#They all got me expensive ass cameras which must mean something about me
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Did art for Me brithday :]
I guess the PR1 fandom can have more art...
#chilledchaos#private recording 1#junkyard#zeroyalviking#junkyard129#vikramafc#i love vikram so much hes so undervalued#Happy birthday me#I am old#I need to go make dinner for all my family now sob#They all got me expensive ass cameras which must mean something about me
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wake up in some promised land
despite his best efforts to keep their relationship out of the public eye, harry & y/n are photographed together as they leave a party one night —and harry has an interview the very next morning.
warnings: a little bit of angst about trying to navigate fame and a relationship. harry has a foul mouth. but there’s a happy ending!
word count: 2.2k
. . . . .
Harry was decidedly not in a good mood.
It had been a late night. He’d had a few more drinks than he usually did. In his defence it was earned—he’d just released an album, it was soaring to great heights on iTunes charts all over the world and already receiving overwhelmingly positive reviews—so sue him if he indulged in some expensive champagne, a couple fancy cocktails, too many rounds of shots for him to remember clearly… It was a good night all around.
The headache he has right now though, brought on by the sudden blare of his alarm (far earlier than he would have preferred), threatens to tarnish the memory. He even considers swearing off drinking forever so he’ll never suffer like this again.
When he voices this intention to a dozing Y/N as he pulls a shirt on, his only feedback is a pillow-muffled, “You’re such an old man, H.”
He leans over the bed and kisses the small part of her forehead that’s exposed between the pillow and the blanket. “Come on, love. Time to get up.”
“You can get up. I don’t have a radio appearance to make.” She jerks the blanket up to cover her head entirely. “I’ll stay here, thank you very much.”
He manages to drag her downstairs with him anyway, with promises of making her coffee and a hot breakfast. In the kitchen she yawns and stretches, the over-sized sleep shirt opening like bat wings as she raises her arms above her head. He has to force his fond gaze away to concentrate on turning the coffee machine on and pulling eggs out of the fridge.
“This is a really ungodly hour,” she comments, watching him rummage around in a cupboard for a frying pan.
“No such thing as a good night’s sleep when you’re as successful as I am,” he tells her wisely.
She doesn’t even indulge him with a laugh, which tells him exactly how tired she is.
The coffee’s done quickly—Harry is so addicted to the stuff he could probably make it in his sleep with all the practise he’s had—and she grabs the cup from him with greedy fingers, closing her eyes and sipping as she’s perched up on the counter.
Harry nearly lets out a moan when the caffeine hits his lips. It surely can’t work that quickly, but already he’s starting to feel alive again. He turns to the stovetop and cracks the eggs in the frypan with one hand, using his other hand to cling to his cup for dear life.
His phone starts ringing and the sound pierces through his head. His manager’s name is displayed, which is a good thing because if it was anyone else calling right now Harry would probably be tempted to kill them, and even if no publicity is bad publicity, he’s not sure a murder charge would be good for his album sales. He slides his finger across the screen to answer it and tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder while he adjusts the heat on the stove.
“Hey, Jeff,” he says.
Jeff laughs on the other end. “You sound fucked.”
“Big night,” Harry grumbles. “You don’t sound to pretty yourself.”
“All I’m saying is you better get yourself set in the next half hour, ‘cause a voice like that on the radio isn’t going to help you sell records.”
“I’m makin’ breakfast,” Harry retorts. “Got a coffee, I’ll be fine—oh, shit—fuck!” He’s mixed up his hands as he tried to flip the eggs, and poured coffee in the frypan. “Give me a second.”
He sets his coffee down on the counter and unsticks his phone from his cheek, turning it on speaker and placing it next to his cup. He stares at mess in the frypan and decides he’s going to have to try drain the liquid into the sink, without losing the eggs. He accepts this challenge with humility and grace, because he knows it’s his own stupid fault.
Y/N is cackling behind him. On any other day he might have been annoyed, but her laughter this morning just means that she’s in a better mood than earlier. He’d give anything to keep her happy, so if it takes fucking up their breakfast to have her smiling—so be it.
“Okay,” Harry says to Jeff once he’s secured the situation.
“Is everything okay over there?” Jeff’s voice is slightly tinny through the phone speaker, but his stress is evident in his tone.
“Yeah, we’re just—“ he looks at the eggs, dyed brown by the coffee, and glances over his shoulder apologetically at Y/N. “We’re having caffeinated eggs. You’re on speaker. Y/N’s here too. Say hi, baby.”
“Hey, Jeff,” Y/N chirps.
Jeff sighs. “Hi. Listen, it‘s probably good that you both hear this anyway. There are a couple of photos of the two of you from last night that are doing the rounds on Twitter this morning.”
Harry stiffens. “What?”
Here’s the thing: Harry and Y/N are definitely an item. It’s happened pretty quickly. They’ve been dating for a few months and now whenever they’re in the same city they’re practically living together. They’ve said “I love you” to each other often enough that its utterance isn’t a special occasion anymore. So, sure, they’re boyfriend-girlfriend, and if all goes to Harry’s plan, they’ll be more than that soon enough.
But in the meantime, she’s also his best-kept secret. There have been rumours, of course. They’ve been spotted having lunch together or going on walks. Anyone paying attention knows they’re good friends, but Harry has been careful not to let the other dimension of their relationship slip out into public yet. He conducts himself on public outings (secretly dates) like a Victorian gentleman, constantly vigilant that his affection never goes beyond what’s appropriate between friends.
“They’re not bad,” Jeff says quickly. “It’s just pretty obvious what’s going on. I’ll send them to you, hang on.”
Y/N slides off the bench and comes to stand right behind Harry, leaning around him to stare at the phone. The minute of waiting for the photos to come through feels like forever. Y/N must sense his tension, because she puts her hands on his shoulders and squeezes.
A notification pops up at the top of his screen: from Jeff, 8 images attached. He taps it quickly and frowns at the photos.
They must have been taken as they were leaving the bar that the album release party was at. He notices Jeff and others also crowded on the pavement outside, lit by the orange glow of streetlights. The focus, however, is of course on Harry and Y/N, who were putting on something of a show for all their friends—and, apparently, the rest of the world.
The first couple are okay. There Harry is, his arm slung around Y/N, clearly not sober as he bellows something up to the sky with a massive grin on his face and closed eyes. They were singing, he vaguely remembers, the karaoke they were doing inside the bar spilling over the rest of their night. Y/N is laughing at him, clapping her hands together.
Harry drags his finger up the screen to scroll to the next photos in Jeff’s chain. These ones start to reveal the two of them as much more than just friends. The arm around her dropped to her waist, pulling her into his body. And then he was bending his head down. And then he was kissing her.
He scrolls down even further.
In this one, he’s groping her ass in full view of the camera.
“Harry, you lecher!” Y/N scolds, smacking his arm in good humour.
He just shakes his head, staring at the photo. “There’s no plausible deniability, is there?”
“There isn’t,” Jeff says over the phone. He laughs weakly. “You two put on a real show.” He must sense the panic that Harry’s feeling, because he adds, “Listen, Harry, I can blacklist questions about it if you want. Just tell me what you want to do.”
Harry looks at Y/N, chewing on his lip. He feels like a teenager again, out of control of his narrative and at the mercy of the media. He’s meticulously developed his skills of privacy for years, now, and one night of insobriety and bad luck undid it all.
Jeff clears his throat. “The thing with blacklisting is that it might raise more questions. And even if you don’t talk about it, you’ve gotta remember that everyone else will be.”
“Yeah.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Look—“
Y/N puts her hand on his cheek, patting him. “Hey,” she says gently. “It’s okay.”
He sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth and holds it in for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says finally with a sigh.
She scoffs. “You’re not the only one in these photos.”
He frowns. She doesn’t get that he’s apologising for more than just the photos. It’s the fact that they have to deal with this at all, that it’s such a big deal for them to simply act like a normal couple. It’s the fact that it’s him, and he is who he is.
“H,” she presses further. “It’s up to you. Your decision. But I want you to know that I’m happy whichever way you choose.”
He searches her eyes for any hint of doubt. She didn’t manage to clean off all her make-up last night, and there’s a smear of glitter on her temple and dark smudges of mascara underneath her eyes. She looks tired, but she’s definitely serious about what she’s saying.
“You get what it means to be public with me, though,” he says at last. He hesitates. “It’s… intense.”
She shrugs and gives him a cocky grin. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’m being serious.”
“I am too.” She’s holding his head in her hands, her fingers smoothing his unruly curls off his face. “It’s just a few photos. It isn’t everything.”
It isn’t everything. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then leans down to kiss her gently. It’s just an innocent peck, but the feel of her soft lips against his is enough to ground him.
Jeff clears his throat awkwardly.
They break apart with embarrassed smiles. “Sorry,” Harry says, but he isn’t really.
“Yeah,” Jeff says, sounding uncomfortable. “You’re going to have to make a decision soon, because we’re really cutting it fine.”
Harry looks at Y/N, who nods.
He turns back to the phone. “Don’t worry about it,” Harry says. “Let them ask the questions.”
“Yeah?” Jeff asks. “Okay then, that saves me a load of trouble. Good luck, man. Enjoy it.”
“Thanks,” Harry says, hanging up with a sharp tap on the screen. He turns around to Y/N with a grin on his face. “Where were we…”
Y/N giggles as he gathers her into his arms, pulling her in close for a kiss that no one else can see or hear, a kiss just for them. When she pulls back to breath, he peppers his lips all over her face until she’s squirming away—“Harry, that tickles!”
He lands one last kiss on her cheek before his gaze lands on the time display on the oven behind her, which tells him he has ten minutes before he needs to be on the Zoom call for the interview.
She notices the sudden shift in his demeanour and glances behind her to see what caused it. She turns back around. “I’ll sit with you.”
He nods. “Yeah, okay, I’d like that.”
“It’s Harry Styles!” the presenter cries.
“It’s me! Hello, hello,” he says, waving at the screen. The laptop is set on the coffee table and he’s sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he grins at the screen. “How are ya?”
“Oh, we’re wonderful,” the presenter replies. “More importantly, how are you? Looks like you had a big night last night, judging by these photos we’re seeing!”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Big night,” he echoes, dragging out the word.
The presenter laughs. “Sounds like a great time. Well deserved after this masterpiece of an album. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re quite close with somebody there. Would you explain what’s going on here, Harry?”
Harry peers at the photo displayed on his computer screen, even though he knows exactly what it will be. The one they chose is a sweet one, with Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck and kiss that he seems to be melting into. He can’t suppress his smile at that. “Oh, well,” he says. “That’s my friend Y/N.”
The presenter raises his eyebrows at that. “Good friend, is she?”
Harry glances up over the laptop to look at Y/N, sitting on the other couch, her cheeks pink and round from her smile. Harry surreptitiously reaches his arm towards her, out of frame, and she leans forward to hold his hand.
“She is. She’s a lovely girl.” He squeezes her hand. “Yeah, we’re very good friends.”
. . . . .
thank you so much for reading! this fic is based on a request from @kissmyaxe140 — i really intended this to be a shorter blurb of a few hundred words, but i’m incapable of brevity. apparently. this grew into a little monster but i rlly had fun writing it!! the title is a lyric from secret life by bleachers.
if you liked this fic, a reblog and/or any kind of feedback would be very much appreciated. my masterlist can be found here and you can send me messages here. have a gorgeous day!
#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles smut#fic
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lbd
After a fight with Loki, you wear the smallest dress you can to an Avengers press event...
(smut smut smut)
~
The party was awful.
Stark’s press events often were. It was interesting, how the media had changed over the past eight years. In 2012, you and the rest of the Avengers would only be seen on news stations. Now, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to for your names to be in tabloids next to celebrities like Taylor Swift or Noah Centineo. The team wasn’t just heroes anymore, you were public figures as well.
Hence the formal attire, the flashing cameras, the expensive wine. These events only happened about once a year- they were manageable. Just a pain. Besides, you always had Loki to endure them with.
Except, not tonight. And so, the party was awful, not just boring.
The argument you had with Loki last night carried over into today, and when you were asking him about the event, he gave you no answer. Never in a million years did you think he would ignore during this. The press, the world, had never really forgiven him for New York. He was hated by the general public. It didn’t help it was a well-known fact he was with you: you, the youngest Avenger. You, who had been America’s golden girl until Loki corrupted you.
That was what everyone liked to say. Really, you just got older. And cynical. You couldn’t fight the worst of the worst throughout the universe and remain idealistic.
You and Loki had to stick together for public appearances. The reporters tore you to shreds if you didn’t. And besides that... You didn’t like not being around the god. It was so much better to face things with him. You were together. Even when things were tense, the two of you could always lean on each other. That was the nature of your relationship.
And yet, here you were, halfway through your third glass of champagne, giving Steve a half-hearted smile as he spoke. Every so often, your eyes scanned the large hall, eventually falling on Loki. He avoided your gaze each time.
You wanted to be angry, or bitter. That’s what you felt earlier today when he wouldn’t speak to you. Loki wordlessly dressed in his suit, looked you up and down in your floor length dress, and left your shared room. In a fit of rage, you had dug through your closet for something that would anger him. No, not anger. That wasn’t the right word.
Entice him. Make him protective. Despite your life with him, you were still seen as the innocent Avenger. The normal girl who stumbled into justice. You never wore short or form fitting clothes anywhere there would be cameras. You were modest. That was the role you were pidgeonholed into. Social media, combined with constant interest and exposure, ensured that. In 2020, half of being an Avenger was perception. Every team member was an archetype. Every team member adhered to that. Outwardly, at least.
So when nothing in your closet would accomplish what you wanted, you raided Natasha’s. She helped you pick out something no one would expect you to wear: A silky black body con dress. When you tried it on, it barely came halfway down your thighs. There was little left to the imagination, considering its length and low neckline.
You paired it with heels, and painted your nails Loki’s shade of green. Natasha gathered your hair into a messy bun, leaving your neck exposed. Even Wanda joined in, brushing sparkles over your collarbone. You looked unlike you ever had before.
Honestly, you looked like Natasha did on a daily basis. That brought you some amount of comfort, knowing you wouldn’t be sticking out. But it went without saying you didn’t look like yourself, and no one had ever seen you like this. The press would have a field day.
But it wasn’t them you cared about. The only person you were thinking about was Loki.
And he didn’t even do a double take. When you first walked into the room, his eyes rested on you just a second. Then he turned away.
So you didn’t find yourself angry like you were just a few hours before this. When Loki ignored you, you only felt... Sad. Empty, almost. You had been upset with each other for less than a full day, but you missed him. If there was no animosity between you two, Loki’s hand would be on the small of your back right now, and he would be whispering into your ear. Sharing jokes about everyone at the party, wrapped up in each other.
You fought so little. It was something you weren’t used to.
“Hey.” Steve sticks an elbow into your ribs, pulling you from your thoughts. Next to him, Bucky wears a worried expression. “You okay?”
You sigh. Tipping your head back, you drain the rest of your drink and then nod.
“I’m fine, Steve.” he looks uncertain. “I mean it. I can last one night without him. Just because I’m in a relationship doesn’t mean I’m any less independent.”
“I believe that.” Steve agrees.
“You only believe her because that’s how you are.” Bucky grins at Steve, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from Captain America. Steve smiles, just barely, and holds Bucky’s hand in his own after the dark-haired man pulls back. Your eyes flicker away, but a genuine smile grows on your lips. You love to see your friends happy. They deserve it, your whole team does.
It’s moments like these, when Steve is focused on Bucky and you on Loki, you remember you and Steve used to date. It seems like a completely different time, but it wasn’t even ten years ago.
You were with Steve when Loki attacked New York.
“I’m going for a refill.” you state. Both men look uncertain. You pay it no mind. “Do either of you want anything?”
They shake their heads in response, so you make your way over to the bar. There’s no one there, not even the bartender, which bothers you at first. Then you realize it’s exactly what you need. Just a few minutes alone to clear your head. The bar is in same room as everyone else, so classical music and conversation are all around you. Still, you manage to find solace.
It’s quickly interrupted.
“Hello, darling.”
Loki.
His breath tickles the back of your neck as he speaks. As soon as you’re aware of his presence, his smell envelops you. You shiver, noticing how close he must be to you.
You don’t turn around.
“Hi Loki.” you greet him back, eyes forward. You voice almost shakes, and you exhale, willing yourself to keep cool. Loki was always so calm and collected, something he used as a weapon. Clearly, even against you.
Loki hums, and his fingers softly begin to dance over your bare shoulder.
“You look different,” he states. “With those shoes, you almost reach my height. But darling, you have never looked so small.” Loki’s voice drops on that last word, and a wave of heat flashes through your body. You set your glass down on the counter next to you, worried whatever Loki does next will cause you to drop it.
“Funny.” you say. “I don’t feel small.” You know Loki, know what the word small is code for. “Or weak.”
Loki tuts, and his large hands slide from your shoulders to your hips. Your dress is so short that his pinkies lay on your bare skin.
“No, I suppose you don’t.” Loki leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he talks. You can’t help it, you tremble, your surroundings beginning to fade away as you focus on the god. “I bet you felt quite powerful, teasing me in this dress. Talking to Steve Rogers.” Suddenly, Loki pulls you into him, and you gasp. His length presses completely against your ass, and you are barely able to bite back a moan.
This is harder than you’ve ever felt him. Your breathing becomes hitched, but Loki’s strong grip keeps you glued to him. His fingers dig into your hips, and you’re sure there will be bruises tomorrow.
“Did you think,” Loki rolls his hips against you, causing a mewl to escape your lips. “...that I would forget your past with Rogers? That it had just, slipped my mind that he is the only man you have ever laid with besides myself?” Loki’s lips connect with the crook of your neck, pressing wet kisses there that are anything but gentle. “Or was that the point? To make me jealous?” Loki’s next words shake you the most. “Can you even count the amount of times I have been inside you?”
Just like that, his hands relax, and you begin to catch your breath.
“Smile.” Loki points, and you notice the groups of reporters making their way to you, cameras flashing. Loki pivots, turning both of you so you face the them. He drops one hand to his side, but the other snakes around your waist. It won’t be obvious in the photos, but his fingers are dangerously close to your heat, filling you to the brim with want.
Just as you manage to get yourself under control, the cameras begin flashing. You force a smile, and when you look at Loki, he’s staring straight ahead, expressionless.
You hated getting photos taken, knowing the headlines they would be paired with. But Loki hates it even more. You were always the victim in the media’s eyes, but Loki had never outgrown the villain. He worked so hard to be good, so hard to change. And for what? No one believed him, save for you and his brother.
Your heart grows heavy, and despite the fight, despite the teasing that left you melting in his arms, you want Loki to know you appreciate him.
You tug on the front of his suit jacket, capturing his attention. Loki looks down at you, confusion in his eyes. You reach forward, placing your hand on the back of his neck and tugging him down so his lips met yours.
It was filthy, the way he kissed you in front of the press. Loki once again pulled you to him, your chests pressed together. He laid his hand on your back, and thank god he did, because it kept you grounded. Your teeth clacked together more than once, and Loki gave you no opportunity to gather yourself before he sucked on your bottom lip. Your were eyes closed, but you still heard as the reporters went wild, cameras snapping as they each tried to get the juiciest shot.
Loki was the one who ended the kiss, tugging away from you. He took your hand in his, waving with the other. In the crowd, you could see Steve standing in shock, arm around Bucky’s waist. Stark was next to them, looking furious.
Loki makes eye contact with you before he briskly walks away, tugging you with him. You have no time to ask where it is he’s taking you before you somehow slip into the kitchen unnoticed.
The kitchen staff stops, and you realize what this must look like to them. Loki, with a hungry look in his eyes, and you, swollen lips and practically half-naked. Jesus, was this where you thought the night was going?
“Get out.” Loki addresses the staff. They share glances, unsure of whether to listen. Loki sighs. “We are two hours into a four hour party. No one ever comes for food, they just want to drink. You are no longer needed. Now, get,” Loki’s irises flash green. “...out.”
They listen then, rushing out of the doors and through the backroom that will lead them from the building. The locks on each door click shut, surely a result of Loki’s magic.
“You.” you squirm under the god’s harsh gaze. “Are a very. Stupid. Girl.” with each step Loki takes forward, you take one backwards, until your back is against the tiled wall. Your heart begins beating fast. You look to Loki’s pants, taking in the tent. Your heart rate accelerates even more.
He places his hands on the wall, one on either side of your face, trapping you with him. Wordlessly, Loki begins sucking on your collarbone, his lips moving down your breasts until they hit the neckline on your dress. Your eyes roll back, and you grip Loki’s hair tight. He rams his knee in between your thighs, and you cry out.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he rolls his hips, and now that you’re alone, you can feel and experience it to the fullest expense. Your mouth falls open as Loki presses his clothed length against your clothed sex, moaning and letting out a string of curses. “Look at me, darling.” You listen, obeying Loki as he removes his knee.
Loki makes full eye contact as he takes your left breast in his hands, kneading and massaging you as he gauges your reactions. You begin panting, and soon enough, Loki grabs the front of your dress with both hands and rips it, exposing your bare breasts.
You hiss at the sudden cold, but it doesn’t last long as Loki sucks on your nipple, running his calloused thumb other the other. Loki swirls his tongue, and you whimper, arching your back. As the sensation builds inside you, Loki takes a steps back, drinking in the sight of you.
“The media won’t soon forget this. Until now, the worst they had caught us doing was holding hands.” he growls. His lips are redder than usual, and his hair was messy because of your fingers in it. “I can imagine the scolding from Stark.”
“Who cares about Stark? You just ruined Natasha’s dress.” you say, your voice strained. His absence is noticeable, and your body aches for Loki’s touch. He raises an eyebrow.
“Sweet girl, whose fault is that? None of this would ever have happened if you simply dressed appropriately.” the hair on your arms stands up. Loki hums. “I think you should make it up to me. You got us into this mess, did you not?” Loki smirks.
The feeling in your stomach builds up again, lust taking over you. You take off you heels, and sink to your knees. Loki’s pupils dilate as you move closer to him.
You unbuckle his belt, sliding it off and discarding it on the floor next to you. Slowly, you unbutton Loki’s dress pants, your fingers catching on the tip of his underwear as you do.
You want to draw this out, to tease Loki as he teased you. But when you see his hard length, and the damp spot on the cloth holding it, you can’t bring yourself to. Loki is a god, much stronger and faster than you. When you turn to dust, Loki will be as young and full of life as he is now.
But his needs are the same as any other man’s. You’re determined to fulfill them.
You brush your mouth over him, causing Loki’s eyes to close momentarily. When they do, you waste no time exposing him. Loki fingers run through your hair immediately, grasping tightly. You can hear his breathing become just a bit irregular.
You keep your eyes on Loki’s as you lick him, from shaft to head. You lap at the precum there, then slowly take him into your mouth.
Loki lets out a sigh, his lips parting, and you rub circles onto his hipbones with your thumbs. You bring your arms against your chest, pushing your bare breasts up to make them appear bigger. You want to give Loki the best view possible.
It must have worked, because Loki’s hips buck forward. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you almost gag. Instead, you moan around him. setting a slow pace. Every so often, you flick your tongue across his head, and Loki tugs on your hair when you do.
Loki quivers, and he’s thrown his head back now. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth open, and he looks so pleased. Pride washes over you at the thought of you making him feel this way.
You bring your hand up, taking the parts of Loki that your mouth just can’t reach. With the added freedom, you circle his tip, switching up the pressure and surrounding him with your warmth. Carefully, you cup his balls, making sure every part of him is paid attention to.
Loki groaned as you fucked him with your mouth, cheeks hallowed. He begins panting, holding your head even tighter. His shirt has ridden up over his navel, and the sight nearly drives you crazy.
“I’m going to-” you don’t let him finish, picking up the pace until Loki jerks forward, spilling his seed with a curse.
There’s so much, some dribbles out the corners of your mouth before you can swallow it all. Your chests warms at the idea of part of Loki being inside you. You’ve barely leaned back to catch your breath before he’s pulled you up and into a kiss, groaning as he tastes himself on you. Your body becomes slack, relying entirely on Loki’s for support.
“You’re insatiable.” he says into your mouth. He picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. Loki carries you to a nearby counter and sets you atop it.
Your dress is hiked up to your hips now, leaving you covered in just a g-string. As Loki begins to take it off, you stop him.
“Wait.” you say. He stops, giving you a surprisingly soft look. “I just...” you splay your hands across Loki’s strong chest. “I want to see you too.” your voice is quiet.
Loki places his hands over yours as you unbutton his shirt. You slide it down his shoulders, then trace his collarbones and curve of his abs. Under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, Loki looks even more pale than usual, the sharp contours of his body illuminated and exposed.
You never grow bored of the sight of him.
Now fittingly bare, Loki’s fingers travel up your thigh and stop at your sex. Similar to you, his gives you a few strokes over your thong before he rids you of it in one fluid motion. He angles himself to you, his tip teasing your entrance as he smirks at your noises.
He enters you all at once. You bite down on his shoulder, nails raking down his back. You hold tight to Loki as he sinks into you, moving in a slow and almost tantalizing way. There’s sweat on both of your bodies, and despite your exposed state, you feel yourself heat up.
Loki’s rhythm increases as you adjust to him. His hips move back and forth, and your bodies move in tandem, made for each other. You coo into Loki’s ears, moaning about how good he felt. How breathless he made you, how only he knew how to make you feel this way. No one knew your body like Loki.
The coil inside you finally snaps as Loki hits a pleasure spot deep inside you, and you let out a cry into his shoulder. Loki cums not long after, his body going tense as he rides out the wave of pleasure.
He holds you, rubbing your back as the aftershock rocks through your body. You shake, exhausted and satisfied as you close your eyes for a moment of rest.
Eventually, Loki sets you back down on the floor. He tugs your dress down over your legs, and tucks stray pieces of hair behind your ears. You watch him wordlessly, allowing him to take of you.
After Loki is dressed himself, he gives you the jacket of his suit to wear.
“Oh.” you look down, remembering he ripped your dress. You slip the jacket on, buttoning it to protect the little modesty you have left.
He takes your hand, leading you to the door and back into the party. Before he does, you stop.
“I’m sorry about our fight.” you say. Loki lets out a chuckle, making you feel silly.
