas. I remember an eternal road trip from Miami, I remember Pedro's house, in a middle-class neighborhood, comfortable, beautiful, lovingly arranged by his mother. I remember the tears of my mother and Pedro's mother when we said goodbye to return to Chile. We still didn't know when they could return. Although Pedro never fully returned.

In December 1983, Pepe and Verónica were able to enter Chile. The whole family was packed on the terrace of Pudahuel, waiting for them. I remember the Balmaceda Pascal walking from the stairs of the plane to the International Police. I remember them happy, triumphant. Pedro was 8 years old and chose to stay in my house, in love with my girl sister.

We all went to Quintero, to the house of our grandfather Pepe, a great smoker, tennis player, and fanatic fanatic who took us to the town cinema to see double Tora! Programs, Tora !, Tora! More Bridges on the River Kwai and other old movies. Surely Pedro had to see several. Since he was a boy he said he wanted to be a "director". He liked horror movies and was a big movie consumer, like his dad.

PP: "I remember going to the movies with the cousins and the grandfather to see anything with Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone. They leased me VHS movies to see alone and happy."

XR: You once recited Hamlet on the beach with Grandpa.

PP: "No, it was Death of a Salesman, by Arthur Miller. I was about 14 years old. I videotaped it and lost the fucking camera on the trip back to the United States."

After that summer, Pedro began to come more sporadically. He was already grown up, at school and then at university. They had moved to Newport Beach, California. His father was doing very well. But Pedro, not so much.

PP: "I think that the way the family supported me in Chile was the opposite of what I experienced in Newport Beach. I started well in California but at 13 years old, very involved in the cinema, reading plays, books, TV, TV, TV, obsessed with these things, I had the bad luck to find few like me. It was a world very attached to conservatism and its privileges where not fitting was punished. There was a group of shitty goats who were my friends the first year and became my terrors thereafter. I don't enjoy remembering that time, but there are deep connections from back then. Friends of my parents who are like parents until today."

Pedro's mom soon found a performance arts program at a high school in another district. A more inclusive school compared to Corona del Mar, the neighborhood where they lived in Newport.

PP: "My mom and my driver's license were my salvation. There I was able to unleash my appetite for movies and theater without limits."

As time went by Pedro became a fun, provocative teenager with character. He said he was "lazy", but he went to study Theater at NYU in 1993 and he loved it. I started to see it less. When he came to Chile he went out with his friends, I was already married and having children.

XR: Did you find that our way of life was very boring?

PP: "Bored, no. But overwhelming regarding life's permanent decisions. I didn't have the Catholic structure, and I felt there was no room for a young guy like me. Like suddenly, from one trip of mine to another, you had lives that included marriages and children, and pleasing the visits of the gringo cousin was no longer an option for all of you. I had to duel, because I was jealous of his inattention."

XR: Do you find us very conservative?

PP: "Yes, but it is a major contradiction for me. I come from the perspective that no one can decide how someone else should live their life. And well, in our family there are social rules that are very firm. I think that a person has the right to live his life conservatively or wildly as long as he does not negatively impact anyone or tries to embarrass others by his lifestyle. I don't touch these issues very much with our family for fear of hearing their perspective, but what I do know is that if I ever needed help I could ask any member of our family by the name of Balmaceda, and I would get it."

In 1995, Pedro's parents returned to Chile with their two youngest children, Nicolás and Lucas, who had been born in California. Javiera also came for a couple of years. Pedro stayed in the United States.

PP: "It was a very scary period. I grew up with my family in the United States and from one day to the next there was no home to return to. Suddenly the idea of the safe nest was gone. It was shocking because in previous years I took for granted the privileged life we had in California. I never thought that this could change as suddenly as happened to my parents when they became exiles. Everything felt fragile. Also, I knew that my parents' marriage was wrong and that the tension of those circumstances was hardly going to end. My mother's life felt in danger and the line between needing her, being there for her and finishing my studies and pursuing a career was a horrible conflict. I knew that my mom wanted me to continue doing mine, she never would have wanted me to sacrifice it."

XR: Did you really resent the failure of your parents' marriage?

PP: "For me it was the hardest time. I have not been able, and I do not know if someday I will be able to reconcile completely how my parents separated and the tragedy that came after that separation. The circumstances of my mother's death made it very hard for us to keep her memory of who she was. It hurts so much ... Sometimes I feel distressed and try to face it in the best possible way, because I know that my mother would not like me to do it in any other way."

Pedro lost his mother when he was 24 years old.

PP: "It's hard to say what I remember most about her. You met her, so it is easy for you to understand that she was the love of my life. I think of her every day. Since I don't pray, I can't say that I have a practice to feel her close, but I live for her even though she's gone, and that makes sense to me."

From Alexander to Pedro

XR: Do you believe that pain makes us stronger or does it seem like a horrible cliché?

PP: "I don't think it's a terrible cliche but a profound reality. In some way, losing the most important person in your life, discovering that something like this is possible and that what you fear most in life can happen is an identifiable and permanent moment. There is a before and after after his death. I think, yes, that old age would not have been for my mother, there would have been no footwear with her. Of course, no one wants to grow old, but others can handle it better. I would not have liked to see my mom struggling with it, but at the same time, I wish I had her every day still with me."

It may have been the summer of 2012. Pedro said to our aunt Juani: "I am 37 years old and I still can't get what I want. And it's the only thing I know how to do." It had been a long time since the death of his mother in the summer of 2000 that Pedro had changed his name. From Pedro Balmaceda to Pedro Pascal. He had been searching for years, years of casting where, by being called Pedro Balmaceda in the studios, they hoped to find a Latin or classic Mexican phenotype. He had only made minor appearances in some series.

XR: Although you did not regret it, you did wear Alexander at some point. Why?

PP: "That was a desperate period and directly related to having lost my mother. I was desperate to work, to fill my days with something more to suffer. To eliminate the confusion that casting directors had with this guy named Pedro with European or Caucasian traits, I changed my first name to Alexander and took my mom's last name, Pascal. That only lasted a year, until I was able to find a job and be selected for an Ibsen theatrical classic. But it was too late for people to identify me as "Alex". Also, my mom named me Pedro. So the decision was to call me Pedro Pascal, a name that fits with me more than any other."

Soon after that came Brothers and Sisters, other small roles, and later more important ones in The Good Wife, The Law and Order, The Mentalist, until Game of Thrones, Narcos in 2015 and now, filming Muralla china with Matt Damon and William Dafoe - last year we all went to see his cousins together - and then Kingsman 2 with Colin Firth, Julianne Moore, Jeff Bridges, Halle Berry and Channing Tatum.

XR : Have you ever been excited acting with such powerful actors?

PP: "I have been thrilled with everyone."

With fame have come the new meetings of the cousins with Pedro Pascal. We all want to see him, take pictures of us, we ask him for greetings-chub for friends, we inflate ourselves by saying that he is our cousin. That Peña, the protagonist of Narcos and the sexiest guy in the world, is my cousin-brother. He laughs and humorously calls us "scoundrels" because now we remember him. In fact, that's what our cousin chat on Whastapp is called.

But there is also the modesty to disturb him. Know that you are busy. That while I'm sending you these questions, you're filming in Boston with Denzel Washington. And to feel that there is always a lack of time to speak to him calmly, a space to ask him questions like the ones that occur to me now:

XR: Exile changed your life. Can you imagine growing up in Chile?

PP: "I don't know, because I haven't thought much about it. I have been asked this question all my life and have never been able to come up with an answer. Perhaps my life would have been more complete and solid. What I am used to is that the past disappears as if it had been lived by someone else, in another time."

XR: Do you miss something from when you were Pedro Balmaceda?

PP: "You know? There is very little difference between Pedro Balmaceda and Pedro Pascal. As it is all part of José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal, I feel the same person. But with back problems and more money."

XR: Would you like to start a family?

PP: "Being a dad? I don't know. I have no fucking idea. I love being an uncle. It may just end there. But anything is possible."

XR: Marialy Rivas said something very nice about you on Saturday: that when you play a character, you pretend that this character brought a whole previous story, much bigger than what they are telling. And it's true: you carry a bigger story than you tell it.

PP: "I don't know, cousin. I am very confused trying to organize the past and see what turns out. It helps me understand the pain or be grateful for what I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm a fraud, living between waiting for fame and attention and completely embarrassed by these wishes.

In reference to what Marialy said, I think she means that I put all my confusion, joy and sorrow, ambivalence, hostility, rage, love, lust, greed, compassion, ignorance, knowledge either to indicate a map with the finger on Narcos, throwing an arrow in Game of Thrones, lashing out at Kingsman. Cool! But I think my experience in theater taught me that."

XR: Would you someday like your life to be a script?

PP: "No way." (in english)

XR: Do you still want to be a "director", as you used to say when you were a kid?

PP: "Yes! That will be my way of being a father. Father of a production."

XR: Is dreaming about an Oscar the dream of every actor, even if you don't confess it?

PP: "I confess that possibly… yes."

#pedro pascal #cousin #la tercera #2017 #family #mother #father #asylum #embassy #pedro pascal article #article #javiera balmeceda #peter balmaceda #cousins #pp article

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softboywriting · 4 years

Text

Back To You (WIP)

Summary: After six years away you’ve returned to your hometown to be reunited with Shawn, the man you loved and left behind. Much has changed, including Shawn having a son, but your love for him has not. You’ll have to navigate falling in love all over again, rouge werewolves, and being a parent to the child you never thought you’d have. [werewolf story]

Word Count: 14k

|Masterlist of Stories in Bio|

The wind whips around him as he steps through the freshly fallen snow. He's been here before. Both in his real life and in dreams. He knows how this will end. The Wolveswood calls to him like it had the first time he came here. Soon he will round the corner and find the small white pup buried in the snow at the foot of the giant oak.

But this time is different. He rounds the corner and catches the scent of something familiar. Someone. His footsteps quicken, the feeling of finding someone so familiar but foreign. As he approaches the base of the tree there is not a small pup but a woman. As he drops to his knees to uncover the body it stirs, familiar eyes meeting his. The eyes of a woman he hasn't seen in six years grip his heart and make him feel as if he's suffocating.

Shawn sits upright in his bed and looks around his bedroom. His alarm is set for four in the morning and it's a quarter till. There was no going back to sleep now.

___________________

You find yourself in the kitchen of the house you grew up in. The cabinets are painted with sunflowers and daisies they way they had always been. Something is cooking on the stove but you can't smell it. Small hands grip your pants and you look down to see a little boy trying to get your attention.

“Momma. Momma.”

You pick up the child and hold him on your hip. He's adorable, dark hair and dark eyes. From behind you a door opens and you look back. There's a man walking toward you, a smile on his face. He's familiar but you can't quite sort out why. He kisses the boy's head and then yours. The moment his lips meet your temple you know who it is and your heart soars. Shawn. You've missed him.

You wake up, eyes blinking out the sleep as your bedroom comes into focus. What a strange dream. You can only assume being back in town is what has triggered it. You can't help but wonder if Shawn is actually still around.

____________________

Moving back to Brighton was not something you expected to do any time soon, but after losing your apartment due to a rent increase and losing your job due to layoffs, moving back home seemed pretty good. You parents moved away recently and left the house to you and your brother. Jeremy had no interest in moving back to Brighton, he was getting married soon, halfway across the country too.

Driving into town brings a sense of nostalgia, a taste of home. You grew up here, born and raised in the little brick house on the corner of 12th and Main Street. The tiny garden your mom put in when you were ten still grows ever vibrant under the front windows. The old oak stands tall and proud in the front yard, the swing your dad put up when you and Jeremy were toddlers is still there as well. It felt amazing to have a sense of belonging again. The city was great but it wasn't home. Never was.

You drive down Main St and notice a lot of the shops are closed up or are new businesses all together. The grocery store is still open as well as the thrift shop and the printing place. The drug store and sports shop are still there too. The old liquor store has closed up and you are glad for it. Two years ago Brighton became a dry town, no alcohol sales allowed in the town limits. It wasn't a surprise, most of the werewolf townships were going dry. Liquor lead to reckless wolves and no one needed that in this day and age. Werewolves had enough trouble with humans already. While most humans didn't mind them, there were plenty who did. A few rotten apples can sour a bunch.

The old cafe is gone but over head is a sign that reads Full Moon Brew. A small coffee place no doubt. Curiosity gets the best of you and you pull over into a parking spot along the street. The wind whips your oversized sweater around you as you head into the shop, hair a mess from the weather.

The place is warm, both visually and physically. Old wood floors and rust orange tablecloths really set the mood. Little art pieces made of tea cups and spoons hang over head on the high ceilings. They're delightful, beautiful little mobiles. There is a small line of three people as you approach the counter. Somewhere nearby you hear a child squealing, but you don't see it.

The line moves up and you see a familiar face behind the counter. Those dark chocolate curls are as unmistakable as the laugh that comes out of him. Shawn. Gods you cannot believe he's still in town and after the dream you had this morning you can't believe you're actually seeing him. It makes your heart giddy with each step you take. Never did you think he would be in your life again. His voice, heavens and earth, his voice is still just as enticing as it was when you were a teenager.

“Next,” Shawn says cooly as the man in front of you steps forward. “What can I get for you today?”

Your pulse goes wild, the thought of facing him again after six years is sending you into a fit. He's the one man you always wanted, and leaving Brighton was a mistake. Never returning before now was a mistake. Gods knew you were in love with him when you left and they know you still are now. There was no denying it. Man alive you were going to have a conniption fit right here in this line.

“Ne-” Shawn's voice falls away, a cup tumbles to the floor behind the counter and you look up from where the man in front of you has moved. His legs replaced with the dark wood of the order counter. “Hey, I thought I recognized that perfume.”

“Hey.” You lift your eyes fully, forcing them to meet Shawn's. “Long time no see yeah?”

“Yeah.” He grins. His smile put the sun to shame. Bright, gorgeous and his teeth so perfectly straight. Those fangs a bit too large to be human, but that's because he wasn't. “You look good...I can't believe you're here.”

“Same actually.”

“What can I get you? I mean, you came for coffee right? Or did you come for me? I mean that would be weird?”

You chuckle nervously as you step forward and lay your hand on the counter top. “Can I get a-”

A toddler comes into view screaming from behind him. “Daddy! Daddy! I made drink!” The small boy brandishes a tall paper cup with a mysterious substance sloshing out of it.

Your heart stops. The boy from the dream. He has the same dark hair and dark eyes. This was too weird. “Daddy?” you whisper and Shawn looks at you.

He tears his eyes away from yours and looks to the boy. “This is my son.” He kneels down and takes a sip of whatever is in that cup. Brave man. “It's great bud! Go share with Ms. Lettie?”

“Okay!”

Shawn stands up and runs his hand over his hair. “I'm so sorry. He usually doesn't run in here like that. What can I get you?”

“I...I'm just going to have a mocha.”

“It's a long story.” He says as he rings you up. You didn't ask. You didn't need to. “I can explain later but I understand if you don't want to know its-”

You're not as shocked that he has a son as you are that your dream was happening before your very eyes. You aren't sure what to say. How do you explain a dream like that to someone you haven't talked to in years? The only thing you can manage to say is far from what you mean to but it comes out nonetheless. “Did you really drink that?”

“What?”

“The cup he had. Did you actually drink it?”

Shawn chuckles. “Yeah it's just water and apple juice. He mixes his sippy cups into a paper cup. It's fine.”

“Oh.” You laugh softly and hand over a ten dollar bill for your order. “And I'd love to talk later if you're free.”

“I'll leave my number on the receipt then.”

_____________________

The moment you step outside the wind picks up again and you cling to the warm cup in your hands. It's mid November but you can swear you see snow flurries whipping by in the gusts. You turn your back to the wind and walk toward your car. It's so cold you wish you'd grabbed a jacket this morning.

