#that little moment here where five almost loses himself.....so good

[number5theboy]

What transpired when you tried travelling before? I botched it. How? I jumped too far forward, got stuck in the future for forty-five years in an apocalypse.

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY 2x06 'A Light Supper'

#tuaedit #The Umbrella Academy #Five Hargreeves #TUA #brellygifs #tusermyra #tuseremilia #tusercj #tusermich #userzhr #usersray #fiveviktorklaus #ogaferoga #oh man i can't believe the kiddo's 19 already #time fucking flies #but whatever i will forever cherish this performance and the depth and love poured into it #that little moment here where five almost loses himself.....so good #the weight of his own failure and all that jazz

[milswrites]

My Beautiful Girls

~ Cassian x SingleMum!Reader

Series masterlist

Summary: An anxious Cassian meets your daughter for the first time.

Warnings: Fluffy goodness

Notes: For the ultimate Cassian girly @sarawritestories

"Hi, I'm Cassian. It's nice to meet you!"

The Illyrian General smiled crookedly as he spoke, clammy hands trembling around the flowers trapped within his steel-like grip.

"Fuck . . . fuck . . . Come on Cas, you can do better than that."

Slowly unfurling his wings, Cassian lightly shook them in the hope of brushing away his steadily growing nerves.

"Breathe Cas, breathe" the male exhaled deeply, rolling back his tense shoulders before locking his determined eyes onto the closed door in front of him, "Hi, I'm Cassian! I've heard so much about you!"

A groan of frustration tore from Cassian's lips, shoulders slumping in dejection as he miserably dropped the flowers to his side.

Cassian had seen his fair share of carnage, having stared death in the face a plethora of times and still lived to tell the tale. Yet no battle, nor life-threatening experience, could have prepared him for the terror he felt in this moment.

The great Lord of Bloodshed riddled with fear at the prospect of meeting your sweet little girl, so only for her not to like him.

It was almost laughable, thinking back to how confident he was when you had first brought up the topic of him meeting your daughter. Cassian recalled flashing you a toothy grin, eyes bright and laugh carefree as he promised you that all children loved him. He was, after all, Nyx's favourite uncle.

Yet now, standing before the door to your home, Cassian wondered if he would ever find the courage to enter. Every possibility as to how this introduction could go wrong festered in the male's worrisome mind, until his poisonous thoughts left his wings twitching with the desire to fly away and hide from his fears.

But Cassian couldn't bring himself to flee, not if it meant losing you.

So here he stood, the icy winter air uncomfortably nipping at his wind-kissed cheeks, rehearsing exactly what it was he would say to your daughter when he first met her. Seeking to gain back some control in the face of his uncertain future.

Adamant that he would not be the one to ruin the one good thing in his life, Cassian drew in a long shaky breath before trying again, "Hi sweetheart, I'm so glad I get to finally meet you."

"Right back at you gorgeous"

If the sight of the Illyrian General practicing a mental script to recite to your five year old daughter didn't bring you to the brink of laughter, seeing the way he startled at your sudden appearance did.

Cassian stumbling backwards as you pulled open your door to great him, cheeks flushing a deep rouge as though you had just caught him in a compromising position.

It was only once your laughter had subsided, and the low grumblings of embarrassment from the male's lips had ceased, were you then able to greet him. Your warm lips coming to meet his own frozen ones in a soft kiss, the action working to further deepen Cassian's flustered blush.

An impatient shout from inside pulled you from your kiss, a light chuckle leaving both of your lips as you quickly glance inside to where your daughter was waiting, "She's been talking about this all day you know? I've never brought anyone home to meet her before, she's really excited."

Your gaze falls to Cassian who was drawing in deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Concern pooling in your eyes as you watched how his lips were stretched into an anxious smile which failed to meet his eyes.

"Hey, there's nothing to worry about," you reassured your partner, moving a soothing hand to rest against his cheek, "she'll love you just as much as I do."

Appreciation swam in Cassian's eyes, a soundless thank you falling from his lips before he raised a bouquet for you to take. Or rather two bouquets.

"For you and Evelyn" he nervously mumbled, awkwardly shuffling his feet as he waited for you to take the flowers, "I wanted to get her something nice but . . . I'm not actually sure what five year old's like."

"They're beautiful Cas" you spoke, tears of joy lined your eyes at the male's generosity as you placed a gentle kiss onto his cheek in thanks.

"Are you ready?" you asked whilst stepping aside, making space for Cassian to squeeze himself through your doorway, the male having to curl his wings in tightly in order to fit through the smaller entrance.

"Come on, bat boy. It's time for you to meet your new best friend."

Placing the flowers down onto a nearby console, you led Cassian through your home, softly calling out to Evelyn as you approached the room she was playing in, "Evie, there's someone here to see you."

The sound of tiny feet padding across the floor followed your words, Cassian curiously moving his gaze to the entrance of the room as he waited for your daughter to emerge.

Only his eyes didn't quite catch her face as the small girl barrelled right into the skirt of your dress, shyly hiding within the flowing material of your skirt. "Come on Eves" you encouraged warmly, a tender hand coming to rest against her back, "Aren't you going to say hello?"

A little head tentatively peered over the fabric of your dress, Evelyn's eyes widening as she took in Cassian's wings which imposingly filled the space of your corridor. The nervous girl squeaked a small hello in the General's direction before moving to hide behind the safety of your body once more.

Worried that his wings were too intimidating, Cassian drew them in tightly, bending his knees in order to lower himself to Evelyn's level before greeting the shy girl, "Hi Evie, I'm Cassian." The male allowed a bright smile to cross his face as he watched your daughter's curious eyes peer over the skirt of your dress at his introduction, "Your mum has told me everything about you."

Wanting to aid Cassian who was growing increasingly panicked at the prospect of having to break the ice with your timid daughter, you bent down to speak to her, "How about we go into the room so you can show Cassian your toys hmm?" With a sheepish nod, Evelyn takes your hand, hesitantly moving out from behind your skirt in order to lead you into the living room.

Cassian followed suit, standing from his crouch before moving to the door, only to be unpleasantly surprised upon discovering he was unable to fit through the small wooden frame. His large wings blocking him from entering the room.

Curling them in tighter, the male tried again, attempting to walk into the room once more only to be stopped by the thud of his wings against either side of the doorframe. Just as a frustrated curse was about to tumble from Cassian's lips, a melodic laugh pulled him from his anger.

And Cassian could have sworn it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

There stood Evelyn, in the middle of your living room, clutching her stomach as she laughed to her hearts content at Cassian's unfortunate situation.

It was impossible for him to be angry, Cassian's brows unfurrowing at the beautiful sound of her laughter, a deep chuckle of his own breaking from his mouth as he watched the young girl giggle. Love already growing in his eyes as Cassian wished to bottle the sound of her joy.

"Evie," you started in-between your cackling, "Why don't you help poor Cas get in?"

It took all his effort for Cassian not to melt when Evelyn padded over to him, cheeks still rosy from her laughter, and held out a tiny hand for him to take.

Making sure to move his wings into a position that would enable him to enter the room, Cassian took Evelyn's hand which was dwarfed by his own, allowing the girl to pull him into the room.

"My hero" Cassian sweetly grinned, crouching down to place a delicate kiss onto the back of your daughter's hand, "Either I'm going to need some smaller wings or your mum's going to have to get a bigger door."

Another round of giggles fell from Evelyn's lips at his words, her little hand still tucked into Cassian's palm, the girl shaking her head as she quietly spoke, "I like your wings just the way they are."

"Thank you" Cassian replied with a smile, cheeks dusting with a pink blush at her sweet compliment. "I like your dress" he replied, coming to lightly poke Evelyn's button nose which earned him an excitable squeal from the girl before her face adorably scrunched into a picture of curiosity.

"Can . . . can I touch them?" Evelyn shyly asked. Her question being met with sounds of protest from you, knowing just how sensitive Illyrian wings can be. Yet Cassian's answer surprised you, the male telling the girl yes without even an ounce of hesitation.

"Here" he softly spoke, taking Evelyn's hand which was still wrapped in his own and moving it towards a spot on his wing he knew wasn't as sensitive as the others.

Not wanting Cassian to feel obliged to do this just to keep your daughter happy you protested once more, "Cas you don't have to-"

"I don't mind sweetheart"

And as Evelyn's hand came to lightly press against the membrane of his wing, Cassian couldn't stop the spark of joy he felt at seeing the young girl smile. Knowing in his heart that despite this being their first introduction, the General would do anything and everything within his power to ensure your daughter's happiness.

It took everything in you not to cry at the sight of Cassian sating your daughter's curiosity. At the dazzling smile which was painted across his face as he looked at Evelyn with such love. A type of love you had only hoped she would one day get to experience, the love that only a father could provide.

“Can I mama? Can I please?” Evelyn’s begging voice broke you from your thoughts.

“Can you what sorry sweetheart?” You ask, wondering exactly what it was that left your daughter so eager for an answer.

“Can we go flying? Please, please, pleaseeee.”

Cassian grinned at you wickedly from behind where Evelyn was stood, shrugging his shoulders as he mimicked your daughter’s pleading tone, “Please mama, we promise we’ll be good!”

As you flatly stared between Cassian’s smirking face and Evelyn’s equally mischievous smile you silently cursed yourself, scoffing in disbelief at the fact Cassian had known your daughter for under an hour and had already pulled her into his troublesome ways.

Praying to the mother for the strength you are going to need for the restless days ahead.

It had been an evening to remember for Evelyn, Cassian having been more than willing to occupy her until the late hours of the night. Bed-time forgotten as the two of them played and played until Evelyn was no longer able to keep her eyes open no matter how hard she tried.

Your daughter sprawled across yours and Cassian’s lap as the three of you cuddled on the sofa. It didn’t take much longer for you to follow suit and join Evelyn in her dreaming, eyes drifting closed as Cassian’s warmth pulled you into an inviting slumber.

Cassian was more than content to sit and watch the two of you sleep, lip curling at the soft snores which escaped from Evelyn’s mouth.

And as Cassian lay there with the two of you safely tucked within the sanctuary of his arms, he wondered if this was what he had been missing all of his life. For being here, surrounded by the small family you had built for yourself, Cassian could have sworn that his heart had grown two sizes bigger.

So as he stayed awake, scared of missing out on a single moment, Cassian whispered into the silence of the night. A hushed prayer for whoever was listening.

“Thank you” a soft smile graced his lips, “For bringing me my beautiful girls.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: Ahhhh I love them so much 🥹

If you want to see any more of them and have an ideas for what it is you want please do feel free to send in some requests because I totally wouldn’t mind writing more about this little family 🥹

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #cassian oneshot #cassian fic #cassian imagine #cassian x reader #cassian

[epickiya722]

I'll be honest, I'm going to sound probably all over the place with this, but I tried my best!

Okay, so going back to chapter 252, I see that Yuta was indeed sliced by Sukuna, but what I wasn't expecting that would resort to him being sliced in half just as Gojo was back in 236.

This is where it got confusing to me. How was Yuta sliced in half? Why was he sliced in half? Before this, just like Yuji, he was tanking Sukuna's cuts and using RCT. Just before this moment, Sukuna was also hit with Jacob's Ladder and his guard is at his lowest.

Did Sukuna manage to actually execute a slash that could completely cut through at that specific, odd moment and Yuta couldn't stop it? Or... did Yuta let it happen?

What if Yuta is just... tired?

I know, I know!

Like, I don't know, it just seemed odd to me.

It gets me that in 262, they state that their plan is that if Satoru loses and dies, his body will be taken over by Yuta, but... that was it. No one said anything that in order for Yuta to take over Satoru's body that he (Yuta) had to be mortally injured.

He could have switched his brain without being on the verge of dying, right? Which makes me question when Kenjaku uses the technique, does Kenjaku have to be close to dying to body hop?

That's for another day!

I recently (last week) rewatched JJK 0 and watching the beginning of that movie reminded me just how depressed he was and how little of himself he cared for. Yuta tried to off himself.

Also take note that he is constantly amazed by whatever his friends do. Evident enough against his fight against Geto. In 261, he shifts the attention back onto the topic of Gojo when Maki remarks how he's important to him, too. His reaction is highly negative.

He gets angry, and thinking about what Maki said, I feel like that has a double meaning. Yuta is important because he is a friend. But he is important because he is also a weapon. He is the best player after Gojo that they got, he's the strongest after him.

It's almost feels like this is the moment Yuta decided to just throw it all out the window and take that risk because he was tired, but at the same time he wasn't just going to leave the others hanging.

This chapter does feel a little like the ending half of Shibuya. Yuji is once more unable to finish off the enemy that has been constantly terrorizing him because of an interruption by someone with a technique that allows them to use other techniques and just so happen to arrive possessing the body of a Special Grade sorcerer.

But let's go deeper into this, because when you think about it... Yuta is the Yuji in 261.

There are people dying around him after Gojo is out of commission in some way because of a dark haired villain who again uses the techniques of someone else! Both Yuta and Yuji had Gojo on the mind, but disregarded themselves, however there is a difference. Yuji's main goal was to save Gojo, Yuta has to use Gojo's body.

Here's something else about 261. Yuta is also like Kenjaku here. Both choose to possess a body because the technique engraved in the body is useful.

However, in opposition, Kenjaku willingly seeks out to do this. Kenjaku wants to do this because it benefits Kenjaku. Yuta doesn't want to possess Gojo's body, it's not something he is at all happy about. It's not something he ever dreamed of doing.

While this chapter is similar to the Shibuya Incident, there's bits where it mirrors Shibuya but distortedly. Kenjaku gets away with Gojo at the end of that arc. Here? It's not looking too good for Yuta. (I do believe in him though. I do feel like he will indeed accomplish something here.)

It's reminded that Yuta's technique allows him to copy a technique for five minutes. When Mei Mei points out the three possible outcomes of Yuta's technique timer running out, two of them has a result that may lead to death. Only one doesn't, and that's living on in Gojo's body.

So Yuta knows that he has a possible higher chance of dying possessing Gojo's body.

There's also the case of taking over Gojo's body to use his techniques was a last resort when everyone else was wiped out. When Yuta arrives back on the battlefield, Yuji had his claws right in Sukuna's chest. Yuji probably would have easily ripped Sukuna's heart at that moment had not Yuta showed up.

And I know, I know some Yuji's fans wanted that, I definitely would have loved to have seen that (payback), but I think back to Yuta's words in this chapter and overall what has happened.

Everyone, at some point, had to shed that bit of their humanity to win their fight.

It takes a curse to kill a curse. This is literal and figurative to the story. To be a jujutsu sorcerer you have to shed some bit of yourself to kill a curse.

This whole time, Yuji, probably the most human character (how ironic) has little by little shed his humanity as the story progresses. He's losing himself.

What if Yuta caught that? While we know Yuji didn't know some of the plans doing on, we can guess it wasn't the case vice versa. What if Yuta knew about everything or most of what Yuji had to do to get to where he is?

What if Yuta coming in right as Yuji was about to rip out Sukuna's heart was him saving Yuji from losing that last bit of humanity he has? Keep in mind that Yuji and Sukuna mirror each other, so ripping out his (Sukuna's) heart would make Yuji no better than Sukuna.

Shibuya was the start of Yuji truly believing himself to be less of a human. Chapter 261 mirrors Shibuya in some regards and I feel like the next couple of chapters may be Yuji seeing himself as a human, not a cog, again.

What if for the next chapters during Yuta's second confrontation with Sukuna, Yuji may get that hit of morality back when he learns what Yuta has done, he'll reflect on it and think about himself? What if once he learns what Yuta has done he gets a "do I want to be like that" moment?

I don't know, I don't know. But I feel like this...

Yuta is tired. He has those dark shadows under his eyes that make him look physical tired, but what if that is also a connotation/visual way of saying that Yuta is tired of how his life is now?

He acts like he's in a better state than how he really is and maybe this whole time, he just wanted to let go. He puts on this show though because he doesn't want the others to fret over him and snapped when Maki said he was important to them. He no longer felt like a human. Just a monster, a cog to the system... a curse, if you will. He accepted death when he knew there wasn't a high chance of escaping it.

However, he chose a moment that was "Hey, I'm going to die and I accept that, but you (Yuji) I'm giving a chance". I'm sure he knew about Gojo's plan to wanting a better future for the next generation. He's continuing to pave a way for that generation. Yuta's giving Yuji that chance to still be human, something he feels he can no longer be. He's been in Yuji's shoes, so he certainly know the path Yuji may be heading. Yuta may have the intentions to stop him heading in the same direction he and Gojo were steered into.

This may be Yuta's way of helping Yuji break that cycle.

#thinking about how gojo told him he's twice as blessed #for having the blood of two opposing families #but what if yuta having a mix of that blood is a representation of his inner turmoil? #that's just me #i wrote this like... I've been working on it since thursday and my mind has been all over the place #just kiya's thoughts #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #jjk 261 #okkotsu yuta #yuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta okkotsu #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: Steve being a hidden nerd in certain ways (ei: sports, camping, outdoor stuff like camping & vegetation/botony, bugs, animals & shit) the kids losing their collective mind as Steve tells them about it. Maybe on a camping trip or something???? I especially want Hop to be impressed.

This is maybe my first request that didn't have some kind of romantic relationship Steddie. They do have a little flirty moment, but beyond that, I liked the idea of just everyone loving Steve and being so intrigued by his knowledge of all of this random nature stuff. Also, no research was done here. Like, zero. I don't know what is true and what isn't so assume none of it is. This is fiction based on fiction and we're here for a good time. I've never been to Yosemite, but it is on the list for me and Liam to go! - Mickala ❤️

----------------------------------------------------

No one expected Steve to actually want to go camping. Sure, he wanted an RV, wanted to go to National Parks and see mountains and lakes and rivers, but they assumed he’d just want to stay in the RV.

They hadn’t expected him to bring tents.

They hadn’t expected him to suggest sleeping in the tents.

“But…we have an RV,” Mike said, suddenly no longer interested in their trip to Yosemite.

“To travel in. But we won’t all comfortably sleep in it. It’s made for five people at most.”

And that was that. The only people sleeping in the RV were Hopper and Joyce and Max and El, and everyone else was sleeping in tents.

The entire drive there was filled with arguments over music, arguing over who got to sit where, and Steve’s “fun facts” about the land they would be staying on.

He had apparently done quite a bit of research, or he had been hiding a whole wealth of knowledge from everyone.

His fun facts were actually interesting, and everyone quickly tuned in when he started telling them about how the mountains could be dated because of the type and color of the rocks, and how much of the sequoias had been destroyed over the last couple of decades and what they were doing to preserve what was left.

When they arrived, everyone stared in wonder at the meadow in front of them, the mountains as the backdrop to a beautiful sunset.

It would still be light for close to two hours, so they didn’t rush to set up the tents. They went on a short walk along the road they took to the campsite, Steve pointing out different types of plants and birds as they went.

Everyone was in awe of his information, but no one was as surprised as Hopper.

“Where did you learn all this?” he asked on the way back to the campsite as the kids raced each other ahead.

“I went to camp once when I was seven and then I was obsessed with nature. My parents wouldn’t let me go back to camp, but they let me get books and movies about plants and animals. In high school, I took geology and almost had a perfect grade. I just like this stuff,” Steve shrugged.

“So you only went to camp once? Is this your way of going to camp?” Hopper asked casually.

He didn’t usually ask questions that didn’t tell him something he absolutely needed to know.

“I guess. And to spend time with everyone. I like when we can all be together without hell surrounding us, ya know?” Steve admitted.

Hopper’s hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed in silent agreement.

Putting the tents up had been relatively easy, especially when Steve managed to show them a trick he taught himself when he was young and wanted to set up a tent in his backyard but never had anyone there to help him.

No one commented on how sad it was, but Steve realized it after he said it.

As everyone got their sleeping bags and lamps set up in their tents, Steve found a large rock along the edge of the creek in the meadow and sat on it, watching as the sun finally sank behind the mountains.

“Hey,” a voice startled Steve.

He relaxed when he turned to see that it was Eddie.

“Hey.”

“Mind if I sit with you for a minute? Kids are being a bit too much right now.”

“Go ahead,” Steve gestured to the spot next to him. “Not exactly a comfy seat, but the view can’t be beat.”

“Oh, so you’re rhyming now?” Eddie teased as he nudged Steve’s shoulder.

“Not on purpose,” Steve laughed. “It’s pretty great out here, though.”

“Yeah it is. You did good, Stevie.”

Steve looked over to see Eddie already smiling fondly at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, for what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty fucking cool that you love nature so much. Nature isn’t really a good friend of mine, but it’s pretty nice to hear about it from you.”

“I’ll make an explorer out of you yet, Eds.”

Eddie looked at him with a look he hadn’t seen on anyone before, at least not towards him.

“Maybe you will, Stevie.”

Eddie only sat there for another minute before excusing himself to check that none of the kids touched his brand new acoustic guitar.

Steve sat there until it was completely dark around him, watching the land in front of him shift ever so slightly as the breeze picked up and the cicadas started their nightly song.

Robin sat down next to him, rested her head against his shoulder and sat with him in silence for a few minutes.

“It’s good to be out here. I don’t think Max ever expected to see mountains like this. She keeps asking when she can climb them,” Robin whispered.

“She does remember her legs aren’t at 100% yet still, right?” Steve asked.

“I think she’s willing to give it a go anyway. What’s the point of being here and surviving everything if you can’t even try?”

Steve nodded.

“Wanna come tell us more about the trail we’re taking tomorrow?”

“You guys wanna hear about it now?”

“Yeah. We like that you’re passionate about it.”

Steve felt his cheeks heat up at the words.

“Okay then. If you guys don’t mind. There’s supposed to be a specific type of rabbit who burrows along this specific trail during the summer and they can grow to be nearly two feet long.”

“That sounds terrifying. Come tell everyone about it,” Robin said as she got up and offered him a hand.

He took it and made his way back to the group.

Everyone listened to him talk about their plan for tomorrow, not interrupting when he got sidetracking talking about the type of trees they would see and what kind of flowers tended to bloom during this particular time of year.

When Steve and Eddie slipped into their tent an hour or so later, they could have stayed in their respective sleeping bags.

But Steve was still too eager to talk about things, so Eddie sidled up next to him in his sleeping bag and held his hand while he talked for another hour about the waterfall they’d be seeing and the type of fish that would most likely be in the river.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #request #ficlet #secret nerd steve harrington #the party #jim hopper

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

you’re so gorgeous it makes me so mad || Hyunjin

[Picture credit: 너는봄]

Pairing: Hyunjin x f!reader

Summary: There’s you, there’s Hyunjin, and then there’s the girl that thinks that flirting with him will get her somewhere. It doesn’t, but it does get you to fuck him in the bathroom

Word count: 4.4k

Genres: PWP, bit of fluff

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex in the context of a long-term established relationship, sub!hyunjin, oral (male receiving), vaginal sex, fingering (female receiving), jealousy, possessiveness kink?, hints of praise kink, bathroom sex, semi-public sex, implied College AU, dancer!hyunjin, this is quite filthy by my standards lol, some feelings in there too but it’s quite soft.

Hyunjin always looks most in his element when he’s performing.

That is what makes him so fascinating to watch when he’s on stage. His focused expression, the way his body moves exactly how he wishes it to, with no room for error. Confidence and power radiate from him and light up the room, forcing all the eyes to focus on him. He’s the heart of any stage he’s on, easily eclipsing others.

Sitting in the audience, you’re always taken in by what a sight he is, no matter how many times you’ve seen it. Beads of sweat travel down his body, hips roll with the rhythm, and you know for a fact that anyone who meets his eyes during the performance will feel like he’s staring straight into their soul. His long hair are like a halo around him, only perfecting the look — blonde, and he looks like a sinful angel, red or black, and he’s a demon.

You think that’s why you also enjoy watching him when you’re at parties.

Sure, it isn’t as obvious then, but to the trained eye, there are telltale signs. One of them is the fact that he never hesitates. He never stumbles on his words, never has to stop himself in the middle of a sentence because he forgot where he was going with it, never gets it wrong. His expressions remain controlled, even when he throws his head back laughing, even when he high-fives his partners as he wins whatever drinking game they’re playing and performs happiness. He always times the moment when he runs his hand through his hair just right, and his smile is a smirk, lifting only one corner of his lips. He never fails to meet his interlocutor’s eyes, and, it is not rare for the other person to lose their train of thought under the attention he gives them.

It’s almost as interesting a sight as when he’s on stage, but it also isn’t Hyunjin.