“Oh, sweet girl. After a tryst like this, I can assure you all is forgiven.”
#loki#loki x reader#loki imagine#loki smut#loki laufeyson#loki laufeyson x reader#loki laufeyson imagine#loki laufeyson smut#avengers#avengers imagine#avengers x reader#the avengers#the avengers imagine#the avengers x reader#avengers smut#the avengers smut#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel smut#marvel x reader#stucky#steve rogers#bucky barnes#loki x you#loki laufeyson x you#tony stark
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Stuck
Summary: You are August Walkers maid, and when you are changing the sheets on his massive bed your hand gets stuck between the mattress and headboard. Upon finding you in that predicament August takes control of the situation, however it doesn’t mean you get unstuck any time soon.
(Based on a pornhub video i saw at 2am a few nights ago)
Pairing: August Walker x Female Maid Reader (no race or size described)
Fandom; Henry Cavill, Mission Impossible: Fallout.
Warnings; NSFW, 18+, Dub-con, Fingering, groping, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, size kink, breeding kink, boob play, anal fingering, double penetration, spanking, spying/stalker behaviour, surveilence, voyerism, unauthorized recording of a sex act, not-great aftercare (he tries), slight dom/sub, the start of a ‘sugar daddy’ arrangement, however no reference to Daddy kink.
I do not operate a tag list, however please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications. That way you’ll get an alert every time i post anything.
Masterlist can be found on AO3 link HERE
Read the Steve Rogers version of this story HERE
Stuck
Ringing the doorbell, you stood anxiously on the doormat outside the expensive apartment, listening for approaching steps but hearing none. So when the door suddenly opened you let out a tiny yelp of surprise, before taking a deep breath to steady your racing heart;
“Good afternoon Mr Walker”
The giant of a man stood in front of you, recognition quickly passing over his face when he saw your uniform of black dress and simple black ballet flats;
“Oh yes, the maid. C’mon in”
You worked for a high security housekeeping company, strict controls and stringent background checks as you were contracted to the pentagon and the agents and staff that worked there. You always worked on an ad-hoc basis, only visiting homes when clients or agents requested it. This was however the fourth time cleaning Mr Walker’s apartment, always having to work around suitcases littering the halls and various weapons being cleaned and serviced on the kitchen table.
Holding your pail of cleaning supplies you waited as he shut the door, talking at you rather than to you;
“Okay so here’s what you need to do today; clean the bathroom and kitchen, vacuum the rugs throughout, change the bedding and leave in the laundry hamper”
You nodded;
“Sweeping throughout too sir?”
“No need, the Roomba does the smooth floors, it just can’t get onto the deep pile rugs” he hooked an earbud into one ear; “I’m going out for a run, I’ll be two hours”
Swallowing nervously you nodded, watching as he hooked the other earbud in and left without another word, leaving you staring at the white wood of the door after he’d closed it.
Mr Walker both scared and excited you. A beast of a man, he was all muscle, and each time you had visited he had excused himself so not to be there whilst you were. The fact that he was always in a tank top and running shorts that did nothing to hide any part of him had you stretching your concentration to its limits in order to get your job done and not drift off into a fantasy land that you saved for when you were curled up in your own bed.
Getting to work you started on the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher with the various dirty crockery that littered the room, cleaning the surfaces, sink, stove. Next up you hit the rugs, working quickly as you vacuumed, before heading to the bathroom.
Taking a deep breath you opened the door and relaxed. Cleaning bathrooms for single men were what you always dreaded, but at least as you started to cleanse every surface including the toilet, you realised that Mr Walker thankfully had good aim. Finally it was time for the shower, and as you pulled open the glass door and looked down you let out a shriek; the largest spider you’d ever seen sat in the corner. Grabbing the handled loofah you crept a little closer, letting out a laugh when you saw it wasn’t in fact an arachnid; instead it was a clump of dark hair;
“Well, the man does have a lot of hair” you muttered to no-one but yourself, thinking about how his chest was covered in a mat of soft hair, exposed in the low neck of his running tank.
Half an hour later you wiped your brow on the back of your arm. Mr Walkers bathroom had in fact been a nightmare, the man shed more hair than a fucking German Shepherd. Washing your hands and glancing at your watch, you saw that you had fifteen minutes left of the two hours, taking a deep breath before grabbing the clean linens from the closet.
Mr Walkers bedroom was white. There was no personalisation, no trinkets. Slipping your ballet flats off you climbed onto the bed, mentally taking in the sheer size of it; it must be a super king if not larger. Your mind immediately went south, imagining Mr Walker fucking on the bed, sprawled out as you straddle his face - you had always wondered what that moustache felt like against your skin - and you ride his tongue, or him pile driving you into the mattress, his hard body pressing against every inch of you as he fills you.
Moving up the bed you tugged on the sheet, cursing as it wouldn’t pull out from between the mattress and headboard. With a huff you shuffled forward, pushing your hands down between them, tugging on the expensive white cotton. Pushing your arm down a little further you could just about feel that it was caught on something, moving to pull back and then it happened… you were stuck.
“What the...?” you muttered, realisation hitting you that your watch had slipped into the gap and was now preventing you from pulling your arm out. You could feel your heart rate increasing as you struggled to set yourself free, pulling against the strain but it did little to help. You pushed and pulled and grunted, hiking your dress up so you could widen your stance on the bed, but nothing worked. You frantically looked around to see the time, yet there wasn’t a clock or display in sight, and you could hardly look at your watch. If you didn’t get out of there soon Mr Walker…
“Well isn’t this a pretty sight…”
No. Please no. Oh god no. You screwed your eyes shut, the heat of embarrassment rising to your skin;
“I’m stuck” you whispered, letting out a yelp when you felt the bed dip behind you, feeling his hands gently resting on your hips;
“Unfortunate for you, maybe not so for me...”
-
Five minutes ago.
August sat in the small room, staring at the laptop screen in front of him. As ideas went, this was both his best and worst idea yet. Installing hidden security cameras in his apartment had been at first simply for security whilst he was away on missions, but he’d found a secondary use for it once the agency had recommended your employers as a maid service. He hadn’t been expecting someone as pretty as you, you had this look of innocence about you that made him just want to corrupt you and ruin you. He may be a bastard but he wasn’t a heathen, so instead of just turning on the charm offensive he had found an abandoned room in his apartment building and set up a small surveillance center. One with a chair, a laptop, a bottle of lube and a box of tissues.
August Walker had just spent the last two hours edging himself as he watched you bend over in that knee length dress, adjusting camera angles to see up your skirt as you bent over. August Walker was one step away from full on pervert. And he had no regrets at all.
That was until he saw you on his bed, and realised you were trapped. Temptation got the better of him, so stuffing his hard dick back into his running shorts, he quickly left the room and silently made his way back to his apartment.
He entered and could smell the pleasant scent of the cleaning fluids you’d used, the quiet grunts as you tried to free yourself from your predicament. Toeing off his sneakers he silently made his way through the hallways, suppressing a groan as he saw you on his bed; ass up face down, the fabric of your dress stretched over the tops of your thighs, the fabric moving as you moved to expose glimpses of your buttocks. He pressed a hand over the obscene bulge in his shorts before moving to the bed.
-
“Mr Walker!” you squeaked out in surprise; “You’re back… umm I’m stuck, my watch… I can’t get my wrist back through the gap between the headboard and the mattress”
“Oh… what a shame. Let me help…”
You were expecting him to move around you, but instead he covered your body with his own and grasped your arms. Your mind was lost as you took in how his massive hands could completely circle your wrists, the weight of him above you almost suffocating, and when he started to tug you knew you were done for.
The gentle rocking of your bodies, rubbing against one another was all it took for a moan to leave your mouth involuntarily, the feeling of his hard dick rutting against the crease of your ass making you embarrassingly wet almost instantly. He grunted above you;
“Huh, well that didn’t work…”
Pushing himself up he knelt behind you, still pressing his hard-on against your ass as his hands gripped your hips and he tugged gently, however all he did was pull you back against his crotch;
“This fabric is slippery, hang on a second…”
Pressing your head to the bed you felt him flip your skirt up, hearing a sharp intake of breath behind you as he took in the bright red thong you were wearing beneath your dress. His warm hands smoothed over your buttocks before gripping onto your hips and half-heartedly tugging again.
It was no good, you were too turned on to even object. You’d lusted after your client for weeks, and now you found yourself in this predicament which it was obvious he had no intention of helping you with, but instead had other ideas that you had no desire to object to. You were rocking back against his dick, the quiet moans escaping your throat telling him you were more than into it, so when you felt his fingers curl around the elastic of your underwear and tug them down to your mid-thigh, all you could do was arch your back and present your pussy for his inspection.
Thick fingers parted your folds, teasing your nectar to your aching clit where a thumb rubbed hard circles against the sensitive bud. His other hand was lost from you for a moment and you could feel him moving, before you felt the thwack of his heavy dick against your ass.
With your hand trapped and your body stretched out you could barely look over your shoulder, but when you did you could see the impressive bulk of your clients body towering over you, the sight making your cunt clench with anticipation.
“Excited, are we?”
“Please Mr Walker…”
“Please what?” You moaned and his quiet chuckle filled the room; “You gotta say it”
“Please fuck me”
“Eager little thing, aren’t we?”
“Please…”
“Well, as you asked so nicely…”
He took hold of his dick and dragged the bulbous tip through your folds, dousing himself with your juices before lining himself up with your entrance. When you felt him push just the tip inside you it felt like you were being split open, he must be as thick as your wrist, and as he continued to force his way into your body it felt like he was the length of your forearm.
“Such a good little slut, taking my dick…” his voice filled your senses as your body fought to relax and allow him deeper, your juices running down your legs where he would rock back and forth to lubricate his girth before pushing another punishing inch in to you.
Your velvet walls parted yet gripped him tight, and you could feel every ridge, bump and vein as he started to fuck your tight pussy. With every pull and push your head swam, your body moving back to meet his thrusts as his massive hands gripped onto your hips and he started to slam into you harder and harder. When his hand came down onto your ass the loud smack surprised you just as much as the pain, but you arched your back even more like a bitch in heat.
He reached beneath you, tugging at the neckline of your dress with both hands, before the seam of the collar broke and the soft jersey stretched enough for him to tug the fabric down. His fingers caught in the lace cups of your bra, and whilst still plunging deep into you from behind, he was able to let your titties swing free and he grabbed a handful;
“Such pretty tits. Next time you clean I want you in just your underwear so I can watch them swing. Might get you scrubbing the floors so I can see you bent over and ready for me”
You shuddered at his words, he already paid a premium for your services, and the electronic tip that he’d sent through had been more than generous, the last visit alone you had been surprised by the triple figures, but more than grateful that you were able to pay the bills.
His hands had found their way back to your ass, smoothing over the soft skin as he continued to fuck you, the wide ridge that ran along the underside of his length rubbing so beautifully against your g-spot, you were sure you were going to cum soon.
He pulled your cheeks apart and you felt him spit on your asshole, the warm liquid pooling for a moment before his thumb started to rub insistently over the brown rose. Burying your head in the soft sheets you allowed your body to relax as he breached your back door with his thumb, the wide digit stretching you as he pushed in as far as he could;
“This ass is incredible. I can’t wait to fuck it”
You let out a tiny yelp at the idea of trying to fit his massive cock in your ass;
“Mr Walker!”
“Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you’re stretched out first. Might want to add a plug to the uniform list for next time, make sure you’re ready lubed and stretched for me. But don’t you worry your pretty little head, this time I’m just going to cum deep in this sweet pussy of yours. Are you on birth control? Are you ripe?”
You hadn’t even considered birth control. Your insurance had stopped covering you a couple of years back, so when you had gone on the occasional date that had ended up between the sheets, you’d simply resorted to condoms;
“No… no…”
“Oh yes. I’m going to cum deep inside you, let my seed rest within your womb. God, I’d love to see your belly round with my child, I bet your tits would be even more impressive. Hmmn yes, that’s fucking perfect…”
You hadn’t thought it possible, but all that he said was turning you on even more, and it wasn’t just you that liked the idea, you could feel him swell within you, his girth growing thicker as his arousal grew. The added stretch was driving you closer and closer to your own orgasm, the dual stimulations of your pussy and ass both being filled had you trembling with need.
“Are you going to cum for me?” his voice was hoarse and dry, an edge of desperation to it too; “I’m close, gonna shoot my load in you soon. You’d better cum before I do ‘cos once I’m done I’m pulling out and will leave you dripping with my seed and on edge…”
The threat of being left on the precipice was enough to push your body over the edge, cumming hard as your body held him so tight he thought he wouldn’t be able to pull out. The vice like grip had him throwing his head back as your body milked him, his own orgasm ripping through his body that he came with a roar and a string of expletives.
-
August wasn’t sure if he had ever cum that hard before, but the way your body gripped him so tight he was in no doubt that your pussy was the best he’d ever had - and he’d had a lot - and he knew without a doubt that he was not going to let anyone else ever come near it again.
As he slowed his thrusts and let you work through the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, he mentally checked off all the things he’d been checking up on; from the details of your financials, your family and education, your social media. He had seen all of them. He had your phone tapped and knew that he was going to be installing spy cameras in your apartment… that was until you agreed to be his.
Looking down at your ass he pulled his thumb out of your now loosened asshole, making sure to catch the way it winked as he recorded on his phone, having pulled that out of his pocket soon after he’d started and had recorded himself defiling your body. Giving your ass a smack he relished how the camera picked up the jiggle as the force rippled through you, before grasping a large handful of ass as he pulled out and watched his cum pool at your entrance, before pushing it back in with two thick fingers. Tugging your underwear up your legs from where they had settled around your knees, he made sure the flimsy red mesh covered your hole, quickly getting soaked with his seed as he pushed the fabric against the mess to fully coat it.
Finally he shut his phone off and reached towards the headboard, giving it a tug and feeling it lift, watching as you silently pulled your hand free before collapsing on the bed. He carefully unbuckled your wristwatch before rubbing at the sore skin, easing away the chafed skin. He set your hand down carefully and quickly left the room, returning a moment later with a glass of water and holding it to your lips as he helped you sit up.
Setting the empty glass on the side, he rubbed your back before attempting to fix your torn collar, finally giving up. He swiped a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the mascara tear stains;
“Next week you’ll need to be in your underwear and heels. Make sure the plug is well lubricated. I’ll have everything delivered to your address”
You went to object, to question how he would even know, but then realised… CIA… of course he knew. You pushed yourself to the edge of the bed, finding your shoes and slipping your feet in, standing on wobbly legs as he spoke again.
“Do as I ask and I’ll let you stay the night so I can fuck your other two holes as well”
Turning you nodded;
“Yes Mr Walker”
“Oh, you can call me Sir now” he turned to leave the room before waving his finger at the pile of fresh linen still folded at the end of the bed; “Remember to finish up before you leave”
He left the room without another word. You went to object, but just as you did you felt the phone in your pocket vibrate. Quickly checking it your eyebrows practically shot off the top of your head, seeing the tip transfer come through for $2000. Biting your lip, your thumb hovered over the accept/decline buttons, the moral dilemma tearing your mind in two.
-
In the hallway August watched his phone. He could see that you’d received the notification of the tip. When he saw your action on the app he smiled and slid the phone back into his pocket, already planning your next visit.
Part 2 >>>
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Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Jungkook
Summary: You miss him so much, but it seems like getting to spend time with Jungkook is going to take a Christmas miracle.
Ao3 Link: here
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, side Namgi
Length: 17.6k
Rating: Mature
Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort
Warnings: Suspicions of cheating, misunderstandings, panic attack, suggestive content, swearing
A/N: Oooof I am finally done my Secret Santa fic for @thebtswritersclub and only - *checks calendar* - too late. So sorry this is so late @jjeongukkie! It got so much longer than I had planned, and while I had a lot of fun writing it, I did not plan it quite well enough to finish in a timely fashion. Still, I hope you’re able to enjoy a last blast of Christmas vibes and fluff and angst as you slide into 2021! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you have an awesome new year!
I always appreciate all likes, reblogs and comments! If you enjoy reading this, send me an ask! Happy belated New Year to everyone!
---
“You’re not coming home now?”
Even as you say it, you’re vaguely surprised you manage to get the words out. Your lips are numb with shock and disappointment, and Jungkook’s wince on the screen of your phone just makes the feeling even more jarring. More painful.
“I’m sorry,” he says, half pleading and half desperate. “It’s just, this project is so important, and we need to have it ready for rollout…”
Throat tight, the fingers of your free hand pushing into your thigh, you adjust the phone with your other before saying thickly, “You said it would be a few hours in the morning, Jungkook. It’s – it’s Christmas."
"I know, I know, I just..."
He’s still speaking, quick and anxious words about necessity and pressure, and while you’re listening, you’re thinking about the cute lingerie sitting next to you on the bed. You'd been planning a little gift for him when he got home, and when he'd surprised you with a Facetime request, you'd pulled them out of the drawer, thinking it might be a fun little tease to give him a flash of the red and black set. Now, though...
"Hey, Y/N, I'm sorry. Really." Biting at his lip, Jungkook somehow manages to look a bit pitiful, even with the dress shirt he's wearing, ironed to sharp definition. The collar of the black shirt is open, sans a tie – he’d mentioned this morning no one cared about perfect business attire while working over Christmas – and the bare curve of his collarbone just adds to the disjointed clash of his clean outfit compared to his dejected expression.
The look has your throat closing even more, and you try to force a smile. You're well aware of how stressful the new position has been for your long time boyfriend, seen the casualties of the job; late night arrivals at the apartment, distracted eyes while making and eating dinner, forehead creased with frustration every time his phone vibrates, fatigue that throws him into sleep before you and he have really even had any time to talk together. He's also been hitting the gym almost religiously lately, another outlet for stress, and while you love Jungkook's enthusiasm for staying active, two sessions a day, every day, is excessive for him. It also eats into what little opportunity is left for you two to spend time with each other.
But he's doing his best. You know that. You're sure of it. And he promised it would get better, soon.
Soon. So, you swallow the disappointment, and the thing that’s more dangerous, simmering below it and too perilously close to anger. You hitch on a smile, and hope it doesn't look quite as forced as it feels. "I get it, Kookie. I'm just sorry you have to work for so long. Will you be back in time for dinner?"
He hesitates, teeth still sawing into his lower lip as he jiggles his head indecisively and the camera frame shifts a bit. "I'm not sure but – probably?" Your expression must sink just as much as your stomach does, despite your best efforts, because Jungkook immediately grimaces, his hands making desperate little waves of abortive denial. "I mean, I will. For sure. I'll be home, okay?"
When he flashes a thumbs up, deliberately and extravagantly enthusiastic, you can't help but smile, just a tentative lift of your lips. "Just – I love you, Kookie. I hope we get to spend some of Christmas together."
"We will! Promise." Both hands are up now, clenched into eager fists under his chin, and he really couldn't look more earnest if he tried.
The smile comes a bit easier now, and you nod, feeling some of that enthusiasm reaching through the screen. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, you try to redirect the conversation, too painfully aware that sulking isn't going to help at all. "Have you eaten lunch yet? Don't miss it just for your stupid boss!"
His grin is a small, toothy thing. "Nah, I haven't. I –"
"Jungkook!"
"I was saving room for when I got home!"
"Hah! You think there's going to be food on the table for you?" This bickering is so much easier than anything else that you might say, and you fall into it with something like relief.
His eyebrows fall, nose scrunching dramatically. "On the table? Y/N, that's so unsanitary."
"So unsanitary...?"
At your puzzled look, the grossed out expression whirls away, replaced with a smirk that's so abruptly suggestive that you find your breath catching. The way his voice drops, becoming a low hum, just concentrates the effect. "I was saving room for you, of course. But I'm not gonna eat you out on the table, baby."
You huff in scornful incredulity, but it can't take back the fact that you almost choked a second ago. It also doesn't really hide the way your cheeks have heated up into a patchy red, and besides, Jungkook knows you too well. If anything, his smirk just gets even sharper, and he adds playfully, "Unless you have it on your wish list. Then I might consider it."
Fucking around with Jungkook on any surface is absolutely on your wish list, but you're too proud and currently too annoyed to tell him that. "With my luck, it would break trying to hold up your inflated ego."
"My inflated muscles, you mean," he says, and flexes. Which is just so obnoxious, and also the long sleeve hides his arms too well to be truly impressive.
"Do that again when you get home," you order imperiously, and immediately he bows his head.
"You got it, boss," he agrees, and it's that easy, sudden switch, that flexibility, that's at least part of the reason you love him so much. Jungkook is what you need him to be; he's always been comfortable with that role, and your flighty ass needs him in so many different ways. He's never failed you in that respect. Well – not much. You need him with you right now, after all.
Want, you remind yourself sternly. You want him, that's all.
Abruptly he stiffens, turns slightly. You hear someone speaking off camera, high and strained, and Jungkook replies in a confident voice, talking about something you don't have enough information on to fully understand. They have a short conversation before Jungkook says, "I'll be over in a moment, okay?"
Then he's turning back to you, the by now familiar crease back between his eyes. "I've got to go now, Y/N. I'll get out of here as quickly as I can, okay?"
"Okay. Love you, Kookie. And try to eat something."
He nods, curter now, already turning away from the camera. "See you soon."
And you're left with a call ended screen and no reciprocal "love you". The flicker of warmth that had been blooming in your stomach wilts until there's nothing but a cold tightness left. For a few minutes you scroll aimlessly through your apps and messages, fingers restless for something the phone can't give. There are too many Merry Christmas posts, too many pics of friends and family having a good time together with gifts and food, and it grows the hurt in your gut. You and Jungkook had decided not to travel to any of your families' gatherings, to save some money this year after a big and expensive move, but that had been with the assumption that you would be able to take comfort in each other. Now...
Before too long, you give up, toss the phone aside. It lands next to the lingerie, and for the time being you leave them both alone, suddenly anxious to get away from the remote device and the painful reminder both. Your apartment isn't large, and it only takes you a few steps to leave the bedroom and head to the kitchen. You spend several moments milling around there, but you've already prepped everything for dinner tonight; the only thing left to do is the dishes from this morning's simple breakfast, eaten long after Jungkook had already bolted his and left. You clean them with desultory effort, trying not to remember that you and your boyfriend had planned to make something fancy together. The restless feeling doesn't leave with the dishes done, and you check, doublecheck and triplecheck everything before you're even halfway to feeling like this part of the apartment might not need anything else.
The living room, attached to the kitchen, has been decorated with reckless abandon. You've got at least an ounce of beauty aesthetic in your bones, and so does Jungkook, but for some reason when put together it equals a pound of ugly. The tinsel – red, gold, silver, and green – is flung about the room over pretty much any surface that will support it, along with red and green lights. The Christmas decorations are a hideous mash up of whatever you and Kookie have scrounged together from your families or garage sales or cheap outlet malls, plus a few modest clay additions of your own making. Several of the larger succulents and other plants are bowed morosely under the weight of ambitious ornaments, and the cactus on the windowsill looks positively garish with a star perched jauntily on its crown.
And you love it all so much.
Remembering the absolutely wild hour or so that you and Jungkook spent together decorating the apartment – such a rare and precious moment, since you moved here – makes your eyes start prickling with unbidden tears. Jungkook's staggering workload hadn't been so bad, while you were working; acting as a long distance design consultant for a large collection of homegrown companies tended to keep you busy, and you hadn't noticed his absence in a way that demanded you address it. Now, though, with Christmas an enforced break, since none of your suppliers or other contacts will reply to emails, your loneliness curls itself up in your chest, all barbs and agitation. You’re beginning to suspect that maybe the long absences have hurt you more than you thought.
One of your projects is on the coffee table, the spread of files and print outs of possible designs covering the worn surface. You've always preferred working with physical copies for the initial stages, moving to a tablet for more detailed work. You fling yourself onto the couch, telling yourself you might as well do something productive and hoping it might provide a distraction. That lasts for about half an hour, but it's a constant fight to keep your thoughts on the papers in front of you. The unhappiness is curdling your concentration, and more and more you're aware of a simmering resentment, sharp and insistent under your sadness.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. There'd been so little conflict about moving when Jungkook got the job offer. You were already working remotely, and while the pay increase at Jungkook's new company wasn't that much, it was the promise of what could come that made it nearly impossible to turn down. Saying goodbye to your family hadn't been an issue; you were already living in a different city than them, settled there after university. It had been harder for your boyfriend, but not impossible, and despite both of you leaving friends behind, you'd left with excitement. Hope. The future opening up before you two, together.
With a sigh, you shove the papers away. Leave the living room and take shelter on your bed. Send and reply to some Christmas messages. Make a face at the snap Jin sends you, a little blurry, his flushed cheeks matching the red reindeer antler headband he's wearing. He's holding the gifts you sent several weeks ago, an adorable pair of windup salt and pepper shakers shaped like teddy bears that can walk across the table, along with a few duck-shaped strainers. The caption makes you snort. I'm bearly making it without you, sis. I'm like a duck out of water. The next snap is clearer, of him and his two roommates, Jimin and Hoseok, all making heart signs. Thanks for the gifts! Hope you have a Merry Christmas!
He's in the same city as your parents, and you know he spent yesterday with them. Looks like he's having a great time with his roommates, too. Before the affection can sour, you save the photo and put your phone down again.
Kitchen, living room, bedroom. A discontented circuit you don't know how to break yourself out of. It feels so dumb to be making yourself even more miserable like this. You should phone one of the few friends who aren't with their families, or maybe your parents – hell, you could even phone Jin, he and his roommates would be sure to talk with you for an hour or two. But the thought of admitting you're alone, Jungkook having chosen work over spending the holiday with you, has your shame rising to scalding levels. The mere prospect of hearing and seeing everyone happy while you’re alone is another hurt, one that makes you curl up more tightly on the bed, clutching his pillow to your chest like it could fill up the hollowness settled in your lungs. Just like all of the sheets, it has his scent, light and flowery and soft, and it inspires an aching, cloying feeling that isn't really close enough to comfort, but you hold it tighter anyways.
The day drags on like that, swamps of self-pity drained by bursts of frantic activity. You clean up a bit more, work on a project, watch some TV. And then the rush of drowning loneliness fills up your lungs again and you're reduced to more aimless pining.