“Hey! Wait!”

You turn and Shawn is walking toward you. “What? Did I leave something?”

“Yeah.” He hands you your receipt with his number on it. “I forgot to give you this.”

“Oh! Right.” You smile down at the crumpled piece of thin paper. “I guess I would have known where to find you though.”

Shawn smiles. “Meet me at the Wolveswood around five?

“Won't your wife wonder where you're at?”

“Wife?

“Yeah...or girlfriend. The boy's mom?”

Shawn shakes his head. “No it's just me. I'll explain later. Five o'clock?”

“Yes. I'll be there.”

____________________

It's just before sunset as you stroll into the Wolveswood. The white trees and dark pines create a stunning and magical aura about the place and that's because in a way it was. Every werewolf township had a Wolveswood. There was something about the trees that grew in them that provided a perfect place for the wolves to be themselves unguarded and uninhibited.

You loved coming here as a kid, though your parents strongly advised against it. Being a human in a town of wolves you had to take precautions. Now that you're older you understand that it was only because the Wolveswood was a place for the residents to run free and you were not a wolf. Though the only times you entered was with Shawn and he would never let anything happen to you.

You head toward the massive oak that sits in the middle of the woods. It's a sprawling work of nature and is the most sacred tree in the Wolveswood. You have countless memories of this place. Most of which involved Shawn and the two of you hanging out after school. A stick breaks behind you and you see Shawn heading towards you in a dark navy sweater. The little boy from the shop is by his side, running ahead to jump on the sticks and snap them.

“You came,” Shawn smiles as he stops before you. “I was worried you might be weirded out by my son.”

“No not at all. I'm curious more than anything.”

Shawn leads you to the trunk of the tree and sits on one of it's massive exposed roots curving up out of the ground. “Well. It all started right here.”

“Like...”

“I found him here, lying abandoned in the snow two years ago almost. He didn't shift into a human for weeks. I had to fight the council to keep him.” Shawn chuckles and watches the boy chase a cardinal nearby. “I didn't know his name, I didn't even know if he knew his name. He didn't speak much, not even babble when he shifted.”

“Wow, he was just left out here?”

“Yeah. We tried everything to find out who his parents were but we can only assume it was a wandering pack or maybe some loners or something. Why they left him behind I can't fathom.”

“What's his name?”

“Myles, but he answers to Pup usually.”

You lower yourself onto the cold dirt and wave at Myles. “Hey pup, hello.”

Myles ducks behind Shawn and hides with his back to the root that Shawn's sitting on. You lean over to try and see him but he must be really curled into the trunk.

“He’s shy.” Shawn reaches back and rubs Myles’ hair. “I want to enroll him in preschool soon but I can't afford anywhere around here and the closest public place is two towns over.”

“What about the library?”

“Expensive. It's a private program.”

“But I'm starting work there next week. I can take him. Employees get free child care. No one is going to ask if he's mine if I bring in his documents.”

Shawn's face lights up. “You would do that? I mean you don't have to. I'll sort something out.” He shakes his head. “No I can't have you do that. I'll just home school him.”

You stand and lay your hand on Shawn's shoulder and he covers it with his own. “You’d do the same for me.”

“Of course I would.” He chuckles. “You know, I missed you. I missed my best friend. Why did we ever split up?”

“I missed you too Shawn, and we split because I wanted to see the world. But the world ended up being an apartment in the city and two part time jobs to get myself through community college. It wasn't worth it.”

“We all make mistakes.” He stands and his hand finds yours. “It's how we learn from them is what matters.”

“What did I learn?”

“That the grass isn't greener on the other side. Now, can I take you to dinner?”

“I'd love to go.”

Myles comes out from behind the root and grabs Shawn's free hand. “I'm hungry too dad.”

Shawn grabs him and hauls him up on his shoulders. “Wanna get a grilled cheese, bud?”

“Yeah!”

____________________

Dinner goes well. You and Shawn catch up on the last six years and discuss how things have been aside from the obvious. It feels like you never left. Being with Shawn feels as natural as if you had just been gone for a few days and came back home. Myles keeps to himself, eyeing you from time to time. He's adorable, all big eyes and big teeth as he puts away a grilled cheese and two plates of sweet potato fries. He could be Shawn's son, if he hadn't told you the truth you would have guessed he was his biologically.

“You're not a wolf.”

You and Shawn halt mid conversation to look at the boy who is leaning with his chin on his arms, staring at you. “What's that bud?”

Myles is silent.

“Pup, it's okay if she's not a wolf.” Shawn rubs his back and he sighs heavily.

“Smells funny.”

“Myles James please don't say that to people.” Shawn looks to you. “You don't smell funny. You smell amazing and I love your perfume.”

“He hasn't been around a lot of humans has he?” You ask, smiling at the two of them. This was amusing.

“No. Mostly the work clientele are wolves from town. You probably smell strange to him because you were in the city for so long. There's a difference between here and there.”

“I smell like city pollution?”

“No, no oh my god. Well maybe? I don't know. A few days in town and you'll be right as rain. I think it's time to head home. Someone needs to go to bed soon.”

____________________

The next few days you stop by the coffee shop and chat with Shawn a while before work. He's so cute when he's got his sleeves rolled up, whip cream smeared across his cheek and hair curly and a mess from the steam of the espresso machines. On the fourth day you come in, Myles is standing at the end of the counter waiting for you.

“Good morning pup,” you smile and wave at him. “How are you today?”

“Can I see your teeth?”

“My teeth?” You glance up at Shawn and he just sighs. “What for?”

“Because.” He bares his little teeth at you and you raise your eyebrows.

“Pup. Leave her alone.” Shawn sighs heavily as he makes your usual mocha with extra cream.

You grin big and show the small boy your teeth. He just squints and then nods. “Do I have teeth?” You ask with a giggle.

“Yes. Good.” And with that Myles just turns and goes back to his play area at the corner of the shop.

You stand up and Shawn passes you your drink. “I'm sorry. He had a nightmare last night and I guess all his teeth fell out. He asked me about mine this morning but he's always asking weird stuff so I didn't think about it.”

“I don't mind. He's curious. I'm just happy he talked to me.” You look over at the play area and Myles is coloring something on a little table.

Shawn smiles big and shakes his head. “He's something. Hey, do you want to go out tonight? My mom is available to babysit if you want.”

“Sure. I'd love some one on one time with you.”

“It's a date then. I'll pick you up at six?”

“I'll be there.”

____________________

A date with Shawn is just what you need. The two of you walking hand in hand through the park is just like old times. You don't feel so stressed like you had in the city. It's wonderful.

“So, a coffee shop huh?” You ask, breaking a silence that was comfortable but getting to be too much.

“Yeah. It's a funny story. Lettie needed help for the summer after you left. I wasn't going to stay for long, hell, I wanted to get out of here too. Everything reminded me of you.” Shawn swings your joined hands. “I found that I really enjoyed making drinks and creating things. I also discovered I loved cooking too. Lettie taught me everything. One summer turned into a year and then another year. Pretty soon I was running the place and Lettie retired.”

“But Lettie is still there?”

“She comes in now and again and she'll pick up a shift or two sometimes. It's just hard on her to work forty plus hours anymore.”

You stop and the two of you sit on a bench. “Why did you adopt Myles? You said you fought for him. Why?”

“Something inside me knew he was meant to be mine.” He looks down and fidgets his hands in his lap. “The way he looked at me, he reminded me of you. I can't explain it honestly, but there was something in that kid that was so very like you. I loved him the second I lifted his tiny form out of the snow.”

“You never thought you'd see me again did you?”

Shawn looks over and there's tears in his eyes and his lip trembles as he speaks. “No. No I didn't.”

You feel your chest cease up and tears blur your vision. You reach for Shawn's hand. “I'm so sorry.”

Shawn squeezes your hand tightly. “I figured six years was a sure thing. You were never coming back. Then you walk in the shop out of nowhere, and it was the most incredible moment when I saw you. I went home that night after our dinner and I had to make sure I was actually awake.”

“I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have ever left. I know you said I was your mate and-”

“You are. You still are.”

“And I didn't understand that then. I didn't really grasp what it meant. I thought it meant I'd be trapped here forever. But I think I do understand now. I think. I have an idea anyway.”

Shawn brings your hand up to kiss it and then leans over, cupping your cheek to kiss your lips softly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

_____________________

Friday morning you walk into the coffee shop and it's a little early, Shawn must have just unlocked the door when he got in because the closed sign is still up and the lights are still off. There's a radio blaring from behind the counter and you can hear someone shouting along in the backroom.

Sure enough Shawn appears, backing through the swinging door with an arm full of a sack of beans to be roasted. He's shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Marry me Juliet you'll never have to be alone! I love you and that's all I really know!”

You grin as you approach the counter and watch him sing and dance along to the song. The two of you listened to that one all the time in highschool. He had even requested it at prom for you.

“Good morning.” You say softly and Shawn jumps, turning and flushing bright pink.

“Hey...you didn't see that did you?”

“Oh I got the whole performance. You're quite good, even for yelling the lyrics.”

“I couldn't help myself. It was our song. Remember?”

You laugh and walk around behind the counter to meet him. “Of course I remember. How could I ever forget?” You put yours arms around his middle and hug him. “I still listen to it sometimes too.”

Shawn holds you close and rests his chin on your head. “Are you still planning on taking Myles today?”

“Mmhmm. He's registered for the kids care, all I gotta do is bring him in.”

“Dad! Dad! I need juice!”

“Speaking of which, there he is.”

Myles comes wandering through the back room door. He holds his cup up and Shawn goes for the fridge to get a carton of juice for him.

“Are you excited for daycare today bud?” You ask as you squat down to his height. “You get to play with other little wolves. Does that sound fun?”

“Can I color?”

“Yep. And you get lunch, and music time and story time.”

“Dad?”

Shawn turns and looks down at his son. “Yes pup?”

“Can I go?”

“Yep. That's the plan.”

Myles takes his cup from Shawn and chews on the spout. “Okay. We can go now.”

“I'll lock up real quick. I want to take him in on his first day.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I should go with. He might have a hard time."

____________________

Daycare goes off without a hitch. Myles was shy at first but he opened up quickly. As soon as he realized he got to do all his favorite things with other little kids, it was like something switched on inside of him. That social pack mentality kicked in and he was ready to go.

For the first few days you went and checked on him every couple hours. There is a door with a half window that you could go and peek through to see the care room. He looked so happy, so energetic.

Until. The incident. One week into kids care and you're called away from the story time event in the library. Lena brings you to the little time out room, an old office, in the back of the daycare.

"Myles, do you wanna tell her what happened?" Lena, his co-teacher says as she closes the door.

"No."

"Should I tell her?"

Myles curls up where he's sitting on the pillow in the corner. "No!"

"Lena, let me talk to him." You say softly and Lena steps out. You're nervous. Myles isn't actually your kid, you have no place reprimanding him for whatever happened. "Pup?"

"No. Nononono."

You take a seat beside him and lean against the wall. "What happened? I thought you were having a good day? Sha- Dad made you pancakes and everything this morning."

"I bit Jacob." He whispers, sniffling and looking over at you. "We were playing!"

"Oh," you try not to chuckle. You thought this would be much more serious. "Did you say sorry?"

"Yeah."

"Why are you upset?"

Myles huffs. "Because I didn't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because then Dad will make me come home."

You reach over and rub up and down his back. "I don't think Dad will make you come home for biting. You said you were playing?"

"Uh huh."

"And you got carried away and you said sorry?"

"Uh huh."

You run your hand over his hair and he falls sideways on his pillow. "No more biting okay?"

"Mmhmm." He sniffs. "Promise Dad won't make me stay home?"

"I promise. Let's get you back out there okay?"

"Okay."

_____________________

A few days after the biting incident Shawn decides to take Myles out into the wood for a run. It'll be his first one and he thinks maybe he's ready. If he's play fighting at school he's most likely ready to go out. Shawn invites you along and the three of you head for the Wolveswood.

"Are you excited pup?" You ask of the boy on your shoulders. "You and Dad get to run in the woods today!"

"You too!" Myles cheers and plays with your hair. "You gotta run too."

Shawn stops at the large oak tree and you set Myles down. "She doesn't shift, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Is she leaving?"

Shawn squats down and smiles. "She will still be here. You'll see bud, it'll be fun."

You take a seat on a root and watch as Shawn and Myles shift into their wolf forms. Shawn is pretty big, bigger than you remember and Myles is small like a couple months old puppy. He was small for his age so you're not surprised. The contrast between the two is alarming.

Shawn walks forward, nudging Myles toward you and he stumbles a bit. You reach out and pet Myles' head and he jumps into your lap.

"Hey bud," you pet his head again and he rolls onto your lap. "I don't think your dad wants you to lay on me."

Shawn paces and sits at the edge of the path. You set Myles down and he runs over to Shawn. You follow the two into the dense trees and it reminds you of when you would come here with Shawn when you were younger. The two of you spent hours with each other in these trees.

The two run along and you just enjoy the wilderness. It's just how you remember it being. The trees are all baren now, and the leaves cover the ground in beautiful orange and brown hues. Six years ago you left this place. How could you have been so stupid.

You feel something bump your back and you turn around to see Shawn. He has Myles at his side and you rub his ear softly. "What's up?"

Shawn bumps you harder and you stumble back. He does it again and you tumble into some leaves.

"Hey!" You brush leaves off your hair and Myles runs over, pouncing in the leaves around you. "What was that for?"

Shawn stalks towards you and Myles jumps in front of him, growling his hardest. You raise your eyebrows. Myles howls loudly.

Shawn shifts and stands before you and the pup. "Looks like someone is protective."

You put your hand out for him and he pulls you up. Myles runs off and hops around in the leaves nearby. "He reminds me of you."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm. Remember when we'd come out here with friends and you'd all shift?" You smile and shake your head. "You would never let anyone near me."

"Well that's because I had to keep you safe." He tucks some of your hair back as the wind picks up and blows it around. "Some of our friends were assholes."

"Yeah but no one would have hurt me."

"Accidents happen with young rambunctious wolves."

You smile softly and lean your head on his shoulder. "Yeah. You were always super cautious though." You loop your arm around his and he takes your hand.

"Do you think Myles is okay? Like I'm doing okay?"

"What? You're doing great. He's healthy and smart. He's not very big I'll admit but he was small when you found him right?"

"He was so tiny. Definitely the runt. It makes me sad to know he was possibly abandoned because he was so small they didn't think he'd survive."

You smile as Myles makes his way back toward you and Shawn. He looks delighted, like he's having the best time. "He's adorable."

"He likes you." Shawn says kissing your temple. "He knows that we're mates and he really looks up to you."

"He knows?"

"Hes a wolf. He can tell when others are taken. He might not understand it yet, I don't know, but he can definitely tell."

"I'm really glad I came back."

Shawn squeezes your side. "You can't imagine how I feel."

"I'm sure I can." You lay your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. "But I don't want to. I'm so sorry I put you through that loneliness."

"It's okay." He kisses your head. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

_____________________

It's a Monday when you and Myles head out of the Library front doors and see a woman sitting on the tree box. It's not unusual to see people sitting on the wood frame while waiting for someone or a ride or something. But there was something off about this woman. She put that sense of uneasiness in your heart, the way one might get when they experience something terrible. You guide Myles away from the tree and toward the sidewalk, hand firm in his.

"What's wrong?" He asks softly as you pick up the pace. Smart boy.

"Nothing Pup. I just want to see your dad."

"But you see him all the time."

You stop and pick Myles up and set him on your hip. He's heavy but not too bad. "I miss him is all. It was a long day."

