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hansolmates · 4 years

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a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world.

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat.

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family.

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other.

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her.

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble.

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju.

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.”

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well.

Maybe a little too well.

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves.

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow.

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?”

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?”

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?”

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo.

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast.

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap.

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words:

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.”

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night.

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice.

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real.

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length.

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life.

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.”

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset.

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.”

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.”

“Understandable.”

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love.

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style.

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out.

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep.

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day.

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe.

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom.

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today.

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.”

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—”

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up.

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook.

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better.

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back.

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back.

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal.

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.”

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel.

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire.

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle.

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo.

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.”

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already.

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.”

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.”

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?”

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.”

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway.

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.”

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.”

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.”

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.”

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?”

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.”

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.”

“Uh, this is my apartment.”

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open.

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect.

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse.

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?”

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.”

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?”

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you.

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.”

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook.

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?”

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you.

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out.

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.”

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776.

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted.

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is.

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge.

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships.

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar.

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red.

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten.

“You’re running away.”

“Am not.”

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft.

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder.

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.”

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath.

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.”

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.”

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?”

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.”

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple.

“You miss her?”

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

“Did you talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix.

“And are you trying to get over him?”

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.”

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.”

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.”

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special?

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?”

“What?”

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.”

“But it works!”

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.”

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.”

“Bumble.”

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help."

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are.

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun.

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.”

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.”

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world.

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours.

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt.

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid.

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all.

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on.

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck.

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room.

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear.

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.”

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo.

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table.

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that.

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination.

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.”

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.”

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question.

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes.

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.”

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.”

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm.

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college.

Or are you?

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine.

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie.

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in.

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out.

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?”

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.”

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids.

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat.

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.”

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“What? I can pay for my own food—”

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?”

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer.

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi.

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you.

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint.

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation.

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse.

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?”

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!”

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger.

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once.

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps.

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it.

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck.

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.”

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab.

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers.

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?”

“Since you asked so politely, no.”

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters.

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly.

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly.

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late.

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.”

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.”

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen.

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case.

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.”

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen.

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you.

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.”

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.”

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?”

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room.

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry.

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes.

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper.

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile.

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow.

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom.

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now.

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists.

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine.

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?”

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.”

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey.

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?”

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide.

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?”

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out.

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.”

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?”

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.”

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble.

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?”

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine.

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?”

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare.

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.”

“No—”

“Hand.”

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.”

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back.

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.”

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?”

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?”

“Pizza also sounds good—”

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you.

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.”

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.”

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four.

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.”

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones.

“Do I want to know?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.”

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk.

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—”

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!”

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table.

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?”

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment.

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.”

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor.

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?”

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.”

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener.

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message.

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle?

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean?

You: ohmyGOD

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.”

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.”

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.”

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her.

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning.

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.”

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue.

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.”

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late.

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not.

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.”

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—”

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—”

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.”

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.”

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you.

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace.

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon.

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly.

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough?

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets.

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far.

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things.

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled.

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship.

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.”

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night.

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring.

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob.

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.”

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel.

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in.

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it.

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home.

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think.

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open.

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again?

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.”

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?”

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope.

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?”

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding.

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.”

“Only recently,” you frown.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ”

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.”

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?”

“Because I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.”

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!”

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.”

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.”

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—”

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!”

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth.

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow.

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view.

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.”

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?”

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.”

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.”

Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them?

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.”

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins.

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree.

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms.

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not.

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.”

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep.

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall.

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan.

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers.

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?”

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?”

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.”

“But you still love him?”

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered.

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?”

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.”

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?”

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.”

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.”

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides.

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.”

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper.

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between.

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you.

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.”

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.”

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.”

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now.

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries.

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame.

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.”

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter.

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late.

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup.

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?”

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.”

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.”

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?”

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.”

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.”

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday.

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories.

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle.

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story.

“What’cha got there, partner?”

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you.

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?”

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other.

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.”

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.”

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste.

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent.

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.”

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.”

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle.

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.”

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter.

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college.

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.”

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?”

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.”

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.”

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.”

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing.

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently.

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level.

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him.

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM.

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him.

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war.

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser.

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend.

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window.

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave.

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would.

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.”

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.”

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.”

“Huh?”

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?”

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—”

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.”

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list.

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time.

“—coming along?”

“Wha?”

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?”

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—”

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader. “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.”

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex.

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands.

“Mean by what?”

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.”

“Well, we’re here now, right?”

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats.

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present.

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream.

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another.

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook.

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook.

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend.

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward.

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance.

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet.

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.”

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.”

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.”

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine.

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread.

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth.

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?”

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout.

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.”

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.”

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy.

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.”

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease.

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases.

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past.

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal.

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.”

“I wish you did, too.”

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away.

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side.

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be.

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style.

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries.

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.”

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?”

“Jungkook…”

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!”

“Jungkook—”

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing.

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh.

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish.

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face.

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.”

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.”

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.”

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air.

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.”

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.”

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace.

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.”

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard.

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer.

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.”

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin.

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.”

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage.

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.”

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his.

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking.

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies.

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length.

“Yeah?”

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.”

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.”

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.

“Please, baby.”

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.”

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?”

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy.

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?”

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,”

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey.

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture.

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.”

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more.

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.”

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain.

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!”

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.”

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence.

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits.

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—”

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies.

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—”

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.”

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather.

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other.

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted.

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot.

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?”

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully.

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.”

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt.

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.”

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully.

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom.

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight.

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!”

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!”

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat.

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?”

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.”

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting.

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.”

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?”

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?”

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.”

“Then the hotel room?”

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position.

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?”

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.”

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!”

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants.

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together.

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…”

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love.

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take.

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone.

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.”

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.”

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.”

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.”

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?”

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.”

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.”

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted?

“You know I love you, right?”

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?”

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.”

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.”

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #gcn23 #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #jungkook fic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fic #bts smut #a big weight is off my shoulders

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capesandshapes · 3 years

Text

All You Had to Do Was Stay (Post Reveal/ Pre Relationship) (3/4)

Summary:

Three years ago, Marinette revealed her identity to him. Three years ago, he promised to wait in a hotel room for her. Three years ago, she opened the door to find it empty.

Now she's expected to play nice with him, since she's the maid of honor and he's unfortunately the best man. But old habits die hard, and old feelings die harder.

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette."

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

It was going well.

Or, at least as well as a combination Bachelor and Bachelorette party planned entirely via awkward emails could go.

Which could be attributed solely to her and her thousands of schedules and planners, along with the fact that she checked the weather almost religiously and the tide predictions. Adrien just bankrolled most of the thing, which worked well enough seeing as he was the head of a multi-billion-dollar fashion house and she was an up-and-coming designer with an Etsy shop focusing on affordable fashion for normal people. Sure, he insisted on a few things, such as not using the Couffaine’s houseboat (He’d actually tried to argue against a boat entirely) or serving shots with Kim and Alix finally reuniting at this party—But most of it could be attributed to her.

She was pretty sure that was him trying to please her, to play nice after that disastrous night outside the bakery. He was avoiding her as much as possible, and any time he was faced with her he resolved the tension by agreeing to her as much as possible.

He was capable of learning, she supposed.

Marinette stood to the side of the bar as the boat they road on bobbed upwards and downwards, a hand braced on the counter and a glass of water that had she poured into a wineglass in the other. She hadn’t admitted to anyone, but she had a habit of getting seasick. The dim lighting of the fairy lights twinkling overhead combined with the loud pounding of music did a good job of hiding that.

She gave a small, weak smile as she looked out to her friends on the dance floor, some of them being people who she hadn’t seen for far longer than Adrien. Kim and Alix were locked in an exaggerated slow dance that had the two cackling, Juleka and Rose had stolen away to a corner, and Sabrina was excitedly explaining her business as a personal assistant to anyone who would listen. It’d been a long time since she’d seen them all, and it made her sentimental. She rarely saw anyone outside of Alya and Nino now.

“Makes you nostalgic, huh?” A deep, familiar voice asked her, obviously having slid in beside her at the bar at some point.

The side of her mouth tugged harder, and that nauseous feeling in her stomach momentarily left her. She let her blue eyes drift over, practically beaming as she took him in. “Luka Couffaine,” she said. A part of her wondered if he would come.

His long, shaggy blue hair and sharp eyes were now the highlight of the evening. Or almost the highlight. “Marinette,” he said, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Oh yes,” Marinette agreed, “it’s shocking for the maid of honor to be at the Bachelorette party.”

“Well, when she’s got a problem with the best man,” Luka began.

Marinette shot him a look. “Be quiet, someone could hear you.”

“I think everyone would have to be blind not to know,” Luka said, leaning against the bar beside her. She knew where he was looking, who he was watching. Yet, despite that, he said, “a part of me always hoped it would be us out there. Doing all of this.”

Her smile fell. “But you’re happy now?”

“Immensely,” he confirmed, and one look at his face reaffirmed that. He was still watching, still taking it all in. If her eyes traveled to the same place, she could do it too. She could look at Adrien Agreste and wonder how everything got so utterly awful. “I knew it wouldn’t be us, Marinette. We weren’t those type of people.”

“The type of people to get married?”

“The type of people to fit together without any gaps,” he explained. “No room for concern, no regrets.”

She sighed. There was more to it, of course. There was so much more to everything, like the fact that she could never do it, never give herself completely to Luka. She was always waiting, lingering in hallways at the slightest flash of the right shade of blond, and hearing familiar laughter in the silence.

She loved Luka, but she was always wanting. She needed Chat, she needed Adrien, she needed whatever form of him he would give her—

“You still love him, don’t you?” Luka asked. It was a stupid question. She’d seen Adrien six times since he came back, and half of those moments were in passing. Any rational person would say no, only crazy romantics would say yes.

So, she stayed silent.

“I want you to be happy,” Luka said finally, and it was a bucket of cold water poured on her. A reminder of reality, of where she was now, and a rush of that seasickness back to her gut. But when he said it, there was that hint of leftover desire, that underlying subtext that there was a hole in his heart, and it would always be there for her.

And the cold understanding that she never made a groove in her heart for him.

She turned to look at him, only to find him gone.

And with that came sickness.

Awful, churning sickness. A vile wave of nausea that assaulted her stomach. The boat lurched, and with it, so did she.

My god, she was going to die.

Marinette Dupain Cheng, beloved daughter and friend. Died of seasickness because of her own poor choices while planning a party to celebrate her friends’ upcoming wedding.

She threw her head back with another large wave, her eyes watering as she fought the overwhelming urge to die. Lila Rossi was at the party, slithering onto the guest list with a perfectly timed apology to Alya about an awful Instagram post. If Marinette turned any greener she was sure she’d be on Rossi’s snapchat story, paired with a caption questioning why exactly the poor girl was so sick. Another pregnancy rumor.

She grimaced at the thought and nearly fell to her knees as another wave jostled her. Luckily, a hand caught her before she could fall, the warmth of a thick blazer spread across her shoulders and distracted her momentarily.

“And this,” said a voice as she was hauled back onto her feet, “is why I argued against the boat.”

She turned both quickly and unsteadily, catching a mixture of blond and green before, unfortunately, practically falling against it.

She could have done worse.

She could have done much worse.

Such as vomiting on his Burberry jacket or ruining his Chanel shoes.

Adrien’s arms caught her easily, hooking underneath her armpits and hauling her upwards once more. “I’d make a joke about you falling for me, but all things considered… I’d say you’re sick of me.”

Badum tss.

Marinette groaned, resting her forehead against his chest only because it was the main thing keeping the rest of the world from overwhelming her. “Were your jokes always this stupid?”

“Things seem a lot funnier when you’re madly in love,” he said, and she made sure to fire back a glare in response. “That’s good,” he said with an air of authority when she looked at him, “eyes on me, focus on the conversation instead of the waves.”

“Can I have a different conversation partner?” she fired back.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her as he kept a hand braced on her back, the other braced on her shoulder to keep her upright. “Do you want someone else to know you’re sick?” He asked, “because I guarantee Alya and Nino will hear.”

Ugh.

“We’re going to get you inside,” Adrien decided, evidently having spotted a door back into the cabin.

“And then?” She asked, she didn’t see how that would help.

“And then I’ll stay by you in case it all goes south, and you can play YouTube videos on my phone to distract you for another hour or two until Alya goes looking for you. Then you’ll take some selfies, come back, and we’ll wash, rinse, and repeat.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “I don’t trust you to stay anywhere, Agreste.”

He flinched. “Okay, fair, but… I’m your only option here so,” he tilted his head at her, looking down as he withdrew his hand from her waist only to offer it to her again. “Either you take my hand and we go, or I leave you here at the mercy of the Seine, which seems to be in quite the mood today.”

He had a point.

“Fine,” she said, slapping her hand into his. “I’ll sit next to you, but I will not talk to you. Don’t expect a miraculous turn around.”

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

“I hope you know that nearly every YouTube recommendation of yours being highlight reels of Ladybug and Chat Noir is not endearing,” Marinette informed Adrien, “it makes you look self-obsessed.”

“It’s not every YouTube recommendation,” Adrien scoffed, moving beside her to point at his screen. “See? Anime.”

“Top ten anime waifus?” Marinette read out, shooting him a look.

“You know that’s not what it says,” he responded, yet she couldn’t help but note the way that he took a second look as if making sure.

They were on the ground in the cabin of the boat, nearest the hallway where the kitchens and bathroom were. Adrien was the one to declare that the safest, a place where she could get water if needed, and if worse came…

“When will this finally pass,” Marinette asked yet again as she let herself fall onto her back, she’d repeated the question with every single video finished, but her impatience continued to grow.

And he repeated the same answer, “in four hours when the boat finally docks and we end up on dry land.”

Four hours.

“You were never good in the water,” he said, “and this is coming from the guy dressed like a cat.”

She glared, slapping his thigh. “When this boat lands, the truce ends.”

His smile faltered at that, and he let himself sink down onto the ground beside her, his eyes trained towards the ceiling.

This had a time limit; all of this had a time limit. Even she had almost forgotten that. Because eventually the wedding would end, eventually there would be no more forced interactions, eventually he would go home. Eventually she would go back to her life and wonder the same damn question.

“Why weren’t you there that night?” There was no gracefulness to how it was presented, it merely clattered from her like a knife falling from a kitchen table. It was heavy and loaded, the kind of question that you swallowed down every time you saw someone, not the type that you lobbed out when you were laying side by side and wishing it had been like this so many other times.

She could feel his eyes on her.

“I…” he began, but whatever he meant to say was a false start. He swallowed the letter and tried again. “I don’t…” Know? Care? Want to talk about this?

Why did she care anymore?

What would it change?

Nothing.

“I was scared,” he said finally.

“Okay,” she said.

And that was that. That should have been that. That should have been her hint, her great sign.

“Why?”

And with that single word he rose to his forearms, looking over at her. He was in her field of vision, where she couldn’t ignore him. A hint of pink graced the edge of his green eyes, but his lips were set in an almost determined look, and she wondered if he would stumble over his words again.

“My father was just arrested for being Hawk Moth, my mother was found in my basement, I lost the only home I ever knew to police investigations, and suddenly guardians were at my door asking for Plagg—all in one day. Choose a reason, Marinette.” It wasn’t vile, it wasn’t angry, it wasn’t even cold. She didn’t know how to describe it.

“You disappeared.”

“I couldn’t stand to be in Paris any longer.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“What would I say?!” He replied, his voice loud, far louder than he obviously intended. He flinched as it echoed through the air, and suddenly she was all knives and anger.

“Hello Marinette,” she responded, “or should I say Ladybug, the girl I’ve claimed to be in love with for six years! It’s been great, a fun time and all, but man am I tired—see you in three years without a single message! Good luck wondering if it’s because of you, if you being the girl behind the mask is what changed it all, even though the only difference was one scrap of red fabric!” She glared, sitting up, “Miss. You.”

“You think that’s how it was?” He began, his eyebrows narrowed as he raised from his arms, his eyes staring holes into hers. “I told you…”

“You’d love whoever was behind the mask,” she finished, pushing off of the ground. “But let’s be honest here—Not Lila, not Chloe, and not me. Never me.” She stumbled to her feet, gripping the wall as she finally stood. “I told you who I was, and you were terrified! I saw it, I knew! I should have known why—"

“Because you’re you, because you’re Marinette, because you’re--” he was scrambling to his feet, scrambling to keep her there, scrambling to make some sort of sense.

“Because I’m Marinette?” She repeated, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to hear the mistake. To know that she was right, that this was all some stupid curse put upon her by a universe that would thankfully, in a month’s time, solve the situation.

“That’s not—Jesus Christ, I—”

He didn’t need to say more.

She began to walk away, to risk the treacherous river waves. Anything was better than this, anyone was better than him—

“Because you’re perfect,” he called before she could even begin to walk out that stupid door, and every cell in her body stopped moving. “Because you’re pretty and you’re kind. Because you have a perfect family and everyone loves you, Nino loves you, Alya loves you, I—” He thought better of saying whatever came next there. “Because you were going to be a fashion designer, and the best one anyone’s ever seen. Because you try to be good to everyone you meet. Because at the end of the day you’ll always be good, too good for me, and I’m…”

“You’re,” she was surprised that she asked it, that she could process anything.

And there was a pause, a long, heavy one. One where anything, any combination of words could go wrong.

“Because people would see you walking beside me, and you would still be good, and you would still be kind and you would still be gentle; but they’d see none of that. Because they’d look over and see me. They’d see what my father made and what my father ruined.” Quietly, he confessed, “you would be perfect and none of that would matter, because they’d look over and see Hawkmoth’s son.”

#adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #my fanfic #inspired by those two times capesandshapes went to prom and got super seasick on a river boat with nowhere to run #post reveal #pre relationship

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asthmark · 4 years

Text

❝ let’s dance ❞ s.jh

synopsis → “i’m gonna marry you.”

request → “How about Johnny fluff partying time and the concept theme is the 80s” — @heart-bleeding-autism-angel

word count → 2.5k

a/n → the amount of googling i did for this is scary .. and i still know literally nothing abt the 80’s LOL anyway the title is my fav david bowie song that happened to be released in ‘83 and it kind of fits the the fic so,,, cool :-)

the moonlight shines through your window, casting it’s heavenly glow on your face. despite the late hour, it illuminates your entire room enough that you can read the time off the clock hanging on your wall.

11:55 p.m.

if they decide to be on time, your friends should be arriving in five minutes.

you retreat from your windowsill to prepare yourself. you stop in front of your closet, staring at the array of clothing. it takes you a couple moments to pick something you liked. you, of course, wanted to impress johnny, the self proclaimed fashion evaluator, but there was no better feeling than knowing you looked good.

you settle on a cozy turtleneck and your favorite mini skirt. then you pull on a pair of tube socks and slip on your prized white sneakers. for the final touch, you slide on a thin buckle belt through the loops of your skirt to tie it all together.

you smile satisfactorily at your reflection in the mirror and what was sure to be your best outfit yet. besides being well-put together, it felt comfortable enough to move around in and you knew you would surely be doing much moving that night.

once the clock strikes midnight, you notice light flash into your room. since it’s brighter than that of the moon, you know exactly who must be behind it. even if you didn’t, the hushed chatter and giggling from outside your window gives it away. you peer down into your backyard to find sicheng and jaehyun standing there, flashlights in hand and aimed directly into your bedroom.

you hastily wave your hands at them, your face twisted with worry. they wave back at you with goofy smiles on their faces, oblivious to your concern.

“cut the lights!” you hiss as silently as you can.

they finally seem to get the hint and click them off. jaehyun shouts back, “sorry!” accompanied by a laugh sicheng has failed to contain. you wince at their volume. there was no keeping them quiet so you decide your only option is to move as fast as you possibly can.

you carefully push one leg out of your window. it dangles above the roof of the front porch and you slowly lower it onto the tile. once you’ve successfully planted half of yourself on the roof, you bring your other leg down. this action is followed by a slight creek but you don’t even bother hesitating. you crouch down to the edge of the house and repeat the previous steps, this time landing on the front steps of your porch.

“that was smooth!” jaehyun exclaims in awe.

you bring a finger to your lips but still can’t help but smile at the praise.

“you’re like a ninja,” adds sicheng. “or a cat.” he pauses, deep in thought, before concluding, “you’re a ninja cat.”

you raise a brow. “you’ve both been drinking, haven't you?”

“no.”

“yes.”

“i’m gonna have to believe jae on this one,” you say, observing the way sicheng’s eyelids droop and he slurs his words. “you couldn’t have waited ‘til we got to the club?”

he whines like a child. “i was thirsty!”

you clamp your hand over his mouth and scold him. “why do you feel the need to be so loud? do you want me to get caught?”

jaehyun hiccups. “aren’t you glad i’m an introvert? i’ll never get you in trouble.”

you laugh dryly. “sure, you’re all introverted until you find some random chick to grind on.”

he pouts. “let me have fun.”

“it’s fun until you spill your drink on her and i have to help clean—oh come on, sicheng, did you just lick me?” you remove your hand from his mouth only to find a big smile on his lips.

“perhaps.”

“god, let’s just go. where’s johnny parked?”

“end of the street.”

you go in said direction with your two friends trailing behind you, messing around all the while. the three of you only stop when you catch sight of johnny’s shiny black convertible. you approach the vehicle and when he notices you, he smiles and shoots you a wink.

“you’re such a flirt,” you comment, opening the door to the passenger's seat.

he shrugs. “but you still fell in love with me so i’d say it’s worked out pretty well up until this point.”

you’re about to respond when jaehyun interrupts. “hey, i wanted to ride shotgun!”

“me too!” agrees sicheng. “y/n always gets it!”

johnny glares at the pair through the rear view mirror. “and that’s how i like it so get in the backseat or you’re walking.”

they mumble what you assume are complaints yet still get in the car.

johnny revs up the engine but before you go anywhere he makes an announcement. “and if either of you are going to vomit again, all i ask is that you don’t do it in here. my dad just bought me this bad boy.”

a chuckle escapes your lips.

“what are you laughing about over there?”

you lean back against the headrest, smile still present. “we literally have two kids.”

“basically. but hey, there’s no one else i’d rather babysit two grown men with than you.”

“stop, i’m blushing,” you deadpan.

johnny’s shoulders shake with laughter at your sarcasm. “seriously, though! you really know how to take care of someone. one day, if i’m lucky enough, i’ll be able to see that up close.”

you know exactly what he means by that last statement—he was thinking of a future with you. the last thing you want to do is burst his bubble but you knew how your parents felt about your relationship. they thought you could do better than ‘some football player from your school’. they had friends with young, stuck up sons who, according to them, were more fit for you. despite being told countless times how happy johnny made you, they paid you no mind.

you nod, sincerely. “i hope so.”

he places his hand on your thigh, rubbing reassuring circles into your skin. you stay like that for the entire drive.

once you finally reach your destination, you leave all doubt and anxiety surrounding your relationship with johnny in the car along with any other negativity. the flashing lights and loud music you could hear even from outside the club excites you and you’re left with no choice but to discard all of your worries. you never got tired of seeing the glowing, neon sign letting you know that you had arrived at the hottest hang out spot there was—the neo zone.

as soon as you step inside, sicheng’s face contorts in displeasure. “i’m, uh, going to the bathroom.” he carelessly pushes past strangers, clutching his stomach.

you notice jaehyun has disappeared as well. before you can ask, you spot him on the dance floor, inserting himself in some line dance he obviously isn’t familiar with. his limbs move awkwardly and completely out of sync with the rest of the group. he recieves multiple strange looks and you can’t help but cringe.

“where did we go wrong with them?”

johnny’s laugh can hardly be heard over the booming bass of a song. “couldn’t tell you that, sugar. let’s just hope the next ones come out better.”

there he goes again, talking about your oh-so-promising future. you were still unsure if you would be able to grant johnny the picture perfect life he constantly spoke about. whenever he referenced it, you felt slightly guilty.

instead of acknowledging his comment, you glance around, looking anywhere but him. “want to get a drink?”

he simply nods, placing his hand in the small of your back as you weave your way through the crowd to the bar.

he leans on the counter and orders, “one long island iced tea, please.”

“you know my order?” you ask, pleasantly surprised.

“sweetheart, you get it everytime we come here. and that’s often.”

you still beam at him. “it’s still nice. you know, that you notice those things.”

“everything about you is worth noticing. besides, what kind of boyfriend would i be if i didn’t?”

you press a quick kiss to his cheek to show him how grateful you are.

“you really have to work on your aim because you completely missed your target that time.” he teasingly taps his lips.

you roll your eyes with a giggle. “never satisfied, are you, suh?”

“you owe me, just sayin’.”

“oh yeah?”

“totally! i let you sit shotgun!”

“i was the only thing standing in the way of sicheng throwing up all over your dashboard, you should be thanking me!”

johnny presses a kiss to your lips. it’s so unexpected yet enjoyable that you can’t stop your eyes from fluttering shut in bliss. he only pulls away to take a breath of air.

he licks his lips. “how was that?”

you brush imaginary dust off your skirt. “probably the best ‘thank you’ i’ve ever received.”

“says you. i can't get enough of those lips of yours.”

you fiddle with your belt. “nobody's stopping you from getting your fill.”

“you’re going to be the death of me, young lady.”

seconds later, the bartender slides you your drink. “here’s your drink, young lady.” he gives johnny a knowing smile and not-so-subtle thumbs up. “what a pretty little thing you got there.”

you know his words aren’t meant for your ears so you avert your eyes and take small sips of your drink.

“thank you, sir. i couldn’t agree more.”

“you know, me and my wife met in this club. just like you two.”

“we’ve actually known each other for a couple years.”

the man’s eyes widen in surprise. “well, look at you. already ahead of the game. you love her?”

johnny doesn’t hesitate to nod. “very much. the only issue is her folks don’t seem to be too crazy about me. they have a long list of suitors, myself excluded.”

you frown and trace the rim of your glass. that never got any easier for you to hear.

the man nods, understandingly. “i see. well, in that case, you might have to wait. you said you love her and until you get to be together—which you will—keep loving her. that’ll make the time you spend waiting go by like this.” he snaps his fingers to prove his point.

johnny nods, a genuine smile appearing on his face. “i appreciate the advice. thank you.”

the bartender gives him a curt nod and goes back to tending to the other demanding customers.

before johnny gets a chance to say anything, you ask, “do you wanna dance with me?”

his grin widens. “always.”

you take his hand in yours and lead him to the dance floor. it’s full, as always, multiple bodies pressed up against each other. you waste no time joining in.

your hands end up on his broad shoulders, fingers toying with the hair on the nape of his neck and his grip ends up on your hips. the songs played at club neo zone always had a strong bass and energetic vibe so you both match that rhythm, moving to the intense heartbeat of the music. you gaze up at johnny, admiring his good looks even under the glow of the disco lights that colored him shades of bright pink, blue and green.

“what are you looking at, pretty girl?”

“just your face. i like it.”

he hums. “mm, i’m glad. i do too.”

“like my face?”

“no, mine.”

you shove his shoulder, playfully.

he chuckles. “you know i’m joking. you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.”

you suddenly find your shoes to be very interesting and stare down at them, smiling sheepishly.

“c’mon, don’t get all shy on me now.”

you giggle. “quit it.”

he glides his hands up and down your sides. “i’m serious, darling. it must’ve taken all my luck to get you.”

“i could say the same thing. there’s no one i’d rather be with than you, john.”

his dimples appear at the compliment and he goes in for a bear-like hug. he cradles your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head as both you sway.

“i’m gonna marry you.”

you’re not sure what about this statement catches you most off guard. maybe it’s the way that there’s no teasing tone in his voice or perhaps the fact that he has decided to say this in the middle of the dance floor, of all places.

you catch your lower lip in between your teeth. “i’m sorry we have to wait.”