By three, with no texts from Jungkook and the need to start cooking soon looming large on the horizon, you send him a message. Hey. Gonna be home soon?
About half an hour later, you add a ? that still gets no immediate reply, and agitated tension has you wondering if you should call him. But what if you interrupt something? Get him in trouble? Worrying the thoughts ragged in your head, you resolve to give it just a little more time. Hell, for all you know, maybe he’s on his way home now.
At around four, your phone starts vibrating. Not a Facetime request, this time, but the name that pops up is welcome all the same. You answer almost breathlessly. "Hey Kookie!"
"Hey Y/N."
Right away you know this isn't the kind of phone call you were hoping for. Jungkook's voice is gravelly and tired, more like a bruise than a sound. Your shoulders slump, and you can't find it in yourself to say anything.
Your boyfriend tentatively breaks the silence a moment later. "Y/N, I'm sorry. Things are spilling over and I'm not going to be able to leave for awhile longer."
"..."
"Y/N? Are you -"
"How much longer?"
You can practically hear the wince. "I'm not sure yet."
"Jungkook..." But once again, the words catch in your throat, trapped by just how ungrateful and immature you feel.
"Look, Y/N, I was thinking. Maybe, if I come home too late, we can move dinner to tomorrow? I'm definitely going to be home all day, so we can have a nice breakfast and dinner and maybe open our presents and..." There's nothing in the quiet between you two. Certainly not your agreement. "I know I messed up and that this isn't fair to you, Y/N, and I'm sorry. Maybe – couldn't we just... reset? Start Christmas for real tomorrow?"
"Reset?" you repeat. "Like – what, like one of your video games?" The swampy depression is bubbling now, surging with the outrage that's been building all day.
"No, that's not -"
"We can't just reset, Jungkook. This isn't a level you get to just do over!"
"I know that, that isn't what I meant, you're -"
"I've been waiting here all day, Jungkook! By myself! Just waiting here for you! Do you get how bad that makes me feel?"
Jungkook sounds choked when he replies, though it's hard to tell if it's from guilt or anger. "I know I've made you wait, and I'm sorry. But the project -"
"I don't care about the fucking project! You should have told them to fuck off when they asked you to work!" You're full on shouting now, eyes stinging with tears, the sound tearing from your throat. "This has been the worst Christmas I've ever had, and you just want me to forget about it?"
His voice doesn't get louder. If anything, it gets quieter, smaller, coiling in on itself into a tight mass. "Do you think I'm having a good time? I've been working since 8:00 on Christmas day! It's not like I asked to come in, and they barely gave me a choice! I'm the junior here, do you think they would have been okay with me shrugging today off?"
"Today? Today?" Your laugh sounds too cruel, even to your own ears. "It hasn't just been today, Jungkook! This is just – more of the same! More ditching me – ditching us – for work. For some stupid reason I thought that you might consider Christmas an important enough day to knock it off for just one fucking second. But I guess not."
"I'm doing this for us! For – I told you how much work it was going to be! I thought you'd be okay with it!"
"And I thought there might be a tiny little exception made for Christmas. I guess we were both wrong!" you spit furiously.
There's a pause, heavy with the sound of both of your staggered breathing. You're too angry to regret what you've said – or at least, to acknowledge how much you regret it – and the bewildered hurt is travelling straight to your head, leaving you dazed and disconnected. Could Jungkook really have thought you were okay with what's been happening? Okay with being left alone for what feels like months now? How can you be listening to his tense exhales and still not understand the person on the other end of this call?
"I'm sorry, Y/N." Too polite, too gentle by far. Where the hell did he get off sounding like that? You know that's Jungkook – that he's far more likely to shutdown during an argument, to close off – but it leaves you clashing against air. No opposing force to clamp down on your own anger.
Heaving in a sharp exhale, shaking your head even though he can't see it, you say, "Do what you want, Jungkook. I'm not making the dinner if you're not leaving right now."
"Y/N..."
"Merry Christmas." You hang up.
It feels horrible. The phone is a dead weight in your hand, the anger an even heavier weight in your heart. You make a fractured noise, a frustrated scream that quickly trails into a barely checked sob. If you felt bad before talking to Jungkook, it's nothing compared to the mix of self-recriminations and resentment assaulting you now. He was just - why did he have to - why couldn't he -
Why did I have to say that to him?
You know Jungkook. How hard working he is, how dedicated, how keenly he wants to do well in front of and for others. He isn't working late because he doesn't want to see you; you're sure of that. It's just an inability to say no to his superiors. And... and you really haven't told him how unhappy you are with how often he's away.
But still. Couldn't he figure it out? Did you need to spell out your misery for him to get it? Is that really what your relationship amounts to?
Another aggravated exhale parts your lips, and you start pacing faster, needing the release. The next few hours stretch in front of you with wretched promise. What do you do now? Just wait by yourself until he gets home? Have to see his ashamed, hurt, averted eyes, the way he would creep into the apartment with a shield set between you and him? And then what? Go to bed with that block between you two, wake up and somehow try to pretend it doesn't exist tomorrow?
The tears flow down your cheeks despite your hands’ furious attempts to press them away and there's no way to stop them once they've begun. You cry, the way people often cry when they’re lonely, like silence is their only companion and they're afraid of scaring even that friend away. Quietly, then, no longer trying to hold the tears back but unable to give voice to the magnitude of your pain, either. The wet, soft sobbing quickly sends you back to bed, where you curl up once again, struggling for some kind of self-control.
God, you just miss him so much. Not today, not now, not – it's a void of the little things. The snicker when you berate him for being messy. His warm, gentle hands on your neck after a day hunched over a project, massaging out the pain. A little giggle as you watch a Ghibli film together. The shoving matches when you're out shopping and competing for who can get the most stuff on the list. The quick kisses and the slow kisses and the deep, hungry kisses that always lead to you waking up in his arms the next day, far later into the morning than usual.
You miss him so much, and you just pushed him away even more.
With a muffled sob you push your face further into the pillow, hating how pitiful this is, how much you're struggling to get your emotions under control. This is so – it's ridiculous, that's what it is. Childish. It's not as if you've lost Jungkook forever, and you haven't lost all of the things you love about him, either. It's not like you never goof off anymore, or cuddle, or talk. It's just – it's just that everything has been so much more frantic, hurried, and stressful since the move. It seems like there's never a moment where you can just sit together and love each other and think of nothing else.
The anger, remorse and dejection feed off each other, first growing and prolonging the wrenching feeling choking your throat, and you cry until time doesn’t mean much anymore. The grief is so horribly thick it’s like you can’t even breathe through it, let alone do anything but lie in bed. It goes on and on and – and then exhaustion overtakes your convulsive crying. Eventually, without ever actually being filled, the hollow ache contracts into a hard pit, the tears all forced out. Nothing else, though. The guilt and resentment and sadness are still there, dulled to a grey, insubstantial mass.
But at least you can think a bit. Listlessly, with all the colours drained out of it, but you can do more than sob. Wiping at your clogged nose and tear-streaked face, you find you can actually breathe, something of an improvement. You sit up, gently set the pillow back on Jungkook's side of the bed, giving the soft material one last swipe, trying to rid it of the wet evidence of your meltdown. No luck there, but it'll probably be dry before your boyfriend gets home.
If he gets home.
The bitterness of that thought is too tired to summon more tears from the hole in your heart or your head. You shake it away, more because you're just too drained to cling to the heavy emotion than because of some angelic impulse to forgive.
You know you have to do something. Anything. Literally anything will be better than just sitting here, waiting for Jungkook to come in, getting pricklier with each passing minute. With the Christmas dinner off the table, you suppose you could just pick up something to eat. Fast-food or something... have it ready for him to heat up when he was done work... like you're some trophy girlfriend.
Once again you need to stop yourself, biting back the wave of resentment. God, this isn't doing you any good, and it's so, so unfair to Jungkook. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have agreed to work on Christmas. Maybe he should have been more sensitive to how far you've been drifting apart because of his long work hours. But at the same time, yelling at him over the phone wasn't the answer, either. He's probably having as bad of a time as you are, and with no private room to cry in, either. He'll be totally repressing the argument now, shoving it into a locker and subconsciously telling himself he's to blame, that he's a horrible boyfriend. Trying to listen to his coworkers and do his work with those harsh criticisms running low and dark through his head. That's how Jungkook is. He takes everything onto himself, especially if you give it to him.
Running your hands through your hair at the thought, pity clenching your chest, you abruptly get up. You and Jungkook definitely need to talk, and soon. But – but there's no reason to close out this shitty day with an even more horrible evening of strained silence and brittle rebuttals. Neither of you are particularly good at apologizing, even though you're both great at feeling guilty. You just don't have the words for it. So, unless you do something – make some gesture – this is just going to stretch into an awful, prolonged fight that isn't a fight at all, both of you retreating from each other.
It's unbearable. You can't stand it. So… you're going to do something about it.
Resolved, as resolved as you can be, you change out of your PJs. The weather's been quite warm, with no snow to speak of, so it's not like you need to bundle up much. After a moment of hesitation, you choose to snag the ugly Christmas sweater. It's got a comically drawn pink bunny on the front, absurdly muscular, with a red Santa hat settled firmly between its ears, and a myriad of red and green patterns crammed into the background. It was the rabbit's expression and the accompanying phrase that had got Jungkook to laughing until he was doubled over when he'd seen it at the mall last year. A challenging, almost intimidating grin is plastered on the rabbit's face, with the words This Bun Don't Want None in cheerfully bedazzled white underneath. Your boyfriend had quite literally begged to get two and wear them to the upcoming Christmas party, and he'd been too imploring for you to say no.
Slipping it on, with the accompanying memory of his hysterical amusement, crinkled nose, and bunny grin every time he caught a glimpse of you at the party, is the closest you've felt to peace in the last few hours.
You throw on some dark jeans and apply your makeup with a thoroughness that's a little much, given that you're not going anywhere for long. You don't care; it feels good to dim the red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks your breakdown has gifted you, to cover it over with something prettier. Finishing with the last of the mascara, you grab your transit pass and head out, closing the door behind you with a finality that could almost be a goodbye.
The air outside is cool, a relief compared to the stuffy apartment, at least for now. You inhale deeply, the mild cold burning your sinuses and clearing your clogged head a bit. In a while, you might regret not having a warmer layer on, but for now it’s a relief to begin to walk, to stretch both your legs and your mind from the cramped defensiveness the apartment had been inspiring. This is – this is a good idea. You’re positive about it now, and can feel your shoulders loosening, steps becoming brisker.
If Jungkook can’t come to you – well, you’ll just go to him. At least for now.
Your building isn't too far from Jungkook's work; you only have a short train ride and a shorter bus ahead of you, according to your phone. You’ve been to his work three times before, but always in your shared car, and you walk with eyes fixed on your screen, calculating the time schedules. Part of you wants to text him, send a little olive branch to smooth the way and let him know you’re coming, but a larger part longs for something romantic and cute to happen today. Fast-food might not quite cut it, but surely a surprise visit might? You won’t stay long, won’t interrupt his work, but just to see his face, confused and then quietly grateful and loudly gleeful when he realizes why you’ve come –
It seems like that shouldn’t be too much to ask.
The trip flies by; you're too anxious in your own head to notice much outside of it, and besides, there aren't many people out and about today. Probably busy celebrating with their families.
You bite your lip at the thought, and violently yank your attention away.
At this rate, you should sign up for a game of Olympic tag. Surely nothing can run as agilely as you've been doing, avoiding every uncomfortable idea.
Jungkook's work is downtown, and there are tons of fast-food options nearby. You pick a smaller chain, KTown Fried Chicken, that both you and Jungkook enjoy. It's hard to convince yourself the cashier isn't judging you at least a little bit for your weird presence on Christmas night. Or maybe she's just eyeing the sweater. That’s another possibility.
With only one other person in line, the food comes quickly, and then you're on your way. Somewhere between stepping off the bus and smiling awkwardly at the girl behind the counter, it occurred to you that you didn't know when Jungkook was actually leaving work. He obviously didn't pack up right away after your argument – he would have made it home before you left – but that doesn't mean he isn't going to be heading home some time soon.
What if you show up and he's not there? What if he shows up and you're not there? What would he think? It is entirely too much to ask your wrung out brain to decide if it would be hilarious, infuriating, or some kind of karmic justice, but you do know that you'd rather just catch him at work with this peace offering. Much simpler that way, so you hurry your steps, snugging your sweater a little tighter around your frame as you do so.
You make it to the imposing office building of Projeck at around six, which is, as it happens, when two of Jungkook’s coworkers are leaving the building. Jungkook talks about them quite a bit – actually, gushes might be a better word – and you’d met them at the office Christmas party a couple of weeks ago. Namjoon, a tall, elegant man with blonde hair currently dressed in a black turtleneck, is one of the lead game designers, and he holds the door open for Yoongi, an audio engineer. The older of the two, in an oversized, comfy hoodie markedly at odds with his companion’s attire, slouches through with a tired smile of thanks.
Both had made a good impression on you at the party (it helped that they were obviously fond of Jungkook and appreciative of his talents) and you’re a little relieved to see them. Solved the awkwardness of trying to get into the building without letting Jungkook know you were here. Both pause at the sight of you, confusion creasing their features, before a grin flashes across Namjoon’s face.
“Hey, Y/N! Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” offers Yoongi as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he’s wearing. His eyes are on your chest, a little furrow across his brow, and it takes you a second to realize it’s the bunny again. After a moment his lips quirk, quiet amusement in the expression, and it makes it easier for you to reply brightly.
“Hey Namjoon, Yoongi. Merry Christmas! Are you heading home?” The prospect makes you a little excited. If they’re leaving, surely Jungkook won’t be far behind?
“Yup,” Namjoon agrees easily. His head tilts a little, scouring over you quizzically, before his gaze finds the bag in your hand. “Are you bringing something for Kookie?”
“Yeah… He, uh, was working so late I thought it might be nice to surprise him with some food.” You say it more like a confession, shoulders tight with the knowledge that this is making you sound way better than you actually are.
Namjoon whistles, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s really nice of you.”
“I mean, I haven’t done much today so –”
“He’s not here.” Yoongi states it so bluntly that it takes you a second to process what he said.
“…not here?” you ask, dismayed.
“Nah.” As your stunned eyes fall on him, giving him your full attention, he shrugs uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. He left like… twenty minutes ago?”
“He did?” Namjoon demands, and Yoongi just shrugs again.
Clutching at the paper bag that suddenly feels pathetic and cheap, a stupid idea, you say weakly, “Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, and both of the men’s expressions are soft with a sympathy that doesn’t make you feel any less stupid. “I guess… I’ll go home, then.”
Shifting again, a movement that has him brushing briefly against Namjoon, Yoongi trails a hand up to his ear. “Uh, I don’t think he was going home? Or at least, not right away?”
"What do you mean?" Maybe he'd mentioned he was stopping to pick up dinner, too? Maybe the fast-food you're lugging around is even more useless than you'd thought? Why hadn't you texted him? Why hadn't you -
"He was asking me about the fastest way to get to, uh, the Golden Closet Gallery. I think he was dropping by there first."
"Did - did he say why?"
"Meeting someone? Maybe? I dunno, he's been quiet almost all day, and he rushed away pretty quick."
You stare at him, tired and confused and more than a little guilty at the mention of Jungkook’s withdrawn state. What are you supposed to make of all this? You know about the Golden Closet Gallery – of course you do. You and he went a couple times, early on after your move here, both of you taking a lot of enjoyment from the art displays. But – it couldn't be open now, could it? And even if it were, why would he be going? Who could he possibly be meeting? Was he trying to take a late tour to calm down? Something else entirely? And – it didn't even matter. It wasn't as though you could reach him in a timely manner.
You were just going to have to go back home, and – you weren’t sure. Certainly not eat. The thought of trying to swallow any food right now, with your stomach tearing itself into pieces of shivering disappointment, is too much. Maybe Jungkook would already be at the apartment by the time you got there. Maybe you two could just – sit together. Just be together.
You’re not sure what’s sadder; how much happiness that simple picture gives you, or how sad you are that it makes you happy.
Trying to straighten your crumpled expression, you smile. "Well – thank you for letting me know. Guess I get all of this for myself." Your laugh as you heft the fast-food bag is a small and lost thing. "Sorry to keep you guys. I hope you have a good night!"
You've just begun to turn away, aching to end the conversation before you start bawling in front of these two men, when Namjoon clears his throat, his gaze shifting to Yoongi for a moment. The other man jerks a shoulder, bobs his head, and Namjoon looks back at you. You shuffle a little, desperate to be away but not wanting to be rude to two of the few people at this company who actually seem to be lessening Jungkook's stress.
"Did you take the bus to get here? We could give you a ride if you wanted."
Your throat tightens, and you're already shaking your head before you've even thoroughly processed the offer. "No, thanks, I don't want to take you out of your way."
"Well, if you wanted to drop by the Gallery and see if Kookie is there, it wouldn't be out of our way at all. We live pretty close by." Yoongi nods in agreement, his round face scrunching reassuringly with something that's not – quite – a smile.
When you waver, Namjoon says with studied nonchalance, "Even if he's not there, Yoongi and I don't have any plans for tonight. We don't mind dropping you off."
Still, the thought of inconveniencing them because of your stupid planning – not to mention that you don't know them that well – makes awkward turmoil roil in your stomach. Reading your reluctant expression and apparently hesitant to press you, Namjoon relents. “Well, if you’re sure…”
“Y/N. Come on. We’ll save you a lot of time, and I’m sure Jungkookie would be mad if we didn’t give you the ride. He already throws stuff at me when he thinks I’m not looking; I don’t want him to start chucking shit that actually hurts.” Yoongi’s eyebrow is lifted, an inviting gesture accompanied by a smile with just a hint of gums, and you can’t help but respond, a rueful chuckle that slips out at the picture his comment puts in your head.
Jungkook had mentioned there were a few people he liked to mess around with at work, but somehow it hadn’t crossed your mind that the quiet and slightly intimidating man would be one of his targets.
It decides you.
With a sharp dip of your head, you assent. "Okay, okay. Yeah, sure, and thank you guys. It means a lot to me, and, umm, if you need gas money or something..."
Namjoon throws back his head and utters a loud, barking laugh while Yoongi chuckles. "The company doesn't pay us enough, sure, but I think we can afford to cover this trip, Y/N. Besides, Jungkook's been working overtime so often, I feel like we practically owe you for stealing him so much."
That leaves a sour taste in your mouth that you're quick to swallow. Grinning weakly, you follow the two to their car, a compact grey Honda that's seen better days. Namjoon tries to insist you take shotgun next to Yoongi, but you're far too flustered at the thought of taking his spot and practically dive into the backseat. The first few minutes are a little strained, the fast-food bag on your lap rustling every time you move. Namjoon shuffles through a bunch of Christmas songs on his phone and Yoongi hums to them under his breath, seemingly unperturbed every time his companion switches mid-note.
Eventually, though, Namjoon finds a song he likes enough to leave on, and you find yourself drawn into a relaxed talk with them. Yoongi throws in a comment here and there, and together the two of them are so – easy. They add teasing remarks about each other without pausing for breath, Yoongi praises an arching plotline Namjoon had finished storyboarding today, and when a particularly loud Christmas jangle comes on, Namjoon's already changing it before Yoongi has time to huff in displeasure. You know they're roommates – more than that Jungkook hasn't said – and there's something uplifting about listening to their comfortable conversation.
They don't leave you out of it, either. You talk about your home city. You talk about how you met Jungkook in university, when you both arrived late to a morning Intro to Computer Animation course and were locked out of the classroom as a result. (You'd whispered furiously at each other about who should knock first until another hectic student had come charging up, bleary with sleep, and literally ran into the door when it failed to open. That had pretty much dissolved the tension between you two.) On a wave of laughter from that story, you tentatively ask how the job has been for Jungkook so far.
He's always so keen to hide his stress, so anxious not to talk about it and burden you. It seems like these two coworkers might be a good way to get a better picture, rather than the stitched together portrait you've gotten from the late nights and short, hesitant answers he gives you. At the thought, you pull out your phone to see if he’s sent you anything, but you have no texts.
The laughter dwindles, and you hear Yoongi rattling the spit in his mouth loudly enough to be heard over the music as he makes a lane change. In the other seat, Namjoon runs a hand through his blonde hair. Their silence immediately winds you up, and your hand, holding the phone, falls to the side. Had Jungkook not been telling you something? Was it worse than the late hours? Was –
"This isn't a great company," Yoongi states flatly, when it becomes obvious Namjoon is still groping for something more tactful to say. "They make you feel like you owe them your finger bones just because they pay a bit above average, and if those aren't showing from hitting the keyboards enough, you're some kind of failure."
"Yeah..." Namjoon sighs. "They tried that with me, but Yoongi's been there for several years, he's the best they've got in the audio department, and he made it clear that if I left, he would too. So they pulled back a little. Jungkook, though..."
"He doesn't say no. I've told him to – told him I'll throw in for him – but he's really afraid he's gonna get tossed. Can't blame him. People get fired too easily at Projeck." His voice is disinterested, but Yoongi makes another lane change, too abruptly this time, and that, plus his tight grip on the steering wheel, is a hint that he’s not quite as untouched as he sounds.
You press your back into the seat, trying to give yourself a semblance of a spine as your whole body threatens to fold. You'd had an inkling that Jungkook was maybe conceding too easily to upper management, but it sounds like he's having way more than a little pressure to work late put on him. This – actually this sounds toxic. Crippling. And Jungkook hadn't said anything about it.
And you barely asked.
Gnawing on your cheek, you lapse into silence, struggling for something to say.
Namjoon looks back, brows pulling together at whatever he sees on your face. "He's trying to get ahead of his workload, Y/N," he says gently. "I know after today he doesn't plan on going in until after New Years. He said he really wants to spend time with you."
"He was literally moping all over the office today," Yoongi adds. "Was surprised he didn't break his computer screen, he was sighing on it so much."
They're trying to make you feel better, reassure you that Jungkook had missed you and hated being separated on today of all days. They are accomplishing the exact opposite of what they intend, but that's not their fault. After all, they don't know what you'd said to Jungkook over the phone. Part of you wonders if they'd even have been willing to give you a ride if they did know. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have been if you were them.
You might also have tried to run yourself over on the way out of the parking lot, if you were them.
Before you can pull anything resembling words from the mire of rabid guilt curdling in your throat, the car pulls into the Gallery's small parking lot. It's almost surprising to find that there are two other vehicles already parked, and with the way the night is going, it's even more surprising that you recognize one of them as Jungkook's.
"He's here!" you cry out, relief and something heavier saturating your voice.
With a pleased exclamation, Namjoon gestures excitedly, smashing his hand into the roof of the car with a loud thud in the process.
"If you fucking dent my car..." Yoongi begins, but their mild bickering slips by you.
Your eyes are straining for some sign of Jungkook. The parking lot is empty of people, and the big sign above the building isn't lit up. However, it looks like there are some lights on in the Gallery, spilling out into the dimly lit lot, and as you fix your anxious gaze on the interior through the wide glass windows, you think you see the dim form of at least one person moving inside.
He’s here. You’re literally lightheaded with the joy of that certainty. This day has stretched out with excruciating discord, but now, everything is drawing tighter, shorter, focusing into a promise of reprieve. Finally, finally, something’s going right. The blissful expectation of getting to see Jungkook is almost enough for you to forget about everything else. For this moment, you think you’d forego everything Christmas – the gifts, the dinner, the decorations, everything – just to press your face against his chest and feel him holding you.
Hand on the door handle, you keep yourself from leaping out and dashing to the building only with difficulty. “Thank you so much for driving me. I almost can’t believe we caught him.”
“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies. “Escaping from Projeck before eight was our miracle – looks like this gets to be yours.”
The three of you chuckle at that, and then you’re opening the door. “I’ll let Jungkook know you helped me. Maybe he’ll stop throwing things.”
“And maybe Santa exists,” Yoongi grumbles, but there’s no annoyance in his rasping voice. “’Sides, that’s not what I want from him. Tell him to think about what we’ve said, ‘kay?”
Assuming he means saying no to the boss more, you nod, emotional with how lucky both you and Jungkook are to have run into such kind people. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t really cover the gratitude their thoughtfulness has inspired in you, and on top of everything else you’ve been through today, it’s almost enough to set you to crying again.
Namjoon seems to sense you’re at a loss for words; at any rate, he fills in the space. “If things change for the better in the new year, we’ll see more of you, Y/N. In the meantime, take care! I hope you and Jungkook have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!”
Your voice comes out husky with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. I – Hope you both have a Merry Christmas, too! And a Happy New Year!”
Then you’re out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind you, your jaw tight to keep back the ridiculous tears. Yoongi and Namjoon wave, you wave back, and then Yoongi pulls away, leaving you standing and waving in the parking lot until the car turns and is gone. You take a couple of deep breaths, a smile easing the urge to cry. The excitement hasn’t dimmed at all, and, clutching the fast-food bag tightly, you pivot towards the Gallery, little shivers of anticipation darting under your skin.
You practically run to the doors, and nearly commit the same mistake that student had, years ago, when they don’t open at your touch. The thought of smacking into them and announcing your presence to Jungkook that way has a low laugh bubbling in your throat. Yanking yourself to a halt, you try pulling and pushing on the doors, to no avail; they’re locked. You give them one last jerk, just to be sure, but they remain stubbornly shut. It’s not enough of a deterrent to dampen your spirits, though you find yourself bouncing impatiently on the soles of your feet, unable to get rid of the fizzy energy coursing through your veins.
You’re okay to wait outside until Jungkook comes out – it’s still not that cold out, and how much longer could he really be? – but nonetheless you start heading to the right, circling around the building, peering into the windows on the off-chance you can catch sight of your boyfriend and get his attention. The lights are off in some of the areas, but a few are flooded in a soft glow, and you skim your eyes over all that you can see. The more you look, the more confused you are about why Jungkook would be here. There are no other customers that you can see, so clearly, it’s not some sort of special Christmas showing. You literally can’t think of another reason he might be here. And hadn’t Yoongi said he was meeting someone?