"Yeah. It was." He sighs and lays his head on your shoulder. "Alpapabet is hard."

"Mmhmm." You murmur and hold his head against your shoulder. You can still feel the woman staring at you, but you will not look back and verify the feeling.

The walk to the coffee shop is long and exhausting with Myles on your hip. You don't want to put him down, something in you says to keep him as close as possible until you're with Shawn. The bell chimes over the door and you're glad to see the seating area is empty at the moment. It's nearly closing time, being late after noon, people aren't exactly flocking for coffee.

"Hey, how was school?" Shawn says, tossing a dish rag aside and walking out from behind the counter. "What's...?" You shake your head to cut him off.

You set Myles down and he begins to babble about his class and what he did all day. You take a seat and look out the window to see if the woman followed you.

Shawn sits across from you, having taken Myles to the play area behind the counter. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. There was a woman outside the library and she made me uncomfortable. It's nothing, I just got a weird feeling."

"Was she saying anything? Did she approach you?"

You shake your head. "No. She just stared at me and Myles. It was weird, like I said, I was uncomfortable."

Shawn reaches across and takes your hands in his. "It's okay. Don't feel bad for trusting your instincts."

"No, I don't. I just hope Myles isn't uncomfortable."

"I don't think he is." He looks over at the small boy in the play area with his power rangers. "He seemed normal. Trust me, he will tell me if something is wrong. He has no filter. If something comes up again let me know?"

"Of course." You squeeze Shawn's hands. "I promise."

_____________________

You and Shawn go out on a date Saturday night, his mom has Myles again. Shawn hasn't seemed himself all week since the incident with the woman. You don't think that's what is really bothering him, as he hasn't said anything at all. Something is on his mind though and you can read him like a book as he picks at his dinner unenthusiastically. It's unlike him not to eat.

"So, what's going on?" You say nonchalantly.

"Hmm? Why do you mean?"

"You're not eating. You've hardly said a word."

"Sorry." He sits up in his chair and looks at you. "I'm just thinking about work."

"Work?"

"Yeah. I've got some things to sort out. It's fine."

You reach over and rub his forearm. "Talk to me. I'm here for you."

Shawn takes a deep breath. "The shop isn't doing so great lately and I need to find a way to make extra income because just selling coffee for ten hours a day and only making the gross majority of my profit in the morning, isn't working out."

You nod. "I see. What have you come up with?"

"Food? But I'd need to sink more money into expenditures to get food to make that."

"Mmm. What if you do something simple? Two sandwiches and a soup offering? Bakery goods? Could you partner with another shop in town?"

"I could do simple items, things I can get in bulk for pretty cheap. Or buy baked goods in bulk for cheap and resell for a small margin."

"What about breakfast?"

"Pancake mix I can stretch, and eggs aren't too expensive." Shawn runs his hand over his hair. "I've got some in savings for Myles, just for like in case he needs something but I can use a little."

You lean your chin on your hand. "I can bring my parents patio set over to the shop and we can set it up out front for outdoor seating."

"Really? They've got that nice black set right?"

"Mmmhmm. They left it with the house and I am never going to use it. I can even help you prep if you need in the morning."

Shawn smiles big. "I could offer WiFi at the shop too?"

"You could, but remember that's another bill."

"Yeah, true but I think I could make it work. Maybe charge a bit for the WiFi?"

"You could. Or maybe bring in some live music? In the afternoons?"

Shawn nods and smiles slightly. "That'd be good, I could charge a small fee to set up. It'd definitely bring people in I think."

"Alright, then you have a plan." You steal a fry off his dinner plate. "You better eat now before I take it all."

Shawn slides his plate away from you. "I will eat. You're just as bad as Myles."

"Am not."

He grins. "You're right, he's worse because he is as bad as his Dad."

You roll your eyes. "You are terrible when it comes to food theft."

Shawn holds a fry up for you. "But I'll share. A good alpha cares for his mate."

"Stopppp," you groan and take the fry. "No mate talk right now."

"Save it for the bedroom?"

"Shawn!"

He cackles and you drop your head into your arms on the table. "Hey," he reaches over and scratches your head. "Don't be so shy. It's okay to be mated and talk about it."

"I know. It's just so much to think about still. We haven't taken the time to discuss it. I think I understand but y'know, I'll probably never fully understand."

"I'll help."

"I know. It's only been a few weeks...a month? Shit. I'm still processing my move and seeing you again and Myles. Everything has happened so fast. Don't get me wrong, I love that you're here and I love Myles a lot even though we've just met. I'm happy but I'm just a little overwhelmed, or maybe I'm overthinking."

Shawn takes your hand and squeezes your fingers together gently. "Take your time. No one is rushing you into anything. I'm here no matter what you decide to do."

"I'm not leaving, if you're wondering about that."

"I've wondered yeah."

"No, I'm home again, for good."

"Good because I'm not too keen on letting you go again."

___________________

Laying in bed with Shawn, staring at the ceiling, it feels like the last six years never happened. The man beside you is out cold, arm up over his head, jaw slack. He's so beautiful when he's like this. Relaxed, innocent, not a care in the world. You swallow hard and sigh heavily. You hate feeling like this, like everything is just going too well.

"What's wrong?" Shawn asks and breaks the silence. He shouldn't even be awake.

"I thought you were passed out."

"I was. I felt your heartbeat quicken and woke up."

"Oh."

Shawn rolls onto his side and slides his hand up your bare stomach to tuck it around your rib cage. "Have you slept?"

"A little."

"Is your brain too loud?" He yawns. "Anxiety?"

You pause. He remembers that you have anxiety. Of course he does. "Yeah, I'm just in my head."

He noses at your neck gently, gives you a little kiss and a soft lick. He's always done this. His affection has always been a little different than any other guy you've known. "Talk to me."

"There's nothing to discuss. It's just me, just my head. I'm overthinking everything and you know how it is."

"Let's get up." Shawn pushes up so he's leaning over you. "We'll get some water, have a snack or something."

"Alright. I'll try anything."

Half an hour later you're in the living room of Shawn's apartment, legs tucked up under you while the tv plays silently across from you. It's some early 2000s sitcom rerun that plays late at night on the lower cable channels. You're not paying much mind to it.

"Here, an adult lunchable." Shawn says, placing a plate with crackers, cheese slices and ham cubes on your lap.

You can't help but crack a smile. "Adult lunchable huh?"

"Yeah." He sits beside you and pulls the blanket off the back of the couch. "You heard me."

You pick up a cracker and a cheese with the ham and pop it in your mouth. It's good. Really good actually, the cheese is strong and you raise your eyebrows at Shawn.

"Aged swiss. I got it at the farmers market last week. It's so good." He grabs a combo of food from the plate and eats it.

"When did you get so fancy?"

"Sometimes you just gotta treat yourself. Besides, I thought you might like it too."

You giggle a bit and shake your head. "You're something else Shawn."

"I am." He curls his lip up to reveal his fangs. "That's not news though."

"Not like that you goofba-" A loud banging stops you dead mid sentence. It's almost three in the morning. Who the hell is knocking on a door? Or trying to break it down.

Shawn stands and goes to the window that overlooks the street below. The apartment is above the coffee shop, so there aren't any neighbors. "I can't see anyone."

"Maybe something fell in the shop?"

"No, that was a forced banging. I'm going down." Shawn grabs his jacket from beside the door and you jump up, setting the plate of food aside.

"What if someone is down there?"

"I'll kick their ass?" Shawn opens the door and you grab his arm. "Honey, I'm not going to let someone break into my shop and ruin my whole lively hood."

"Call the police."

"No time. I need to see what is going on."

"What if-" The sound of breaking glass makes you jump and let out a little scream.

Shawn runs down the stairs and you grip the railing to the lower door tightly. He disappears outside and you remain frozen, eyes trained on the doorway.

Five minutes or so tick by so slowly until he reappears. "What is it?"

"I have no idea." Shawn motions for you to come downstairs. "The window looks like it just fell out of the doorframe to the shop."

You follow Shawn outside and to the shop door. Sure enough there is absolutely no glass left in the frame. It's like he said, the glass just fell out and broke. "That's weird. What about the banging?"

"I'm not sure. The door is locked." He pulls his keys from his jacket pocket and unlocks the shop. "Stay here while I go inside."

You grip your phone in your pocket and wait for him to give you an all clear. A moment later he returns, the lights flickering on in the shop reveals nothing out of place. It just looks like the shop at closing time.

"This is wild, I can't tell what made the banging. That absolutely sounded like someone at the door."

"It did. I don't know. Maybe someone was trying to get help and then the glass popped out and scared them off?"

Shawn scrubs his hand over his face. "Yeah, maybe. I can't even tell if it was a wolf, there are too many lingering scents here."

"Let's clean up."

"I'll clean up. You go on up to the house. Try to sleep if you can."

You wrap your arms around yourself, his sweatshirt so warm against your skin. "I'm not tired anymore."

Shawn walks around a nearby table and cups your face in his hands. "Please? You haven't slept. I know you don't work tomorrow, but you need rest."

"But..."

"No buts." He kisses you softly. "Go upstairs."

You lay your hands on his chest. "Come get me if you need me."

"Yes darling."

_____________________

You wake up sometime later, not remembering falling asleep. Your body must have been at it's limit. The light is dim shining in the window, likely a storm blowing in. Maybe it'll snow. You stretch out and your am collides with something soft.

You lift the blankets and find Myles curled up on Shawn's side of the bed. He's asleep, clutching his stuffed sea otter that he got at the zoo. He's told you the story about a hundred times in the last several weeks as small children do. Clearly it's very important to him. Shawn must have picked him up from his parents place before opening the shop.

The bedroom smells like coffee and you take a deep breath. It's so good. Rich and bright smelling with hints of hazelnut. You're such a sucker for coffee, Shawn really chose the perfect profession. You sit up and run your hand over your hair. Should you wake Myles up? No. Let him sleep.

Moving to get up you freeze, a little hand curling around your forearm. You look back and see Myles awake. He rubs his nose into the pillow.

"Good morning Pup."

"Mmmrning."

"I see you found me in Dad's bed."

Myles nods.

"Does Dad know you're in here?"

He giggles and shakes his head.

You run your hand over his hair. "It'll be our secr-"

Shawn walks in the open doorway and gasps playfully. "What is this? Have you stolen my mate?!"

Myles cackles and buries himself down in the bedding.

You laugh and Shawn leans down and kisses your forehead. "Good morning Shawn."

"Morning Honey." He tugs the blankets back to expose Myles. "I see I have a rouge pup in my bed, loving my mate up."

"Daddd! I was snugbulling!" Myles crawls over to your lap and lays his head on your thigh. "Momma's warm."

Your eyes go wide. Shawn must pick up on the way your heart stops because he lifts Myles off your lap and carries him over to the other side of the room. You can hear him say something to the boy but you can't make it out he is speaking so low. You remember your dream, the one from the day you found Shawn again. The one with the boy calling you Momma.

"Shawn?" You call out.

He turns and looks over to you, startled at the loudness of your voice. "Yes?"

"It's okay." You stand up and cross the room and put your arms out for Myles. "He can snuggle."

Shawn raises his eyebrows. "He can?"

"Yeah." You pet back Myles' mop of dark hair and he lays his head on your shoulder. "It'll be easier to start now."

"Are you ready for that? I thought you were still sorting things out?"

"I can't let myself wait to figure it out. I just have to do it, to be here and be in this." You kiss Myles' head. "I need to be a mate."

Shawn steps close and pulls you in, sandwiching Myles between the two of you. He presses a kiss to your head and whispers, "I love you."

"I love you, Shawn."

"I love you too Dad." Myles mumbles and blows a kiss. You both chuckle at him and he wiggles to be set down. "Breakfast Dad." He grabs Shawn's hand and you take the other one, fingers intertwining.

______________________

Another Monday comes following the really great weekend of staying at Shawn's place. You're sitting in the back office of the library getting books sorted that have been damaged. You're taking logs to make sure and order new ones of them. Your coworker Brenda who works the front desk walks in and closes the door behind her, making you look up from your work curiously because the door always stays open.

"Is Myles adopted?"

"Um, y-yeah?" You swallow thickly. Had someone found out he wasn't your son? It wasn't a big deal, but maybe it was. "Why?"

"Well, there was someone here asking to pick up a child early. She wouldn't give me a name but said his adopted mother worked here. I know you're not a wolf, so I thought maybe Myles was adopted and she was asking for him?"

You stand up and knock over your stack of books. "Is she still here? "

"No. She left when I told her she would need to bring a note of approval of absence from a parent."

You wrap your arms around yourself. "Do you have security camera access?"

"Yes of course." Brenda nods. "Do you need something?"

"I want to see the video footage of the woman who came in. Please?"

Brenda opens the door and waves you to follow. "Come on, I'll show you. Obviously you're concerned."

"Of course I am." You follow her down the hall. "If that woman was here for Myles then I need to know. No one should come for him besides myself, Shawn and Karen, Shawn's Mom. I'm going to assume it was not Karen."

"She would know his name, right?"

"Exactly."

____________________

After viewing the footage you call Shawn. The woman was the same one from the other day outside the library. The one who made you uncomfortable. The phone rings and rings. Shawn probably has it on the charger in the storage room. You click to hang up and go to Brenda.

"Can you put a note in Myles' file that no one is allowed to pick him up but Shawn or myself?"

"Of course. Is something going on? Do you think that woman was really here for Myles?"

"Yeah, maybe. Even if she wasn't, that behavior is extremely fishy. Can we ban her?"

Brenda nods and holds up a printed copy of a screengrab from her computer of the footage. "I'm already on it."

You nod. "Good. I'm going to finish my ordering. Let me know if anything else comes up."

____________________

As soon as you get to the shop with Myles and work you tell Shawn what happened, and how the woman was the same one that made you uneasy. Shawn closes up early and locks the front door. He's not happy, it's quite obvious.

"Does Myles know?" He asks as he sinks into the corner booth where you're sitting with a cup of tea he made for you.

"No, he doesn't. Brenda wasn't going to let him out of the care room under any circumstances. She didn't even know for sure if it was Myles she was asking for. The woman didn't know his name."

"Good." Shawn runs his hand over his hair and tugs. "You're absolutely sure this was the same woman?"

"Yes Shawn. I'm a thousand percent sure. I knew something was up, I just didn't know what. Why would someone try to take Myles?"

"I don't know." He looks to his son in the corner as he stages a little cafe with his power ranger toys and pretends to take an order. "I've had him for almost three years now. He'll be five, or what I assume is five, honestly we have no idea how old he is but developmentally he is almost five."

"His birthday is coming up?"

"Yeah. I found him just before New year's, out there in the snow."

"So that's his birthday?"

Shawn nods. "Mmhmm. The day I found him is his birthday. But that aside, I've had him this long and I've never had any problems. No one has ever come for him, or showed up looking for him."

"Maybe that woman is related?" You stir your tea and chew your lip nervously. "Maybe she has been looking for him."

"I've been afraid of that, but I figured that three years passed, no one would come back. Then again I thought six years was a sure thing you weren't coming back but here you are." Shawn lets out a heavy sigh that borders on a growl. "Fuck."

You reach across and grab his hand on the table. "Shawn, it's up to you what you want to do. You're Myles' father. If this woman is his mom, or his Grandma or related in someway, it's up to you if you want him to meet them. They left him, abandoned him to die in the Wolveswood years ago. They have no claim to him at all."

"I know. I'm torn. What if this woman can tell me something about him? What if I should know something?"

"I think in three years you would have found out if there was anything wrong with him. He's been to the doctor right?"

"Yes of course. Every six months he has his check ups and he's gotten everything he needs to be healthy. I even take him to the dentist twice a year to make sure his teeth aren't coming in wrong."