Maybe that’s why it doesn’t bother you so much that you’re watching from across the room, leaning against the door frame, as he’s playing a game of pool with some of the other dancers from the company. You don’t feel too embarrassed about staring, because you’re certainly not the only one who’s interested in the way his long, muscular body looks as he leans over the table.

From where you are, you can’t get a good look at his ass, though.

Shame.

You should probably find something else to do. You could get a hold of Jisung, he’s always fun to be around; find out what Minho’s up to and how he’s going to ensure that the party descends into chaos; or, more simply, go sit down next to Seungmin and enjoy a nice conversation — until Minho inevitably recruits the both of you for his scheme, of course.

Or you could stay here and keep watching Hyunjin like you’re interested in the game of pool — what are the rules again? —, knowing full well that he’s aware of your eyes on him and that he’s enjoying the attention.

“Oh, I am so going home with him tonight,” a voice comments to your right, just a little too loud, making you glance in that direction.

There are two girls there. The one that spoke is tall, with legs for days. She has a beer in her hand, and she's twirling a lock of bleached blonde hair around her finger. Her eyes are, without a doubt, set on Hyunjin. And you’d bet she wanted you to hear it.

“He looks like sex on legs,” her friend comments, clicking her tongue appreciatively.

The remark makes you grimace, though you try to hide it. It’s not that you don't get the feeling behind the comment, it's just that it feels weird to hear people actually talk about Hyunjin like that in front of you. If you were more confrontational — or if you’d had a little more to drink — you probably would have snapped.

Shit, you should have gotten Minho when you had the chance. He would have said something.

“You’re not the only one who's going to be shooting your shot,” the friend adds, like an afterthought.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who’s in the same league as him,” the blonde chuckles, and you see her eyes darting in your direction for less than a second.

You raise an eyebrow. So that was the point she was trying to make. There’s probably a time where the comment would have made you shrink on yourself, thrown you into a self-deprecating loop. Right now, you just hide the smile that threatens to break on your face by taking a sip of orange juice.

‘Cause you’re the designated friend-who-has-to-stay-sober-just-in-case of the night.

You still don’t say anything, this time less because you don’t want to fight and more because now, you kind of want to see where this goes.

As if on cue (ha), the game of pool ends. Blondie sees an opening and takes it immediately.

Maybe you’d be happy for her, or a little impressed, if she hadn’t already proved to be such a bitch.

You watch as she saunters close to the table and asks if she can play, as Hyunjin hands her a cue and she makes sure to make eye contact and brush her fingers against his. There’s an ever so slight slip of the mask during which Hyunjin’s eyes move towards you, before he gets back on script.

It doesn’t take long for blondie to start missing shot after shot, and to turn around at Hyunjin, pouting and asking if he can give her a hand.

It’s well done, you’d give her that if she wasn’t trying to fuck him and if she hadn’t practically insulted you to your face.

Hyunjin’s the perfect mix of helpful and gentlemanly. He doesn’t wrap himself around her like she clearly wants him to, but he does give her pointers, and you can’t help but frown when he puts his hand on her back to guide her. She looks delighted, clearly seeing it as a victory. Hyunjin glances in your direction, and you reply by raising your eyebrow.

It would be easy, really, to walk over and start fighting for his attention as well, but that would make you just another part of the show, and that’s not what you do. It’s not that you can’t perform, it’s that you won’t do it for people’s entertainment — and this would entertain them.

So, once Hyunjin’s eyes are back on the table, with a tint of red coloring his ears, you let yourself slip away. It is something you have a hard time understanding about him, how hard it is for him to do things that would displease the people around him, things that don’t fit with his role. Especially because, underneath it, he’s nothing like the character he portrays.

Having gotten out of the sea of drunken bodies, you find a window that’s unoccupied, in an empty corridor, and you lean outside, taking a deep breath. It’s not exactly ideal; there are people smoking two windows to the right and it makes your nose scrunch in disgust, but at least it’s colder inside than out. The night is filled with the sound of cars rather than the silence you’re craving, and the stars shine dimly with all the light pollution. Still, it’s outside, and it may not be great, but it’s truthful. What you see is what you get.

The word people used most to describe Hyunjin was mysterious. Though he was at every party, he stuck with a small group of friends, and sometimes the people who danced in the same company as him. He was quiet, but he was also a good listener, and there was something about the way he held himself — tall, shoulders straight —, about the way he grinned, about how his eyes took in the people around him, that fascinated them.

There were lots of other words thrown around to talk about him. Arrogant, confident, cold, hot, scornful, selective — enough contradictions to make your head spin.

You’re convinced that no one would use those words to describe Hyunjin by anyone who actually knows him. Hyunjin is— He’s one of the sweetest people you know. He gets embarrassed when complimented and avoids eye contact. He’s shy, not arrogant or scornful, and forging genuine relationships takes him time and energy, two things he rarely has to spare. He ugly cries when watching dramas. He doesn’t like the attention nearly as much as he likes the effort itself, likes knowing that he does well. He gets exhausted after every performance, whether it’s being out in public or on stage, and afterwards, he just wants to stay inside, and get taken care of.

Ideally, by you.

Large hands come to rest on either side of you as you feel a chest against your back and a quick kiss pressed against your neck.

“Everything okay?” Hyunjin asks.

It’s interesting to you how even his voice changes. It’s always softer with you. Even when you’re hanging out with his friends and when he’s joking around with Felix or Minho, it’s like he’s not— projecting it. Like he’s not performing anymore.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Hyunjin mumbles into your neck, breath warm against your skin, and you turn around with a smile.

The worry in his eyes dissipates as you wrap your arms around him, threading your fingers through his hair. It’s black at the moment; you recently helped him go back to the color after he got tired of being blonde. It’s damaged still, but that doesn’t stop you — and you enjoy the shiver that goes through him when your nails graze against the nape of his neck.

“I thought you liked it when I get jealous?”

Immediately, his hips stutter into you and his eyes go wide.

“I—” He clears his throat, hands tightening around the railing behind you. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, dodging the remark.

“I’m not hurt,” you hum. Truth is, you’re not really the jealous type. You don’t think you could be with Hyunjin if you were. You’ve had a few… outbursts, though, at the beginning of your relationship, which left you ashamed at first — at least until you realized that Hyunjin was very much into it. You wouldn’t have expected it, considering the fact that he was clearly uncomfortable with other people’s possessiveness over him, but he seems to feel differently about you doing it.

Which is why you don’t hesitate too much about pushing one of your legs between Hyunjin’s legs and pressing your thigh against his crotch.

“But I could be jealous.”

Hyunjin remains still, but there is a tension to his body. It’s obvious to you that he’s trying to hold himself back, to resist the temptation of humping your leg like a dog. As his eyes search yours, trying to figure out what’s going on in your head, you can feel him growing half hard against you, can see his tongue darting out to wet his lips, can see the way they part as he draws in a quick breath.

“A-are you?” he asks when he only finds playfulness and teasing in your demeanor.

“Hmm,” you say, flexing your thigh just to hear a low hiss coming from him, tracing small circles on his neck with your index finger, “I certainly think that it wouldn’t hurt to give a little reminder of what's mine.”

It’s always a delight to see Hyunjin give in. It rarely takes much pushing — you wouldn’t try to get him to do anything he doesn’t want — but the thrill is not in the chase. It’s in the way his eyes widen, in how he bites his lip as the tiniest of whimpers rises from the back of his throat, and it's in the jerk of his hips into you.

In this moment, you know you have all of his attention, in a way none of the people that surround him ever will. That look in his eyes right now, behind the desire, is the same you see when you wake up in his arms, is the same you sometimes catch him giving you when you’re working at the table of your apartment and he’s on the sofa watching his dramas.

It’s a look that is exclusively yours.

“Would you like that, Hyunjin?” you purr. One of your hand comes to cup his face, thumb gently brushing against his jaw. His skin is soft under your fingers.

You see him hesitate, let him take his time. Finally, he leans towards you and kisses you, soft and slow. You let him set his rhythm, feel him get more impatient when you don't take the lead. His hips move once more against your thigh, more demanding this time, and you can feel him growing harder.

You pull away from the kiss and he chases after you before stopping himself. You suspect he probably had to fight himself to avoid letting out a whine in protest.

“We should probably take care of that, don’t you think?”

It’s not that you wouldn’t like to see him humping your leg until he comes in his pants, but you don’t think the setting is ideal for that. The two of you still need to get home after that, and you know Hyunjin would absolutely hate having to walk around in sticky underwear — though you don’t doubt that he would very much enjoy the moment preceding that.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin replies, voice low and raspy. “Yeah, we, er, we should.”

You grab his hand, pulling him after you. He offers no resistance, is perhaps even just a little too eager to walk after you. Most times, you think there is something feline about him, about the grace with which he moves. In times like these, though, he’s much more like a puppy, and that’s just as cute.

You beeline for the bathroom, pushing Hyunjin inside when you see it's empty. You might piss off a few people, but you can't find it in yourself to care when you finally give in and press yourself against Hyunjin, hands roaming over his body, and kiss him hungrily. The moan he gives comes muffled by your mouth. Much to your regret, you won’t be able to hear him get loud in here.

Oh well. The night’s still young. Ditching this terrible party surely won't hurt.

You don't hesitate to palm him through his jeans. He’s rock hard now, pants tight around his cock, and he pulls away, biting his lip to keep himself from crying out. There’s loud music outside, and there are definitely other people fucking somewhere else in the building, yet you still tease as your fingers trace his length.

“You can’t make too much noise in here or they’ll hear you, babe.”

Hyunjin nods, pressing one hand against his mouth. You know your touch is too light to provide him much relief — it just gives him an idea of the pleasure — yet he’s already blushing up to the tip of his ears. You can’t resist adding a little bit of fuel to the fire.

“Do you want everyone in here to know that you’re mine?”

The effect is immediate. He pushes himself into your hand and his eyes open to give you a pleading look.

How could you ever resist him?

After a glance at the floor — it looks clean enough and you’re going to leave it at that —, you drop to your knees. You take a little more time than you need to unzip his pants and pull them down over muscular thighs, mostly so you can hear him whine your name in protest. Then, finally, you free his cock, and it springs out of his boxer, hard against his stomach.

Now, you’re not someone who pays that much attention to guys’ dicks in general. It’s not the tool it’s the way you use it and all that, plus you’ve found that some guys assume that size is all that matters and don’t bother putting it any effort. That being said, even you know that Hyunjin is big. Just thinking about the way his cock stretches you makes you press your thighs together. You’re growing wetter by the second, and seeing that Hyunjin's already dripping with pre-come doesn’t help. You reach up to tease his tip with a finger. Hyunjin whimpers into his hand.

“So hard for me, babe,” you coo. “All for me, right?”

You see his cock twitch, and he nods fervently.

“Yes, yes, just for you, puh-please—”

He’s just too cute, you think, and then you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, glancing up to see him throw his head back. The hand that’s not pressed against his mouth and doing a poor job of keeping the moans to spill out comes to grab your head, though he doesn’t try to push himself deeper. You move your tongue against the head, taking your time to wet it properly. You can feel the muscles of Hyunjin’s thighs twitching desperately, and the knowledge of how much you’re affecting him is insanely hot to you.

With one hand, you reach between your legs, easily sliding a finger inside yourself, soon followed by another. You take his cock in deeper as you keep fucking yourself with your hand. Your eyes are focused on him, on all the delicious ways in which he expresses his pleasure. You know he’s trying his best to control himself, yet his hips keep jerking forward, shallowly fucking your mouth even as he’s trying not to. You moan around his shaft, and a more high-pitched sound comes out of his throat when he feels the vibrations.

As his hand isn’t enough, you see him pushing two fingers inside his mouth and biting down on them softly. The sight is absolutely sinful, and you can’t resist rewarding him by hollowing your cheeks around him. Of course, that only makes him try harder to contain the noises, but that just adds to the fun.

“God, Hyunjin,” you groan, pulling off of his cock briefly, giving him a reprieve, “you’re so fucking hot for me.”

He blubbers something around his fingers — ‘just for you’, you suspect — and you get back to his cock with a grin. You press wet kisses along his length, flicking your tongue against it, and wrap your hand around the base to stroke it carefully. You don't want him to come just yet, though the moment is definitely approaching. Can’t hog the bathroom all night, after all.

You interrupt your ministrations for a few seconds, which is enough for Hyunjin to glance back down at you, pouting slightly.

Cute.

Without any more hesitation, you take him your mouth as far as you can. There’s no way for you to fit him all inside your mouth, but it’s more than enough for him to choke around his own fingers as he desperately tries to contain his noises and throws his head back. His legs are trembling now, back arched against the wall. You would give a lot to see him from another angle, because you’re sure he’s a sight right now.

Pictures, maybe. He might be into that. Hm, you’ll have to bring that up later.

For now, you focus on making the moment as pleasurable for him as possible. Pressure is growing stronger between your thighs too, and you've started teasing your clit, hips rocking as you get closer to your own orgasm.

Hyunjin whines, begs around his fingers, you think, but it’s when you feel him twitching in your head that you pull back. He blinks, eyes blurry, and gives you an adorable pout.

“W-why…?”

You push yourself up to kiss him briefly, swollen lips just absolutely irresistible to you. You know he doesn’t mind tasting himself on your lips, but you don’t drag the kiss on for too long. You’re reaching your limit as well.

“Do you want to come inside my mouth or my pussy, babe?”

Being given the choice when he’s already half fucked out means that Hyunjin hesitates, both options clearly appealing to him. You give a light, gentle squeeze to his cock as you pepper kisses down his jaw.

“C’mon, you have to give me an answer or I’ll just use my hand,” you grin against his skin.

“N-no,” he’s quick to reply, “your pussy, I want your, uh, your pussy.”

You chuckle, then wrap a leg around his waist. A strong hand grabs to your thigh for support, fingers digging pleasantly into the supple skin.

“Then go for it,” you hum, “I’m all ready for you.”

His cock presses against your wet folds, and Hyunjin whines. You take him in your hand, lining him against your entrance. As he pushes into you, slowly, to make sure you have the time to adjust yourself to him, you pull his head to yours, kissing him once more. You swallow all of the little noises he makes as he gets inside you, and that way you make sure any sound you make isn’t too loud. You usually have good control over yourself, but this position — with you standing up against the wall, one leg around Hyunjin — often has you weak.

Tonight, though, it seems that Hyunjin is the one who has a harder time controlling himself. Once he’s all inside you, the movement of his hips becomes erratic, and he buries his head in your neck, teeth worrying your skin in a surprisingly pleasant way, as his whines get more high-pitched and desperate.

You reach between your legs to rub at your clit. The stretch you feel is perfect, and even if Hyunjin fucks you sloppily, chasing his pleasure with irregular movements, the sight and the thought that you got him like that, that you are the only one who could ever get him like that are enough to get you to the edge.

“That’s it, Hyunjin,” you whisper in his ear, knowing you won’t last long now, “come for me, babe, all for me, show me that you’re mi—”

Hyunjin spills himself inside you with a final moan, and in those final moments you arch yourself into him, allowing the pleasure to blind you for some delicious seconds after being in control the whole time. You ride the orgasm on his cock, eyes closed, with one hand in his hair and the other holding on tightly to his shoulder.

As you come down from your high, you think he’ll be lucky if your nails don’t leave a mark.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin whispers in your neck, “fuck, I, that was—“

Yeah, you think he surprised even himself there, and you smile as you press soft kisses to his temple.

“You okay?”

“More than— More than okay, yeah.” Then he finally looks at you. The blush hasn’t subsided at all. If anything, it’s more present right now. “Was that— was that okay for you? I didn’t—”

Oh.

“I enjoyed myself very much,” you reply softly. “You were perfect, Hyunjin.”

“I’ll— make it up to you. I promise.”

“You have nothing to make up for,” you grin, “but I’m sure we can figure something out.”

He pulls out of you carefully. Now that he’s come, he’s much more attentive, hands on your hips so you don’t have to put too much weight on your legs just now, and now you’re the one whose breath catches in your throat. That look on his face, when he’s careful, considerate, gentle with you, that’s when you get weak for him. You don’t think he’s fully aware of that just yet, especially because you’re the one who leads in the bedroom more often than not.

You’ll show him, eventually. You’re not the best at demonstrations of affection, but you try. You can only hope he knows how much he matters to you.

“All good?” he asks you, and you can’t find anything to say at the way he looks at you then, so you pull him down for an urgent kiss — no lust, this time, just the absolute need to feel him against you. He smiles at you when you part, looking a little surprised.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you say. The other confession doesn’t make it past your lips, not tonight, but still Hyunjin softens, and you think — you hope — he knows.

“I wouldn’t ask for anyone else,” he replies.

Then someone bangs on the bathroom door, and the tenderness of the moment is broken.

“I’ll clean myself up,” you say with an eye-roll, “you can get out there. I’ll be here in a minute.”

Hyunjin licks his lips, then nods.

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

He kisses you, soft and sweet, completely unlike you, and then he’s out.

When you follow — it takes you a little more than a minute, and even then you can’t wait til you get home and take a shower — your eyes look for him instinctively.

Ha.

You’d almost feel bad for the girl who’s trying to get his attention, touching his arm and flirting with him, right after he’s come inside you. Normally, you’d let it slide once more. Hyunjin isn’t big on pda, tries to keep that part of his life more private, and you can’t say you care for it either. As a result, it’s pretty easy for people to be unaware that you’re a couple, particularly since you’re such a, er, unexpected one. The girl just doesn’t know.

But she kinda had it coming too.

You make your way to Hyunjin and casually slide your hand down his arm so you can intertwine your fingers with his. The look he throws you then is surprised — but it’s also delighted, and you reply with a smile.

“I’m thinking of heading home soon, babe, you’ll walk me back?”

The slow understanding on the girl’s face, the way her mouth drops open like it would in a comic book, and the flash of, you think, embarrassment in her eyes is fucking priceless. It would be enough to make you coming over worth it. Yet it’s nothing compared to the butterflies you get in your stomach when Hyunjin gives you the brightest smile — the one that makes his eyes almost close, the one you never see at this kind of parties.

“Sure.”

And if, later, he teases “since when do you call me babe outside of the bedroom?”, well… it’s still all more than worth it.

if you saw this being posted last night: no you didn’t ♥ basically i’m stuck at about a third of all the projects i’ve tried to work on lately, so I decided to write porn. i hope you enjoyed it, any feedback or reblogs would be greatly appreciated. thank you for reading this!

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin smut #smut #stray kids imagine #stray kids smut #skz imagine #skz smut #hyunjin #hyunjin fanfic #sub!hyunjin #sub hyunjin #candywrites

[bullet-prooflove]

Song prompt for Manny Perez

But honey if I had to choose

Oh I'd rather ride around with you

Tagging: @burningpeachpuppy @acesgunner95 @caffeinatedwoman @unknown6669991

You disappear into the background when Manny’s ex-wife Bobbi comes to town. You think he doesn’t notice but he does, he’s just too busy putting out the fires she’s lighting up in Gabriella’s life to be able to deal with it.

It’s almost a week later that he realises he hasn’t heard from you. No calls, no texts, no sleep overs. Bobbi has a way of doing that, taking over his life, drowning out everything else with her chaos. He’s barely had more than a couple of minutes to himself between his shifts with Three Rock and running interference between her and Gabby.

It’s five in the morning when he forces himself out of bed and drags himself down to the beach. It’s the only place he can guarantee you’ll be and the truth is he wants a little one on one time.

You’re already in water by the time he gets there, bobbing by a little way from the shore, your gaze fixed on the horizon as the sun rises. He considers joining you but this is where you get your peace, where you come to take a breath and he doesn’t want to interrupt that moment.

When you step out the water he can’t help but smile. You’ve never been shy about your body and that’s one of the things he loves about you, your confidence, your unflinching ability to know who you are, to never doubt it.

He hands you the towel before you wrap it around yourself and drop down into the sand alongside of him. You nudge his shoulder lightly and he nudges you back.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around.” He finds himself telling you. “My ex-wife… She’s a lot.”

“Oh I know.” You tell him, taking a sip from your water bottle. “I thought I’d give you a little breathing room with everything that was going on between her and Gabby.”  

“I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you.” Manny tells you as his hand comes to rest upon yours on the sand. “That she comes back into my life and I forget about you.”

“I don’t think that.” You tell him as your fingers entwine with his. “I think that dealing with Roberta takes a lot of time and a lot of energy and that requires mental space so you don’t lose your shit and murder her.”

You’re not wrong, handling Bobbi was a full time occupation when they were married. She thrived on drama, on wreaking havoc on his life. Being with you is a breath of fresh air because he can relax, he’s never waiting for the next bomb to drop.

“You know anyone else would be pissed off but you…” He trails off because he just can’t find the words.

“Did you think I’d be spoiling for a fight?” You ask, tilting your head towards him.“This isn’t about me, it’s about you and Gabby trying to survive Hurricane Roberta, I’m just trying to stay out of the way so you don’t feel like you have to deal with another casualty.”

“She’s already tried to scare you away hasn’t she?” He says studying the expression on your features.

“She’s a bitter woman.” You remark, your fingertips tracing over the stubble of his jaw. “But then again, I would be too if I had run you out of my life.”

“That’s something you could never do.” He tells you, his lips brushing over your pulse point. “Whatever happens between the two of us, I’ll always be in your life. As your friend, your lover…”

“I definitely prefer lover.” You assure him and a blush creeps across his cheeks because the way you’re looking at him reminds him you aren’t wearing a single scrap of clothing underneath that towel.

“Good because I can’t imagine how hard it would be trying to be your friend knowing what’s under here.” He murmurs, his fingertips trailing along the hem of the towel.

“I can’t imagine how hard you might be under those jeans.” You tease as the towel loosens and slips from your body.

“Did I mention how much I’ve missed you over the past week?” Manny murmurs as his body covers yours, guiding you back onto the sand.

“No.” You smile, reaching down between the two of you to unzip his fly. “But maybe you can show me.”

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#manny perez #manny perez x reader #fire country #kevin alejandro

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle - jjk | five

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - jk and yoongi showdown (by showdown i mean they just glare at each other a bit), THE BUSAN CHRONICLES BEGIN!!! anyone who has read throttle know how important busan is for these babies he he, depictions of sex that aren't smut (i'd argue?), hair pulling, she's on top, existential crisis thoughts during it all, unprotected sex, creampie, HELLO KIM TAEHYUNG, he's a sleaze, ANGST, cc watches jk wank himself off <3, a lil mutual masturbation moment, cute kisses <33, cums on her tummy <3, character insight! backstory! ugh! i love the busan chapters! i'll upload the rest of the busan chapters now too

word count - 18.5k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Jungkook has a face straight from a nineties rom-com. Boyish charm, eyes that linger; teeth that nibble on thin lips, and a smile that breaks like sun through a thunderous sky.

You're convinced that if he actually was a movie star, you'd watch every single film he was in - twice, at the very minimum. Maybe one would even become your comfort movie, for the days when real people felt like too much to handle; solace through the silver screen. 

His nose slopes and points so delicately at its tip, that you always find yourself staring; marvelling. Wondering how an angle so simple could have you at such a loss for words. Eyes are wide and dark, they're like a vat of melted down dark chocolate, slowly hypnotising you with every stir of the rich delicacy. 

It's when he smiles, though, that you really find yourself lost in everything he is. It's radiant, the way those plunging, round eyes of his crease at the sides, a deep line forming beneath them. His brows raise, and the dewy skin on his cheeks begins to tighten as they apple, and then his teeth - pristine, you think, ignoring any imperfection - are on show. You're home. 

Home in his laugh, in his happiness, in the way that he always seems to be like this around you. Home in how he always finds an excuse to be touching you in some capacity, home in the sanctuary of unspoken words, and home in the hopes that maybe one day, he'll be brave enough to say them.

Hope is a funny thing, though.  So much to gain and yet so much to lose - but if you never really had it, can it be considered a loss at all?

You're musing about this when Yoongi comes in through the side door, palms slick with motor oil, a few streaks staining his face and his shirt from where he's been a little bit careless. He cocks a brow, and throws you a cautious, coy smile. 

"What are you doing here?" He angles his body away from you, almost as if he suspects you're about to throw something at him. His tone is slow, reserved, a little bit accusatory, if you do say so.

"My job?" You question - but you know exactly why he's asking such a thing. 

You're always getting Jieun to cover you these days. He thinks you've barely worked enough shifts to cover the rent this month - and he's right.