It’s a mystery you can’t solve yourself, and you keep up your roaming examination. Most of the building has glass walls, except for an area near the back, and you can see inside fairly easily, where the lights are on. The Gallery is pretty typical, all open spaces and white, dismantlable walls, the better to more starkly exhibit the art pieces scattered across the wooden floors. There are paintings and sculptures, a few more abstract works, little plaques beside most of them –
But no Jungkook.
Lips pursued, you make your way further around, until you’re on the other side of the building, ears keen for any sound of a door opening. Wouldn’t that just be typical? While you’re wandering around out here, he comes out and leaves…
You should text him. A surprise visit is one thing, but at this point you being outside is going to be surprise enough. With that thought in mind, you begin fumbling in your pockets, awkwardly cradling the fast-food in one hand as you search for your phone. Not in your back jean pockets. A horrified panic starts building, and by the time you’ve clawed all the lint out of your sweater’s pockets, you’re certain. You don’t have it.
A memory, stilted and strained, of your hand falling to your side when you’d been talking about Jungkook’s stress in Yoongi’s car. In your anguish, it suddenly becomes clear to you; you’d dropped it. Forgotten to pick it up again. It was in the car!
For a second, you think that’s going to be the breaking point. The straw on the camel’s back. Your frustration peaks, eyes stinging, hands balled into fists as your excitement is drowned in self-reproach and an overwhelming sense of despair. Why were you so stupid? Fighting with Jungkook, sulking around the apartment, this dumb idea to get fast-food that’s definitely cold by now, and now – now this. You start walking again, barely looking, just planning to get to the front of the building and maybe collapse on the pavement. The crushing unhappiness doesn’t let up. Were you cursed? Was the world out to get you? Had you kicked a puppy in a past life? Why did you end up –
Your raging internal soliloquy is interrupted by movement within the Gallery. Someone is moving inside. Someone tall and muscular, with his black shirt rolled up to the elbows, long, shaggy black hair tucked behind his ears as he lounges against one of the white walls. He’s partially turned; you can only see half of his face, and even that not perfectly because of the narrow angle, but the sharp definition of his jaw is obvious, even from here. There’s something rectangular leaning against the wall next to him, wrapped in brown packaging paper, but you barely notice it. He’s talking to someone equally as tall, their back turned to you, but you barely register them.
Jungkook. It’s Jungkook!
It is not an exaggeration to say that for a second you doubt your eyes. Everything has just been so, so shitty today that you’d almost believe he’s a hologram or a figment of your imagination before buying that your flesh and blood boyfriend is standing some twenty feet away and that all it will take to end this horrible experience will be to catch his attention.
The person he’s talking to must say something funny, because his nose crinkles, lips rising as he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s just a giggle, quickly stifled, but it’s also a needle; the second you see that laugh, your bubble of disbelief pops with a force that’s almost audible. You can’t hear him, but at the same time, you can, fully aware of the way his snicker of amusement started out low and then pitched higher in tandem with his head being thrown back. The sound that isn’t a sound but a memory and a gift and a promise altogether gives rise to something hot and aching in your chest.
“Jungkook,” you say, barely aware of the name slipping between your tingling lips. There’s a rushing sensation in your ears, through your veins, like your blood has just remembered that it’s alive and is eager to prove it. The misery of moments and minutes and hours ago doesn’t disappear, but the sight of your boyfriend is enough to lift you out of it, to buoy you above the churning waves and set you, heart alight, in the clouds.
“Jungkook!” you call, a shout this time, and start waving. He doesn’t hear or notice you, attention fixed on the man he’s with. You still don’t recognize whoever it is, but then again, with his back to you all you can see is the vibrantly patterned orange shirt stretching over his shoulders and a fluffy bit of brown hair. However, whatever he’s saying has sobered Jungkook; from what you can see of his face, his lips have tightened, and he shakes his head now and again.
Who the hell is that, anyways? More vigorous gestures still don’t pull Jungkook’s gaze away from the other person. You know that any second now he’s going to look over and see you, break into a silly, bemused grin, rush over to the window, if only you could just– You’re about to tap on the glass when whoever it is abruptly steps closer to Jungkook. From what you can see, the guy’s large hands are moving passionately, persuasively, and a moment later he grabs Jungkook’s wrist, other hand rising up towards his face. You can’t quite tell what’s happening, except that Jungkook doesn’t shake him off or push him away. Doesn’t push him away, even when he leans closer, their faces inches apart, and the way they’re standing, you still don’t know who it is.
Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind that his personal space is being invaded. There’s an attempt at a scowl on his lips, but you can tell it’s fake, a laugh on the verge of breaking through. You realize your hand is still raised to knock on the window, and let it fall. Brows pulling together, you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. The other man leans in even more, and when their lips are about to touch you wrench your eyes away.
For a long moment you stare at the pavement at your feet, mouth moving silently, like you’re searching for a word that fits what you just saw happen. It couldn’t be what you thought. Any second now, a reasonable explanation is going to come to mind. You’re going to find some frame of reference that makes this understandable. There’s going to be something that changes your point of view, makes reality into fiction. Because this can’t be true. This can’t be happening.
Jungkook could not have just kissed someone else in an empty art gallery while he thought you were waiting for him at home.
Except that’s exactly what happened. You feel yourself change. You’re not a person anymore, not a human; you’re a wound, red and open and weeping. With a strangled sob, you suddenly find your feet moving to match your reeling thoughts, and you stagger away from the warmly lit building. The disbelief is like novocaine, numbing the screaming pain of the betrayal, but it’s not strong enough to force your gaze back through the window. Back to your boyfriend and whoever he’s with. Who knows what they’re doing now?
Stopping yourself from crumpling to your knees and curling into a ball takes almost all of your strength, and you can’t keep yourself from doubling over slightly, one hand across your middle as you stumble blindly down the sidewalk and away from the Gallery. You press on your eyes to keep back the tears, cover your mouth to stifle the high, anguished gasps you’re making, but it does little to fool anyone, least of all yourself. Each sob rips from somewhere deep inside you, opens up the injury even further, until it feels like you might very well be tearing your chest apart.
He couldn’t have. He just– he couldn’t have. You can’t reconcile what you saw with what you know, but how can they be two different things? How can your boyfriend – loving, loyal, protective – exist in the same place as that man who hadn’t mentioned he was meeting anyone, who snuck around on Christmas day to see someone else? How can Jungkook be a cheater? How? How?
How could I not have known?
Bewildered, you scrabble through your memories like they’re a pack of spilled cards, struggling to piece them together, to pick them up and put them in order after they’ve fluttered to the ground in a chaos of white and black and red. At first you can’t find a hint. Can’t find a reason. There’s warmth and laughter and closeness in your memories together, with only spots of friction and hurt. What could the memory of you throwing tinsel around Jungkook’s neck and him parading around the living room teach you about this moment? What could the recollection of Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your shaking form when you’d received news of your grandmother’s passing tell you that you should have already known? What could the shadow of his quiet admiration as you showed him your most recent design reveal to your befuddled mind?
Was the staying late the only clue? The only ace card that trumped every other moment together? Or had there been others? Did you confuse his withdrawal from you as stress when it was really guilt? Had the silence been resentment? Boredom? Was he really going to the gym? Or into someone else’s arms? Did you do something wrong? Say something wrong?
Is this your fault?
You don’t know what to do, and as your steps slow, tears still going strong, you realize you barely know where you are. It’s fully dark now, and people are passing infrequently, with the streetlights only vaguely reassuring as they spill over faces. You haven’t taken any side streets, just followed this main road passed gas stations and boutiques, offices and fast-food joints, so you’re not lost, exactly. But you don’t have your phone. How are you supposed to get home?
Home. Suddenly the ache is more real. Present. Demanding. How are you supposed to go home when you thought home was Jungkook?
What do you say to him? What can you say? The thought of facing him has you trembling with something approaching nausea. Or maybe it’s the cold. It’s late enough now that the temperature is dropping, your heaving breath misting from your mouth, and you hadn’t planned to be out so late. The sweater is doing nothing to keep you warm. The sweater…
“Oh, God…” you mumble, your fingers digging into the tacky material, creasing the bunny that had made Jungkook so happy. “What do I do?”
What do I do?
---
With a grunt, Jungkook shoves Taehyung away using a hand against his stomach, the other man’s breath spilling across his face as he huffs in surprise. The push is strong enough to send Taehyung staggering back several paces, and he nearly trips and falls. Even as he catches himself, Jungkook is regretting the violence of the motion. It’s just – he’s feeling so vulnerable right now, so strained, and his friend acting like a clown doesn’t help matters.
Rubbing at his stomach, the other man complains reproachfully, “I was just trying to show you what to do!”
Jungkook sighs, rubbing at his face. “I don’t remember saying I needed help with how to make out,” he points out.
Taehyung throws up his hands. “You’ve missed the point!” he exclaims in disgust. “Didn’t you see the concern in my eyes? The tenderness? Dude, I was stroking your face. That’s how it’s done!”
He snorts but the irritation is already fading, replaced by the amusement he’d had when Tae first started his shenanigans. Jungkook shakes his head, clearing his hair from his eyes, and relents a little. “Do you really think I should do it like that?” A beat. “Well, I mean, not like that. Better.”
With a grand gesture at their surroundings, Taehyung ignores the insult (or misses it, it’s hard to tell with Tae sometimes) and tells him, “You’re already doing better. You’ve got her a painting from an artist she loves.” He stops, points to himself. “Courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood art dealer, who sacrificed his Christmas night and drove all this way to make sure you got it. Plus, there’s the big news – she’s going to lose her mind when you tell her. Anyways, yeah, Koo, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna forgive you, even if you don’t use my sweet moves.”
“But I still don’t know what to say.” Jungkook hates how whiny his voice sounds, how uncertain. At the same time, it feels… good, to admit how he hasn’t got a clue how to make up with you. Or– That isn’t quite right. He does know, somewhere in his gut, in the palms of his hands, in the way his lips ache to skim along your skin. It’s just turning that feeling into words that’s struck him dumb.
“Dude, say what’s in your heart.” There is no one in the world but Taehyung who could say that earnestly and not sound like a weirdo, yet there the other man is, mouth set solemnly, somehow almost making sense. “You love her, you’re sorry for what’s happened, you want to hear her opinion, you’re working to make it better… Koo, you’ve told me all of that in the last half an hour. Now you just need to say it to her.”
“But what if…” He can’t even put it into words, the fear and uncertainty and guilt. Is he asking too much of you? Does he even deserve to ask anything? And what if… what if…
Reading him like a book, Taehyung smiles, simple and brilliant. “She’s going to forgive you. You’ve already forgiven her, so what else is there? Just the getting it done.” Still Jungkook hesitates, and his childhood friend says, a little more gently, “You’re a good person, Koo. I know that, and she does too. Talk to her. You won’t regret it.”
He hangs his head, slowly running his fingers against each other, exploring their lines like they might lead him to the courage he’s searching for. The call with you this afternoon had – shaken him. Although Jungkook had been aware – painfully so – that the two of you weren’t spending enough time together, he hadn’t realized how much it was harming you, and your anger had been both shocking and hurtful. Work had just sucked, so much, and to have you yelling at him…
But after the initial defensive reaction, he couldn’t get the thought of you sitting alone out of his head. It was never his intention to leave you for the whole day, but when he broached the subject of leaving with the boss, the look he got on his face, the way he said, “Well, of course, since I assume you’re done everything you were assigned,” had just been…
You still shouldn’t have left her. Jungkook knows that, knows equally that he didn’t have all that much of a choice if he didn’t want to get fired. It was the balancing act between those understandings that had his shoulders hunched, his cheek fair game to be chewed on. He was working on changing the situation – Namjoon and Yoongi were helping – but what if you thought it wasn’t fast enough? What if you decided you had enough? How can he bear to face you with that possibility on the horizon?
Taehyung gives him space, just hums under his breath and wanders a little, examining the various pieces on display. The Golden Closet Gallery isn’t one of his usual haunts – he tends to deal with artists further up north – but he’d come at Jungkook’s hesitant request, with an alacrity that still has Jungkook wondering what he’d done to deserve such a friend.
He’d had his eye on your favourite local artist’s website, and when the painting went on sale, he’d known he had to get it. However, Projeck employees didn’t get paid until the 20th, and by the time he had enough money to comfortably purchase it, the artist wasn’t available on short notice and wouldn’t have been around to give it to him until after New Year’s Eve. Taehyung is well known in the community, though, and the painter had had no qualms letting him deal with establishing the price and then handing the piece over. It was practically a miracle, even if Tae had only been able to slip away from his family on Christmas afternoon.
Eventually, with Taehyung’s deep baritone hum a soothing presence, Jungkook tamps his fear down. Gets it to a manageable level. At the end of the day – Taehyung is right. He loves you, more than anything, more than he thought he could love anyone. That’s enough. It has to be enough.
He looks up, clears his throat. “Thanks, TaeTae,” Jungkook says quietly. “I really couldn’t have done this without you.”
His friend beams. “Nah, you couldn’t have. But what else are friends for, right?”
“I’ll get you an early release copy of Urban Anonymous. I think you’ll like it,” he promises. “But in the meantime… I think I’ve got someone to, uh, speak my heart to.” For half a second Jungkook thinks he’s about to die from the sheer cringe of saying that, a blush flooding across his cheeks, but at the same time – it feels kinda good to say. Goofily so, and very embarrassing, but still.
If anything, Taehyung’s beam intensifies. “Then my job here is done! I should hit the road anyways, I wanna get back home. I promised my parents I’d make them something nice for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Sure you don’t wanna stay over?” Glancing out the window, taking in how dark it is, Jungkook feels bad to be sending Taehyung out on the road at this time.
The other man snickers. “And get in the way of a beautiful thing? Nah. Besides, you know I like driving at night, and it’s only a little over three hours. I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so…” Jungkook snags the painting off of the floor, and together they walk through the Gallery, to the doors Taehyung had locked behind them when they entered. He unlocks them now, and they leave the aesthetically pleasing space, spilling out into the chilly night air. As Taehyung locks up, Jungkook glances around, breathing in deeply. Now that he’s resolved himself, he actually feels – a little better. Steadier, as though his world isn’t about to jerk out from underneath his feet.
Their cars are parked together, and once there Taehyung flings himself at Jungkook – scrupulously avoiding hitting into the painting, of course – and they hug, Jungkook staggering under the weight of his friend. The fond affection is a fluffy, sleepy thing, and, with one hand wrapped around Taehyung’s shoulders, Jungkook repeats, “Thank you, TaeTae.” It’s not eloquent, but with Taehyung, it’s enough.
They break apart, and Taehyung is grinning, a wide, boxy affair that has the nostalgia and warmth growing. “I’ve missed you, Koo. I’m glad we got to meet up. Tell Y/N that I miss her too, okay? And that I wish her a Merry Christmas.”
“We’ll have to get together again soon; Y/N will be disappointed she missed you. Although I know she loved your blue hair, so she’ll probably be sad you changed it.” It had even surprised Jungkook a bit when Tae had first ducked out of his car. The blue had just been so… riveting, and compared to that, the darker tone really changes how he looks. Not to mention that Tae went with a curlier style this time around.
Taehyung runs a hand through his fluffy brown locks before shrugging. “I got bored. Besides, I haven’t had brown in, what? Five years? It was a nice change.”
“It’s a good look. Almost as good as mine,” Jungkook teases, and Taehyung laughs in his deep, rolling way. “Okay. Merry Christmas, TaeTae. And have a Happy New Year! Don’t drive into a ditch, but if you do, call me.”
“I’ll get you to drag the car out by yourself,” Taehyung agrees amiably. “You look like you could manage it these days, and it’d save me the cost of the tow-truck.”
He gives Jungkook’s upper arm a cheerful poke, whistles in exaggerated admiration and then dodges Jungkook’s swipe at him. “See you soon, Koo! I’ll send you a text when I get home. Hopefully you’ll be too busy to read it until tomorrow.” And with a wicked little giggle, he gets into his car.
“Bye, Tae! See you! Thank you!” Jungkook waves until the other man has pulled away, blasting an R&B version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and then he gets into his own car. Being with Tae is like inhaling a warmer version of helium, all uplift and expansion. It suddenly occurs to Jungkook, with a little jolt, that he’s excited to get home.
No matter how scared he is, scared of the future and scared of the conversation ahead, picturing you, thinking of walking into the apartment and seeing your face, is enough to drive a sharp spike of joy through his trepidation. You are the best thing in his life, and even with this fight, even with the hurt still nestled against his ribs, he wouldn’t have drawn it any other way.
It’s as he’s starting the car that he realizes he got a text from Namjoon and didn’t notice. Hey Jungkookie. Can you let Y/N know we have her phone? She left it in the car.
He stares at the words, waiting for the moment when they’ll make sense. When sense is not forthcoming despite scrambling his brains for what it could mean, Jungkook types out a reply, his fingers sweaty with sudden anxiety.
what car? you saw Y/N today?
…Yeah? We dropped her off at the Gallery. Did she not mention it?
at the gallery?? when?
His heart is in his throat, the unease ricocheting to unprecedented levels, and Jungkook shoves open the car door, begins looking desperately around like you two could have possibly missed each other in the empty lot. When his phone vibrates thirty seconds later, he almost drops it in his haste to unlock it.
Thirty minutes ago. Around there. Is she not there? Is everything okay?
Jungkook rips his eyes from the screen to the empty parking lot and back to the screen, a bewildered trek that gives him no hints, and he doesn’t know the answer.
---
When you finally get back to the apartment, your hurt has become a cramped, flattened pressure at the back of your throat, and every breath scrapes painfully on the way out. It’s taken you close to two hours to get back. The first person you’d asked for directions had given you the wrong bus number, and while you’d realized it eventually, you’d been going the wrong way for a significant period of time.
Usually, you and Jungkook laugh at how bad your sense of direction is, but this is just more humiliation to stoke an already raging fire of shame. Your steps literally drag – you almost trip on your way up the stairs – and your fingers are tingling, almost numb. It’s gotten progressively colder as the night wore on, and by now the icy feeling has sunk deep into your bones, passed the hard exterior until its wrapped around the marrow.
You’d thought about checking into a hotel. You at least hadn’t forgotten or lost your credit card. There was something tempting about postponing the moment when you had to see Jungkook. But at the same time… If you didn’t answer your phone and didn’t come back, he might worry (would he worry?) and worse, he might get other people involved. What if he talked to Namjoon and Yoongi? Or phoned your parents or brother? You can’t stand the thought of having to explain to them what happened without any preparation – without even knowing what happened yourself.
So here you are, facing the door, empty-handed. You’d thrown out the fast-food at the first trashcan you’d come to after deciding to return. Would Jungkook be home by now? Had he finished with – was he done? Or was he still out there, still… You have to say it eventually, you try to tell yourself firmly, but your whole being cringes from making that acknowledgement, from putting it into syllables that might somehow trap it in reality. It’s not something you can manage tonight. You really don’t know what will be worse, him being inside or not, but you can’t just stand outside forever.
Forcing the key to the lock is no harder than flinging yourself off a cliff, and you approach it with the same amount of dry-mouth apprehension. Your hands are shaking so bad it’s hard to get them to align, but when you finally do, the click of the key sliding in is too loud, like its announcing that you’ve slunk back in shame to all of the apartment building inhabitants. A ridiculous notion, but you flinch anyways, heart seizing as your stiff fingers fumble with the little jiggle required to get the door to open. It takes you three attempts, your anxiety growing, and when you finally manage it, you’re so strung out with tension that you don’t hesitate. You just fling the door open and stumble through.
Straight into Jungkook.
For just a second, it feels like the magnetism you learned about in school. For just a second you fall into him like there’s nothing else in the world more natural than falling, and for just a second you press against his chest and feel dizzy with the light, clean scent that surrounds you. For just a second, as he catches your weight and closes his arms around you, calling your name with a voice of choked relief, you let yourself forget.
For just a second.
And then reality floods back in, a tainted torrent of regret and grief, strewn with rage and humiliation that drifts just below the surface. Though you’re so unsteady you can barely see, your lungs blocked and battling to heave in enough air just to keep breathing, you struggle to get away from him.
“Let go of me,” you say, dry and curt, and when his arms only tighten – more, you suspect, to keep you from pitching over than in denial of your demand – your efforts become harsher, more violent. Without room you can’t get any momentum to really push away from him, but your motions are frantic with the desire to do just that. There’s a panicked, screaming need to get away from him, to get enough space, like he’s the reason your lungs are crumpling in on themselves. “Let go, Jungkook!” you cry, your voice spiking up into shrillness, shattering the syllables of his name.
Like he’s been electrified, Jungkook jerks, his arms flying open. Instantly, let loose, you scramble away, down the entrance hallway. Just as off balance as he’d feared, you nearly trip over something long and cumbersome leaning against the wall that you’re too distraught to look at, and you have to windmill to catch your balance. A moment later you slam your shoulder into the corner of the wall as you try to take the turn too sharply. “Y/N, please, stop!” you hear, and wish you hadn’t. Barely registering the sharp throb in your shoulder, you catch yourself and keep going. Seconds later you’re in the bedroom, and you slam the door shut.
It doesn’t have a lock. Putting your back to the door, your air rattling hollowly out of your mouth – too fast, too shallow, but you can’t seem to calm down – you slide down the solid surface. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your forehead against them, eyes tightly closed, still gasping. Your eyes are aching, but you can’t cry against the immense pressure of overwhelming panic. There’s just a stinging sensation and a pulsing rigidity in your face, like each and every muscle there has chosen to stage a personal rebellion at the exact same time.
I can’t, I can’t, oh God, please, I can’t do this I can’t look at him I can’t I –
“Y/N?” Jungkook sounds like he’s directly on the other side of the door, but he makes no attempt to open it. “Baby, please, are you okay?”
His voice is so raw with worry that it’s red. The colour blooms across your closed eyelids, swathes of crimson and scarlet, and you imagine that it’s blood, trickling from the wound inside of you. You can barely tell where your back ends and the door begins, like any moment you might slide through it, or maybe through the floor, or through the ground, or maybe you’re already there, floating in nothing, and the red breaks into jagged pieces of black and orange and you still can’t breathe.
“Y/N? Can you talk to me? Just – say something, okay? Just so I know you’re okay.”
You can’t even manage that. Even if you wanted to. Even if he deserved to know. Throat moving convulsively, you choke out a sob but nothing else comes after. Just wheezing breaths, and you think you’re shaking but you’re somewhere outside of your skin so it’s hard to tell.
“Okay, okay. I’m – I’m gonna be here, okay? Right here. If you need me, I’m here.” Even through the hazy distortion swamping you, Jungkook’s clear, resonant voice comes through. Maybe it’s the concern, too heavy to be swept away by the raging panic. Maybe it’s the compassion, too anchored in you to be broken away by the tremendous pressure.
Or maybe you just know Jungkook’s voice so well that even your disassociation can’t make it unfamiliar to you.
“You’re doing good, Y/N. I’m still here. Just on the other side of this door.” A pause, a deep chasm of silence, and then he continues. “I think it’s a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
Later, you will be both annoyed and touched that Jungkook realized you were having a panic attack before you did. You’ve had a few throughout university, but none within the past year or two, and in the moment, you’d been too overwhelmed to identify what’s going on. The insight is helpful though, something to cling to and repeat to yourself. A grounding. It’s a panic attack. You’re going to be okay.
Jungkook keeps talking, slow and steady. Nothing serious. Just words. You lean on his voice just as hard as you’re leaning on the door, and, slowly but surely, in a stretch of time that doesn’t mean anything to you, the constrictive bands across your chest loosen. You sink back into yourself. The tips of your fingers make sense again.
And you start crying.
“Y/N? How’re you feeling?”
Funny. Now, with your throat something other than a fist and pain, you still struggle to say anything. This is a softer kind of crying, not quite quiet, with little, hiccupping gasps as the tears run down your face. Possible to speak through. You just don’t know what to say to the man who just talked you, with kindness and compassion, through a panic attack. Who cheated on you. Your fingertips might make sense, but nothing else does.
“I – Y/N, baby, I get that you’re upset, but I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” So anguished. Why did he have to sound like that? What right did he have?
You don’t know if it’s outrage or bewilderment or grief or pity that has you answering. Is it possible to have all of them in your mouth, gritty across your tongue? At any rate, your tone is as washed out as you feel, fatigued and grey. “I saw, Jungkook,” you whisper to your knees.
There’s silence on the other side of the door. Denial? Guilt? His reply is sluggish, thick with confusion. “You saw what?”
That makes you laugh – or not really, though the tortured sound was supposed to be one. “I was there. At the Golden Closet Gallery.” Will he really keep pretending after he knows you were there? Could he really be that brazen? The Jungkook you know couldn’t. There’s no way he could carry a lie like that, holding it effortlessly in the face of the truth. The Jungkook you know would blush, shuffle, collapse like a house of cards. He’s really not good at lying.
The answer isn’t a lie, but it confuses you all the same. “I know you were. Namjoon texted me to say he’d dropped you off, but – Where did you go? I – I drove around for like an hour trying to find you, and I couldn’t and when I got home you weren’t here…” The stream of words dies out like Jungkook can’t quite find any more to say, or maybe he’s embarrassed to say them.
When your reply isn’t forthcoming, confusion churning up anything you might spit out, he continues, more subdued. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you after what you just went through, I just– Are– How are you feeling? Was it – did something happen while you were getting here? Is that what took so long?” Another pause that you can’t fill, that stretches on and on as you try to understand what he’s talking about. How he can apologize for that and not the actual offense.
Abruptly his voice bursts out. “Why won’t you talk to me!?” Tighter and more uncertain than you’ve heard tonight. Maybe more afraid than you’ve ever heard him.
It rips at your heart, and you realize in a swell of furious sorrow that you can’t stand to hear him sound like that. With a sudden, unstable surge, you get to your feet. Immediately your vision falters a bit, and you stagger, but catch yourself before you fall, clinging to the doorknob. You take a deep breath, fighting away the residual nausea and light-headedness. It clears within a few seconds, and your hand tightens on the knob as you take a deep breath. You can’t just leave him standing out there. You can’t just leave this incomprehensible thing hanging in the frame between your two lives.
You open the door. Slowly. Reluctantly. But you open it.