"Then he is fine. If that woman shows up again, then you can speak with her. Or if you don't want to do that, simply tell her to leave."

Shawn nods. "Yeah, I don't want to confuse Myles. I'll tell her to leave us alone."

"Sounds good."

"I do want to keep Myles here tomorrow. I'd just feel better if he was close, in case that woman comes back to the library."

"I'll let Lena know he'll be out." You bring Shawn's hand up and kiss it softly. "You're doing your best, don't stress."

"I know." He smiles tiredly. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too."

______________________

Shawn keeps Myles home the next day. He has Lettie run the shop while he gives his son a really good day together. They go out for breakfast, go to the park, watch the geese at the lake, make lunch together. He makes sure Myles knows he is loved, not that he would really doubt it. Shawn gives everything he has and more to the child.

Wednesday rolls around and you have a day off since you're picking up a co-worker's Saturday shift. You decide to hang out with Shawn, learn a little bit about coffee and drink making. It's slow in the shop. Myles is down for a nap, Shawn having kept him home again since you wouldn't be at the library.

"So you wanna make drinks?" Shawn says sing songy and grabs a cup off the stack by the registers. "You wanna know my secrets?"

You giggle. "Share your sage advice oh wise barista."

"First you start with the bean!" Shawn grabs a handful of beans ready to go in the roaster. "THE MASTER OF ALL!"

You roll your eyes and let out a reluctant chuckle at his antics. "My god you're ridiculous."

"Maybe. But maybe I'm the bean whisperer. How bout that?"

You grab the cup from him and go to the coffee tanks. "Enough bean master, let's get to the mixy mixy."

Shawn chuckles to himself and steps up behind you. "Start with your brew strength." He points out each tank labeled with blonde, medium, dark roasts. "Then choose your flavors or sweeteners."

You pour out a dark roast cup. "I want caramel."

"This way, Honey." He says, going over to a little tiered set up on the back counter of pumps of flavouring. "Toasted caramel? Salted caramel?"

"Which is sweeter?"

"Toasted."

You lift the cup to the pump and out your palm over the spout. "How many?"

"Well, do you want the coffee to be lightly flavored or," He presses his nose into your hair and grabs your hips. "Extra sweet."

"Shawn," you giggle and he sways your hips in time with his. "Quit it."

"I can't help it." He wraps his arms around you. "I'm in one of my moods."

You pump down two squirts of the caramel and set the coffee down, eyes scanning for a stir stick. "Your moods huh?"

"Yeah." He slides a hand up your shirt and you slap your hand down against it to stop him. "We are in the shop Shawn!"

Shawn kisses along your neck and you can't help but shiver. "We've had fun in much worse places haven't we?"

"Shawn. Please, someone could walk in."

He lets out a growl and peels himself away from you. "Alright, fine. You ruin my fun."

You hold your cup up. "Maybe I have to because you have alpha brain right now and you just want to fuck and I want to learn how to make a caramel cream coffee."

"Yes darling." He shows you to the milk machine. "Alright so this is where we steak the milk. Please be careful."

You turn on the machine and wait as it bubbles inside. "Okay, when?"

"Hold on now." Shawn grabs a metal cup with a handle and gets under the bar to get a carton of milk. "We have to get the milk first."

"Oh. It's not in there?"

"No. It's going to just heat it." Shawn kisses your cheek. "Let me do it the first time okay?"

You step aside and he pours out the milk to a notch in the metal cup. He puts the cup up onto the spigot and flips it on. The machine bubbles and the milk gurgles in the cup. "That looks easy?"

"It's hot."

"You're hot." You smirk and Shawn gives you a warning look. You know you shouldn't tease him when he's already in a mood.

"Your milk." He pours it into your cup and stirs with a stir stick from a cup on top of the machine.

You lift the cup and take a sip. It's good. Not exactly what you wanted, but it's good nonetheless. "Should we check on Myles?"

Shawn nods. "He should be woken up. It's almost time for lunch."

"I'll go get him." You offer, setting aside your coffee. "You should watch the shop."

"I better not come up there and find you snuggled up if you don't return."

"But what if he wants snuggled? Shouldn't the baby boy be snuggled?"

Shawn rolls his eyes. "Five minutes. Don't spoil him."

"Oh he is already spoiled."

"Yeah," Shawn chuckles. "He is."

____________________

You walk into Myles' small bedroom and see him sleeping on his little toddler bed. It's precious, completely space themed with the bed being a rocketship. Shawn truly spoils this child rotten. You kneel beside the bed and lay your hand on his back, rocking him gently to wake him up.

"Pup, it's time to wake up now."

The moment your voice reaches his ears he jumps, small body jerking with incredible force as he presses himself to the wall. There is terror in his eyes for a flash of a second before he registers who you are.

"Myles are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?"

He crawls and begins to cry, arms wrapping around you as he clambors forward. You hold him, pulling him off the bed and into your lap as you take a seat on the floor more comfortably. He shakes, fingers curled tight in your shirt.

You rub his back and he continues his soft crying. "Tell me about it?"

"I was in the forest and Dad was gone and uh, uh a lady says I should go with her." He wipes his nose on your shoulder. "But but Dad said no because I don't know her that I don't do that. So I said no! and she got mad."

"Oh." You swallow hard, worried this dream could be connected to the woman who keeps appearing. "Did anything else happen?"

"No. I woked up and I thinked you were the lady."

"Oh bud, I'm sorry I scared you."

Myles releases you and sits on the floor in front of you. "It's okay Momma."

Your heart clenches. You won't get used to that name anytime soon. "Let's go see Dad. He probably has some lunch for you, or maybe we can get some."

"Oh good. I'm starving." Myles says matter of fact and goes to his bedroom door.

You follow after and he takes your hand as you go down the stairs to the door outside. It's busy, the shops across the street having people coming and going. You spot a woman on the bench across from the shop, opposite side of the street in front of the hardware store. It's her. You pick Myles up and he hugs you tightly. Your heart races and you stare at her, memorizing her face, hoping she is looking at you and understanding she is not welcome.

When you get into the shop it's busy and Shawn is rushing around behind the counter. The line is six deep. You carry Myles around behind the counter and into the storage room. Shawn gives you a look but you shake your head.

You wait until the line goes down and Shawn has a free moment to call him over to the backroom. He doesn't need much encouragement, he is on his way the second he realizes he is free.

"What is going on?" Shawn asks under his breath.

"Myles had a dream about the woman and she was across the street on a bench. I think she's stalking him."

Shawn sneers, flashing his teeth in a rare threatened alpha moment. His eyes go to the doors of the shop, scan across the windows to see anyone outside. "What does she look like?"

"My height, brown hair, quite a bit older than us. Maybe early forties? Or maybe time wasn't kind, but she is white and has on a brown sweater and-"

Shawn stalks across the shop and opens the door, going out and leaving you speechless.

"Daddy's mad." Myles mumbles and grabs your fingers. "Is he okay?"

"Yes pup. He is unhappy with someone outside."

"Can I have juice?"

You look around. "Where does Dad keep your cups?"

"Here." He walks over and pats a cupboard door under the register. "Juice is in the refridgermater."

You eye the front doors as you retrieve the juice for Myles. You don't want him to worry, but you're sure he already senses your anxiety rising.

A hand lands on your leg and you look down at Myles. He wraps his arms around your thigh. "It's okay Momma."

You clench your jaw and hold back your emotions. The boy is so sweet and so sensitive. You squat down and hand him his cup. "It's okay, I know. How bout we go see what Mr. Red ranger has ordered today?"

Myles smiles big and hurries off to the backroom where his toys are laying by a storage shelf.

The door jingles upon opening and you look over to see Shawn walking in. He's not much happier than he was before he went out. His teeth are still prominent, eyes wild. You're going to assume he has not found the woman.

"I don't like this." Shawn growls. "I don't play games and not with our son at risk."

"Our son."

"Yes that's what I said, I-" He stops and realizes the weight of his words. "My son. Our son? He calls you Momma so-"

"It's okay." You lay your hand on Shawn's shoulder. "He's our son."

"Yeah, he is. No one is going to take him."

"Over my dead body. She was gone wasn't she?"

"Yes. She was completely gone. I just want to talk to her, to find out what her problem is. We assume it's Myles, but maybe it's not?"

"You think she's after me?"

Shawn shrugs. "I don't know. She hasn't seen me as far as we know, and she's only come to your work until now. Maybe she needs to see you?"

"No, it's Myles. It has to be. He dreamed about her, there is something going on I just don't know what."

"Next time we see her, we will approach her."

"Absoultely. As long as I don't have Myles with me. I'm not risking her snatching him or something."

Shawn shakes his head. "No of course not. I have a feeling she will be back though. I'll take care of it."

_____________________

The next few days are quiet, not much going on at work or at the coffee shop. You have dinner with Shawn and Myles one night, go see a movie at the drive in another night. Life feels normal and good until you get home one evening and something isn't right.

It starts on your drive home. You turn the radio off while you think about the woman that has been appearing. You're not sure what has gotten you thinking about her, but something has. It bothers you. Why didn't she approach you? Why didn't she talk to you? What was her motive? It all points to Myles. She must be related somehow. Maybe she doesn't even know how yet. Maybe she just recognizes a familiar scent on him. You sigh and turn into the driveway of your house.

You sense something is wrong when you turn the handle on the front door and it's not even latched. You know you locked it because you locked yourself out that morning and had to go in through the garage to get your keys. You step back and grab the strap of your purse, hand going to your pocket for your phone.

"Anyway then he said he couldn't go but I know he could..." You spin around and see your neighbor and a friend walking past your house chit chatting.

"You okay honey?" The friend asks, stopping your neighbor in her conversation.

You step down off the porch and clutch your phone. "Y-yeah."

"You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you sure?"

"Actually..." You glance back at the door. "Have you two seen anyone here? Or anyone you don't recognize around the neighborhood?"

The neighbor shakes her head. "No, not that I can recall. Is something wrong? Is your house okay?"

"I think so? It's just my door is unlocked and I know I locked it this morning. I'm worried that someone may have broke in and-"

"Oh honey, call the police. I wouldn't mess around with that." The friend says, pulling out her phone. "My husband works at the precient let me just give him a call."

"Oh that's okay he's probably busy. I probably just made a mistake or something."

"Dear you should have someone stop by before you go inside. If you're confident you locked it and it's unlocked then you should not go in." Your neighbor ushers you toward the sidewalk. "There could be a feral wolf in there. Y'know I heard one of them rouge packs has been in the Wolveswood lately."

"What? Really?" You bring your phone up and open Shawn's contact. "When did you hear that?"

"About three days ago? Some of the ladies at the book club were talking about it. I really wish the city council would do something about it. What if one of the kids gets hurt out there?"

You nod and lift your phone to your ear. "Excuse me, sorry." The phone rings and rings. Finally after six times Shawn answers. "Shawn? Can you come by the house?"

"Of course. Should I bring Myles?"

"No. Drop him off at you mom's house. There is something going on."

Shawn says something to Myles. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Have you called anyone else?"

"No, um well, the neighbor is calling her husband who's a cop. I'm not sure what's going on but the door to the house is unlocked and...Shawn I don't want Myles to be scared. I don't want you to panic."

He takes a deep breath. "I know. I'll try to stay calm. I'm on my way."

You lower your phone and stare at the front door of the house. If that woman is in there you're going to lose your shit. This has gone too far. What if you had brought Myles home with you before stopping at the coffee shop? What if you went in and the woman was there? Would she hurt you? You step back and your neighbor lays her hand on your shoulder.

"Breath dear, you're turning blue."

"Sorry." You shake your head and take a deep breath. "I'm just nervous."

"That's alright. I understand, this isn't something to take lightly. Hopefully all is well and nothing has happened and you did just forget to lock the door."

"No, I locked it, and it's not even latched. Someone was in my house or is right now."

"The cops are coming." Your neighbor's friend says softly.

"Thank you."

____________________

The moment Shawn arrives he pulls you into his arms. The cops arrived only moments before and have gone into the house to investigate. Shawn buries his face in your hair and cups the back of your neck with his hand as if he let go for just a moment he might lose you. He's burning hot, skin radiating heat through his clothes and into you. You're sure he's going mad in his head, mind racing with every scenario that could have played out. You slide your hand up his back, nails raking gentle against his spine to soothe him, to bring him down from a feral high.

"The house is clear." An officer says as he approaches. His badge says Martin. "There's signs of an invasion, we'll need you to verify any missing items."

"Yeah, sure." You nod and step away from Shawn, hand going to his. "Come on honey."

Shawn walks with you to the front door and he tenses, eyes darting around as if he senses something, or someone. "What is going on?"

"Hmm."

Your hand falls away as you step through the door frame. "Is something wrong?"

He shakes his head and follows after you.

The house has been ransacked. Your living room is torn up, the couch flipped, Myles’ play pen is destroyed, the drawers of your end table opened and emptied. You cover your mouth and stifle a cry as you take it all in. Whoever it was, wanted something.

"Ma'am, I know this is difficult to take in. Please let us know if anything is gone. We will add it to the report."

"Is the whole house like this?" You turn and look at officer Martin and he gives a gentle sorrowful look.

“Some of the rooms are too.” Martin says.

"Oh my God."

"Honey, they'll find who did this." Shawn says and wraps his arm around you to pull you into his chest. "Or I will." He says under his breath.

You look at the mantle and a photo of you and Shawn with Myles is missing. "The photo from his first day of kids care."

Shawn looks back and forth across the mantle. "It's gone. Why would they take it?"

"For reference?"

Officer Martin steps in. "Something gone?"

"A photo of us with our son, Shawn's son technically." You explain, lifting another frame. "It's this big or so."

"Maybe it's in the mess." Officer Martin offers, looking around the floor. "Is there anything of value in the frame?"

"No, just the photo."

Shawn moves away from you and pulls the officer aside. "Sir, can I talk to you outside? It may pertain to the situation."

"Of course."

"Baby, I'll be right back, I'm going to talk to the cop outside okay?" Shawn calls to you as you walk into the kitchen.

You nod. "Yeah, okay I'll be here." You look around the kitchen and it's fine for the most part. Some stuff has been moved, drawers opened but not emptied. Beside the kitchen is the mudroom and it's untouched. You stare up the stairs adjacent, nervous to find out what your bedroom looks like, not to mention the other two rooms up there. You take a deep breath and start the climb to find out.

_____________________

Your room is untouched. It looks exactly how you left it this morning. You waste no time looking around and move to the guest room that was once your brother's bedroom. It's okay, the same as always. Then you go to the room that used to be yours, the smallest upstairs and the one you use for Myles when he comes over. It has a twin size bed and some of his toys in it. It is the room you're sure won't be untouched.

The door falls open when you push on it and inside is dark. You turn on the light and sure enough it looks like someone has localized a tornado in there. Everything from the bed sheets to the spare change of Myles' clothes are strewn about. You cover your mouth. Had the intruder really come for Myles, thinking he was here?

Shawn calls your name and you turn in the doorway to see him at the top of the stairs. "We should go get Myles."

"I'm not bringing him back here."

"No, we're not. We'll go to the apartment. I don't want you to stay here either. I think we should be together right now."

You walk down the hall to meet him and he puts his arm around you, cradling your head to his chest. "Why is someone doing this?"

"I don't know. They want Myles back? I can't imagine why. He was abandoned. It’s been years."

"I know. I just feel like it's my fault somehow. Everything started happening when we got back together."

"No, shh." Shawn kisses your head. "You haven't done anything wrong. Let's finish up with the officers here and go get Myles and go home. It's too stressful in this house right now."

_____________________

Morning comes the next day after a restless night and you wake up in Shawn's bed with a weight on your chest. It's Myles. He is using you as a pillow, legs and body stretched out across Shawn's side of the bed. You rest your hand on his hair and scratch gently. He stirs, wakened by your touch.