He just doesn't realise that you have money sitting in the bank from stocks and bonds that had been purchased in your name when you were just a few months old. Rich people shit. Shit you wished you didn't understand, but were thankful for nonetheless. You may not be on good terms with your family, but you're not ignorant of the fortune you've had as a result of their choices. Having the ability to run from them is a privilege in itself.

"You still remember how to do it?" He teases. "Don't forget to offer the customers a receipt, and make sure you always pull up the right pump tab. Don't wanna be charging a soccer mom for some asshole's jeep tank."

"I remember, Yoongs," you say with a roll of your eyes and a narrowly hidden smile. He likes this smile of yours; the one you don't want to give but can't help but deliver regardless. "Thanks for the crash course, though." You thread your fingers together and stretch them in front of you. The way they click together has Yoongi looking at you like you've just shagged his dad. "Sure you don't wanna work my shifts all the time?"

"I'm sure," he nods. "Not a chance in hell I'm covering for you again."

And then there's that look on your face; the one he can never resist indulging in. 

"Don't you dare," he says.

But you've always been up for a challenge.

"Yoooongs," you sing, voice high and sweet, like a hit of coke up his nose and down to the back of his throat, washed clean with Ribena. He knows what's coming, and he knows he won't like it - but he does like the way you bat your lashes for him. "Watcha doing this weekend?"

There's a resistance, but the invisible string that tugs on his lips is stronger than he cares to admit. He smiles, and you know he's where he's always been; wrapped right around your little finger.

"Why?" he deadpans, not hiding his infatuation well. "You asking me out?"

He laughs as if it's not what he wants more than almost anything in the world; as if he doesn't know it's the last thing in the world you'll be asking.

You laugh too, but it's to cover the guilt that weighs down on you. You thought he'd be over it by now.

"Not exactly."

"You should really start dating someone who respects your work schedule," Yoongi jokes, but it's kinda totally not a joke. He doesn't say it, but he'd always respect your work schedule. Would never ask you to make compromises for him; would never ask you to prioritise him.

But Jungkook doesn't do that, either. It's your choice.

"I'm not dating anyone," you say. It's childish because even though you aren't technically dating Jungkook, you're not exactly not dating him either. The 'what are we' talk hasn't happened yet. You're not ready for it. He won't ever be ready for it. You don't know this though, so you just think you're at the same stage, which is a whole lot more comforting. Think that things will progress naturally. Fall into place when they need to.

"But you're about to ask me to cover for you so you can go on a date, no?"

"...No?"

I mean, you're not. 

You're not going on a date with Jungkook. You're going to his childhood town. So you're telling the truth - no dates involved.

But fuck, he'd held your hand as you stood beneath his shower together, telling you all about how he was going to take you to his favourite places, and you'd giggled when he told you that he'd force you to go swimming in the ocean with him, even if it was below zero.

You'd told him that it was fine, that you love winter beaches, and then you'd challenged him to a race from sand to shoreline. He'd agreed, of course, and then your laughter had dissolved into the pitter-patter of his shower, the warm water running over your body like a poor imitation of his hands, which were preoccupied elsewhere.

So no, you're not going on a date.

You're not dating Jungkook, full stop.

But you are existing together. Most nights these days. He works a night shift here and there, and sometimes you just need a little alone time - but more often than not, you'll head to his after work and wait until he finishes whatever he's working on. Your toothbrush has moved from the bathroom cabinet to the pot by the sink. 

Your presence is undeniable, even if you are in denial.

Feels like you're lying to everyone, including yourself. 

Especially yourself, actually.

Yoongi's back stiffens, his soft gaze that once was on you hardening as he glances out towards the forecourt. He nods curtly to his line of vision, and you know. He doesn't have to say anything because you can read Yoongi like a book.

His eyes look green in this light.

Beneath his breath, he mutters, "Speak of the devil."

And what a devil he is; dressed down in a pair of dark jeans with a black raincoat pulled over his head. You're down so bad that you're enamoured with the fact he's dressed for the weather, as if he's not a fully grown man very much capable of making such choices. 

You think it's cute, and imagine him looking out the window as he was getting ready, heading back to his wardrobe for the anorak upon seeing the rain.

By the time you turn back around to tell Yoongi to fuck off, he's gone; snuck out the back to finish whatever work he was doing. He's not interested in watching you play happy families with some fucker he knows isn't worth your time. Jungkook could have been a brain surgeon, a charity worker, a fucking saint, and Yoongi still wouldn't have cared. 

And by 'wouldn't have cared', he'd have been internally seething and ignoring the very existence of him, regardless.

"Just can't stay away, can you?" You say as you turn on your heel to walk away from Jungkook as soon as he enters the store. You're getting around to the cashiers' side of the till, creating distance.

Not because you want it, but because you think it might make him want you more.

It does.

"The cashier at Kang's ain't half as pretty," he flirts, and you swear that smile of his might send you to an early grave.

"Checking out other women, are we?"

"I'm here, aren't I? Not at Kang's?"

You want to argue with him just for sake of the flirt, but that anorak is really doing a number on you. All you wanna do is squish his cheeks and tell him how cute he looks in polyurethane-coated nylon.

"Touche," you grin, but it's muffled as he rests as palm on the kiosk and uses his other hand to pull you closer and steal a kiss. It's a risky move. Something he shouldn't really be doing. Not when there are three windows behind him. 

He's on display like a puppy in the pet shop windows downtown. Anyone could drive by. Pull in. Anyone. Daegu ain't as big as it likes to pretend to be.

"So, I'm lying," he says, voice sweet and low. "I actually do have an ulterior motive."

"Mhmph," you breathe through your nose, rolling your eyes. "You're a boy, Jungkook. I know you didn't drop by just to ask how my day was."

"Okay, one - ouch. And two - I always want to know how your day is."

For a chronic liar, he's refreshingly honest when he wants to be.

"But?" You encourage, not wanting to skip the flirting, but anxious of the outcome for whatever it is he's here for.

He pokes at the bagged sweets like he so often does, his tattooed fingers gently prodding and pushing them about with no real purpose. He appears distracted, but he's anything but. You know this now; know it's just a Kookism.

"Buuuut," he takes his time, dragging out the word because he knows it will drive you insane. "I was thinking why don't we just head over to..." he pauses. Suddenly feels uncomfortable declaring the plans you have so publically. What if he hadn't noticed someone behind a shelving unit? What if your coworker is listening in? He carries on as if he didn't skip it, but waffles so much you don't have a chance to interject. "Straight after work? We go straight from here? You finish round about now, don't you? I know we were gonna wait till the morning, but I got itchy feet, baby. Wanna get outta this place."

You nod as his questions pour out like a broken faucet. You don't have to worry about your shifts, 'cause Jieun's already swapped with you. You'd struck a deal to work her typical early shift that day in return for her covering you over the rest of the weekend. 

Truthfully, you weren't going to ask Yoongi to cover for you earlier - you were just going to ask if he'd watch the shop for 5 minutes until Jieun arrived so that you could escape a little earlier than you were meant to. He'd only just started his shift, opting for a later rota than usual. Weird, but not weird enough for you to question it too hard.

"Lemme just get changed," you smile, having come straight to work from Jungkook's apartment that morning. 

The way you're always in each other's company, it's as if he'll suffocate without you around - which admittedly does feel like it's true, but it's more so that he's scared of what could happen if he's not there watching over you. Scared that someone will interfere with what he's doing. Scared the rug will get pulled from beneath your feet before he's gotten a chance to scatter pillows on the ground beneath you.

Running late, you'd skipped dropping by your place that morning. You weren't feeling all that fresh, despite the shower you'd had at his that morning, thanks to the second-day clothes you'd arrived in, so had opted for the uniform spares in the back rooms. The sizings were all off, and you're pretty sure you felt filthier in them than your own clothes, but it was rare for you to ever feel all that hot in your work uniform.

Jungkook is left alone in the shop as you head to the backrooms. He figures your colleague will be out soon enough to man the tills, so goes about looking a little busy. Eyes up the stale pastries that are definitely past their best in the cabinet next to the till. Reads the magazine covers, and wonders why the fuck people care so much about celebrities.

It's as he's flicking through a copy of Drivers Weekly that he hears a cough. "We prefer it if people don't read the magazines in the shop."

His eyes land in the direction of the voice, towards a man who is shorter than stature than Jungkook, but somehow feels taller. Broader. Stronger. A better man. Competition. 

"You must be Yoongi, right?" Jungkook nods, voice a little hoarse. He's on edge. Doesn't like the way Yoongi is looking at him as if he can see straight into his soul - not that he'd find much there. 

That's the trouble that comes with making a deal with the devil; he'll eat you from the inside out. It won't be long before Jungkook implodes, bones caving in on themselves. He's got a little while left to go until then, though. Maybe some major organs left to harvest. A little bit of liver for all the soju he's gonna need to drink to get over this, and the tiny sliver of his heart that belongs to someone else. 

To you. 

"Heard a lot about you," he continues. 

Yoongi laughs. It isn't kind. "Funny. I've heard fuck all about you."

He stays stoic as he watches Jungkook purse his lips; shoulders rising ever so slightly and dipping again as he nods, letting out a scornful laugh. "Right."

Despite all he's done, all the stupid little mistakes he's made, Jungkook isn't dumb. He knows how to read people - and currently, Yoongi is a pair of burning red capital letters: F. U. 

A petty remark rests on the tip of his tongue, one that could spark and ignite the dry wood of the bridge between the two men. There's no water beneath it yet. Jungkook would incinerate the entire structure.

Best not to. Not yet, at least.

"Hey babe," he calls instead, loud enough for you to hear, and direct enough to crawl beneath Yoongi's skin. You muffle a response to let him know you're listening. "I'm just gonna wait in the car, alright?"

"Okay!"

"Don't keep me waiting too long," he flirts, but he's looking at Yoongi. He's smirking. Eyes narrow. Winning. "We've got a hotel room to check into."

It's childish and he knows it, but he wants Yoongi to know exactly who's gonna be making you cum that evening. 

You're cringing, knowing that Yoongi will be mentally imploding, but you also think that Jungkook is none the wiser. "Go wait in the car!"

"There's a place just off Gwangalli," Yoongi says, his attempt at looking unbothered fairly convincing - but not to Jungkook. He's convinced that everyone wants to fuck you just as much as he does, so would have always figured Yoongi was jealous. "A shoreline hotel. She really loves it. Maybe you should book a room there next time."

The insinuation is clear; Yoongi knows where you like to stay. For all Jungkook knows, maybe he's even stayed there with you.

But Busan is Jungkook's old stomping ground, and funnily enough, he does actually listen to you. He knows all about the hotel you love, and the fact you've never actually stayed there. Just dreamt of it; bridge views over the harbour, sleek marble coating the walls.

He also knows that it's overpriced and that there's a far better hotel just a few blocks up that doesn't get half as much attention. It's the place he's booked - 'cause fuck taking you home to meet the family - for the weekend. 

Apart from the final night.

He's got you the hotel you love for the final night.

He'll say goodbye to Busan with you, just as you feel like you're saying hello.

There's an acute awareness that things between the pair of you won't always end happily, so he's trying to make the memories sweet. Giving you happy endings to daydream about when you forget that you hate him, as you inevitably, eventually will.

He's so caught up thinking about it that he forgets to reply to Yoongi. His train of thought is interrupted by Yoongi once more, his voice low this time. He's trying to avoid being heard by you.

"Just... be careful with her."

Silence in the wake of Yoongi's request deafens them both. His words are weighted. Jungkook knows Yoongi is telling him to take care of you, but part of him can't help but wonder if it's a warning. Maybe he should be careful of you, instead. 

He's not the only one with secrets. Naive of him to assume he is.

"Thought you were waiting in the car?" You smile as you finally emerge. 

Jungkook's eyes are on you immediately, and suddenly you're not the only one with a chime in your stomach. There's one in his too, and it's humming to the beat of his heart.

He'd already figured that you'd stolen one of his shirts before he woke, thanks to the fact your dress was hooked over the back of his desk chair that morning.  It's grey and faded, a billion sizes too big, resting just below your midthighs. You're wearing tights again, because of course you are.

He knows, within about a second, that he isn't gonna be able to make it to Busan without being inside of you at least once. There's gotta be a side lane close by that you won't get caught in. Shit. Maybe he should just take you in the back rooms right now. Yoongi'd get over it, he's sure. 

Cheeks a little hot, Jungkook is cringing at himself as he feels the blood rush to his cock. He can't be getting a semi in a GS-fuckin'-25. Wouldn't be the first time, but-

"Kook?"

"Sorry," he says with a smile, and pretends as if he was listening all along. "Was just talking with - sorry, what was it again? Yooji?-"

"Yoongi," you correct sweetly, eyes so smitten that Yoongi thinks stabbing himself in the eye with a motor oil dipstick would be less painful.

"Yeah, that. Didn't really how much we have in common. Both love our cars, real penchant for good soju..." Both wanna rail you so hard you forget your own name. "Interesting guy."

You look over to Yoongi, and it's clear as anything that he doesn't agree with a single word of what Jungkook is saying -but you think Jungkook is trying, and that only makes those eyes of yours even drunker in lo-

"You not have a hotel to get to?" Yoongi grimaces.

"Pollution's bad today, baby," Jungkook mumbles softly into your hair, ignoring Yoongi. It's said out of concern for you, but also for himself. 

It's easier for him if your face is a little obscured; easier to deny that you're the one he's holding onto for dear life as he leads you out of the shop. You think nothing of it, pulling up the mask that had been resting below your chin before the cold wind gets a chance to hit your face.

He's not wrong - the midday skies are clouded, a thick smog obscuring the mountain peaks that you love to look at so much. You love the winter sun, but it has you wishing for rain. It always clears the skies a little more; brightens the world up.

Daegu is dreamy, in the obscure, nightmarish kind of way that made you eat cheese before bed as a child. The best kind of dreams were always the ones that made you feel something - and as Jungkook starts up the pony, you're terrified. 

It's not a big deal. Going to Busan is casual. But being invited into a world that is exclusively his? Well, that's not casual at all.

It's weighted and deliberate, and intentional. He wants you there. Wants you in every aspect of his life, and yet you haven't even had the 'what are we' conversation yet.

You wait until Jieun arrives, just a minute later, before you make your departure. She says goodbye with a knowing look, and Yoongi is already out back working on breaking up a written-off car that came in for parts earlier that morning.

Jungkook's hand is on your back as he guides you out, the mask he had insisted on you wearing for air pollution purposes obscuring your face. It doesn't stop his eyes from darting all over the place, making sure he hasn't missed anyone lurking. He knows he's getting sloppy; that he could trip up at any point, and fall at the feet of the men who had sent him into your shop all those weeks ago.

But as the pair of you pull onto the highway, your dainty hand resting at the top of his thigh, nothing but the open road ahead of you and the smell of your perfume wrapping around his senses, he doesn't care.

He'd do it all again, he thinks.

In fact, he thinks he'd kiss you sooner, just to get a few more in. Your days are numbered. He knows you're not gonna last long enough to see the cherries blossom, and maybe it's better that way.

When he got into this mess, he was in search of a spring day to break; the seasons to change, and life to renew. The deeper he gets, the more futile he realises that dream was. You're the only thing he wants to see bloom, these days.

Such a shame he has to cut you from your roots, and watch you wilt instead.

────────────

Jungkook doesn't know what 'home' feels like anymore, and hasn't done for quite some time, now. He doesn't know what it feels like to be completely content, nor at ease, within his own body. 

Sometimes, though, when he's behind the wheel, the balls of his feet pressed to the pedals, he thinks it might feel close.

When the scent of gasoline seeps through the vents, and a toxic combination of burnt rubber and wiper fluid clouds the atmosphere behind his tinted windows, it seems like he could have a grasp on what it means to be 'home'. Or to have one, at least.

Maybe that's why he clings to the idea of you so much, and the way that your hair smells like gasoline. 

It's a trick of the mind; a subtle deception that perhaps you could feel like 'home', too.

He thinks of this as his car rolls onto a street he hasn't visited in what must be years, by this point. 

He's silent, glancing over to where you nap peacefully in his passenger's seat. Light scatters through the branches of trees which are yet to bloom, refracting as it hits the pale stone in your necklace. The underside of your chin is painted in rays of rainbow light. Your throat, too. Impossible, he thinks, for someone to be so ethereal without even so much as trying. Thinks that you're magic. 

But magic isn't real. He knows that deep down, beneath the scent of your hair and the taste of your rainbow stained skin, you're not real, either.

You're an illusion; a projection, just like that refracted light. 

Still, he smiles as you begin to stir, neck aching from the uncomfortable position you've had it in for the last thirty minutes. 

"Morning, sleepyhead," he teases, while you squeak and stretch your body out at far as you can. Palms on the dash, your head feels all stuffy and horrible, the nap only serving to make you feel even more sleepy. You bring the back of your hand to cover your mouth as you yawn, brows raised, eyes closed. 

"We here?" you mumble, turning to face the road, only to find the view is obscured by cargo lorries ferrying things to the harbour.

The shipping container next to you is a deep navy blue, its history etched onto the corrugated steel with white chalk markers. It rusts at the joints, paint flaking off and scattering into the atmosphere. It's remarkable, you think, how even things built to sustain the most brutal of weathers can still have areas of weakness.

"Just about," he nods, turning the radio up a little louder now that you're awake. His phone is plugged into the aux for once, but it sounds like it's still your playlist going. It's not. He's been crafting his own, taking note of the songs you like, and adding his own into the mix. Subtle integration of you into his life, perhaps. "About 10 minutes away from the hotel."

You hum a response as you sit up a little straighter, a frown on your face. You hadn't meant to sleep through the journey, but late nights with him and early starts at the gas station have really been doing a number on you.

Jungkooks thinks he's benefitted from your sleepiness, as it made you so bloody endearing that he found himself wanting to let you sleep, instead of pulling into a vacant side-road to sort out the awkward hard-on he's had since the moment he saw you in GS25 earlier on that day.

There had been a brief moment, when the pair of you had stopped by your place to pick up your travel bag, that he'd considered making a move - but you were excited to get going, and so was he.

Why waste time in Daegu? He wanted out of there. Wanted to be elsewhere, anywhere. Wanted to hold your hand in public, with your mask off and your hood down, just to watch the way other men would double-take you. 

Maybe because it's unknown - being with you, without fear of getting caught - or maybe it's because his intentions with you have changed in recent weeks. Whatever reason it is doesn't matter, though. The outcome will still be the same.

You watch as the cargo trucks begin to roll into gear, and then you're chasing the sun, heading towards your destination. Jungkook hasn't told you anything about where you're staying, just that he thinks you'll like it. Part of you hopes it will be that hotel you love along the shoreline, and as he takes a right onto the next road over, edging closer and closer to the shore, you think you might be in luck.

These hopes are short-lived, though, when you see a sign with the branding you know so well - even if you've only ever seen it online - and watch it disappear in the rearview mirror.

Funnily enough, there's no disappointment that follows this realisation. You couldn't care less where you stay. All you seem to care about is who you'll be staying with.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips when his indicators begin to tick, and his hand, flat against the wheel, begins to pull clockwise. The place he's turning the car in to is nice. Too nice. There's a surface level car park, for starters, not one tucked beneath the first floor of a drive-in motel, like you'd half been expecting. 

The exterior walls are finished with European style red bricks; purpose-built and not in keeping with the dated architecture of its surroundings. There's an attitude to the building; attention-seeking without trying, refined yet unassuming. It reminds Jungkook of you, in a way. Reminds him of how no matter what you do, his focus always seems to be on you.

"Had this place on my bucket list," he says. "Opened up around the time I left town. Always said I'd stay here if I came back with someone else."

His last comment is unnecessary. He doesn't need to tell you he'd never brought anyone home to Busan, and yet he does, because it somehow feels important. 

A hotel resident swings through the front door as you're getting out of the car, and you can't help but notice that the chime is eerily similar to the one of the GS25 door. Identical, almost, to the one in your stomach. 

"Pretty," you muse, adoringly looking at the ivy that trails up and down the side of the building. 

"Prettier in summer," he says, taking your luggage from your hands and tilting his head forward as if to say 'ladies first'. "There's another vine running through it that blooms like nothing I've ever seen before. It's too cold for it to flower, yet, I think."

You smile as you listen to him talk, enamoured that a man so brash and bold can be so delicate and gentle when he wants to be. Mindless chatter fills the space between you as you enter the lobby, and wait for the concierge to check Jungkook's booking on the system, just to find out there's been a free upgrade.

"Wish she hadn't announced that," Jungkook mumbles in your ear as you head towards the elevator. "Totally would have pretended I'd splurged out on the upgrade instead."

You laugh, and tell him that he's stupid - and that you also saw the room rates by the front desk, so in your eyes, even the standard rooms are a splurge.

He shrugs, and insists he got it cheaper online thanks to some bullshit discount he can't be bothered to lie too deeply about. He wanted to experience this hotel, and he wanted to experience it with you. He'd have paid the price, whatever. 

Chances are he'll be making the money back in a weeks time, thanks to you, anyways. 

Thanks to you. Because of you. In spite of you. Whatever. Same difference. 

Same disgusting guilt that coats his skin like oil and drips from his body. Dare you strike a match, he's sure he'll set fire. Ablaze with the glory of whatever the fuck he feels for you; the flames of his failures smoking him to suffocation. Failure to act quick enough, failure to control himself, failure to do wrong by someone that feels so right. 

He shakes the thoughts from his head, his guilt steeped stomach a constant aide-mémoire.

"613," he reminds you of the room number as you reach the sixth floor. 

It's not quite the top floor, but it's far enough up that your view of the harbour will take your breath away, you're sure.

He laughs when you squeal in response, thankful for the fact you don't try and downplay your excitement like he knows you would have done when he first started seeing you.  He assumes you're comfortable now. Assumes you trust him. Assumes you feel safe. Assume, assume, assume. You're rubbing off on him, it seems.

He's got a rucksack on his back, and your own bag hooked is over his shoulder, yet he still uses his free hand to hold onto your waist as he walks behind you. He's so desperate to keep you close; fearful of what could happen if you ever were to part. His fingers grip a little tighter when you take a stride further than he anticipates, and he doesn't shuffle back when you finally reach the door. He rests his chin on your head instead, and watches the light on the door handle flash green when the room key taps against it.

The pair of you walk into the room in the same position, your back pressed to his chest, his strides wide behind you, so that he can walk in time with you. It's clumsy, and awkward, and hard to synchronise, but both of you are laughing so much that you're almost distracted from the view that floods in through the wall-length windows. Almost.

You stop in your tracks when you see it, gasping at the sight. Jungkook looks up from your hair, his arms tight around you, to see what you've noticed - and then he notices it, too. 

"Holy shit," you say, unable to articulate anything else. 

The ocean in front of you spans for miles; endless upon the horizon, with nothing but Gwangalli bridge standing in its way. Boats dapple the vast expanse, tiny and delicate, obscured by the incredible distance between you. 

It's blue. Blue, blue, blue; the skies, the sea, the way you feel sorrow in your chest from never having seen anything so beautiful before.

Jungkook is smug as he whispers into your hair, "Boy did good?"

You've not even looked at the crisp white sheets, yet, freshly laundered on a  queen size bed, nor the decadent hotel decor that you're sure will be identical in every single room. The other rooms don't matter to you, though; just 613, and the boy with bleach blonde hair who had driven you to Busan in his bright red pony. 

The stuff of fairytales, some might argue.

"Boy did good," you whisper back, turning your head to steal a kiss. He smiles into your lips, your body his to move as he pleases, as he begins to walk you to the bed. 

A soft puff of air blows around your body as it lands on the outrageously fluffed duvet. He crawls onto the bed with you, one hand on your cheek, the other laced with yours above your head. 

"View like this and all you wanna do is waste it?" You grin into his lips, voice as sweet as his touch.

He's quiet as he presses his lips to your throat, slow as he trails his tongue down it.

"Not a waste,' he says, as his teeth graze ever so gently. The firmness of his crotch is devastatingly erotic as it presses against you. "And fuck the view. Rather look at you."

You go to argue against him, but he's adamant you're far prettier. Tells you if it means that much to you, though, he'll be willing to take you from behind so that you can look at the view - which is how you end up wrapped in a duvet, hair a mess and mascara a little smudged half an hour later. 

You're sat together on the floor, backs against the side of the bed, looking out at the view as his arm drapes around your shoulders. His lips are nestled into your hair, because it seems to be his happy place, but neither of you are talking. Just existing, like you so often like to do together.