His long black hair is a wild mess, pushed back from his forehead, strands sticking up here and there. Even as you inch the door open, he runs his hand through it, ruffling it even further. His shirt is wrinkled, only partially tucked in, one sleeve rolled to bare his forearm, the other slipped down almost all the way. With his jaw so tense it’s a wonder he’s not cracking his teeth, Jungkook stares at you, lips set and pale. He doesn’t look like someone who committed a betrayal only hours before; if anything, the anguished panes of his face speak to a betrayal committed against him.
You’re so, so tired. Too tired to grasp at the outrage that wisps at the edge of your consciousness. Sniffling to clear your throat, you wipe at your face, trying make yourself a little less pitiful. “I was at the Gallery, Jungkook. I saw you,” you repeat because it’s still so hard to think of anything to say. When his expression doesn’t change – unless his eyebrows furrow, just a little, in innocent perplexity – you exhale. “I saw you with that guy. I saw you…”
“That guy? Who do you–” Jungkook breaks off, examines you more closely, like you’ve given him something to be concerned about. “Are you talking about Taehyung?”
The name is startling in its sheer unexpectedness. What the hell did Jungkook’s best friend have to do with any of this? “Taehyung? No, I’m not talking about Taehyung. I’m talking about that guy you were with tonight, in the Gallery. The guy you–” The words catch, but only for a second. You push them through with a surge of vehement exasperation for the blank expression he’s wearing. “The guy you kissed!”
In another place, the nonplused spasm across his face would have been hilarious. As it is, it just heightens your frustration, and the way he starts sputtering does absolutely nothing to reduce it. Even when he finally gets himself together and manages to talk, your aggravation is here to stay.
Right next to your mortification, as it happens.
“I didn’t– Y/N, that guy at the Gallery was Tae! Could you not tell it was him? I know he has brown hair now, but…” Jungkook shakes his head, flipping his own hair back. The tension seems to have slipped from his jaw, at least a little, and it might very well have crept into yours. “Is that– Is that what this whole thing has been about? You thought I did something with some random guy?” His lips twitch, and it doesn’t seem like he can decide if he wants to smile or scowl, and you feel the beginning of a flush heating up your face.
“It was Taehyung! And I didn’t kiss him. I mean, he tried to kiss me but it was just to–” Abruptly there’s a wash of faint scarlet crawling up his cheeks – cheeks that are rounder than they were a second ago, as he looks down and away, gaze slipping from you for the first time since you opened the door.
“Just to what?” you demand, the challenge extra belligerent to make up for the belated shock of suspended relief that hangs like smoke over your head. Too intangible for you to catch with your hands right now, though present enough to burn your throat with its sooty possibility.
He’s still looking at the ground, the blush becoming more prominent, and he begins to shift, the rustle of his dress pants loud in the fraught silence. “Um,” Jungkook begins awkwardly, head ticking to the side the way it always does when he regrets saying something or doubts his ability to do something. “It’s just, uh… he was helping me.”
“Helping you.”
Jungkook winces at your deadpan echo. “Yeah. I, um, asked him to…” Hands drumming on his thighs, drawing your attention for a second before you snap back to his flushed face, Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet. “Uh… This is totally not how I planned this,” he mumbles, before hauling his gaze up to meet your own. “Hold on for a sec, okay? I just want to grab something.” For all that he’s definitely lightened a bit, the request is tinged with urgent appeal, his eyes scouring your face hesitantly like he’s afraid you’re going to retreat back to the room the moment he loses sight of you.
You’re not entirely sure that isn’t going to happen, but there have been so many emotional upheavals today you’ve just about exhausted your ability to feel more defensiveness. The more Jungkook speaks – the longer you’re in his presence – the more the sheer impossibility of what you’d believed is sinking in. He’s just – he’s Jungkook. Such a focal point of light and energy, such a reserve of easily offered comfort in a form so much more substantial than words. Somehow – maybe because of his prolonged absences, maybe because of your staggeringly challenging day – you’d managed to forget just what he is, but it’s in front of you now, demanding to be seen and acknowledged against the backdrop of what you’d thought. What had seemed so possible, even an hour ago, suddenly seems ridiculous when set next to the quiet solidity of him, of everything he is.
Wiping again at eyes that haven’t ceased watering yet, you nod.
He hurries away, down the short hallway and back towards the front entrance. You hear a thump, a muttered curse, a short dragging noise, and then Jungkook rounds the corner, hefting a rectangular object covered in brown paper. When you examine it more closely, you’re pretty sure it’s what you almost fell over when you ran inside. By the time he’s standing in front of you, the unwieldy item put on the ground and balanced against his knee, you’re pretty sure you know what it is by the shape and packaging alone.
And somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re beginning to make connections. About Taehyung and the art gallery and the thing on the ground in front of you.
Jungkook just speeds up the process. “I was gonna wrap it in something nicer,” he offers apologetically, “but I was… Baby, I was so scared when Namjoon said you should have been at the gallery and I couldn’t find you and you weren’t at home. I thought – hell, I didn’t know what to think. That you got kidnapped or something.” He laughs, that shaky sound of amusement reserved for disasters that are absurd to imagine until they actually happen, and you shift, the heat crowding your face growing.
With a slight roll of his shoulders, he nudges the brown-wrapped object. “Anyways… Tae was helping me get this. For, um, you. Because I thought you might like it.” When you make no move to grab it, his eyebrows knit together. “Y/N? I swear, I didn’t do anything with anyone else. I wouldn’t do anything with–”
“I know.” You cut him off, unable to bear the imploring tone. It’s impossible to meet his beseeching gaze with the burden of your stupidity weighing on you, and you keep your eyes on your fingers. “I know you didn’t. Jungkook, I’m…” The winded feeling is still lingering, a hollowness in your lungs, and you have to inhale deeply just to remind yourself you can. Your anger at being abandoned by Jungkook for work died out so long ago it might as well be a relic, and with the betrayed grief swept so thoroughly out of your stomach, you’re left feeling strangely empty of anything but guilt.
“I’m so sorry. I – God, I’m so stupid. I saw you two and I thought – I assumed…” All of the logic that had founded your incorrect assumption is trickling through your grasping fingers, and you don’t know how to explain in a way that makes sense. In a way that justifies how you’d leapt to conclusions.
“I’m sorry,” you continue unevenly. “I just…”
“It’s okay.” When you keep staring down, Jungkook moves closer, reaches out, tentatively puts his arm around you. Light enough that you could break away if you wanted to. You don’t. You absolutely don’t.
The contact feels like an anchor, pulling you ever closer to reality. Making the trembling relief that much more real. The embarrassment, too. “Really Y/N, it’s – I know today has been…” After a moment he sighs, faint and low, shaking his head. “Today has sucked so bad, and Christmas isn’t supposed to be like this. I get why you thought what you did. After everything that’s been happening, after I’ve – I haven’t been around.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” is your whispered protest, still unable to look at him. “I should have just talked to you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that would have saved us both a bit of panic. But Y/N…” He waits, waits longer, until you’re forced to bring your eyes up. Meeting the dark softness of his gaze summons up more guilt, more regret – but also a clear, undeniable relief. Light at the end of a pitch black tunnel. You’re not out of the darkness, but with those sympathetic eyes on you, you have a sense of striving. Like taking a step, and then another, is possible. And might just be worth it.
“Y/N, baby, it’s not all your fault. It’s on me too.” His arms are resting lightly on your shoulders, fingers gently rubbing across the nape of your neck. “I haven’t talked with you enough. Kept just pushing it off, pretending it’s okay.” When he laughs softly, his breath tickles your face. “Not quite okay, hey?”
Your strained giggle isn’t heartfelt, and it fades quickly. “In the car, when Namjoon and Yoongi gave me a ride, they said – It seems like work has really, really sucked. More than I thought it did.” You lean back, just a bit, his arms a steady support against your back, and search his face. He’s biting his cheek, little lines skittering across his forehead. This close, the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, his skin sallower than it should be. He looks tired, but he doesn’t look away from you.
“Jungkook,” you say quietly. “How bad is it?”
Something flickers behind his eyes, a shadow of his normal reserve. You can feel the tightness in his body, the slight tremor that suggests he’s about to move away. The protective distance he clings to when he doesn’t want to worry you rears up – and you kill it with your hand, trembling only slightly as you tenderly trace your fingers along his temple, down his cheekbone, to cup the strong lines of his jaw. “Please, Jungkook. Tell me.”
The admission comes, fast and breathless, like he needs to get the words out before his teeth clench over them. “Bad. It’s bad. I hate it there.”
“Oh. I–” This is a different kind of pain from most of what you’ve been feeling today. More selfless, an anguish that extends and expands outward instead of curling up. “I’m so sorry. Kookie, I didn’t know. I should have but–”
“I didn’t tell you. How could you know?”
“I should have,” you insist.
His mouth quirks, a flash of teeth showing in mild amusement. “You can’t expect me to know you’re upset, but you should know when I am? I don’t think it works that way, babe.” When your mouth opens to object, Jungkook pulls you to his chest, cutting off your protest. You sink into his embrace, boneless and aching and grateful for the support, and if the gift’s hard frame weren’t digging into your leg, it would almost be perfect.
Perfect enough.
Pressing your face against his shirt, you feel him kiss the top of your head, arms still wrapped firmly around your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispers.
“I’m glad you told me about work,” you mumble into his chest, reluctant to draw away. “If I told you to quit today, would you?” You’re not really joking, even though you know what the immediate answer has to be. You don’t have enough savings for one of you to quit without any other prospects lined up.
“Actually…” There’s something restrained in his voice, teetering on the edge of anxiety, or maybe excitement.
Shock has you looking up, resisting the comforting pull of his warmth for a moment. “You did!?”
“Oh, uh, no,” Jungkook says hurriedly, biting at his lower lip. Far from pleasure, the reassurance has disappointment funneling into your heart, funds be damned. To say that Jungkook’s job was the mother of all evils would probably be both unfair and exaggerated, but if it’s making him (and you) as miserable as he says...
“It sounds really bad, Jungkook. Killing yourself trying to please a bunch of jerks isn’t worth it.”
“You’re right.” He’s smiling now, smiling completely, showing off his teeth. “I don’t know if I can keep working for them for much longer, but… Ah, I was so scared to talk about this, and here you are, making it easy!” In his excitement, he’s playing with your hair, hands restless as they dance around. For once, the mystery isn’t extended. “Namjoon wants to break off. Start a new company, one that’s not an absolute dumpster fire to work for. He’s got several other people lined up who are happy to go, and Yoongi, obviously, and he asked me if I would join, too!”
“Is that why they gave me a ride?” Even as you demand it, you can feel yourself picking up on Jungkook’s energy. Not too much – the exhaustion sucking at your bones won’t allow it – but still, the lightness in your chest is a far cry from the sodden despair that’s taken up space there for most of the day.
Your boyfriend jiggles his head back and forth. “I dunno. Maybe. But I think mostly they did it because they’re pretty nice people.” He sounds a bit awed as he continues. “We can’t start for a couple more months – Namjoon said something about getting funding from some rich guy, Bang Sihyuk – but I still can’t believe they want me to come along. I mean, some of the people are, like, the best there are, Y/N.” You can almost see stars shining in his eyes.
Your response is firm, albeit playful. “So, it makes perfect sense that they’re having you join! Kookie, you’re gonna fit in so well, because you’re one of the best, too.” And honestly, you’re not even just shovelling empty praise; Jungkook is a truly talented artist in his medium.
His smile grows, eyes thinning with happiness. “And – you’re okay with it? There aren’t any guarantees that it will work out, with it being a new company.”
The trials of the day – mostly made from your own mind, though no less difficult for all of that – pass through your head. The loneliness and anger and sadness. All of it dimmed if not gone entirely, simply because here you are in his arms, speaking to each other instead of covering your hurt up. “Jungkook, one of the few guarantees I have of anything is that I love you, and you love me. If you’ll be happy working with Namjoon, with moving companies, then that’s all I need to hear.”
With a low hum, Jungkook sweeps you into another hug, and you’re glad to give up what space is between you two. Enfolded in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, is about the securest place you can imagine being. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with the truth of what he’s saying.
“I love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”
“I haven’t even given you your presents yet. Here –” And you’re breaking apart again – although not really, because you can still feel the connection as a thin warmth snuggled beneath your ribs – and Jungkook bends down, picks up the item sandwiched between you two. “Feel up to opening it?”
“The mystery gift that almost broke our relationship? Yeah, I’m up to it.”
Nose scrunching, he hands it over, and in your haste to see what’s inside, you make short work of the brown packaging. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised with the first glimpse of the mahogany frame – you expected a painting – but as more of the brown rips away, you feel shivery awe cascading down your spine. Once the painting is completely uncovered, you clutch it with sweaty palms, well aware of how precious a gift you’ve been given. You’d recognize the style anywhere.
“Jungkook,” you breathe, “oh my God, Jungkook, this is one of Ayeong’s, isn’t it? You – you actually got one of her paintings!?”
The quality is unmistakable. It’s a detailed piece, zoomed in on a small, dilapidated house. Almost everything about the house is bleak; the colours are all dull greys, blacks and browns, the porch is crumbling, and the shutters over the windows are chipped and cracked in places. However, right in the center of the house, taking up a good portion of the painting, is a door flung wide open, and the inside is flooded with warm colours and details in stark contrast with the exterior. There are people inside, crowded around the entrance, laughing and vibrant, and they dominate the doorway with their collective presence. One person, the only one who is looking outward, has her hand raised in greeting, as though inviting the viewers in.
“It’s called Homecoming.”
Soft and reverent, the name feels like an echo, a reverberation of your hopes and fears, and against a suddenly blurry vision, you smile. “It’s beautiful! It’s so, so beautiful. Thank you, Jungkook.”
“Do you feel like opening the rest of our presents? Or should we wait until tomorrow? We can grab your phone in the morning, too.”
Your fatigue drags at you, overwhelming even your hunger, but you try to rally, lifting your chin up. “What do you want to do? Do you want to open a present?”
His head tilts as he looks you over, a quick assessment. “I don’t have to. It’ll be nice to look forward to it later.” You’re absolutely positive he’s saying that for your sake, and it makes you just that closer to crying in gratitude for what’s in front of you.
Swallowing hard, you suggest, “How about tomorrow, then? We can…” You pause, scrambling for the memory, and then grin tiredly. “We can reset. Start over tomorrow.”
Jungkook’s laugh washes over you in cozy tides of amusement. “Now there’s a great idea. Whoever thought of it is a genius.”
With a chuckle, you carefully set the painting to the side, planning on figuring out where to put it tomorrow. As soon as it leaves your hands, Jungkook is there again, claiming the free territory. His grip firm and warm, he asks you, “Do you wanna eat? Or maybe nap for a bit?”
Your panic attacks always leave you drained, and the fact that Jungkook remembers is just another fond ache to add to the collection in your chest. “Nap,” you reply gratefully. “But… do you wanna lie down with me? Just for a bit?”
He couldn’t have looked any more solemn, or any more beautiful, if he’d tried. Squeezing your hand, he says, “I’d lie with you forever, if I could get away with it.” A second later the somber façade breaks apart, leaving a blush and a squirming, quietly giggly Jungkook.
With a snort, you pull him along with you, into the bedroom, a tightness across your chest that has everything to do with just how much you love the man next to you. “Now I know you were with Taehyung.” That makes you remember, and as you both walk to the bed, you glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Taehyung almost kissing you had to do with helping you out?”
As expected, his blush grows, painting his cheeks with a pale pink, but he surprises you by pulling you closer. With a hand under your chin, the other arm wrapped around your waist, he tilts your head up. Meeting your eyes with a tenderness that floods you with reassurance, he brushes a thumb along your lips, leaving a tingling trail. When it comes, his voice is hoarser than before, firmer. “He was trying to teach me something I already know.”
And then his mouth is on yours, steady and certain. Your lips soften against him, and time becomes languid, moving by the count of each breath that flutters against your lips. Jungkook isn’t demanding, not tonight; he kisses you sweetly, gently, conveying everything that he hasn’t managed to put into words. His body has a gravitational pull all its own, drawing you closer, and you skim your hands against his back, relishing the powerful certainty of his shoulders and the intimate confidence of his mouth on yours.
A second later, he sweeps you off your feet, and you gasp in surprise, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook places you on the bed, stands looking down at you with unmasked adoration. You open your arms, a wordless invitation that unwittingly bares the front of your top. His eyes fix on it, and if anything, they soften.
“I like your sweater,” he comments quietly, and as you laugh, he climbs onto the bed with you.
You take off the sweater in question, and your jeans and bra, easy and unhesitant in his presence. He follows suit, and then grabs your pajamas, placed as they always are at the foot of the bed. You wiggle into them, and for his part, Jungkook just throws on a pair of loose pants. The feeling of familiarity sinks into your system like a sigh of contentment, and when he pulls you against his chest, you snuggle into the embrace.
Wrapped in his arms, the smooth warmth of his skin pressed against your cheek, you let the drowsy bliss sweep over your body, and you relax, sinking against the sheets even as you curl closer to him.
Jungkook’s voice ripples against your mind, a soothing undercurrent taking you closer to sleep. “Merry Christmas, baby.”
“Merry Christmas,” you mumble. With one last faltering effort, you say, “Jungkook?”
“Hmm?” You feel the inquiring murmur just as much as you hear it, a smooth hum on your cheek.
“Thank you for coming home.”
#thebtswritersclub#networkbangtan#jungkook x reader#jungkook#jungkook angst#jungkook fluff#bts fic#bts fanfiction#my fic
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Something Immortal
word count - 3k
warnings: suicide attempt, drug use, addiction, cursing, teenagers being gross
pairing: model!Todoroki x canon!Bakugo
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Holy shit guys he posted!!" Mina squeals, vaulting herself over the couch to reach the rest of the Bakusquad sitting on the common room carpet. An old original copy of Monopoly splayed out in the center of their group.
"Ooh, show us! Show us!" Kaminari leans forward, swiping half of the properties off the board in the process.
Sero groans, "Dude you do this every time!!"
The blond pouts, "Hey it's your fault I was losing."
Kirishima just chuckles, picking up his dog piece from jail and throwing it into the box.
"Your smart people game can wait," Mina tugs on Sero's ponytail, "He hasn't posted in weeks."
"Oh my god he's so fucking hot," Kaminari's knee-jerk reaction is whispered as soon as he sees the post.
Todoroki Shouto, one of Japan- and America's- most well-known models. The teenager, who happens to be their age, regularly models for magazines like Vogue, Joker, and Elle. The teenager who has starred in countless American and Japanese short and independent films. The teenager who just so happens to be the son of the number one hero, Endeavor.
No one knows his quirk, but it just adds to the mystery. Some people theorize he's quirkless, but others think he's got a crazy dangerous quirk, which is why he's a model instead of an aspiring hero. Not like he's not perfect for the job, with his gorgeous bi-colored hair and heterochromatic eyes. The scar on his left side somehow only adds to his beauty. It doesn't matter what your sexuality is, you simp for Todoroki Shouto.
But that's the obvious, now this photo- this photo.
"It's ethereal, I've never seen him look so serene before."
"He's an actual angel."
"How is he only eighteen?!"
Mina nods as Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima go through the seven stages of grief just looking at the photo.
Kirishima's eyes dart to Todoroki's username... which is just Shouto. In fact, the Todoroki name isn't mentioned once on his account, a fact that has hundreds of conspiracy theories on its own.
"Hey Meens, can we stalk him real quick? I wanna see who he's following."
She grins, "Well anything for you, munchkin."
Sero snorts. Their couple nicknames never fail to amuse anyone within hearing range.
"Ugh gross," Kaminari gags as Mina giggles, swiping off of the picture (which already has over 600,000) and onto his main page.
It's simple, plain yet elegant in the way only a PR manager could manage.
The bio is a link to his most recent shoot with some magazine that Kirishima doesn't recognize, the profile picture is a rare shot of him smiling, a blue checkmark, and a follower count of over four million.
His following count, however, is the shocker.
"He only follows fourteen people?" Sero whispers, clicking on the number.
"Huh," Mina turns the phone slightly so she can see, "Who is he following?"
"Let's see," Sero squints, eyes scrolling down the list, "Hawks... his siblings... Mirko... some American models... his agency's profile... and- wait, isn't that Bakugo?"
"HAH?" Mina yells, whipping the phone around and clicking on the profile.
Sure enough, a slew of photos shows up on her screen, all of their resident blond pomeranian glaring at the camera in various locations.
"He- WHAT?? It must be a glitch!" Mina scrambles frantically, eyes darting across the screen.
"Uh, yeah," Kirishima chuckles, "a glitch."
Mina scrolls up numerous times as if refreshing the page will help.
"I mean what other explanation can you think of?! It's not like Thee Todoroki Shouto would know our Bakugou, they're totally in different leagues." Mina sounds absolutely scandalized, causing Sero to laugh.
"I don't know, Meens, the proof is right there. We should ask him about it!"
"And what- DIE?" Kaminari reasons.
Sero nods, "Fair point."
"Pussies." Mina stands, planting her manicured hands on the edge of the couch, "I'll ask him myself."
-
"I REFUSE." A fourteen-year-old Shouto screams at his father.
"what do you mean you refuse? Shouto she's a lovely girl, and you need to procreate while you're still young if you're not going to become a hero like I want. You get one or the other." Todoroki Enji grabs his youngest child by the arm to lead him out of the kitchen, but Shouto jerks out of his grip. "Wh- SHOUTO."
"I'm going to live with Fuyumi. She'll take care of me." He holds his ground, shaking his father off when he tries once again to physically lead him out of the room.
"OH?" Enji bellows a laugh, "And how do you expect she'll find the money to take you in? Raising a teenager is expensive, you know, and she's only a simple school teacher."
"She's not a simple anything. And I- I'll find a way. We'll be fine. I already talked to several agencies."
"...agencies?"
-
"Wait, Mina!!" Kaminari calls after the girl, but she's a woman on a mission and there's no stopping her.
They arrive at Bakugo's door in a heap, Kaminari clawing at Mina while she knocks calmly. Kirishima and Sero stand to watch because they have no idea what else to do. (They're just as nervous as Kaminari but they're more afraid of Mina if they're being honest.)
A crash comes from inside the room, but soon their resident angry boy is slamming open his door and glaring at them. The normalcy is comforting.
"Do you fuckers realize what fucking time it is?"
"Yes~" Mina coos sweetly, "I know old men need their sleep but it's only 8:30 and we have a question."
He sighs aggressively and stretches his arms behind his back, cracking his shoulders and then his neck, Kaminari whimpers in fear.
"Alright, what do you want pinky?"
She's practically vibrating with excitement at this point.
"Why is Todoroki Shouto following you on Instagram?"
Bakugo seems to mull over this for a moment, and then he just shrugs.
Mina nods like this answers any part of her question, "That's what I thought, funny glitch. He's pretty hot though, right?"
The rest of the group nods emphatically.
Bakugo scratches his leg with his other heel, "He's not ugly, I guess."
Mina waves her arms around in Bakugo's general direction, "See!!? Even the straight guy agrees!!"
"No one was disagreeing with you, Mina." Sero snickers.
Bakugo grunts, then promptly slams the door in their faces.
"Well I guess that was more than he'd usually do at this time, we're lucky we didn't get exploded." Kirishima muses.
Kaminari nods, shuddering at the thought.
"Welp! That answers our question!" Although it really didn't, no one was about to argue with Mina, "Anyway I'm going to bed."
"Say hi to your vibe for me!" Sero whispers after her.
She waves as she marches away, humming to herself.
-
Shouto stares at the street below.
He wonders if he'd die falling from a height like this. He hopes he doesn't hit anyone.
Slowly, he removes his expensive sneakers, dropping them on the modelling agency's roof beside him. It's breezy tonight, and Shouto, freshly sixteen, has nothing to live for anymore. So he won't.
Stepping carefully over the guardrail, not sure why since he's about to jump. Maybe part of him is still afraid.
Whatever he can get over it.
His thin frame wobbles in the wind, and he breathes deeply, too focused on relaxing to notice the roof door opening, and hurried steps coming up behind him.
A warm hand grabs him, almost startling him off the side of the building.
The interruption heaves heavy breaths in his ear as they both topple down onto the concrete floor.
"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Oh, it's Bakugo.
The only child of his manager, Mitsuki Bakugo, who happens to be a nosy little shit who can't stay out of other people's business.
"Get OFF" Shouto shoves him, frantically scrambling toward the railing again. He needs this.
"NO! Todoroki get the fuck back-"
"It's SHOUTO." blood spurts onto his gray sweater and he realizes with muted horror that he just elbowed his employer's son in the nose.
"Fuck I'm so sorry, are you okay?" He bends down, removing his trashed pullover, and holds it to his friend's nose.
Bakugo snorts, "Sorry- Shouto I mean." He winces when Shouto presses harder into his face, "I'll forgive you if you don't jump."
Shouto sighs, "You know why I was going to."
Bakugo visibly calms at the use of past tense, the outburst must have snapped him out of it.
"Your mom, right?" Shouto tenses.
"Yeah I- he barred me from ever seeing her again and I- I don't know what to do." He shudders and pulls his pills from his pants pocket.
He wonders what his mom would say if she found out her baby was addicted to drugs.
Bakugou frowns but lets his friend take the pill, not sure what to say.
"Fucking piece of shit. Is that even legal?"
"Legally the number two hero can do whatever the fuck he wants. We live in a flawed world, Bakugo.
"I- Shouto."
"Hmm?" Shouto collapses onto the ground, crunching the pill and sighing as he feels the effects start to take almost immediately.
"I care- I care about you, okay? So please let me help you. Let me get you help."
A tear slips down to Shouto's ear without his permission, he wipes it away as quickly as it came.
"I don't know, Bakugo. You haven't exactly seemed to like me in the past. Even though I like to think we're friends I know you don't feel the same." He frowns, admiring the shine of wetness on his palm in the moonlight.
Bakugo grumbles, "Don't fuckin' tell me what I do and don't feel. I really fuckin' care about you even though I'm an ass about it, okay? I'm not good with emotions so don't expect much from me. But I do want you to be happy and I don't think the uh- the pills are helping."
The blond holds out a hand and reluctantly Shouto slaps the container into it.