“i’ll wait forever, babygirl, if that’s what it takes. and so what if your parents don’t want that. if one day you’ll let me wake up next to you and have a family with you, i’ll be happy.”

you feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach at his sweet words. “i can't wait.”

with the hope of a future together, you and johnny happily dance the rest of the night away. once the party dies down and the crowd shrinks with every song that passes, your bodies are left sweaty and tired. you agree it’s time to go home.

you spot jaehyun in the back of the club and it takes a lot of effort to drag him off his latest girl interest. he blows her kisses as you yank him away, promising her a phone call in the morning. you’re pretty sure he’s lying.

sicheng is found passed out in the restroom, snoring heavily.

“has he been here this whole time?” you ask with a grunt as you attempt to hoist him up.

johnny shrugs as he helps you lift. “i find it's better to not ask questions.”

you nod in agreement. “fair.”

the car ride is silent mostly thanks to sicheng being knocked out. jaehyun sits quietly as well, staring out the window. johnny decides to drop them off first. you stop in front of the jung residence. as you watch the brunette struggle to open the door with one hand and hold sicheng’s unconscious figure in the other, you can’t help but wonder, “is it really a good idea to leave him with jae? i mean, that’s like telling a toddler to look after an infant.”

“if i left him at his house i’m pretty sure his old man would ground him for the rest of his life. jae’s folks are always out of town.”

with that reassurance, you drive off, your next destination being your house. johnny parks exactly where he did at the beginning of the night, just to be safe.

he rests his hands on the steering wheel. “want me to walk you?”

you shake your head. “that’s alright. if i get caught, i’d rather it not be with you. i’d never hear the end of it.”

“yeah, i get it. one day, though, we won’t have to worry about it.” as if to promise you his words are true, he hands you his letterman jacket. it was his prized possession and he was never seen without it. “here, take this. wear it when i can't be with you.”

you nod, clutching the clothing item close to your chest. “i will.”

he leans over as far as his seatbelt allows him to give you the last kiss of the night. it ends too fast for the both of you. you exit his car and walk down the sidewalk towards your house.

johnny watches you through his rear view mirror and smiles to himself when he catches you pull on his jacket.

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smutbymia · 5 years

Text

rule breaker (haechan bratty sub au)

WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT 18+ (no protection mentioned, sexual content)

Word Count: 6.4k 😯

Themes: femdom, friendship, fwb, switch, sub/dom themes, edging, replacement of the title Mistress with Princess*

Pairing: Haechan/Lee Dong-hyuck x Female Reader (ft. appearances from mark lee)

PLOT: Dong-hyuck, the hyperactive and silly class clown isn’t used to following directions -- inside or outside of the bedroom. After his friend (Y/N) goes through a sudden breakup, and the discovery of a pair of handcuffs leads him to the reasoning why, he finds himself in an interesting position. He may be in for more than he expects when she offers to show him just what it was that her ex couldn’t handle.

PS: Requests are open for fics and short blurbs

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You absentmindedly doodled in your notebook as your teacher taught the last lesson of the day. Graduation was quickly approaching and it was clear that most other students, yourself included, had mentally checked out.

The sun poured through the massive glass windows of the classroom, putting emphasis on the speckles of dust that danced through the air and even more emphasis on the boy in the row in front of you, one desk over, who glowed under its rays.

His tanned skin and bronze hair looked even more rich than they usually did at this time of the afternoon. With nothing else around to distract yourself with, you momentarily admired him. Lee Dong-hyuck. I mean, yes... he was certainly attractive -- but you’d hardly admit it to his face.

“Haechan, that’s enough,” murmured the teacher, in an exasperated tone. He called the student by the nickname most of his classmates used. The name he preferred.

The classroom was filled with a fit of giggles, coming from the students. You missed the joke. Not that you missed much. This was a typical occurrence. Hyuck was what most people would refer to as a class clown but not exactly in the traditional sense. He didn’t necessarily crack jokes, or aim for the approval of others through his form of “entertainment”. He was quick witted, and mouthy, and quite frankly a bit of an asshole but with a class this boring -- such things were greatly appreciated to lift the spirits of the students who were surely just watching the clock in hopes of the final bell ringing sooner rather than later.

Hyuck shot a quick apology back at the teacher. Mark lee, his best friend who also happened to be seated directly next to him at the desk right in front of you, pulled him into a headlock the second the teacher turned back towards the blackboard and began to ruffle his hair. The boys tried their hardest to quietly withhold their leftover laughter from whatever stupid comment was made earlier.

“Hyung, relax!” Hyuck jokingly began, “I know you’re used to having crazy hair, but that life isn’t for me!”. He smoothed out his hair as Mark flicked him -- a punishment for his slick comment.

“My hair isn’t crazy... its just a bit curly!” he said, trying his best to fix the dark ringlets that cascaded over his forehead.

You reached across your desk and softly pulled at one of his curls. “Don’t listen to him Mark, your curls are seriously too cute,” you whispered as you shot him a quick wink. His cheeks flushed pink and he responded with a shy smile and quick nod of his head in your direction.

Hyuck swivelled his head around, narrowing his eyes at Mark before turning to you with an expression you were far too familiar with. The boy pouted as he leaned his elbow back onto the empty desk next to you before fluttering his eyes as he rested his cheek in the palm of his hand.

“And what about me, Y/N?” he asked. As lovely as he looked, still glowing in the sunlight, you had no choice but to take him down a peg... but not before having some fun with the little flirt.

“Hmm...” you sighed, narrowing your gaze as though you were thinking deeply. You brushed your hand across his exposed cheek and leaned closer to his face. The smug look on his face disappeared with each inch you eliminated between the two of you. By the time your faces were directly in front of each other, he looked a little flustered.

You lowered your voice seductively before speaking. “I think...” you began, “you’re probably due for a haircut.” Mark chuckled under his breath after witnessing the exchange.

Just as you thought you’d won the battle, Hyuck quickly snapped back “But then you’d have nothing to pull on, Y/N”. With your faces still close together, he dropped his gaze to your lips before licking his own.

“Okay, gross...” murmured Mark, before turning his attention back to the teacher who was still aimlessly drawing formulas all over the chalkboard. Hyuck’s intense gaze shifted between your lips and your eyes before you decided to break the distance between the two of you.

“In your dreams, Dong-hyuck,” you said as you leaned back into your chair, sighing deeply and rolling your eyes. He furrowed his brows, annoyed at your refusal to call him by the name everyone else used.

“Actually, you usually call me Haechan when you’re screaming my name in my dreams...” he mumbled stubbornly before turning back around in his seat. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, completely impressed by how nonchalantly he admitted to fantasizing about you. Typical Hyuck.

The rest of the class passed by painfully slow. The final bell pretty much brought every student back from the dead as they jumped up, excited to start their weekends. You gathered your belongings to leave class with both Mark and Hyuck trailing behind you.

All three of you had gone to school together for years and were considered to be pretty decent friends. Mark and Hyuck were obviously extremely close, like brothers almost, and you were once a big part of their friendship as well until you all hit puberty and the dynamic seemed to shift. Hyuck got more flirty, Mark got a little more nervous, and the time you all spent together was limited to whatever classes you coincidentally shared and conversations at parties or in passing at school.

This was one of those moments. The three of you navigated your ways through the halls of your school as other students chattered amongst themselves about the parties happening that weekend, while emptying out their lockers for the day.

Hyuck and Mark were discussing some new album that had just been released when you reached the entrance of your school.

“Hey, isn’t that your boyfriend over there?” Hyuck asked, nudging your shoulder.

All three of you glanced up at a boy hanging by the bottom of the staircase, speaking with a group of students. His smile dropped from his face the second he looked up and met your gaze, replacing it with an expression of... fear, almost. He quickly wrapped up his conversation and turned in the opposite direction before walking off.

“Jeez, Y/N. What was that about?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, he looks terrified. What did you do to him?” Hyuck began, “and where do I sign up?” He chuckled at his own remark as Mark rolled his eyes.

The two boys turned to you waiting for a response but all they got was a shrug. This wasn’t anything new.

“Just another guy who thought he could handle me. The usual,” you stated, pulling out your phone from your pocket to scroll through the notifications.

Hyuck and Mark both stared at you wide-eyed, not quite sure what to make of your intentionally ambiguous statement. You gracefully pushed past them, disregarding the encounter with your ex, and continued walking down the stairs. The boys fell right into step behind you.

Your mom had sent you a message, reminding you that you were going to be alone for the weekend while she went away with her new boyfriend -- for the second time this month.

“Ugh, again?” you mumbled to yourself. Hyuck grabbed the phone out of your hand to read the message as mark peered over his shoulder.

“You’re so lucky you have us, you know. When’s the last time we camped out at your place anyway?” he said, tilting his head while racking his brain.

“7th grade” Mark responded, “You almost slipped off the roof when we climbed up through Y/N’s window.”

You all chuckled at the memory. You had almost forgotten just how close you all once were. The thought of being home alone for the second weekend in a row did sound boring.

Hyuck slung his arm around your shoulder as Mark fiddled with his cellphone next to the both of you as you walked your way through campus. The sun still broke through the few clouds left in the sky as students lounged around outdoors and others caught their busses home.

“You know what you need?” he began, “A real man like me. Someone who can protect you! Someone who can take control and --” the sound of Marks phone cut him off and quite frankly, you were thankful.

“Oh jeez, I totally forgot that I promised Jaemin I’d help him with something tonight. Is it cool if I meet up with you guys a little later? I’ll make it just before bed, I promise!” he said, as he walked backwards, nearly stumbling over his feet as he responded to the message before breaking off into a run back towards the school entrance.

You both shook your heads at his hasty exit. “Meet me in an hour?” Hyuck asked. You nodded in agreement before you both went your separate ways for the time being.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You were just about to step into the shower when there was a knock at your door. You descended the staircase and opened the door to Hyuck standing out front with an overnight bag in hand.

It may have been a while but he entered your home as if it was his own, kicking off his shoes in the same place your family did and climbing his way up the stairs back towards your bedroom, mumbling about some surprise party Mark and Jaemin were planning for Jeno’s birthday.

Once you got back to the room, Hyuck dropped his bag and flopped backwards into your bed. “Ah, I can’t believe you still have those,” he said, pointing at the glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling before pulling out his phone to take a picture that you were certain he’d send to mark. The three of you struggled to get those up there the last time they were over.

“I’m going to shower -- and before you ask, yes... without you,” you proclaimed. Hyuck, who had been ready to make that exact remark suddenly shut his mouth before nodding his head and returning his attention to his cellphone.

A few moments later you returned to the room, fresh out of the shower, in a pair of lounge shorts and a white tank top that sat just at your waist. However, Hyuck was no longer on your bed where you left him.

He had changed into some sweats but stood shirtless with his back facing you, his tanned skin and muscles emphasized by the setting sun that spilled the remainder of its golden orange light through your window. You really couldn’t help but take a brief moment to admire him. As you got closer to him, he turned around with a mischievous grin on his face. That admiration disappeared the second you realized why.

“You know... I was wondering where those marks on your bed frame came from,” he teased as he held a pair of black handcuffs in his hands.

“Did you SERIOUSLY go through my stuff?!” you yelled, marching across the room to retrieve the cuffs from him. He lifted them out of your reach and dangled them over your head.

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink as you jumped up, just now realizing how much taller than you he now was.

“Y/N, now I see why your ex is so scared of you!” he joked, “Wait.. HEY!”

You had jumped up onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. He instinctively held onto you to avoid the two of you toppling over. Your handcuffs were finally within your reach again. When the commotion settled, you realized you were still in his arms and pressed against his half naked body. As you began to lower yourself, you were met with the feeling of his erection.

“Okay, seriously? That quickly?” you questioned, as the bulge grew against your center. Hyuck slowly put you down with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Its not my fault you’re basically naked!” he retorted.

“Says you! Besides this is my room,” you countered, slapping his chest. He winced in pain as he rubbed the spot that was now plastered with a faint outline of your hand.

“Is this how rough you are during sex?” he said jokingly. You furrowed your brows, lips descending into a slight frown, suddenly self conscious about the statement. You weren’t exactly insecure about your kinks, but because they played a role in your recent breakup the topic was a bit sensitive.

He noticed the sudden change in your expression and sat himself on the edge of your bed before speaking again. “Hey, I was just kidding. This stuff seems hot, I just --” he began before you interrupted him.

“He freaked out and started acting weird, Hyuck. He acted like I was some sort of monster for even suggesting the type of sex I wanted to have. I mean, I get it’s not for everyone but he looks at me now like I’m crazy and we didn’t even try anything,” you confessed. It felt good to get the reasoning behind your breakup off your chest because you hadn’t had anyone to speak to about it yet.

He took the handcuffs from your hand before snapping them open. “Show me,” he demanded. You were taken aback by his sudden proclamation.

“With all due respect, I don’t think you’re the right candidate for this kind of stuff,” you said, laughing at the thought of Hyuck powerless. Your laugh faded when you watched as he attached himself to your headboard, now laying there with his hands above his head.

He looked... sexy. Your breathing increased slightly and your nipples hardened through your shirt. You were hoping Hyuck was too distracted by his positioning to notice but his eyes scanned right over your body the second you attempted to meet his gaze.

“Wow, you must be really into this stuff...” he said, not looking away from the rise and fall of your breasts and their protruding nipples. You were too caught off guard by the sudden change in your rooms atmosphere to speak. Instead, you crawled across the bed before unlocking the handcuffs, and freeing his arms.

“Wait, I thought you were going to...” he began.

“If you want to see what it’s like, you need to do exactly as I say,” you said in almost a whisper. He stared up at you, still laying on your bed with a surprised look on his face. Your tone had changed. He nodded, and you turned to get off the bed before rummaging through your closet for a box that Hyuck hadn’t yet found.

You placed it on the edge of your bed and he curiously peered towards it, ready for your demonstration. You weren’t exactly sure how far this would go. You weren’t even sure if you’d end up having sex but you were curious to see how Hyuck would feel about your preferences, and you valued his opinion.

“Stand up,” you demanded sternly. A smile danced across his face as he excitedly rushed off the bed. “Undress,” you continued.

“Wait, for real?” he almost yelled. It dawned on you that you were actually about to potentially cross a line between your demonstration and actual sex. You backtracked slightly.

“Um... just your pants. Keep your boxers on,” you answered. Hyuck’s face fell, clearly disappointed. He sighed and untied the waist band of his sweats before stepping out of them.

He instinctively stepped forward to tug at the strings on your shorts, assuming that you’d both be getting undressed. You grabbed his wrist in response, with your other hand gripping at his neck. He froze, taken aback by your quick movements.

“Did I say you could undress me?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. Hyuck was momentarily flustered before his smile broke across his face once more.

“Wow, Y/N. I didn’t think you had it in you,” he laughed, as he freed his wrist from your grasp to rope his hands around your waist.

“First rule. You refer to me as princess,” you said, as you removed your hand from his neck and swatted his hand away from your waist. “And you seem to be having difficulty keeping your hands to yourself...” you began.

You returned to your closet to grab a belt -- the solution to your problem. “Can you blame me? Look at you... wait what are you getting that for?” he asked, noticing the leather belt you were carrying towards him.

“Your actions have consequences, baby. Hold out your hands,” you demanded. He narrowed his eyes at you in defiance, his mischievous smile returning. “I won’t ask you again. Hold out your hands Hyuck,” you repeated. This was already getting exhausting. You knew he’d be a handful but you didn’t expect it to start this early.

He finally complied, and you fastened the belt around his wrists, tugging at it to make sure that it was secure enough.

“Okay Y/N, what’s next?” he asked. The look on your face was telling. He knew almost instantly that he had made a mistake and was quick to correct himself, “I- I mean princess,” he stuttered.

“Good, you’re learning. On your knees,” you ordered. He dropped to his knees almost immediately. You sat down on the bed with Hyuck facing you, pausing to stroke his cheek as you examined his face. He looked so beautiful on his knees in front of you like that, even though it took him so long. You could feel yourself getting turned on again at the sight of him in yet another submissive position.

You took another moment to trail your eyes down his body, pausing at the large erection bulging out of his boxers. “Have you been turned on this entire time, baby?” you asked, still stroking his face. He nodded.

“Please use your words, Hyuck,” you urged.

“Yes, princess,” he said calmly.

“You’ve already given me such a hard time. You like breaking rules don’t you?” you asked him. You had leaned forward to meet him at eye level, your faces centimetres from one another. Your every breath danced against his lips, and his against yours.

“Yes, princess,” he admitted.

“If you break the rules, you’ll get punished. I won’t go easy on you, especially if you do it on purpose. Do you understand me?” you said, no gripping his face.

“Y-yes princess,” he stammered.

“Undress me,” you ordered. He began to lift himself off his knees before you reached out and pushed him back down towards the floor. A brief look of confusion crossed his face as he looked down at his bound hands.

“Use your teeth, baby,” you urged. You began by lifting one of your feet towards him. He peeled off your sock before doing the same on the other foot.

You helped him up to his feet and he proceeded to hook his teeth around one of the straps of your tank top, followed by the other. He struggled slightly but eventually pulled the top down the length of your body, leaving you topless.

He stared at your bare chest, nipples erect, and stepped closer to you with a look of hunger in his eyes. “Keep going,” you demanded. He seemed to snap out of his trance as he glanced back up to meet your gaze. There was a familiar look in his eyes. A look that always came before trouble.

Hyuck lowered himself to his knees as slowly as he possibly could, blowing air across your nipples, across your chest, and down your tummy. The sensation sent shivers down your body. You didn’t bother stopping him. It felt good. He’d be getting punished for it later anyway.

As he reached the waistband of your shorts, he untied them with his teeth before dragging them down the length of your legs, followed by your panties. When he was done, he peered up at your naked body.

“Fuck,” he murmured to himself. His gaze took in every inch of you. “You’re so beautiful, princess.”

Your heart fluttered at his statement. You sat back at the edge of the bed, and he instinctively returned to his position directly in front of you, like an obedient sub.

“Hyuck, listen. Before we continue, we need to establish a safe word. If you feel uncomfortable, say sunset and i’ll stop whatever i’m doing,” you said. “Yes, princess,” he responded almost immediately, “but i think i’ll be able to handle it.” He flashed a quick wink before running his eyes back over your body again, this time biting his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I’m serious. I’m not going to go easy on you. Especially since you’ve been such a brat so far,” you said. You slowly spread your legs then reached out and grabbed him by his hair before pulling him towards you.

Hyuck wasted no time diving towards your heat faster than you even directed him, mouth agape. You had to pull his head back before he could make contact with your skin, no matter how badly you wanted it.

“Don’t be so eager, baby. Wait for your directions,” you reminded him. You held him centimetres away from your slit by his hair. “Stick your tongue out for me,” you ordered. He quickly complied. You brought him closer to your center and the second he met your hot flesh, he licked the entire length of it.

You groaned in response at the sudden contact before forcing his head backward. You had to stay in control. No matter how good it felt.

“I- I didn’t tell you to move your tongue,” you stammered. Your breathing had increased and your chest was now quickly rising and falling.

“Stick your tongue out. I’m going to ride your face. And you aren’t going to move your tongue until I say you can. Do you understand, baby?” you asked, still out of breath.

Hyuck groaned, his erection desperately forcing itself against the fabric of his boxer briefs. “Yes, princess. I understand,” he responded, before resuming his position.

You brought his head back into position, once again moaning at the sudden contact. This time Hyuck followed his orders and remained still. You slowly began rocking your hips back and forth against his tongue.

“Oh, yes baby. Fuck... You’re doing so well,” you praised. Your other hand reached up to massage your breasts, still moving rhythmically against Hyuck’s face. He stared up at you, wide eyed, admiring the expressions of pleasure on your face. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world and it turned you on even more.

With one hand still wrapped in his hair, you applied more pressure to yourself feeling his tongue slip through your folds as you gyrated your hips faster. His nose brushed up against your clit with every stroke and the higher you raised your hips, the deeper his tongue dove into your entrance. You watched as your juices covered his chin, soaking the entire bottom half of his face.

“Dong-Hyuck... you- you look so pretty. Like an angel,” you began. It wasn’t like you to shower a sub with so much affection but you couldn’t help it this time. He groaned in response. The sensation increased your pleasure as his mouth vibrated.

“Do you want me to cum on your face like this?” you asked, getting closer to your orgasm. “I’m so close baby,” you moaned. He groaned once more in response sending the vibrations back through your body, this time shutting his eyes.

“Fuck me with your tongue. I need you to look me in the eyes while you do it,” you ordered. Hyuck followed your orders, meeting your gaze once more as he altered the angle of his tongue to better penetrate your hole. With your fingers intertwined in his hair, you forced his tongue in and out of yourself. Your free hand dropped from your chest as you began to draw circles on your clit.

You felt the tension building up inside you. You momentarily threw your head back, enjoying the stimulation -- beads of sweat dripping down the sides of your forehead. One last look at the boy between your legs was all it took to send you over the edge as you reached your climax. It was beyond any orgasm you had ever reached before. You could feel your legs shake as the rest of your body convulsed. Still savouring every last moment, you continued to jerk yourself over Hyuck’s face, body shivering at the overstimulation, before falling back onto your bed.

The room was filled with gasps from both you and Hyuck, as you attempted to slowed your heart rate and as he caught his breath. After a few minutes, you lifted yourself back up. Hyuck sat there still, gazing curiously at you. He was taken aback by your intense orgasm.

“Are you okay, Princess?” he quietly asked. You must have been laying there longer than you thought. You nodded. His face was still covered in your juices when you got up to grab a towel before kneeling down to him and wiping his chin.

He watched you, attempting to read your face while you cleaned him up. As you shifted your position to get closer to him your knee brushed against his erection. He winced in pain. The poor baby had been turned on for quite some time now and he shifted his thighs looking for some relief.

You discarded the towel before motioning for Hyuck to stand. Once he was back up on his feet again, you stripped him of his remaining piece of clothing.

His erection sprang free from his boxers, nearly hitting you in the face due to your proximity. This time, it was you who was on their knees in front of Hyuck. He looked down at you with an equally pained and eager expression on his face, waiting for your next move.

“Wow, Hyuck. I didn’t expect you to be this big,” you cooed, as you dragged your fingernails over his length. He shutter in response, moaning under his breath.

“Did it turn you on when I used your face like that?” you asked, gazing up at him seductively. He shifted his footing before responding.

“Yes princess, of course,” he said. He reached down, arms still bound by your leather belt, towards his cock. You stopped him immediately.

“You don’t get to touch yourself. And you don’t get to cum until I say you do, understood?” you ordered. Hyuck groaned in response, clearly frustrated at the predicament he was in.

Your hands circled around his base as you gripped him. He let out a deep moan and threw his head back, nearly losing his footing. He was so turned on, every touch seemed to numb his senses. You began slowly pumping up and down his length, watching his legs shake. A bead of pre-cum, escaped from his tip as his pleasure increased. Knowing it would push him over the edge, with a quick swipe of your tongue, you tasted him.

“Y/N... babe, please...” he whined. “I need to come,” he pleaded.

“You’re breaking a lot of rules, Hyuck. And you know what happens when you break rules right?” you warned.“I get punished,” he responded.

“So you do know better, after all,” you said, releasing him from your grip. He groaned at the loss of contact. Feeling defeated. You watched as he hung his head, eyes closed. You almost felt bad but you warned him that you wouldn’t go easy on him.

You motioned for him to lay on the bed and he did. You removed the belt from around his wrists, softly rubbing at the red marks it left behind. Hyuck looked exhausted.

You raised his arms up and fastened him back to the headboard with the handcuffs he had place himself in before. He complied without complaints. You crawled across the bed to retrieve a black silk blindfold from the box you had brought out earlier.

Hyuck peered over your shoulder, trying to spot the other objects inside but gave up quickly, overestimating the amount of energy he had left. His head feel back against the pillows on your bed as he awaited his fate.

You straddled him, with his erection pressing gently against your ass causing him to stir and groan beneath you. Once the blindfold was secure, you directed your attention back towards his erection, once again pumping at his length.

Hyuck’s body jerked in response to your touch as he raised his hips up, trying to thrust into your hand before you pushed him back into place. “Don’t be fussy. Hold still or else this will take longer than it needs to,” you warned.

He was breathing deeply now, as more beads of cum gathered at his tip. He was trying his best not to release himself but you could tell he was close. Covering his eyes had probably increased his senses, but it also seemed to calm him down a bit more. You made a mental note of it for next time.

You froze as you caught yourself absentmindedly thinking about having sex with Hyuck like this again. He groaned again, disappointed at the halt in your strokes. This had been the second or third time you had stopped.

You had been edging him all this time without realizing and you knew he was nearing his limit. You took the opportunity to lick along base of his cock all the way back up to the tip. He shivered and let out his loudest moan yet.

“F-fuck. P-please, do that again,” he pleaded. You sunk your mouth over the tip of his throbbing erection and his head fell back onto the pillow. He moaned your name as you slowly took every inch of him into your mouth, feeling the tip brush against your throat.

Hyuck muttered every curse word he knew, along with a couple of dirty phrases that you didn’t expect to hear. He even moaned your name, which should have warranted another punishment if it hadn’t sounded so fucking amazing falling from his parted lips. Still you couldn’t allow him to speak so freely.

You removed yourself from his length which generated yet another groan from Hyuck. You sat quietly by his side for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall and a single tear slide down one of his cheeks before picking up the discarded pair of panties he had taken off of you earlier and balling them up in your firsts.

“You’re too loud baby. I need to fix that. Open your mouth for me,” you cooed as you ran your free hand across his chest. Hyuck whimpered before opening up his mouth. You placed the undies inside carefully. This was it. This was the image you’d have imprinted in your mind forever. The image of Hyuck cuffed and blindfolded to your bed with your panties in his mouth. You couldn’t help but lower your hands to touch yourself. You slipped a finger into your entrance, quietly moaning.

It took Hyuck a moment to realize what you were doing. it wasn’t until the sounds of you fucking yourself increased that he let out a knowing moan and began pulling at the handcuffs.

Wetness seeped out of you when you straddled his hips, hovering over his erection. You positioned him at your entrance before slowly sinking down onto him. He let out a deep muffled growl in response and immediately started to thrust himself up into you, hitting your sweet spot.

“Oh my goodness, Hyuck...” you gasped, with each thrust. You shouldn’t have been letting him move so much. As each stroke became more frantic, you used every ounce of your will power to pull yourself off of him once more.

This time Hyuck protested even more. He yanked at the handcuffs, rattling the bed frame. You knew you were torturing him at this point. He still hadn’t used the safe word yet but you knew he was at his limit. You reached towards his blindfold first, removing it from his eyes. His eyelids where low but he still shifted his gaze to meet yours. You pulled the panties from his mouth and reached up to free him of his hand cuffs.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a quiet tone.

“Sunset,” you whispered. His face twisted in confusion.

“Huh? But I d-didn’t say it,” he responded.

“I know, baby, But I did. I can’t take it anymore,” you confessed.

“Can I?” his voice trailed off as he moved his hands towards you, hovering them over your skin asking for permission to touch you, as if the rules still applied. He was so well behaved -- the complete opposite from how he was when you first began. You nodded and he let out a sigh of relief as his hands traced the outline of your body, first moving up your arms before gliding over your breasts.

He delicately ran his fingers over your nipples and then back down your stomach again. He paused at your hips before snaking his hands around you to grip your ass, sighing as though he had been waiting his whole life to do so.

The pressure was building back up for you both. His erection still hadn’t disappeared and you were shocked he had held off for so long. You reached down as he watched you position yourself to sink down onto him once more before he stopped you.

“You’re not in charge anymore are you?” he asked, eyes going dark. His demeanour had changed but he still was taking heavy breaths, yearning for his own release.