There's an unspoken understanding that this is an unusual occurrence for the both of you. 

He doesn't do romance. He doesn't really do anything that would ever indicate a shag is more than just a shag. He'll compliment, and he'll charm, but he'll never say any words of actual worth. Not like he does with you. He doesn't cuddle, doesn't snuggle, doesn't kiss outside of the realm of a fuck. Again, not like he does with you.

When you turn to face him, catching the countenance in his eyes as he looks at you - chin, nose, eyes, lips, eyes again - you know that any kiss that could follow would be fatal. 

It would seal the deal that neither of you have been brave enough to make.

There's hesitation. His breaths are heavy, prick still a little plump beneath the sheets that covers his modesty, but he's not hard. Not horny. It's not what's leading his thoughts, nor his actions. 

And then, suddenly, but somehow also so perfectly predictable, he kisses you. 

It isn't simple. It isn't just because he can - but it's also not for any ulterior motive, either. It's soft, his lips not as hard against yours as they usually are. They squeeze your bottom lip, then release. And then he does it again. No welcome intrusion of his tongue. No hands roaming to your chest. No smile as he does it. 

But why would he be smiling when he's terrified? 

He just kisses, and kisses, and kisses. He makes no further moves, not even when you let the sheets slip, nor when you hook your leg over his lap and move across to straddle his thighs. You're so incredibly wet, his touches minimal, yet so deeply intimate, that he can feel you leaking all over him. His cock is flushed, stiff, and stood to attention, resting against the base of his abs. 

Still, he doesn't really touch you. His wrists are resting on the top of your thighs, but his palms aren't lying flat. They're open, not balled into fists, and you can't quite figure him out. You feel shy and insecure, because why isn't he touching you? Doesn't he want you? 

But then you go to pull away from his lips, and he whines and shakes his head.

Come back, baby, he wants to say, but it gets trapped in his throat, and all he can get out is a little grunt. 

He knows he's being pathetic. Knows that he must look like a fucking weirdo.

Part of you wants to laugh; wants to ask where the man who ate his own cum out of your pussy and spat it into your mouth is. 

Most of you, though, is consumed by the sheer terror that's encompassing him. You feel it too. All of this is so unfamiliar, and scary, and alarming and yet so... safe. 

His palms finally lay flat, prowling to your ass, where he squeezes as if to say hello. Eventually, he pulls you further up his lap. You're raised above him, the heat of your pussy so warm, and welcoming, and inviting, that he simply can't hold back any longer. 

No words are spoken, you simply nod. 

You aren't kissing anymore. Just looking at one another. He doesn't drop his gaze when he lines himself up with your entrance. 

It's only when you sink down onto him that his eyes close, as his head leans against the corner of the mattress. The expanse of his throat is pristine, not a hickey in sight, and you like it this way. It - you - somehow still feels like a secret. One shared, but one that is safe. Just for you. Just for him. For one another.

Jungkook lasts longer inside of you than he thinks he will. The silence is only broken by hushed whines and dulcet groans. Your hands rest on his shoulders, and stay there the entire time. It's almost like you're both petrified that changing position will change the way that you're feeling. You look at one another like you're holding hands across a tightrope, dependent on one another to stay alive. 

If he falls, so do you. 

But it's not the falling he's afraid of. Not really. He's been enjoying the freefall for the past few weeks, now. It's the inevitable crash and burn that scares him.

There's something about the angle, the way he's got you deep and slow, that has the tightrope tying itself in pretty little bows around the bell that lives rent-free in your stomach. 

Jungkook sees the way that your brows begin to furrow. He grunts as your lips rest ajar, restless gasps shying away, hiding in your throat. His hips keep at the pace he's set. He knows what's happening, and even though he's spent the last couple of weeks desperately trying to not let happen, he knows he's gotta let you come undone. 

He wants you to. Needs you to. Needs to know that it's not just him that can't control himself.

It's euphoric when it happens. His arms wrap around your back, pulling your chest to his, and only then does he realise how hard your nipples are; how much your entire body has begged him for this. He squeezes you so tightly that your back clicks, but he doesn't really worry because you're shaking on him, muscles out of control as the orgasm he was fucking into you finally cascades over your body. 

You're thankful for the way he's holding you close, your pussy so tight that Jungkook finds himself whining into your neck; and then he's kissing it, pressing his teeth to your skin, holding them there as his muffled moans vibrate against you. 

'Shouldn't-' he thinks, even his thoughts stuttering and getting all confused. 'Shouldn't do this. Gonna end in tears. Gonna end - shit. Gonna fucking end. Shit. So good. So fucking good.'

Pussy so good he swears he'll fuck it forever, and then his thoughts catch up with him, and he's spiralling all over again. 

'Fucking disaster. Heaven in human form. Temptress devil dressed as an angel. Shut the fuck up, Jungkook. The fucking audacity,' he begins to scold himself. 'Prick. She never fucking lied -' And then his head is battling against itself. '-but she did though - she didn't - did-'

"Shut the fuck up."

He doesn't even realise he's said it until your laboured breaths and spent body seem to falter, but you fail to muster up anything more than a "Hmm?"

You're sure you must have heard him wrong.

"Nothing. Not you," he husks in your neck, though he can't really get his words out 'cause he's seconds away from spilling into you. "You sound so good, baby. So good. Gonna make me cum so fucking hard." He knows he shouldn't be encouraging it, but he can't stop. "Keep moaning for me, baby. Let me know how good I feel."

You hum a laugh, so sweet and saccharine that Jungkook thinks you must be laced in some kind of addictive substance. It's the only way to explain how he feels. He's an addict, hooked on you. 

The moans that roll off your tongue aren't fake, but you let yourself be a little louder for him. 

"Like that," you tell him. You're already done, spent, but you want him to feel just as good as you do, even if his size has you feeling a little sore by now. You encourage him, knowing that it'll become painful if he doesn't finish soon. 

It almost feels like there's something holding him back, though. You think he's just edging himself. You don't notice the way the lines in his forehead crease together in such a way that they almost spell out words. You'd have studied them, if you had noticed. Would have convinced yourself that you could read 'trust,' in the lines, and not 'traitor,' instead.

You move your hips against his, ass bouncing against the top of his thighs in a way that you haven't done for the entire session. He's been working so hard for you that it's about time for you to return the favour, it seems. 

The way his neck stretches back, eyes shut, lips pouted and perfect as he fails to formulate anything other than "fuck, baby," lets you know it's appreciated.

'I'm going to fucking hell,' he tells himself. 'When I die, which seems like a sooner rather than later kinda thing, I'm going straight down to the pits. Pussy like heaven, so fucking good that it's a sin. Angel. Angel, angel, angel, baby. Gotta have you. Can't let anyone else have you. Fuck, no. Shouldn't. Shouldn't have you. Fuck it. Need you. Oh, god. Like that. Like that.'

He pulls on your hair so that you're sat up straight as he rams into you, your fucked out face the only thing he wants to see when he finally succumbs to your body. He nods at you, as if he's trying to say something that you don't quite understand. Letting you know he's close? Letting you know that he feels the same way, too? It's unclear, but you're in no position to ask - so you just nod back, and let the rapture happen.

"Shit," he all but whimpers, and then he's in purgatory; heaven and hell meeting at some kind of divine intervention as he spills all that he is into a vessel of freedom that he isn't sure he can afford anymore. "Jesus Christ," he chokes, the mess of his load leaking from you and down his shaft. 

The lines in his forehead have smoothed, now, brows open, eyes half-closed. He laughs, once, twice, unable to stop himself. He forgets it all in the wake of his orgasm; his turmoil, your troubles, the turbulent path he knows he's about to go down. 

All he can think about is you, him, the present, the physical. The right now. The way that you're in Busan, and how the dreary streets of Daegu can't hurt you. 

Rather foolish of him to think that little deaths would have you falling in love, when he's the one whose head feels like cotton candy, heart beating like a butterfly bursting from its cocoon. 

The screen of his phone is alight on the dresser, again. You had noticed it earlier, but neglected to say anything; mainly because you didn't want to lose the moment, but also because you feared that whoever was on the end of the line could have you losing him, too.

The freedom of your arrangement, the unspoken boundaries, affords you great comforts, but also leaves you with lingering doubts. You aren't naive. You know that men his age - men in general - aren't ones to be trusted with your heart. Platonic, romantic, familial. Not a single man has ever deserved to hold it in their hands, and any that you have given the chance to have dropped it at the first hurdle. It's a death sentence, you think, giving Jungkook your heart.

So you simply won't.

But in the comedown of a fuck that really didn't feel much like a fuck, more like a meeting of minds, bodies, consciousnesses - fuck it - hearts, you find yourself thinking that maybe it would be nice to try. 

You're still in his lap when he stands, his cock inside of you, even if a little soft, now. He's gentle, and slow, taking you with him, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. There's comfort in his silence as he leads you to the bathroom; familiarity in his feverish need to shower.

His phone continues to ring out on the dresser, silent and sinister, the glow of his screen the only source of light other than the moon that pours in through the windows. He clocks it as he turns to close the door, while you let your body become acquainted with the pressure of the shower on your skin.

And then, he presses the door firmly shut. The world can wait just a little longer, even if only for a night. 

Tonight, he's yours, even if you never asked him to be. 

He's yours, because he knows that come next weekend, you really will never ask him to be.

But you're just as much his. 

He'll wrap you up in a fluffy white towel, and lay down with you in white sheets, that are creased only by the illustrations of your entanglement. He'll give you a tissue, white, to clean yourself up with, after he loses himself inside you once again. He'll laugh with you, teeth on show, white, as you talk into the early hours of the morning. He'll watch the moon reflect in the ocean waves with you, white, until you both fall asleep.

And you'll feel all pink; rosy cheeks, blushed lips, bubblegum heart and peachy pigmented skin from his kisses that bloom like posies. Pink like the early dawn skies over quiet ocean waves, and pink like your favourite wine that can get you tipsy with just a few sips. Pink and pretty like his lips that pout even when he's asleep. Pink like the pads of your feet as you tiptoe to the bathroom to get a glass of water as quietly as you can. Pink, like the faint light next to the plug socket where his phone is plugged into a charger. Pink, like the tiny light at the top of his screen to let him know he has a flurry of unread notifications; missed calls. 

Except it's not pink at all. 

It's red. 

Your eyes are just tired, and you're deluding yourself. Just like you have been of every single red flag that Jungkook has presented to you so far. 

But when you look at the mess of blonde hair that belongs to the man hidden in the white sheets which have kept you warm all night, everything is pink again. 

"Sleep," he mumbles as you crawl back into bed, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close. His lips rest in the crook of your neck, a lazy kiss delicately finding its home there. 

"I'm sleeping," you whisper, the white lie nothing more than a joke that you're both in on.

"Promise?" he sleepily humours you, to which you smile.

"Pinky."

────────────

There's a magic to sea air.

It's not quite Disney, and definitely isn't Hogwarts, but it's something. It makes you feel all excited, and giddy, and like the world is at your feet. If you say the right words, or swish and flick a little bit of driftwood in the right order, then maybe you'll find that the world isn't all that hard to acquire.

Because maybe it's not the sea air that's magic. Maybe it's just what comes with being beside someone like Jeon Jungkook.

You quickly learn that there's a side to him you never knew. It's one that's incredibly mundane, but just as refreshing as the peach teas he points out to you on every cafe menu, 'cause he knows how much you like them, and doesn't want you to miss out on the opportunity to indulge in something you find such simple pleasure in.

Jungkook smiles.

He smiles a lot.

He smiles at the harbour views, at the elderly as they walk past, and at the market stall owners who charge him far too much for a stick of strawberry tanghulu. He smiles when you ask him about his life in Busan, and he smiles when you get distracted by every single dog you walk past, regardless of the conversation you've been engaged in.

He smiles when you tell him you fancy Italian for dinner, instead of engaging in an awkward back and forth of 'what do you want?', 'no, what do you want?'.

He smiles when you reach the halfway checkpoint of the Igidae coastal trail. You're leaning on the wooden bannister, clearly out of breath but pretending to look at the view instead - and it's a beautiful view, at that. Clear blue skies, waves that crash and mellow within the same second, and an endless cerulean sea.

He thinks about all the possibilities out there, and half-wonders if maybe he could just get on a boat with you and say goodbye to the choices he's made.

The only choice he's been sure of lately is you, and when his horizon is blocked by your sloping shoulders and claw-clipped hair, he's pretty sure you're the only opportunity he wants to experience from now on.

He's never walked this trail before, but he wanted to show you the best of Busan, hoping it would convince you that you're also seeing the best of him. As he pulls on your hand, pointing out the little numbers some poor soul had scribbled on the stairs to reassure other hikers how many were left, you're positive that you'd walk the trail a thousand times over, just to be met with his smile at the end.

Because Jeon Jungkook smiles.

He smiles and he smiles and he smiles.

He smiles over dinner, in a tight little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria, that at least attempts to make pizza authentic, even if they do have '+corn, 500w' next to every single option. He smiles when he tells you to put your card away, 'cause it's on him, and then he smiles when you trip on the ledge between the restaurant and the street.

You don't fall because he's holding your hand with a grip so tight you swear your fingers might actually fall off.

"One beer and you're legless," he teases, his hold on your hand tightening as he loops his arm over your shoulder. It's a warm embrace; one that fills your nose with the scent of his aftershave, and plasters an equally large smile on your face. He's infectious, it would seem, and not once has he insisted that you wear a mask since you arrived in Busan.

"Fuck off," you laugh, walking down the street together as if this is how it's always been.

Not a single person gives you a second glance, not even the middle-aged men sat drinking outside of the bar at the end of the street. It's dark, lamposts and decorative fairy lights guiding you home, the city alive with the hustle and bustle of whatever happens after dark. The noraebangs in the area are all hostess bars, and the actual bars are packed, so home is where you're headed. There's no company you'd rather keep than one another's.

"I love this place," you muse. There's a vibrancy here that you've been missing in Daegu, but if you were to take a moment to think about it, the cities have nothing to do with it. It's the boy, and the lack of distractions from him, that you really enjoy.

"Home sweet home," he replies nonchalantly. "Ain't nothing like it."

"You miss living here?"

Your question is met with silence. You leave it a moment, thinking that Jungkook is just debating his answer. Perhaps it isn't something he's ever given much thought to before. That seems like a safe assumption to make.

The answer would reveal a truth that Jungkook isn't quite ready to admit to just yet - but he wants to admit it. Wants to tell you everything.

All the things you should know, and all the secrets he wishes you'll never find out.

It's inevitable that one day you will find out, and he wonders if it would hurt more coming from his tongue. Regretfully, he thinks it will. To lie is to be merciful, or so he tells himself.

"You're so-" he begins so decidedly that it's almost a surprise, yet he cuts himself off. It's like he shocked even himself with the outburst. He glances down to his hand - the one you're holding onto - laughs, and then gazes back to the end of the street, where the dark tide is rolling onto a shallow beach. With a shake of his head, he says 'fuck it' to his reservations, and tries out a little honestly. "You're fucking with my head, you are."

There's a smile on his lips despite the accusation, and it has you smiling, too. You think nothing of it more than flirtatious banter.

"Oh yeah?" You toy. "How so?"

He knows this tone of yours, and knows you've taken it well; knows that all he can do is play along, so as to not raise suspicions. He doesn't mean to be so erratic with his thoughts, and in turn, his words - but he isn't kidding. You really are fucking with his pretty little head.

"How are you not?" He flirts back. "Can't think straight when I'm around you."

He watches as you drop your head, your nose all scrunched up, in the same way his own nose scrunches up whenever you're too kind to him. The only difference is he doesn't believe he's being kind at all.

You deserve more than he can - or is willing to - give you.

There's untapped potential between the pair of you, that will sadly remain that way. He figures he should make the most of this while it lasts; hold your hand as much as he can, get lost for days in the scent of your hair, and make you laugh for hours on end. He knows he'll miss hearing it when it all ends.

You don't know it yet, but you'll miss it too.

Maybe you'd do things differently if you knew that your time was limited.

"You're stupid," you reply rather childishly, because it's the best your bashful brain can think of. "Is that why you nearly hit me that night on the bridge? When you were racing? Too distracted by how much of a mindfuck I am?"

"You have any idea how much easier my life would have been if I had just hit you?" He muses, looking down at you.

You wait until he's finished his words to look back at him, but you wish that you hadn't, 'cause there's a look in his eyes which makes you think he isn't lying.

It should scare you - but like an uncomfortably awkward damsel in distress from a vampire movie, crushing on a bloke who is definitely a little bit too creepy for anyone's liking - it doesn't.

"Far easier," you guess, not letting your smile drop. "Waking up next to me must be torture."

"Waking up next you," he nods. "Sharing my aux with you, paying my water bill after learning just how much you like showers hot enough to kill a lobster. Hate it all."

"Oh god, me too," you say quickly before his lips cut you off for a second, only to let you finish a moment later. "Hate it so much. So glad we're on the same pa-"

This time, it's not the lips of the boy you like a little too much cutting you off, but the voice of a boy you're sure you could grow to like just as much, if ever given the opportunity.

"Well I fuckin' never," a voice booms from across the street in your direction.

You ignore it, not really thinking anything of it - just some rowdy lads who are talking amongst themselves after a few too many beers, you assume - until Jungkook's head snaps in the direction of the voice.

His expression is startled, but quickly softens to his usual boyish disposition. There's a defensiveness, though, to the way his hand tightens around yours - until he drops it altogether.

"Kim Taehyung," Jungkook beams, adjusting his posture so that you're partially shielded from the man across the street, who's checking both sides to make sure it's clear before he crosses.

He's handsome, in a way that's entirely different to Jungkook. His broadness isn't exclusive to his shoulders, but the way he carries himself, and the sleazy smile that rests on his lips where a cigarette fits snug. He exhales, and crosses the road, the grin on his face only getting larger.

"Jeon Jungkook," he nods, greeting him with such familiarity that you feel all embarrassed.

You've no idea who this man is. His name has never been mentioned before. In fact, no names have ever been mentioned. There's little you know about Jungkook.

Sure, you know how he mindlessly fidgets, and how he whines when your tongue strokes against his taint, but what do you really know about him? Nothing of any value. Nothing that signifies you're of any value to him.

"And who's this?" Taehyung asks, but Jungkook's reply only further confirms your assumptions.

The question is addressed to you, Taehyung looking just as dangerous as that cigarette in his mouth is. He's a slow burn, you think, the kind of boy who'll grow on you, and before you know it, you'll be just another victim of his charm. It's unsurprising that he would be acquainted with Jungkook. After all, the company you keep is a reflection of yourself.

You look to Jungkook, who looks over his shoulder back to you. He's not really looking at you, per say, not how he does when you're alone. When he turns back to face Taehyung, you see the way his cheeks rise to smile, and you don't mind his coldness all of a sudden.

But then he opens his mouth and you think if you weren't such stone-cold bitch, you'd cry.

"Just a friend from Daegu. No one special."

It's humiliating, granted, but any reaction would only serve to embarrass you both - so you simply keep quiet, and smile. Your brows lift a little, eyes on Taehyung, who takes a toke as he looks between you and Jungkook.

He's smirking as he exhales, like he knows Jungkook is full of shit.

"Well, fuck me. I gotta find myself some friends in Daegu. Taehyung," he says as he holds his hand out for you to shake, with a look on his face like he hasn't eaten for a week.

There's something about him that's refreshing. He's an asshole, yes - undeniable - but at least he doesn't pretend not to be, like Jungkook does. He's undressing you with his eyes in the same way that Jungkook does with his hands. And for what Jungkook just said? You're pleased. Maybe you should let Taehyung take you home instead - after all, according to Jungkook, you're just a friend from Daegu. No one special.

"Uh-uh," Jungkook shakes his head. He's teasing, but he steps further in front of you, blocking Taehyung from your vision. "I know what you're like, Tae. Hands off this one."

The way he's talking makes you wanna turn on your heels and walk all the way back to fucking Daegu. Whoever it is that's currently shielding you from the danger of a fuck boy isn't Jungkook. Not the Jungkook you know at least.

"I'm just a friendly guy," Taehyung jokes back. "You know me. What brings you back home? Haven't since you since the wake. Been a while."

Jungkook's back stiffens, but Taehyung doesn't notice.

"Just some family stuff. Thought I'd make a weekend of it." He tilts his head back towards you. The movement has Taehyung's eyes on you again. To feel so unapologetically desired is thrilling, but it kind of makes you sick. You want Jungkook to hold your hand. Signify that you're his. Tell Taehyung that he doesn't stand a chance. But of course, he doesn't. "Thought I'd show her around. Visit some old haunts. How have you been?"

"All good," Taehyung replies, not really interested in what Jungkook has to say. It's formality, really. If he cared that much about what Jungkook had been up to, he would have made more of an effort to keep in touch. "Saw your brother yesterday, actually."

God, it's like one sucker punch after another. A brother? You've no idea who this man is.

"Seeing him tomorrow," Jungkook nods, and again, it's bloody fucking news to you. "He good?"

"Baby's keeping him up all hours apparently, he looks fucking exhausted. Met the baby yet?"

"Nah, nah, tomorrow," Jungkook says, and you're surprised by how... mundane the conversation is. You can't tell if they're friends, or if there's something more troubling at play. Everything feels coded, but you're struggling to read into it. You're too fixated on how much of Jungkook's life you're unaware of.

"Oh, nice," Taehyung replies. "You should come by the boxing club while you're in town. Be good to see you. I'm sure the boys would be pleased to see Busan's finest back where he belongs." He looks over Jungkooks shoulder to you, again, and smiles in that sultry way you're sure enables him to never go without a bed to sleep in. "Bring your friend with you. Think we could all do with a new friend."

The way he talks is crude. It's unapologetic, and if it were any other man, you'd probably be repulsed - but you're too busy being pissed off with Jungkook to care.

"Think I could do with a new friend, too," you hum back, lips pouty, chest a little pushed forward. "See you there?"

"Oh, I'll be waiting," Taehyung almost fucking moans.

Jungkook presses the pad of his thumb across the tops of his fingers, one by one, clicking them in their sockets. His frustration is evident, but the grave he's in is one that he dug himself.

You may feel like you don't know him, but he knows you. He should have anticipated that you wouldn't play nice after he said something like that.

But oh, on the contrary - you think you are playing nice. Very nice. For Taehyung, you'll be the nicest girl in the world.

And that's all Jungkook can think about.

It's intrusive, the thought of just how nice you can be.

He's thinking of your hair, all nice and tied up in a ponytail, and how Tae's hand could wrap around it. He's thinking about your pretty little knees, and how good you look when you're on them. He's thinking about your chest - God, he fucking loves your chest - and how it stands to attention when you're cold. And of course, you'd be cold, 'cause he's imagining all of this happening in the back rooms of the boxing club. At least you wouldn't be able to come, but he's barely been making that happen lately, anyways.

If there's one thing he hates more than the idea of you with Tae, it's himself.

Taehyung says his farewells, and lets his gaze linger on you for far too long, and says "you've got a look about you, friend from Daegu. Something familiar," before heading back to where he came from. The gaggle of lads he was with are still waiting for him. It seems as if he's in charge; the ringleader of sorts.

It intrigues you.

But he doesn't entice you the way that Jungkook does.

There's no softness to him, not like Jungkook with his big, round, chocolate button eyes and ever-scrunched nose.

You're mad at him now, though. Pissed. In fact, you begin to walk away as soon as Taehyung is gone, because you simply don't want to be around him any longer. You're even thinking about booking yourself in for a separate hotel room. Fuck his gestures, and fuck the effort he's made. Means fuck all, now.

Who the fuck does that? Who brings you to their hometown - into their life - and turns around and dismisses what you are to them so cruelly? He'd paid god knows what for that hotel, driven the pair of you to the city, paid for everything despite your protests, and asked for nothing in return.

You know full well that if you'd have gotten back to the hotel before the Taehyung incident, and had been too tired to fuck, or just not in the mood, Jungkook wouldn't have cared. Even sex wasn't something he seemed to think he was owed. Not like most guys.

He'd have probably stroked love letters onto your back with the tip of his index finger until you fell asleep, instead.

See, there are - or at least there were - no expectations with Jungkook, which is probably what makes this all so disappointing for you. Foolishly, you thought you had a good one in him.

He's a man, though. How good can they ever really be?

Heels clicking against the pavement as you walk, you sound far more powerful than you feel. You want to take your stupid fucking shoes off and launch them at his stupid fucking head. How dare he reduce to nothingness.