"Fine," he mumbles, "you're uh- not as bad as I thought."
Bakugo snorts, "You're just as bad as I thought, but I like you anyway."
Against his will, Shouto finds himself blushing, thankful that it's mostly hidden in the dark.
"C'mon," Bakugo gestures to his own chest, "I know you could use one."
Shouto whimpers as he curls himself into the blond's strong frame. He's built a lot of muscle since starting at UA this year.
A strong hand rubs along his back and Shouto finds he can't hold back his tears any longer as the shock starts to set in.
Fuck he almost just killed himself.
"Thanks, Bakugo."
"I almost just watched you die, you can call me Katsuki."
"Thanks, Katsuki."
"No problem, Shouto."
-
The Bakusquad once again finds themselves playing a game on the common room floor, this time Sorry, much to Sero's chagrin.
"Sorry!" Kirishima grins cheekily as he kicks Sero's piece back to his home base.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuck you guys-" He groans, flopping back onto the loveseat behind him, only to get an eyeful of Bakugo Katsuki's ass, "Oh hey Bakugou!"
"Wh- OI TAPE FACE WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU'RE LOOKING-"
Sero snickers, patting Bakugou on the hip, "Sorry dude, it was literally right there."
Small explosions popped from Bakugo's hands as he growled down at Sero.
"Aw come on blasty he's just playing and WHERE are you going dressed like that???!!!"
Bakugo blushes and tugs his light blue blazer down farther.
"I have a date." He mutters, tugging his sleeves.
“Sorry,” Kaminari laughs, “I think I misheard you. Sounded like you said ‘I have a date.’”
Bakugo rolls his eyes, “Because I do, dipshit.” He sighs, checking his -expensive-looking- watch, “Just watch the independent film awards when they’re on. I think it’s like four hours from now that it starts.”
“Whyyyy would you have anything to do with that?” Kirishima groans, very lost.
“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo grunts, digging his phone out of his pocket when it vibrates and checking something before humming and striding towards the front door.
He looks unusually elegant, hair slicked back probably as well as Bakugo’s hair can be, shirt tucked in, a few rings on his fingers, barely visible and yet beautifully drawn eyeliner. He’s… pretty.
The three remaining members of the Bakusquad, as well as the rest of the common room, sit there in awe as he shoves a permission slip in Iida’s blubbering face.
“I- Wh- Bakugo is this from Aizawa? You cannot just leave!!”
“Fuck off glasses, I have his fuckin’ blessing or whatever.”
“Bakugo!”
The blond shoots a middle finger off behind him and slams the door shut, leaving a stunned common room in his wake.
“Uh, well, that happened.” Jirou drones blandly from her place on the couch with Momo.
“Awards show watch party, anyone?!” Uraraka grins, standing, “I’ll get the mochi!!”
“I’ll make tea,” Momo stands as well, dusting off her perfectly clean jeans. Jirou groans at the loss of her girlfriend’s warmth and flops over on the couch.
“This is stupid, he probably got invited by some pro hero and he’s just going to yell at the paparazzi if he’s even gonna be there.” She pouts.
“Well,” Sero grins, “anyone wanna play Monopoly while we wait?”
Kaminari throws the Sorry board at his head.
-
“Alright, is everyone ready!!? The red carpet is about to start!!” Hagakure squeals, even though the entirety of class 3-A (minus Bakugo) is there.
“So… what exactly are we watching this for?” Shinsou scratches the back of his neck.
“Bakugo’s going to be in it apparently, the study group earlier saw him in the common room wearing a suit.” Ojiro answers.
“Not just a suit!!” Mina holds her hands out as if to deliver groundbreaking news, “A fancy suit.”
“Aren’t all suits fancy?”
“Shut up.”
“OOH LOOK there’s Arai Itō and Chiba Yoshida!! Aww, they’re so cute!” Uraraka swoons, clasping her hands together.
“I wonder when Kacchan is gonna come out, these things can take a while.”
“I honestly don’t even care, I heard Todoroki Shouto is nominated for an award this year!! Do you remember that really sad short film he was in about having an overdose? Gosh, I hope he wins.” Hagakure’s hair bow vibrates excitedly.
“THERE HE IS THERE HE IS!!!!!” She points at the bottom of the screen where a man in a pale blue dress has stepped out of a limo and onto the carpet, a heeled foot gracefully raising him to his full 6’2”.
“Holy shit he’s gorgeous.” Sero breathes, the reporters on screen basically saying the same thing.
Shouto reaches behind him and holds out a hand for the second person stepping out of the limo, broad shoulders, a shorter stature than Shouto especially with the heels, spiky blond hair, piercing red eyes-
…
“HOLY SHIT IS THAT BAKUGOU??”
The aerial camera pans down toward the blond, showing off his suit- which matches Shouto’s dress perfectly- and his, what appears to be professionally done hair.
“Holy shit does he have an undercut now!!?? We just saw him a few hours ago!” Mina screeches.
Momo shrugs, “They do that sort of thing for celebrities.” She sips her tea, unphased.
“Okay okay, we’re all ignoring the most important part. Kacchan is Todoroki’s date.” Izuku frantically waves his arms around.
“I didn’t know they knew each other,” Tokoyami muses.
“What the fuck is happening?” Sero asks no one in particular.
“Wait everyone SHUT UP they’re announcing awards!!!! Todoroki might win one! We can ask Bakugo about this when he gets back. Surely there’s an interesting story.” Uraraka chimes in, handing out mochi and popcorn.
The tv’s voice is muffled under the muttering of several class 3-A members, but Mina turns it up as the male announcer reads the winners of the award Todoroki is nominated for.
“AAAAAAAAND THE WINNER FOR BEST ACTOR IN A DRAMA SHORT ISSSSSSSSS…
TODOROKI SHOUTO!!! For his work in The End of Me and the incredible performance that shocked-”
Cheers ring through the dorms, popcorn goes flying, and Mina frantically shushes everyone as Shouto makes his way gracefully onto the stage. He accepts the award from the previous winner, bowing elegantly and stepping up to the mic.
“Hello everyone,” He begins, shooting a shy smile directly into the camera. It has always perplexed his fans how nervous he can be in real life compared to in his photoshoots. “This is a really important award to me, not only am I incredibly grateful to the panel for gracing this title upon me, but as of yesterday,” He smiles at the ground, taking a deep breath, “I’m two years clean.”
Shocked gasps ricochet through the award hall as well as through the crowd gathered around the tv.
“He did drugs, kero?” Tsu whispers.
“Mon dieux,” Aoyama shakes his head, pressing a hand to his chest, “how brave.”
Shouto clears his breath and continues, “In fact, that wasn’t the worst of it at the time, and I’m incredibly grateful to all who have supported me through my career. You keep me sane, and you keep me going. But especially, I’d like to thank my sister, brother, and my wonderful boyfriend-”
He holds an arm out to someone in the audience, and the camera pans to none other than Bakugou Katsuki, “who quite literally saved my life, and helped me drive myself back on track. I love you Katsuki, and you continue to improve my life every second that you’re in it.”
Most of 3-A are in tears at this point, and as Bakugo half-heartedly scowls into the camera, they can tell his eyes are shining too.
Shouto glances back at the camera as if directing his words to someone in particular.
“Thank you.”
And then he’s walking back down to his seat as the audience provides him with a standing ovation.
“THEY’RE DATING,” Mina sobs, shaking Kirishima’s shoulders as he sits, staring slack-jawed at the television.
“Yeah, yeah they are.”
-
Katsuki does NOT wipe tears from his eyes as he helps Shouto sit back down in his seat, but his boyfriend definitely does. His mascara, thankfully waterproof, still holds strong.
Shouto shoots him a watery smile, rubbing his arm as he pulls the blond into a hug.
“Happy two years, Katsuki.”
#not me having no clue how to title shit#llyn writes shit#fanfic#todobaku#todoroki shouto#bakugo katsuki#tw suicude#tw drugs#model!todoroki#model au#based on canon#bakusquad#kaminari denki#bnha fluff#bnha#mha#fluff#kirishima eijirou#sero hanta#mina ashido#iida tenya#endeavor#ochako uraraka#momo yaoyorozu#jirou kyouka#kirimina#momojirou#my fic#crossposted on ao3
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Enamoured | Part Two
Requested by anon: “could you write one where james mcavoy meets swedish y/n around micheal and his swedish wife and he’s enamoured. (also that he confuses her with an english girl because she’s got an english accent like me) xxxx”
“THIS IS SO CUTE I- I love it??? So much??? 11/10 would read a part two ooof I wanna read about these dorks on an accidental date in London SO BAD”
Summary: after being tricked into a ‘date’, James takes the reader on a tour of London
Pairing: James McAvoy x reader
Word Count: 1612
Warnings: very fluffy fluff
A/N: you guys requested part two so here we go, I hope you like it! As always, spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)
Masterlist | Part One
- - - - -
‘have fun with James, don't do anything I wouldn’t do ;) xxx’
As you read the text from Alicia it sinks in that you’ve been set up. Your mouth falls open slightly in shock and you laugh to yourself, shaking your head. James turns to look at you, wondering why you aren’t following him.
“Are you coming or…?”
This may have been a set up but that doesn’t mean you cant enjoy yourself.
“Sorry, yeah. No more distractions” you smile and drop your phone back in your pocket before catching up with him “where are we going first?”
“It’s a surprise” he winks playfully and you raise an eyebrow back at him.
He takes you to the nearest Underground station and attempts to explain all the different lines and zones, you both end up laughing as it all goes straight over your head. The underground system is complicated. When you get off he leads you up to Leicester Square and tells you stories of various movie premiers he’s attended there. You end up stood watching a street performer for a while until someone in the crowd recognises James and attention is turned on him and subsequently on you. When people start asking you personal questions and sticking cameras in your face he ushers you away from everyone and into a taxi.
“Are you okay?” He asks quietly and you just smile and nod your head gently. He smiles back but you can see on his face something is bothering him. He doesn’t speak much for the rest of the short taxi ride until he asks the driver to stop. He pays him and you both get out, then James leads you into a small Italian restaurant. He waiter and James greet each other like familiar friends.
“You want your usual table?” The waiter asks with a thick Italian accent.
“Please, thank you Mario” James responds and your lead to a candlelit table in a quiet corner of the room.
Once sat the waited gives you menus and leaves you to decide what you’d like. Then you notice the prices on the menu.
“James, this place is expensive! I can’t-”
“Don't worry, its my treat” he cuts in
“No really-”
“My treat” he reaffirms and you sigh in submission
“Thank you” you smile
“No problem” he looks back at the menu for a moment then puts it down on the table and takes a breath. “I’m really sorry about what happened back there”
“Honestly don't worry about it, its fine”
“No it’s not fine for them to harass you like that. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and I wouldn’t want to do anything else I just wish sometimes I could switch it all off. You know? Be a ghost, or invisible or something. Have a day off from being James McAvoy and just be regular James. Ugh you must think I’m such an ass”
“No, no I get it. And I don't think you're an ass. I like regular James.” You pause “James McAvoy on the other hand… now he’s a bit of an ass” you wink and James bursts out laughing.
— — — —
When you finish lunch James pays and you leave the restaurant together. James continues his London tour by talking you to the theatre district, where he points out the many theatres he has performed in. A small gasp escapes your mouth when you spot the posters on the wall of the Lyceum Theatre. James looks at you and follows your gaze to see the you're staring at the Lion King.
“I’ve always wanted to see that show” you say dreamily and James watches you. The look on your face gives him an idea. He hooks his arm around yours and leads you toward the theatre.
“wh-what are you doing?”
“trust me” he responds and he leads you around to the stage door. He knocks and a guy opens the door. When he sees James his eyes light up.
“James!” He booms as he fist bumps him
“Hey Andy, is Julie in?” James asks
“yeah, come in” he holds the door open and gestures you inside. He leads you through some doors till you meet a dark haired woman who hugs James.
“Hey Jules, this is Y/N.” James introduces and Julie smiles at you “She’s here from Sweden and she really really wants to see your show… don’t suppose you’ve got a couple of spare tickets for today’s matinee?”
“hmm.. I’ll see what I can do. But only because it’s you” she smiles at James before hurrying off. A few minutes later she appears again holding two tickets which she hands to James “sorted. Enjoy the show guys” and she hurries off again. You turn to James, a look of shock on your face.
“Oh, my, God! You're amazing!! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!” You throw your arms around him and he laughs, hugging you back. You pull away and look into his eyes “really, thank you!”
— — — —
The show was incredible, although James found himself watching your reactions more than the show itself. The way your face lit up when you laughed, the way you smiled through almost the whole show and the way your eyes glistened when the show made you cry. He couldn’t help but reach out and squeeze your hand.
“that was just, ugh, I have no words. No words” you say grinning from ear to ear as you leave the theatre together “thank you so much”
“you know I think thats the 100th time you’ve said thank you”
“101st actually” you grin “seriously I mean it, today has been the best day ever”
“its not over yet”
As the day turns to evening you spend the rest of the day doing typical tourist things. You stand outside Buckingham palace where James tries, and fails, to make the guards smile. You visit Oxford street and look through the window of magnificent shops. You end up running around Hamley’s toy store together, playing with various toys until you almost get kicked out by one of the workers for plastic sword fighting but James bribes her with an autograph and a selfie. You finish the day with a moonlit walk by the side of the Thames before ending up back where you started at the bottom of the London eye.
You turn to face each other. You're about to speak when James stops you.
“don't say it”
“don't say what”
“don't say thank you”
“why not?” You laugh
“because im not finished yet”
“but its late, surely we’ve done everything by now”
“there’s still one more thing we need to do” he smiles and points up at the giant wheel next to you.
He leads you up to the entrance of the London Eye and you step inside one of the glass dome. Once inside you notice there’s a small selection of food and some glasses of wine waiting for you.
“you cant say you’ve been to London if you haven’t been on the eye” James holds up his glass and you clink yours against it. You sit together on the bench in the middle of the dome, looking out across the contrast of the bright London lights against the dark sky. When the dome reaches the very top of the eye you stand up and walk to the edge, admiring the glittering city in front of you. James walks up to join you, putting his arm around you.
“So, how did I do as a tour guide?” He asks.
“I think, you chose the wrong career. You’re a much better tour guide than you are an actor”
James fakes hurt and you laugh, turning to face him.
“I’m kidding. You're amazing at both” you smile sincerely and lock eyes with James. He brings his hand up to your face.
“I think you’re pretty amazing too” he smiles, before gently kissing you on the forehead. When he leans back his eyes flicker down to your lips. He leans in slowly, giving you chance to pull away but you don’t. His lips meet yours and you close your eyes as you kiss him back.
When the kiss comes to an end you giggle nervously, suddenly feeling like a blushing school girl, which makes James laugh.
“I think we should take a picture, I want to remember this moment” he says taking his phone out. He pulls you in with his arm around you and you both smile widely as he snaps a selfie, the lights of London in the background.
Your ride on the eye comes to an end and James hails a taxi for you.
“Thank you for an amazing day, you’re the perfect tour guide” you smile, and James takes your hands in his.
“Well you're the perfect tourer… tour-ee? I don't know the word, but you get what im trying to say” he replies and you both laugh as he opens the taxi door for you to climb in. “text me when you're back safe yeah?”
“will do” you nod and smile as he shuts the door. The taxi pulls away, leaving him standing alone by the road. A few minuets later a notification pops up on your phone.
‘instagram: @jamesmcavoyrealdeal tagged you in a photo’
You click on the notification to see he’s posted your London eye selfie, with a simple smiley face emoji as the caption. You like the photo and put your phone back in your pocket only for it to buzz again straight away. You take it out to see a text from Alicia with a screenshot of James’ insta post.
‘oh my God tell me everything xxx’
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Taking Me Back
a/n: In which a drunk boy confesses his sins
Oh, hello! Yes, I’m coming to you live to say that this was supposed to be a blurb but turned out to be a 3.5k oneshot that will most likely actually have a second part because recovery is a thing that doesn’t get enough attention. I had this idea driving back home from out of town and listening to “Taking Me Back” by LANY. Highly suggest a listen. I was originally just going to write straight angst, but the more I wrote Shawn the softer I got...so without further ado, here it is.
warnings: 3.5k of angsty sad boy...you might hate me later idk
Soft pellets of rain splash against the floor-to-ceiling windows as his warm hands trace slow, circular patterns on the bare skin of your back. It’s soothing, incongruent to the feeling of his fingers bruising your hips as you rode him a few hours ago. The sheet sits low, draped across both your hips. He leans down to kiss your shoulder blade, sending a chill all the way down your spine. Peppered kisses warm your blood, making a home between your thighs again.
“If you don’t intend to finish what you’re starting, then stop right now,” you say only half sternly, your cheek smushed to the back of your hand resting against the mattress.
“Honey, have I ever been a quitter?” he smirks, disappearing beneath the sheet.
You let out a loud squeak when his massive hands flip your hips over, pressing your back into the sheets again. He spreads your knees wide to make room for him between your legs and your squeak turns into a deep moan. Your fingers fist into his floppy curls and tug, bringing his eyes to yours, mouth open and chest heaving.
“Fuck, I love you so much,” he breathes. He says it again above you, inside you, over and over until your toes curl and you scream it back to him.
You woke up to heavy sheets of rain pounding against the windows. His fingers, his heavy body, his warmth weren’t there. He hadn’t been there for months. Restless sleep and a cold bed had been your companions since then. That day you woke up to 400 text messages and one TMZ report.
Bleary eyed with shaking fingers, you had clicked on the link. Seen the photos. His fingers interwoven with hers. His eyes on the camera. That knowing smirk. He’d wanted them to see. Wanted you to see. He had left for meetings in LA just two days before, a kiss on the forehead and a promise to call.
You’d lost count of how many texts from him you’d deleted without reading. Changed his name to LYING BASTARD after he’d left messages you didn’t listen to. What possible reason could he have given? There couldn’t be an explanation for this. Just because you’d never gone public with your relationship, just because you hadn’t wanted to open up your life to public scrutiny and fandom opinion, didn’t mean that it had meant nothing to you. The handful of your friends who had known were tight-lipped, dead silent to anyone who would have paid them money for information. What you had had with Shawn had been private and you both liked it that way...hadn’t he? Apparently not. It hadn’t been hard for him to throw it away with one clasped hand and a conveniently placed cactus.
The dreams still came almost every night, haunting you with happiness. Looking over at the clock, you groaned. 2:30 AM it blinked green against the darkness. You shifted and stared at the ceiling, counting thunderclaps, begging sleep to take you again. Take you back to a different time, a different dream. Your eyes began to drift.
Boom, boom.
Thunder rang louder than before. The storm was moving closer. But when had the lightning struck?
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.
It wasn’t thunder. You wrenched the comforter off of you and scrambled to your feet. Someone was banging on the door. What had been a low and rumbling pattern of knocks at first was now frantic pounding. What in the world? Reaching for a thin cotton robe, you rushed to the front door.
“I’m coming!” you shouted, darting across the living room, “who is–”
You stopped short.
“Baby, please,” he sobbed. Shawn. Surprise mixed with hot rage and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The concoction was numbing, like liquid lidocaine traveling in your bloodstream from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. You didn’t remember getting to the door or gripping the knob, but it swung open anyway.
Shawn Mendes fell into your apartment face first. He tripped over the threshold and into your stiff arms. He must have been leaning on the door frame.
“Oh god, I didn’t think you’d answer,” he slurred, smelling somewhere between a wet dog and straight tequila. You caught at his shoulders and pushed him up against the entryway wall.
“Shawn, what the fuck are you doing here?” you practically spat at him. Venum pooled in your mouth. It was acrid, all-consuming. It took a minute for the red rage clouding your vision to recede, allowing his face to come into sharp relief.
His cheeks were blotchy, stained with tears. His eyes glassy and unfocused. He was drunk. Drunker than you’d ever seen him. He was also soaking wet. His waterlogged clothes dripped fat drops that splashed on your hardwood floor forming a puddle under his expensive shoes.
“Did you walk here?”
He nodded his head. Well, it was more of a lull to the side if you were being honest.
“How?”
“With my feet,” he slurred again. He lurched off the wall and tried to take a step forward. Instead he pitched forward, wrapping his arms around you and soaking your robe through to the tank top underneath.
“I see you haven’t lost the sarcasm,” the poison you had tasted earlier was quickly replaced with concern. You slithered out from his embrace and let him lean against your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll get you a towel.”
You deposited him on your sofa and he immediately slumped sideways, laying his cheek against the cool leather. Grabbing some fresh towels from the hall closet, you took a second and leaned against the wall before going back to the living room, hidden from Shawn’s line of sight. Not that he’d see me anyway he’s so smashed. What is he doing here? Why here? Why me? Where is his precious famous girlfriend? Why isn’t she picking his drunk ass up off the couch?
The anger flared again but it had lost its bite. He was obviously in some kind of pain, but you weren’t going to get anything out of him like this. You sighed heavily, heading to the kitchen for water and some ibuprofen before returning to the couch.
“Shawn?” You crouched down next to him, reaching out to push a curl back off of his face. He was snoring, a bit of drool coming from the corner of his perfect lips. He was so peaceful.
Snap out of it.
“Shawn, you have to get out of these wet clothes.”
He stirred, opening just one eye to look at you. It took him a minute to reorient.
“How long was I asleep?” He swiped at his mouth and sat up slowly.
“About three minutes. Now get up and strip.” You stood above him expectantly, fighting the urge to tap your toe at him. He fumbled with the buttons on his dark blue silk Oxford shirt. The fabric stuck to every defined muscle in his torso, every cut of his biceps. You counted to thirty before he got one undone.
“You’re going to get hypothermia if you keep that up,” you thrust the towel at him, “how about you dry your hair instead and let me handle the hard stuff?”
He mussed his hair with the towel while you crouched down in front of him, making quick work of his buttons. When the shirt finally hung open, you pushed it back and off his shoulders, revealing what seemed like miles of lightly tanned skin. Dammit. How can he still be so fucking beautiful? You had tried to hate him, tried to block him from your memory, but he always came back. The memories and the feelings and the pain always came back.
You tossed his soaked shirt across the room near the door to the washer. His body sagged forward. His curls were dry, big and frizzed from root to tip, but at least he wasn’t catching a chill. He needed to get horizontal quickly or he was probably going to toss his cookies right here on your white leather couch.
“Shawn,” you tapped at his face to refocus him again, “drink this and take these.” You held out the water and ibuprofen. He took them with no argument. Definitely too drunk. Sober, he would have spouted some bullshit about over-the-counter drugs being bad for your health or toxic for your muscles or something he’d heard From Jocelyne or Cez. You were thankful that you didn’t have to listen to that nonsense tonight. He would thank you in the morning when the headache was dull instead of blinding.
“Now, stand up and strip off the rest of it,” you ordered.
“Naked, eh?” His eyebrow raised at the same time as the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes.
“Throw it over there with your shirt. I think I still have a pair of your boxers hanging around somewhere,” you grumbled, turning your back on him and marching toward the bedroom. The truth was that you knew you had a pair of his boxers because you’d washed them recently after wearing them to bed when you missed him. The dreams always felt more vivid on those nights but you wore them anyway. For the same reason I just invited his drunk ass inside tonight. Because I’m a fucking masochist. You grabbed the boxers, navy and white stripes with little anchors on them, and returned to your living room.
He stood in the center of the room, between the couch and his wet laundry, in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips. His skin was dry finally, flushed where he’d scrubbed at it, glowing in the low city lights trickling through the windows. He was a little dazed and a lot sleepy, inspecting his hands and fingers where they had pruned in the rain. It was like one of your dreams, a memory of what had been. Everything had been such a mess for the months he’d been gone. A gaping hole in your chest had opened and as much as you’d tried to mend, to get over him, he’d left a wound that wouldn’t heal. When he burst through the door, beneath all the anger, it felt like breathing for the first time. Feeling for the first time. He belonged here and you belonged with him.
Then why did he leave?
“Shawn,” his head snapped up, eyes wide, “why are you here?” He grimaced, hearing the pain in your voice. He seemed to be sobering, the bright rosy color in his cheeks was returning to a muted pink. Reaching up to scrub at his damp curls, he cleared his throat.
“I….” his voice was hoarse, “I’m not sure.” You walked over to his pile of wet clothes and tossed them in the washer, keeping silent while he watched you, waiting for a reaction. Or an explosion. The only sounds in the room were the machine filling with water and your padded footsteps back to a safe distance from him. The rain had stopped.
“Well, you’re naked in my living room so you better start fucking figuring it out!” You threw the anchor printed boxers squarely at his chest as the rage came simmering back.
“I missed you, okay?!” He threw his arms wide, sputtering, “I, I was out drinking with the boys and got too drunk and was thinking about how happy I used to be and that happiness was all because of you…” He was looking at you but looking through you at the same time, like he could see all of those memories you’d been dreaming of, like maybe he’d dreamt them too. You shook your head. It didn’t make any sense. He was happy with her. He left you for her. He’s supposed to be with her.
“Don’t lie, I saw the fucking photos, Shawn. Don’t act like I don’t know that smile as well I know my own. You looked pretty fucking pleased with yourself,” you hissed. Images flashed across the back of your eyelids like a slide projector with every swift blink away from his face: her long dark hair fluttering behind her as they walked back to his hotel; his curls fluffed out in weird directions like her fingers had run through them in the car; that fucking bag strapped to his back like the perfect boyfriend. It was the last photo that always sent a wave of nausea, the one of him hanging over the balcony half naked. Whether they’d fucked or not was a moot point, that’s what they wanted people to think. What he wanted me to think.
“You could have picked up the goddamn phone and broken up with me like a civilized person,” you scolded, still unable to look at him.
“IT WASN’T REAL!” He bent over with the force of his confession.
Your head shot up. What?
“What??” A weightless feeling came over you. Looking down, you had to check that your feet were still on the ground. It didn’t make sense. You must have heard him wrong.
“I-I don’t understand,” you stuttered, “I saw it, all of it.”
“Didn’t you read my texts?” He sounded like he was under three feet of water. Your ears were ringing. “I called so many times...I just thought you needed time to get over me not telling you before the pictures leaked but you never called back. None of your friends would answer my messages...” You covered your ears and closed your eyes to block out the sensory overload even though he was still talking. No, no, no. He got caught cheating and he’s trying to backtrack.