“Technically...no,” you hesitantly responded.

“Good,” Hyuck stated, as he propped himself up on the bed. Within seconds he had repositioned you. Your arms were pressed against your bed frame, as you arched your back. He wanted you from behind. Hyuck wasn’t patient as he placed one of his arms next to yours to steady himself and the other around the base of his cock.

He thrusted into you, drawing a loud moan from your lips. He wrapped his free arm around you, applying pressure to the lower part of your stomach as he disappeared into you over and over again.

Your breasts bounced with every stroke. He pulled your hips towards himself, burying himself as deeply into you as he possibly could.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do this to you,” he groaned into your ear before capturing a lobe between his teeth. The sensation sent tingles down your spine. He proceeded to drop kisses down your neck, marking you, as you approached your orgasm. He quickened his pace, the sound of slapping flesh filling the room. You could feel him throbbing inside you, so incredibly close to his release.

“Fuck, i- I can’t hold it any longer!” he exclaimed. He reached his free hand down between your legs before rubbing circles onto your clit while thrusting into you.

“H-Haechan,” you moaned. It was the first time you had ever used his nickname and it was just enough to send him over the edge.

“Y/N.. baby.. fuck,” he stammered. Your orgasm coursed through you as you felt him fill your insides with his cum. His body went still for a second before he collapsed onto your back, heavily breathing and unable to hold up his own weight.

Haechan gasped for air as you moved from under him, laying him gently on the bed. Beads of sweat were scattered across his face. Before he could regain his composure, you slipped out of bed to clean yourself up. Minutes later, you returned in a new set of pyjamas and a few other items. Haechan’s eyes shot open as you ran a hot towel over his body, cleaning him up. He simply stared up at you, not moving or saying a word as you took care of him. You rubbed oil onto his wrists, massaging over the red indentations the belt and handcuffs left behind, before massaging his knees as well.

When you were done, you pulled him into your chest and bundled him up under your bedsheets. The two of you didn’t move for what felt like ages. After some time had passed, Haechan had slipped out of bed to put on a new change of clothes. You took the opportunity to grab some water and fruit from the kitchen before you both sat next to each other again, aimlessly chatting as you always did. Things had changed between you two. He brushed your hair out of your face as always, but this time his touches lingered more. He playfully licked the juices off your fingers as you fed him fruit, but still teased you as he typically would. He even stopped to sprinkle your face with kisses before capturing your lips with his own. Neither of you really knew what this meant for your relationship but that wasn’t a conversation that needed to happen now anyway.

As you giggled with each other, picking at what was left over the fruits, you both fell silent as you heard footsteps on your staircase.

Marks head popped into your doorway seconds later. “Hey, you idiots didn’t even lock the door, and what happened to your phones I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour!” he complained, dropping his bag next to Hyuck’s.

“Hyung!” Haechan proclaimed, still taken aback by Marks sudden entrance.

“Don’t hyung me, what the hell have you guys been --” marks voice trailed off as his eyes zeroed in on the headboard.

“Yo Y/N, what did you do to your bed... wait,” his voiced trailed off once more as his eyes dropped to the marks on Haechan’s wrists. He tried to cover them up with his sleeves but was too late.

“Holy shit, you let her use those handcuffs that you showed me on you? WAIT... What the fuck happened here?” he exclaimed, jumping off the bed in shock.

You and Haechan burst into a fit of laughter at Mark, who looked equally horrified and disgusted. His cheeks were blushing bright red, and the warmth had reached his ears too.

“You guys are gross, you know that...” he muttered, pulling the plate of fruits away from you both, trying his hardest not to touch the bed.

Moments later, Marks words registered in your head and soon enough you were pushing Haechan off of the bed and onto the floor to join his best friend.

“I can’t believe you sent him a picture of the handcuffs too! You idiot!” you yelled.

“It was BEFORE we used them!” he responded. The three of you laughed and bickered back and forth as the sun finally set.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

final words: wow this one was a bit tough to write. Haechan is a mischievous little thing in this fic and in real life too but I still couldn’t handle the thought of him suffering too much. He’ll always make me soft no matter what 🥺 also Mark was supposed to have a smaller part in this but he just fit so well I even had to put him in the opening gif! please leave your thoughts/comments or feel free to give any criticism so I can correct anything that may be insensitive/inaccurate in my fics. Thank you!

#nct127 #mark lee #nct #nct 127 #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 smut #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #nct haechan #haechan smut #haechan #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #lee donghyuck #nct dream #donghyuck #nct donghyuck #markchan #markhyuck

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Lady Liberty and The Captain / Part One

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (1940′s Brooklyn AU)

Summary: You are a rising young star and the newest breakout actress in Hollywood’s Golden Age! When war finally descends on the west, your reputation as America’s Sweetheart finds you cast in a promotional picture alongside Captain America himself.

Yet, he looks eerily familiar, like your Stevie from childhood…

Word count: 4.7k+

Warnings: fluff!!

A/N: hello, everyone!!!! I hope you’re staying home, warm, and safe during these crazy times. I’ve been snuggling with my doggie and continuing with my university’s online classes in my final semester..absolutely crazy how things are rn. I hope this new story can help brighten up your day just a little bit.

First of all, I just want to say thank you💖💛for all the love that old and new readers alike have shown this blog recently. I’ve been writing on this platform for a little less than a year and I never thought l’incendie would blow up as much as it has. You guys are amazing. I’m really excited and eager to share new pieces and hope you enjoy the content I have coming! Please don’t hesitate to pop in and say hi, or shoot me a message. I’ve really enjoyed connecting with readers and would love to know your thoughts on my fics, or just to talk about fandom stuff! Timmy included! PAHAHA

So, this chapter is gonna be a part of a mini-series for a 1940′s writing challenge and I’m using the prompt of wartime romance! This will probably be split into two or three parts and I will tag the host as soon as the last chapter goes up, I’ll most likely make a masterlist in the end as well. Reader has a name in this fic, but hopefully the choice of name will make sense later on :D

As always, feel free to drop a ask/message if you’d like a tag in the next update.

ENJOY!

THE NEW YORK TIMES

Film: ‘Apple of Discord’, Lola Swanson’s Dazzling Debut!

By NICHOLAS WATTS September 1, 1943

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The film drama from the original screenplay written and directed by Andrew Campbell opened to a roar of applause and acclaim at the Radio City Music Hall yesterday evening. Apple of Discord is a reimagining of the myth and Plato’s allegory, focusing on the tumultuous, profoundly elegant life of a young noblewoman during the Trojan wars.

The film’s frontrunner and leading lady is Hollywood newcomer, young and fresh-faced Lola Swanson. Swanson’s performance is so thoughtful, so unfaltering, so intelligent and controlled that it is hard to believe this is little Lola’s long awaited motion picture debut. And what a debut this is!

Starring opposite Hollywood veterans Sean Schultz, Kash Dennis, and Gracie Smith, this star-studded cast packs punches and sizzling chemistry and yet, Swanson does not fizzle out but confidently holds her own, demanding your attention in every scene, and rightfully so. Watching Swanson in this picture is watching a major actress in the making.

Born and raised in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen before moving to Brooklyn to pursue acting, some may recognize Lola from her daytime television roles in Insanity and Passion, It’s a Date! and as Jessica in Jessica Davis Returns.

Now we know these roles were preparing Swanson for the debut of the decade.

“APPLE OF DISCORD” is now showing at the Radio City Music Hall and Cinema 2. Tickets at 25 cents. Running time: 139 minutes.

★★★★☆

——

APPLE OF DISCORD, written and directed by Andrew Campbell; director of photography, Laszlo Kovacs; edited by John Wright; music by John Barry; released by Universal Pictures.

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The newspaper trembles hard between your fingers, threatening to tear its edges. Pulse pounding, ears ringing. You can’t stop smiling. You feel like crying.

You reread the words again and again, the words written by legendary film critic Nicholas Watts, the man you’ve only dreamed of making an impression on, that he’d someday see you in a picture. And here he’s written a glowing review of your major motion picture debut.

You erupt in a fit of giggles and screams, twirling around the small space of your apartment in a swirl of nightgown, pinned curls. A neighbor, Mr. Krisinski, you think, pounds on your wall to shut you up.

It’s still early morning and you had gone downstairs at first light to buy a paper from a newsboy. Outside your window, the streets of New York already yawn and bustle with morning commute. The movement of people, gleaming automobiles against the red brick buildings and muted gray of Manhattan. Warm sun washes over it all, your heart brimming and full, mirroring the glow of golden dawn.

You feel on top of the world. Maybe you’ll finally make it here.

Your phone rings. You rush over to the mint blue rotary telephone on your bedside table, snatch up the receiver before Mr. Krisinski can break down your door with all the racket you’re making.

“Hello?” You say into the mouthpiece, cradling it between your hands. You feel breathless, high strung and buzzing, like you’d just downed a whole case of Coca-Cola, whirring with the taste of sugar and success, bubbling with starpower. Maybe it’s Kash or Gracie calling to congratulate you. Hell, maybe even President Roosevelt.

“Lola! It’s me. Have you read the paper?” The cool voice of Peggy asks you through the receiver. You quietly laugh at your own fantastical expectations. Of course it’s Peggy. Punctual, collected Peggy.

Peggy Carter is your talent agent and manager at MGM. Peggy had snatched you up while you had been working as a background actress on Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca, so hopeful and beholden just to be in the presence of such respected artists, willing to stay the extra hours even after the other girls had gone home when realizing they wouldn’t be seen in the shot. It hadn’t been your first time on a hot set, you were used to the itchy costumes, long hours of endless waiting, and the empty stomachs, but no way you were going to miss a chance to see Ingrid Bergman and Madeleine LeBeau up close.

Back then, only a few years ago yet a lifetime away it seems, Peggy had been a casting assistant, seeing your dedication and marching right up to you between takes to hand you her card. On the back, written in smooth blue ink, a time the next morning for an audition at MGM Studios in downtown New York. Eight o'clock sharp.

You didn’t sleep at all that night after you wrapped.

She’s worked at getting you into audition rooms and meetings for years, pushing you onto writers, production assistants, riggers, directors. She had secured you an audition with Andrew Campbell after “accidentally” leaving your headshot in his mailroom and later calling his assistant with threats of stolen property. MGM’s new fresh face had been penciled in for a side read the following week.

Fierce, ingenious, and your own bright star, you’ve risen through the ranks and fought your way up with Peggy at your side.

“Yeah, Peg. I have it here in front of me. This is...absolutely nuts.”

“Not really, you were brilliant in the picture, darling. But it’s a comfort to know Watts has finally replaced that cotton in his brain with some sense.”

Another laugh from you, twirling the telephone cord around your finger.

“Let me have this one, Peg.”

“If you insist.”

You hear the rustling of newspaper from the other end. You can practically see Peggy sitting at her desk, perusing the paper over a morning cup of coffee, her hair curled, makeup and nails all scarlet red and perfect. The golden placard glittering on the frosted glass of the door.

Margaret Carter, Casting Director.

“I’m calling to tell you about an offer we received this morning from Paramount. I think you should take it.”

That rush of giddiness burns bright again in your veins, pulse skyrocketing.

“Paramount? Geez, what did they say?”

“They want you for a promotional picture that’s being produced by Senator Brandt. Brandt is hoping to boost the homefront’s war bond sales with a little starpower from you and from Captain America. You’ve seen his posters, haven’t you? That costumed bloke?”

You have. Plastered everywhere and looking like an absolute buffoon. Nice physique, though.

The disappointment that settles in your stomach is ugly and cold, like a fruitless pit, hard, rough, a sour taste in your mouth. It’s stupidly childish, yet your own expectations for your first movie, first box office hit, for that very first taste of the promised fame and fortune of success, begin to blink out. Expectations you’ve held on to since you were a little girl, since you realized this is the type of work you want to do for the rest of your life.

You’ve managed to impress Nicholas Watts, the most cynical film critic in all of Hollywood, and this is your big break? A Paramount picture featuring you and a tights-wearing mascot?

Peggy is practically asking you to star alongside Mickey Mouse.

“Is that all they offered?” You respond. You wince at the demanding, ungrateful tone. Afterall, showbiz has hardened you to go after what you want, to take and take because this lifestyle does not guarantee anything. You’re told no more than you are yes, the constant rejection having molded you into a diamond tough girl, glitzy and solid, unbreakable, beautiful.

But how many girls would kill to be in your place?

“The only sensible deal. They also offered you the role of Violet for It’s a Wonderful Life, and Ruthie in The Grapes of Wrath.”

“What?! Peggy, contract me for those instead!”

“Well, I’m not going to. And you listen well as to why.”

You twist your lips together. Peggy’s voice filters clipped and disapproving through the phone line, the way she always gets before she offers you damned good advice.

“Not just Watts is impressed with your work, Lola. You’re finally turning heads and for all good reasons. Anyone can get in front of a camera if they have the right look. But you’ve shown them that you have the look and the raw talent. Critics are saying you’re rivaling Judy Garland, darling. And you’re telling me you want the part of a lousy love interest? A secondary daughter? All because the pictures have big names behind them and people may go see it?

“No,” you mumble.

“No is right. You know better than anyone that people expect young stars to burn out fast so they can take their place. It’s all business. If I put you in for those roles, we’d be playing right into their hand. We’d use up all your potential in one summer. The public would get sick of seeing your face in every big picture. We have to earn their affection, darling. It’s slow and tame and not always glamorous, but this deal is smart.”

You listen, silently.

“Morale is low. War is when people turn to familiar pastimes and simple pleasures. To treat themselves, to take their minds off all the grizzly headlines. Captain America embodies all of that and more. If we take this, I promise you, Lola, that people will remember you as the girl who got them through the darkest times. This will do wonders for your career years down the line. And then, if you still want to play Violet, I’ll phone Frank Capra myself.”

You close your eyes and draw in a breath, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Well, it looks like I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Wonderful. I’ll phone Paramount now. We’ll be in touch.”

Growing up with poor Irish immigrants for parents, the rare moments you could afford to splurge on luxuries, you spent them at local cinemas and theaters with your brother. Any day was a good one when you and Samuel bought tickets for a noon screening, the cheapest showing of the day, scraping together pocket change to split a popcorn if you were feeling extra special.

And reclining in a nearly empty theater with refreshments and goodies between the two of you, you’d watch the silver screen with hope in your mouth and stars in your eyes. In here, it no longer mattered how little money you had, or the discrimination your family faced, or the war in Europe, or the meager apartment you’d go home to, lucky if the electricity and heating had been paid for. In here, nothing else mattered but the visual stories.

And you realized that you wanted to help tell them. You wanted to be in front of the cameras, to embody characters and personas and let audiences worldwide empathize and identify with your performances.

You’ve loved playing make-believe since you were a little girl, having never really grown out of it. You could do it, you think. Dangerous dreams, perhaps, but what child doesn’t hold this wish within them? To see their name in lights and to be admired and commended, but most of all, to provide for their family?

How hard could it be?

At sixteen, you land your first speaking role. It’s pathetic. You’re working on set as background, per usual, only this time, the director picks you out from the crowd and gives you the line of, “Good morning, sir.” You’re to look off camera as the actor playing Kent entered the scene and you would then say your line.

You’re stupidly excited. Three simple words. You’ll be uncredited, of course, but your face would finally be seen! With butterflies fluttering in your stomach, the scene resets, Kent takes his mark, the cameras roll, and you deliver.

The scene is cut from the final reel.

You pound the pavement. You scour newspapers and flyers for casting calls, you phone agencies and playhouses, you save up to get your picture taken on glossy photo paper. You keep looking. You keep working in background until you can land a steady role.

Then, you finally get one. A miniscule part of a friendly neighborhood girl on a TV drama for CBS. You only have mere minutes of screen time, but the checks that arrive in the mail from Columbia Broadcasting System after your first few episodes air say otherwise.

You open a savings account. You plant your paychecks and watch them grow into a comfortable sum of money. You land another guest starring role for a daytime soap, the secretary of the title character. Combined with your parents’ salaries from your mother’s sewing and your father’s work on the railroads, you become the main breadwinner.

You move your family out of Hell’s Kitchen, out of your cramped, dark apartment. You sign a new lease under your new stage name and move to Brooklyn together.

Brooklyn is slightly cleaner, but the familiar hustle and bustle, the noise of shopkeepers and dialects and children and cars is comforting, grounds you in your roots. When your CBS drama wraps months later with your last check in the mail and you’re looking for your next gig, your brother works odd jobs to help shoulder the burden. Brick laying, chimney sweeping, milk and mail delivering, Samuel becomes no stranger to any and all work, so long as it pays. You become a typist on the side as you wait for auditions and callbacks.

Samuel tells you his aspirations to be a poet, a writer. He hasn’t said a word to your parents, but he shows you the small bound notebook he carries with him, leafing through pages of prose and verse. You encourage him to submit his work to newspapers, publishers. He gives you a shy smile, says he’ll consider it as soon as you get your motion picture debut. You shake on it. Together, your already close bond of brother and sister grows stronger as you each work to support your art.

You’re waiting for Samuel to finish his shift so you can catch a late showing of His Girl Friday, a warm September day when you first meet Bucky Barnes down at the wharfs. He’s tall, lean, and glistening with sweat when he rounds out of the warehouse with an armful of crates and nearly knocks you off the pier.

“Hey, watch it!” he snaps. His eyes flash like the water around you, blue and cold and dangerous. Brown locks curl with perspiration against his forehead, the sleeves of his workshirt rolled up over his shoulders, the exposed skin of his throat and arms flushed and tan.

Embarrassed, you try to steady him, to which he growls in annoyance and spins out of your reach. He makes a great show of bearing the weight himself, grumbling as he sets down his load. You don’t miss the way the muscles in his back flex and dip. It isn’t until he slowly stands back up, wiping his palms on his khakis, that you get a good look at each other.

The hostility in his eyes softens ever so slightly, simmering into a look that cinches your chest tight when his gaze travels shamelessly up from your kitten heels to the curves of your lips and cheek. His breathing is still labored as he surveys you and you can feel heat and color blooming against your skin. When his eyes finally settle on your face, you can’t decide whether you want to slap or kiss him.

“You lost or something, honey?” He asks with a whisper of a smile. He strolls in a lazy half-circle in front of you and moves to go back up the ramp to the warehouse. Then, he pauses and turns back to you.

“Have we met before? I swear I recognize you from somewhere.”

This delights you deliciously, that a handsome young man you’ve met by chance has seen your work. Not glamorous, acclaimed roles by any means, but recognition nonetheless. You bite the inside of your lip to suppress your smile and give him a coy, bashful flutter of your eyelashes.

“If that were the case, I’m sure I’d remember you.”

He grins wolfishly, pleased, and takes a step closer. “Yeah? Think you’ll let me take you out for dinner tonight?”

“She’s got plans with me, Buck.” Samuel’s voice carries across the water. Your brother emerges with wooden boxes and sets them between you and Bucky in a huff, as if he’s implementing a physical barrier, both childish and endearing. Bucky glances at you and Samuel.

“Are you two..?”

“Steady? No. She’s my sister.”

Bucky snorts and his eyes find you again, glittering in the evening light. “You never told me you had a sister, Sammy. And such a looker too..”

“Makes you wonder why I never brought her up,” retorts Samuel and gives him a playful shove, traps him briefly in a headlock. “At least Steve wouldn’t ogle.”

“Stevie would get a nose bleed and pass out.” You hear Bucky grunt back. Samuel moves as if to dump him into the drink and Bucky pinwheels, scrambling. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

Satisfied, Samuel releases him and socks him in the shoulder for good measure. Bucky stumbles, looking boyish and smooth despite his shirt and hair all disheveled.

You’ve seen his type in casting offices all across New York; bold, alluring, and charismatic. It’s a look and type you’ve longed to act opposite of someday, as all young starlets dream of, but a look that simultaneously sparks the feminine temptation that shivers between your breasts. You wonder if Bucky would look the same in a dark bedroom, with him on top of you and your fingers running over his back…

Bucky grins toothily when he catches you staring and shoots you a wink. None of those movie star hopefuls hold a candle now to his rugged, spirited charm.

Samuel guides you back up the pier so he can punch out his time card and the two of you can be on your way. And as you’re about to set foot on solid ground, you hear Bucky call out to you.

“What’s your name, honey?”

Samuel sighs and shakes his head. “Cripes.” He mutters to himself. Before Samuel can stop you, you laugh and turn back to the water with a fresh and girlish aire, warmth and excitement whispering through your veins, young and naive and sixteen.

“Dolores!” You give him your full name, your real name. For once, you don’t want to be Lola Sparks. You want to be your natural, honest self, the girl who deserves young love and joy and an untroubled adolescence. The sound of your voice rings clear and strong, the diva that you are, and Bucky’s mouth curves upwards.

“See you ‘round, Dot.”

Much to Samuel’s displeasure, you tail your big brother around the docks like a lost pup whenever you have time. And being a C-list actress and a part-time typist, you have plenty of it. You loiter with the excuse of bringing sack lunches, waiting on Samuel and Bucky at the edge of the warehouses. It’s lonesome and bores you to no end being all by yourself, until one afternoon when someone is already waiting at your spot by the pier.

Small, skinny as his own shadow with a fringe of blonde hair, he leans hunkered and folded within himself, timid and seemingly conscious of how he occupies space. His jacket droops over his shoulders, eyes downcast even as you approach. He has a sketchbook in his hands, concentrated as the pencil moves across the page in fast, gentle strokes. You see an impressive likeness of the piers and Bucky’s distant figure in charcoaled lines.

“That’s really something.” You say.

He jolts so hard the paper tears and he crumples it into his fist in a single motion. “Huh?” he answers. When he looks to you, you realize his eyes are a pretty shade of teal. He flushes, petrified, the tips of his ears coloring pink. You feel horrible when he goes to pocket the ball of paper.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you,” you breathe. Gently, you offer your palm to him. “If you’re not keeping it, do you mind if I have it?” You ask softly. A few seconds pass and he shakes his head before placing it in your hand. You unfurl the paper, carefully smooth it out as he watches you from the corner of his eye.

Shyness is a barrier of art you’ve known all too well, from your own experiences in audition rooms to your brother’s reluctance to find a publisher, you understand that sting of insecurity better than anyone. So, you let him watch you as you admire his work, let him know of his talent and let your actions speak for you. You smile and slip the drawing into your purse.

Then, his stomach grumbles audibly, almost comically loud. He folds his arms around his stomach, so tight you’re afraid he’ll snap in half. You quickly reach into one of your paper bags and hand him a sandwich wrapped in cellophane and a can of lemonade.

“Here, let’s trade.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, but I can’t accept..” he starts. The timbre of his voice is surprisingly gallant and sure, pleasant, sweet. You have a gut feeling that the world has been taking advantage of that kindness his whole life, scaring him away from genuine compassion, that everything must have a catch. It makes you press harder.

“I insist. Please. It’s the least I can do for sneaking up on you.” He eyes you warily and again that feeling of regret washes over you. “Consider it payment.” You smile.

Finally, he takes Samuel’s lunch from you and unwraps the sandwich. He eats quickly and quietly, draining the lemonade only minutes later. Perhaps it’s his bony statue, but you feel happy to see this stranger eat.

When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth and turns to you. His lips, pretty, pink, part as if about to speak, yet no words leave him. Instead, he stands frozen with that transfixing blue-green gaze keeping you still, lingering.

That is until a stream of brilliant scarlet red dribbles down his chin and splatters onto his dress shirt. He pinches his nose, doubling forward and his flustered complexion matching the blood spilling from his nostrils.

“You must be Steve,” You laugh lightly and quickly hand him your handkerchief of cream yellow lace and embroidered flowers. You help steady him as he keeps his head tilted down. “Bucky’s told me all about you.”

Steve groans and presses the handkerchief to his face, blushing all the way down to his neck.

Steve returns your handkerchief days later with an embarrassed hush, carefully cleaned and laundered. It smells of lavender and clean linen and the image of him working the fabric between his thin fingers with soap and suds warms your heart.

You tell him it’s his. He blooms and keeps it neatly folded in his breast pocket.

You and Steve quickly grow close in the hours you spend together waiting on Bucky and Samuel. You pack extra lunches for him and sit by the piers chatting, skipping stones as Steve sketches the Brooklyn skyline day in and day out.

“Draw me!” you tease. “Isn’t that the request that all artists want to hear?”

But surprisingly, he does. He always draws you and Bucky and Samuel with striking, intimate familiarity. His sketchbook gradually fills with portraits and pictures of you, sketches that could put your very headshot to shame.

After their usual shifts, the four of you head to the drugstore for your ritual of sodas and sundaes. Two pairs, brother and sister and brothers by blood enjoying a rare wartime treat. With the rations on sugar, it’s a special and memorable circumstance just to be together and sharing something sweet.

It’s there, at your corner booth in Wolfe’s Pharmacy over ice cream, that Bucky opens up a paper for that night’s television network schedule and sees your name.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Dot,” he says. “What do others call you?”

Defeated, you twist your lips, hesitant to break the short spell of normalcy you’ve had with your new friends. Samuel sips at his Coke with a silent grin.

Time for the truth to come out.

“Well, ‘doll’, by Stevie,” you giggle and toe Steve’s foot under the table. Steve shyly shrinks back into his seat. “But CBS calls me Lola.”

Bucky’s jaw drops.

“Get out of here. You’re pulling my leg..”

“I absolutely am not.”

“Sammy, tell me she’s pulling my leg.”

“She’s not.”

Two pairs of brilliant blue eyes dart between you and your brother. Bucky’s face breaks into an open smile, laughing. Steve lurches forward.

“Have you ever met anyone famous?” Steve prods with a hint of that honest, innocent charm.

You wrinkle your nose sheepishly. “Mason Cook?”

“Who?” Bucky asks around a mouthful of sundae.

“Exactly.” Samuel snorts.

“Well, I’m sure he’s very talented.” Says Steve.

You swipe his maraschino cherry and let the stem dangle between your lips. “At least Stevie believes in me.”

“Dot, honey. I saw your pilot episode. If anyone’s a fan, it’s me.” Bucky feigns hurt, hand to his chest.

You stick out your bottom lip before sucking in the stem, working it into a tight knot in your mouth. “Are you still gonna be when your girl is signing autographs with John Wayne?”

You place the knotted stem on your napkin. Bucky nearly chokes.

“I better be.”

Samuel coughs. Steve giggles.

You thank your stars that your secret doesn’t change anything between Steve and Bucky. They treat you just the same; as Samuel’s baby sister who tags along with the boys. The teasing, the fleeting looks all unchanging.

Girls, you’ve unfortunately realized, are catty and mean. You’re competing for roles, after all. But with Bucky and Steve, your first taste of homecoming since moving to Brooklyn, you don’t have to worry about silly competition, or fame, or being the best in the room. They keep you level-headed, reminding you of your girlhood and life’s simple pleasures.

Bucky drives you and Steve around town in the company truck on weekends. Hopscotch and jacks on brick roads and warm nights, watching sunsets until the sky blushes peach and mango yellow at Coney Island.

A Saturday afternoon on Rockaway Beach, a vacation for you all after a draining week of work and auditions when Bucky promises to win you a stuffed bear when he sees you eyeing the one on careful display.

“Buck..Bucky, give it a rest, we can try the next one.” Steve chides.

Another plastic ring pings off the neck of a glass bottle. Bucky curses, rings his hands together and slaps another dollar onto the counter.

You and Steve trade looks. Bucky’s been at it for ten minutes. At this rate, you know you’ll be walking on the train tracks home tonight.

So, you and Steve huddle close and cheer him on. Do it for our doll! says Steve. Finish it so you’ll stop wasting money, you dolt! you cry. Hell, even the vendor finds it humorous and joins in.

And when Bucky wins that grand prize and you’re handed a teddy bear as big as Stevie, you hoist it on your back, careful to not let it touch gravel or dust as the three of you walk in line with the train tracks later that evening.