"Hey," he calls after you, as if he hasn't just torn your heart out, hands all bloody while he toys with it. "CC! Hold up!"

There's a trail of blood as you walk that leads to the hole in your chest, and so he follows it like a bloodhound in search of its prey.

He repeats his call when you ignore him, catching up with you far too easily for your liking. You don't like getting caught.

"What?" You snap, arms folded across your chest, but you keep on walking. A gaggle of girls walk by, far too drunk to be in heels that high, and they coo a little bit as they clock Jungkook. You find yourself sneering. "Oh look. Some more friends for you to make."

"Hey, c'mon," he reaches out for you but you shake him off, so he tries again, a little harder. It doesn't hurt, and if you want to, you can pull away.

Shamefully, you can't bring yourself to. Those with the power to hurt are also apparently those with the power to heal - and all you want is for him to put your heart back where it belongs and kiss it better.

"You know I didn't-"

"Didn't what?" You fight, because that's all you're really good at. "Mean it? Mean to say it? Or didn't think that this actually meant anything?"

"Fuck," he seethes a little, teeth gritted and jaw sharp. He loosens his grip on you, and rubs the pads of his fingers against his jaw instead, tongue pressing into the side of his cheek. His nostrils are flared, and there's bite behind his bark. "Don't turn this into something that it isn't."

"I'm not turning it into anything," you say so calmly that it's almost unsettling. "But turn it into what? A lovers tiff? No worries. We're just friends, babe. Can't turn it into one of those."

"You're being unreasonable."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable."

"CC-"

"I've got a name," you remind him. "Maybe use that, instead. CC feels a little... I don't know. More than friendly? And we wouldn't wanna blur those lines, would we?"

"Christ. Can you stop?" he pleads, the frustration he feels overwhelmed by the desperate need to control the situation. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I don't think you know what you meant, Jungkook," you shrug, because fuck letting him think you're hurt. "You just let some guy fuck me with his eyes, because according to you, we're just friends. You saw that, right? You saw the way he was looking at me like a piece of fucking meat? And you let him."

Jungkook doesn't say anything for a moment. His body is stiff, as if he's rebooting; calibrating to find an answer. Yes, he had let Tae do whatever the fuck he liked, because it was easier than explaining the truth of who you are to him. Safer. In his eyes, it had been a lesser of two evils, but you're seeing Jungkook as the only evil.

Your chest is beating so hard in your chest that the thump, thump, thump has drowned out the chime that's usually there.

"No," he tries again. "It's not like that. I know what I said, but it's not what I meant."

And then you do that thing again. You calm yourself, your voice so serene and superficial that it makes his skin crawl. He can tell how angry you are, and yet you're so fucking pleasant. It's psychotic - but how can he complain about your anger when you're fucking smiling at him like he just saved a bird from drowning?

"You don't have to explain, Jungkook. It's cool"

"No," he protests, but it's met with vacancy behind your eyes. "I do."

"No," you say, tone firm and assertive. You don't need to be let down gently. Your feelings don't need to be spared. "You know what I'm like. I need to stop making so many assumptions."

Ouch. He can practically feel the dagger you have for a tongue slicing at his heart.

"Well what did you assume?" He asks, because playing along seems like the only way he can get you to engage in conversation with him.

"My assumptions are mine," you say quietly, walking closer towards him, until your index finger can tap against his chest. "Maybe if we were friends, I'd share them with you. But I don't share with people who only know how to take. From the look in Taehyung's eyes, it seems like he knows how to give a thing or two, so who knows, Jungkook? Maybe I'll share with him."

Jungkook is silent.

It's a threat. He fucking knows it's a threat.

All those missed orgasms seem like a terrible idea, now. He thought he'd been helping, thought that you'd just think he was an idiot, like any other guy who didn't know where the fucking clit was. Thought it would help slow the feelings that are developing regardless.

But you knew he knew.

He's a fucking connoisseur. He's had you coming undone in ways that no other man has ever gotten close to. For him to suddenly forget how to make you tremble on his fingers was laughable.

You'd chosen not to mention it, because foolishly, you thought that you were the issue - but if he's gonna hurt your pride, then you're gonna hurt his right back.

You shake your head, and walk to the curb, raising your arm for the taxi that's hurtling down the road. There's a screech as it comes to a stop, almost like a reset button being pressed.

You feel a weight being eased from your chest, glad to have finally put him in his place for the no-gasm issue, but a new weight is just as heavy on your feet. You open the door, think about getting in, but can't. For some reason, the idea of leaving without him has you close to tears.

Asking the driver to wait just a minute, you turn to find him fixated on you, those soft chocolate eyes of his so warm as they stare you down. His brows are lifted, mouth firmly pursed shut, but you can see from the way his chest is beating that he's breathing heavier than his lungs can really manage.

You've never seen him cry, but you think you might tonight.

"C'mon," you eventually say, knocking your head to the side. You've a lot fight in you, but far more fear. You don't know what you mean to Jungkook, and you're not gonna kid yourself and pretend like you feel secure in it - but you know what he means to you. The idea of him staying elsewhere has you feeling all feeble and pathetic. You don't think he would, but you know that he could. "It's late. Let's just go back to the hotel."

He stuffs his hands into his front pockets and looks down, the usual confidence he wears masked by a thin layer of shame. It has a sheen to it; a stain. He's not the man that he wants to be for you, and he knows you're starting to wise up to it.

"Kook," you encourage, but he still resists.

He doesn't deserve this; doesn't deserve you. Doesn't deserve the olive branch you're extending, when he knows he should be on his knees begging like a dog.

He could do that for you. Beg like a dog, in his own, fucked up, kind of way.

On his hands and knees. Begging.

In fact, he thinks it's the only thing can do for you right now.

And so he gets in the taxi as you ask, and stays quiet.

The drive is silent, but taxi rides often are, so he tries to ignore it. When you go to pay, he holds your hand back, and offers up his card instead. The grip he has is gentle, but it burns like the heat of a thousand matches, and when it leaves, you're left smouldering. You don't want to lose the heat, no matter how much damage it can do.

Silence permeates, and dulls the chime in your stomach that you'd expect to hear in a hotel elevator with Jungkook.

So much silence.

Silence as the door to your hotel room clicks open, and silence as you kick off your shoes. Silence when your bag is tossed on the bed, and silence when Jungkook's shoes join your own.

There's silence as he walks to stand behind you while you look out onto the midnight sea, and there's silence when he presses a kiss into the crook of your neck.

There's silence when he whispers your name, and silence when you hum in satisfaction from the way his lips feel against the expanse of your throat.

Silence so loud that you want to scream.

Silence so loud that you wouldn't be able to hear the scream regardless.

Silence, silence, silence that is so fucking loud, you must be deaf.

But you can hear the small intakes of breath that he takes between the kisses he peppers on your skin. You can hear the click of his lips, and the way he whispers 'I didn't mean it,' as if it would eradicate the hurt caused by such a simple exchange of words.

And then his hands of fire are creeping beneath your shirt, and you're all warm and pliable for him.

You so desperately want proof that he didn't mean what he said, and if there's one thing you're sure of, it's that he doesn't fuck you like you're just a friend.

So you think you might just let him.

He can tell you're apprehensive and he knows why, and that he has to prove himself to you. Moonlight pours in through the window, and you're bathed in it like some kind of ethereal goddess that will surely disappear when dawn breaks. He has to make this last.

He strips you of your clothes, and funnily enough, it isn't the most vulnerable you've felt in the last few hours. In fact, you feel confident, now. You know what you're doing when it comes to matters of the body. Matters of the heart? Not so much.

Your capabilities for either of those aren't required now, though. This is all on him.

He encourages you to the bed, so you sit by the foot, and wait for instruction.

"Lie down," he says, eyes remarkably on yours, and not your tits instead. It must be a first.

It's curious how softly he looks at you; almost like you could break.

Maybe it's because he knows he has to be extra careful, because he's the only one capable of breaking you.

And so you nod, because maybe, just maybe, he could fix you, too.

In fact, when he gets to his knees and grips his palms around your ankles to drag you closer to the end of the bed, you can almost feel your heart swelling. Healing.

Y'see, it's familiar, and safe, and certain; Jungkook will fuck you, and you will mistake the way he kisses you when he cums as a declaration of something more than what it is.

For now, though, he's only thinking about ways to get you off. Anything is on the table. He'll do it all. Do whatever you ask. Do things you're too afraid to ask.

He spreads your legs apart, and spends longer than is normally comfortable staring at you. He's appreciating it; the way your lips slowly part, a little damp and so delightfully warm. He loves your scent. Wishes he could bottle it up - but for now, he'll settle for drinking from the source.

When his tongue strokes against you, it's slow. The pressure behind it feels intentional, the warm studs of his tongue piercing making your toes curl from just one touch. He exhales against you, then inhales because - fuck me - you smell divine. His tongue licks again, languid and flat, his head nodding ever so gently. The change in movement has your hands gripping onto the sheets, a shallow affirmation of 'fuck, Kook, yes' spurring him on.

He hums against you, and you swear it's better than any vibrator you've ever had. It's almost as if he's saying something, but can't get his words out - which would make sense, given the fact his mouth of full of your pussy. His tongue points, as his palms rest on the underside of your thighs to angle you a little better for him.

He pushes his tongue into your entrance, and it has you mewling. Wetness seeps into his mouth, sweet and musky, just how he fucking likes it, and he's doing that thing where he whines against you again, and you swear you might just cum right there and then.

It's noticeable, though, how your grip is on the sheets, and not him.

Your heels are digging into the duvet, not pressing against the top of his spine, and your fingers aren't in his hair.

Still, your pussy is leaking onto his tongue, and arguably, he could be fooled into thinking you've let down your guard for him.

But you haven't really.

He can see this; the way you've detached sex, and the pleasure that it coexists with, from the emotional intimacy he's fostered with you.

It's like he can touch you, but you're scared to touch him. You're using him - and he knows he deserves it.

When he pulls away from you, clear strings of slick connect his mouth to your core. The sheen covers his lips, his chin, the tip of his nose. Moonlight drenches him, and in turn, so do you. He watches how your chest heaves as his fingers come to replace the pressure from his tongue on your pussy.

Your body may be his, but you're not.

'Touch me,' he wants to say, but he's embarrassed by how badly he seems to have fucked up the one good thing going for him - and so he pushes his fingers into you, hoping that he'll be able to get you forgetting about the fact he's no good for you; get you wanting him like you used to.

And you do.

Oh god, you do, so badly.

There's nothing you want more than to have your fingers tangled in his hair, have him hissing when you pull a little too hard, keeping him locked in position against the mess he's made - but you're embarrassed. You fear that by taking any kind of leading role, you'll be forcing him to play along to something he isn't really all that into.

As much as you could pretend like you don't care about what happened earlier, it's chewing you apart, inside out, making it harder for you to get there.

Your body keens for him, though. The sounds of his fingers working your pussy are lewd, and only amplified when he spits on it in that way he always does. It drives you insane, but even now, you're floundering.

"Hey," you whisper, and your hand finally comes to rest against his hair. He leans into your touch, heart stiff in his chest as it appears to stop beating altogether. How a touch so simple can have him so damn wrecked is beyond him. He hums a response, and is met with a gentle tap against his bleached ends. He looks towards you to find you looking back, and the stillness of his heart is replaced with a beat so loud he swears it sounds like a thunderstorm is hurtling across the ocean. "Stand."

Your voice is soft, and Jungkook is confused, but he doesn't question it. He does as he's told, because quite frankly, he'll do anything you want at this point. He'd get on his knees, on his back - fuck it, he'd even get face down, ass up, if that's what you wanted - but you don't. Not now, at least. Maybe another time.

Right now, you want him as vulnerable as you feel.

When he stands, he keeps his fingers inside of you. He's gentle, massaging, making sure the movements aren't too rough. You've never shied away from things getting a little heated, but there's a time and a place for that. You don't want it hard. You want soft. Soft, soft, soft, like his eyes.

"Clothes," you say, almost timidly, unable to string your words together in a way that makes coherent sense. He knows what you mean, though, and slowly pulls his fingers from you, not caring to wipe them off. You're pristine, in his eyes. He couldn't care less about how dirty you could make him. He'd wear it like a badge of fucking honour.

He takes his shirt off first, eyes never leaving yours. He can see the way your heart is beating beneath your chest, and decides pretty quickly that he needs your tits in his mouth at some point before the night is done. His favourite fuckin' feature of his favourite fuckin' person - when he's horny, at least. He could list a million things he likes just as much, but his brain kind of just short circuits when he can see your chest looking all heavy and pliable and like it belongs in his mouth.

There's a clang, the metal of his belt tapping against itself, his tattooed fingers working quickly to rid himself of all his constraints. He pulls it from the loops of his trousers, tossing it on the bed just in case he'll need it later.

Your lips rest ajar, but you close your legs a little, watching him unbutton his jeans. He lets them drop, revealing the white of his Calvins.

He usually wears dark boxer briefs, which are always welcomed by you - but there's something about the white that has you salivating.

The outline of his cock is thick. He's stiff, and there's a tiny tell-tale mark of precum leaking from his tip. The contrast of his honey skin against the crisp white is the kind of visual you'd expect to see on a Hollywood billboard; not in your hotel room with you.

He'd worn them deliberately, expecting this kind of reaction, but had anticipated a far different feeling in the room.

The look on his face doesn't match the confidence that his strong body oozes. His wide eyes are just as vulnerable as yours. You both look like you're gonna fucking cry, which is actually kinda funny, when you think about it - but you don't laugh.

Perhaps that would be the most vulnerable thing you could share with him, and he with you: tears. There's a heaviness between the pair of you, the weight of unspoken words, hidden truths and deceptive intentions, which have led to the cluster fuck that is the relations of which you engage in.

It's just fucking, but it's also not. Not really. If it was just fucking, he'd be railing you right now, just like he did on that very first night you spent together.

But instead, he's cautious as he asks, "Where do you want me?"

You have to bite your tongue and stop it from saying 'inside me.' You're trying to keep your heart safe. Distance is needed. You're scared he's gonna steal it if he gets too close.

Pulling your legs up, cross-legged in front of him, you give him a look that he doesn't understand, but one that he knows means no harm.

He thinks you're asking permission to move, so he nods, and is proven right. You crawl a little further towards him, on your knees, until you're at the end of the bed. You sit up on your knees, shorter than him still, but the height is more matched than it is when you're standing on solid ground.

You give him that look again, and so - of course - he just nods. He's yours. You can do whatever you fucking like to him. He'd take anything you'd give him, pleasure or pain. He's stoic in the way that he stands, but you can see his jugular vein beating like he's just gone three rounds in the boxing ring.

Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, right where the V of his hips meets the fabric, your eyes are on his.

It's torture, knowing you could be watching his thick, swollen cock spring free, but this isn't about the sex. Not really.

He bends a little, pushing his underwear to his ankles, kicking them off to the side and resuming his position in front of you. You still haven't looked at his cock, even though the thought of it has slick wetness seeping onto your inner thigh.

Your hand finds one of his, and pulls it to his cock. It throbs as you wrap Jungkook's hand around it, nodding at him, before retreating.

He's stood at the end of the bed, naked, hand tight around his fat, leaky cock, eyes on yours as you sit by the pillows. Your legs are crossed, knees up, covering your chest, light from the moon washing over you both.

He looks heaven-sent in this light. A white halo whisps around his fluffy blonde hair, the thick lines of his tattoos defined, his body carved from marble. And yet there's still a softness to him. It's in his eyes. Big and round; home in human form.

And so, for all the fear, for all the ways he has you scared about his intentions, for all the sheer instances of turmoil you put your heart through, none of it really matters.

In this moment, you feel safe.

"Wanna watch," you say quietly. You can see the way he swallows, his chest doing a terrible job of hiding the fact he actually seems to be a little bit nervous.

"Watch?"

You nod. "Wanna watch the way you get yourself off."

The request is simple, but it feels more complex than that - and it is. You want him vulnerable. You want him weak. You want him falling apart all over you without even so much as a single touch from you.

In his heart of hearts, he knows all this.

He knows, and still, he wants to do it for you.

There are sins to repent, and this feels like a start.

"Wanna see the way you touch yourself when you think about me," you continue, because you like the way his eyes look so pure and chaste at such a request.

There's a shadow to his face, the moon only illuminating half of his body, but it runs deeper than that. Divine feminity is a gift from the celestial body that watches over you, and it overcomes him, too.

Despite the hardness of his muscles, the metal of his piercings and the stiffness of his cock, he's so, undeniably soft for you.

Soft and velvety, just like his eyes. Soft and timid, like the boy who cried wolf and finally got caught. Soft, and softer still, when he says your name in such a hushed tone it barely reaches your ears.

"You do that, right?" You ask, though the answer is granted by how utterly enthralled he is with you - or at least, your body. "You think of me when you touch yourself?"

He nods, licking a slow stripe across his lower lip, before biting down on it.

His tight fist begins to roll up his cock, slowly bringing it back down again to the base of his shaft. There's a hypnotic quality to the way his foreskin retracts, exposing how red and flushed the tip of his cock is. There's desire burning through it, and he needs you - your pussy, your mouth - to soothe it.

He knows he isn't getting it, so instead, he revels in the pain that comes with being refused your body.

He's tepid as he starts, but his pace quickly builds, and so does the way he's moaning. It's a miracle you can even remember how to breathe. His torso is tense as he lets the pleasure run over his body, head tipping back, the expanse of his throat thick and wide, just like his cock.

He hums, imagining the way your pussy is leaking as you watch the show he's putting on for you.

He's not a performer, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the way he moves his body has you thinking that maybe in a past life, he could have been. You'd pay good money to watch him on stage. You'd devote yourself to him. Watch from the crowd as he sold himself to a thousand people every night. He'd be the main event, the headlining act, and maybe if you were lucky, he'd stick around for an encore.

What a shame, you think, that he never took advantage of his boyish charm and deliriously handsome face - but more fool him. You're the one who gets to reap the benefits, as you watch him now, free of charge, front row seat.

And yet, somehow, he seems to adore the crowd more than the crowd adores him. It fills your ego. Has you convinced that you've ruined this poor boy's life. Maybe you have.

"You're gonna think of me for the rest of your life," you tell him of your conclusion from your perch up by the pillows.

He so often talks in definitive certainties, that it's only fair you return the favour - but, remember, you're just friends, according to Jungkook. Best not to get ahead of yourself.

You find yourself prowling down the bed on all fours, stopping just beyond his reach. There's something primal about his gaze now. Predatory - but you aren't his prey. You're not going to get caught.

"Give it twenty years," you simper, rolling onto your back so your ankles are by the pillows, eyes on his cock as you tilt your head back. Kneading one of your boobs, you let your other hand dip between your legs. "When you're married, and your poor wife can't get you hard anymore, it's gonna be me who you think about."

"Shit," he hisses, both hating and loving what you're saying. Hating it because you're probably right, but loving it because, again, you're definitely right.

"It's gonna be me," you repeat. "When you get hard in your car, 'cause another girl has put her hand on your thigh. It's gonna be me you're thinking about."

He wants to protest. Wants to tell you that there'll never be another girl. He'd be lying, probably, but fuck knows why he'd ever give you up. Would have to be insane, you think, or something like that.

You know just as much as he does, that symbiotic energy like yours doesn't occur all too often.

"When your couples therapist asks what you think could be done to spice up your dead marital bedroom, it's gonna be me - gonna be this, right now - that you think of."

"C," he husks, unable to even get the full term of endearment out. There's a clammy sheen to his body now, his arm jerking at such a pace his veins are all engorged and pretty, just how you like them.

"It's gonna be me," you say again, barely a whisper, but it's enough.

And he agrees. "It's gonna be you."

Victory and defeat all in one blow; you're his forever, but it's likely he won't be yours.

He senses the heaviness behind his words, and the weight they've put of your chest, so he tries distraction as a method of easing it.

"Open your legs," he husks, the final syllable catching in his throat. When you do as you're told, he fucking whines.

The slickness pooling around the top of your thighs is sticky and hot, strings of clear fluid connecting your legs - all of you - together as you spread yourself for him. He nods, and it's your turn to obey, now.

Your fingers begin to rub at your clit, and Jungkook almost just give himself upright in that second. He swallows back the saliva that's pooling in his mouth, his cock growing hotter and heavier in his grasp. The way he's pumping himself is gonna have him finishing far quicker than he'd like, but he can't stop.

Not when you're looking up at him like that. Not when you're matching his moans.

"Don't stop," you almost beg as you see him begin to ease up. Returning his eyes to yours, his lips are parted. His hand continues to jerk, just a little slower.

"I gotta," he whines, but does as he's told, his grip a little looser than it had been. The muscles in his abdomen are tight. His balls, too. You want them in your mouth.

He watches as you turn, resuming the position you'd been in earlier.

As you wrap your arms around his neck for support, Jungkook finds himself grunting, picking his pace back up. He can smell you, your gasoline hair and sweet pussy, and it has him unable to think straight. Unable to do anything other than jerk himself off for you, because it's what you want.

The world. He'd give you that. If you wanted it, he'd give you it. He thinks he'd give you anything. Everything. Whatever he could.

The only thing he can't give you, not really, is himself.

And so he'll settle for everything and anything else your heart could ever desire.

But as your lips meet his, he knows that he's fucked, and that the only thing you really want is him.

Your kisses are slow, and tepid; a stark difference from the way his hand is working his cock, but it's everything he needs. How selfish, it is, that he still gets what he wants.

Unaware, you pull away, pressing your foreheads together, lips brushing his as you say, "you're gonna cum for me, now."

He tries to ask where, but you just kiss him instead. You kiss, and you kiss, and you kiss, and he's so fucking consumed that he barely notices when he starts gasping against your lips. His body begins to stall, muscles mirroring the way he begins to stutter, and then it's happening.

The tip of his cock is pressed against your stomach as he begins to unload himself, once, twice, and then he's sensitive, and trying to pull back, but he's still coming and - "Oh, fuck, babe" - he's painting you white with the innocence of the way he feels about you.

It's everywhere by the time he's done; your tummy, the underside of your breasts, dripping down to the mound of your pussy. He can barely fucking breathe, so caught up in the way it always feels to have you kiss him through his orgasm.

His hands grip your jaw, pulling you in for more, because he needs to distract his mouth from the words he's scared are gonna tumble from it. You both ignore the fact they're covered in the seed that's just spilt over onto them. It's nothing new, after all.

It's not like he's gonna declare love, or anything fucking ridiculous like that, he just doesn't know how the fuck he feels - and that's dangerous.

Unpredictability only leads to messiness, which it could be argued is what's happening right now.

Still, Jungkook hooks his hands beneath your ass and moves onto the bed with you, and thinks it's a pretty nice problem to have.

His cock is firm still, nestled in the warmness of your pussy as your legs wrap around his hips. Neither of you care about his cum, and it's interesting how often you seem to be covered in one another, with no desire to rid yourselves of it.

He didn't make you cum, but it was your choice, this time.

It's funny, because you're one who is scared now that an orgasm could have you falling in love. You don't want to give him that power back. Not yet, at least.

Your kisses dissolve into light pecks, the pair of you unable to hold back from worshipping one another. But you must, for it's foolish to idolise mortal Gods.

"This doesn't seem very friendly, Kook," you whisper.

Your chest feels uneasy as you joke. He closes his eyes, hanging his head in shame against yours, knowing that it was him and his inability to ever say the right fuckin' thing that had you refusing to fuck him that evening.

He's not stupid. He knows you stopped him from making you cum. He knows why. And he hates himself for it.

He presses a kiss against your cheek, once, twice, and works his way to your lips. It's goofy, the way he's planting little seeds of love all over your skin, but only time will tell if he'll water them. For now, you think you'd quite like to imagine the wildflower garden that could bloom in their wake.

"It's cause it's not, CC," he admits. "It's not very friendly at all."

And then, you just can't seem to help yourself as you tease, "Even if I'm just a friend from Daegu?"

He smiles, because he knows you're trying to soothe the burn of his words. Naked, spent, and vulnerable, Jungkook rolls off of you, repositioning himself so that you can rest your head on his chest. Still, neither of you care to get cleaned up. There's no disgust, nor discomfort.

More fool the both of you for thinking that this isn't love.

"You're my only friend from Daegu," he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. It's not strictly true, but he sort of wishes that it was. Wishes he knew you before he knew them.

"What about your other friends?" You ask gently, because maybe it's your fault you don't know more about him. Maybe you just haven't been asking the right questions.