But you had heard the rumors, the gossip rags had all printed it. The doubt, the convenience of the timing...but you’d blocked it out because it was too easy to believe and too painful to hope.
Two hands gripped your upper arms and your eyes flew open.
He was right in front of you. Less than three inches. His eyes were so dark, still dilated from the alcohol coursing through his system. He’d put on the boxers you’d thrown at him and ditched the towel. It was everything you had to not pitch forward into his warm chest.
“It was Andrew’s idea.” He hooked a finger underneath your chin and made sure you were looking at him. “There was a meeting, her people, my people, they ambushed me. Said it would be a good idea to promote the single, push my image, deal with the old rumors. I told him I didn’t give a fuck about that old shit but they just kept coming and coming and coming, something about helping her with her album and placating executives who kept asking questions, so I said yes but I fucking told them I had to have notice before they dropped the pictures so I could tell you…” He swiped his thumbs across your cheeks, smearing the wet tears that had fallen while he talked.
“They didn’t wait,” he sighed, “Andrew sold them without telling me. I tried to tell you. All those calls, all those texts, I promise I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”
“But I fucking was, Shawn,” you stepped back and took a deep breath. “You had opportunities to call right after the meeting, before they took the pictures, but you waited. Why? Why did you wait for other people to break my fucking heart?”
“I was an idiot!” he raked his fingers through his knotted, dried curls. “I thought somehow that if I was able to control everything that no one could get hurt. I would tell you, we would keep doing us and I would have things I had to do in front of cameras but it wouldn’t mean anything. We would work on a plan to go public together after it was done. A few months at the most.”
“A few months?! What were we gonna do for months in hiding?! How many times were you going to hurt me, fulfilling some bullshit contractual obligation that you didn’t even discuss with me first?” You stumbled back to your room and he followed. You had to sit down or you were going to be sick. He followed behind, his giant feet sticking to the hardwoods with every step.
At first, the truth had felt like another dream, had made you weightless, but the more you thought about it, maybe this was worse. The idea of seeing him holding someone else’s hand for cameras while he came home to you at night was like a slap in the face.
“I wasn’t going to let them release the pictures before I talked to you first, before I knew it was okay,” he knelt down in front of you, taking your hands between his, “I never wanted to hurt you. Andrew did it anyway. When you wouldn’t return my calls, I just went along with it, all of it, like a zombie shell.” He looked past you, seeing the months you’d been apart. He was haunted too.
“The fans started to notice. Half of them thought it was fake from the beginning, but after awhile they all saw the dark circles, the exhaustion of keeping up the facade. I started losing weight. It was all there for the world to see. I thought about you everyday. I think about you everyday.” He pressed his forehead into your entwined hands. His shoulders shook. It took you a minute to realize that he was crying.
You took your hands from him, dragging your fingers through his curls, full and frizzed out from root to tip. You let him cry for the both of you, for the lost time, for the unfairness of the business he loved so much, for the deception, for all of it. Slowly, his breath evened against the skin of your exposed legs. He needed to sleep. So did you.
“Shawn…” you started, pulling his head up between your hands.
“I fired Andrew.”
You stilled completely, “you what?”
“I fired Andrew.” He said it a second time but it still wasn’t computing. Andrew was family. Andrew was untouchable. Andrew was the one person in Shawn’s life not related by blood that you thought might make it into the family burial plot.
“But, why?” you said, unable to think of anything else eloquent or comforting.
“The last eight months have been some of the worst in my career, in my life,” he took a moment, closing his eyes, calculating what he was about to say. “Last week, I went to him and said I wanted to end the sham relationship, to take control of my life back. He said it wasn’t possible, that we only had a few more months left. But he’d said that before. We only had a few months left before he extended the deal to cover an album release, the holidays, promotional singles...
“I talked to a lawyer. I had to pay a considerable amount of money to get out of all of it, but I’m done. Done with the PR bullshit, done with AGA. The label is still supporting me while I look for new management, but I’m taking a break. I’ve been writing at home, making voice memos, but I gotta figure out what my life looks like when I’m in control because I haven’t been in control for years. Maybe not ever.”
He took a breath and released it, his shoulders visibly relaxing. That was it, the whole truth. Everything made a lot more sense. It didn’t hurt any less, but the broken pain in his eyes when he’d fallen in the door an hour ago was clear. He was independent for the first time in his adult life...and he was terrified.
He yawned. His body was more leaning than kneeling at this point, and your legs were going numb. You moved to stand and he looked up at you, wondering what to do now that he’d cut his heart out and laid it at your feet.
“Come on,” you gestured to the bed, “get on your side.”
You took off your robe and crawled underneath the covers, still rumpled from your earlier dream. There was about three feet between you and Shawn in the king-size bed and you could tell he was trying to keep his distance, turning his back to you and isolating himself to one side. It was a struggle to keep from snorting. You scooted over and curled your arms around his chest. He was massive, but not so massive that you couldn’t be his big spoon.
The night had been such a rollercoaster, so much emotion from the earlier dream to everything that had happened since he pounded on the door, drunk and soaked through. There was so much you wanted to ask, so much you needed to yell at him for, but now that it was quiet, not that he was pressed against you in an embrace like he’d never left, those things felt so far away. You were going to have to think hard when the sun came up. What if I wake up and this was all a dream? You squeezed him one more time to make sure he was still there, tangling your legs with his under the sheets.
“This isn’t forgiveness,” you whispered, relishing the heat that radiated from his back into your chest. He hummed an assent, knowing there was still so much to say and so much to atone for. But for now, just right now, you both slept.
It was the best night of sleep you’d had in months.
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#shawn mendes#shawn mendes imagines#shawn mendes fanfiction#shawn mendes angst#shawn mendes fic#shawn peter raul mendes#my writing
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Country Roads, Take Me Home: Chap. 5
Fandom: NCIS LA
Characters: Marty Deeks, Kensi Blye
Read chapters 1-4 here
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Arches National Park was next on their list so off to Utah it was. They passed Bill and Carol at the additional campsite and ducked low in their seats to try and avoid direct eye contact. “Are they following us?” Deeks asked as he drove, glancing furtively in the rearview mirror.
Kensi turned around. “No, looks like one of the dogs got loose.” She raised her eyebrows. “With a string of sausages in his mouth. Gosh who are these people? It’s like being in a cartoon.”
“People we are going to forget about,” Deeks said firmly as he pulled onto the highway.
She turned back to look at him. “Oh really? You’re giving up on the ‘Carol and Bill are criminal masterminds’ theory?”
“Eric said they cleared, so they cleared. He’d never miss something like that.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” she agreed. “Now, let’s get back to our Bill and Carol free vacation. What are we doing in Arches?”
Deeks grinned. “Rocks. Lots of rocks.”
They spent the next two days in vacation bliss. After they arrived they did a major hike with a rock climb and got some pretty spectacular pictures among the red rocks.
The next morning dawned sunny and they ended up with a perfect day for an aerial tour of the park. The pilot answered all their questions and they got some spectacular views of the landscape.
From there they moved onto Rocky Mountain National Park where they rented bicycles and had a romantic picnic with incredible views of the mountains, valleys, and wildlife.
It was everything they’d dreamed a vacation could be, and neither Bill, Carol, nor their pack of wild hounds made a single appearance. But if they had known what was going to happen next, they never, ever would have driven to Yellowstone. They would have gotten in the RV and driven east until they hit the Atlantic and then they would have started to swim. Yellowstone was an unqualified disaster.
It started out pleasantly enough. They rolled into the park, parked the RV and got everything set up for a couple days of sightseeing. “I can’t believe it’s almost time to go home,” Kensi said as she washed up their breakfast dishes.
“We still have another entire park after this,” Deeks said.
“I know, but remember when we talked about packing up our kids and living life on the road?”
Deeks raised his eyebrows. “You mean when I was nearly blown up and you saved my life by dragging me me out on a door?”
She smiled. “Yes, that time. I was just babbling, but this road life is kind of nice.”
“You’re telling me you don’t miss work at all? Running down bad guys? Kicking ass?”
“I kicked your ass pretty good last night,” she said coyly, coming to sit in his lap.
“That’s true, you did,” he conceded. “I have the bruises to prove it.”
“You liked it.”
“Touché”.
She kissed him once. Then again. “Oh are we going another round?” Deeks asked as she reached for the hem of his shirt. “I thought we were going to see Old Faithful?”
“Later,” Kensi said, kissing his neck.
“Are you saying you want to see my Old Faithful instead?”
She stopped abruptly and wrinkled her nose.
“Too far?” he asked.
She patted his shoulder and slid off his lap. “Yeah, too far. Moment over.”
They stepped out into the campground, looking for signs to guide them toward the geyser. They were walking toward the trail when Deeks grabbed Kensi’s hand and pulled her behind a car.
“Deeks! Ow! What the hell?”
“Sorry,” he said, eyes searching the parking lot. “Stay down.”
“What? Why?”
“Just…I thought I saw something.”
“Saw what? Deeks what is going on?”
“Oh shit!” Deeks grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him, scuttling past a few more cars.
She wrenched her hand away and glared at him. “Deeks, I don’t know what the hell this is but—“
“Shh!!” Deeks pointed past her. “It’s the Weekes’!”
“What?!” She whipped around and spotted two sets of legs and a pack of very familiar dogs between the wheel wells. “Oh god. We have to hide.”
“What do you think this is?!” Deeks hissed, gesticulating wildly at their crouched position.
“Why are they just standing there?” Kensi asked. “Why can’t they decide where they’re going?”
“I’m more interested in why they’re here in the first place! I thought we lost them in Nevada!”
“Apparently not!” Kensi said. “What are we going to do? We can’t just stay here, somebody’s going to see us.”
“I’m thinking,” Deeks said, looking around. “Okay, there’s a big, blue pickup over there. If we can get behind that I don’t think they’ll be able to see us before we make it to the trailhead.”
“On three?” Kensi asked.
He nodded. “One, two, three!”
They stayed crouched low and moved quickly between the cars. They were almost to the blue pickup when they heard, “Marty! Is that your ragamuffin head I see over there?”
“Run!” Deeks hissed.
But it was too late. Out of nowhere PD came flying at them, grabbing onto Deeks’ pant leg like a vice.
“Go on without me!” he said desperately, trying to shake free.
“I am not leaving you behind!” Kensi hissed.
“It is you!” Carol cried as she bustled over, holding two of the dogs. “I should have known when PD took off if was you for sure. He just loves you!”
“I can’t say the feeling’s mutual,” Deeks said with a wince.
“PD come here you little rascal,” Bill said, finally managing to dislodge the beast’s jaws. “Well it sure is good to see you two. We thought maybe you were hiding from us when we didn’t see you after Nevada.”
“Oh, nope, just must not have crossed paths,” Kensi said through gritted teeth.
“Well I am absolutely tickled you’re both here because we never did get to have that dinner. Tonight. You must come over. I’m making my world famous chicken and dumplings,” Carol insisted.
“Oh we really don’t want to impose,” Kensi protested.
“Nonsense, nonsense!” Carol cried. “The more the merrier!”
“Well we kind of had plans—“ Deeks said.
“Cancel ‘em!” Bill roared, clapping Deeks so hard on the shoulder it knocked the wind out of him. “You don’t want to miss dumpling night. Trust me.”
Deeks shot Kensi a look that said he fervently disagreed. “We won’t take no for an answer,” Carol insisted. “We have an excursion planned all afternoon, but we’ll see you at five!”
Kensi and Deeks trudged toward the trailhead, all joy of exploring the park gone. “We could fake falling into the geyser,” Deeks suggested.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Kensi said.
“That is the third time their dog has nearly chewed my leg off!” Deeks said. “It might be murder!”
“Deeks, we have faced down armed robbers, terrorists, and Hetty on a full moon. We can get through this.” She reached for his hand. “At the very least let’s try and forget about it for a few hours while we go check out the geyser.”
The geyser was impressive, going off three times while they watched, but Deeks seemed distracted, giving only monosyllabic answers and fake smiles. Finally Kensi rolled her eyes and sighed. “You’re not going to let this Weekes thing go, are you?”
He looked at her and wrinkled his nose. “What? Me? What are you talking about? I let that go weeks ago.”
She gave him a pointed look. “I saw you googling this morning.”
He looked at her guiltily. “I had a hunch.”
“Well detective, what did you detect?”
“Did you know there’s been a small to moderate sized robbery near every park we’ve visited on this trip? Which just happen to be the same parks Bill and Carol have visited?”
“Okay, all right. Fine Columbo. Let’s investigate.”
He stopped and stared at her. “What? What does that mean ‘let’s investigate’?”
She shrugged. “You can’t let this go. I’ve never known you to be wrong about your gut. Let’s go back and check out their RV.”
“Are you serious?”
“They’re gone for the afternoon, this might be our only shot.”
He shook his head. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”
They hustled back to the campsite and found the Weekes’ still out. “Are you sure about this?” Deeks asked. “I mean technically we’re breaking and entering.”
“They’re our ‘friends’. We’re just checking to see if they’re home,” Kensi said with a guileless smile. She tried the door and it opened immediately. “Besides, it’s not breaking and entering if the door’s open, right?”
“You know you’re a little scary when you’re up to criminal activity,” Deeks said, following her inside and closing the door. “I’m glad you chose NCIS and not bounty hunting or something.”
“Deeks, focus,” she said. “You’re the one that’s been in here. Anything look different?”
He flipped on the light and whistled. “Uh, yeah. That,” he pointed to an Xbox. “That.” Two MacBook Airs. “And that.” Several unopened DSLR cameras.
Kensi shook her head. “Maybe they’re just shopping. Taking things home for their grandkids?”
“Right.” Deeks reached into a drawer and pulled out a very heavy, very expensive looking necklace. “Just what every lady needs when hiking and camping.”
“Okay, you’re right. But it’s still circumstantial.”
They both continued looking, trying to leave everything the way they’d found it. “Whoa,” Deeks said when he reached the bathroom. “Either they hoard like you do or…”
Kensi peeked inside and found the shower full to the brim with electronics and other high end, expensive items. “Okay, either they have a lot of grandkids or…”
“PD you come back here you little rascal!”
“They’re back!” Kensi hissed.
“Out!” Deeks said. “Go, go, go!”
They stumbled out of the RV just as Bill and Carol rounded the corner. “Did they see us?” Deeks asked breathlessly.
“I don’t think so,” Kensi said, looking back over her shoulder. “No, they’re inside, I don’t think they saw anything.”
“We need to call Eric,” Deeks said. “See if he can match what we saw in there to the robberies.”
Eric didn’t answer, not surprising considering it was the weekend and he’d had plans to visit a convention in Sacramento. Deeks left a message with a detailed description along with the couple of pictures Kensi had snapped.
Unfortunately, they still had to go to dinner. “Well it doesn’t smell poisonous,” Deeks muttered as they approached.
“Why would they poison us?” Kensi asked. “For all they know, we’re just a happy-go-lucky couple on vacation. It will be fine. Eric will get back to us and we’ll get this whole mess sorted out.”
Bill and Carol had set up dinner on a picnic table next to the camper and refused any and all assistance bringing food back and forth. And Bill had been right, Carol’s dumplings were award worthy.
There was also peach cobbler and after dinner Bill pulled out a bottle of port. “That’s uh, that’s some pricey stuff there Bill,” Deeks said, eyeing the bottle. “You sure you want to use that tonight?”
“Well you know, when you get to be our age you learn that you gotta live a little,” Bill said, pouring generous glasses for each of them.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to use the restroom,” Kensi said, shooting Deeks a meaningful look as she rose from the table.
“Don’t mind the mess!” Carol called.
Kensi stepped inside the RV, honestly a little surprised that they’d allowed her in at all considering what they’d found earlier in the day. But again, Bill and Carol had no reason to believe Kensi and Deeks would be suspicious.
At least, that’s what she thought until she walked out of the bathroom and straight into the barrel of a rifle.
#NCIS LA#NCIS Los Angeles#Densi#Marty Deeks#Kensi Blye#Country Roads Take Me Home#Densi Summer Vacation#Chapter 5#Arches National Park#Yellowstone National Park#Fanfiction#It's fall now#Oh well
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Ten. Part 4
I shushed Mel as she yelped out, turning the volume down on my phone as I cackled lowly, I don’t want to be too loud or he will wake up “bitch, hey!” lifting my phone up and then we both laughed together “you are a mess, look at your pixie cut whore. Like flatten that shit down” I shrugged smirking “let me see the neck” lifting the phone up and lifting my chin “can you see? He likes my neck; I am wearing his top but yeah. I am so fucking sore; I still feel it. The orgasm knocked me the fuck out, bitch he ate me, he sucked me dry, he suckled on the juicy meat. Chile, he got me good. I am shook to the core; he was so good at it. I felt his tongue vibrate; I am just so fucking crazy. I am losing my mind, like the sex was amazing. I came downstairs to pee, the bed is upstairs. It’s open cabin thing and he came down and he just picked me up, took me to bed and fucked me to sleep. I was knocked out; I just woke up to your messages. He asked me to be his girlfriend too, so it’s official but I want to marry him, I want him to eat me out again. He has too, his tongue is so good” Mel squealed out with me “chile, you deserve some good dick. You look so happy, so he’s taken you to a cabin?” nodding my head “yeah, I am just making breakfast” Mel choked “breakfast? Oh he got you good, you’re making breakfast on your birthday time away, chile he got you. My god. You quitting music too?” I shrugged “possibly, if that means I get that type of dick, yes. Mel, he just hits every part, he makes love to me, he fucks me. He is everything and more, I am in love. I love him so much and I will feed him with my hands if I need too” Mel’ mouth flew open “you are awful!” Mel shouted, I jumped and then realised it’s just Chris. He wrapped his arms around my neck “morning” he kissed the back of my head, I just grinned so hard “morning” I giggled “you making food? I was going to do that for you” shaking my head watching him walk off, biting on my nail watching his juicy butt just wiggle his way “you’re sick!” Mel spat, I forgot she is there.
Placing the plate down for Chris and pressing a kiss to the back of his head “I was going to cook breakfast for you, you didn’t need too?” I shook my head “you want anything else? Do you drink coffee?” Chris snorted laughing “nah OJ is fine, sit down. Come” he held my hand “I am, I am just going to get my drink, I will be quick” I am so in love with Chris, it’s sickening but true. Pulling the chair back “are you ok?” sitting down on the chair “I am ok baby, I have never felt so happy to be here” I admitted “I can tell, who was on the phone? You woke me up with the laughter, it’s fine. I need to wake up anyways” reaching over and wiping the side of his eye “you look so sleepy still, I have had the best night sleep with you. You hugged me and I woke up and you still was, but I was on the phone to Mel. She wanted to know I am ok, I said yes I am here and fine. And that I received the best dick of my life, she is happy for me but they ain’t seen me in love like this, she is shocked. I can tell with the lock on her face she is shocked to see how giddy and happy I am. I really want to spoil you but eat” Chris grinned at me looking down at his plate.
I can’t help it. I am just here touching him constantly. I can’t help it “you stop” Chris laughed, I poked my bottom lip out “I am joking, it’s ok. So for your birthday, oh the breakfast is nice. I could get used to your cooking, thank you but uhm. What are you doing on the day? I hope you’re being good right?” placing my fork down “uhm, I think Barbados, but I can’t be sure, but I will let you know. I think Barbados may be an after thing, so could be elsewhere first you know but I will be good. I am a taken woman now” Chris sat back in the chair “and you know what I love about that? You look so happy to be with me, I am just sat here like what the fuck? Me? I ain’t nothing good but to see you’re joy; I can feel you. It’s a little surreal baby, not going to front. But yeah, just let me know please. With whatever you do let me know, I am a an easy going man Robyn, just that if like I see Rihanna seen doing something else then I am going to be annoyed, we are in a relationship and I want us to work, we can, and I just like to be in the know. I know your life is busy, just a text yeah? I am not telling you off” I feel like he was then “I will Chris, I am happy with you. It’s not even about the sex, maybe it is. But that is besides the point, but I will and same with you. I mean you’re not a bad person but if you want to do something and you’re with other girls, then let me know. You’re a very sexy man Chris, trust me” Chris laughed, he finds that funny “are you going to come and beat the girl up though?” he got me there “mhmm, possibly. I can always get Rich to do it for me, I mean I won’t get my hands dirty” Chris chuckled at me.
“I wanted to ask, well bring it back up. Are you really thinking about moving to Texas? Not a joke?” I need to know these things “uh yeah, it’s cheap there. I can get a nice ass apartment there. I was looking and it was in Houston, it was so nice. It had a pool and everything there, and it looks way better then what I got now, if I am thinking right. I can just start off new there, Barry did say he would want to move too. TJ has things here, but Barry may come with me so then we can split rent, it will be cheap for us both” I really don’t want him in Texas “can’t you just come to California, if Barry is splitting the rent you can afford it Chris. You can be closer to me; I want you closer to me” Chris shook his head “closer to you when you can be anywhere at any given date? Where you staying at right now Robyn?” he questioned “nowhere right now, we packed up in Miami. Mel is in Cali with my stuff which she will then meet me to pick me up and go” Chris sniggered “there we go, so be in California for what? Wait until you come back” Chris sat forward leaning against the table “I am not being harsh with you, maybe I sound it but it’s like I get you want me there but I am, here and there. I don’t want to be in California, shit is expensive for no reason. I am not going to stress myself out for it either” I must remember he is hard headed with things “then what are you going to do to make money? Tell me, or you just going to go back to Amazon?” I need answers from him “me and Barry are coming up with something, it’s not drugs but just remember I am renting the apartment in Texas, it’s rented for a reason, yeah. So I am not saying I won’t come to see you, hell yeah I will. If you in America somewhere and you got time then I will come to you, and you got the bear, anyways. Enough of that, we need to get ready” watching Chris get up, I wish he would wasn’t hard headed and he just, I don’t know let me look after him.
Sat on the bed watching Chris put his hoodie on “yes?” he knows me so well, looking down at the bear “I just wish you was close to me always” Chris gripped my arms and pulled me up “can we just enjoy this time together? This aint’ how badalriri acts, you ain’t even dressed, have you washed your face or anything?” shaking my head “deadass? We have somewhere to go too, you been walking around all sad for what? Stop being stupid now” he is so annoying “be quiet, I smell like you and besides. I have been cleaning after you and then you left me with the washing. Be a modern man and help me next. Look after son son, that’s his name. You better be holding him when I come back too” resting the bear against Chris’ chest and then grabbing his arms so he can actually hold him “I mean it, you better hold it. I want it to smell like you too so do it” that beat is going to be going places now, that is my baby.
Chris did a slow clap back, looking behind me “you finally are ready” I laughed looking back at the mirror “I thought I would hide the mess you made of my neck, what are you. A vampire” this shit took so long to do “do I look nice? I am not sure where you’re taking me so I didn’t wear nothing fancy, kept it simple” getting up from the bed “you always look beautiful, that is amazing. Your neck looks like nothing has happened to it? Can you do that to my freckles” I shushed him “never, those are too adorable, I love them about you” zipping up my makeup bag, grabbing my phone from the bed “picture time and you’re holding him, see. You can listen to me” Chris threw it on the bed “don’t be rude!” I spat, flipping the camera around to take a selfie of us. Holding the camera up facing us, Chris hasn’t even moved he is just smiling in the back like an idiot “don’t piss me off” he snorted laughing walking over to me, watching him lick his lips through my phone and I kept taking picture of that “smile please” Chris shook his head, placing his arm around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, I am sure I have taken thirty or even more picture of that “I am literally dying to post you, but I won’t” turning to Chris “I prefer not to be seen with you actually” he said before moving back, he lucky he did “pick me up, I have an idea” Chris groaned out “we might as well have sex then” he just never listens to me, opening my arm to me “fine” he walked over to me, I yelped out as he picked me up with ease wrapping my legs around him “mhmm, sex might be a good idea you know” pecking his lips, placing his hood over his head “now turn me around, back facing the mirror. Last thing and we can go” Chris didn’t say anything and did as I said, wrapping arm around his neck and resting my chin just on his shoulder, aiming my camera at the mirror and took a picture “bingo” I now can post this “no!” I shouted as Chris flung me onto the bed “now can we go” my hair is a mess again so he can wait until it’s done,
Chris is too cute, he has bought me wine tasting on this wine yard here in Virginia, I love it actually “because you threw me on the bed I didn’t get to post this now” adding a caption to the picture ‘Loving Life’ pressing send on the picture “I did mention that you are coming here, I had too. Because I wanted it to be private for us, you know” locking my phone “I understand” A man in a suit and jeans walked over to us “good afternoon” he said and smiled “my name is Mitchell and I'll be your guide for today. We have Chris” he held his hand out to Chris “yeah” Chris shook his hand “and Rihanna” shaking his hand “hi” I am glad he isn’t the weird people that stare and shake my hand “If you'll follow me, we'll begin the tour” looking up at Chris, he held my hand. He held my hand first without me having to do it, he did. Things like that make me so happy.
We have reached the floor where the wine tasting would take place, the best part to me. There is five bottles of wine in front of us. I hope we can drink all five, I mean of course not “if you both would just wait here, I will get the things together” nodding my head, looking over at Chris “no buying anything, I don’t do that over here” that is the first thing he says, “if it tastes nice you are buying me a bottle, we drink it and then have some really sloppy sex, what you think?” Chris shook his head “we save the money and have sloppy sex either way” I scoffed, he is extra ugly and annoying to me “this is for you Robyn” I didn’t know the guy came back “for me?” he bought out a boxed bottle of wine “yes, the best for you. The finest we have” he already got me wine “I just told them to give me the finest wine, that is it” opening the box “awww, I mean I will drink most things” pulling the bottle out, seeing the label “the finest wine for you Robyn, love Chris” I read out “you know me so well, he sits there and acts he is not going to do something, and he does. Thank you” looking over at Chris “ma’am the wine we gave you is this tester” the guide pointed out “thank you and thank you Chris” Chris acts to calm like it’s nothing to him, like he doesn’t do the most for me but he does, I love that about him.