Paradise, a sheltered haven from the broken landscapes and realities that the European newsreels broadcast home in grim black and white.

True to Bucky’s word, they become your biggest supporters, helping you run lines and monologues and accompanying you to auditions. Bucky’s not bad for a scene partner, and Steve’s awareness of emotion and character motivation is impressive.

The attention you receive from casting directors and auditionees doesn’t hurt your chances either, lanky Steve and smoldering Bucky wishing you luck before stepping into the green room.

You book a drama. Then, a short film. Then another. You call them your lucky charms.

And when your humble little short film “premiers” at the corner cinema, squeezed in between an empty noon showing of a cartoon rerun, Steve and Bucky whoop and holler when your character is shown on screen. They throw popcorn and gumdrops, jostle you by the shoulders. Bucky even runs down the aisle and mimes kissing the projector screen.

“That’s our girl! That’s our Dot!”

The usher threatens to throw you out. Steve tells him you’ve paid good money for your tickets and you’ll stay and watch as long as you please.

The following week, you’re scouted by Peggy Carter.

Your world, your career will never be the same.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #captain america x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier x you #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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kittae · 4 years

Text

Bittersweet

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

Genre: Fluff, romance, angst, fantasy, Mermaid!reader, Hotelier!Seokjin

Words: 2222

Summary: A ‘The Little Mermaid’ x ‘Cinderella’ crossover variation. After dreaming of the human world for almost all of your life, your first night as one of them has finally come. You discover and do so many things for the first time! You also meet someone special. It comes to an end much too quickly again, however, leaving your feelings scattered all over the place and your memories bittersweet.

Your heart has never beat this hard in your entire life. This is it. This is why you’ve risked it all. The exuberant energy seems to make the air vibrate, your senses overwhelmed in the best ways possible. Everything is so unfamiliar, yet so exciting! You vaguely recognize some items in the room, though it’s your first time actually discovering what they are for. As it turns out, the things with sharp ends are used to stab food with, so it’s easier to navigate it inside your mouth! Who would’ve thought?! And this...this sound. You can’t place it, but it’s so pleasing to hear. You keep looking around to see where it comes from, but it seems to be everywhere. People are standing up and moving their bodies to it in a way that fits. You have an urge to do what they do, because it looks fun, but you don’t. You haven’t even mastered walking properly yet and what they’re doing looks hard...

You admit, you feel a tad bit guilty about stealing garments, but you had no choice. Humans apparently can’t go without covering their bodies, so you knew you would stand out way too much if you didn’t follow their example. By now, you know the thing you’re wearing is called a dress and you’ve also tried wearing...wait, what’s it called again? Shoes? Or was it heels? They were impossible, though. They made your already wonky legs even wonkier, so you left them behind. You’re relieved to see other people also going barefoot. They like the feeling of sand between their toes, just like you do. Toes. Isn’t it crazy? You have toes! Toes, feet, ankles, knees, legs! You can walk and run and… Maybe one day, do that thing people do to this fun sound!

Maybe it’s too risky to attend a human party on your first day being transformed, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You saw an opportunity and you took it. After always wondering what it would be like, this just really exceeds all expectations. There are colorful lights, delicious food and so many new sensations for you to discover! A new world is opening up to you and nobody suspects a thing. Perched on a chair at a table, you observe everything and everyone with big eyes. Nobody questions who you are or what you’re doing here.

Too engrossed in your surroundings, you barely notice the waitress going around and balancing as many drinks as the tray can fit.

“Excuse me, miss?” She gently demands your attention, “Would you like a glass?”

You can barely contain your excitement as you shyly nod and take one from the tray, marveling over it as you hold in in front of you. You gasp when you notice that it sparkles, tiny bubbles rapidly rising from the bottom of the glass to the surface! Is it really okay to drink this?

Almost pressing your eye against the glass trying to inspect the bubbles more closely, you break out in giggles when you notice everything looks funny and distorted. You look around the room this way, laughter bubbling in your throat the whole time. You could spend all night just doing this!

The night seems to have other plans for you, however, when you spot a tall figure in the corner. You lower the glass so you could see normally again, to get a better look at the person who caught your attention. He’s not just tall… He’s incredibly handsome, too. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a face like his before.

His eyes fold adorably when he laughs, lips full and plush when he speaks, forehead peeping out teasingly when he shakes his head and his dark brown hair sways a bit. You’ve gone completely slack-jawed without your knowledge as you stare at him in awe, mesmerized by his little mannerisms. You wish the music would stop for a moment, just so you could hear the sound his laughter makes when it’s accompanied by his shaking, wide shoulders. It’s quite contagious, seeing as you can’t help the corners of your own lips from curling into a smile as well.

You quickly avert your gaze when he turns his head in your direction, face heating up while you wonder whether or not he caught you staring. You take a large gulp from your bubble drink to give yourself some posture, yet that backfires when it goes down the wrong way. Coughing and with tears in your eyes, panic rises when you watch him approach until he stands right in front of you.

“Is everything alright, miss? Do you need a glass of water?” He asks, a worried tone lacing his voice. It’s dulled by the loud bass of the music, but it still sends shivers down your skin.

Shaking your head, maybe a bit too vigorously, you dismiss his concern even though you continue to gasp for air in between heavy coughs. He reaches for the carafe with still water anyway, plucking a clean glass from a table and filling it before handing it over to you.

You gratefully accept, chugging down the water in mere seconds and relieving the ache in your throat.

“Better?” He smiles, content to see you’ve stopped coughing and are breathing normally again.

Nodding quietly, you try to figure out how to keep your heart from beating so fast. You feel embarrassed and entirely too self-conscious to speak.

“Good!” He beams, his eyes crinkling in that cute way again. “Are you a friend or family of the bride?”

“I- what?” You ask, a bit caught off guard before you quickly recover, “Ah- yes! Yes, I am. A...friend. And you are…?”

He gives himself a knock on the head, “I’m so sorry! I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Seokjin, I own this hotel. Also the groom’s best friend. And the world’s best looking man.”

“Wow, really?” You gasp, “How impressive!”

Seokjin chuckles. “One of those three things is not entirely true, though. Can you guess which one?” You shrug, not a clue which one to pick. All of them sound plausible.

“I’m the groom’s cousin, not his best friend. The rest is nothing but the truth, though.” He winks and your heart stutters. “I don’t think I caught your name earlier…?”

“___,” You give him your name, your hand flat on your cheek in an attempt to cool it down.

“___,” He repeats, you name suddenly sounding much more beautiful than you’re used to. “I haven’t seen you dancing tonight, ___. Do your feet hurt?”

Dancing….dancing? Is that what these people are doing? You decide to take the risk and be honest. “Ah, no… I just… don’t really know how to…”

He notices your embarrassment, “That’s okay! I’m not exactly a dancing prodigy either. I took some classes, though. Want me to show you?”

Beyond relieved that ‘dancing’ wasn’t something all humans naturally knew how to do, you nod eagerly. You’ve been wanting to try it all night!

Seokjin leads you towards the open space in the room, where other people are twirling and hugging each other as they move.

“Don’t let the dancefloor or the others intimidate you, okay? Don’t look at what they’re doing, let’s just focus on each other at our own pace.”

His hand moves to curl around your waist, eyes seeking yours and silently asking if this is okay. You smile in lieu of an answer, which he takes as a confirmation. He then gently places your hands on his generous shoulders, the heat in your face increasing even further.

Leaning over to reach your ear, his lips only a hairbreadth away, he says, “Just follow my lead. I’ll go slow.”

It’s hard not to interpret his words in a less innocent way, your heart beating wildly in your chest as you simply nod, lost for words. Luckily, it seems talking isn’t really necessary when you dance. Seokjin starts with some simple moves, his hips gently swaying and his feet stepping back and forth. You assume you need to mimic what he does, and you’re surprised to find how naturally it comes. Still, your legs aren’t experienced yet and even standing straight sometimes proves to be a challenge for your brain that’s used to directing the movement of fins in water.

This slight anxiety slowly ebs away, though, when Seokjin appears to be a reliable dance partner as he pulls you close and holds you tight, as if he silently promises he would never let you fall. You don’t know why you trust him this much, but you do. You feel free.

“See? You’re a natural!” He laughs when you’re twirling across the dance floor almost effortlessly within a couple of minutes.

You’re having so much fun, you almost forget how intimidatingly handsome Seokjin is. Almost. Because when you lift your head up after watching your feet move in fascination, you’re reminded of that fact once again. Up close, his beauty is even more dizzying. You make out small details, like the color of his eyes, the length of his eyelashes, how flawless his skin is. He smells so nice, too.

Distracted by his stunning facial features, you miss a step and lose your balance. Seokjin catches you in time, as expected, eyes wide in surprise as you lay back in his arms.

“Are you okay?” He asks, “Did you get hurt?”

“I- I’m fine! I just slipped…”

Seokjin carefully helps you upright again, suggesting you’d both take a break. As you stroll out of the large party tent, the beauty of the beach reveals itself in all its glory. The full moon stands bright and tall amidst the dark night, guiding the waves of the ocean you know so well.

“Aren’t you cold?” Seokjin asks after a few minutes of walking next to you as you talk about the evening, about yourselves. You mostly listen to what he says, since you’re not sure about what you should tell him about yourself and you just enjoy hearing about him.

You shake your head, gesturing with the large scarf you’ve draped over your shoulders, “I’m okay, I have this.”

He hums, but suddenly stops walking. “___, I- I’ve had a wonderful night so far and I think you’re really great...um… I’d like to see you again after this and I was wondering–”

A ringing sound abruptly interrupts him, making your ears perk up in curiosity. Seokjin apologizes as he fishes a weird, small box out of his pocket to press it to his ear. He even speaks to it!

“This better be important. You- what?! Right now? Okay, I’ll be there in a moment. Try to keep things under control until I’m there. Yeah.”

You don’t understand a single thing about what just happened or why he was talking to this strange object, but it made you even more curious. Seokjin, however, looks distressed. Did the box do something to him?

“I’m so sorry, ___, I need to go back to the party to solve a problem… Would you… Would you mind waiting here for a couple of minutes? I really won’t be long, I promise.”

You nod, “No worries! I don’t mind waiting.”

“I’ll be back in no time!” He smiles, grabbing your hand a leaving a swift, cheeky kiss behind before he dashes through the sand in the direction where you came from.

You stand perplexed, staring at your hand like it’s suddenly no longer a part of your body. This entire night feels like a dream, an incredible, wonderful dream. One you never want to end.

Sadly, reality hits you hard, and your feet are being put firmly back on the ground when you notice how the moon isn’t the only thing reflected in the dark ocean anymore. The sun has started to rise, shyly peeking out above the horizon and creating a dark blue gradient inside the black sky.

You start to get anxious, knowing it’s only a matter of minutes now. Having had so much fun, time has flown by so quickly you hadn’t even thought about it. You can’t stay here. You can’t wait for him like you told him, and it’s already breaking your heart.

This is the hardest Seokjin has ever run in his entire life, he believes. The minor problem was resolved quickly, so he could return to you fast, as he promised. Early mornings at the beach can be very cold this time of the year, so he grabbed a coat before he left. He imagines the scarf probably doesn’t do much keep you warm.

Confusion strikes him when he arrives at the place he left you only fifteen minutes ago. You’re nowhere to be seen, not even in the distance. Your scarf, made from a thin, pink fabric, got caught on a pole and bellows in the wind. He takes it in his hands, frantically looking around the beach in hopes of catching a glimpse of you. The wind carries his voice as he calls out your name while he runs across the length of the beach, not knowing you could hear him from inside the water, further in the ocean. Hot tears join the sloshing waves as they retract together with you, away from the beach, away from Seokjin. Until the next full moon.

#bts #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #kim seokjin #jin scenario #seokjin #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfiction #jin #kim seokjin scenario #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts x reader #bts au

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peterthepark · 5 years

Text

crush culture - [one]

adventures in beer pong

pairing: steve harrington x reader (university & modern au)

summary: Beer pong, inappropriate pictures on mugs, insta-stalking, and a phone number that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to text is the summary of your night.

warnings: alcohol, partying, strong language

series masterlist

Go to the party, Kate said. It’ll be fun, she said.

You wince as you step on the back of someone’s shoe, apologizing sincerely when they send you a dirty look. You trail behind Robin, who follows Kate into the living room. The small loft of an apartment was too packed with people, and you could already feel that impending need to get out appear in your chest. You lock eyes with a few people from your classes, waving to them weakly as you expertly dodge past other party goers. The glitter around your eyes stings against your skin as you blink it away, grumbling at the sticky texture against your eyelids.

You see Levi from across the couch, busy talking to a couple players from the tennis team. Him being the boyfriend of Kate, you all were able to go out to a lot more parties - most of them being off campus. He raises his bottle of Smirnoff at you, winking at Kate when she catches his eye.

You’re bobbing your head along to the music before you move to stand on the terrace, leaning against the metal railing with your phone in hand. Your body buzzes with alcohol, having gotten pre-party drinks with the girls as you got ready.

Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you look up, met with an already tipsy Kate. “Y/N! Did you get my text?” She asks, plopping down onto the plastic chair beside you. You shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows at why she would even be texting you when you were in the same, damn room. “Remember that guy who I wanted to hook you up with? Yeah, I got his number from Jonathan!”

“Jonathan? Jonathan’s here?” You scoff, knowing damn well that he did not go to parties, none like these anyways.

“Yeah! He’s his roommate. Cool guy. I think he deli-“ She looks back inside the apartment, hearing her other friends shout at her. “I gotta go, bitch. Okay, but anyways, look at the text! Hit him up!”

You purse your lips, tapping through your phone. Kate’s contact is the first to appear in your messages, and reluctantly, you take a look at what she had sent. Only a phone number and a kissing emoji appears in the grey bubble of text. She could have given you a serial killer’s contact, for God’s sake. Where was his name? His details? Hell, you would’ve preferred Tinder over your friend’s matchmaking shit. Deciding that it would be best to ask when she became sober, you tuck your phone away in your bag, before heading back into the party.

That’s when you clumsily run into someone, nearly falling into your ass. Thankfully, the guy grabs onto your arm before you can react, and you’re glad that you hadn’t flashed the whole party if you had gone down.

“Y/N!”

“Jonathan? Oh, my gosh, hey!” You pull him into a friendly hug, gushing over how long you haven’t seen one another. “What are you doing here? I thought you hated this type of shit.”

“Well, this is actually my place, so... no choice, but to be here. My roommate is hosting the party, and honestly, I have not seen him one bit.” He trails off, glancing around the living room with narrowed eyes. “Do you want a drink?” He nods to your empty hand. “They’re all in the kitchen. It’s just down the hallway.”

“Thanks. Good luck finding your roommate.” You chuckle before excusing yourself to go get a cup of vodka.

By process of elimination, you were able to successfully find the kitchen, which happened to be down the other hallway, not the one that led to the closet (where you happened to walk into Robin making out with someone). Surprisingly, the kitchen was empty, and you felt more at ease with the peace. But it wasn’t till that you couldn’t find a plastic cup or a glass to fill with alcohol that your anxiety had skyrocketed.

Where the hell are the fucking red cups when you need them?

You didn’t want to snoop around, so awkwardly, you unscrewed the cap of Absolut, choosing to do a risky waterfall instead.

Your back was to the doorway, and when a voice had spoken behind you, vodka had been spilled everywhere.

“What are you doing?”

Familiar. Ah, you knew who it was.

Turning around with a look of embarrassment, you lock eyes with the brunette boy, smiling forcibly when he recognizes your face.

Well, you look different.

His hair is messier than usual, a bit more unkempt, but fitting for this type of party. His shirt is tight around his toned arms and your bandaid peeks out from his ripped jeans - oh, you didn’t know he wore glasses.

This is a total three-sixty from ‘Steve the Newspaper Boy.’ You can’t lie to yourself and say that he didn’t look good.

Because he really did look good.

“Steve!” Cough. “Hello, uh, Steve.” Cough. “Hi.”

“Hi, Y/N. Uh, what exactly are you doing in the kitchen?” He laughs awkwardly.

“Looking for cups?” You shrug with uncertainty, stepping away from the counter as Steve reaches into the cabinet above. He groans when he sticks his entire arm into the top shelf, feeling around for - there it is.

“Here.” He hands you a coffee mug instead, explaining that all the red solo cups had been finished. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“The cups?”

“Actually, let me rephrase that. What are you doing at my place?”

Oh.

Oh!

He was Jonathan’s roommate. That made sense.

But that also meant that Kate had given you Steve’s number and that he was the guy she was trying to set you up with.

You had Steve Harrington’s number.

But he didn’t know that.

“I came for the party. Levi invited me and a few friends. Sorry if he didn’t tell you or anything.” You answer, taking a drink.

Your eyes bulge out of your head in shock when you finally see the picture that was printed onto the mug, noticing that it seemed to be a censored photo of Steve who was... streaking in the street?

“Okay, now this is a conversation starter.” You turn the mug around to show him. He immediately turns red and erratically takes it from your hands, dumping out all of its contents and replacing it with a new - more appropriate - cup to drink from.

“Crap, that’s fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to grab that mug. Out of all of them, I really had to - wow, I look like an asshole.”

“We really have to stop starting our conversations with apologizing.” You chuckle heartily, feeling your cheeks heat up at how Steve lets out a small laugh in response. “I didn’t know you were Jonathan’s roommate.”

“Yeah, we’ve been good friends for like years. He was able to get into that crazy ‘smart-kid’ university that’s literally an hour away. Thankfully, we aren’t too far from one another, so figured that sharing a place wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

He also gave me your number.

You should probably bring that up now.

Maybe not.

“How nice.” You tap your nails against the marble counter, redirecting your gaze to the questionable magnets on his fridge.

“So, having fun? I’m a terrible host, clearly, but everyone seems to have a good time.” He tries to casually lean against the doorframe, but he isn’t quite great at acting natural. His head rests against his hand, while his elbow stays propped onto the wall.

I have your number. And you’re cute. But more importantly, I have your number.

“No, this is great, Steve. Thanks.”

Little bitch.

“I was wond-“

“Steve!” Levi pokes his head into the doorway, “You’ve finally met Y/N, huh? Anyways, we’re playing a game by the couch. Come, come!” He drags Steve behind him, who looks at you pleadingly to join him. You laugh, pouring yourself another drink before you catch up with them.

The two couches are basically taken up with people; the only seats available are in the tight corner of the loveseat, where you find yourself wedged beside Steve. His thigh is pressed up against yours, and your shoulders touch as you both lean forward in anticipation.

“Beer pong! Beer pong!”

Loud chants ring throughout the room, and suddenly, everyone is crowding around the foldable table surrounded by the couches and loveseat. Levi goes to explain instructions, directing everyone to go find a partner. You immediately get up to find Robin, who was insanely skilled at beer pong. However, it appears that she’s found another partner, slinging an arm around her thin waist. You shake your head, completely lost with who to team up with.

Out of choices, you move to lean against the wall closest to the TV, watching closely as the game began. When one team made a ball into the cup, the opposing team had to drink - it was all pretty self explanatory, and you felt more than envious to join.

“Y/N, come on!” Kate yells at you from the line of players, standing beside Levi. ”You’ve gotta play!” You shrug defeatedly, shuffling into the cramped group of people.

The universe is funny.

But not funny enough to be a comedian.

Because suddenly you’re standing next to Steve, who also happens to be without a partner.

Hands in his pockets, he turns to you, “You good at beer pong, Y/N?”

“I’m a pro.” His lips tug into a smirk at your comment, then he bumps your fist with his as you linger by the edge of the table.

“But are we trying to get drunk tonight?” He passes you the ping-pong ball, locking eyes with you. You nod in reply as if the answer was obvious, and he chuckles. “Then you better fucking miss.”

Drink.

After drink.

You and Steve occasionally would try to actually make a shot in, getting it in almost every time. But for most of the game, the both of you would miss intentionally, giving the other team a chance to win.

“Cheers!” You giggle drunkenly, tapping the rim of the cup against Steve’s. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as you down the whole drink, wincing at the bitter aftertaste in your throat.

After a few more matches, you start to feel really sick. Steve thinks it’s best to end the game, and you agree - deciding to step aside to go find Robin and Kate.

Fortunately, you were able to see them by the bathroom, next to the outlets where they could charge their phones. Kate has her head in Levi’s lap, her nose buried in her phone while Robin stares up at the ceiling with a massive headache.

“There you are,” She breathes out, patting the empty spot in between her and Levi on the hardwood floor. You sit, and the back of your shirt rides up as you slide down the to the ground.

As the party furthers into the night, groups of two or four people begin to leave periodically. You and Steve had gone your separate ways after beer pong, but you assumed that he crashed in his room from the amount of drinks he had, seeing he was nowhere to be seen again. Being the only half-sober member of the apartment, Jonathan found himself stuck with the task of locking up, and so you politely volunteered to help him while your friends ordered an Uber.

You made small talk, asking each other about your personal lives as if there was actually something interesting happening other than your studies. He had brought up his girlfriend Nancy, which led you to question the fact that he was living with Steve.

“But isn’t that awkward? Like your girlfriend’s ex being in the same household as you?” You scoff, holding out a trash bag for Jonathan. He takes it, dumping an empty box of pizza inside.

He shrugs, “I don’t know. At first, it was... it was weird? But we all came from the same hometown and - and we both had financial problems, so we just got over any issues. Plus, high school was - jesus - a couple years ago? Steve doesn’t feel anything for Nancy.”

“Yeah?”

“Kate gave you the number, right?” He raises his eyebrows at you, smirking under the dull light of the kitchen.

“Yeah. I-I probably won’t use it or anything. I barely... we don’t really know each other on that - that level yet.”

“Yet? Oh, so you’re planning on getting to know him?” He chuckles teasingly, continuing before you can interrupt. “So tell me, once you get to know him, then you’ll text him?”

“Shut up, Jonathan. It’s just a stupid crush. I’ll get over it.”

You really just admitted that.

Thankfully, Jonathan doesn’t mention it.

“And what if you don’t?”

Motherfu... but he really knew how to twist your words, huh?

You roll your eyes at him, only because you don’t have anything smart to say in reply.

Maybe you would text him. Maybe you won’t. So what? But little did you know, Steve lays in his room, a hot towel on his forehead as he stares blankly at his phone.

He had your number, too.

And he also didn’t know what to do with it. Would texting you be weird? What is he even supposed to start with?

Hey, Y/N. It’s me. Steve Harrington. I’m texting you because, wow, I have your number. Surprise!

No. That’s just plain fucking stupid.

Grumbling under his breath, Steve pulls up his instagram, finding your name at the top of his search bar. Quietly, he scrolls through your feed, clicking through pictures that sparked any interest - well, all of them sparked interest. He’s about to leave your account until he sees a picture of you and some guy. An ex? A boyfriend? He zooms in, trying to get a good look at who you were with.

Slippery hands suck.

Because Steve accidentally double-taps on your photo. A red heart appears, almost as if it were mocking him for liking a two-year old post.

God, he really hated himself right now.

“No, no. No. You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He quickly unlikes it, slamming his phone back onto the nightstand. He gets up from the bed, heading to open his door so that he could help Jonathan.

At that exact moment, the knob to his room turns, and he bumps harshly into you.

“Oh, sorry. Sorry.” He apologizes, “Damn, we have to stop meeting like this.”

Why would you say that? Dingus!

He recovers quickly, keeping his hand rested against the paneled door as you step to the side to talk to him.

“I was just gonna say goodbye. Uh, hopefully I didn’t disturb you or anything.” He smiles. “Okay, well... bye, Steve. Tonight was really, super duper fun.” You touch his arm lightly with a warm grin. There’s a lingering stare between the two of you, until you look away and walk down the hallway towards the living room. He blushes, rubbing the spot that you had touched.

“Bye, Y/N.” Sorry for almost murdering you with the door, by the way. “I-I had fun, too, you know...” His voice lowers to a hushed whisper when he hears you leave. “... with you.”

You let out a sigh of pleasure when your head finally hits the soft cotton of your pillow. Partying was obviously fun, but also tiring in the end. You could already foretell the throbbing headache that you’d have in the morning, so you set aside a pain relief pill and glass of water by your bedside table. You roll onto your side to grab your phone, the cool-toned screen illuminating your face in the darkness of your bedroom.

You squint, seeing a notification which informed you that someone had liked a post of yours. Realizing you haven’t posted in quite a while, you click to see the details.

steveharrington98 liked your post

You refresh the screen with surprised and nervous eyes, only for the notification to disappear right in front of you.

Was he insta-stalking you? You then noticed that he had liked the picture of you and an old friend, Nate. And you couldn’t help but wonder, out of all pictures, why that one? Self conscious, you double-check your feed for embarrassing pictures, deleting any that looked unflattering or plain stupid.

You yelp when the phone falls from your grasp, landing roughly on the bridge of your nose. You swear angrily, before you put the device away from the night.

Maybe the universe truly was a comedian.

A fucking awful one, at least.

•••

TAGLIST: @aphrodites-perfume @itsametaphorbriansblog @delicrieux @ultrunning @l0ve-0f-my-life @novaddictx

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ladyreapermc · 4 years

Text

Parent Trap 1/? (Keanu x Reader)

Summary: Annie and Hallie are twin sisters who never met until they end up in the same summer camp together. They decide to switch places to see how the other lives. Hallie heads to Los Angeles to meet Keanu, owner of Arch Motorcycle Company, while Annie goes to New York to meet you, rising fashion designer. Their plan is simple: get their parents together to make the perfect family. If only it could be that easy…

Author’s notes: So here we go! Off to chapter 1. I’m still setting up the twins and the story, but I promise you get some more Keanu soon. I’d like to thank everyone who read and commented on the prologue. Hope you all enjoy this first chapter as much as the first part. Prologue

Wordcount: 2954

Warnings: mentions of child abandonment.

Maine, July 2019.

As Hallie looked at the crowd of kids talking and running around, she felt a ball of anxiety in her chest. This whole thing had been her idea in the first place. She watched too many teenage movies and ended convincing her aunt to let her come to a camp during the summer. She just wanted to have a chance to experience something different for the city she grew up in.

Hallie did the entire research, looking up a place she liked but didn’t cost way too much and settled for this camp on Maine. Now that she was here, watching as everyone seemed to know each other and where they were going, she was second-guessing her own choice. What if this entire thing went terribly? What if she couldn’t make friends? What if she hated all the outdoors activities?

With her mind spinning with those thoughts, she reached for her phone and glanced at the screen, which showed a picture of herself, her aunt and their cat Salem. Hallie knew that all she had to do was give her aunt a call. She would drop everything and come get her. However, Hallie also knew that she had paid good money for this month at camp and the trip was nonrefundable. No matter how much her aunt put on a strong face and assured that they were fine, Hallie knew they were struggling financially.

So, she pocketed her phone again and with a fortifying breath, Hallie picked up her duffle bag and headed to her assigned cabin, mentally telling herself she could do this. Maybe, if Hallie hadn’t been so distracted with her own internal pep talk, she would have noticed the slick sports car that parked just a couple of feet away from where she was standing with a mirror image of herself sitting on the passenger’s seat, twisting her hands nervously.

“You’re sure you wanna do this, sweetheart?” Keanu asked, his dark sunglasses hiding his hesitant gaze. Annie only nodded, looking out the window with a frown.

“Yes. Summer camp is like a rite of passage, right?” she glanced at him and her dad nodded, the movement making some strands of his long, dark hair fall over his glasses and he pushed them back.

“That’s what Hollywood tells us.”

She chuckled and threw her arms around him for a hug. Keanu didn’t have to be here. Hallie knew how busy he was with the race circuits coming up, but he still flew all the way from California with her just so he could bring her here himself.

She also knew that if she asked Keanu would walk her all the way to her cabin but Annie wanted to do this herself. It wasn’t that she was spoiled, but her dad was a little too doting sometimes and she was turning thirteen in a few months. Annie wanted to learn some independence. That was the whole point of his summer trip.