Jungkook pulls the comforter over your body, 'cause he can feel how hard your nipples are against his torso, and guesses that you aren't exactly still horny now that you're asking him shit like this. Again, there's zero care for clean up just yet. Zero care for anything but one another.

And then you tack on an extra little question that has Jungkook mentally groaning.

"Who's Taehyung?"

Convinced that you're snug like a little comforter-human-burrito, Jungkook holds you tightly. He's still stark bollock naked and doesn't really care to be covered, but he wants you warm. Wants you happy.

And knows that your happiness, now, rests on open communication.

"I knew Taehyung in high school," he eventually admits. "We were both on the boxing team, and we were friends, but -" he stops, and laughs a little. "Well, I kept beating him. So on the days I'd stay behind and work on my form, shit like that, Tae would..." Jungkook sighs. And then he laughs again. "This is so embarrassing." He gently shakes his head, and then thinks fuck it. You deserve the truth, so the truth is what you're gonna get. "I started going to club more often, thought about going pro. I was pretty serious about it. Got to the point where Tae couldn't compete with me - but one thing he could do, apparently, was fuck. And I didn't know, but apparently, he could turn that into a competition, 'cause on the days I trained alone, he'd go hook up with my girlfriend."

It doesn't upset Jungkook anymore. Not really. Annoys him a little - and means there was no way he was letting Taehyung think you meant anything more to him than just casual sex.

"Shit," is all you can say.

"Yeah," Jungkook sighs. "Went on for like, 6 months. I didn't know till my dick started fucking burning. Turned out he'd given her chlamydia from someone else and in turn, me."

"Bastard."

"Right? At least wrap it up if you're gonna fuck about. Anyways, after that, it was rare for him not to pursue any girl I was interested in," Jungkook finally admits, and it feels good to get it out. Good to share. Fucking fantastic, actually. "Me saying what I said... It was a defence mechanism more than anything, and I'm sorry. I just didn't wanna give him any reason to try it on with you."

You nod slowly, because there's a lot to unpack. "What happened? With the girl?"

"We broke up," he says honestly. "That was the nail in the coffin, really. He's done it with a few other girls I've dated or fucked since then, to the point where it's definitely a pattern of behaviour, but I tend to avoid serious relationships. If I'm being honest, I haven't had one since."

"Since high school?"

God, it's mortifying, he thinks. "Since high school."

Heartbreak is a funny thing, though. You're similar in that regard. Neither of you ever want to give another person the power to break the one thing keeping you alive. It's just asking for trouble.

Then again, every single fucking thing about your 'friendship' is asking for trouble. Maybe it's fitting.

"I'm sorry," you say, because you're not sure what else to say. He squeezes the comforter bundle you're in and shrugs.

"Don't be. Just please don't have sex with Kim fuckin' Taehyung."

You laugh, because such a thing feels absurd - but it would do. You trust Jungkook. You care about Jungkook. Care for him. Care for his opinions, his well-being.

Would be a shame if that ever were to change.

But that doesn't feel like a possibility right now, so you simply don't think about it. Instead, you ask the question that you've been holding back, because you wanted to at least look a little compassionate before you got ahead of yourself.

"So what you said to him about me," you begin, and he rolls his eyes, 'cause he knows exactly where you're going with this.

"So what I said about you."

"You lied."

"I lied, CC."

The way he whispers it back to you has you all giddy and docile for him. He's dangerous, in the most delectable way.

"You like me," you accuse, and you're met with a shallow kiss, his lips curving upwards because he can't help but smile at how fucking smitten you look.

"I'm terrified of you," he smiles. "The way you make me feel scares the living daylights out of me, CC. This isn't... I'm not good at this. I mean, hello? Been out of practice since high school."

"Mmmm," you interject, questioning his statement. "You've fucked plenty of girls since high school."

His eyes roll again, because he knows you're just trying to get him to be specific.

"What do you want me to say, huh, CC?" He nudges his nose against yours, his grin prevailing as he sinks them down into a kiss. "That I spend my whole entire fuckin' day thinking about you? You stay at my place all the time. My Netflix account reckons I'm halfway through season one of Gossip Girl." You smile. It's a guilty pleasure. You watch it at his place when he leaves early for work, or on the days you arrive before him. "There's a spare toothbrush by my sink, and it's yours."

The way he emphasises 'yours' has the chime in your stomach ringing like a church bell.

"I haven't been serious about anyone since high school, so yeah, I'm a bit out of practice. I don't wanna put labels on things or move too fast or say things I can't take back. I just know it would really fucking sting if you slept with Taehyung," he smiles, attempting to lighten the fact he's basically just put his heart on the line for you. "So please just... don't."

The issue is, Jungkook's forgetting himself.

He's forgetting that you're not just you. He's not just him. The way you met wasn't organic like you think it was, and he's letting himself get wrapped up in the idea that the pair of you are just normal people who found one another despite all odds.

The thought creeps into his mind, but frankly, he wants it to fuck off. So he kisses you. Slow and deep. Just him, and you.

If he'd have met you under different circumstances, he'd have probably already asked your father's permission to-

And then it hits him. The reminder that he can never have a happy ending with you, all thanks to your fucking father.

Jungkook asked you to come to Busan for a reason. There are things you need to see, things you need to understand before it all goes to shit.

"I want you to come somewhere with me tomorrow," he husks against your lips, your noses stroking gently against one another. "Somewhere important. I've got some errands to run, and I'll see my family alone, but after that, I wanna show you something."

You nod to confirm that it's okay. Of course, you don't mind him seeing his family alone, and you could do with running a few errands yourself, so it works out well. He's opening up. Sharing. And that's all you can ask for.

It has you thinking that maybe you should do the same for him.

"Thank you," he whispers.

It's a loaded phrase, and you're not sure which part he's thanking you for, but you accept it nonetheless.

This is progress, you think.

Funny, 'cause Jungkook's the blonde one. If anyone should be a dumb bitch, it's him.

But the blonde is fake, and he's smarter than he should be after all those blows to the head in the boxing ring.

You're private school educated. Could have been anything you wanted. Could have had the world. Your daddy worked hard to make sure of it.

But as Jungkook leads you to the bathroom, stripped of everything except for the stain of his sex, you think you already have the world.

You think, for once, you finally have something good that isn't the result of nepotism or political fear.

Your daddy worked hard. He worked real hard. He gave you the world, and then some - but the world doesn't come for free, and there's a little collateral that he never counted on caring enough to fuck with his self-made solar system.

Yeah, your daddy gave you the world.

But it's Jungkook's job to give it back to its rightful owners, whether he wants to or not.

And so, as the shower begins to heat up, and the pair of you are doing what you do so well, his phone begins to buzz in the bedroom. It goes unnoticed. It's not Jungkook's priority anymore, which leaves him in quite a predicament.

The outside world can wait for a moment. He's letting himself indulge in the fantasy of you one final time.

What a brilliant, intangible fantasy you are.

But fantasy is just that;

a lie.

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[kiwi2229]

Shoes

(James Potter / Regulus Black | 739 words)

For @jegulus-microfic prompt: Blackmail

It’s the loud bang followed by a colourful curse word and the James Fleamont Potter! that makes James stop at the spot. He already knows this is not good. And it’s apparent to everyone else as Sirius laughs at him. “You are in trouble.”

“As always,” James answers.

“What have you done?”

James just shrugs. He is trying to think what could get the boy mad, but his brainstorming is cut short by furious Regulus storming into the kitchen with a shoe in his hand. It looks rather comical, and James is trying so hard not to laugh at him. By the look in Regulus’ eyes, it wouldn’t be a wise decision.

“Here he is, the love of my life. Have I told you today how beautiful you look and…” He is cut out by a stern look. He can see in the corner of his eye Sirius sitting at the kitchen cabinet silently laughing.

“Potter. I don’t know how more I should simplify this so you would understand it, but Don’t. Leave. Your. Shoes. In. The. Middle. Of. The. Fucking. Hall.” Regulus over pronounces each word as you would do for a five-year-old. Frankly, James thinks he is absolutely gorgeous like this. He is snaped from admiring his boyfriend by a flying shoe that hits him in the centre of his chest.

“James! I almost broke my leg.” Regulus says and James is pretty sure he is exaggerating. “If I find the shoes there again it will be your leg that will be broken.”

James just gazes at him. “You are so pretty when you threaten me.”

To which Regulus just lets out incoherent noise full of frustration. “I could just…” He reaches his hands out pretending to strangle someone, preferably James at the moment.

“Come on, Reggie. They are just shoes, aren’t you a little bit overreacting?” Sirius speaks up and James thinks how much of a fool he is drawing attention to himself. Regulus slowly turns himself to face him.

“And youuu…” Regulus hisses through his teeth pointing at his brother. “You are the same. So this warning goes for you too. IF I find those shoes in the middle of the hall tomorrow instead of neatly placed in the shoe closet you will lose them.” And with that, he turns around and leaves the room as quickly as he entered.

As soon as they know he is not able to hear them both of the boys burst out laughing.

~.~.~.~.~

The next day James is coming for breakfast when he stumbles on Sirius standing in the hall looking at the ground in disbelief. He follows his gaze and notices all of their shoes are gone and all it’s left is two pairs of old flip-flops. There is no question who the thief is since they of course didn’t put away their shoes yesterday after Regulus what they assumed was an empty threat.

When both enter the kitchen, they can see Regulus sipping his morning coffee with a satisfied expression on his face. “Morning.” He sings.

“Where are they?!” Sirius narrows his eyes.

“What do you mean?” Regulus tilts his head in mock confusion.

“Regulus. The shoes of course.”

“They are not in the shoe closet as they are supposed to be?” Regulus asks and calmly sips his coffee.

“You know well enough that they aren’t,” James answers instead of Sirius.

“Well, I told you what will happen, and you didn’t listen, so here you go.”

“C’mon Prongs, let’s go find them.” Sirius turns around already done with the conversation.

“Good luck with that.” Regulus hums. Going by his unbothered expression James is pretty sure they won’t find their shoes.

“Reggie, love, will you tell us where there are?” James tries because he would be a fool not to ask before they go for a blind hunt.

“I will if you manage to put the flip-flops in the closet every day for the next five days as I asked you many times before.”

“Blackmail, really Regulus?” Sirius asks in disbelief.

“I wouldn’t call it blackmail per se. More like targeted behaviour modification.” Regulus muses clearly satisfied with himself. Sirius looks furious and James just laughs. It’s more a punishment for Sirius than him since Sirius absolutely hates flip-flops. But maybe hearing Sirius complain for those five days will be enough punishment itself.

“Well played,” James says and goes to pour himself his own cup of coffee.

#This was really fun to write #and I trully like it #it was supposed to be scene in a fic I'm writing but it didn't fit there #regulus black #james potter #james x regulus #jegulus #james potter x regulus black #jegulus microfic #marauders #marauders era #oneshot #starchaser #sirius black #the black brothers #regulus is a little shit #kiwi2229 writes microfics

[andiwriteordie]

hello! ✨sending you good vibes in this stressful month✨ (why is february Like This?)

if you feel so inspired for the valentine’s day fic prompts: byler where someone asks one of them out and the other cuts in like “he has plans” and (one the person is gone ofc) they share a cute lil moment? 💕🫂

lark i LOVED THIS PROMPT!!!! this was so fun!

here you go, have some post s5 byler set in the winter of 1989 in a not-destroyed hawkins!

—

1: take my hand, wreck my plans.

Mike hates high school.

Yeah, that much was a given, and honestly, Mike fucking hates high school. Middle school was bad enough, but then high school came around and turned out to be a million times worse—a tall order, considering the fact that middle school was full of things like the demogorgon and the Mind Flayer and then the Mind Flayer’s fleshy form.

…

Okay, technically, high school did have One and the near interdimensional war that could’ve ended the entire world. That sucked too. So maybe, high school was always destined to suck just as bad as middle school.

Or maybe Mike just has rotten luck.

That has to be it, because there’s no other reason that Mike would find himself here, waiting by his best friend’s locker and watching stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes flirt with Will.

Will, who most definitely seems uncomfortable right now, and Will, who most definitely does not like girls in a romantic way, and Will, who Mike is almost positive actually likes Mike.

Like… like-likes Mike. You know. In a romantic, more-than-friends kind of way. In the “Hey, I want to make out with you underneath the bleachers” kind of way and in the “I know we can’t because this is Hawkins, but will you be my date to prom this spring?” kind of way and in the “I don’t ever want to lose you again, so please don’t go” kind of way.

…

Okay, fine. Maybe Mike is projecting a little bit. But he likes to think that after knowing Will for over ten years, surviving all the horrors of the Upside Down with him, and coming out on the other side of all of this with a stronger friendship than ever, he knows his best friend pretty damn well.

Mike’s like… ninety-five percent certain Will has feelings for him too, which is exactly why he’s been trying to work up the courage to ask Will out for Valentine’s Day. He had planned to do it today, since the rest of the Party is busy today, and Will is planning on coming over to do homework with Mike. 

But then stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes had to come and mess all of Mike’s plans up.

Look.

Sometime around sophomore year, something weird started to happen. Girls really started to notice Will—or maybe Mike just started to notice how they noticed Will. Either way, it was like everywhere, left and right, girls were coming up to talk to girls. Will’s reputation as “Zombie Boy” had somehow disappeared in his year spent away from Hawkins, and suddenly, all the girls seemed to view him as the cool and sweet and lovable California boy. 

Suddenly, all the girls at Hawkins High wanted to date Will.

Right around the same time, Mike suddenly wanted to kill all the girls at Hawkins High.

Looking back on it, that really should’ve been Mike’s first clue (or his second… or tenth… or twentieth) that he had feelings for his best friend. Honestly, Mike knows that he’s a decently smart person (not as smart as Dustin, but smart enough), but sometimes, he can just be downright stupid.

Oh well. At least Mike knows now, and he can finally do something about it.

“Yeah,” stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes says, and she does that stupid girl thing where she twirls her hair and smiles really big at Will. “Mrs. Elliott canceled practice for the musical on Tuesday, since it’s Valentine’s Day and everything!” 

To his credit, Will smiles back at her, and to anyone else, it seems like a genuine smile. But Mike can tell that Will seems incredibly uncomfortable right now and is just looking for a way out of this awkward conversation. “Oh, that’s fun!” Will says with a bit of an awkward laugh. “I’m sure everyone was, um… excited!”

Stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes smiles widely again, and God, Mike wants to punch her in the face. “We were!” she says brightly, taking another step towards Will and leaning up against the lockers. “And um… anyways, I was just thinking about it, and well… I know this is so awkward, but I was wondering if you were maybe free on Tuesday? To… you know… go on a date?”

Mike’s going to punch her in the face.

Mike is actually going to punch her in the face, and hey, it’ll actually do some damage, because unlike little fifteen year-old Mike with noodle arms, absolutely no hand-eye coordination, and a complete inability to hold his own in a fight, Mike… can sort of do some damage now. He still has noodle arms, mind you, but the hand-eye coordination has improved (who would’ve known that he’s needed glasses this entire time) and can hold his own in a fight, thanks to many long days spent training with Steve and Jonathan and Hopper and literally everybody else in their Upside Down group.

So, yeah. There’s no way stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes is winning in a fight against him.

“Oh!” Will squeaks—like actually squeaks. He sounds like how he used to before his voice dropped near the end of middle school, and his face is bright red right now. He looks completely panicked, which is actually sort of adorable if you ask Mike. “I, um. I-I mean, I—”

“He has plans,” Mike blurts out, before he can stop himself.

Both Will and stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes turn to look at Mike, with varying looks of surprise on their face. Stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes also obviously looks a little disappointed (which makes Mike feel incredibly smug), while Will looks caught off guard but also a little pleased (which makes Mike feel even more smug). 

Will recovers first, and he smiles again at stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes. “I’m sorry,” he says, even though he’s definitely not. “I… I’ve already got plans.”

“Oh… okay,” stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes says, and she shifts awkwardly, glancing at Will then back at Mike. “That’s alright.”

Judging by the look on her face, it definitely isn’t alright. Mike fights the urge to grin at that.

Then, with another forced smile, stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes picks up her wounded pride, and she waves at Will. “I should get going,” she says awkwardly. “Bye, Will!”

“Bye, Jennifer,” Will calls faintly, though stupid fucking Jennifer Hayes is already gone, her ponytail bouncing stupidly behind her as she walks down the hall. Mike can’t help but roll his eyes.

Goodbye, and good riddance.

Beside him, Will clears his throat, and Mike flinches slightly, glancing at his best friend. There’s an amused look on Will’s face, and once Mike catches his eye, Will raises a brow. “I have plans, huh?” he says with a bit of a teasing smile.

Mike feels his face go warm, and he clears his throat, leaning his hand against the lockers. “Something like that,” he says, trying his best to ignore the way his heart is pounding inside his chest. “I figured anything’s better than having to go on a date with her.”

A soft laugh escapes Will’s lips. “Jennifer’s not that bad,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But you’re right. I definitely don’t want to spend my Valentine’s Day on a date with her.”

Once again, there’s a playful smile on Will’s face, and when he meets Mike’s eyes, Mike becomes like… ninety-eight percent certain Will has feelings for him too. 

Oh, to hell with it. Ninety-nine percent.

So, Mike just decides to take a leap of faith.

“Well… is there anyone else you’d want to spend your Valentine’s Day with?” Mike asks softly.

Another little smile tugs at Will’s lips, and he shrugs, leaning against the lockers slightly. “Maybe,” he says, just as soft. “That depends though.”

He’s teasing Mike—again, which… fuck, is driving Mike absolutely crazy. Will’s always been a little bit mischievous, but now, over the past few months of settling into their friendship and finding peace after the mess of the Upside Down, it’s like he’s become more and more comfortable to do little things like flirt with Mike more openly.

Mike absolutely loves it.

So, all he can do is grin back at his best friend. “Depends on what?” Mike asks, and Will’s eyes crinkle as he smiles again.

“On what these plans are that you were talking about,” Will hums, a playful glint in his eyes. “Because last I checked, Lucas had plans to take Max and El to the movies, and Dustin plans on calling Suzie that evening, so…”

Will’s voice trails off, and he looks Mike expectantly, a hesitant but shy look on his face. There’s a rosy little blush on his cheeks and a dozen different emotions in his eyes, and God, Mike just wants to kiss him.

“So… it sounds like it’s just you and me for Valentine’s Day,” Mike says, soft and shy. 

“Sounds like it,” Will agrees.

“And I don’t know… I was thinking that since it’s just the two of us… maybe we could make it a date?” Mike asks softly. 

A huge smile stretches across Will’s face, and Mike’s heart does a stupid little somersault because of it. That ninety-nine percent certainty increases to a solid one hundred percent, and  inside of Mike’s mind, it sounds like one of those game shows after someone has finally won something—like DING DING DING, WE HAVE A WINNER! YOU’RE THE WINNER! YOU DID IT!

“I’d love that, Mike,” Will whispers back, just as shy. “I’d really, really love that.”

Mike can’t help but grin like a complete idiot, and he nods, probably just a little too excited. “Cool,” he says breathlessly. “It, um… it’s a date then.”

Somehow, Will’s face turns even redder, and he beams. Luckily for Mike, he nods just as enthusiastically, so that’s definitely a good sign. “Yeah,” he agrees softly. “It’s a date.”

#byler #byler ficlet #andi writes not dies #send me valentine's day prompts friends! #if u want

[pigeonwit]

In all honesty, Jack does kind of like the piano music upstairs – perhaps it’s a little invasive, but screw it, it’s kind of nice, especially when he’s caught up in his painting bliss and can allow himself to lean back and drift away on twinkling keys, or when he’s spacing out when he’s cooking and needs a rhythm to sway to, as if it were holding him by the waist as he did so.

(Crutchie had raised a brow when Jack shamefully admitted that to him this over their weekly coffee meet.

“Dude.” He’d said, dry and deadpan and entirely done with Jack’s shit. “You need a date.”

“Wh- fuck you, you need a date!” Jack had spluttered indignantly - and Crutchie’d only grinned and waggled a napkin adorned with not one, but two phone numbers from the hot and terrifying baristas he’d said no more than three words to.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No, dear Jack-a-boy, we’re trying to find a way to fuck you, here – try to keep up.”)

Putting Crutchie’s youngest-sibling bullshit aside – as it stands now, Jack is hung over and miserable and not in the mood to be woken up at ass-o-clock in the morning (ten-thirty, a more than reasonable time to play piano on a lazy Sunday, but still, fuck Piano Guy, fuck the world, fuck everything, God, his head kills) and he is going to make it everyone’s business.

“You have neighbours…” Jack groans, nowhere near loud enough for Piano Guy to hear him, as he pounds the handle of a broom against his ceiling. “Stop with the Mozart!”

There’s a pause, one that Jack will feel more guilty about when his brain isn’t pulsing out of his skull – he waits for a second, then two, then ten, and breathes a sigh of relief, about to flop back into his bed and let the bliss of sleep reclaim him-

And then the keys start plinking again, fast and staccato and horribly major-scale and – oh, son of a bitch.

Right. Jack rolls his shoulders back, cricking his neck into place and immediately wincing, but that’s not important – what’s important is that no upstairs-person smartass is going to play Dear Evan Hansen at him while he’s hungover and expect it not to mean war.

He tries everything he could possibly muster in his pathetic, sleep deprived state – which of course means he smacks the ceiling with his broom for a good five minutes, and that gets him nothing but a medley of songs that vaguely mention knocking – from Waving Through a Window to Crash! to that one part of Michael in the Bathroom to an old vaudeville Jack remembers from Medda’s theatre, about five and a half years ago. It’s good, honestly – perfect, exactly how he remembered it, capturing the melody he kept stumbling over and losing in his own head, and sending a pang down to the soft and tender part of his chest where his nostalgia lies – but it is not enough to make Jack not hate him.

(It is enough to make him forget about his headache until halfway through Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation, but Jack decides to put a pin in that for now. He has a neighbour to destroy.)

After that resounding failure, Jack spends the next day blasting music from his own speakers, starting from the nichest heavy metal band he can find on Crutchie’s playlists until he’s belting Before He Cheats at the top of his lungs. Jack’s about to count it as a win – he’s not sure if Piano Guy’s still playing, but he certainly can’t hear him, at least – until his next door neighbour, an adorably sweet volunteer at the local pet shelter, knocks on his door and threatens to feed him to a hoard of chihuahuas. Jack almost would’ve let the whole feud go on that threat alone, if Piano Guy didn’t start playing Anything You Can Do in the smuggest key Jack can fathom the second she left.

So Jack, in his infinitely petty wisdom, follows in his sweet mother’s footsteps and writes a strongly worded note.

dear piano guy,

please christ stop playing your pretty boy music all day or i swear to god i am going to make the most osb obscene sex noises you can possibly imagine until you stop.

love B7

He’s snickering to himself the moment he hears Piano Guy’s door open. He tracks his steps across the ceiling, sneaking into his own bedroom as if Piano Guy would somehow be in Jack’s apartment rather than one floor above. He can hear the scrape of a chair, the slightest plink of a key or two – hesitant, almost, which sparks a soft feeling in Jack’s stomach that he can’t identify – and then a clash of five different notes, as if a whole hand had smashed against the keys by pure mistake. There’s a long, pronounced pause – Jack can hardly contain his snickering – until he hears the pounding notes of Rihanna’s S&M, and realizes two things very quickly.

Thing One: Piano Guy, for all his flaws, somehow possesses a sense of humour – a good one, at that – meaning that Piano Guy is a real, actual, potentially decent person, and isnot just some invisible stuff-shirted maestro Jack’s been insisting on hating for one incident when he was hungover.

Thing Two: listening to someone passionately playing the piano above Jack’s bed immediately after threatening sex noises upon them is giving Jack some terrible, terrible realizations about who he is as a person.

#i really... REALLY dont like this one but i gotta practice my jack voice somehow #dont like it! feels way too... cosmo-esque? but i'm barrelling towards a writing slump and i gotta write something so. we stay silly #anywhore. #newsies #uksies #javid #javey #jack kelly #david jacobs #davey jacobs #pigeon scribbles

[eyesthecolorofarson]

Three hours ago Damian went MIA.

He was supposed to be on patrol but three hours twenty-six minutes and forty-five seconds ago he veered off route and hasn't answered any texts, calls, or alerts since. Luckily he hadn’t turned off his tracker so they could see he was on the seventh floor of a children’s hospital in the upper west-side.