"Momma?" Your heart races, it does every time he calls you that.

"What, Pup?"

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything. Why are you sorry?"

Myles turns his head and faces you, his little cheek squished into your skin. "Because you're scared." He pats his hand in time with your heartbeat over your chest.

You smile softly. "I'm not scared. I just woke up."

"But your heart is all bumbumbum."

"That's because I love you." You put your hand over his and he makes big eyes at you. "I realized you were sleeping on me and I am happy because you're my favorite pup."

Myles giggles. "Ohh. My heart goes bumbumbum too when you get me after school sometimes."

"That's when you get excited. Your heart can beat fast for a lot of reasons."

He nods. "Dad's does that when you are near him. What's that mean?"

You smile big and close your eyes. This child is so sweet, he has no idea. "It means Dad loves me and is happy when we are together. Let's go back to sleep. I'm very tired."

"Me too." Myles says as he stretches. He shifts around and lays beside you, cuddles against your side. "I love you too Momma."

You turn and hold him against you, chin on his head. He's warm like Shawn, the wolf in him making him run hotter than average. You close your eyes and relax, he's safe and so are you.

_____________________upadate

When you get up later in the morning Shawn is still gone. You assume he is at the shop working like usual but when you go down with Myles he isn't there.

"Lettie, is Shawn out?" You ask as you place Myles down by his toys.

The sweet old woman looks up from her magazine. "He wasn't here dear. I saw him come down this morning and head out across the street. He texted me last night about running the shop today for him. I figured he was going to your place but now I see that isn't the case."

"He left? He didn't say anything to me about that. What time did he leave?"

Lettie looks back at the clock. "Around five this morning."

"He's been gone all morning. Can you watch Myles? I'm gonna run upstairs and check for a note."

"Sure thing dear."

You head out the door and go to the door to the apartment stairs. Surely Shawn would have left a note or even a text saying he wasn't going to be at the shop. He never said anything about leaving yesterday, in fact he was pretty hell bent on keeping you and Myles close. You search the living room and kitchen counters for any notes. Nothing. No luck at all. Maybe something came up? But with who? His parents? The woman? You sink down onto the couch and stare at the ceiling.

"Shawn, what are you doing?" You ask out loud. "Why on Earth did you leave me here with Myles when shit is hitting the fan?"

You a,re torn. On one hand you want to go see if he's at the Wolveswood because you have a feeling that after finding out about a rogue pack he may have gone there for answers. On the other hand you have to keep Myles safe and leaving him with someone else isn't exactly your best option. Not that you stand a chance against a werewolf should anything happen gods forbid it but you'd rather he be with you.

There is no use keeping Myles downstairs with Lettie if Shawn's not working. You'll grab him and bring him back up for some breakfast and play time. It's best you just stay home and wait to hear from Shawn.

Two hours later and it's nearly noon. You've not heard from Shawn despite calling him twice and leaving messages. You're beginning to worry if he's alright. Myles knows something is wrong but he doesn't say anything, just sits real close and lays on your lap while you watch TV.

Nearly four in the afternoon and you have yet to know where Shawn is. Panic is starting to set in and you worry he's gone after the woman or the rogue wolves and gotten hurt. How could he be so reckless? How could he just leave you without warning? At least leave a note so you can send the police for him if he doesn't return by a certain time.

You grab your keys and get Myles dressed to go to his Karen's house. You're going to go after Shawn and the best place for Myles is her house. You have no idea how you're going to find him, but you're going to try locating his car first and work from there.

After leaving Myles with Karen you double back to the entrance of the Wolveswood. Sure enough Shawn's Jeep is there but you realize you have absolutely nothing to defend yourself with if you go inside. You turn back onto the road and head for your house. You have a taser in the top drawer of your dresser and you might have a knife or two in the garage from your dad's hunting and fishing stuff your parents kept in there.

You are in and out of the house fairly quickly, having found the taser and a good-sized knife for skinning deer. You hope you won't have to use either one but if the occasion comes you're ready. There is one last stop you need to make and it's at Shawn's place to lock up. You had forgotten in the rush to get Myles to Karen's place and you don't need someone wandering into his house.

You climb the stairs to the apartment and you freeze with your key in the lock. You can hear someone talking outside the lower door. It spooks you and you open the door and go inside, flipping the lock just in case. You go to the front windows and look down to see if there is anyone out there on their cell phone. There is someone there and it's a guy in maybe his thirties, looking at the door, then to your car. Your stomach sinks.

You feel around your pockets and realize you've left your phone in the car with your purse. Outside the guy stops talking and is standing in front of the door, looking up. You back away from the window and go to the kitchen. You grab a dining chair and shove it against the front door handle. The only other exit is through the fire escape in Myles' bedroom.

Just as you get the window open you can hear pounding on the front door you've blocked. As you suspected, the guy was not just some innocent passerby. You duck out of the window onto the railings of the fire escape. If you can just get down to the shop you know Lettie is in there cleaning up. You're not alone. You take a deep breath and try to calm your racing heart and shaking hands. Panic won't help you.

The latch on the ladder is stuck, rusty and unused. You kick at it trying to loosen it. If you can't get it undone you're not going to get down. The ladder stops short about ten feet from the ground and there isn't even a dumpster you can land on in a movie like escape. You kick harder and still nothing. You look up to the roof and there is a ladder there for maintenance but that's not going to help you if you're discovered. The roof is a trap.

You lean into the window and look around Myles' room for something you can hit the latch with. His room isn't exactly filled with tools or anything outside of plush blankets and action figures. There's a bottle of lotion on his dresser. Maybe it'll work as a lubricant. You crawl in and grab it and head back out to get to work.

Inside you hear the chair in front of the door scoot loudly against the wooden floor. You kick the latch one more time and it drops, the ladder extending down to the ground. Your heart clenches and you're gone, climbing down as fast as your hands and feet will allow. The ground under your feet is sweet solace as you barrel through the back storage room door into the cafe.

"Hey! Who's there?!"

"It's me Lettie!" You yell and head for the phone on the wall in the small office area where Shawn keeps his paperwork and invoices. "I don't have time to explain. Someone has broken into Shawn's apartment."

"What?!" Lettie looks up at the ceiling. "I heard some noise from up there but I figured you were just cleaning or something while Myles is away."

You dial the police and hold the phone against your ear as it rings. "I got out through the fire escape."

Lettie grabs her keys and heads for the front door. "That son of a bitch isn't getting away with this."

"Lettie! What're you doing?"

"I'm locking them in!"

"How?"

"I've got keys. It used to be my place before it was Shawn's. I've got the spares in case Shawn locks himself out." Lettie says triumphantly. "Let's see them escape now."

"Lettie- yes hello, I'd like to report a break in." You turn away from the old woman going out to lock the stairwell door to the apartment. "I'm at 223 Main Street at the Full Moon Brew coffee shop. My boyfriend's apartment above has been broken into. Yes I'm fine. No I'm not alone, I'm with an employee in the shop."

The operator asks a few more questions and informs you a squad car is on its way. Just as the woman is repeating back your information the line clicks and goes dead. "Hello?" You pull the phone away as the dial tone beeps. "Fuck."

Outside Shawn's Jeep pulls up in front of the shop and your heart stops. What impeccable timing. You can see Lettie talking to him and he looks upstairs then into the shop. He looks wild and you know he isn't going to wait for the police.

______________

"Shawn." You say softly as he enters the shop and strides up to you. "He's safe, he's with your mom."

"Oh thank Gods. How did you know what I was going to ask?"

"He's our son and he's not here." You glance up at the ceiling. "Of course you're going to ask."

"Who's in my house?"

"I have no idea. They showed up as soon as I got here to lock up. I'm pretty sure they followed me from the Wolveswood."

Shawn growls low and curls his fingers around the nearby countertop ledge. "He's one of them. There's a whole pack trying to find Myles. From what I gather he's the son of their alpha and his mother abandoned him because she and the alpha were not mates."

"How did they find him?"

"The mother confessed. She is the one we've been seeing everywhere. She thought she could just take him and save her life if she brought back the child before anyone found out she abandoned him." Shawn glares at the ceiling as footsteps creak across the floor boards. "I'm willing to bet that's the alpha."

"His dad."

"No. I'm his dad. I raised him and he is my child." He heads for the back door, following the footsteps overhead. "And no one is going to take him from you or me without going through my dead body."

"Shawn, don't start a fight. If you die, what happens to me? Do you really think they'll just interrogate me into giving Myles up and let me live?" You shake as you speak, voice trembling harshly. "Let the police take care of this."

Shawn stops at the backdoor and grips the frame harshly, the wood splintering under his grip. "I'm that guy's worst nightmare. He came after my family, my child. I won't wait for the police, I have to deal with him myself."

"Just wait! Shawn! No!" You shout as he runs out into the alley. He's going for the fire escape no doubt. You step out the door and he's already on the metal overhang above you.

__________

to be continued

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

#stories #werewolf au

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sunshinereversed · 4 years

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𝙙𝙮𝙡𝙖𝙣’𝙨 “𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡”: 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙨

I think it’s eerily prophetic how the song “Flowers on the Wall” (performed by the Statler Brothers) radiates so strongly with Dylan Klebold. The country tune has already been associated with Dylan because it appears in the background of the video where he and Nate are driving to school. But if you really listen to the lyrics and reflect on Dylan’s inner struggles, they coincide strangely well.

Let’s take the very first line of the song.

I keep hearin' you're concerned about my happiness.

The constant ‘Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay? You seem so down lately’ from his parents, especially Sue, is reflected here. His mother sees that Dylan is ‘moody and irritable,’ often withdrawn, spending time hauled up in his room. She notices the tightness of his voice, which is unlike him, and she offers to make him French toast or an omelet. This must be about something small, she thinks. Yet his sullen demeanor stays as days turn to weeks, and she must ask again in vain, ‘Are you okay?’

But all that thought you're givin' me is conscience, I guess.

It doesn’t even cross Sue’s mind that her son may be unwell. She is simply asking out of concern for him looking unhappy, believing whatever it is will solve itself out. His mother wears her heart on her sleeve, and it pains her to see him so sad. But what can she do if he refuses to talk about it? All she can do is ask and wait for it to pass. He’s a good kid, after all. He’ll do the right thing because she’s worked hard to instill her morals into what he does.

If I were walkin' in your shoes, I wouldn't worry none.

Dylan reassures her repeatedly. ‘I’m only tired. I have a lot of homework. Nothing’s wrong. No one gives me a tough time, I’m 6’4”.’ He wishes she would leave him alone. He thinks she wouldn’t understand; she wouldn’t listen. He tells his parents not to worry. ‘You can trust me,’ he tells his mother one evening after the prom. Dylan goes out of his way to prove that he is the golden child. It works, and they worry none.

While you 'n' your friends are worried about me I'm havin' lots of fun.

Dylan’s social life serves as a mask for what is going on in his mind. He goes over to his friends’ houses, bowls on Friday nights, makes videos after school, plays catch with his dad, and even watches old movies with his mother. He has pictures of good times with friends. Outwardly, he is smiling; life is a dream. This makes his parents rethink their concerns. He’s a happy kid who does normal teenage things. What is there to worry about? He’s assuring those around him that he’s fine.

Now here comes the chorus, which is a bit tricky but makes sense when you consider these things:

Countin' flowers on the wall.

If anyone is familiar with the book The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, this might be a clue. Like the protagonist in the book, Dylan is trapped in his four-walled cell (his bedroom) which is where he does most of his thinking and spiraling downwards. This is where he writes in his journal and vents his frustrations. It’s a toxic environment for his brain. His room is where he cries himself to sleep; hugs his pillow in loneliness; gets drunk by himself. Most importantly, it’s where he blurs fantasy and reality. While not as plainly mad as the poor woman from Gilman’s novel, Dylan is mentally tortured by what he perceives to be ‘an unfair/miserable existence’ and being ‘stuck in humanity.’ He rejects both, and often retreats into his fantasy where he is with his love and away from the world. The ‘flowers on the wall’ symbolizes his own deception of life when he is alone, and might not only symbolize his bedroom, but also his brain.

That don't bother me at all.

Unlike the real world, Dylan very much prefers to live in the fictional one he’s conjured within his mind. It’s his safe place. Paradoxically, his mind is also where he tears himself down and others around him. It’s a poisonous escape. Yet he is already so far gone in that escape, he can’t see the damage he is doing to himself. And he continues to do so, unbothered, and unaware.

Playin' solitaire till dawn with a deck of fifty-one.

‘Playing solitaire’ could be a metaphor symbolizing his isolation and loneliness, his solitude. Solitaire is a single-player game, and Dylan feels alienated most of the time, especially when he is sulking in his room. Thinking, always thinking. Sometimes, as the line implies, until dawn. He is a night owl who cannot sleep because his mind is constantly awake. Playing music, conversing in chats on the computer, formulating poems in his notebooks, doodling, or just thinking (negatively). He oversleeps often because he is up late doing these things. He is alone, in the middle of the night, consumed by his own sadness. Something is missing inside him, and that is why he plays with ‘a deck of fifty-one.’ He thinks a significant other is the thing that is missing, and if he finds her, he will finally be playing with fifty-two cards, figuratively.

Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo.

For Dylan, this is a dichotomy. An everlasting contrast. The balance between two things, lightness, and darkness, good and evil, etc. He’s doing grown-up things like holding a job, applying to colleges, driving a car, and as the lyrics say, smoking cigarettes. Marlboro, preferably. At the same time, Dylan is caught between acting his age and longing for simpler days. This is where ‘watching Captain Kangaroo’ comes in. It’s a kid’s show and is intended for such an audience. Dylan thinks back with nostalgia for his childhood, when life wasn’t full of disappointments, stress, high school bullies, responsibility. He hangs onto items that remind him of his youth: his stuffed koala, origami, classic movies, his trademark baseball cap, his love for fixing old cars with his dad. Dylan is stuck somewhere in the middle of the two, never truly satisfied with one over the other.

Now don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

Again, Dylan tells those around him that he is perfectly fine by engaging in normal teenage things. He hides how depressed he feels. Dylan becomes increasingly irritated the more people ask if he’s okay. The repetition of this line throughout the song is more like a cry for help than a reassurance.

Last night I dressed in tails, pretended I was on the town.

This could symbolize several things, but what comes to my mind is Dylan’s prom night. The fact that he even goes to prom is a pleasant surprise to his parents, confirming that there’s nothing abnormal lurking on the horizon. His father helps him get dressed in his tuxedo, struggles to figure out how the bow tie works, and he pulls his newly washed hair back into a neat ponytail. His mother thinks he looks quite handsome, comparing him to a character in a movie they are both fond of. For a moment, he is just a normal high school kid going to a dance. Nothing out of the boring ordinary.

As long as I can dream it's hard to slow this swinger down.

For one night, at the prom, Dylan pretends this is his life. He is good at blocking out what he considers evil, and Dylan allows himself to enjoy the moment. He’s had a lot of practice at ignoring his pain. If he can retreat into the fantasy he’s created in his mind, he is capable of anything, good or bad. It’s like an out-of-body experience. He’s not there when he’s there. Nothing can stop him. He has two settings at this point, 0 and 100. An unhealthy dreamer can be deadly not only to others, but to the dreamer himself.

So please don't give a thought to me, I'm really doin' fine.

As mentioned previously, Dylan flies under the radar to not be asked about his well-being. He holds out his arms to point to all these social activities he’s engaging in with his friends as if to say ‘Look what I’m doing. I’m fine. Do not worry.’ It’s a cruel deception, and he doesn’t even realize he is being deceived as much as those around him are. Dylan starts to believe what he’s telling others. He doesn’t think he is worth the worry.