“Don’t work too much. It’s summer,” she said, pressing a kiss on his cheek, before letting go of him and pushing the door open.

“Don’t worry about me. Just have fun and remember, I’m only a call away if you need anything.”

“I know, dad. I love you.”

Annie waved at him as she stepped out of the car, shouldering her backpack and looking around with wide, excited eyes. This was going to be the best summer, she vowed to herself. She was gonna make sure of it.

She set her things by one of the beds at her cabin, exchanging her Arch shirt for the camp uniform before heading down to the dining hall for lunch, ready for her new adventure. In the line at the catering table, Annie didn’t realize she was just three people behind Hallie, who, despite her concerns, ended making two new friends as soon as she stepped inside her cabin.

The two girls ended up sitting back to back, both unaware of the other, too absorbed by the new environment, fresh faces and the prospects for the summer. For the first couple of days, they kept missing each other by mere inches or seconds, it was almost as if fate wasn’t ready for them to meet just yet. Not until they were well into their second week of camp and the event both girls were so anxiously waiting finally arrived. It was time for the paintball championship.

When Hallie was doing her research this championship had been one of the biggest selling points for this camp. Being excused from all the camp chore work if her cabin won was just a bonus. A big one since she hated chores, so she would be damned if she was gonna let another cabin take the win.

Only a couple of feet away from her, Annie put on her goggles and checked her weapon, confident she had this one in the bag. She and her dad played laser tag all the time. If she could beat him, she doubted any campers here would actually give her trouble.

As soon as the camp’s chief counselor blew the whistle, both girls ran to the opposite ends of the field, paint guns at ready and extra ammo packed in their matching cargo pants. They were both very skilled players and soon all the other teams were out of the competition, leaving only Hallie’s and Annie’s teams standing.

The clock was ticking, approaching the end of the game so Hallie became bolder, chasing after one of the last remaining players of the other cabin, taking them out with a green paintball to the back of the head. She cackled in victory. One down, one to go.

A red paintball flew past her ear and Hallie rushed to find a hiding spot. Her final enemy had shown themselves and she could almost taste the freedom.

“You should just give up now,” Hallie called from her spot behind a tree. “I promise I’ll spare your face if you just surrender.”

Annie faltered a step. That voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it and didn’t have time to do it either. She was so close to winning it. Her dad would be proud. Taking cover behind the wall of one of the cabins, Annie risked peeking at her enemy only to have a green paintball hit the wall inches away from her head.

“Reeves don’t quit,” she shouted, before moving to the opposite side of the cabin, hugging the walls to keep the other girl from seeing her. She had a plan ready.

“Well, I never lose!” the girl said, her voice much closer now and Annie smirked because the other had been cocky enough to get out of hiding. Her opponent was begging to be taken out.

Hallie inched closer to the cabin, paint gun held in front of her just like she had seen in those action movies her aunt loved so much. She thought she had seen a flash of red just moments ago. She leaned against the wall, taking a long breath, before turning the corner shooting a couple of times before her target actually registered in her brain. It wasn’t her opponent, just the red vest hanging from a low tree branch.

As soon as she noticed that, Hallie felt the blunt impact of two paintballs splashing against her body. One on the center of her back, the other directly in the middle of her head. The slick paint mixed with sweat made her hair stick to her nape uncomfortably.

“Guess there’s a first time for everything,” Annie gloated.

Hallie spun around, yanking the goggles from her face to properly look at the idiot that would cost her hours in the shower washing away all this paint. She gasped and staggered back as she came face to face with herself.

At least that was what her shocked brain first thought. For a moment, the pair of twins just stood there, staring at each other, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, too overwhelmed to do or say anything. How was that even possible?

“Am I going crazy?” Hallie finally broke the silence, taking a step forward.

“If you are, so am I,” Annie replied meeting the other girl half-way. They circled each other, almost as if examining one another to confirm the uncanny resemblance. “Whoa.”

“I think we need to talk,” Hallie declared.

“We really, really do.”

-----

When they met at the cabin after showering, the weirdness of seeing a double of themselves still lingered. They looked each other up and down as if to find those differences that would prove that it was just a first impression thing, that they were not actually the spitting image of each other.

But aside from Annie being maybe an inch taller and her nose having a slight upturn, while Hallie had a rounder face and the waves in her hair being a touch more defined, they were identical. It was undeniable that they were twins.

“How is this even possible?” Annie asked sagging on her bed and Hallie sighed, taking a seat too. She knew exactly how it was possible.

“When’s your birthday?” Hallie asked.

“October 20th,” Annie replied pausing for a moment and Hallie noticed as realization shone on her eyes. “That’s what my father put on the birth certificate at least. He didn’t know the actual date, so he put the day he found me.”

Hallie’s heart leaped on her chest at those words. So, it was true. This really was her sister. Annie looked up at her, eyes welled with tears, hugging herself.

“Did she…” she hesitated, afraid to voice her question, but even more afraid of the answer. “Did she give you away too?”

Hallie took a deep breath bracing herself. She didn’t want to be the one to tell Annie but there was no other way. She only learned a couple of years ago when she convinced her aunt to tell her the whole story. This was the first time she would speak about it aloud. It was fitting that it would be to Annie and maybe the other girl could fill the blanks that her aunt didn’t know.

Hallie explained how their mother Mary was ill; how it got worse after giving birth. She explained how Mary ran away one night, taking Annie with her and it wasn’t until a month later that she was found but it was too late; she had passed away and Annie was nowhere to be found. Hallie also told how her aunt searched for Annie even when the police wrote her off as dead. She hired a private detective to track down Mary’s steps in the month she disappeared, but after burning through her savings, and considering that she had Hallie to take care of, her aunt had to stop.

“What did your dad tell you?” Hallie asked once she finished her side of the tale, watching as tears ran down Annie’s face and she clung to her necklace like a lifeline.

In her turn, Annie explained how her father had been approached by a woman one night. How she just put the baby in his arms, begging him to help her, but once he agreed she disappeared into the night. He called the police, but he knew nothing about her and there were no cameras on the corner of the street she approached him.

She also told Hallie how she was initially taken by social services and put in foster care while the police tried to locate the woman and waited for the family to contact them. They even put the sketch her father supplied on the local news to see if anyone recognized her, but they didn’t get any response. After two weeks without anyone claiming Annie, her father began the process of registering to be a foster parent so he could take care of her. He stayed in New York for a year before he could officially adopt Annie and go back to California.

“This stuff is straight out of a soap opera,” Hallie whispered once Annie was done and the other girl nodded. “But Dave’s gonna be so happy when she finds out!”

“Who’s Dave?” Annie asked with a frown and Hallie chuckled.

“My aunt. I call her Dave.”

“Why?” Annie asked even more confused.

“2001: A Space Odyssey?” Hallie replied, noticing Annie’s brow furrowing even more. “Kubrick? It’s a sci-fi classic!”

“Sorry. I don’t really like sci-fi. My dad’s always trying to make me watch it with him, but it’s so boring.” Annie just shrugged, and Hallie rolled her eyes.

“The computer that runs the ship is called Hal and she always called me that, so I call her Dave, after the protagonist for the movie, get it?”

“That’s the stupidest nickname ever,” Annie snorted, shaking her head. She had dried her tears and was looking at her sister curiously. “How is she? Your aunt?”

“The coolest!” Hallie replied with a soft smile. “She has the best taste in the world. And I’m not talking just about clothes, but for movies and music and food, even though she can’t cook to save her life,” she chuckled a little. “And she was always there you know? For every school event, helping with my homework…” Hallie paused, looking over at Annie, who was smiling too. “And your dad?”

“He’s the best dad. Always made sure I didn’t feel like I was missing out for not having a mom. He can do all kinds of hairstyles and he bakes the best snickerdoodles ever! Maybe he’s a little too invested in my life but… I know it’s only because he loves me. My aunts too. And my grandma.”

They stay the rest of the afternoon and most of the night swapping stories about their respective lives, sating each other’s curiosity. Annie always wanted to know more about her biological family, so she really wanted to know every detail about Dave and any other relative she might have. She was a little disheartened to find out that Hallie didn’t know anything about their biological father and their grandparents had died when their mom was 20.

On the other hand, Hallie wanted to know all about what it was like to have an extended family like Annie seemed to have. It had been Hallie and Dave since she could remember, and she was a little envious of Annie for having so many people around her.

“So, your dad never married?” Hallie asked as they walked back from the dining hall after dinner. Annie shook her head, dropping back on the bed.

“Not for lack of trying on his girlfriends’ part,” she said with an eye roll. “But he’s a big romantic, you know? He’s waiting for the right one.”

“Geez! That’s cheesy!” Hallie rolled her eyes and Annie glared.

“I think it’s nice,” she declared with a huff. Annie always thought it was lovely that her dad had such big beliefs in true love and all that. She felt the same. “How about Dave? Is she dating anyone?”

“Well, there’s Jason,” Hallie said with a shrug. “He’s like her unofficial boyfriend because they kinda do everything together, but Dave always says they’re just good friends and she doesn’t have time for relationships. Not until she gets her fashion line off the ground.”

“Smart! Clothes over bros,” Annie grinned. “You know, my dad also built his motorcycle company from the ground up with one of his friends.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Hallie grinned too. “Keanu seems like a really good guy.”

“He is,” Annie agreed an idea suddenly popping into her brain. “I bet Dave’s gonna like him. I mean, they have a lot in common.”

“Like what?” Hallie frowned, not following her sister.

“Well, they’re single parents and self-made businesspeople. They both like sci-fi and…” Annie paused, racking her memory for more and Hallie snorted.

“You wanna play matchmaker, don’t you?”

“I mean, wouldn’t it be perfect if they got together?” Annie said with a dreamy sigh. “It would make everything easier.”

As much as what Annie was saying sounded crazy, Hallie knew it might be the only real way for them to be sisters full time instead of flying across the country every once in a while to see each other in summer or holidays; and even that was a best-case scenario. As soon as the truth came out, they would have to part again and that was the last thing Hallie wanted now that she found her sister.

“How would we even make that happen?” she asked, looking over at Annie, noticing the other girl had a thoughtful frown.

“Well, you know Dave better than anyone just like I know my dad better than anyone… what if we switched? So, we can find more about what they’re looking for in a partner and make it happen when they have to meet up to switch us back?”

“That sounds insane,” Hallie snorted, giving Annie a disbelieving look. “That’s the stuff of movies, Annie. Not real life.”

“So is running into your long-lost twin sister on summer camp, but here we are,” Annie pointed out. “You would have to learn everything about being me and vice-versa.”

“So basically, I need to be a snotty brat?” Hallie joked, making Annie glare.

“Do you think I wanna be a tomboy who never heard of a manicure?” she asked with an arched eyebrow and her sister stuck her tongue out at her. “So, are you in?” Hallie paused to consider. It was insane, but what did she have to lose?

“Operation Cupid is a go,” she grinned, offering her fist for Annie to bump against, a matching grin sneaking across her twin face.

xxx tbc xxx

Tag List (give it a shout to be added or removed)

@toomanystoriessolittletime @meetmeinthematinee @theolsdalova @krazycags01 @beyond-antares @cumberbatchbaps @sgt-morgan @futuristic-imbecile @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day @a-really-bi-girl @fanficsrusz @nonsensicalobsessions @poisonedjoinery @soarocks @tnu-ree

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #fanfic #alternate universe #parent trap #requested #series

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r3b3lgrrrrrrrl · 4 years

Text

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 99) "Shows in Different Country Codes"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3 @crystalbaby12 @mgkobsessed @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @5sosfam1dlover

Waiting for the Xanax to kick in that Luna had given him in their uber, Colson's leaned back into his seat. A thousand thoughts swirling through his head as he stares out the airplane's window.

"FUCK... I hate leaving them...." He sighs at the thought of Casie and Luna. "I wonder if she got in touch with that planner Emma gave her..." His mind drifting to their weddings. Being more nervous for EstFest, there's a lot to do just festival wise. "I'm glad no one gave me shit about adding the extra day..." He thinks of the vendors. Sighing again, his mind wanders to a place it tries to never go. "Maybe I should call my dad.... He should probably meet Luna...." His heart worries as the Xanax helps his eyes close.

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

Luna lands in Mexico City around 5A. She wanders around the gift shop for a moment, buying a new shirt before making her way outside. It's pouring, so she pulls her Yankees hat on backwards before she hops into a taxi.

Once checked in at The Four Seasons, Luna doesn't know what to do with herself. Ashley's sharing a room with Dom, leaving Luna alone. Lighting a joint, she tries on the shirt she bought. Heading into the bathroom, she stands on top of the toilet to Snap Colson.

Finally crawling into bed, Luna flicks on the TV as she lights another joint. Drifting off to the sounds of Parks and Rec once she's put it out.

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

The Bus is parked in the back of the venue, Colson's playing The Knitting Factory tonight. In the back of a cab, he catches the Snap from Luna. Laughing out loud at her once he opens it.

"She's so fucking adorable..." His heart aches for her as he pays for and climbs out of his ride.

Opening the door to their bedroom on The Bus, Colson isn't shocked to find Baze and Sam. He's definitely not pleased though.

"Yo. Wake the fuck up and get outta my bed." He states, kicking the bottom of Baze's foot.

Both of them wake with a bit of a startle. Looking at each other, slightly embarrassed. They like to think they're on The Low but everyone knows about them. Silly Wabbits.

"FUCK man... I didn't think you'd be back till later..." Baze says groggily as he collects himself.

"Clearly, Truck." Colson rolls his eyes with a chuckle as he turns around so they can dress.

Not one to cock block but desperately wanting to lay down, he really doesn't care. He knows Luna will though. As they begin to leave his room, Colson calls out a Yo. They both turn but he talks directly to Sam.

"You know she's a cunt.... I'd get these sheets washed before she gets back." He says with a light warning.

Tired, Sam stares at Colson. She hates that he knows Luna well enough to be right.

"I got it." She responds, uncharacteristically trying to hide the annoyance in her voice.

With his door shut, Colson Snaps Luna back before throwing himself down. Hoping to find her smell, he can only find other people in their bed. Pissed, he rips the blankets, sheets and pillow cases off, throwing them out the door.

Grabbing her pillow and tucking his nose inside his hoodie, he catches her faint scent. Images of Luna dancing in his head as he falls asleep.

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

Luna wakes up to a hard banging on her door. It's just after 2P. Touching the empty side of her bed, Luna wishes Colson was with her.

Hating The World, she let's them bang. Finding her phone, there's a Snap from Colson.

"He's such a dirty Motherfucker..." Luna thinks with a grin.

The door still pounding.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!! I'M COMING!" She shouts as she climbs out of bed.

Winging the door open, it's Ashley and Dom. Impatient fucking Assholes.

"WHY!?!" Luna demands. "Why the FUCK do you need to bang like that?" Luna complains as she let's them in.

"To wake your bitch ass up." Ashley snarks, pushing her way into the room.

"Mornen' Loons." Dom greets her to her silent nod.

"You really are a DICKFUCK sometimes...." Luna says with annoyance.

"Whatever...." Ashley brushes her off. "Got any bud?" She asks, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah.... But it was shoved up my asshole, so do you really wanna smoke it?" Luna deadpans.

"Shut the fuck up." Ashley laughs as she turns to Dom. "She didn't shove it up her ass." She reassures him.

"Oi... Bum smoke is no problem fo me!" Dom responds, making both Girls laugh.

Dom knowing Them well enough to truly understand the nature of their friendship. Rolling one up as Ashley and Luna climb onto the bed together. Luna's ring catching Ashley's eye for the first time.

"HOLY FUCK! WHAT IS THIS!!!" She exclaims as she grabs for Luna's hand.

Admiring the large, sparkling stone, she moves Luna's hand all around as it catches the light. Shining brighter with every different angle. It's definitely NOT a guitar string.

"He picked this out on his own?" She asks in amazement.

"I think Rook might've helped him a little, but yeah... I had nothing to do with it." Luna answers.

"Good job, Kells." Ashley compliments his choice.

Luna, Ashley and Dom burn and chat. Talking about Colson, the ring, what they've both been up to and the upcoming weddings. It feels like forever since The Girls last saw each other. In reality, it's only been three days since the show at The Roxy.

"Alright... We gotta motor. Go shower, we have rehearsal in less then 2hrs. Come meet us in room 202 when you're ready." Ashley directs Luna.

"Alright......" Luna yawns loudly.

She heads into the bathroom as Ashley and Dom close her door behind them. Lighting another joint, she rails three 30s as she gets ready for the shower. Forgetting to Snap Colson back due to her unexpected visitors.

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

"Cool..." Colson thinks when he finally opens his door. His angry linen fit is gone from the floor. "Thanks Sam...." His brain grateful even if his actions are sometimes dickish.

Walking to the front of The Bus, everyone's lounging, burning and waiting for him. Plopping down next to AJ, he asks Rook to throw him a bag of chips. Colson nonchalantly munches on them as they all talk about tonight's show. Working on the setlist, he hates when he has to cut Bad Things as he finishes his snack.

"Dawg... Raise that shit to your face!!" Slim hollers at the picture on the bag.

Looking at it, Colson asks "What like this?" Lifting it up just under his nose.

The entire Bus erupts into laughter. It fits so perfectly. Colson tosses his phone to Slim.

"Here, take a picture.... We'll see if this is wedding acceptable." He laughs.

Tossing it back after he takes one, Slim laughs out a Definitely Not as Colson shoots Luna a Snap asking the same question. Colson shrugs with amusement... You never know with Loons.

"We ready to fuck this day up?" He asks as he begins to lead the rest of them off of The Bus.

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

Throwing on jeans, with a band T and flannel, Luna has her hair up. Red bandana securing it. Only having one pair of contacts left, she chooses to wear her glasses. The sun being her eyeballs mortal enemy today.

In the front seat of an uber with Ashley and Dom, her phone goes off. It's another Snap from Colson.

What the SHIT!!" Luna can't contain her thoughts or laughter. "Look at this crazy Asshole!!" She laughs.

Screenshotting the Snap before passing it to the backseat. Both of them erupt into laughter also.

"Oi. E wears it so well!!" Dom laughs.

"No... No, he doesn't. He looks like a fucking pornstar." Luna laughs as she takes back her phone.

"Pornstache!!" Ashley laughs out loudly to Luna's hysterical agreement.

Catching the older driver's amused eyes, Luna shows him. Bursting out laughing, he agrees... Yes, I'm sorry but Your Boyfriend Looks Like a PornStar. Tickling Luna's funny bone to the core.

"FUCKING JOHNNY WADS!!!!" She shouts, turning in her seat to look at Ashley before she Snaps Colson back.

She's referring to one of the pioneering PornStars of the 70s. John Holmes. Huge cock. 15 inches... If not more. A wild and extremely violent true story. The two of them watching the movie dozens of times as teenagers. Amongst many others.

Even with with one's own solid influences, false advertisements are still intriguing. Filling their young, rebellious souls. Recommending the fucked up movie to anyone who loves drugs, violence, Val Kilmer and unhappy endings.

youtube

"Oooh.. Christ!!! You better hope not, Phoebe!!" Ashley laughs.

"Fuck you... I'd be a Smelly Cat BEFORE a fucking SHARON!!!" Luna flicks her off with a laugh and a grin.

Dom chiming in to sing Smelly Cat as they step out of their cab and head into the venue to rehearse for the Awards Show. The Girls singing along with him.

"Wait... What are we doing and why are we in Mexico again?" Luna asks, slightly confused.

"It's the MTV Latin Millennial Awards." Ashley answers as if Luna's supposed to just get it.

"Annnnnd....?" She leads.

"And I'm nominated and performing. They requested Without Me and Nightmare so you HAVE to be here." She teases Luna while draping her arms around her shoulders from behind.

"But we're not Latina....?" Luna's still confused.l

"Dude... I don't know. I just played the Brazil one a few weeks ago. Without Me is a nominee for Global Hit... Maybe that's why." Ashley shrugs. "We've got more important things to worry about. I want us do some choreography with four dancers."

"You fucking what?" Luna asks in bewilderment.

Ashley has her at an Award Show in Mexico and now she wants her to dance like some fucking pop star. She's gotta be out of her God Damn mind.

"Yeah!!! It'll be fun!! Come meet the girls." Ashley says with a grin as she pulls Luna along.

"Fuck my stupid fucking life...." Is all Luna can think.

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

Colson is rehearsing with The Boys. Deciding to take a Burn&Board Break, they head out back. Reaching into his pocket, he finds a Snap from Luna.

Laughing at her smart ass response and missing her voice, he calls her. It rings straight through. Colson can't resist leaving her a voicemail.

🎶Off that fat ass//Imma do a line or two//Before we//Have our own private shoot//Where I//PornStar Fuck//The shit outta you//Be ready//When you come back//Boo//Cuz it's//Only Bad Things//That we do🎶

Laughing after he finishes, he shouts "LOVE YOU, KITTEN!! CALL ME!" before hanging up.

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

Luna's BackStage as Ashley and Dom sit in the audience. She's trying not to freak out over the performance Ashley wants to pull off. Even with Patti making her take ballet and gymnastics, Luna is not a dancer. She's a musician, a songwriter, a photographer, a painter, a sculptor. An artist. You could even call her an activist, a feminist, a bitch and an outlaw. What you can not call her is a professional dancer.

"This is gonna be a fucking shit show...." She worries as she hears Ashley's name called. "OH FUCK!! SHE WON!!!" Luna's brain bursts. Any other thoughts disappearing with the excitement for her bestfriend.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Catching up in the dressing room they're sharing, Luna congratulates Ashley with a tight hug. Popping into the bathroom while Ashley puts on her first outfit, Luna shoots Colson a Snap. Not paying attention to her voicemail as she comes out of the bathroom. She always has an unchecked voicemail.

"Change. We're on next." Ashley instructs her, pointing to the latex and chain garments sitting on a chair.

Wiggling into the tight pieces, Luna checks herself out in the stand up mirror. Her outfit consisting of a latex crop top, VERY small booty shorts with metal chains dangling securely around the hips, fishnets and a pair of Docs. Ashley has the exact same thing on under what looks like a 1980's prom dress.

"You know I'm keeping these right?" Luna asks as she slides her hand up her smooth ass.

"Yeah, I figured..." Ashley laughs as a tiara is placed on top of her head.

"See you out there, Miss 2019." Luna smiles, referring to the sash Ashley's wearing as she makes her way out the door.

Luna double checking herself before following behind. Thinking about Snapping Colson again, she decides to wait. He loves the feel of latex and she'd rather show him in person.

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

Colson's phone goes off just as he's about to silence it. It's Luna.

"Fuck, she's gorgeous...." He thinks staring at her picture. Wanting to put his hands on every inch of the bare skin she's showing. More so on the parts she's not.

"Yo!!! You gotta go!!" Ashleigh hollers at him.

Walking quickly down the hall, Colson Snaps Luna back before heading OnStage. Grabbing his guitar, he shouts to the crowd WHAT UP EST FAM!!!! making the factory explode in excitement.

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

Ashley presents Without Me almost as a performance piece. Standing alone OnStage in her pretty dress, sash and tiara initially until black, shadowy figures begin to push and pull at her. By the end of the song, they've ripped the gown off of her. Leaving her on the floor.

The lights go down as the opening chords to Nightmare come on. Ashley running to the MainStage to meet Luna. It's a long runway with a large circular stage at the bottom.

Luna and Ashley bounce in between the four similarly dressed dancers. Ashley kicking her leg out high as she begins.

🎼I!🎶

She shouts the opening chorus as the two of them run, bounce and jump down the straight away towards the camera. Of course it's being televised. Stopping MidStage, the dancers squat down. Surrounding them as Luna hits her mark.

🎶I'm out for blood//And it won't be sweet🎶

She sings, dragging her hands around her body as the dancers and Ashley tilt their heads back and forth to the beat. On que the six of them stalk to the center of the stage, Ashley and Luna in the middle. Back to back the dancers pull at them as Luna bellows.

🎶Society has us//Pinching our skin//With our own fingers//Wishing we could//Cut our parts off//With some scissors🎶

None of their performances together are the same but they do carry similar tones. Luna and Ashley still mocking each other about Giving Each Other A Smile. Instead of jumping wildly, they move in sync with the dancers to their sides. Fire exploding as they drop out and let the audience shout that WE DON'T OWE YOU A GOD DAMN THING!

The six of them sit down on the ground, sat behind the other like a human train. Leaning forwards and backwards as Ashley sings how she's No Sweet Dream But A HELL Of Night. Standing up and collectively circling around Luna and Ashley, the dancers move behind them as Luna comes in again.

🎶No, I won't smile//But I'll show you my teeth//And I might let you breathe//If you just let Us be//We've been polite//But we're done with this trend//Of men thinking//They can tell Us//What we can do in our beds🎶

Rolling their hips and hitting different moves together on certain lyrics, the choreography isn't nearly as awful as Luna had anticipated. Fire bursting around them as they squat and move easily with the dancers. The performance rolling smoothly.

"Thank you, Mexico City!! Thank you for having us. Thank you for the honor of my award..." Ashley shouts to the crowd as the song begins to come to it's end.

Luna comes up to Ashley, putting her arm around her. Looking at each other, Luna turns back to the room.

"Yes!! Thank you!! This woman here is AMAZING!! Can you do one thing for her? On this last verse can you go WILD!?!" Luna asks to their roars. "THEN, HERE WE GO!!!!"

Ashley and Luna sing together strong and fierce. Fire and lights exploding around them. Fuck the choreography, they're fully enjoying losing their minds OnStage together. To their credit, the dancers are completely professional and stay on point. Somehow managing to avoid crashing into the Maniacal Girls

🎶I!//KEEP A RECORD//OF THEIR WRECKAGE//AND THEIR LIES//WE'RE STARTEN' TO WEAPONIZE//OUR POWERFUL MINDS//THEY TALK SHIT//BUT//WE WON'T TAKE IT//THIS TIME//AND//THEY'LL FINALLY REALIZE🎶

Coming together again, arms linked around each other and the dancers waists, The Girls yell in unison with a wave.

"THAT WE'RE NO SWEET DREAM BUT WE'RE A HELL OF A NIGHT!!! THANK YOU AGAIN, MEXICO CIIIIITYYYY!!!"

The two bestfriends laughing and holding hands as they walk OffStage. Thanking and complimenting the dancers along their way.

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

"THROW THOSE HORNS UP AND SIIINGIIING!" Colson shouts as he grips the mic, guitar hanging from his body.

🎶Woah, Woah//She said//You need to let me go//Woah, woah//She said I'd die for you//You're like my drug//But I can't get high off you//You're not mine anymore🎶

His Est Family erupting with him as they sing along word for word Let You Go with him. There is NOTHING like thousands of people singing your words along with you.

The Band runs through El Diablo and Rap Devil. Colson climbing onto the top of Rook's kit hitting a guitar solo during Alpha Omega. Bad Motherfucker follows with them finally ending on 27.

It's a great show. The Boys are raw and fearless. Colson jumping and climbing on everything he can find. Shouting THANK YOU, IDAHO! as they exit the stage.

Without Luna there Colson feels a bit lost. Heading straight BackStage, avoiding his dressing room. Grabbing a beer, he slams a shot with The Crew. Random Girls floating in around them. Falling all over themselves to get to Rook, Slim, AJ, Baze and Colson.

Sam is sitting on a couch between Colson and Baze talking about tonight's show, if anyone's heard from Luna and other random stuff. It's when two girls slither over, each perching themselves on the arm rest next to one of the boys. Touching them to get their attention.

Sam looks left. Then Sam looks right. Reaching in her back pocket, she pulls out her blade. Popping it, she looks back and forth between the two females again.

"I'd get the fuck up if you cunts like your tits." She states with a snarl.