Tim would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. Damian had been disappearing more and more often lately, but this was the first time he disappeared on patrol. Behind him Bruce was losing his mind, muttering to himself nonsense Tim didn’t bother trying to understand.

He was at the Batcomputer, hacking into the hospitals seventh floor emission room cameras and flicking through them to try and find Damian. Dick was at his left, scanning the footage for any clue of their brother’s whereabouts. Jason had his feet kicked up on his right, pretending like he didn’t care, but he was watching just as intently.

Case was trying to get Bruce to sit down and actually breath, Steph was still on patrol and Duke was dead to the world. He was pretty sure Alfred knew where Damian was going and probably had a good clue as to where he was now, but if he wasn’t saying anything Tim knew better than to ask.

Finally, they got something. Well, a bit more than something. Ok, a lot more. It was a double room, with a standard bed in front of the door and a crib across up against the wall. To the left of the standard bed were two nightstands. The first one had a light show projector shaped like a UFO, a phone charger, laptop, several fidget toys and a kalimba. The second was empty and the crib had a collapsed gate inside it. Next to the bed was a couch with a few bags sitting next to it.

In the standard bed was Damian, drawing in a sketchbook he knew wasn’t his just from the stickers on the cover. But next to him, cuddled up to him, was a girl. She was African with gold eyes and curly baby blue hair in a bob. The ends of her curls faded into multiple colors, giving the impression of a rainbow and blue sky. She was wearing a hospital gown, and Damian was wearing….a shirt that said ‘cotton candy club’ in pastel blue purple and pink with cartoon cotton candy???

The computer told him her name was Lydia Lippet, who’s family, friends and nurses nicknamed ‘Fireworks’. She was sixteen and suffered from the genetic disorder AIP–Acute Intermittent Porphyria.

He, Dick and Jason stared for a second. “Uh, B? Cass? We found him, but—Well, your not going to believe this.” “O. M. G! A girlfriend! He has a girlfriend! Oh how could we ignore the signs!?” Dick cheered as Bruce and Cass rushed to the batcomputer. They all watched as the girl-Lydia-snuggled closer to Damian, who smiled and pulled her closer by the arm around her waist.

Bruce watched silently, almost gaping. Cass just smiled. Jason took a picture then started texting so fast Tim worried he’d break his fingers. “Tim, rewind the footage and find out when Damian entered.” Bruce said, sounding confused and a little worried. Tim rewinded until he found the moment Damian, as Robin, entered through the large window.

They watched as he stared at Lydia for a minute, his eyes wide and trailing all over her. Now the crib was next to the bed and the gate was open, and the area between the beds had a blanket and all sorts of baby stuff laid out and the couch was under the window. The baby gave a little gurgle and he jumped like he didn’t know it was there. Lydia sat up and looked towards him. “Damian.” She sounded breathless, a little rough with a thick Gotham accent. “Lydia.” He sounded almost heartbroken, rushing to her side.

“What—Is this why you haven’t been answering your phone? Have you been here for two weeks? What happened?” Lydia laughed sadly. She scooted over and patted the bed, making Damian paused. He looked to the door and the nurses window then back at her. “Can I change before we speak? I don’t—“ he stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to leave you.” Dick ruined the moment when he ‘aww’ed. Jason told him to shut up.

Lydia nodded and motioned to a possum-shaped plush backpack on the table across from the cradle. “I ‘ave some shirts and pants in Moonstone. The bathrooms that door.” Damian grabbed the shirt they’d seen him wearing and a pair of pink pajama pants. He was in and out in less than five minutes, which was a new record. Getting out of costume took time.

Lydia giggled softly. “Ya’ look great.” Damian huffed. “I could say the same about you.” She giggled again and hugged him as soon as he got in the bed. He stiffened for a second before relaxing and practically melting into the hug. Damian sighed and whispered, “I missed you.” Lydia hugged him tighter. “Missed you more.” They pulled back and stared at each other—

And Lydia burst into tears.

Unfortunately a nurse walked in right as she threw herself onto him and cried. The nurse stood dumbfounded as she watched Damian Wayne shush and comfort Lydia. He noticed the nurse and leaned forward. “Please leave. And don’t let the press know. For her,” he motioned to Lydia then behind him, “and the infant’s sake.”

The nurse nodded and quickly left, and Tim pulled up another camera. Thankfully the nurse kept to herself and even put a ‘do not disturb’ sign outside of the room and closed the blinds on the door and nurses window. He kept that camera up just in case but focused back on Damian and Lydia.

She was talking as she cried. “I-hic-I wanted to call ya’—“ she choked on her tears and Damian pulled her to his chest. “You don’t need to explain,نجم شمال, just let it out.” She shook her head. “I—Jazz—“ She bit her lip and looked at the cradle. The baby, Jazz, gave a tiny coo and Damian seemed to understand.

“Ok, breath for me, in and out slowly. Just like that.” In five minutes she was calm again, cradled against Damian’s chest as he ran his hand through her hair, lightly pulling a strand on his finger than letting it bounce back. Lydia had her eyes closed, a content expression on her face. “Thank you.” She whispered, opening her eyes and gazing up at him.

“Of course.” He whispered back, continuing to play with her hair. Dick was silently screaming, jumping up and down. Bruce had sat down and was watching intently. Cass was jumping with Dick. Tim was trying to piece together how long this has been going on. Damian started disappearing about two and a half years ago, so they’d definitely had time to get to know one another.

“Five years ago,” Lydia started, “I was diagnosed with AIP—Acute Intermittent Porphyria.” She pressed a button on the side of the bed that made the back end start to raise. “It’s a rare genetic disorder that has a lotta stupid triggers,” she continued, “like infections, hormones, and sunlight. Well, those are my triggers.”

“AIP sucks cause’ it’s not only rare, but symptoms and triggers are so different b’tween every person. Don’help that a lot of them are asymptomatic. It took like, a whole year in this hospital to get diagnosed.” She chuckled sadly and leaned against the bed when it was raised all the way up.

“What are your symptoms?” Damian asked softly. She huffed and put her ear to his chest. “It starts with a lot of vomiting. Like, not like there’s a lot of vomit, more like I vomit everything. Food, applesauce, pills, even water comes up in less than five minutes. Sometimes thirty seconds.”

Even water? That wasn’t good, and he could tell Damian was thinking the same thing from the way his eyes narrowed. “Then the pain starts. Abdominal pain so bad that it hurts ta’ breath. Talkin’ becomes unbearable, much less moving. And—moving.” Lydia stopped and sniffled, raising her hand. Or, trying to. A little below her neck her hand stopped and began shaking, like it was stuck in place.

He was confused for a second, but then he took in the way her hand was curled into a fist, how her fingers twitched but then returned to the same position, the tears filling her eyes. “You can’t move your hands.” Damian realized. He sounded horrified. “And if talking hurts, then singing—your instruments—“ He looked around the room before looking back to her. “Your legs as well?”

Lydia nodded sadly, letting her hand drop. “My body can’t get the nutrients it needs, so it takes it from my muscles.” She tried to open her hand with her other, but that hand was stuck in a fist too. “My body is cannibalizing itself. We’re lucky we caught it early this time. The last time it started attacking my bones.”

“You can’t sing.” Damian said again. “You can’t dance, play your instruments, draw. You’ve lost your music.” Lydia nodded again, biting her bottom lip. She took a shaky breath before continuing. “Another thing that happens is that—well, all this starts ‘cause m’body doesn't have an enzyme that it’s supposed to. And that causes it to produce another, really bad enzyme.”

“All this—we don’t really know why this is happening since it hasn’t happened with many other people with AIP, but—um.” She took another deep breath, looking Damian in the eye. “My kidneys are shutting down.” At Damian’s expression she backtracked. “Well, they were, but now their not! But their in real bad shape and that ain’t even talkin’ about my liver or appendix which by the way? Did’ya know all this could cause my appendix to burst?”

She smiled weakly as Damian immediately began fussing over her. Asking if she was in pain right now, pressing different parts of her stomach and asking if it hurt, if she’d drank any water, if she could. It was honestly really cute. He and Jason shared grins as Dick and Cass began talking about stories they could tell her, how they could introduce themselves. Bruce sat silently, looking stunned but a little pleased.

“This attack isn’t as bad as last time,” She reassured him, “and it’s nowhere near as bad as the first.” There was a story there, a sad one from the way she said it but she didn’t continue and Damian didn’t push. Jazz began babbling loudly and crawling around the crib. Lydia smiled.

“That’s Jasmine, but I call her Jazz. Baby’s ain’t suppose’ to room with anyone older than one but she needed to be emitted badly so they asked if she could stay with me. Obviously I said yes. Hiya lovebug!” Jazz squealed and sat up, clapping her hands. Damian watched as Lydia cooed and played peek-a-boo with her blanket, Jazz babbling like crazy.

“Uh oh,” Jason snorted, “I know that look.” He was right—they'd seen that face more than once. Usually before Damian brought home an animal he realistically shouldn’t have been able to find in New Jersey. Damian stood up and went around the room, putting on bright red shoes and a pastel rainbow puffer jacket and picked up the possum bag. “What’cha doing?” Lydia seemed amused. Probably because her fashion style looked a little ridiculous on Damian.

“Im going to your apartment and collecting things I know you'd like to have. And while you are not capable of using some of them such as your instruments and sketchbooks I’d enjoy practicing your art style and learning a new instrument. Jasmine would also enjoy some entertainment, no?”

Lydia stared for a few seconds before her eyes filled with tears. She used her shoulder to wipe her eyes and motioned Damian forward. When he was within reach she pulled him down by his shirt to hug him. She whispered something in his ear that made him smile and say something back before leaving through the window. Tim sped up the footage until Damian returned, which was an hour later. The bag didn’t look to be full, and thinking about it, how was he supposed to fit instruments and sketchbooks in a backpack that size? He gave the backpack to her, took off the shoes and jacket and got back into the bed, smiling as she gasped.

She reached in and pulled out the kalimba from before which was wider than the bag and a colorful hip-chain with six rainbow stars, each one with a clip on the bottom connected to a ribbon that seemed to be a backwards rainbow. The first three ribbons were wrapped around and holding small poké balls, while the other three were empty.

Lydia positioned her hands on the kalimba before playing. Even with her hands, which took her a minute to get into the right position, she played it beautifully. Damian listened to the upbeat song for a moment. “An Irish jig?” Lydia nodded. “The Butterfly by Tommy Potts.” Jazz squealed at the song, clapping her hands and crawling around her cradle.

Lydia smiled and continued playing, asking Jazz if she liked it when she was done. Jazz screamed and babbled happily, bouncing in place and waving and clapping her hands. Lydia looked in the bag again, this time pulling out a flute longer than the bag?? Tim looked between his siblings and father as they took in the footage.

Jason began laughing, probably at Bruce’s face. “The brats girlfriends a meta! An unknown meta in Gotham!” Bruce, who had unfortunately taken off his cowl while watching the footage, looked simultaneously devastated and confused. “She could be a magician!” Dick said, patting Bruce on the back. “Maybe it’s like Mary Poppins or Hermione Grangers never ending bag!”

Damian gave her a look, but Lydia said she needed to exercise her lungs. He huffed, but helped her raise her hands. The next song she played was very different from the one before, and Tim recognized it immediately. “That’s Isabella’s Lullaby from The Promised Neverland.” Dick and Jason nodded, Cass doing the same from her seat next to Bruce. Bruce looked a little confused before Cass signed to him ‘anime’.

Jazz made a ‘whoaaaaa’ sound and listened intently. Damian was listening as well, and as the first verse ended he began to sing.

‘Let me sing a lullaby

As you close your eyes

And as your drifting off to sleep

How I hope that the dreams that find you

Are bright’

Damians voice was surprisingly nice, slightly deep and his accent a bit more pronounced. He had an arm wrapped around Lydias waist and his eyes closed. He looked calm.

‘Love can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies?

Where a tomorrow waits for you and I

So hold me tight one more time, but don’t say goodbye

‘Cause I know that I’ll see you on the other side’

Lydia had her eyes closed too, swaying slightly to the tune. Jazz looked mesmerized.

‘I will think of our song when the nights are too long’

Damian opened his eyes and gazed at Lydia

‘I’ll dream of you for that’s where I belong

Love, can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies

Only, in my dreams, do we meet again’

Damian’s voice ended on the same tune as the flute, and when the note ended Lydia opened her eyes. They locked eyes and stayed that way until Jazz squealed. Damian blinked rapidly for a few seconds before blushing, Lydia laughing even though her face was turning red as well.

“You’ve gotten better.” She leaned into him as Damian huffed, looking away but pulling her even closer. Damian was going to retort but the door opened again and two people entered. One was a black women shorter than Damian with greying thick curly hair similar to Lydias pulled into a large bun, and the other was a tall heavyset white man with a receding hairline and grey beard. The computer told him they were Laura and Logan Lippet, Lydia’s parents.

They had styrofoam take out boxes and a drink carrier. They stopped when they saw Damian, but then continued on. “Hey Damian!” Mr.Lippet said, putting the boxes on the table. “Was wondering when you’d show up.” Mrs.Lippet and Lydia laughed as Damian smiled, accepting Mrs.Lippets hug. “When’d you get here? Or how’s a better word.” She laughed and handed a box to Lydia and sat a drink on the nightstand.

“Garlic pasta!” She cheered, kissing her moms cheek. “I just came back after, uh. I broke into your apartment again, but only to collect Lydias things.” Mr.Lippet threw his head back and laughed as Mrs.Lippet smiled and shook her head. “As to how, don’t worry about it.” The Lippets laughed again. “Did you see the brownies Liam made?” “Yes, he added pistachios this time.”

“They seem weirdly chill about a billionaires son breaking into their house and getting into their daughters hospital room.” Jason commented, Tim and the others agreeing. Lydias parents had expected Damian to not only show up, but eat their food when entering their house? Either Damian was closer to these people than they thought, or the Lippets were a little crazy. Judging from the records he was seeing, it looked like the latter.

“That’s weird,” Tim hummed, “there’s records of her meta gene, but for some reason we didn’t get an alert.” Usually every time a meta was documented in Gotham they would be sent an alert about it through a not-so-legal chain system Babs set up. But even though Lydias meta gene was reported when she was three, they’d never gotten an alert. Well, now that Tim was looking, they had. But it’d been deleted very recently.

Apparently her ability was ‘Art Manifestation’. Tim didn’t know what that meant, but he had a feeling they’d find out. He brought up the file next to the camera where the Lippets and Damian were talking and laughing. Damian was holding Lydias drink just out of reach, laughing as she tried to grab it with her teeth. “Use your hands,” he taunted her, “it’s physical therapy!” Her parents roared with laughter as Lydia began hitting him as best she could. She was laughing with them.

A little while later Jazz's parents came in with a nurse. They had the normal reaction to seeing Damian Wayne cuddling with Lydia. “Hey Joseph, hey Ariana!” Mr.Lippet called to the stunned couple, “This is Damian, Lydias boyfriend.” Damian greeted them as politely as he could with Lydia teaching him how to use the portable loom she’d apparently forgotten she had in the possum bag.

“Their dating!?” Dick gasped. “Isn’t that what you said?” “I was joking! Oh my god, Damian actually has a girlfriend!” Jason laughed again and Dick began panicking. “Oh we were supposed to spy on their first date! And mess with Damian about it, figure out her favorite things so we could tell Damian, oh my god we missed seeing them on Valentine’s Day!” Cass patted his back. ‘There will still be valentines days to see and things to bully Damian about. I do not think they’ve had sex yet.’

Bruce choked. “Cass!” She gave him a confused expression as Jason laughed harder. Dick continued to sulk. “I don’t wanna know about that stuff…..I hope he at least tells us about their first date.” “I’m more interested in how they met. Lydia seems pretty forward so far.” Jason snorted. “You think she asked him out?” Tim shrugged. “You think Damian would’ve?”

Apparently Jazz was getting moved to Boston Children’s Hospital for further treatment. Damian and the Lippets helped her parents pack up Jazz’s toys while Lydia tried to persuade them to let her help. “I can stand!” She whined. “But you can’t for a long time,” her dad responded, “and while your stretching has helped a lot we don’t want you over exerting yourself and getting hurt.”

“Has she been seen by physical therapy?” Damian asked. Her mom huffed. “She’s supposed to see them every day, but just like last time we’ve only seen them the first day. They come in, tell us she’ll be seen every day and then we never see them again!” Damian gave an unpleased ‘Tt’ as he folded Jazz’s blankets.

In a few minutes they were ready to leave and the Lippets cheerfully said their goodbyes, Damian doing so awkwardly. After they left Lydia reached over and opened her computer. “Now it’s horror movie time!” The Lippets laughed as Damian raised an eyebrow and sat next to her. “You couldn’t watch them before?”

“Not with Jazz in the room,” she muttered, switching between scrolling and typing. “Don’ wanna traumatize the baby. Y’all feeling like a thriller or gore?” Her dad looked over her shoulder from where he was standing. “Damian, you ever seen ‘Someone Marry Barry’?” Mrs.Lippet snorted as Lydia groaned.

“We are not watching a romcom.” “Why not?” Her dad whined. “Netflix just got like seven new more!” Damian smiled as Lydia argued with her dad. He seemed more relaxed with them than he did at the manor. Lydia and her dad got into a slap fight. It felt weird to watch normal people play fighting. Usually when they play fought it’d involve actual weapons and strategies to find the best place to tickle.

But Lydia and her dad were normal people. They slapped each other harmlessly, without worrying if they’d accidentally hurt them. Lydia shrieked with delight as her dad grabbed her and shook her around, chanting ‘Romcom, romcom, romcom!’ “Alright alright alright!” She giggled, “we’ll watch one horror one romcom, how’bout that?” Her dad agreed and pulled the table from across her bed to the foot of the bed. He then moved the crib to the position they’d first seen it in.

While Lydia found a movie Mr.Lippet moved the couch from under the window next to the bed. He and Mrs.Lippet settled on the couch, Mrs.Lippet with crochet and Mr.Lippet with his own computer. “We can watch the Evil Dead series! They just made a new movie!” Lydia said excitedly, showing Damian a movie screen that he’d seen trailers for. Damian tilted his head.

“How will we watch a series when we’re switching genres?” “We watch one, watch one of dad’s shitty romcoms, then the second movie, and so on!” Mr.Lippet snorted, “Just for that I’m going to make your Roblox avatar ugly.” They all laughed. “Hey! Don't do that! I can’t fight back, we’re watching movies!” Her dad playfully rolled his eyes and muttered “hang on,” and began typing very fast.

“Lydia, turn on the TV.” She did. They waited as he typed very fast for a few minutes before the hospital TV glitched, blacked out and then showed Lydias computer screen on Prime. They cheered. “What the fuck?” Jason said, “How the hell’d he do that?” Tim shrugged. “I’m not surprised,” Barbara’s voice came through over comms, “He’s the configuration manager for TSA, and before that he was IT, and before that he was CIA, and before that he was Navy Seal. He’s on the no fly list because he used to be a spy in the CIA.”

Oh. “And he lives in Gotham….why? Does he have any connection with any rogues?” “He was born in Michigan, Laura in Texas, and they married in Virginia and then moved around a lot because of the military. They were in Hawaii before they were deployed here at the harbor, Logan retired, and they had Lydia and her brother Liam. They’re Irish twins, she’s October 15th 2007 and he’s the 17th 2008. No connection to any rouges other than accidentally meeting Scarecrow in civies and telling him to go fuck himself for his bad parking.”

They all laughed as Lydia used the hospital remote to choose the first Evil Dead movie. Then she pulled out another computer and handed it to Damian, and pulled her computer off the table and into her lap. She typed a little, then gasped. “Hey! That’s not nice!” Damian laughed as her dad retorted, “Calling romcoms shitty isn’t nice! Enjoy your skeleton!” Damian snorted. An actual snort.

Was he dead? Hallucinating? Dreaming? Or did he actually hear Damian Wayne snort? “Well, I approve.” Jason laughed as Lydia and Damian began playing Roblox with her dad. “She’s making him laugh, he’s relaxed, he gets along well with her parents and her parents are apparently super cool with all his weirdness. I think we’re looking at the future Mrs. Wayne!” Honestly? He wouldn’t mind having another new and weird addition to this family.

#Damian Wayne x original character #original character #damian wayne #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #batfam #not me projecting a disorder I have but the character I gave it to initially didn’t #Like I know she’s an original character and I can just give it to her but. Y’know. No I can’t #The baby inspired by a baby I met in the hospital #Different name and illness but the same cutie patootie :3 #Writing this also made me realize that I haven’t really decided what Lydia Lippets main power is even though I thought I had #Like in both the main stories I use her in she’s The Bard and can alter reality and create things by singing #But then I write multiple shorts like this and it’s like ‘oh no everything she draws can be brought off the page and into real life’ #It’s like jfc me pick a power #Also implied that those pokeballs hold actual Pokémon she brought to life #if you want to see more of her your going to have to wait because hands no write :’)

[ladychota]

Can i request loki and the reader on their first date??

A/N - Of course!! Thanks for the request anon, hope you like this :)

All Good Things

Pairing - Loki x Female Reader

Warnings - I don't think there's anything, just a fluffy oneshot (lmk if there's anything you want me to add)

Summary - Loki invites Y/n to his place for a date.

Word Count - 1.3k

Masterlist

Butterflies dance in your stomach as you swipe your lipstick over your lips. It's almost time. Almost. And you're incredibly nervous. You'd hoped that Nat hyping you up earlier would settle the torment of crashing waves, but it seems not.

Loki invited you to his apartment for dinner tonight. He was so calm when he asked, while you had trouble getting a single syllable out to say yes. You've been best friends for a while, so there's a lot riding on this... if it doesn't work out then you could lose your friendship. But, then again, you're not sure how much longer your little crush could've stayed a secret - this has come at the right time, for better or for worse.

You take a deep breath, smoothing out the knee-length dress you wear (it's Loki's green - you're hoping he'll like it) and slipping your feet into some heels. Checking yourself in the mirror once more and slinging your bag over your shoulder, you ready yourself to leave.

It'll be fine.

The walk to Loki's place is a short one - no more than five minutes at most; you spend the entire time running over possible conversations in your head, wringing your hands together anxiously.

You reach his door and knock tentatively; the door opens almost instantly.

"Hey!" You greet, you face lighting up as you see him. Your heart flutters as you notice he's wearing a tuxedo, his hear gelled back neatly behind his ears. He looks... hotter than ever.

"Uh... I- hi," He stutters, a huge grin on his face. "You look stunning,"

You feel your cheeks grow warm. "Thank you... you don't look too bad yourself,"

He chuckles nervously, holding out a bouquet of red roses. "These are for you,"

You take them, admiring the scarlet petals and the lovely smell. "They're beautiful, thank you," You gasp, suddenly remembering something. "I'm so sorry! I meant to bring some wine but I completely forgot,"

"Do not fret, I have wine here. But thank you for the thought," He moves to the side. "Would you like to come in?"

You nod and step inside, thanking him as he takes your bag and puts it on the coat rack. He walks you through his apartment and into his living room, where he's set up a gorgeous table for two; it's covered in a pure white cloth, a single red rose in a vase in the centre of the table and two glasses of red wine and cutlery at each place. The only lighting in the room comes from a few lit candles, each one varying in size and smelling amazing.

Loki pulls out one of the chairs and gestures for you to sit down, taking the bouquet from you and placing it in an empty vase nearby (he said it's to 'keep them fresh and beautiful for you'). You're lost for words: he really has thought of everything.

"Make yourself comfortable," He says. "I'll go get the dinner,"

"Do you need any help?" You ask.

"No thank you. I want it to be perfect, so you don't have to do anything," He grins and walks out before you even have a chance to protest. 

Mere moments later, Loki comes back holding two plates loaded with food. He places them down on the table carefully.

"This looks amazing! Smells amazing too," You exclaim, knowing he made this himself. Even in the dim light, you can tell his cheeks have flushed red.

"Well, I hope you enjoy it,"

The conversation starts to flow easily after this, the both of you devouring your delicious meals - and it really is delicious; you'd never thought Loki could cook so well. But then again, he is good at most things, especially at making you happy. You don't think you've ever been this happy.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end: after hours, it's time for you to leave.

"Thank you so much for this," You say as you walk towards Loki's front door, your bouquet of roses clutched tightly in your hand. "It's been the best night of my life,"

Loki beams. "And mine too, thank you for coming,"

You wonder then if you should move in for a kiss. It's usual that most people kiss on their first date, right? But what if he doesn't want to? You don't want to make him uncomfortable...