You can always find me here; I'm havin' quite a time.

‘Here’ can mean one of several places: his bedroom, his mind, or perhaps his existence. Either way, ‘I’m having quite a time’ is a sarcastic remark. He’s drowning in his harmful thoughts, yet that’s where he feels the safest. It’s his protective shell that he puts up against the world. Dylan entertains the idea over and over in his mind that his love is waiting for him in another existence. No matter where he physically is, he’s ‘always there’, lost in his thoughts.

The chorus repeats. Dylan outwardly seems okay. Left to his own devices, he is not.

It's good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright.

This is a goodbye. Even though it is a casual farewell, it has deeply painful undertones. He says he didn’t like life too much but hopes he will find peace in the next one. He offers a final goodbye to those he loved, family and friends. ‘It’s good to see you’ displays how detached he feels toward the end. These are no longer people he knows fondly; it was simply good to see them. The thoughts must end, and he must leave before they worsen. Like the lyrics suggest, he doesn’t want to stick around and knows he must go. A big part of his self-esteem had to do with his self-image. The line ‘I know I look a fright’ symbolizes how negatively he thought of his own appearance. Dylan couldn’t see his own attractiveness. He felt awkward due to his height, long facial features, shaggy hair, and the way he dressed.

Anyway, my eyes are not accustomed to this light.

This is the trademark dark sunglasses that Dylan wears almost everywhere. He hides behind them, shielding his tears from the world. The light comes from the sun, and he cannot withstand the same light that others can, a nod to him feeling isolated from humanity. Though he is called the ‘sunshine boy,’ his eyes are not meant for its light. So, he dawns the shades to (metaphorically) keep it out.

And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete.

Unlike the sneakers worn by the jocks at his high school, Dylan sports black combat boots. They are unusual among the other students, but Dylan feels comfortable in them. Again, he separates himself from the rest of humanity. He is not meant for it. He knows he must go somewhere he feels free.

So I must go back to my room and make my day complete.

By the end of the song, it becomes clear that Dylan now lives inside the world he’s created in his mind. It almost becomes odd for him not to retreat there at least once a day if not all the time. But like the final lyrics, he goes to stay there forever and never to return.

The final repetition of the chorus only emphasizes the truth. He was not ‘doing fine’, despite all the work of convincing others the opposite.

The last line loops again before the song ends. The upbeat and happy tune only makes the message more haunting.

Don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

And no one did.

#analysis #flowers on the wall #dylan klebold #american tragedy

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years

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Alright, and I am back with another update! But first, some stuff a friend noticed in the first few pages and mentioned to me that I didn’t take in when I went over them on my own the first time:

The park they’re in as kids is pretty close to the apartment complex Izuku and his mom live in! Considering that said apartment complex is right there in the background. Which probably isn’t a huge thing, but a neat thing to note.

The age these kids manifest their quirks at seems to be more preteen / teenage years, though I don’t know whether that’s just because it is later activation or because there were (subtle) quirks before that, with the glowing baby just being the one that had people sit up and realize something was actually going on.

Endeavor ad! And it has the time of that event that day, too - 8:14 AM! I wonder what he’s advertising… or perhaps it’s a news report? An interview of some kind? It might just be a ‘breaking news, we got Endeavor on our channel’ sort of thing. The only part that I can read is the first three katakana for the biggest text, which is ‘E-n-de’ and matches the wiki’s katakana for ‘Endeavor’. If anyone can get a good enough look at the smaller text in order to tell me what the rest says, I would appreciate it!

Just a few things, but obviously I need to up my observation game if I want to catch all this stuff!

[No. 1 - Midoriya Izuku: Origin]

So now we’re at Aldera / Orudera Junior High, with Izuku’s class being in their last year before high school. Since Japan’s schools start on the second week of April, we know this has to be that first week of school, because Katsuki’s still 14 and his birthday is April 20th, which would almost always be the third week of April / second week of school.

What is that writing stance. You are going to have an old man’s back by the time you graduate high school. I mean, I wouldn’t know anything about that personally, cough cough…

Anyways! We get a look at Izuku’s class and their quirks, and what a collection. Also, with an attitude like that, no wonder this school is seen as bad, like, what the fuck dude. Not exactly a competent homeroom teacher, are you?

The ones that I can see, from leftmost row to rightmost row, are [1] floating hair, stretchy fingers, dark matter, [2] smokey arms, spike fists, stretchy eyes, frog throat, some sort of flash/illumination quirk, [3] rocky body, ???, stretchy neck, flamethrower arms, extra arms, [4] sharp hair, big chompers, wedge face, [quirkless], mouth face (seen in the next panel and holy FUCK new sleep paralysis demon), [5] horns, telekinesis, [explosion], buff bod, ???, [6] wind control, ???

WHY.

But yeah, this also establishes the first rule of ‘don’t use quirks in school’ thing that… also gets promptly ignored the several other times we see stuff set in this school. Which, what a shock, people sort of sliding around inconvenient rules.

Anyways, Katsuki has proven that he hasn’t changed since those first few childhood panels way back (checks) ten pages ago. And Izuku is being… very shy and trying to avoid drawing attention. But no shaking, particularly, just… wallflower mode, more like.

But yeah, Katsuki is not exactly on great terms with the rest of the class, who are rightfully pissed off at him treating them rudely and calling them extras. Though honestly, I’m surprised that they’re surprised he’s aiming for UA, it’s not like he wouldn’t have been obvious about that for, like, years at this point. You’d think they’d all roll their eyes and be like ‘yeah yeah we’ve heard this spiel before’ or something. IDK.

Oh man, and Izuku already KNOWS what’s coming, look at how he’s hiding his face!

Katsuki is, of course, Fucking Extra and hops on his desk, and gets right into bragging, where, AGAIN, this should have been stuff this class has known about for ages, why are they so shocked?? And huh, interesting, he’s not only interested in surpassing All Might, but also in being one of the richest people in the world. Wow, I cannot even with him, especially knowing he lives in this house in particular:

Which, it should be clear, is an EXPENSIVE lifestyle when most families live in modest apartments because of space being so valuable in Japan.

God this is a fantastic image. I wanna frame it on a wall somewhere. Hori managed to convey all the emotions in one face and I admire the man for it.

With the whole class laughing, there’s a thing I want to note that fandom seems to not pay attention to: they note that Izuku gets good grades! I’ve seen fics that basically have him forced to sabotage his own grades to avoid getting backlash, but like… no, I don’t think that’s actually a thing.

[Also an aside, we finally see one more class quirk, which seems to be some sort of bulked up arm? It looks a bit like mummy bandages, as far as I can tell.]

Izuku gets into defending himself, saying there’s no precedent, but he IS defending himself against them, so again, he’s not cowering as much as some people seem to think he does based on fics, and clearly he’s still willing to stand up for himself to some degree.

...then of course, Katsuki blows up Izuku’s desk and sends Izuku sprawling. And is pissed that Izuku apparently thinks he, who is quirkless, can somehow be on the same level as Katsuki. Izuku swears up and down that it’s not about Katsuki, that he just really wants to try, and this somehow pisses Katsuki off even more.

I want you all to remember this image - save it on your computers, bookmark this post, whatever you need to do. We’ll come back to it in, oh (checks watch) about 284 chapters. Or maybe sooner in a separate post where I can put it under read more and avoid spoiling people more than this does. Because DAMN can I gush on this moment.

Anyways, we have a change of scene, right after noon, with a thief with a sludge transformation and,,,,,,,, legs and pants,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Where the fuck did those pants go, sir. Sir. What the fuck, sir.

Also, we get our first meeting with the OG dad, the sunflower man himself, who blooms into 255 kilos of muscle in one panel. Also, man I forgot about the fucking giraffe neck Hori used to draw him with, holy heck, why are you so l o n g.

L O N G.

...right, anyways, back to the school, which is apparently over for the day. The rest of the class is heading out, and Izuku’s back to his chipper self, even humming a happy note as he grabs his notebook-

Before Katsuki nabs it from his hands. There are a few people who’ve hung back who notice the title and pick fun at izuku, so I guess Izuku actually… doesn’t talk about his desire to be a hero that much in middle school, if the others are all so surprised about it. He apparently doesn’t even make his notebooks obvious to them, since this is the first time any of them seem to be seeing it. Which I mean, it makes sense if the class will tease him for it, but like. Even with Katsuki stealing the book, Izuku’s not super panicked or having a nervous breakdown.

But yeah, Katsuki just blasts the book, but! It’s just the cover singed (and edges) when we know he could have demolished that book entirely. Again, he’s definitely being a bully and a jerk here, but he’s got way more self-control than fandom likes to assume.

Izuku’s upset because of his damaged notebook, and Katsuki just huffs and throws it out the window while saying he’s gonna be the only kid from Aldera to go to UA. And Izuku, EVEN WHILE STRESSING, thinks of him as vain for thinking that way! That’s not the first thought of someone too terrified to do anything.

Edit: As pointed out to me in [this post], it was Katsuki’s crony who was thinking of him as vain, not Izuku. My bad!

Also note the lack of damage to Izuku’s school uniform. I know I’ve seen fics where there’s a hole made and a burn scar left that Izuku has to tend to, but Katsuki, again, has not directly used his quirk against Izuku. We’ve never seen it, just the smoke and flash used for intimidation. I’m getting more and more confident that Katsuki has never actually used his quirk against a person, which I’m probably gonna get a bit more into during the battle training in a few chapters.

But yeah, the cronies / extras basically call Izuku lame and that he can’t face reality. And then we get this scene:

That’s not the face of someone afraid. That’s Izuku’s determined face.

Izuku is about to stand up to Katsuki again. The way he always has, the way he always will. There has never been a point in the series where Izuku has NOT stood up to Katsuki when he feels it matters, and that’s part of the reason Katsuki is so pissed with him every time he does - because Izuku REFUSES to see his place! Not once!

(Please, for the love of god, respect the Izuku who didn’t need a quirk to stand up to others. Who isn’t ‘broken’ or ‘terrified’ of Katsuki or anything like that. He’s a stubborn kid and we Stan That.)

Izuku, however, is not confident enough in this situation to want to press the issue, so he relents and says nothing when Katsuki prods him to escalate things. And then we immediately get to the ‘you idiot, don’t fucking suicide bait!’ but you can tell it’s been a stressful few moments for him.

So yeah, the summary of this section is ‘Izuku is not an uwu suffering babey, and Katsuki is way more restrained than people seem to think.’

I’m cutting it off here since, again, we got a lot of info and character examination, and honestly this whole chapter is a long ass one (55 pages!!!!) and it’s establishing the entire setting from the ground up. And honestly, I’m just vibing in being Right about how I’ve been viewing the characters at the start of the series… even if i am guilty of sometimes playing with fanon for my own means…

Still, this is fun! Hopefully y’all are having fun too!

#chapter 1 #opening arcs #readthrough #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #yagi toshinori #we respect canon characterizations in this household #I love how hori handles characters and I will definitely be taking notes through this #this time with the formatting done BEFORE I post it

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mahvaladara · 3 years

Photo

=L I F E • S T A G E S • C A S • C H A L L E N G E • by @someone-elsa

Gamall Sullyvan

- Pre-Wanderer-

Toddler - 4 years old -

Gamall was born in a middle class family. He was the eldest of five children. By the time he was four, he had one younger sibling. Gamall would be one of two boys.

He was a very happy cheerful toddler, independent and curious, he’d brave through the world with a cunning curiosity.

Child - 10 years old

Gamall was a very educated child. He didn’t have friends, so he spent his days in the Call Dragon library with his grandmother, after whom he was named. At that age Gamall’s greatest was to become a librarian like his grandmother, a very desired and well respected career.

Gamall had everything a child could need.

At this age, Gamall already had four younger siblings. One boy and three girls.

It was at that age, that Gamall’s mother was caught by a Vill from an ‘evil eye’ and became deathly ill with the rot.

Teenager - 13 - 16 years old

Gamall’s family was exhiled from Call Dragon. As they refused to let his mother be executed, his family was exhiled and shunned. His father spent all the family had to remove the contagion from his mother’s rot, but his mother was not cured from the illness.

His father would work tiressly to try and treat his mother.

Gamall, being the eldest, became tasked with raising his younger siblings, taking care of his bedridden mother and taking care of his father. Gamall was forced to quit school in order to play the role of mother of the house, not only to his younger siblings but also his mother. As she confused him for his grandmother, she actually accepted a lot better having Gamall take care of her, so for 6 years Gamall dressed and looked like a woman.

He was heavily abused during this time (phisically) by his mother who’s dementia had made her aggressive and his father who didn’t like when Gamall neglected her. As all his father made was to take care of his mother and siblings, Gamall was actually heavily neglected, underweight, depressed and suicidal.

Around this time Gamall, at 16, met Caitlin, who was 10 years his senior. As she’d bring him books, food and clothes, Gamall slowly started falling in love with her.

Young Adult - 18-35

As soon as he turned 18, Gamall actually eloped with Caitlin. Gamall left one morning for the market to sell his father’s produce and never returned home. Actually, Caitlin, who he had begged to save him, was waiting for him and the two left in a small carriage towards North, to the town of Riverrend.

For the next 17 years Gamall lived a happy, poor, but happy life as a lumberjack in his wife’s mill. With Caitlin, Gamall had one son, Seimei.

Now, if Caitlin was the catalizer for Gamall to gain freedom and happiness in his life, Seimei was the catalizer to ruin his life yet again. Seimei, somewere along the line, due to school, found about about the vegan diet and refused to eat the food Gamall was able to afford for his son. Seimei became deathly ill with Blood Rot (anemia then leukemia). Though, there were treatments, as Gamall had lost legal citizenship due to what his dad did in the past, they couldn’t ask gorvenmental aid.

So Gamall, at this point in life joined the Imperial Aklorian Army as a contract archer, hoping to earn enough to buy a horse and find a better paid job as a courier.

- During The Wanderer-

Adult - 35- 40

During the war Gamall was captured by the Ainlienists and tortured heavily. Now, normally, like any dragon afiliated human, Gamall would be burned alive, or staked, or impaled, or dismembered as a gruesome display the Ainlinists did of power, to show what happened to “dragon whores” and “demon worshipers”. But a quick death was not in Gamall’s future. No.

He crossed paths during his torture with Valadara, the personification of the will of the Universe. The Paradox of Paradoxes, and it was bored.

Literally.

So Gamall would do. He would do just fine.

Slowly undergoing a change into a dragon and a paradox, Gamall finds himself pulled by the Aklorian Army as probably the last chance to destroy the Ainlienists and stop their plot to "cleanse” the world by fire.

Adult - 40+

At this point, Gamall is starting to hate this whole “Immortal Warlock” deal. “It’s not like you can die” has become everyone’s moto towards him. He can still feel pain though, and he really wishes, REALLY wishes, they’d stop sending him on suicide missions.

At this point he has to work with Jullian, his torturer. Ainlinist Commander turned “good guy” who wishes to “bring the Church of Burden to the right path”. Yea right, like a bunch of fanatic, religious zealouts can ever find the right path!

And gall!

Gamall has to help him! Gamall has to help the man who sawed him in half, knowing he could not die, left him to rot, alone, in a basement.

Yes, he’ll help him, alright. Gamall will help Jullian. Gamall will help everyone, especially his friends, who didn’t bother to go look for him while he was dragging his instestines through sand, in a desert, with his body split in half from his freaking balls up to his sternum, only held together with pieces of dirty clothe bathed in booze he was somehow rational enough to tied his body with so it wouldn’t split open while he walked.

But his friends said it best: “It’s not like you’ll die!”

...