The two quickly moving away as Colson laughs. Sam and Luna truly are two peas in a pod. Looking over he catches Baze kiss Sam's cheek. It makes him miss his LunaTic even more.

"Knock it off." He tells them. "If I'm not getting any, neither are you motherfuckers. Now, let's get FUCKED UP!!" Colson declares as he grabs a bottle of Jack.

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

Luna's doing the same. Only in Mexico with Corona and Mezcal. Sitting at an After Party with Ashley, Dom, the boys from BTS and a few other artist, they bullshit and talk about the night. Everyone stopping to congratulate Ashley on her win and compliment both Girls on their performances.

"You won't eat the worm..." Ashley dares Luna as she swigs the bottle with the little guy floating inside.

"Nothing happens if you do...." Luna blows her off.

"Yes hunh.... You start trippen'. Isn't that right, Luis?" She asks as she turns to one of the other artist.

"For dayyys, Mami..." He drawls.

Rolling her eyes, Luna takes the last of the fifth to the head. The other's watching with wide eyes as the worm slides down her throat with it.

"We'll see... But I call bullshit." Luna states.

"Aye..." Luis nudges Ashley. "She's no gallina." He says impressed to her nod.

"Nah, mucho perra." Luna counters to his surprise.

"Aye...." He grins with his own nod, amused by the tiny white girl.

The music is loud as smoke and Mezcal continue to flow. Everyone is drunk. Ashley tries to follow with Dom as Luis teaches Luna to salsa. Politely declining his advances as his hand slips from the small of her back down to her ass.

"I'll be back...." She calls over her shoulder as she goes to check her phone.

There's a Snap from Colson hours ago.

Both sets of Luna's cheeks instantly flush when she reads his words. Missing him, she calls instantly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Hi, Bunny...." Her voice is low and warm when he answers.

"Oooh, Kitten. I miss you." He sighs.

"Me too... I miss your face. And your eyeballs. And your hands on my body. The way they run threw my hair when I suck your cock..."

Colson's dick had perked up at the sound of her voice but her words have him full on hard now. Wanting to fuck her, touch her.... Shit, just seeing her right now would probably make him cum.

"Where are you?" He demands

"I don't know.... Somewhere in Mexico?" She answers.

"Find somewhere alone and FaceTime me right back." He tells her firmly.

"Okay." She simply says as she hangs up.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Luna heads towards the stairwell. Popping in her air pods, she FaceTime's Colson right back.

Colson had made his way into a bathroom while they were off the phone. Answering, he can't help but break out into a smile.

"Hey, Gorgeous... You alone?" He asks after greeting her.

"Mhmm... Just me and your pussy." She coos. "She's lonely without you...."

"Show her to me." Colson taunts as he adjusts his phone on the bathroom sink and unbuckles his pants. Both of them are drunk and horny.

Luna props her phone against the wall across from her. Standing up, she slips off the black jean shorts she has on. Sitting on them, she drops her left leg on the step below and lifts her right to the one above. Spreading her legs for Colson. Only a screen and Luna's black panties separating them.

"I want you to touch her." He requests as he starts to pull on his hard cock.

Luna can see him playing with himself through the phone. Obliging him, she pulls the cotton to the side. Exposing her bare lips. Opening them for him to see her pink insides. Colson tugs harder on himself as Luna slips her fingers inside her sopping cunt. Letting out a low moan as she arches her back.

"That's right, Kitty... Play with my pussy. Rub that clit with your thumb the way I know you like." He directs her.

Following directions, Luna uses her free hand to yank the Japanese Star Wars shirt she has on up. Exposing her full breasts. With her fingers still inside of herself, she grips one tit. Playing with it's piercing between her thumb and index finger. The sight of his ring on her hand makes Colson rage even more.

"Does that feel good?" He pants as he watches her, feeling close to exploding.

"Unh hunh.... She moans with closed eyes as she bucks against her own hand. "Be better if my mouth had your cock in it." She lets out with another moan, she's close too.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard you can't fucking walk by time I'm done with you." Colson threatens to Luna's delight as he grips the sink.

With Colson's deep voice wrapping around her brain and the memory of his touch hitting all her senses Luna cries out for him as they masturbate for each other.

"AHHHH FUCK! DO IT, LOONS!!" He shouts as his dick shoots his seed everywhere, keeping his eyes glued to the screen.

Luna's spread eagle as she finger fucks herself on the steps. Bucking wildly as her hands please her body. Cumming all over herself as Colson watches in pleasure.

Out of breath, Luna opens her eyes. "Fuck, C....." Is all she can get out as her knees fall together.

"Lemme see her one more time.... Bring her close." He instructs.

Opening her legs back up, Luna pulls her phone up to her box. She can hear Colson telling her pussy that She's A DIRTY Girl. Looking down when she hears him making kissing noises, all she can see is his lips. He's kissing his phone screen.

"Are you trying to kiss my fucking vagina?" Luna asks with a drunken laugh.

"Damn right I am." He grins.

"I fucking love you." She laughs again as she shakes her head.

"Not as much as I love you. Now put your fucking pants back on before I have to kill someone." He smirks.

Doing as she's told, Luna slips her shorts back on over her soaked panties. Staring at each other, both of their heads are dancing in ecstasy.

Luna and Colson sit on the phone for another 45mins just talking. About anything and everything as usual. Luna telling him about the choreographed performance. Colson chuckling, saying He'll Be Finding It On YouTube to Luna's Fuck. Agreeing to meet in Seattle tomorrow, they exchange sweet Love and I Miss Yous before hanging up.

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

"Jesus fucking Christ, that girl can make me cum from ANYWHERE!" Colson thinks as he walks out of the bathroom contently.

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

"Holy cock on a cracker...." Luna sighs to herself. "That fucking voice gets me every time...." She thinks as her heart throbs for her Lover.

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

Still on the same continent, they both head back to their respected parties separately. Colson eventually moving his party to The Bus. Luna moving her's back to The Four Seasons.

He'll ride through the night while she'll fly out tomorrow. Bringing Dom and Ashley with her.

Even apart, they're still on each other's minds. Even with shows in different country codes, they still mange to fuck only each other.

Truly showcasing A Day In The Life of a LunaTic and Her Gunn.

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

To be continued.....

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stahlop · 5 years

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Once Upon a Time 1x05 “That Still Small Voice” Review

Review 1x01 1x02 1x03 1x04

This is another filler-type episode for me. Jiminy/Archie is just not that interesting to have a whole episode revolve around him. The only purpose for this episode is to basically show that Emma is changing things in Storybrooke, and that Regina is losing her control over the curse. I get that we, as an audience, need to see little things moving forward, but I was so bored during this episode.

Synopsis:

Emma becomes a deputy in Storybrooke just as a cave in happens at the old mines. When Regina says she wants to pave it over, Henry is determined to go into the mines to find out what she is hiding, essentially trapping himself and Dr. Archie Hopper inside. In the EF, we find out the origins of Jiminy, before he became a cricket (because apparently he wasn’t always a cricket).

Opening:

A spinning wheel

Character Observations:

Jiminy/Archie: Jiminy is basically a coward. He doesn’t want to steal anymore, but he doesn’t really have a choice as a child because that is what his parents force him to do. But once he is an adult, for some reason he can’t bring himself to leave his parents. I don’t know if he has some actual affection towards them or he just has no other marketable skills and doesn’t know what he would do, but he’s scared to leave what he is familiar with. Instead, he decides to make a deal with Rumplestiltskin of all people. What did he plan to do once his parents were out of the way and why did he feel he needed to do something drastic in order to be free of them? They were pretty lazy people. They kept the same puppet act for years, in the same traveling show, and also used the same Elf Tonic routine. I really doubt they would have gone looking for Jiminy if he had left. Once Jiminy realizes the error of his ways, when a perfectly nice couple gets turned into a pair of horridly grotesque puppets, he wishes to become a cricket because they are free. Um, okay. And he is also tasked with being the conscience to a small boy, who turns out to be Geppetto, future father to Pinocchio.

Archie is also a coward because he can’t stand up to Regina. To be fair, he is threatened about his job by her, but as a therapist, he’s treating Henry in a completely unethical way. He is desperate to figure out why Henry is so entrenched in his fantasy world and why he believes he could be Jiminy Cricket. He certainly is not feeling like his conscience is winning out, especially when he resorts to threatening Henry with being locked in a mental facility if he continues to believe in the fairytale fantasy. Throughout the cave-in ordeal, Henry’s confession that ‘there has to be more than this’, and the fact that he almost dies, pushes Archie to finally take the moral ground and stand up to Regina. Of course, he also threatens her that if a custody battle were to happen, he would not be siding with Henry’s adoptive mother, but with Emma.

Regina: She is losing more and more control and doesn’t know how to handle it. In this episode she has resorted to trying to control Henry, the one thing she has never had any real control over, by making Archie crush his storybook ‘fantasy’. Regina is thinking only of self-preservation at this point. She shows no signs of caring for Henry. Even when Henry goes down into the mines and gets trapped, does she really care about Henry’s safety or does she just not want him to find proof that his fairytale theory is real? She also blames Emma for everything, because, of course, Henry had no issues before Emma arrived. But we also see some vulnerability concerning Henry. Is it possible that Regina actually does care for him? She even concedes her authority to Emma in rescuing Henry. Of course, once Emma saves Henry, Regina’s vulnerability is gone and she is back to being Queen Bitch Supreme. Fortunately, Archie puts her in her place by basically telling her that Emma has his vote for being a better mother than Regina.

Henry: He actually gets something to do in this episode! It may be idiotic and stupid, but he does something. Archie is starting to question him about why he wants the curse to be real so badly. Henry doesn’t originally have an answer for him. But later he tells Archie it’s because this can’t be all there is. That...doesn’t seem like a valid argument. That just seems like a child wishing for something more and projecting his fantasy on his friends and neighbors. If we didn’t already know that he is correct, I’d think he was overcompensating for the lack of love from Regina. Henry is also really challenging Regina’s authority in this episode. Not that he hasn’t before, but this time he risks his life to do it. He sees Regina put something in his pocket and resolves to figure out what it is. He also finds a piece of glass in the tunnels that he’s convinced is something that will prove he is not crazy, as Archie has been telling him he is on Regina’s orders. By the end of the episode the only thing really resolved with Henry is that Archie is no longer implying to Henry he’s crazy, and he notices that the crickets are back.

Emma: She is starting at the deputy’s office and the second she puts on her deputy’s badge the mines collapse, showing that the more she puts down roots the more the curse starts breaking down. Regina again talks down to her when she and Graham go to help at the mines, but stands her ground when letting Regina know she works for the town now. Emma also confronts Archie about his treatment of Henry, since Archie was the one to tell her to believe in Henry’s fantasy. She also confronts Regina over the phone when she tells her Henry is missing. Emma gets the chance to help Henry by saving him and Archie from the falling elevator, but is then immediately rebuffed by Regina and only acknowledged as the deputy who helped save Henry instead of as his mother. Emma is doing her best, she is attempting to put down roots, not only to prove Regina wrong, but to change herself in the process. She knows that Regina’s feelings towards Henry are lukewarm at best, and believes that Henry’s fairytale fantasy is a result of not feeling loved. She wants to make sure he is happy and right now, being there for him is what will make him happy.

Mary Margaret/David/Kathryn: I’m putting these three together because all their stories intertwined. Mary Margaret and David are spending a lot of time together. Mary Margaret is still volunteering at the hospital but spending most of her time entertaining David. It is obvious they both have feelings for each other, despite David being married to Kathryn. David still has no memory of his life. He tells Mary Margaret that he’s been lying to Kathryn about any memories he has said he has had to make her feel better. David tells Mary Margaret that nothing feels real, that she is the only thing that feels real and right. Mary Margaret, is of course happy about this, but at the same time, realizes that just because he doesn’t remember being married doesn’t mean he’s available. Kathryn, to her credit, is either oblivious to the fact that David has feelings towards Mary Margaret, or is banking on David’s memories coming back soon and then his feelings for Mary Margaret will be moot. Although, from the way she spoke of their marriage before his ‘accident’, it didn’t sound like they were in a good place, especially if he was in a coma for however long she thinks he was gone and she never reported him missing because they’d been fighting. By the end Mary Margaret has decided to resign from volunteering at the hospital because it is too painful to see the guy she likes with his wife.

Questions:

Why are there no crickets in Storybrooke? Did Regina hate Jiminy Cricket so much that she just banned all crickets? Was she afraid if the people heard crickets they’d remember something from the Enchanted Forest?

How exactly did several pieces of glass from Snow White’s coffin, which seemed to be miles below ground, make its way above ground for Regina and Henry to find?

Does Rumplestiltskin just like to spin straw into gold for fun? Is it soothing? Does he always give it out as payments for whatever people do for him?

Do Jiminy’s parents work for Rumplestiltskin? Why is Jiminy giving him the stuff they pickpocketed and how do they have those peoples names? What is Rumplestiltskin doing with this stuff?

Where was young Geppetto during dinner? Did it really take him hours to gather, what I’m assuming is water? Would his parents have had dinner without their child just because guests came over?

What did Rumplestiltskin want with the people turned puppets?

Why is Snow’s glass coffin in the mines? Did Regina bring other items over in the mines? Is that why she wants to collapse it and pave it over?

How long do magical crickets live for? Jiminy was supposed to be, what, mid-20s when he was turned into a cricket and Geppetto was about 9-10. He’s been a cricket for the past 40-50 years?

Observations:

Jiminy was human before he was turned into a cricket, and then he was turned back into a human when the curse hit.

The mines collapse immediately when Emma puts the deputy badge on.

According to Henry, Jiminy Cricket and Geppetto are best friends.

Archie’s dog is named Pongo, the name of the dog from 101 Dalmations.

The mines cave in more when Henry finds a shard of glass, most likely from Snow’s coffin.

Jiminy’s parents, besides picking pockets, also sell Elf Tonic (rainwater) to unsuspecting people.

David still has amnesia but feels a strong connection to Mary Margaret.

I’m pretty sure the Blue Fairy turned Jiminy into a grasshopper and not a cricket. Look at the pictures below.

Cricket

Grasshopper

Jiminy

All in all, not too impressed with this episode. Young Geppetto basically beat us over the head with his talk about crickets and giving Jiminy his signature umbrella. I feel as though this was just one of those episodes that just beats the ‘moral’ into us, no matter how much it doesn’t fit in with what is going on in the story. This was basically a filler episode that really didn’t move much plot forward and gave us the background on a character that, so far, hasn’t seemed that crucial to the audience.

As usual feedback is welcome. Please let me know your thoughts about anything and please reblog!!!

@searchingwardrobes @thisonesatellite@justbecauseyoubelievesomething

@laschatzi @profdanglaisstuff @mariakov81

#once upon a time #once upon a time rewatch #once upon a time 1x05 #once upon a time that still small voice

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

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Holding Court In A Crown {Roger Taylor}

Sequel to And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 3630 words. Giselle is fun to write and I love her. Another article style, based off of many conversations between @ginghampearlsnsweettea and I. Let me know what you think.

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

HOLDING COURT IN A CROWN - GISELLE TAYLOR in conversation with Vogue UK about her fashion evolution through the decades. (Published June, 1991)

When stepping into the Taylor home, it becomes immediately apparent that this is a home in which public image has always been very important. Gold and Platinum albums alike line the front foyer, shining reminders of the achievements of both artists who reside here. It’s surprisingly modern, hardwood floors and large windows that allow light to stream in, though the house itself is smaller than one might expect. Giselle herself greets me in the front hall, looking carefully casual in a flattering, warm yellow summer dress, that hits just above her knees, and a pair of matching yellow slip on shoes.

I’m lead through the house, past closed doors, one of which I’m told is a personal recording studio, into a open-planned kitchen-dining area. It’s a strange marriage of two aesthetics, no pun intended, the German-inspired open planned living with the dark counters, appliances, and features that make the space feel a little smaller, though it comes together to make something modern and chic, and perfectly suited to both Giselle and her husband’s images.

“Roger’s with the girls,” she tells me, referring to her daughters, pouring us both a glass of water in some of the fanciest crystal glasses I’ve ever seen, “not that he wouldn’t jump at the chance to talk about his “fashion choices”,” her air quotes, not mine, “but I thought I’d spare you the half hour argument about the wine stain, and all the other, sundry fashion choices of mine that he likes to take credit for.”

Giselle herself admits that she’s always been very fortunate in terms of fashion, “I mean, I look good in everything,” though there’s an air of self deprecation about it, “Actually, I’ve had a certain liberty with my work attire that not a lot of people have, unless you’re in the entertainment industry.” What began with a rented cocktail dress bloomed into one of the most influential fashion timelines of the 70s and 80s.

Beginning her career in an establishment modeled after American prohibition-era speakeasies, Giselle started off wearing cocktail dresses rented from the pub itself. “I actually did start off as a waitress, but for that you just had to provide your own black pants and white top, you know, wait-staff attire.” When the pub’s regular singer leaves, Giselle auditions to be her replacement, “they were just grateful I could fit into her dress, I could lipsync for all they cared.” Except, as well all know, Giselle can sing, and begun to make a name for herself in the community that frequented the pub.

Pulling out a polaroid of herself and music industry giant Ray Forrester, she shows me the only proof she has of the dress that started it all. It’s a rather ill-fitting, wine-coloured, sateen slip dress, it looks cheap, and according to Giselle, “it itched like crazy, it was cleaned once a week, and I was just glad that I was the only singer, some of the members of the jazz band had interchangeable costumes.” We both shudder at that, and she puts the photo on the counter.

As soon as she was given some modicum of control over her wardrobe, she took full advantage of it. Without a coherent aesthetic solidified by the release of her first album, Giselle admits she used the tour for Velvet Roses to experiment with both fabrics and styles. I personally have always favoured the midnight blue, velvet bouffant-style dress she wore during her stops in Belfast and Paris, but she goes on to praise the white, silk slip dress she had during her stop in West Berlin.

“Silk! Oh the silk, I dream about that dress sometimes,” she laughs a little, and now that we’ve begun to discuss her tour outfits, she leads me upstairs, “at the time it was the most comfortable thing I’d worn… ever; being able to work, to perform in something so luxury? It was a blessing.”

Her closet, at least the closet she stores her tour garments in, is separate from her bedroom, and locked. She’s got the key in her pocket, prepared, of course, for the interview, and as we step in I can hear the hum of a dehumidifier, and feel the chill of the air conditioning.

“It’s my one real extravagance.” As she turns on the lights, we’re greeted to the sight of a room, approximately four meters deep and half as wide, lined with railings that are practically stuffed with garment bags of varying sizes, and the end of the little room has a built in area for her jewel toned and bejewelled shoes alike. Three mannequins pose in the ample amount of space in the centre of the room, each wearing one of her most iconic outfits.

Each section of the racks around the side are carefully labelled by year, and it takes only a moment for Giselle to go through the section labelled 1971 before she’s pulling that same white dress from a garment bag. It still looks pristine, and when she offers for me to feel it, I understand what she’s saying.

“I’ve always tried to keep a very high standard in term of the materials I wear,” it was the first part of her aesthetic identity that was formed. “I’d never really had access to luxury on this scale before; I’d lived in sweaters and jeans for most of my [university] days; I was one of those girls in the little skirts and beaded tops at clubs- I lived my life in gogo boots every weekend of my first year.” Apparently she still has her favourite pair in the back of her personal closet, but seems hesitant to show me.

When asked what prompted her aesthetic shift, she reveals her passion for luxury stage-wear was only part of the decision. “I’d go on stage in silk pyjamas like Hugh Hefner if I could, but it’s not my brand.” Forrester was a big motivating force behind her solidification as the picture of elegance.

We get to the first of the mannequin dresses now, the fitted, black, off the shoulder cocktail dress, shining with sequins and beads, a perfect frozen reminder of her performance on Top of the Pops. To see it in person, still pristine, I get hit with just a hint of nostalgia, as does Giselle herself it seems. Marvelling at it with arms crossed over her chest, I’m granted a closer look at what was quite possibly the most iconic outfit of the 1972 lineup on the hit British musical program. The gloves themselves are more intricate than first imagined; what was assumed to just be red glitter is actually hand stitched, red sequins from the tips of the finger all the way to the wrist where it fades to chunky, red glitter, glued on and somehow width standing the test of time, to then dissolve into fine and sparsely scattered red glitter from the mid-forearm to the elbow. The beads and sequins on the dress itself are affixed with barely noticeable, shiny red thread, that gives the dress dimension up close. Giselle cites Gothic Romanticism as an inspiration to add depth to her jazz-bar persona, as well as the theatrics of musical theatre, going so far as to called the dress the ‘Merry Murderess’ despite the fact that the musical Chicago premiered almost three years after the dress’ initial debut.

Despite this look being regarded as one of her classics, and therefore setting the standard for her public image for the years to come, there’s no denying that Giselle didn’t enjoy experimenting with her outfits.

“I’ve never technically worn pants on stage,” as we move further into the room, she begins to pull various garment bags from the racks seemingly at random, “skirts, skorts, shorts - which some might argue are close enough - dresses, and even full jumpsuits, but never actual pants; I’ve always been worried that they were too masculinising for my act.” Moving on to the rack labeled 1975, she pulls out a particularly slim bag, and from it she pulls a pair of shorts made of what looks like liquid gold, but I know is made of velvet, with suspenders to match. It hangs over a sheer, flowing, cream crop-top with bell sleeves.

This outfit is cited as the first time she had deviated from her skirts and dresses, though the outfit itself is still exquisite and has an air of regality. “I was in Phoenix in ‘74 when I wore this; I’d had it included in my repertoire for the Hand Held Heart tour in case it became especially hot, which, being Arizona in the summertime, it was.” It’s here we start to see the influence of other artists bleed into her work; the occasional feathery flamboyance borrowed from Elton John, the avant-garde pattern and makeup work popularised by David Bow, and of course, the extravagance and glitz of Queen’s Freddie Mercury.

“You always have to specify that it’s [Freddie Mercury],” she’s very serious on this point, holding up her iconic, short, incredibly sheer white, long-sleeved fitted dress, marbled with red sequins to protect her modesty. It’s reminiscent of the red and white shorts Mercury had been known to favour on tours. “The others, while, yes, they could be well dressed on occasion, [Roger Taylor]’s lime green jeans aside, they never had the flair or audacity that Freddie had to be truly influential.”

After recording a cover of Queen’s Jesus for her third album, Giselle entered into an unofficial partnership with the band, which she tells me included a collaboration with Mercury himself on their costumes.

“I’d spent a long time trying to merge my style and my musical origins with modern aesthetics; I worked very closely with a designer, since it’s not technically my strong suit.” She pauses for a moment, and we make our way to the mannequins again, this time to the second, a floor-length, evening-gown style dress in lilac, capped sleeves, looking as though it’s tie-dyed with blackcurrant glass beads instead of fabric dye. “Getting to collaborate with the band was easy enough; I did talk with [Jim Beach] regarding the use of the song, but he ultimately he ruled that it was up to them, and so once that connection was established, I actually asked Freddie to help me with some tour outfit designs.”

People often assume Giselle is referring to her team contacting Queen’s lawyer, but she goes on record now to explain that it’s not true. “I’m a lawyer, my own lawyer, and I also work for several big-name bands in the music industry today. EMI picked me up halfway through my final year, but I still continued to go to [university], and I did actually intern under (sic) [Beach] while writing my second album. “ I’m assured that she had just regular suits in her personal closet; three, in grey, black, and cream, well fitted, ‘but not why you’re here’ she adds with a self-deprecating smile.

The lavender and blackberry dress was one designed by Mercury himself, the pale lavender representative of elegance and femininity, while the darker blackcurrant is used to bring depth to the dress the same way Giselle’s unwavering, calculated persona brings depth to her performances. It was Mercury’s idea to interweave the two in the tie-dyed style, keeping Giselle’s traditional aesthetic through the glass beads and the cut of the dress.

As we continue along the timeline, it’s clear to see the effect Mercury had on Giselle’s stage wardrobe, the use of geometric patterns coupled with bold colours, and more glitter and sequins than you can shake a stick at becoming more prominent throughout the late 70s, somehow still managing to keep in line with her traditional aesthetic simultaneously.

“I refuse to wear print.” She’s adamant about it when the possibility of wearing a garment like Mercury’s vest with his cats painted on it comes up. “Geometric doesn’t count; the texture in my wardrobe is always going to be,” she pauses for a moment, searching for the right word, fingers brushing through the fur of the fur-cuffs of a long-sleeved purple velvet number, “diegetic.” She settles on, and it’s clear what she means; patterns on her clothes are always wrought through beads or diamonds or fur or other things attached. “It’s the reason I have it locked, [Lilith Taylor, 7] has left the ‘indiscriminately grabbing things that feel nice’ stage a few years ago, but Rosie [Rosemary Taylor, 4] is just at the tail end of it. They’ll have free reign of this place one day,” she looks around at the fashion legacy she has built for herself, she wears an expression of pride, though it’s more focused on her daughters than the clothes themselves, “but for now I want to keep choking hazards and expensive furs out of danger.”

Around the very end of the 70s to the beginning of the 80s we see a return to form, with the resurgence of her form-fitted cocktail dresses. “There was a lot of change happening in my life at that time, and as much as I enjoy experimenting with my looks, it helped me feel secure to know I was in what was objectively my strong suit, pun not intended.” According to her, she’d just begun seeing Roger Taylor, and she used her fashion choices to exercise control in her life that she felt she was losing.

“My private life has always been very private, now here I am with the man who trashes drum kits and throws TVs out window; I was so afraid that every time people took a photo of me, or even looked at me, they’d think I was compromising my morals or integrity - which I’m not, and I wasn’t then.” She quickly clarifies. “Our personal history is not void because of where we are now, but Roger and I have also changed as people, and we’re allowed to have our feelings change. I’m honestly a little offended people think I we would have gone through all we did for mere publicity.”

Speaking of Roger, I’m a little surprised her wedding dress isn’t one of those on the mannequins, but I understand her choice, and we’ll certainly get to that soon. Her wedding dress sits at the back of one of the racks, carefully distant from any of the year labels. As she removes it from the garment bag, she gives it a softly nostalgic smile, brushing the fabric gently. “This should really go in my own closet.” It’s unlike most of her other outfits here, such a pale cream it’s almost white, floor-length and sleeveless with a Roman-inspired cinched waist topped with what I hesitate to even call ruffles, their drapings so loose it’s reminiscent of curled hair rather than a traditional ruffle. The material is so soft and light that even on a hanger it looks a little ethereal. It’s simple, elegant, and the very sight of it brings joy to her face.

“’81.” The year is surprising, as is the revelation she shares about how they celebrated their tenth anniversary a few months prior. Putting the dress away, we move to the early eighties, and it’s almost cyclical the way we’re brought back to the ‘Merry Murderess’ aesthetic with the lineup from her ‘The Bend Before The Break’ tour.

“Everyone and their mother seems to have read the article [All The Queen’s Men, Rolling Stone, 1985] and figured out I was in a shaky place at the time; it’s again about having that modicum (sic) of control. Part of me reverted to portraying myself in the way when I felt like I was at the height of control in my relationships and career. It’s a pretty aesthetic,” she gently pulls a velvet, wine-coloured cocktail dress from the rack, giving it a gentle pat, “it made my stage presence feel good, honestly.” It doesn’t sound bitter, but she puts the dress back.

Apologising for a moment, she explains the large gap between ‘82 and ‘84, with her Finally, Sunlight tour. “After coming home from the [The Bend Before The Break] tour, I took some time to myself; I was, of course, still writing, but I couldn’t really perform or make any big public appearances after like, July in ‘83, because I was quite pregnant, and, again, I’m a private person.” The Finally, Sunlight tour is known for two things, Giselle wearing gold, silver, and copper, in any and every way she could, and the Atlanta Breakdown.