The door opens, revealing cold droplets of water falling from the dark sky and landing in rippling puddles. You shiver as the cold of the night shudders down your spine. You sigh, not looking forward to the walk home.

"I suppose I shall see you soon," You say, turning to Loki - he seems to be searching for something.

"Wait," He runs back into the living room and returns holding a green zip-up hoodie and a black umbrella. He helps you put the jumper on and hands you the umbrella. "Hopefully that will help,"

He smiles a smile that melts your heart. "Thank you so much," You say.

"It's no problem at all! Have a good night,"

"And you," You step out and open the umbrella, turning to wave before starting your journey home.

It's quiet - the only sound is the calming patter of rain and the clack of your heels against the concrete. You feel extremely... contented; the smile hasn't left your lips for a single moment.

But it does disappear when you realise something's missing. Your bag. You freeze, wondering if you picked it up and dropped it, or just left it at Loki's... did you even bring it in the first place? Yes, you remember picking it up... then when you got to Loki's he put it on the coat rack and you didn't pick it up on the way out.

You mentally scold yourself for your forgetfulness, debating whether you should run back and grab it. You are closer to your place, but his is only a few minutes away... although it is rather late and you know Loki will look after it if you do leave it there.

"Y/n!" You turn around at the shout, your gaze meeting with a pair of piercing green eyes.

"Loki," You breathe, your heart beginning to hammer in your chest as he comes to a stop in front of you. You lift the umbrella so it covers him as well, although he's already soaked so you're not sure it'll do much. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, you forgot your bag," He takes the umbrella and hands it to you - it's somehow completely dry.

You sigh with relief. "Thank you so much, I was just wondering if I should run back to get it,"

"It's no problem at all," He wears a small smile, raindrops slipping slowly down his cheeks. His hair hangs in thick, wet strands in front of his face - before you realise what you're doing, you're slinging your bag over your shoulder and reaching up to tuck them behind his ears.

You smile involuntarily, your heart fluttering. He's so lovely and kind... how could anyone not love him? He ran through the rain to catch up with you, purely to give your bag back. There can't be many men out there who would willingly do that. 

He brings his hand up to softly caress your cheek, his eyes shining in the moonlight. Your heart hammers harder as he tilts your head up, leaning down so his soft lips meet your own. The kiss is tender and gentle - it's beautiful.

You pull away slightly after a while, your nose brushing against his. "You know, we're closer to my place than we are yours. How 'bout you come home with me?"

He grins, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "I'd like that,"

He interlocks his hand with yours, holding the umbrella above you both as you begin to walk back to your home.

Maybe not all good things have to come to an end...

#loki #loki fanfic #laufeyson #loki laufeyson #loki oneshot #loki x y/n #loki x reader #marvel #avengers #mcu #loki request

[ghostherlig]

no no let’s get you started on talking about railao breeding kink! (I meant to send that yesterday but completely forgot 🤣 please talk about railao and trans railao and t4t railao please I am so starved and desperate for them. Also, moment of silence for the lost fics, that is literally the worst feeling in the world 🫡🙏😭)

ASDKLJFHDA- railao breeding kink never leaves my brain i wish i was joking-

i really do have to write a fic about them (which technically the western au is gonna be my top priority once the collaring fic is done and they're going to be a big part of that- (and once it get bATTERIES FOR MY MOUSE AND KEYBOARD-))

also thank you, moment of silence 🫡😔

okay here's my trans railao rant bc i cant contain myself (under the cut bc it gets long and also nsfw warning- includes trans raiden, trans lao, and t4t railao)

i love love love trans raiden- i think lao brags about his everything for a reason and i think raiden knows that intimately- trans raiden whose always had a smaller chest and never felt the need to bind and just worked out to get his chest how he wanted it- raiden who has little to no shame about undressing around ppl bc he grew up in a small village and everyone knew and was fairly supportive :) lao who was ultra extra supportive and helped raiden since boyhood feel more comfortable with who he was and how he presented himself- hasldfkjasd they are so soft i love them

anyway- lao def also takes the strap when raiden feels like topping, and you bet lao makes that all about raiden- literally all the praise and affirmations for him as lao absolutely loses his mind as his boyfriend takes him apart like he gets paid to- raiden who had the biggest breeding kink and likes to get stuffed but also loves stuffing lao even more- they for sure have an ejaculating strap on just so raiden can make an absolute mess out of lao aslkdjfhasdf

trans lao had a lot more insecurities as a kid to me, wasnt necessarily afraid of telling ppl bc they would be hateful but was afraid bc he wanted to be only a man in their eyes- like he was scared they would see him differently than he really was- but raiden helped him with his self-confidence (a little too much, some might say-) and that's why lao talks big game- though often he can follow through, there's a limit to the things he's done and can be good at first try

trans lao who absolutely goads raiden into stuffing him full at every possible convenience- before training? why not- we got twenty minutes and an empty closet, no one's coming by here- it's almost five am and we have training in half an hour, that leaves them plenty of time to have raiden stuff him full and clean him up after- lao is so tempting and raiden falls for it every time, the poor man

lao also loves absolutely breaking raiden down with a strap on- whenever he has the energy to he teases raiden until he's fit to burst and then makes him wait while lao goes to grab everything they need- pillow princess raiden is so near and dear to my heart aasldfkjdf he deserves it :)

railao with one of them being trans is always fantastic but t4t railao really has my heart- t4t railao where both of them grew up and learned how to be themselves together, both kind of figuring it out and coming out at the same time, going through the awkward spots together and helping each other through it- asldkfhasdf them having that friends to lovers slow burn where it takes them like five years, three life crises, and almost the end of the world to realize that they love each other-

t4t railao where they both crave the closeness of the other so much so that it's maddening and they end up forgetting where one starts and the other ends-

any version of railao that knows where the other is in a room at all times, even blindfolded they could find each other in dead silence, i swear- railao with that soul tie bc they've spent so long together that they've become basically inseparable, literally a package deal, where one goes the other does too-

asdlfkjasdf i love railao so much i need to spend more time writing them- new year's resolution: write railao-

#ghost answers #ghosts hcs #putting it in that tag too bc this is basically full of hcs asldfkhasd #railao

[dameronology]

there’s so many good ones but i could please request 12 with eddie munson (with reader doing that to him)? ilysm

i love youuuu

eddie munson + "pushing a strand of hair behind their ear"

Eddie hated early mornings. He especially hated them in the winter.

He was burrowed beneath his sheets, pulling them tightly over his bare shoulders, head shoved into a pile of pillows. Easy enough for him, you thought. The lanky bastard had two-thirds of the bed to himself all night; he liked to sprawl out, leaving as little room for you as possible. He was curled up in a ball now in an attempt to shield himself from the cold.

"Ed," you murmured, giving him a shove. You were stood beside the bed in one of his hoodies and a pair of fluffy socks. "Eds. You have to get up."

"No," he simply replied. "It's cold. I don't like the cold."

"Eddie!" you exclaimed. "It's almost 7AM. You have class in an hour."

"Or," he raised his head, peeling one eye open under the morning sun. "How about this: no I don't."

"You have to attend to graduate, Edward," you reminded him. "Unless you want to do another year at Hawkins?"

"It's one day, babe," he grumbled. "One day out of 365."

You faked a smile. "Okay."

Thinking he was successful, Eddie rolled back over and let out a content little sigh. Clearly the guy didn't know about winning the battle but losing the war. Five seconds later, that sigh was changed out for a shriek of terror when he felt a glass of ice cold water over him.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

The thing about Eddie Munson was that he could be lightning fast when he wanted to be. Case in point? He flew straight from the mattress to where you were stood, large hands meeting your waist and pulling you down onto the cold, wet bed.

He had you pinned down, arms above your head, long hair tickling your face. His dark eyes were alert and awake now, having been brought around by your unpleasant awakening. You couldn't help but glance down at his bare chest and tattoos; they were all intricately designed, ink settled perfectly into porcelain skin. There was a moment of silence between you before a drop of cold water rolled from Eddie's face onto yours.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart," he said. "That was evil."

"It got you out of bed, didn't it?"

"No, it got us both back into bed."

You let out a soft laugh, reaching up a hand to brush a few strands of damp out his face. "Yeah, maybe it wasn't my brightest move."

"Unless," he began, slowly reaching down to press a soft kiss to your lips, "that was your motive all along."

"You've got me there."

#asks #kara tag #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things

[yippie-ki-yay]

Kissing Headcanons ; Main Four

Kind of a second part to my first post to make up for how short it was compared to what else I’ve posted. Looking back on it I feel a little bad for only writing five per character :’)

CW for slight suggestiveness!

[HANK] 

Kissing Hank might be a little hard considering his lack of a lower jaw. It’ll be messy but so long as you don’t mind he really couldn’t care less. 

If you don’t mind the mess, he may or may not try and stick his tongue down your throat. 

Again, his little biting habit comes into play here. Whether he manages to catch you off-guard or you both have been cuddled up for a while expect to leave his company with a few new bruises. 

It’s a 50/50 on whether he initiates or not. Hank doesn’t get too shy over things like that, he’ll do it if he damn well pleases (unless PDA bugs you, he’ll get the message eventually and try to tone it down!), but whe

If you make the first move though? Don’t expect to be leaving it there. 

While he’s not going to be as vocal about wanting affection, he has the advantage of likely being stronger than you. 

To put it simply, you won’t be going anywhere unless he lets you go. It’s even funnier because he’s not even being forceful about it. Hank kind of just…holds you and that’s it. Bye bye movement. 

You’re just going to have to sit there until he’s done or if you manage to squirm enough to get away. Good luck <3

[SANFORD]

Has a habit of just scooping you up and peppering your face in kisses. The face you make when he surprises you like that is too cute for him to pass up seeing. 

While it’s easy to get him to blush, it’s much harder to actually fluster him. He’ll probably figure it out and get to you first before you manage to succeed. 

It’s okay though, he finds your frustration just as cute. 

Despite his size, Sanford’s literally such a sweetheart. He’s super cuddly as well! Both of you have definitely been wrapped up on the couch before, watching some dumb movie with you giving him an occasional peck on the lips. 

He’s such a sucker for domestic moments you don’t even know-

Oddly likes it when you kiss along his tattoo! Like coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist and doing that is the fastest way to soften him up. 

He’s also very much the type to kiss your injuries better! Once you’ve been seen to and gotten all patched up, he’ll take his time going over every single one. Sometimes he’s silly about it, other times he takes a softer approach. Really he just wants you to feel better :(

If you do the same for him he’ll be over the fucking moon. Really, Sanford’s just a sucker for little gestures like that. 

[DEIMOS]

Deimos is kind of the spontaneous type. Would definitely pop up out of nowhere, give you a smooch, and then go about his business like nothing happened. You’d almost think that if it weren’t for the grin he was sporting.

Whines if you do the same, funnily enough. You literally won’t be able to get rid of him unless you give in to his (albeit cute) demands. 

Like I mentioned in the first post, Deimos’ incredibly easy to fluster and it goes double for something like this. Just sweet talk him a little, trail your lips along his jaw, and you’ll have a flustered, stammering merc wrapped around your finger. 

Not that he wasn’t to begin with, but still-

There are also times where things are a little softer between your two! Whether this happens after a nightmare or it’s a quiet moment you have post-mission, it’s something that sets off the ball of worry that has undoubtedly been building in you both. 

This is probably one of the few times that Deimos can bring himself to be vulnerable - both of you tangled up in each other, sharing little whispered affirmations and soft kisses. 

You both know how easy it is to lose someone nowadays, and even if there’s options for revival it isn’t guaranteed. It’s best to just enjoy the time you both have together. It might be the last, after all…

[2BDAMNED]

Most times he’ll begrudgingly accept kisses on the cheek, grateful that his bandages and mask cover the red that spreads across his face. 

For someone who comes off as serious as he does, 2B is surprisingly soft for affectionate acts like that. So long as you don’t overwhelm him and try and keep it to when it’s just the two of you, you’ll get to see a softer side of the team’s doctor. 

While he normally relies on you to initiate, normally being too stubborn to do it himself, there have been a couple occasions where he’s pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It’s normally when you both were winding down for the night and you ended up falling asleep before him. 

For the first few months (maybe even a little longer than that) you will not be kissing this man on the lips. It doesn’t really matter how much you ask him or try and convince him that it’s alright, in fact that might make it worse depending on just how persistent you are, it has to happen on his own terms. 

Despite his indifference and overall rough attitude, 2B’s more than a little self-conscious over his facial scars. Despite not causing him too much difficulty or pain, the scarring isn’t the ‘cool’ type (at least he doesn’t think so). It’s rigid and rough - not exactly something someone wants to put their lips close to. 

Please, once he lets you, prove him wrong. 

I’ll save the actual ‘how’ for a later drabble, but once you both finally get to that point? He might be open to doing it more often...

#madness combat #madness combat x reader #hank j. wimbleton #hank j wimbleton x reader #sanford #sanford x reader #deimos #deimos x reader #2bdamned #2bdamned x reader #cw suggestive

[threadsun]

Anonymous Asks: "What if on another escape attempt of MC's Jean gets fustrated enough to just sexually punish MC to make it clear that MC is his and only his."

ngl this went much more violent sadism than just sex, but that's also how Jean gets off the best so...

Content: noncon, mindbreaking, kidnapping, sadism, masochism, impact play, whipping, blood, broken bones, beating, object insertion, hole gaping/ruining, throatfucking, generally a lot of fucked up violence that Jean gets off to

You’re used to seeing people snap. Someone waits too long in a queue and shouts at the poor cashier just trying to do their job. Someone has a stressful day, makes a single misstep, and breaks down in tears. Someone gets tired of their partner’s lies and shouts at them in a crowded mall. You’re used to seeing people snap.

You’re not used to seeing Jean snap.

Calm, levelheaded, smugly-in-control Jean. He’s never snapped at you before. He’s hurt you. He’s kidnapped you and abused you. He’s even killed for you. But he’s never lost his cool. You’ve never seen this clenching of his fist, this twitching in his jaw, this wild anger in his eyes. You’ve never seen him lose his cool like this before.

“I give you food.” Jean’s voice is low, venomous as he stalks towards the corner of the basement he’s thrown you into. “I give you shelter. I give you love. I give you everything you could ever want. I buy you everything you ask for. I have done everything for you.”

You shrink back into the corner, the concrete cold against your back. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to go. You had your chance to escape five minutes ago, but you’d blown it. Jean had caught you and now… now he’s angrier than you’ve ever seen him. Now you’re regretting not playing along and being his lovely little plaything.

“So tell me, sweetheart.” He crouches in front of you, squishing your cheeks in a vice-like grip with one hand. “Why the fuck do you keep running?”

“I’m sor—”

You don’t see his hand. You only feel the harsh impact on your cheek, sending your head banging into the wall. Your vision spins for a moment, ears ringing as he grabs your face and looks you in the eyes once more. His lips move, but it’s a moment before you can hear him again.

“—hear another fucking word out of that stupid fucking mouth of yours, got it?”

You nod frantically.

“Good.” He grabs your arm, dragging you onto your hands and knees. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay exactly where I put you.”

You watch him stalk across the basement, tasting blood in your mouth. You think you can feel some dripping from your temple too, but it’s indistinguishable from your tears as they roll down your cheeks. He’s fucked you before, after escape attempts. But never down here. Never this angry.

He returns with a metal baseball bat slung over one shoulder and a thin switch hanging from his other hand. He seems almost… disappointed that you’d obeyed his command and stayed still. He drops the bat with a sigh, ignoring the way it clangs on the hard concrete floor. You want to look over your shoulder, to see what he’s going to do next. But you know it’s a bad idea.

His foot shifts, standing on your hand heavily as he lines himself up to hit your bare ass with the switch. You can hear your bones crunching under his heel, sharp pain shooting up your arm as you cry out in pain. He digs his heel in for a moment before taking the switch down, leaving a stinging stripe across your ass.

He’s brutal, merciless as he beats your ass and thighs until it stings. You can feel something running down your legs, and you can’t quite tell if it’s blood or if he’s fucked up your brain enough that this is turning you on. Either way, you can already imagine what a mess you must look, beaten raw by his harsh blows. His heel digs into your hand with every swing. The bones are beyond broken, and the small part of your brain that has detached itself from your punishment wonders if you’ll ever be able to use that hand again.

By the time he stops, Jean’s winded. You can hear the growl underlying every breath, and you know your punishment is far from over. His hands wrap around your biceps, hauling you up and dragging you to the middle of the basement. His nails dig into your skin and you can see the blood welling up around them as you cradle your broken hand to your chest.

“Ungrateful little bitch.” It’s the first words he’s spoken to you since he started. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing.

He falls silent once more, yanking your arms above your head and grabbing some chains hanging from the ceiling. You don’t have much time to wonder what else is down here. He roughly strings you up, arms wrenched painfully above your head and toes just barely scraping the ground. He disappears for a moment and you feel cold dread drip down your spine.

“I need to hear two words.” Jean walks back into view, a whip coiled tightly in his hands.

It takes you a moment to realise he’s waiting for you to speak. Two words. “I’m sorry.”

You try to make it sound as genuine as possible. Your voice croaks, hoarse from screaming. Your body aches and defeat weighs heavy on your shoulders. All you can do is stare him in the eyes and hope to god that he believes you. That he’ll take pity on you.

“Wrong choice.”

You don’t have time to process what that could possibly mean. He’s behind you again, and the whip is cracking through the air. There’s a moment—just a brief flicker of time—where you don’t feel anything at all. And then you’re in agony. Thrashing against the chains, screaming, sobbing. It feels like fire, rushing across your back where the whip fell.

“Useless. Fucking. Brat.” He spits out each word, punctuating them with more lashes from his whip. “I’ve given you everything. You could’ve wanted for nothing. And still you have to push push push. Maybe I should break your fucking legs. Maybe that’ll be enough to stop you from running.”

You’re definitely bleeding this time. There’s no other explanation for the warmth dripping down your back. Your vision is blurry with tears, your whole back feeling like it’s burning. You’d rather he just killed you and got it over with. You hope he’ll just kill you and get it over with.

You only realise he’s done with the whip when you hear him toss it aside. It skitters across the floor, and you hope desperately that this means it’s over. That he’ll feel he’s punished you enough. That he’ll look at the lashes marring your skin, the blood dripping down, and will take pity on you.

There’s a metallic ring. It’s hard to blink away enough tears to see, but finally Jean comes into view. He’s dragging the metal bat across the ground towards you. He looks… calmer than before, at least. But a stony calm. The kind that lets you know he won’t hesitate to hurt you.

“Two words.”

“I’m sorry! I said I’m sorry!”

The bat swings through the air, colliding with your stomach. You want to double over, to clutch your abdomen. But the chains hold you in the air and all you can do is bend your head. You’re winded, coughing as you try desperately to take in a gasp of air. If the lashes were like fire, this is like getting crushed by a fucking train.

“Wrong. Try again.”

Your brain scrambles for words, trying desperately to figure out what he wants you to say to him. “Yes sir.”

“Wrong.”

Another swing. You hear the crack as one of your ribs breaks. Evidently he hears it to, a cruel smile spreading across his face in satisfaction. The sadistic bastard. Your breaths come in a wheeze, and you find yourself coughing again. You don’t know how many swings you can take.

“Try again.”

“Please stop!” It comes out in a choked sob.

“Wrong. Try again.”

Another swing to your stomach that leaves you coughing up blood.

“No more!”

“Wrong. Are you even trying?” Another swing.

Your brain scrambles for what he might want to hear, grasping for anything you could possibly say to stop him from hitting you again. “Harder, daddy!”

“Wrong.” Another swing, harder this time.

“Fuck you!”

“Wrong. Stupid cunt.”

He doesn’t give you another chance. Swing after swing, until you can feel the bruises on your stomach. Until you’re coughing up blood and choking for air. Until the chains rattle with your desperate attempts to escape. You’re willing to break your wrists to slip out if it means ending this torture.

“One last try.” Jean takes a few deep breaths, leaning on the bat and staring at you with wild eyes. “Two words.”

You take a moment to steady yourself, desperate to block out the pain and focus. Maybe if you look into his eyes long enough… maybe you’ll see what he wants you to say. Or maybe you’re delirious from pain. It’s hard to tell at this point, with his hard eyes boring into you.

Oh.

Oh.

“I’m yours.”

The words come out with surprising ease. It feels like a weight has lifted from your chest. You’re not sure why you ever tried to fight it. Why you pushed him so far when this was all he wanted from you. You can see it in his eyes, all he wants is you. Why had you denied him that for so long?

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it sweetheart?”

Jean’s anger melts away, eyes softening as he watches you hang before him. He picks up the bat and approaches you. It takes all your effort not to flinch away when his hands reach between your legs to cup you. The whimper you let out is equal parts pain and arousal. He’s really fucked you up, hasn’t he?

“Oh sweetheart,” he sighs, pressing a soft kiss to your bruised stomach. “I promised myself I would only do this if you got it wrong again, but… you’re so needy~”

He steps away, leaving you hanging there, wondering what new torture he’s going to force on you. There’s the sound of a bottle. A wet sound. It sounds like he’s slicking his cock up to fuck you. The thought makes you shudder, legs spreading ever so slightly at the thought of him fucking you from behind while you hang here.

It’s not his cock that presses against your hole, cold and hard. You only really have the energy to whimper, a few tears slipping down your cheeks as you feel the baseball bat pressing against you. You don’t doubt for a moment what he’s going to do with it. And you don’t doubt for a moment that he’ll enjoy every second of it.

His arm hooks around your hips, holding you still as he works the cold metal bat into you. Your hands grip the chains above you, screams torn from your throat as he violates you with the bat. Your hole stretches beyond its limits with no preparation. Your body aches. You feel like you’re being split in half, torn down the middle. It pushes at your insides in a way that makes your stomach twist.

Jean’s hands are calm, constant, placing pressure on you and the end of the bat to urge more and more of it into you. Once he finally, mercifully decides you’ve reached your limit, he begins to fuck you with it. Cruel, bruising thrusts. You can hear him moan as he watches your hole stretch around the thick bat. You feel dizzy, nauseous, like you might pass out at any moment.

With a final, rough pull, your hole is left empty. Gaping and twitching. He reaches up and releases the chains around your wrists, letting you fall into the puddle of blood you’ve dripped onto the floor beneath you. It’s over. It’s finally over. You’ve paid the price for trying to run.

“If this falls out of you before I cum, we’ll start this all over again.” Jean’s voice is thick with lust as he pushes the handle of the bat inside of you.

It’s not over. You clench around the handle as best as you can, hoping your hole is tight enough to keep the wide base from slipping out of you. He pulls you up by your hair, thumb brushing some blood from the corner of your mouth. His cock is hard as it presses against your cheek. You open your mouth.

“Look at all this blood, sweetheart…” Jean sighs adoringly, pushing his cock into your mouth. “Should make it easier for you to take me all the way~”

You’re finally back in familiar territory, Jean’s cock thrusting in and out of your throat at a brutal pace. You can feel the blood bubbling up in your throat around his cock, spilling out from the corners of your lips every time he pulls out. You have no time to breathe. No time to adjust to the brutal facefucking. But you’re used to this. You’re used to the way he grips your hair and pounds into the back of your throat like you’re nothing more than a fleshlight.

“Fuck, sweetheart… I should make you bleed like this more often…”

It’s a mess of blood and drool and tears as he fucks your throat. You desperately keep your muscles tensed, trying to remember not to let the bat slip out of you. There’s so much to focus on, the pain seeping through your body is the last thing on your mind. All you care about is making Jean cum as quickly as you can.

Thankfully, he’s a sadist. The sight of you gagging on his cock, bruised and bloody and on your knees for him, is more than enough to get him off. He holds your head down and cums with a roughly growled command not to swallow. You obey, vision going fuzzy as you hold your breath. Finally he pulls away, fingers pulling your mouth open to look at the mix of blood and cum inside.

“Go on, swallow.”

You swallow it down, shuddering at the salty, bitter, iron taste. It’s so much, all at once. But it’s over. You can feel your body pushing out the bat. You can hear the lewd, wet sound as it leaves your ruined hole. It clangs to the ground behind you, and your body gives out, collapsing alongside it. The last thing you hear before you black out from the pain is Jean’s voice.

“Never try to leave me again.”

#swwsdj #something's wrong with sunny day jack #sdj jean #jean laurent x reader #gn!reader #18+ only #sunshine #dark side of the sun