Right now, the only thing stopping him from shoving his staff down his friend’s and Jullian’s combined esophaguses and making a human sish kebab, is that helping Jullian redeem himself only to kill him later, will make revenge that much sweeter.

...

He’s a bit bitter.

-Post Wanderer-

The Wanderer - Paradox

You know what? Gamall has rethought this whole “Immortal Warlock” deal. It’s actually pretty cool!

Overpowered as fuck, feared as fuck, and you can’t kill him.

His mental health took a permanent vacation in Taiti and refuses to even send him a postcard, but it’s cool!

A wanted criminal, you do not mess with The Wanderer. He is feared, reveared and avoided. No one messes with him, the Empress has instructed every single one of her Army and Guard to just let him be. He wants to steal? Let him. He wants to fuck? Let him.

Despite being such a despised and feared criminal, the Wanderer is actually pretty chill, and if no one bothers him, you won’t even realize who he is. Just a scholar visiting the local libraries, a warlock frequenting the local dueling ground, a patron in an in, miding his own business.

Of course there’s always an idiot in leather armour who wants to try and claim a bounty on his head or some shit and that’s when the Wanderer shows his colours, or better said, power. They say he can kill a man with a spoon, a ballrog with a laddle, a high ranking knight with a mug, and whipe out an entire army with one spell.

They say this man, was once the war hero Gamall Sullyvan, but he can’t be Gamall. Gamall was a good man and he looks nothing like Gamall, ask his son or wife. Gamall had brown eyes and brown hair, this man has green eyes and black hair.

Gamall was a father and a good man.

This man, this Wanderer, is a monster.

He singlehandedly eradicated the Church of Burden from Akloria. They say he kept their Archebishop, lord Jullian, for last. Made him watch while he scorched the city and everyone in it. He said “since Ainlienists love burning witches so much, lets give them a taste of their own medecine”. Then crushed the archebishop’s head.

He cannot be Gamall. Gamall was a valued ally of Commander Kadra, and the Wanderer cut off her fighting arm in battle after tieing up with her in melee combat.

This man cannot be Gamall.

Only he is.

And he is a Paradox.

The Paradox of Change.

And sometimes you change for worse.

#sims #sims 4 #the sims 4 #the sims #ts4 #mal #mal sullyvan

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redhoodedwolf · 4 years

Text

A Week-ish of Sterek Fics

Hello all! So I recently accidentally fell back into my AO3 bookmarks and have fallen down a rabbit (fox? eh?) hole that leaves me entirely unproductive and sleep deprived but full of feels, so I thought I’d share all of the fics that I’ve rerereread thus far in the last week (it’s over 75 guys) (since friday 😬). Each has the fic name and description, length, and year pub/finished because it makes me feel old. Also all of these are complete because I am weak and cannot handle WIPs.

Note: I’m not adding any tags to the descriptions, so make sure to read the tags and ratings on each fic first before reading!!!

Teaching Derek How to Text (and Other Shenanigans) by neilwrites | 9K | 2018

yo derek Who’s dying

---

I see your 'Derek doesn't have a phone' line and raise you 'Derek has a phone, he and Stiles text all the fucking time.'

The Hoodie by ladiekatie | 1.7K | 2017

“You shouldn’t be able to see me. What are you?” The guy in the hoodie says, the ball of energy grows hotter under Derek’s chin.

or the one where Derek is just trying to talk to the guy at the back of the subway.

Nothing You Could Say by SylvieW | 13K | 2016

Stiles’ second year of college is not working out as he planned. He rarely sees Scott, his job is exhausting, and to get home after his shift, he has to walk at three in the morning. Nearly getting mugged is the icing on the cake, but luckily a gruff stranger is there to rescue him. But now Stiles can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s not alone in the dark.

Old Traditions, Werewolf Edition by Footloose | 3.6K | 2014

Stiles does not work his Omega ass off to attract frat boy Alphas. Absolutely not. He's at college to get his degree. If he's crushing on an Alpha who never crosses the lines of propriety, well, no one needs to know, right?

Stiles Stilinski, Boyfriend Extraordinaire by MereLoup | 14K | 2016

“Beacon County Sheriff's Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.”

“Oh thank god!”

“Stiles?”

“I, uh, I need some advice.”

“Advice?”

“Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?”

Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.”

“Stiles...what are you doing right now?”

***

Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work.

Partly because their visit was a complete surprise.

But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend.

Or even know who Derek was.

But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

third time's the charm by stilinski | 4.9K | 2016

Sure, Stiles has a mark on his chest that belies the depth of his feelings, but it's not something anyone can see unless he decides to show it, or unless werewolves suddenly have x-ray vision.

Which—worrying. And probably-definitely-likely a possibility – if it was to manifest anywhere, Beacon Hills would be top of the list.

Stiles almost turns around there and then to ask Scott how his visual acuity is but is stopped by the teenager at the register finally looking up long enough to spot Derek. Stiles watches her mouth fall open and her expression—studiously blank but with a faint flush rising in her cheeks—is one Stiles knows far too well, particularly when faced with Derek in all his snug-fitting-jeans, v-neck-wearing, canvas-jacketed glory.

Stiles is pretty sure he invented that expression.

Ukochany by VincentMeoblinn| 34K | 2016

Derek comes home to find a mail order husband and two amused betas waiting for him. When he realizes their prank was far from harmless he ends up saddled with a husband who barely speaks English but insists Derek is the love of his life. He's also determined to win him over.

only if for a night by stilinskisparkles | 3.2K | 2016

“I’m Stiles,” he says breathlessly.

“Derek.”

“Derek, hi, do you—”

Derek doesn’t let him finish, kisses the words right out of his mouth.

Hypothetically by alisvolatpropiis | 6.6K | 2015

Stiles holds his hand up to shield his eyes from the sinking sun, its orange-yellow light reflected infinitely across the vast, calm ocean. As utterly stunning as the sunset over the Pacific is, especially while floating leisurely on a surfboard a few hundred feet from shore, it’s a mere backdrop that pales in comparison to who he’s looking at.

Derek Hale, whose eyes are their own oceans that Stiles feels like he’s been floating on since the first time they met. The older man’s eyes are as ever-changing and colorful as the sea they’ve spent the day on, a palette of greens and blues filigreed with gold around the pupils. And if that weren’t enough, the rest of Derek is also transcendentally exquisite: high, arching cheekbones and a chiseled jaw, although that particular perfection is a bit obscured these days by his ever-thickening beard, night-black like his hair, nearly shoulder-length but almost always knotted in a messy bun at the crown of his head.

sincerely, derek by stilinskisparkles | 8.1K | 2016

September, 2009

Hi Stiles, it’s Derek. Derek Hale, from space camp. I’m writing this in English because my teacher Ms Grady said I had to write about my summer, but I spent my summer with you, so I decided to write to you, instead.

Please write back. Love from Derek.

Pancakes and Murder by Amethyst Shard (AmethystShard) | 14K | 2012

Stiles' life has been a roller-coaster filled with awesome highs and terrifying drops ever since his best friend Scott got bit by a werewolf. The ride hits a bump when a dead body turns up at the Hale house (again) and Derek's only alibi is Stiles. Which would be fine, except that Stiles' dad is the sheriff and has no idea his son has been hanging out with the former fugitive. Awkward.

The Witching Hour by MellytheHun | 8.2K | 2016

The radio host AU no one ever asked for but I have written anyway because sometimes when DJ’s play several sad songs in a row, I worry about their mental health and then this AU was born

Derek Hale, The Hero Beacon Hills Needs (Series) by MellytheHun | 11K | 4 Works | 2016

This series started with this Tumblr prompt, "it’s the middle of the night and i’m walking home alone in the dark and there’s this guy following me and he’s starting to gain on me and i found this phone booth with a lock on the door and i tried to call my best friend but my hands were shaking so badly i accidentally dialed the wrong number and i don’t even know you but help me” au

Stiles is walking home when he's stalked by a dangerous stranger and an even more dangerous stranger comes to his rescue.

Fly a Little Faster by mirrorkill | 32K | 2013

Everyone knows when you go back in time, you shouldn't step on an ant, just in case you accidentally kill your own grandparent or something. But what happens when you go back in time and, uh, accidentally interrupt the one event that apparently made the Grumpiest Alpha in Town into a ball of mindless manpain?

Well, if Marty McFly can do it, so can Stiles Stilinski. All he has to do is get Derek and Paige to fall in love before he gets pulled back to his own time. And before he makes anything worse. That's easy as pie, right? Right?

You are the Moon by skoosiepants | 10K | 2012

Stuff Stiles doesn’t like to deal with first thing: hot, moist dog breath in his face, a cuddly werewolf creepifying his perfectly normal morning wood with shades of bestiality, and his dad holding his service revolver up against the skull of his bedmate, never mind the fact that his bedmate could possibly be a vicious unhinged rogue omega.

Baby, you should stick around by ElisAttack | 9.5K | 2016

Derek's driving along a stretch of highway when an unusual sight makes him slow down, the engine of his old pickup rattling in protest.

There's a kid standing by the side of the road.

It's the middle of nowhere, the goddamn apocalypse, and this kid is standing by the side of the road with his thumb pointed skyward. Like he's playing at being a hitchhiker.

Or the one where Stiles thinks he's all alone in a post-apocalyptic world, until he meets Derek.

Don’t Be Anything But Okay by skoosiepants | 4.8K | 2016

“Oh my god.”

Ben pops open the car door and says, “Please don’t embarrass me, Dad.”

Stiles flaps a hand, still staring at the magnificent sight before him. There are glistening arm muscles and a sweaty tank top and then the vision bends over and holy god. He has to look away; it’s too much to take in all at once, he might swoon.

OR-

Stiles has a teenager and Derek has a plant nursery.

covalent bonds (Series) by HalfFizzbin | 9.2K | 3 Works | 2015

Derek's a hot nerd. Stiles is a nerdy jock. A LOVE STORY FOR THE AGES.

Disappear Here by AgnesBlue | 28K | 2016

Stiles was quiet. “What?” Derek said again. “My first heat is coming up soon,” Stiles said at last. Derek closed his eyes, disinterested. He knew where Stiles was going with this. “I was thinking…hoping, really,” Stiles said. “Maybe you could stay with me during that time.”

AU in which wounded in a fire that killed off his entire family, Derek wants nothing more than to be left alone as he finishes off his senior year in high school. That all changes when omega Stiles Stilinski asks him to help him through his first heat.

Money Isn't Everything by TroubleIWant | 6.3K | 2015

Stiles slurps at the dregs of his iced hazelnut latté, pretending he doesn’t need a refill just yet. Supporting your local business is great and all, but Isaac charging $5 for a coffee with syrup is highway robbery. He’s already cut his expenses down to the bare minimum, and splurging for foofy drinks is not in the budget. Except that he can’t really help himself: black coffee is plain gross. Maybe I should plan on marrying rich, he thinks darkly.

Or,

Stiles has a huge crush on the super-hot guy he always sees at Isaac's coffee shop, but when he finds out that they guy's an unemployed orphan he has to decide if the difference in their financial situations is a deal-breaker, or just a bump on the path to true love.

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock | 21K | 2014

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

you and me (and my best friend) by trilliastra | 1.5K | 2016

“Come on, I shouldn’t be the only one having orgasms. Let me help you out.”

“Uh –” someone clears their throat and Derek jumps, startled, hits his elbow on the wall and curses, “am I interrupting something?” Stiles asks, cheeks red.

Derek looks up, sighing. Of all the people working in this damn school, Stiles had to be the one to catch him and Erica talking about sex. It’s just Derek’s luck. He spills juice on his pants? Stiles walks into the classroom; Laura starts yelling at him about something that happened when they were kids? Stiles is right behind them, waiting for his coffee; Boyd accidentally throws a ball at his face? Stiles is at the E.R. when Derek gets there with a swollen face and a broken nose.

The universe hates him.

Easy Alpha by interropunct | 4.6K | 2012

Easy A/Teen Wolf AU. Wherein, Derek Hale is the high school hussy, Jackson and Scott really need to learn to use their inside voices. And, contrary to popular belief, everyone is still a virgin.

Body Language by LadyMerlin | 2.3K | 2016

In an alternate universe, soulmates exist, and they can communicate with each other by writing on their own skin.

The catch? No one knows their soulmates' name. It could literally be anyone under the sun, and Stiles just doesn't have that kind of patience.

chantes une nouvelle chanson pour moi by pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons) | 13K | 2013

Stiles Stilinski has been at Hogwarts since his first year, okay. That's six years of experience. He knows how Hogwarts works, how it operates. He's not quite an expert or anything, but he's pretty damn sure he knows this school.

So why the hell have they waited like a million years to start taking transfer students?

And why is he the only one who can't get a French date?

C’était Salement Romantique by Swing Set in December (swing_set13) | 2.2K | 2015

The Triwizard tournament is really about fostering wizarding relations. Ask anyone. Just not Stiles, he’s busy French kissing Derek.

Hogwarts really should teach some linguistic classes.

The Long Way Home by MyChemicalRachel | 19K | 2016

Stiles didn’t plan to sleep with his best friend’s dad. It just kind of happened. And then it happened again. And again. And again…

All that once was, remains. by countrygirlsfun | 8.8K | 2016

Life is only a long list of constants.

Being a part of a royal family, being a prince, has been a constant in Derek Hale’s life since he was born and swaddled in silk cloths.

Wherein Derek finds himself in love with a stable boy who is more than he seems.

Driver's Education by arrowofcarnations | 9.2K | 2014

This is the moment he realizes he can never have Derek Hale – that he was stupid to ever think he could. Maybe their moms made them hang out when they were little and maybe they’ve managed to get along these past few weeks, but they’re too different. Derek’s cool, he plays a million sports, he drives a Camaro, he’s friends with Jackson. Stiles doesn’t fit into the equation and he never will.

Letters by ericaismeg | 8.9K | 2014

“Stiles, this is getting ridiculous. Can you please do something about it?” Lydia demands. “Do anything. I don’t care. Go up and kiss him, ask him to prom this year, write him secret admirer love letters, whatever. Just do something.”

***

OR: The one where Lydia sets up an email account for Stiles to "confess his love" for Derek. And as fate would have it, they also end up becoming friends in person at the same time.

We're One of a Kind (Like Dip Da Dip Da Dip Do Whap De Dobby Do) by orphan_account | 3.5K | 2012

Derek is your classic greaser—with a leather jacket, a hot rod, a hot bike, and a duck butt. Genim “Stiles” Stilinski a total fream—he’s too cool to be a poindexter but he’s so far from a cat that Derek almost feels bad for him. All that’s missing in this love story is some oddly perfectly timed musical numbers.

do it for our country by HalfFizzbin | 936 | 2012

In which Derek tries to play it cool but Stiles is totally hep to his jive.

Fast Times At Clairemont High by MonsieurBlueSky (MyChemicalRachel) | 6.9K | 2016

Stiles is stoked when he's chosen for an undercover operation to take down a drug ring. He's less stoked when he discovers that he'll be posing as a seventeen year old student at the High School where Derek teaches.

It's Too Early For This by thepsychicclam | 4.9K | 2016

Derek loves his job at the coffee shop, especially because Stiles comes in for coffee before early Saturday morning lacrosse practices. The problem is that Derek is too shy to do anything about his crush, and the situation is not helped by the rivalry between the basketball and lacrosse teams.

A Tentative Truce by Inell | 8.5K | 2016

Stiles and Derek have a long standing rivalry that has extended beyond the Beacon Hills High School theater department to every other area of their high school lives. With the announcement of the winter production, their competitiveness has to be set to the side so the musical can be successful. With a tentative truce in place, Stiles unable to ignore his growing infatuation for his co-star.

we keep living anyway by bistiles (alis) | 10K | 2015

“Oh, damn, my manners. What an example I’m setting, am I right? I’m Stiles Stilinski, but call me Stiles, please,” Stilinski extended his hand for Derek to shake, and Derek took it, feeling the solid grip and the long fingers around his own hand. For some reason, he blushed on the spot.