“I wore metallics because Finally, Sunshine is about my baby girls, and they are so precious to me.” As was made clear in the Rolling Stone article, Giselle and Roger lost one of their twin daughters to illness in Autumn of 1984, though Lilith survived, it took a devastating toll on the couple. Moving past that, we’re finally brought to the crown jewel of the collection; her Live Aid dress.

It’s almost the antithesis to the ‘Merry Murderess’, though it shares a similar neckline and off-the-shoulder style. The Live Aid dress, which Giselle calls ‘Queen Midas’ for reasons I’ll get into later, has a white, crushed velvet bodice with an inbuilt corset, and basque waistline. Beneath the waist is a enough layers of thin and flowing georgette to become completely opaque, like a waterfall from the waistline, the colours fading from a bright, sunshine yellow at the hip, to a rich, sunset orange by the knee, and finally to a smokey, warm-toned charcoal where it brushes the ground, with gold jewels dotted around the bottom and creeping almost to the knee in some sporadic places, reminiscent of embers in a fire. Her gloves are white velvet, and just like with the first of her most iconic outfits, it’s gold sequinned fading to actual glitter and diamonds.

“I took a hard look at where I was and what I had achieved, and... whether or not I can help it, I effect people, through my music, my actions, through what I wear, and can be a double edged sword. Sometimes it can hurt, or I can hurt others by saying or doing the wrong thing, but sometimes I find myself wanting for nothing; everything I’ve held close has turned to gold. I wanted to show that, to be able to be a part of something that gives back to the world where it’s given me so much.”

With all her most well-known outfits having been covered, there’s one more that comes to the top of my head; the jacket of 1980. The tabloids had a field day with her choice of wardrobe as she stepped out of a car with the rest of Queen wearing a salmon and green floral, double breasted suit jacket, with silver buttons and silver stilettos, with sheer, thigh high white socks held up by a garter belt, hair fashionably messy, but makeup pristine. The deviation from her usual pristine image had shocked both paparazzi and public alike, however the daring outfit had quickly been lauded as one of her best, many publications who ran photos even citing it as the entertainment industry’s hottest innovative look of the decade. Even since it has stood the test of time, and has been attributed to the rise of patterned and bold suit jacket purchases by men and women alike, with the outfit have been cited as inspiration for more than one celebrity’s red carpet look.

Now, however, something, possibly amusement, possibly annoyance, crosses her face, and she tells me it’s not here. The jacket is Mercury’s. “We were on our way to a party being hosted by [Elton John], and I’d only been with Rog for a few months at this point; so we’re in the back of the limo with the other [members of Queen] and Roger’s spilled his wine on my nice, white cocktail dress.” It seems like a bittersweet memory, and she reminds me of her earlier comment about the ‘wine stain argument’. “In hindsight, everything worked out, but at the time I was absolutely livid; very nearly killed him in that backseat. Poor [John Deacon] literally had to drag me off of him. [It] took both him and Freddie to hold me back when Roger got out once we arrived, and they had the driver circle the block again so I could change into Freddie’s jacket, which he so kindly lent to me.”

From her tone, and her following comments about how her husband likes to bring it up, it seems as though it’s a well worn argument of how Roger Taylor enjoys taking credit for the look, though Giselle doesn’t seem like she enjoys giving him the satisfaction.

“My image has always been about how much I can control what people see of me, and to have that control taken away by a careless action, it really hurt. A man like Roger, in the entertainment industry, is never going to face the kind of scrutiny that I do, it’s the reason you’re here at all, talking to me about fashion rather than say, how difficult it is to be a practicing lawyer in the music industry while raising two beautiful daughters. And I still write music on occasion. But people remember what you show them, how you present yourself; my tour wardrobe is a reflection of the persona I let interact with the world, and it’s beautiful, and a legacy that will probably outlive me to some extent.

“Do I regret any of my fashion choices? I don’t really have the liberty to, do I? And either way, they’re part of the reason I’m where I am today; I made a niche for myself that was built initially on my aesthetic, if I’m being generous, so I suppose I’ll always be grateful to it.”

#roger taylor #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor imagine #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #queen #borhap imagine #the angry lizard writes

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okimargarvez · 5 years

Text

TELL ME WHY

Original title: Tell me why.

Prompt: post 14x8.

Warning: none.

Genre: romantic, comedy, angst.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, (BAU team, Krystal).

Pairing: Garvez, (Rossi x Krystal, JJxWill, Emily x Andrew Mendoza).

Note: oneshot 41 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💏😘🔦.

Song mentioned: Ti scatterò una foto, Tiziano Ferro.

GARVEZ STORIES

This ff is dedicated to @thinitta, because we are in the same pain, in the same happyness, in the same craziness.

TELL ME WHY

I will remember anyway, even if you don't want to, I'll marry you because, I never told you... how it hurts to look for you, find you shortly after and in the anxiety that I lose you, I'll take a picture of you, I'll take a picture of you...

The man approaches her slowly, lingers a bit 'with his eyes along the curves of her body. That dress is really good on her, not that the others she wore previously didn't fit perfectly, but there's something different. -Rossi really has special tastes in terms of music.- he watches her jump and turn towards him. A weird grimace bends her lips.

-Yeah.- she says simply, immediately turning away from him. He still advances by a few centimeters, until he is on her side. Their arms brush each other. He loses himself to listen to the words of the song that continues, indifferent to what it provokes about people, and he notices how much they adapt to his situation.

I will remember and anyway and I know you will not, I will call you because you will not answer, how it makes me laugh now thinking about you as a game and understanding that I've lost you, I'll take another picture...

-Hey, you want to dance?- he laying for less than a second the hand on the shoulder of the woman, who shakes off quickly, apparently annoyed by anything that concerns him.

-No.- and the more she treats badly him the more the smile on his face widens. He can't take from his head the sensation that he felt by squeezing her in his arms, even if just for a few seconds, pressing his lips on her cheek, while her blond hair tickled him, his heart was beating like crazy, as in any every classic romance cliche...

Because, babe, you could leave my hands and the days, at first far away, they will become years... and you will forget about me, when it rains the profiles of the houses remind me of you...

He gives a short laugh. -Really?- he asks, managing to capture her elusive and mysterious eyes again.

She sighs, rolls her eyes and decides to be magnanimous. -Yes, really, Luke.- she even calls him by name. Now pronouncing it is no longer taboo. -I can't dance, but even if I could... I would never dance with you.- she makes it clear with a certain malign and satisfied intonation. She takes a step back.

And it will be beautiful, because joy and pain, have the same taste... And I would like... just that that night now, quickly goes away and everything you have of me, suddenly would not return... and I want love and all the attention you can give me... and I want indifference if you ever want to hurt me...

He needs to be able to touch her again, to stay in contact, now he no longer knows what to do just to brush her, he has lied to himself for too long, but now he is no longer to still do it. The situation is becoming unmanageable. Not long ago he even used her to reconstruct a crime and the choice of her in the role of kidnapped victim was not the best he had had. -Why?- he strives to look nice and catchy. -I'm not Fred Astair, but I'm not too bad, really, trust me.- she vibrates like a cello's string, hearing him say the last word.

She crosses the arms on the chest. -I'm doing no such thing.- and she takes a few steps across the room, but instantly hears the noise of his shoes following her. She stops, surrendering. She throws various glances around the room, but everyone is busy chatting, JJ and her husband are dancing, Emily is laughing at the joke of an attractive, beautiful man with dark hair who was presented to the family team as Andrew.

Luke sighs, staying only one step behind her. -So, would you like to tell me why, Garcia?- neither of them care about the song, which is about to end. The next is definitely less romantic. She can feel his warm breath brush against the bare skin of her neck and back. She doesn't hold back a shiver, but she prays every divinity that he missed it.

She takes a moment to paint indifference on her face, then turns to him. -Why what, Alvez?- she sighs, pretending to be bored.

But he doesn't buying it. -Don't pretend to have not understood.- he tries to follow her eyes, which, like tennis balls, darting rapidly beyond his shoulders, looking for who knows what. -Why you act as if just my sight makes you want to throw up.- Penelope bursts into a short and a bit 'dry laugh. Luckily he can't read her mind and find out that it's slightly different, the situation. Because she not only doesn't feel any kind of retching while she looks at him, but... it can be said that in effect he makes upset her stomach. But not the way he believes.

She feels too vulnerable, at risk, so he raises the defense system, the wall she has erected between her feelings and the man who provokes them, without knowing it. -Uh, I don't think I need excuses for the way I treat you.- they are too close. She moves to lateral sofas. -I tell you that I would never stop giving you crap, do you remember?- she adds, complimenting herself with her acting skills. Years of theater are at least paid off. -At least, I keep the promises.- but she can't keep a little jab inside. And she curses herself instantly, because he is not like most men, unable to reply to three different questions in a row.

-What do you mean?- he doesn't even brush her with a finger, doesn't grab her wrist, yet it's as if he did it; as soon as he asks her that question, Penelope becomes paralyzed and can no longer take a single step forward. The legs weigh more than stone, reinforced concrete.

Luke reaches her again. She shrugs. -Nothing.- she warns his eyes pierce her, do an X-ray; she feels naked, exposed, vulnerable. And it's not a pleasant feeling. -I don't see anything weird in my behavior with you.- It would probably be better if she greeted everyone and went to her house, but at that point they would ask her why, and it could ruin everything. She has already risked sending Rossi's plans out the window, she doesn't want to repeat the same mistake.

-Uh, you don't think?- Luke is on a completely different planet, because he gets even closer, with his tone and his insinuating gaze. -Too bad that until a few days ago you were almost another person.- he accuses her without pointing a finger. -You even bought a painting to celebrate Lisa's transfer on my house.- it seems to her that he has staring her neckline for a moment, but everything fades in front of that name.

Penelope clenches her teeth. -Yes, in fact, I gave it to Lisa, and also to Roxy, certainly not to you.- she sees a sad expression appear on his face, and dies a little inside, but sometimes you are forced to choose the smaller sin.

She squints her eyes, but feels his hand brush her hair, cheek and finally the shoulder, in a strange and clumsy attempt to stop an escape that technically hasn't yet begun. -Penelope...- she swallows when hears her name.

She forces herself to raise her eyelids again. -What is it, now you also call me by name?- she must interpret Garcia, with him, but the problem is that she ends too often to be just Penelope. A poor fool in love with her colleague.

Luke nods, a different grimace bends his mouth. -Ok, do you want to continue behaving like that?- he doesn't naturally wait for her to answer. -As you wish, but remember this: you can twitch your nose as much as you want or look up to Heaven... you can be colder than ice, but I'm not buying it anyway.- he enjoys seeing she open wide those big and deep eyes. At least for a second he managed to shake her. -And by the way, I'm going to get another glass of wine.- he passes next to her, toward for the buffet table, and their shoulders brush against each other once more.

But she finds the only way to stop him. -Luke.- an expression so intense as to make him tremble inside. She is not joking anymore, she doesn't want to make fun of him, apparently. As always, as soon as he grasps a minimum foothold, man clings to it with his whole self.

But he doesn't intend to make everything as simple and smooth as silk to her. -What?- Penelope doesn't stop staring at him and seems... scared. -Do you want one too?- he tries a joke, but she doesn't even seem to notice. This time it is the woman who makes a single, infinitesimal step in his direction.

-No.- she passes the tongue on those red and damned lips. -I, it's just...- again she looks around and something seems to make her change her mind abruptly. -... Forget it. - and she wants to go away, to run away, this time really, and doesn't cares what others will think, she must get away from him, before the irreparable happens. She really was about to tell him, she can hardly believe it.

In Luke's gaze, however, there must be something like glue, a sticky, adhesive substance, because she can't go too far. -Oh, sure.- now is the man who is laughing, a bitter laugh. -As you wanted that I did three years ago when I found you in tears in your office.- how dare he talk about this? His words rekindle the flame hidden under the ashes of her anger. -I'm sorry. I've been losing too much in these last months.- she feels the impulse to punch him, on his beautiful, gorgeous chest that she imagines shimmer with sweat like when he is just out of the shower.

She sighs, she feels dizzy, and hasn't drank enough to justify this kind of sensations. -Good, maybe if I say it, then I can start living again.- limpid law as the water the worry, the anxiety on her face. -Maybe I'll be fine again.- she strokes her own arm, to give herself strength.

Luke feels a tingle on his fingers by the impulse, the irrepressible desire to grasp her face in his hands, caress her cheeks with his thumb and... -Talk.- to stare intently into her eyes. To be the one to make all fear disappear from her by magic. -What the worst that could happen?- but he doesn't do anything about it, because tonight he ventured too much and maybe he ran out of bonuses.

Penelope seems to sense a possible way out and catches it quickly. -Maybe I should tell you tomorrow.- she lowers her tone of voice, almost conspiratorially. -I don't want to ruin the party of Rossi.- to not get distracted he swallows the need to laugh that already pinched his throat. He blinks.

He counts to ten. He repeats the sentence in his head. And in the end, he says anything else. -No, tomorrow, my foot.- he understands that as long as they stay in the salon, too close to others, she will find an excuse to keep quiet. -Let's go out for a moment on the terrace.- he drags her out of the door, with such naturalness that he himself is upset; their fingers fit perfectly, like pieces of tetris. She is too shocked, incredulous, to be able to react, to break away, to stop him.

As soon as they are on the outside, the first thing she notices is the decidedly fascinating landscape, with all those lights, and also, it's hard to admit it, romantic. The second is the temperature. -But out here it's cold.- she complains, before understanding the consequences of her admission. Luke takes off his jacket and silently puts it on her shoulders. It is not only the power of the fabric, it is his own heat that envelops her, like a damned, beautiful, comfortable blanket.

But he is not satisfied. -Now it will surely be better.- he even says. Penelope continues to shiver and now the cold has nothing to do with it.

-But I don't want to have your jacket on me.- she mumbles, although she does nothing to remove it, limiting herself to shaking her arms close to her body, like a sort of further barrier to place between them. She knows how ridiculous she seems, but nothing better comes to her mind.

He is approaching, an inch of the railing at time. -Why?- the question, first with normal tone, then a little funny. Then, something changes, maybe because he understands that she's not pretending, she's really shaking like a leaf and his gallant old-fashioned gesture was useless. -Why if Matt had done the same, you would have granted it to him?- he then asks, going straight to the heart of the matter.

He sees that she wants to cry and can't understand why, what the problem is. -Because I don't...- she just looks at him for a second, then shakes her head, some hair sticks to her face because of moisture. He would like to be able to reach out and handle them. -... no, I can't - another tiny look. -I'm too scared, no.- she squeezes even louder and seems to be trying to make a new escape. Luke turns, trying to hug her, just in time to put his hands on her shoulders. -What do you want?- she shouts, one of those screams that are heard in horror movies, but those old-fashioned, well done, those cries strangled, because true terror also paralyzes the vocal cords. -Don't touch me!- she pushes him away with a drive and at the same time throws his jacket into his lap.

The man, however, doesn't take it, doesn't want to joke, to remain in this limbo of unspoken things. Once again, slowly he approaches her, giving her time to assimilate the thing, as is done with cats. -You're shaking, Penelope, I don't know if just for the cold.- he tries to reason with her using a quiet tone. -Do you want to stop acting like the queen of ice?- but his voice is so full of sweet nuances that it doesn't even seem a real reproach.

-No.- she denies, continuing to vibrate proud, like a jackhammer. -Because that's easier.- she whispers softly, in a murmur. But Luke hears it anyway.

-Easy for what?- she gives up, completely breaks down their defenses, let him caress her on the shoulders with his hands, caress her heart with his voice.

Penelope finally tells him everything, but she pronounces her own confession with her eyes closed, sealed, unable to remain standing in case she sees displeasure or worse... derision, in his eyes. -Pretending I haven't a crush on you.- she doesn't mumble, doesn't miss the verbal time, doesn't talk too slowly or too fast. -I told you, are you happy now?- she tries to scrutinize him but can't read anything in him. -Let me go, I have to go to the bathroom, to freshen the makeup...- she makes a weak attempt to free herself, but Luke holds her back without any effort, eyes staring into void.

-You have a crush...- he repeats like a broken record.

-Yes, damn it, do you want that I write it on a banner and call a plane to wave it in the sky?- even in that state, even after having made such a revelation, she can't help but be Garcia, herself.

The man is forced to remain focused, focused on what she said, but would just want to smile, laugh, shout to those who are having fun beyond the glass door, to those who don't care widely, from above of a pyramid, of the Eiffel Tower, from the Empire State Building. Even from that blessed airplane, with or without a banner. -For... for how long?- start from the main things.

Now that she has freed herself of her weight, Penelope seems much more comfortable than before. She stopped shaking, even if some shiver, this time only for the cold, still runs through her spine. -Oh, I don't know, probably one of the first times I saw you.- she simply answers. -Why do you want to know?- the interrogation has been overturned. -Why can not you let me go?- he relaxes his grip, but keeps her steady.

-For leave you going to cry in one of Rossi's mega baths alone?- he replies, with a slight irony in the midst of all the worry, the euphoria, the thousand bullshit that goes through his mind. -No way.- he shakes his head, categorically. -If you want to cry you had to do it here.- he keeps his eyes fixed in her and manages to force her to imitate him. "On my chest.- he adds, in a flash of courage. -Take it or leave it.- even if he doesn't really give her the chance to choose.

A bit of rebellion revives her. -No, I will never cry hugged to you, ok?- she strives her own voice to come out decisively. -Get this in your damn pretty little head.- Luke's face lights up like the comet star on the first Christmas night in the world.

-Damn pretty?- he repeats in fact, not in the least trying not to smile.

Penelope doesn't even seem so embarrassed. -What's the sense of censoring me now?- she shrugs.

He bends his head to the side. -Good point.- then he brings her closer to him. -But that's what I proposed to you three years ago.- he says hoarsely.

-Yes, and after?- she presses her hands on his chest to keep the distance. -What happened next?- the smile of a sad clown in her eyes. -You don't know? I refresh your memory.- a short break with a drum roll. -You didn't do anything, you didn't keep the promise and... and then you also found a girlfriend.- she didn't want to says also this, to seem as the jealous freak of someone who has never even belonged.

Luke nods to himself. -Then this is it, it's about Lisa.- he gets even more laughing and doesn't hold back at all. He passes the tongue on his teeth and on the palate, then tighten his lips.

-Yes, no.- she makes a sign of assent and then one of denial. -I love Lisa, she is super cute and nice.- and she is not lying at all. -You don't deserve her.- how long did she wait to get this thing out of her chest? -But I don't want, and God only knows how much I tried, I don't want to feel anything for her boyfriend.- she pronounces that word as if she were referring to a strange alien disease, a new strain of plague. -I can't even look at her without feeling ashamed.- she blushes and looks at her shoes.

Luke tries to reply something. -Uh, Lisa and...- but she goes straight on her own way.

-I know it's wrong, but what can I do?- she asks, and she answers. -You, with your stupid pretty face, your beautiful dog, your stupid head, your stupid sexy body, your stupid declaration, your stupid gift...- this is the more significant declaration that was been pronunced on the whole planet Earth.

-Penelope, listen to me, Lisa...- he makes a new attempt, but this time her voice overlaps his.

-I know, you love her and I'm happy for you, but this didn't stop my stupid crush.- she seems to want to justify.

Man is exhausting his patience and also the desire to restrain himself. -Please, just shut up for a moment, and listen to me...- a sharp tone comes out too, but she doesn't seem to mind at all.

She is completely lost in her own world. -And then for a while you were distant, and then you lied to me about Phil...- she catches his shocked look, eyes and mouth wide open -yes, I knew it, but I haven't yet understood now why you did it, and no, I don't hate you, if that's what you're asking for- a little relief. -And then after the week of forced holidays that Prentiss gave you, you started over... I don't know, behave in a strange way and have you in the office all this time near to me... it's more than my poor heart can bear and I can't even to connect in a grammatically correct way the sentences, when you look at me in the eyes like this...- for a moment she loses exactly in those dark and deep abysses. -...and then you had to hug me and give me that stupid kiss on the cheek...- that she liked a lot but will not confess this too. -You don't know what effort to not melt like snow in the sun in your hands and I'm delirious, as usual and it's cold and we should return...- one last shudder shakes her and he decides to heat her in two ways. First of all, he puts the jacket on her shoulders, more carefully than before; then he takes her cupped face in his hands and silences her by pressing his mouth on hers.

It lasts longer than their first hug and kiss on the cheek. -This was the kiss I wanted to give you from the beginning.- he explains, gently caressing her with his fingers. -At least I found a way to keep you quiet.- a mischievous twist in his eyes. -No, don't throw those beautiful brown eyes wide open.- it seems that he removed all her faculty of speech all at once, and that he absorbed it. -Lisa and I, we broke up a few days after... that mess.- he doesn't want to think right now about that thing so bad that has just started to work out. -And I lied to you because I'm jealous and I was selfish and asshole.- he finally replies. -I want to hug you, and kiss you everywhere, I don't even miss the action when I'm with you, I want you to always wear my jacket and dance with you all night, and I'm in love with you for sure one of the first times I saw you and I'm saying what goes through my head without following a logical thread and only with you I talk so much.- he is forced to take a breath. A puff of steam forms in front of his nose and tarnishes the glasses of Penelope.

Her arms, which had remained along the body, suddenly take life. -Luke, are you really...?- she only asks, putting her hands on his muscular forearms.

-Do you need any more proof? - the man turns to the door and makes the gesture to grab the handle and come back.

-No!- she stops him, pulling him by the sleeve and making him end up on her. The metal of the railing is cold in contact with the skin of her back, but something else in front of her warms and compensates perfectly. -I don't want to steal their thunder.- she says, unaware that she appears even more wonderful before his eyes right now. She is so generous. He takes her by the hand, brings it to his lips and puts a kiss on her knuckles. She follows the gesture with her eyes.

-I'm sure it will not happen and they'll just be happy for us.- he says, stroking her hair with the other hand, the free one. -I noticed that, while you were hugging Krystal, you know?- he then decides to tell her.

-What?- Penelope asks in her innocent, naive tone.

-That I couldn't live like that anymore.- he swallows. - Waiting for what? The perfect moment, the full moon, the falling stars, the right music...- he shakes his head.

She understands what's going to happen. -Luke, you don't need to tell...- she tries to stop him. She doesn't need big declarations, candles, flowers. Not now, at least.

But Luke is more stubborn than her. -No, I want to say it.- he takes a breath and then speaks. -While I was watching you, surrounded by all those happy people, thanks to you, the lights, the decorations...- Penelope caresses his arm, in a sweet, delicate and sexy at the same time, way. This woman will send him to the asylum.

-You helped me.- she says, then gives him a wink and they both laugh. Her laughter looks like rain, water coming down from a waterfall. Crystalline. Music.

He hears the need to cry come up. -Thank you for saying it.- it is not the case that he is the one who ends up crying tonight. -Anyway, while I was staring at you, as always, I could only think about how fantastic, wonderful, you are, a ray of sunshine and I, fuck, I need this in my life - yes, it is extremely selfish that what he said, but it is also deeply true. -I need to open my eyes and that you're the first thing I see every morning.- it's not just for one night, it will not just be sex, it will not be a good adventure. - So maybe you could convince me that the world is not so disgusting as I thought.- she uses her own method.

-Luke, do you know that you are really too sweet?- she says. -Where is the button to make you in pause?- she takes advantage to touch his chest.

He pretends to think about it seriously. -I think it broke.- he concludes, lowering himself toward her mouth.

-O... ok.- she shudder. -Now, if your offer is still valid...- she doesn't need to add anything else. Luke moves the jacket off her shoulders and helps her to wear it. So he hugs her, much narrower than the first time, and Penelope doesn't just rest her chin on his shoulder, but sinks it in his chest, just after he has given her another kiss on the cheek, no less intense than the first .

-Let's join the others.- he whispers in her ear with a soft voice. -And if you want to grant it to me, tonight I'll heat you in another way.- he adds, tangible warning the shock that runs through her spine entirely.

-Brave.- she comments. She separates from him that little to be able to get up on the tips and give him a real kiss. They are still hesitant, they still have a lot to discover and experience and time to do it. Then they smile like two idiots, proud of it, and holding hands they go into the salon. All staring at them, JJ with a toothy smile, nudging Spencer, Emily whispering something to her new squeeze, Matt with a proud look, Tara simply happy (to have won the bet, no one can beat a profiler who is also a psychologist).

-Luke, Penelope. So,I had seen it right.- comments the landlord, breaking the silence.

-But what you say! If I told you that it was obvious that he was about to declare himself.- Krystal scolds him, glaring at him with a dirty look.

Dave raises his hands, surrendering. -Hey, future Mrs. Rossi, we don't need to discuss today.- she seems to agree. -So, what do you two have to say?- they have not interrupted the contact in the meantime, nor stopped smiling like idiots.

-It was your fault.- Penelope accuses him genuinely.

-Well, it was of your engagement party, at least.- he tries to calibrate better her shot.

-Okay, frankly, I don't care now to know how and why.- Rossi decrees, approaching and, as a good landlord, extending a glass to both. -Let's enjoy the evening and if you really can't resist, since you have drunk and it is better that neither drive...- he is making fun of them, but not completely. Nobody blushes.

Penelope nods. -I know.- she squeezed her hand tightly to Luke's. -There are a lot of rooms on the third floor.- they burst out laughing together, quickly followed by a chorus of applauses.

Note: the sentences in bold are from I’ll take a picture (Ti scatterò una foto) by Tiziano Ferro.

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @arses21434 @kathy5654 @martinab26 @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @thinitta @myhollyhanna23 @garvezz @mercedes-maldonado

#garvez #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #criminal minds #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #cm #post 14x08 Ashley #it's Adam fault

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clevernewdimension · 6 years

Text

Revenge

Purge AU

Do Kyungsoo, known as The Demon of the Night, has a reputation of doing his job and doing it well. People hire him, and he’ll get rid of their problems. He’s very selective and very expensive. He doesn’t take jobs if the point is just murder for the sake of murder.

After raising money for years, you hire him in order for revenge. After hearing your case, he takes it on, ready to help you get the revenge for the death of your daughter. The night is long, people are out and blood is running like rivers in the streets. Will the two of you survive, or will something happen by the end?

Genre: Action

Word count: 6.4K

A/N: Trigger warnings for sexual assault, rape, necrophilia, blood, gore, suicidal thoughts, etc. It’s the Purge, y’all.

“Can you do this for me,” I ask, looking up at the man. The sea of chatter around us felt distant as I looked at him. I’ve heard his reputation. He makes all of his money one night a year, during the Purge. The one night when everyone is allowed to go ape shit and rules are pretty much thrown out the window. “I know it’s a lot to ask. Normally people ask you to just kill someone for them.”

The man smirks, his hair cut rather short. He wasn’t too tall, a few inches taller than me. If you saw him you’d think he was like any other man. Worked in accounting or some shit. He was handsome, though serious looking. The scar on his arm was ragged, like his flesh was torn and not cut. He had plump lips which were formed into the smirk. Truthfully, if it wasn’t for what I was asking him about and who he was, I would have flirted a little.

That reputation is deeply covered. Only in the darkest places of the internet are there whispers about what he does. I’ve had to contact several people in order to get in touch with him to have this meeting. He’s secretive and costs a lot, but all that I’ve seen says he’s worth it.

“I can,” He says, nodding. His voice fairly deep, brown eyes looking into mine. He wore black, a tight fitted tee and jeans. A nice watch on his wrist as he takes a sip from his coffee. “I only take one job a year. Convince me it should be yours.”