“Derek. Derek Hale. Call me just Derek,” He answered, still holding Stiles’ hand in his.

By the look on Stiles’ face, he felt much the same as what Derek was feeling, whatever that unnamed reaction was.

“And this little barnacle attached to me,” Stiles continued, letting go of Derek and flushing pink, “is Leigh.”

Stiles is struggling to raise his only child all alone, while dealing with financial problems, a new job, and Adrian Harris, the worst boss in the world.

But then he meets Derek Hale, a dreamy co-workers, and what is a terrible situation becomes considerably less grim, when he has Derek by his side.

Don't Judge a Derek By His Cover by captaintinymite (augopher) | 4.5K | 2015

Stiles doesn't care about the rumors surrounding Beacon Hills High School's resident bad boy, Derek Hale. In fact, he thinks the rumors are total crap. Of course, being secretly in love with someone has a way of clouding one's judgment.

However, he knew for a fact that Derek liked books. So when the two paired up for a final English project, he was excited (but also a little terrified).

But you know what they say...never judge a book by its cover. The same goes for people.

sometimes fate is like a small snowstorm by thepsychicclam | 8.1K | 2014

In a coffee shop two days before Christmas, Derek meets Stiles. Despite neither of them being interested in relationships, they spend an unforgettable evening together, but then part ways. During the following years, Stiles competes in the Olympics, Derek tours the world - and neither of them forget. Then twelve years later, two days before Christmas, Derek finds Stiles in that same coffee shop.

aka a kinda sorta serendipity au

should the pillars of memory topple out of my reach by bleep0bleep | 4.3K | 2015

If Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say that look in Derek's eyes is adoring, but he does know better, and also amnesiac Derek thinks they’re married. Which is the only fact he hasn’t questioned so far, which is the weirdest thing.

Just High School by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 4.5K | 2015

Derek and Stiles have been dating for some time.

The only thing is, nobody else really knows.

Tis The Season Baristas Fear The Most by stilinskisparkles | 5.4K | 2012

Scott is hands down the worst barista Derek has ever hired. But it's Christmas and apparently that means something to some people.

Mind Reading Can Be Such a Pain in the A** (Series) by Fanhag102 | 21K | 2 Works | 2015

Derek Hale can read minds. If he could have chosen a mutant power for himself instead of being given one by random, genetic happenstance it's safe to say mind-reading would not have been his 1st, 2nd, or even 96th choice.

Maybe if he'd gotten the power of invisibility he wouldn't be sitting in a senior Economics class next to a hyperactive kid with a buzz cut who won’t stop thinking about dicks.

A Criminal and His Lucky Charm by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 5.9K | 2015

Please forgive yourself.

For what?

For allowing yourself to let someone in. For letting me love you. I didn’t deserve it, but that wasn’t your fault. Derek, please, just do it. Please— please don’t drag this out.

Derek Hale valued Stiles above everyone—everything. And Stiles betrayed that. In the end, he figured if he had to die, dying in Derek’s arms wasn’t so bad. He could at least have that.

the things you said when we were the happiest we’ve ever been by foxerica (ericaismeg) | 4.8K | 2015

Derek and Stiles meet again at their high school reunion.

From Dirty Paws by Surreal | 9.9K | 2014

Stiles finds a wolf in the woods. Well, it's more like the wolf finds him. Either way, he's happy to have a new friend in his otherwise boring social circle.

flawless by bibliosexual | 4.9K | 2015

“I know you and I are, like, werewolf-married, but dude, if I ever met Lydia Martin in person . . . All bets are off, is all I'm saying."

It's not like Stiles really means it (does he?), but it still makes Derek’s hands clench into claws on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, if," he says, and keeps his eyes on the road.

Those Hidden Places by Mimiminaj | 18K | 2015

He doesn’t belong here.

It’s the first thought that crosses Derek’s mind as he watches the new inmates spill into the cafeteria. The kid stays close to the wall, eyes scanning all the exits and skimming over the tables. If he’s trying to get a barring for his surroundings he’s doing a shit job of it, something made completely evident as Lewis shoulders him from behind and the kid almost jumps to flatten himself against the wall.

Stiles is the new inmate at Derek's prison. He really didn't expect to fall in love with the mouthy little brat.

Baseball Pants by thatfamoushappyending (betsytheoven) | 2.8K | 2015

Scott shows Stiles a picture of the new pitcher for the Dodgers, and Stiles is suddenly an avid Dodgers fan.

While You Were(n't Quite) Sleeping by mikkimouse | 13K | 2015

Scott’s mom, Melissa, had given Stiles the basics on Derek’s condition when he’d first come over here a month ago. Derek had been here six years, the only survivor of a horrific house fire that had killed the rest of his family. It had left him burned, half his face puckered with scars, and he’d been in a catatonic state the entire time. Stiles couldn’t even begin to imagine how awful that would be, being trapped in your own body for years on end, all alone.

Stiles had an inkling of how much being alone sucked, anyway.

(An AU in which Derek is the one who was trapped in the fire, and then in the hospital, based on a set of pictures from littlecofiegirl.)

dhale25 by ericaismeg | 8.1K | 2014

Derek Hale is an actor in Los Angeles, Stiles is a fanboy in Toronto. When Derek posts his Snap Chat username on Twitter, inviting people to add him, Stiles gets brave and adds him.

They develop a snapping relationship, and it gets intense.

I Settle for Long Distance Calls by iamursforevrmre | 4.3K | 2014

Derek is the guy who Stiles met on some random band page on MySpace because Derek made a ridiculously hilarious comment and with a spurt of confidence, Stiles had messaged him to tell him just how hilarious it was and they got to talking. Derek is the guy that made a FaceBook account just to talk to Stiles on the messenger so they could talk more when MySpace was slowly dying out. Derek is the guy that changed his text message plan to unlimited when he finally sent Stiles his cell phone number. Derek is the guy that has been on the phone with Stiles at any and all hours through the day.

And Derek is the guy that Stiles is in love with.

You look like my next mistake by Vendelin | 15K | 2015

“So, are you dating someone new? Someone who doesn’t mind that you’re frigid?” Kate cocks her head to the side, smiling as though she just asked him about where he bought his shoes.

His entire body sighs in defeat as his shoulders grow square. Just as he opens his mouth, someone comes up to stand beside him, snaking an arm around his shoulders. When he glances to his side, expecting to see Isaac, his brain seems to malfunction. Because it isn’t Isaac. It’s Stiles Stilinski, the lacrosse talent of the year, a senior who Derek has seen multiple times from far away, but never ever talked to.

In which Derek is a nerd jock, and Stiles is a frat guy, and Derek falls for him even though he knows he shouldn't.

Coaches Cupcake Coffee House by ChildOfTheRevolution | 4.8K | 2013

Danny looked at him as if he were crazy, ‘It means he wants to ride the dick Stiles.’ He said slowly, as if talking to the mentally insane.

‘Ride the dick, my dick?’ Stiles asked weakly.

‘Figuratively speaking of course, Derek looks more like a topper to me. And you, my friend, are a twink of the most twinkiest standards, but I’m not one to judge.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Stiles admitted, finding himself in a weird crouch-like stance that he apparently now adopts when he’s overwhelmed about finding out Derek Hotcakes wants to bone him three ways to Sunday.

Gladiator AU ( Series) by HaleHole (SweetFanfics) | 9.9K | 2 Works | 2013

He looks up at the door and waits. He hopes that whoever it is, they will be go easy on him. Werewolf he might be, with superhuman healing, but that does not mean that he will not be sore the next day. And he is scheduled for a fight.

Let it be someone easy to please, Derek hopes. Someone who will be quick to take their pleasure and even quicker to leave. He keeps hoping this as the door is pushed open. A voice murmurs a quick set of instructions to whoever has hired him for this session. It is cut off half way through by a familiar, impatient voice that makes Derek strain against his bonds. -- Rome based, Gladiator AU

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain | 35K | 2013

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Theory of Overprotective Canines by rosepetals42 | 11K | 2015

Stiles is totally looking forward to living alone in his super cool apartment off-campus. He is. He is also very excited to bike to school every day, ready to set up an awesome game room, and definitely over his crush on Derek Hale. Completely over it.

Or at least he is until Derek decides he's moving in with him. And then turns out to be the perfect roommate. And then starts attending all his classes. As a wolf.

This is not going according to plan.

Hot for Teacher('s Aide) by linksofmemories_archive | 8K | 2013

“He invited you to his apartment.”

“To do a lesson plan.”

“Yeah and to probably lesson your plan while you’re there,” Scott said, waggling his eyebrows.

“That made no sense, but you still managed to make it sound dirty,” Stiles said. “I’m impressed.”

The healing touch by devilscut | 96K | 2015

Stiles loses his temper with the rest of the pack when they all make excuses not to volunteer to help their Alpha. Deaton has instructed that for the next 24 hours Derek can't use his hands after he seriously injures them in a magical entrapment. Seeing the emotional hurt that Derek's selfish pack has inflicted on him when they argue and try to get out of it, Stiles volunteers to stay and then proceeds to give the rest of them a verbal ass-kicking. He then takes care of his friend, the Alpha, Derek Hale, while trying to work out what his feelings are towards the werewolf.

Quit Dragon Me Around (Seies) by WonderWolf | 17K | 3 Works | 2015

Stiles makes the mistake of taking Derek’s sword and now the grumpy werewolf seems determined to stop him from stealing and landing himself in jail.

Stiles is not pleased. He’s also starving.

(Or the one in which Derek has good intentions, but little understanding of how Dragon biology works. He just wants the cute mole-speckled kid to be safe). -----

“Five meals, Scott. Derek Hale has stopped me from eating five meals. I can’t believe he’s really trying to kill me over stealing his sword. That’s so petty of him. It isn’t like I meant to steal it,” Stiles complains.

“You kind of did mean to, dude,” Scott adds unhelpfully.

“But you don’t understand, Scott. It-”

“Just smelled so good? I know, you’ve said that like fifty times over the past two weeks,” Scott says.

“This is the equivalent of him stealing my lunch money, right? Thanks to him, I didn’t have a meal this week. Or last week! He’s a bully, is what he is. A nice smelling, douchebag of a bully.”

You'll See Me Again by matildajones | 10K | 2015

Stiles is standing there in his uniform, hair long and hands behind his back. There’s a blush on his cheeks and he can barely look Derek in the eye.

“Hey,” he whispers. He’s wearing the medal Derek had presented to him.

Derek stares. He doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore.

Stiles is the soldier who saved Derek and brought him back home. He doesn't seem to care that Derek's a prince or that he's a little bit broken. Derek falls, quick and sure, but it's not easy knowing that Stiles will soon have to return to the war.

Thousand by ericaismeg | 4.2K | 2014

“Seriously, Erica, I could tell him a thousand times in a thousand ways and he's never going to understand what I mean.”

“I thought I told you to spell it out to him,” Erica says. “Derek's has trust issues. I told you this would be difficult.”

Stop Crossing Oceans by greenleaf | 11K | 2015

“There are no absolutes, Scott! No hard rights or hard wrongs! The world doesn’t fucking work that way and we can’t afford to think like that, because people are going to die! We signed up for that the moment we got involved with all this!”

“We? We?” Scott hisses. “Don’t you think you? Don’t forget that you’re the one who dragged us into that forest the night it all started, Stiles. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.”

Something inside Stiles cracks, so strong and so deep that he practically hears it.

The Wolf that whispered into Stiles' Heart by ElStark | 9.9K | 2015

Basically the Union of the prompts:

Mute!Stiles + Wolf!Derek + Soulmates/Mates AU

“Don’t you have a pack?” Stiles asks him –by then he had discovered that the wolf was in fact a male wolf –“I mean, wolves move in packs, right? Lone wolves don’t make it on their own. I read it yesterday.” He says while they’re both sprawled on the fallen leaves in Stiles’ secret-thinking spot in the woods. Derek licks his face, and Stiles laughs. “Is that your way to tell me that I’m your pack?” Derek licks him again on the nose, making the boy’s face scrunch up, “Ugh. Gross, dude!” he wipes his drool covered face with his sleeve and then gives the wolf a pointed look, “I’m not a wolf, you should have noticed, you know, I don’t exactly have fur and I don’t growl and I don’t have glowing eyes…” He says leaning in to look them closer, “Are you even supposed to have those kind of eyes? I couldn’t find anything about wolves and glowing eyes on the internet..” The wolf snorts.

Aftermath by GhostwithShotgun | 11K | 2015

Stiles suffers from PTSD and insomnia after the events with the nogitsune. He has nightmares, gets at most one hour of sleep every night and has daily panic attacks. He tries his best to hide it because they all have their own troubles and he doesn't want to burden his friends further.

Meanwhile, Derek has made a habit out of checking all pack members every night to make sure they're alright.

Cross a Canyon (with a broken limb) by theroguesgambit | 18K | 2015

“You never graduated,” Stiles says, just to say it. To test it out in the open air. That's... huh.

Stiles spends his senior year battling troll-gremlins, taking on an unexpected tutoring job, and definitely not falling for a certain sourwolf (even though everyone else seems to think he is).

It's a Schlong Story by floatingstark | 33K | 2015

"Do you like him?"

"Of course I do, he’s great!"

"Then what is the fucking problem?"

"My dick!"

-or-

Ex-Porn Star Derek Hale has a lot of issues but Ice Cream Parlor Owner Stiles Stilinski is not one of them.

Bad Dog Bakery and Café by Boom | 27K | 2015

Stiles saves an Omega from wolfsbane poisoning. Said Omega now won't leave Stiles alone. Stiles doesn't really have a problem with this.

Beat The Blues by lilpeas | 2.9K | 2015

Derek and Stiles have been childhood friends since the sandpit. When Talia realises Stiles is in love with Derek, she knows Derek has to stop seeing him: Derek’s a werewolf and Stiles is human. It can’t be.

But things never go according to plan.

Red Light's Already Off by orphan_account | 3.3K | 2015

Stiles isn't a hooker. He just plays one on TV.

Noteworthy Observations by LadyDrace | 3.7K | 2015

In which Derek recieves complimentary notes in his locker from a secret admirer, and though it turns out they weren't actually for him, things turn out pretty well in the end.

One Hale of a Sandwich by whatthehale | 10K | 2014

Stiles in bed isn’t really something Derek should be thinking about.

Ever.

Because the person who normally picks Lily up from school? Is Scott.

Lily’s other parent. And Stiles’s partner.

Not to mention the entire source of Derek’s current misery.

AKA, the one in which Derek thinks Scott and Stiles are in a relationship and that they want to threesome with Derek. Spoiler Alert? They aren't and they don't.

Choice by Omni | 8.6K | 2015

Derek knows what it feels like to not really have a choice, what it's like to be manipulated. He'd never take away someone's right to choose freely. The fear of even accidentally doing so is enough to hold him back from acting on his own feelings.

Stiles has never had a problem making his own choices, and fuck anyone who would try to tell him he can't.

(Or: Stiles gets bitten by a different alpha, but of course would prefer to have Derek as his alpha. And also just, you know, have Derek.)

Emergency Love by Kedreeva | 13K | 2012

Wherein Derek is a firefighter and Stiles is a paramedic, and they just keep meeting.

gave your smile to me by Sarageek16 | 4.7K | 2013

In which Stiles is a hooker (but not really), Derek wants to feed his skinny little body, and there is soup. Not necessarily in that order.

#sterek #eternalsterek #sterek fic #stiles stilinski #derek hale #fic rec list

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