This was the last step, from what I’ve read. Whatever you tell him, he’ll know if you’re lying. He doesn’t take just anyone’s case. I look at him shaking my head. “I… I know you’re probably hear this a lot. People wanting revenge. Their sob stories, as they cry crocodile tears,” I say, quickly bringing the coffee to my lips, taking a sip. The warm liquid feeling somewhat soothing. “Truth is, the couple were responsible for my three year old daughters death.” I say, feeling the tears well up in my eyes. “She was sick and they… on purge night three years they took her and tested on her. I was so close to saving her I,” I say, my throat feeling tight as tears gather in my eyes some more, threatening to slip down my face. “They knew that a minute later what they did to her would be illegal, so they killed her in front of me,” I mutter, wiping my eyes. I look up at him, and he seems unmoved by my reason. I shake my head, “I saved all my money to do this. Everything of value I own has been sold. All my savings… everything. I’ve imagined their deaths since and I…” I lean back in the chair, looking away. “I don’t plan on living after this. I just need them to die first,” I mutter, looking up at him once again.

The man, Do Kyungsoo, nods. “Alright. Prepare yourself. I’ll come to your place a hour before it starts. There are rules, however. Normally I’m doing this alone, so you must listen to me. Follow my instructions at all time. If I tell you to run you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide.”

The feeling I felt hearing him accept was… complicated. Happy, but also… sorrow. I’ve always tried to never hurt anyone. I’ve lived trying to help people. I worked as a social worker. The only reason why I had anywhere near enough money was because my widow was loaded. We lived modestly, and I continued to do so after he passed. The answer was easy for me. I nod, “I will.”

He nods, setting down some money on the table. He looked strong, firm shoulders as I could see the very top of a knife in his boot. Always ready for anything. I suppose you’d have to be in his line of work. He finishes his coffee before standing and walking away without another word.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day I finally get my vengeance. ~~~

I was nervously pacing in my house. Soon the sun was going to set and the night of anarcy begins. I saw my neighbor cleaning his guns, seeing up precautions around his place, just to be safe. He was worried for me, offering me a place to go to for tonight.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was going on a revenge quest and planned on killing myself after. If he would have been to my house in the past six months he would see it empty. I’ve sold everything but the refrigerator, my bed, my phone and the locket my sweet Avery use to wear. I quit my job a week ago without an explanation, preparing for this.

A knock on the door draws me from my thoughts as I walk to the door. Kyungsoo walks in, setting a bag on ground. He looks over, opening the bag and pulling out some things. He pushes some clothes into my hands, “Put this on. Easier to protect you if you’re harder to see.” He seemed unfazed by the lack of things I owned.

I move to my bedroom, looking back at him as I watch him look though the bag still. The picture of professionalism. Dressed in black, a pistol in a holster under his arm, ready to go. The jacket he wore was more to conceal the gun, so people wouldn’t see it coming. I shut my door, undressing quickly. Pulling on the pair of black jeans, a belt to keep them on my hips. The shirt was sort of like athletic wear, breathable and long sleeved. Grabbing some hair ties, I quickly pull my hair into a braid, then a bun. Trying to keep it out of my eyes and so that it can’t be grabbed easily. I put the locket on, needing it for strength. I take my phone, tossing it onto the mattress before getting the small picture of my daughter. I put in in my back pocket, before moving and exiting my room.

He looks up, waving me over. I move, letting him quickly strap a gun to my hip. He places a pair of boot in front of me that I quickly step into. He hides a knife in my shoe, looking over me. He sees my hair, “Good choice.” He was done, quick and to the point. Kyungsoo probably didn’t want to be out all night. He nods, “Alright. Let’s go.”

With a nod, he opens the door and lets me out. I see his car, a black SUV. We quickly get in, the sunlight just about gone. The city was starting to empty, the streets oddly bare for this time of night. Kyungsoo drives, before pulling over. The sirens signaling the start of the Purge going off.

“If we keep driving we’ll be a target,” He says, checking one of his guns. “The sound will draw people. We’ll have to go on foot.” He looks over, “Follow me. Listen. Do what I say.”

I nod, following him silently, getting ready for anything. The first few blocks were calm. We’d see a few people going crazy. Drinking, fucking on the street, some people fighting. As we turned down an alley, the smell of garbage filling my nose. It was peutrid, the stench, burning my eyes. Graffiti covered the walls to either side, gang related maybe. As we could hear people laughing, a few whistles and some glass breaking. There was a little inlet for packages to be dropped off at a business where they stood.

I noticed the corpse hanging from an AC unit from the second floor. The sound of glass breaking make me looks away, seeing a head in the hands of another person as they rolled it into glass bottles. I instantly felt sick, but I kept it back, looking up and seeing the men. One had a woman tied to the railing, hips moving in and out as he was grunting. She was silent, unmoving. It was terrifying. All different types of people, all different walks of life. Their eyes turn, looking immediately at me.

Kyungsoo reaches for me, getting his gun and holding it ready as his hand locks onto my arm, pulling be behind him. He steps ahead of me, like a shield. A man steps out, his blonde hair pulled back, smirking. Eyes grey, looking at me with a grin. Obsession setting in. The man behind him, who was raping the woman moved, so I could see that it’s… it’s head was gone.

I felt ill, holding onto Kyungsoo tighter than before. I didn’t want that to be my fate. I didn’t want to end up like her.

“How about you give us the lady and we’ll leave you be,” He says, holding an ax over his shoulder. He was tall, but very thin. He wore no shirt, a symbol of the NFFA on his chest.

“Leave,” Kyungsoo says, his voice rough. He was more relaxed than I was, seeing like this was what he faced every single day. With a piercing glare, he says, “If you fight me, it will not end well for you.”

The blonde man glares, taking a step forward before another man stops him. His hair was black, cut short and tattoos covering every inch of his chest. “El demonio en la noche,” He says, looking at Kyungsoo. A few teeth were gold, his eyes bloodshot and glaring at the man before me. He motions to the scar on his arm, “Demon of the night.”

The demon of the night was a nickname given to him. I suppose you don’t kill hundreds, maybe even a thousand people and not get some sort of street cred. For a brief moment I see a bit of fear on the faces of the men before me.

The blond looks at me, eyes wide. He shakes his head, “Shame. Thank your lucky stars, bitch. If it was anyone else we’d have to tied up and took turns fucking every single one of your whore ho-”

Kyungsoo points his gun at the man, shooting him in the head like it was nothing. The blonde drops, a loud thud as he goes silent, the words he was saying stops, life leaving his body pretty much instantly. I clinged onto him, the gunshot making me just. They were shocked too, causing the three others to panic. A black man looks over, “What the fuck, man?!”

“Follow us, and you will all meet the same fate,” Kyungsoo says. The end of his gun smoking. He wasn’t even bothered, watching as the men turn, leaving down the end of the alley we entered. Kyungsoo didn’t move us until they were out of sight.

We stayed a minute more, Kyungsoo checking our surroundings constantly. “The Anarchists,” He mutters, “Unoriginal name for a bunch of rapists and necrophiliacs.,” He looks back, at the headless body, a look of pure disgust. “The only way they would have left us alone after seeing you is if you show force and let them know you’re willing to do what you threaten.”

“Disgusting,” I mutter, before looking at him. “Really glad I hired you, now more than ever. I wouldn’t want to have met them all by myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” He says, shaking his head. “They spend this day raping women, then killing them and continuing to use a person.” Kyungsoo looks at me, “This is the kind of shit that’s out here today. The most vile of mankind. That’s why I couldn’t let you go alone.”

“Thank you,” I say, nodding. Still feeling a bit nauseous.

He nods, tilting his head down the alley, “Let’s go.”

Kyungsoo didn’t let go of my hand, pulling me along. The horrible things we’ve seen on the way was disgusting. We’ve had to detour a few times, avoiding a few people. A group of cannibals grilling legs and arms, some wannabe emo edgelord ‘vampires’ drinking blood, shit like that. It was almost exhausting, seeing that.

Kyungsoo slows down as he peeks around and alley. I lean, looking down. The sounds of some cackling laughter filling the air. A long, thin woman smiles, carving into another woman’s face as she screams. Another was to her side, her brown hair in a long wave as she smiles, “Rebecca, you’re so much better than you were last year!”

I felt Kyungsoo’s warm breath near my ear as he quietly whispers. “They go out and kill woman they think are competition. The ones who are considered beautiful so they don’t have to work as hard to get modeling jobs.

“That’s awful,” I mutter, looking at them with wide eyes.

“Thank you,” She says, practically purring. Her blonde hair in an elegant updo. Both wore the short shorts and fishnets, very lacey and see though bras as rebecca pouts at the woman. The woman they had was completely naked, cuts all over her body. The knife she held was cutting into her cheek now, down onto her jaw, “But I’m bored now. I think my masterpiece is done.”

“Fuck,” Kyungsoo muttered quietly. “We need to go.”

The woman looks back at the brunette, stabbing the knife in her throat, “When they find her tomorrow they’ll see how ugly she really is.”

He pulls me, moving me along the alley. “We need to do, if they see you they’ll come after you.”

“But I’m not-” I start, before hearing something fall. Something tightens around my leg. A snap of metal as Iet out a small yelp of pain. The two women who were talking stop, and I could hear footsteps.

I look down, seeing the bear trap. The boot took most of the damage, but I could feel it pierced into my leg. Kyungsoo, quickly assessing the situation, pushes me, moving bags of garbage quickly in order to hide me. I bite my lips, trying to not make a sound as he opens a already close bear trap, slipping his foot into it. Without the force, his leg will be find.

The two women come from around the corner, I can see them, and Kyungsoo, who looks up, pointing his gun at them.

“Well, hello handsome,” The unknown one says, shifting her arms so they pressed her breasts closer together.

“Leah, don’t be such a skank,” Rebecca says, looking at him. “Shame, I really wanted another ugly little bitch to carve up.”

They start to move, slowly on either side of them. Both looking around, carefully, like lionesses stalking their prey. “You don’t know who this is, Leah? He’s infamous. The Devil in the Night.”

“Oh damn,” Leah says, stopping on the other side of Kyungsoo that was away from me. She smiles, moving closer, running a hand on his stomach, “I expected someone meaner.”

“Definitely someone smarter then to fall for our traps,” Rebecca mutters, turning towards him, his back to me.

Leah shoots her a glare, “Ignore her. You know, handsome devil, if you want to take a break from your job, relieve a bit of stress,” she says, leaning into him as his gun was still trained on Rebecca. She was the one with the knife, after all. Her lips close to his ear, “I could make it worth your while.” Her hand reached down, groping him as he doesn’t even flinch.

“I have a job to do,” He says, giving Leah a pointed glare. “Let me go, or you will lose a hand.”

My heart was racing as I wanted to do something to help. If I reached for the gun, it would move the trash and give away that I was there. All I could do was watch, holding back my whimers of pain as my leg was throbbing. The foul stench wasn’t helping, either.

Rebecca scoffs, “Leah, isn’t it obvious, I bet he has some bitch waiting for him. Ready to take it like a good little ugly slut.”

Kyungsoo didn’t flinch or tense at all. He stood, cold as ever, just staring with a blank expression that gives away nothing.

Leah frown, leaning away, “Is that true, Devil? Would you really pick some average at best bitch over me? Is she at your place, naked? Ready to just lay there and let you do all the work?”

Rebecca turns, smirking, “She isn’t at home.” Her eyes meet mine, my heart racing. “She’s right here. In the trash where she belongs, hideous little whore.”

I reach for my gun, only for Rebecca to kick it out of my hand. She smiles, seeing the trap on my leg. She steps on it, pushing the pointed parts deeper into my skin. making me let out a yell of pain.

Leah knocks the gun to the ground, smiling. “Listen, Devil, I’m going to ride you whether you like it or not!”

Rebecca grabbed my hair, pulling me out of the trash and onto the ground. “We put the traps there, you really think we wouldn’t notice one missing,” She asks, sitting on my waist, pulling my hands under her knees and pinning them there. She grins, looking down at me with her knife in her hands.

With a swift cut, she cuts the shirt and bra in half, removing them. I looked over, seeing Kyungsoo push Leah, quickly removing his leg from the bear trap.

“Hold on,” He calls back to me. Glaring at her, hand getting his knife, flipping it in his hand. His hair looking messy as he glared at Leah.

Rebecca smirks down, looking at Kyungsoo, “How did you snag a man like that, hm? Probably from being on your knees all the time.” She glares at he, her knife cutting a little thin line on my cheek. “Men are so easy, they’ll come back to you if you’re ugly so long as you’re their personal bicycle.”

My mind was frozen in fear, looking up at this deranged woman. She smiles, “It’s a shame. Ugly people like you with a god like man like him,” She says, leaning forward and licking the small cut she made, moaning loudly in my ear.

A sound made her turn, though. I looked over, seeing Kyungsoo over Leah, her head in a bear trap. She screamed, one of the teeth of the traps piercing her eye. He looks over at Rebecca, glaring. The woman gets off me, but she was too slow in her heels. He grabs her, hand on her throat. “You think you’re so beautiful, but the truth is you’re rotten,” He says, knife stabbing into her stomach. “I’ve never seen an uglier woman in my life,” He growls, shoving her to the ground, fine with letting her bleed out, just as Leah was doing from the stab wound she had in her chest.

He looks at me, seeing my leg still in the trap, “We need to get inside, somewhere relatively safe.” He moves, picking up his gun as well as mine, which was lost in the fight. His deep brown eyes looking at the cut on my face, as he shakes his head, “We’ll remove the trap when we’re safe. I’m going to have to carry you,” He says, helping me stand on my one good leg. He looks down, his face getting flushed as he looked away, pulling off his jacket. He hands it to me gently, “Here.”

“Thank you,” I say, wiping my eyes and taking it. I put it on, zipping it up as he hands me my gun.

“You’re going to have to shoot if someone threatens us,” He says, calmly. His hands pick me up, holding me in his arms as I look over, watching as he walks forward quickly.

Finding a place that was safe was hard. Damn near impossible. I look at Kyungsoo, his handsome serious face as he was watching forward, all eyes ahead. The moon shining down, the cloud being pushed away by with wind. He knows a place, it’s underground as you’re not suppose to help people during today, but…

We get to a door, after about an hour and a half of walking. My eyes feeling droopy as Kyungsoo let’s my legs down softly. He knocks a pattern onto the door. I hear something shift, seeing someone pointing a run at us from the roof.

The door opens, and the man smiles, “Soo, you’re ok?”

“I’m fine,” He says, motioning to my leg. The man frowns, looking down. His face was nice, blemish free. His cheeks were nice and round, looking so soft. His dark born hair pushed aside.

Tha man holds the door open, letting Kyungsoo carry me inside.

“Thank you, Junmyeon,” Kyungsoo mutters, setting me on a cot. It was small, the rooms mostly filled with people who need help. “How has the night been?”

“Busy,” He says, prying the bear trap open with Kyungsoo’s help. I hissed, leaning back and grabbing the frame of the small bed in pain. The room we’re in looked like an office, three other cots in there. Two with people, both asleep, one empty. The walls were white, completely bare, made of cinder blocks painted over with glossy paint. The light was dim, as Junmyeon moved a lamp over, pointing it at my leg. He makes quick work of the boot, taking it off along with the sock. He hisses, “Damn… I’m going to get you some pain medicine. Some to help you sleep to-”

“No,” I say, looking at him. “Thank you, but no. I.. there’s something I need to do.”

Tha man looks at me, his eyes squinting. He glances at Kyungsoo, “You brought someone who’s paying you?”

“She isn’t like the others,” He says, looking at the person he knew. “If fact, I’m pretty sure even you would want this person dead.” Kyungsoo crosses his arms, watching as his friend leaves, getting the things he needed. When he comes back, Kyungsoo stares at Junmyeon again, “It’s Dr. Ana and Dr. Seth Henderson.”

Junmyeon’s eyes widen, looking at me. “If you… oh no. A child?”

I bite my lip, the image of Avery appearing in my mind. Tears gathered in my eyes as I looked away.

“She has some fractures. Lucky that the boot was as thick as it was or else it would be worse. Cuts that need to be stitched, and it will bruise awful.” He says, getting to work, stabbing the needle into my skin. “I take it you’re going to leave soon. They’re about two blocks from here. Testing still.”

There was a deep hatred in me. One that has been growing for what felt like an eternity. I clench my hands, feeling them shake as tears fell down my face. I look away, my heart beating fast. My sweet girls face, as I take the locket, opening it and looking at the small picture of us. She was smiling in my arms as I kissed her cheek. I laid there, looking at it. She would have been six. Almost seven. Her birthday just a few weeks away. I wonder if she would have liked school. What hobbies she would have loved. If her curly black hair would have been unruly by now. If she still believed in Santa or the tooth fairy…

A small shake to my shoulder makes me looks back. Kyungsoo was there, sitting on the ground by the cot. Junmyeon gone, just the two of us.

“I’m sorry,” He says, looking down at my now bandaged foot. “I could have been more careful. They must have started with the traps this year, I didn’t know about them.”

“Are you ok,” I ask, my throat tight with my pent up emotions.

He looks at me, his brown eyes meeting mine. “Why wouldn't I be,” He asks, glancing at me.

“She wanted to rape you,” I say, my voice a little lower, timid. “She touched you inappropriately, she assaulted you.”

He looks at me with a curious look, crossing his arms, “I’m… I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, though.” He looks at my open locket, seeing the picture, “She’s pretty.”

I shake my head, “Was. She’d dead.”

“I’m shocked you went to me with this, honestly,” He says, steering the conversation away from that. “You had a daughter… where’s her father?”

“Are you always this curious about your clients,” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

He smiles softly, his plush lips forming a cute little heart shape. “Truthfully, no. Most people contact me wanting me to kill their ex lovers or their bosses. You’re the only one who wants revenge that is deserved.”

“Then why do you kill people who don’t deserve it,” I ask, looking at him with a frown.

“Who said I did,” He asks, shaking his head. “But her father…?”

“I… for a little bit was the… mistress of some political man,” I said. “It was fine. The sex was boring, truthfully. I could have fallen asleep from his flopping around. Pretty sure I didn’t have a single orgasm with him, actually. Probably a bit TMI...”

The small chuckle that came from him made me smile. “Then why,” He asked, looking at me. The face clear of judgement, he just wanted to get to know me better. Probably wants to understand how someone like me could ever want someone dead.

“I’ve always been the good girl,” I say, laying my head down, “I always did what I was told. So I wanted to do something different. Something bad. Student loans were also crushing me, and my job didn’t pay well at all, so I suppose money was also a factor.” I shake my head, “It was kind of nice. Having a secret that only I knew about. There’s something about it that made me feel alive. But then he left, losing his seat in the house and went back to Nevada. A few days later, I found out I was pregnant. I told him, and I told him I was keeping it and that I thought he deserved to know. He never replied, but I didn’t care.”

He nods, just looking at me. “What about you,” I ask, “Any painful backstory? Daddy issues or whatever?”

“I was an orphan,” He says with a shrug, “Played a sport, learned hand to hand combat. When I was eighteen, I went into the military. They decided that my bad vision wasn’t worth having around after three years of service and a trip to a war zone. I think it was just an excuse.” He looks down at his arm, “That’s how I got this scar. An explosion. Shrapnel flying and sliced right through.”

“That’s fucked,” I mutter, frowning. The scar was rough, jagged and deep. He’s lucky it didn’t have any lasting damage.

“And to think, one laser eye surgery later and I’m in perfect condition,” He says, with a sigh.

“Any kids? Wife,” I asked, looking at the man who has kept me alive so far this night.

He shook his head, “No. Thirty-two and no kids or wife.”

“I was never married either,” I say, “Turns out being a sugar baby for most of your twenties isn’t exactly healthy for relationships when the man is an absolute horndog. Not enough time to date. I just turned thirty a month ago and it’s was like no one wants a woman that old.”

“Happy belated birthday,” He says, “Maybe next year I’ll get you a cake.”

“I won’t be here,” I say, casually. I look at him, seeing the shock on his face. “I have nothing left to live for.”

He looked pained by that statement, “I’ve been there. You know, it can get better.”

I shake my head, “I have no one. I’m thirty with no friends, my child was killed and there isn't a single guy who’s looked my way since I was twenty six. I don’t have something I’m passionate about. I feel… alone.”

“You have a friend now,” He says, looking at me. I roll my eyes and he glares, “I mean it. After this is done, I will be there for you.”

“Don’t get my hopes up,” I say, snuggling into the mattress. False promises are more damaging that just absolutely nothing.

He rolls his eyes again, “I mean it. Get some rest. We still have eight hours until the end. I’ll wake you in a few.”

I nod, covering myself and letting my eyes slip closed.

When I woke up this time, it was by the sound of a struggle. I glance over, seeing two men over Kyungsoo. One holding a knife, the other trying to help him push it into his chest. Kyungsoo was red faced, pushing back with as much force as he could. I move quickly, grabbing the gun he let me hold and I aimed. They were paying no attention to me as I pulled the trigger.

The sound made my ears ring, my hands numb from the force of firing. I look over, seeing the man who I shot in the head being pushed to the side, Kyungsoo taking the knife from the dead man and stabbing it into the throat of the other man. I look down at the gun, letting it drop onto the bed as I bit my lip. My hands were shaking as I felt someone touch me. I look over, seeing Kyungsoo.

He looked worried, his face covered in speckles of blood. His cheek was cut, a lost with a small cut on his chest from the knife. He looks over my hands, “Are you alright?”

I nod tears falling down my face. I look, seeing the blood on the ground and the splatters of red on the wall. I could smell it, the mist of blood that was in the air, as it felt like it was digging into my nose. “I… I’ve never,” I start, feeling the words die on my tongue.

“It’s ok,” Kyungsoo mutters, “They were bad people. They broke in and tried to kill everyone here.”

Someone opens the door and Kyungsoo takes the gun on the bed, aiming it at the door. A man pokes his head in, face covered in speckles of blood along with a cut through an eyebrow. Kyungsoo lowers the gun, “Sehun, is everyone alright?”

“Yeah,” He says, “Junmyeon just wanted me to check on you. Seems like you’ve handled it, though.”

Kyungsoo nods, “I’m glad you’re here and not out. There’s no way Junmyeon would have taken on the people by himself.”

“You mean our pacifist friend wouldn’t want to kill, who would have thought,” The man mutters, opening the door. “Can you help me take these bodies out?”

Kyungsoo nods, “Sure.”

I look at the man. He was tall, lean and broad. His hair black as night and eyes just as dark. His shirt was torn, and I could see the hint of a tattoo on his chest. He was dressed much like Kyungsoo, all black. Around his neck was a small charm. A wing, and a piece of metal that had something on it that I couldn’t read.

As they carried the bodies out, I pulled my knees to my chest and just took deep breaths. I’ve killed someone. Not even the two I wanted dead. I take deep breaths, collecting myself as I stand, pulling on my boots.

Kyungsoo comes back in the room, seeing me. He looks up, “I was about to tell you to get ready. We’re going to go find them.”

Just like that, not even a minute later, we were out the door. Sehun was walking back in, looking at us. He nods, before moving back into the house.

The walk a few blocks down felt like it was years. People stealing, killing and raping all around us. Kyungsoo kept me close, as we walked. A woman was passing us, a machete in her hands as Kyungsoo just held the gun up. She glared, rolling her eyes and moving back.

The building was run down as he helps me into one of the broken windows. He places his jacket over, letting me crawl in first and then hopping in after me. Once inside, he holds a finger to his lips. We walked, quietly, avoiding stepping on anything that would make noise. A single guard at the door, looking out from the glass with a cigar between his lips.

With the stealth like a jaguar, Kyungsoo moved behind him, getting him in his arms and killing him as silently as possible. He looks down the hall, motioning me to come to him. I move quietly as he opens a door, a stairwell swinging up on the other side.

Quietly we went up, looking from the door of each floor to see if we could hear them yet. Soon, at one of the top floors, we get there, a beam of light shining from under the door. With ease, Kyungsoo opens it silently, holding it open and looking in.

I could hear them. Their laughter as I heard another person writing in pain. I glanced, seeing a man being shocked in a metal chair and a child with a tube down it’s throat.

My hands started to shake as Kyungsoo looked in. He moves me back, as I look at him, seeing his face just barely in the light from the door. He holds up two fingers. Must be two guards in there. He takes the gun from me, nodding.

I understood what he said. Let me handle this.

With a swift kick of the door, Kyungsoo moved in, firing one shot into one of the guards, directly between the eyes. The other reached for his gun, but Kyungsoo shot him quicker. He turned, pointing them both at the two doctors.

“Well, dear,” The woman says, looking at him with a grin, “Seems like we’ve got a visit from the demon of the night.” She says, glasses on her face and her blonde hair pulled back. Her nose was hooked, looking almost bird like as she glanced at him with her green eyes.

The man laughs, “To what do we owe this visit?” He looks like her, blonde hair but with blue eyes instead. He was tall, but thin, like he was made of paper. Both wearing white coats as the electrocution stopped.

“Originally, I was here just to help a client,” He says, “But… that man you have there? He’s a friend of mine.”

“Seems like we’ve angered him,” the female says, Dr. Mayes-Knight.

“Shame,” The male says back, Dr. Knight.

“Come out,” Kyungsoo says.

I move from the shadows, into the light. Their eyes on me as they looked over. A spark of recognition on their faces. They knew. They remembered.

The woman laughs, “You hired him for this? For petty revenge?”

I take the knife in my hands, glaring at her. She was the one who did it. They both tested on her, but she’s the one that killed her. I look at Kyungsoo, “Shoot him. He’s not the one I care about.”

“Now wai-” The man says, before a bullet passes through his brain, falling limply on the ground.

The woman glares, her eyes wide as she glances back. “Yu bitch,” She says, tears falling from her eyes, “That was my husband!”

I took the photo from my pocket, holding it out, “And her?! She was my daughter but you didn’t care! She was sick and you made her worse! You killed her after making her suffer!”

The woman laughs, “I did her a favor killing her, so she didn’t have to suffer!”

“She still had years to live,” I say, putting the photo back into my pocket. “She still had time. You took it from her.”

“You’re just mad I did what you didn’t have the heart to do,” She practically spits. Her face red in rage.

I shove her, pushing her so that she fell onto the ground. I moved, getting over her. I held the knife to her throat. Tears falling down my face. I didn’t even recognize what I was doing as I watch red pour from her chest. The color practically hypnotizing me. Blood coming from her mouth until her eyes lose the shine of life.

I felt someone pull me away, looking and seeing Kyungsoo. The man who was being tortured was free, covered in cuts, burns and bruises. He looks at me, looking almost cat like and exhausted. The child was by him, shaking with fear.

“Hey,” Kyungsoo says, taking my head in his hands, “Come back. She’s gone. You did it.”

I look down at my red stained hands, looking and seeing the knife sticking out from her chest. The crimson pooling around her body, as my hands were shaking. That’s it. It’s done.

Really, it was then I realized how empty my life has been. All I’ve done for the last three years is save my money for this. I own nothing. I have no one. I am nothing. Tears fell down my face as I cry, heart beating so fast. I was panicking, looking around. I see it, on the ground beside us. It’s time.

I pick up Kyungsoo’s gun, holding it to my head. He looks at me, eyes wide. “Please,” He says, “Don’t do this.”

“You don’t get it,” I say my lips quivering. My nose getting stuffed up as I look him in the eyes. “I… there’s nothing left for me…”

“I can be,” He says, looking at me. He wanted to reach out, take my hand, but he knows that all it would take is a twitch of my hand. A slight movement of my finger.

“Why,” I ask, looking at him, “I… look at me, I’m a mess. I’m not worth it. Just let me go-”

“You are,” He mutters, looking up at me. He was trying to remain calm, but I could see the panic in his eyes. “You are worth it. You deserve to try and make a new start. You daughter would want that.”

I bite my lip, crying and my hand shaking, as I feel the barrel of the gun press into my temple. “You don’t know me,” I say, shaking my head.

“I don’t know you, but I still think you deserve a chance for happiness,” He says, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Please. Don’t do this.”

My lip quivering, I look him in the eyes. My throat feeling tight and tears blurring my vision. The look he had, staring at me, as I close my eyes, and I made my decision.

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