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33. Part 2
This is really like our very first outing as a family of three , Fenty hasn’t gone out, out like this so this is cute for us “I was thinking, we haven’t been on a date. Well you haven’t taken me on one” I groaned out “did you have to remember that” Robyn playfully hit my arm “we haven’t been out on a date or anything, am I lying!?” shaking my head “are you thinking of taking me out now baby?” pulling a face “mhmm, not exactly, I mean I should be a better husband shouldn’t I?” clearing my throat, I am wack “no, you don’t need to be better at anything. You’re honestly doing the best you can, you’re doing what you know best and Chris. What you did for me while giving birth can never amount to a date, also you stepped up. You made my dreams and wishes come true, so you haven’t done bad, you did the best and you made me a wife Chris. This was all a bad situation for us at first, but I cannot praise you more then I do Chris. I am every day understanding you and for you to do what you did, you truly love me” smiling at Robyn “it’s hard for you do things like that, commitment too huh” I chuckled “I always wanted to marry you Robyn, like we could have been on our forth baby. Shit is just wack for us you know, it’s just unfair on us. Now we are getting old, together of course but I ain’t going to let nobody fuck this up. It’s hard for people to accept that I have this, people love to see me as normal when I am not, but I appreciate they like to treat me as that, you know” Robyn placed her hand over mine “I think maybe we could have another, I mean I am not predicting anything because first of all I am getting old, don’t say I am not because I am. And to go through another natural birth, that scares me but then that will be your forth child” I shrugged “I have my love child and that means more then what you saying right now, I don’t know why you keep trying this and then get annoyed when I say that” Robyn dislikes when I say the shit which is true “I just think you need to see it as they are all your kids, we will work on this behaviour” Robyn rested her head in my shoulder, can’t help how I feel because it’s legit.
The car came to a halt out side the place and I am confused on why and how “you got to be kidding me, how did they know this” how do the paparazzi even know that we was coming here, there is a few of them “fuck” this is our first outing and this “unless the venue said it to them, who else would” this is annoying “is there any other way to go inside? A back route?” I said to the driver, their cameras started flash against the car “cover the car seat” looking to the side of me “just put anything over it” I feel we are stranded here now, taking my jacket off and placing it over the car seat “the only way in is here sorry, this is the closest we can get you” this is no good “what do you want to do? Go somewhere else” Robyn has her head down “just let’s go through, there is like three of them. We can do it” I am actually very irritated “I have always done shit and never this” leaning forward and dragging the door open “I will be back” I am going to end up knocking one of these out, they started moving back as I got out of the car “get out of my face bro” closing the door shut, it’s so cold here. Walking to the second car “congratulations Chris on the daughter!” opening the door “Rajad, I need you to help me with this” I mean I don’t really speak to Rajad like that “I can help” Ronald said, nodding my head moving back.
I got Ronald and Rajad to walk Robyn in first, she didn’t want to go at first she was refusing to go because she didn’t want to leave Fenty “people are gathering aren’t they” Dennis said as he is recording “yeah, they created the commotion, it’s not cool you know. She is a new mother, just gave birth and they are there pushing and shit, I don’t fuck with that. We just wanted an easy time, just go in and leave, have some fun” Dennis opened the door for Noella “here” passing her Fenty’ baby bag “you will be in after? Robyn is concerned” nodding my head, the driver got out of the car “I can help you sir, walk with you” that is nice of him, Fenty is so quiet though. Moving my jacket a little and looking in, she is asleep with no worry in the world. If I remember right, unclick it from the side and it will detach from the base “bingo” it worked, Dennis got out of the car first. Oh they are getting excited but they can’t see anything, stepping out of the car with the car seat “oh my god Chris Brown” hearing someone easy, walking to the building with the driver walking with me, he is acting like my bodyguard “there you go sir” he held the door open as I entered.
Robyn looked so concerned “it’s ok, she is asleep still. Y’all snitched!?” I pointed at the guy that works here “no sir, I didn’t” he denied it “I mean we don’t have that policy here; we always have famous people here. Also it was booked under Noella, we aren’t to know who that is” so someone we know did “there is a snitch in this place” I am annoyed with that “follow me please” Robyn is ever so quiet “you good?” placing my arm around Robyn “yeah” pressing a kiss to her forehead, follow the worker to the room. Looks incredibly quiet here, looks secluded. I believe the guy telling us that he didn’t snitch, it looks too much of a inclusive place to be doing that “here” he held the door open for us, moving back away from Robyn walking into the private bowling place just for us, bar staff and servers here. This shit looks expensive, to just play bowling too. Lifting the car seat and placing it on the table, removing my jacket from it “she ain’t none the wiser, she just wants to sleep” I grinned, Fenty is just really not caring about what happened “beautiful mama” stroking her cheek, she flinched a little “thank god, I did think she would be crying but she seems quiet. Maybe she likes car journeys” nodding my head, I think she does.
Robyn is not joining in the bowling; she doesn’t want to do anything strenuous which I don’t blame her “I am on that ass!” I pointed at Noella “you see that name” I pointed at the board “you sure are doing badly, Robyn you need to tell him he is supposed to do better for Chrianna he doing the worst” Noella shouted laughing, she is not wrong, I am doing bad I don’t know why. Grabbing my phone from my pocket as it rang out, Stephan is calling me which has been a while “what’s up?” I answered “my nigga, what you saying? We in London, you want to meet with us. We been always been meaning to link and we always miss out” he said, he isn’t wrong we always doing something else “I am at firmdale hotel, if you come at the back there is a private bowling, come. Just you though” sitting next to Robyn “cool, cool. You with family? I can bring my little brother with me, just a quick link up and we gone” nodding my head “cool with me, call me when you’re here” disconnecting the call “who is that?” Robyn asked, she is feeding Fenty in the corner “I made a new friend, he seems cool. He contacted Ant at first, then I just give him my number and we been in contact still. We have been meaning to link up so why not now, you know” placing my phone on the table “what is up with you? You seem incredibly sad now, this is supposed to be fun?” I don’t get it, I don’t get why she is being sad “I know it’s my dad that has told the paparazzi to come, I am not stupid. The venue never did it, he did it. He is always trying some sly shit and I am just fed up” letting out an oh “I didn’t think that, man. That is wack. I am sorry, why did he do that? Or even think of doing that?” Robyn moved the milk bottle from Fenty, and her eyes opened, like she didn’t want it to end “he always sells shit about me, I want him to go. After this I want you to tell him to go, I can’t trust him being around my daughter and not sell her pictures” nodding my head, he wants me to do it, but I can’t just hide behind Robyn now “is that friend coming here?” Robyn asked “he is, just a quick link up, he seems ok” my daughter is fully awake but looks just like her momma, all annoyed at life.
Grabbing the bowling ball “uncle Chris, let me help you” shaking my head, no way in hell I would let this little girl ruin my game “I know your game, you want your mom to win and it’s team Chrianna so no ma’am” Majesty stood in front of me “that is cheating, Noella tell your spawn off” turning to her “Majesty, let uncle do it” looking back at Majesty, she stuck a tongue out at me and I did it back, who does this little girl think she is. Watching the ball hit all pins “yess!” I spat “woo, we in this game” peeping two guys walking over “I will be back” walking off to greet them “we out here cuz, my nigga breezy bro” Stephan got his hand out to me “how the fuck you get in here? You kill the workers” taking his hand and patting his back as we greeted “you know me, they heard me and they got scared, every nigga shorter then me” I laughed nodding in agreement “he said he was Chris Brown bodyguard and they believed him” his little brother said “you must be Shem, good meeting you” shaking his hand “you both really brothers, it’s little and large out here. You’re a giant” Stephan laughed hitting my shoulder “you and my bro are same size, skinny niggas stick together but it’s good meeting you” I didn’t think he was like this “I feel like my voice never really broke now, hearing you. Demon talk for real” shaking my head laughing “if you told me I would be meeting Chris Brown, I would be like nah fam, that is dreams but you good? We need to link up at a studio though” dapping Stephan “come, meet my wife” I pointed at Robyn “wife?” Stephan repeated “wife my nigga!?” he said again “ayo” he put his arm around me “wife, aye. You hear that” Stephan is funny “wow, the Rihanna. Pleasure to meet you” he moved away from me “nice to meet you” Stephan shook her hand “I respect you the utmost and don’t worry, I am going to look after Chris Breezy Brown, aye. You laughing, tell her we going to be good” he has such a deep laugh “oh Chris knows what is good for him” Stephan busted out laughing “nah, I am not like that. I was telling him he can come and see my family home too, I appreciate the friendship, and yeah. It’s a mutual thing, I respect his grind. The wife, you never mentioned wife!? What” Stephan is right I didn’t “look, I just hype. I am good” I like Stephan a lot.
Stephen ended up staying behind with us with his brother for some food, Robyn said but I think I know what Robyn is doing. She wants to see what he is like, but he is a good man “so tell me more about you” Robyn asked, “I find your voice very deep” placing my arm behind Robyn’ chair laughing “you find it sexy?” I said to Robyn “well if I met him before you then only god knows, I am joking by the way, but I am just asking. I would like to know the person Chris is getting to know” if Robyn dislikes him then she will more than likely make me get rid of him “so I actually reached out to his manager, I didn’t think anything of it, but I am a family man. I have no kids, but I am a hip hop artist here and I just wanted Breezy on a song, but it’s formed into a friendship which I appreciate. I have no reason to just start telling the world about shit, like this. This is actually my little brother, Chris asked me to just bring myself, but I couldn’t leave him behind. We just here to have fun and make friends and the whole nine” Stephan winked at Robyn “you are very interesting, I feel like you are going to show Chris the bad, I do not want him in another gang” Robyn said “oh wait, I wanted to be in OHB? I thought that was the deal” shaking my head at him “I get it, best behaviour Rihanna. I am still hype, I didn’t I would be meeting you here. But I totally understand why you are so whipped, my brother I get it. You do that” Stephan got his hand out as I dapped him “well clearly you’re just a stupid as Chris, I see the bond.
I mean am I shocked, no I am not. The paparazzi and fans waiting have grew bigger just waiting out there for us “stresses me out this” Robyn said, I mean now I know who did it, I am pissed off “let me walk you, I don’t mind it. Me and Shem can walk you” Stephan said to Robyn “it’s nothing to me, I mean your stardom to mine is bigger so come, I got you” dapping Stephan “go on then, I am watching from here. I will bring Fenty out” watching intently, Shem opened the door and they are vultures they came at the door already “back the fuck up” Shem said but he ain’t as big as Stephan “back the fuck up” I am sure he’s a gangbanger, well used to be “come on” they are both impressive, they are making them all move but I am angry, something just snapped in me. Turning around and I gripped Ronal’ jacket “Chris” Noella said “you did this, listen here old man. You did this shit to your own fucking daughter! You put my daughter and wife in danger for some fucking tip off! You stressed my wife out when it was supposed to be a good time, she was put off the whole day because of you. You don’t come to the home!” pushing him back against the wall “Ronald, are you fucking serious!?” Noella spat, I am annoyed with him and Robyn always lets him back in, she always does because she has a little heart.
Reaching over dapping Stephan “link up, no long thing next time. Nice meeting you miss Rihanna, take care” sitting back in the seat as he closed the door “he looks scary but he is so kind” that is good, that means Robyn approves of him, that is what I want to hear “its that voice but he is good people, he was inviting me to his family home but yeah, I am glad you approve. Oh by the way, I snapped on your dad, I didn’t hit him. I just told him to not come back to the home, the family is very angry with him, as they should be. I am sorry this ruined your mood” Robyn is looking so deflated “I don’t play when it comes to my daughter, I just didn’t want this. Maybe it’s me being overprotective with her. You know when you have longed for something so much, then you get it. You just want to protect her, that is me right now. I am just like please keep her privacy, I will murder anyone that say she should look like this, oh why does she have this. I think maybe let time go then maybe I will be less like this; she is my whole heart Chris. She is me, my black queen” smiling at Robyn “we need to have a black king too then, I think I have ran out of boys now, I bet I am going to get all girls. Which doesn’t bother me. My hairline is already going as it is” Robyn giggled, I am glad she can laugh at my hairline “you’re so stupid” hearing Robyn giggle, she is so happy and that alone makes me happy, I just want that for her.
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Stuck - Steve Rogers edition
A/N: By popular request, and i thank everyone that messaged me and sent me asks if i would consider releasing a second edition of ‘Stuck’ but with a Marvel character, i give you ‘Stuck - Steve Rogers edition’.
(You can read the Henry Cavill character ‘August Walker edition’ here.)
In future i will consider dual-releases of more stories, where the narrative works for various fandoms. If there is any of my back catalogue you would like to see written as a different fandom, drop me an ask!
Summary: You are Steve Rogers maid, and when you are changing the sheets on his massive bed your hand gets stuck between the mattress and headboard. Upon finding you in that predicament Steve takes control of the situation, however it doesn’t mean you get unstuck any time soon.
(Based on a pornhub video i saw at 2am a few nights ago)
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Maid Reader (no race or size described)
Fandom; Chris Evans, Marvel, Captain America
Warnings; NSFW, 18+, Dub-con, Fingering, groping, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, size kink, breeding kink, boob play, anal fingering, double penetration, spanking, spying/stalker behaviour, surveilence, voyerism, unauthorized recording of a sex act, not-great aftercare (he tries), slight dom/sub, the start of a ‘sugar daddy’ arrangement, Daddy Kink (this version DOES contain it).
I do not operate a tag list, however please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications. That way you’ll get an alert every time i post anything.
Masterlist can be found on AO3 link HERE
Stuck
Ringing the doorbell, you stood anxiously on the doormat outside the expensive apartment, listening for approaching steps but hearing none. So when the door suddenly opened you let out a tiny yelp of surprise, before taking a deep breath to steady your racing heart;
“Good afternoon Captain Rogers”
The giant of a man stood in front of you, recognition quickly passing over his face when he saw your uniform of black dress and simple black ballet flats;
“Oh yes, the maid. C’mon in”
You worked for a high security housekeeping company, strict controls and stringent background checks as you were contracted to the Avengers and the agents and staff that worked for Shield. You always worked on an ad-hoc basis, only visiting homes when clients or agents requested it. This was however the fourth time cleaning Captain Rogers apartment, always having to work around suitcases littering the halls and various weapons being cleaned and serviced on the kitchen table.
Holding your pail of cleaning supplies you waited as he shut the door, talking at you rather than to you;
“Okay so here’s what you need to do today; clean the bathroom and kitchen, vacuum the rugs throughout, change the bedding and leave in the laundry hamper”
You nodded;
“Sweeping throughout too sir?”
“No need, the Roomba does the smooth floors, it just can’t get onto the deep pile rugs” he hooked an earbud into one ear; “I’m going out for a run, I’ll be two hours”
Swallowing nervously you nodded, watching as he hooked the other earbud in and left without another word, leaving you staring at the white wood of the door after he’d closed it.
Captain Rogers both scared and excited you. A beast of a man, he was all muscle, and each time you had visited he had excused himself so not to be there whilst you were. The fact that he was always in a t-shirt two sizes too small on and running shorts that did nothing to hide any part of him had you stretching your concentration to its limits in order to get your job done and not drift off into a fantasy land that you saved for when you were curled up in your own bed.
Getting to work you started on the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher with the various dirty crockery that littered the room, cleaning the surfaces, sink, stove. Next up you hit the rugs, working quickly as you vacuumed, before heading to the bathroom.
Taking a deep breath you opened the door and relaxed. Cleaning bathrooms for single men were what you always dreaded, but at least as you started to cleanse every surface including the toilet, you realised that the Captain thankfully had good aim.
Half an hour later you wiped your brow on the back of your arm. Captain Rogers bathroom had in fact been a nightmare, the man shed more hair than a fucking Golden Retriever. Washing your hands and glancing at your watch, you saw that you had fifteen minutes left of the two hours, taking a deep breath before grabbing the clean linens from the closet.
Captain Rogers bedroom was white. There was no personalisation, no trinkets. Slipping your ballet flats off you climbed onto the bed, mentally taking in the sheer size of it; it must be a super king if not larger. Your mind immediately went south, imagining him fucking on the bed, sprawled out as you straddle his face - you had always wondered what that beard felt like against your skin - and you ride his tongue, or him pile driving you into the mattress, his hard body pressing against every inch of you as he fills you.
Moving up the bed you tugged on the sheet, cursing as it wouldn’t pull out from between the mattress and headboard. With a huff you shuffled forward, pushing your hands down between them, tugging on the expensive white cotton. Pushing your arm down a little further you could just about feel that it was caught on something, moving to pull back and then it happened… you were stuck.
“What the...?” you muttered, realisation hitting you that your watch had slipped into the gap and was now preventing you from pulling your arm out. You could feel your heart rate increasing as you struggled to set yourself free, pulling against the strain but it did little to help. You pushed and pulled and grunted, hiking your dress up so you could widen your stance on the bed, but nothing worked. You frantically looked around to see the time, yet there wasn’t a clock or display in sight, and you could hardly look at your watch. If you didn’t get out of there soon Captain Rogers…
“Well isn’t this a pretty sight…”
No. Please no. Oh god no. You screwed your eyes shut, the heat of embarrassment rising to your skin;
“I’m stuck” you whispered, letting out a yelp when you felt the bed dip behind you, feeling his hands gently resting on your hips;
“Unfortunate for you, maybe not so for me...”
-
Five minutes ago.
Steve sat in the small room, staring at the laptop screen in front of him. As ideas went, this was both his best and worst idea yet. Installing hidden security cameras in his apartment had been at first simply for security whilst he was away on missions, but he’d found a secondary use for it once Shield had recommended your employers as a maid service. He hadn’t been expecting someone as pretty as you, you had this look of innocence about you that made him just want to corrupt you and ruin you. He may be a bastard but he wasn’t a heathen, so instead of just turning on the charm offensive he had found an abandoned room in his apartment building and set up a small surveillance center. One with a chair, a laptop, a bottle of lube and a box of tissues.
Steve Rogers had just spent the last two hours edging himself as he watched you bend over in that knee length dress, adjusting camera angles to see up your skirt as you bent over. Steve Rogers was one step away from full on pervert. And he had no regrets at all.
That was until he saw you on his bed, and realised you were trapped. Temptation got the better of him, so stuffing his hard dick back into his running shorts, he quickly left the room and silently made his way back to his apartment.
He entered and could smell the pleasant scent of the cleaning fluids you’d used, the quiet grunts as you tried to free yourself from your predicament. Toeing off his sneakers he silently made his way through the hallways, suppressing a groan as he saw you on his bed; ass up face down, the fabric of your dress stretched over the tops of your thighs, the fabric moving as you moved to expose glimpses of your buttocks. He pressed a hand over the obscene bulge in his shorts before moving to the bed.
-
“Captain!” you squeaked out in surprise; “You’re back… umm I’m stuck, my watch… I can’t get my wrist back through the gap between the headboard and the mattress”
“Oh… what a shame. Let me help…”
You were expecting him to move around you, but instead he covered your body with his own and grasped your arms. Your mind was lost as you took in how his massive hands could completely circle your wrists, the weight of him above you almost suffocating, and when he started to tug you knew you were done for.
The gentle rocking of your bodies, rubbing against one another was all it took for a moan to leave your mouth involuntarily, the feeling of his hard dick rutting against the crease of your ass making you embarrassingly wet almost instantly. He grunted above you;
“Huh, well that didn’t work…”
Pushing himself up he knelt behind you, still pressing his hard-on against your ass as his hands gripped your hips and he tugged gently, however all he did was pull you back against his crotch;
“This fabric is slippery, hang on a second…”
Pressing your head to the bed you felt him flip your skirt up, hearing a sharp intake of breath behind you as he took in the bright red thong you were wearing beneath your dress. His warm hands smoothed over your buttocks before gripping onto your hips and half-heartedly tugging again.
It was no good, you were too turned on to even object. You’d lusted after your client for weeks, and now you found yourself in this predicament which it was obvious he had no intention of helping you with, but instead had other ideas that you had no desire to object to. You were rocking back against his dick, the quiet moans escaping your throat telling him you were more than into it, so when you felt his fingers curl around the elastic of your underwear and tug them down to your mid-thigh, all you could do was arch your back and present your pussy for his inspection.
Thick fingers parted your folds, teasing your nectar to your aching clit where a thumb rubbed hard circles against the sensitive bud. His other hand was lost from you for a moment and you could feel him moving, before you felt the thwack of his heavy dick against your ass.
With your hand trapped and your body stretched out you could barely look over your shoulder, but when you did you could see the impressive bulk of your clients body towering over you, the sight making your cunt clench with anticipation.
“Excited, are we?”
“Please Captain…”
“Please what?” You moaned and his quiet chuckle filled the room; “You gotta say it”
“Please fuck me”
“Eager little thing, aren’t we?”
“Please Daddy…”
“Well, as you asked so nicely…”
He took hold of his dick and dragged the bulbous tip through your folds, dousing himself with your juices before lining himself up with your entrance. When you felt him push just the tip inside you it felt like you were being split open, he must be as thick as your wrist, and as he continued to force his way into your body it felt like he was the length of your forearm.
“Such a good little slut, taking my dick…” his voice filled your senses as your body fought to relax and allow him deeper, your juices running down your legs where he would rock back and forth to lubricate his girth before pushing another punishing inch in to you.
Your velvet walls parted yet gripped him tight, and you could feel every ridge, bump and vein as he started to fuck your tight pussy. With every pull and push your head swam, your body moving back to meet his thrusts as his massive hands gripped onto your hips and he started to slam into you harder and harder. When his hand came down onto your ass the loud smack surprised you just as much as the pain, but you arched your back even more like a bitch in heat.
He reached beneath you, tugging at the neckline of your dress with both hands, before the seam of the collar broke and the soft jersey stretched enough for him to tug the fabric down. His fingers caught in the lace cups of your bra, and whilst still plunging deep into you from behind, he was able to let your titties swing free and he grabbed a handful;
“Such pretty tits. Next time you clean I want you in just your underwear so I can watch them swing. Might get you scrubbing the floors so I can see you bent over and ready for me”
You shuddered at his words, he already paid a premium for your services, and the electronic tip that he’d sent through had been more than generous, the last visit alone you had been surprised by the triple figures, but more than grateful that you were able to pay the bills.
His hands had found their way back to your ass, smoothing over the soft skin as he continued to fuck you, the wide ridge that ran along the underside of his length rubbing so beautifully against your g-spot, you were sure you were going to cum soon.
He pulled your cheeks apart and you felt him spit on your asshole, the warm liquid pooling for a moment before his thumb started to rub insistently over the brown rose. Burying your head in the soft sheets you allowed your body to relax as he breached your back door with his thumb, the wide digit stretching you as he pushed in as far as he could;
“This ass is incredible. I can’t wait to fuck it”
You let out a tiny yelp at the idea of trying to fit his massive cock in your ass;
“Captain!”
“Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you’re stretched out first. Might want to add a plug to the uniform list for next time, make sure you’re ready lubed and stretched for me. But don’t you worry your pretty little head, this time I’m just going to cum deep in this sweet pussy of yours. Are you on birth control? Are you ripe?”
You hadn’t even considered birth control. Your insurance had stopped covering you a couple of years back, so when you had gone on the occasional date that had ended up between the sheets, you’d simply resorted to condoms;
“No… no…”
“Oh yes. I’m going to cum deep inside you, let my seed rest within your womb. God, I’d love to see your belly round with my child, I bet your tits would be even more impressive. Hmmn yes, that’s fucking perfect…”
You hadn’t thought it possible, but all that he said was turning you on even more, and it wasn’t just you that liked the idea, you could feel him swell within you, his girth growing thicker as his arousal grew. The added stretch was driving you closer and closer to your own orgasm, the dual stimulations of your pussy and ass both being filled had you trembling with need.
“Are you going to cum for me?” his voice was hoarse and dry, an edge of desperation to it too; “I’m close, gonna shoot my load in you soon. You’d better cum before I do ‘cos once I’m done I’m pulling out and will leave you dripping with my seed and on edge…”
The threat of being left on the precipice was enough to push your body over the edge, cumming hard as your body held him so tight he thought he wouldn’t be able to pull out. The vice like grip had him throwing his head back as your body milked him, his own orgasm ripping through his body that he came with a roar and a string of expletives.
-
Steve wasn’t sure if he had ever cum that hard before, but the way your body gripped him so tight he was in no doubt that your pussy was the best he’d ever had - and he’d had a lot - and he knew without a doubt that he was not going to let anyone else ever come near it again.
As he slowed his thrusts and let you work through the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, he mentally checked off all the things he’d been checking up on; from the details of your financials, your family and education, your social media. He had seen all of them. He had your phone tapped and knew that he was going to be installing spy cameras in your apartment… that was until you agreed to be his.
Looking down at your ass he pulled his thumb out of your now loosened asshole, making sure to catch the way it winked as he recorded on his phone, having pulled that out of his pocket soon after he’d started and had recorded himself defiling your body. Giving your ass a smack he relished how the camera picked up the jiggle as the force rippled through you, before grasping a large handful of ass as he pulled out and watched his cum pool at your entrance, before pushing it back in with two thick fingers. Tugging your underwear up your legs from where they had settled around your knees, he made sure the flimsy red mesh covered your hole, quickly getting soaked with his seed as he pushed the fabric against the mess to fully coat it.
Finally he shut his phone off and reached towards the headboard, giving it a tug and feeling it lift, watching as you silently pulled your hand free before collapsing on the bed. He carefully unbuckled your wristwatch before rubbing at the sore skin, easing away the chafed skin. He set your hand down carefully and quickly left the room, returning a moment later with a glass of water and holding it to your lips as he helped you sit up.
Setting the empty glass on the side, he rubbed your back before attempting to fix your torn collar, finally giving up. He swiped a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the mascara tear stains;
“Next week you’ll need to be in your underwear and heels. Make sure the plug is well lubricated. I’ll have everything delivered to your address”
You went to object, to question how he would even know, but then realised… Shield… of course he knew. You pushed yourself to the edge of the bed, finding your shoes and slipping your feet in, standing on wobbly legs as he spoke again.
“Do as I ask and I’ll let you stay the night so I can fuck your other two holes as well”
Turning you nodded;
“Yes Captain”
“Oh, you can call me Daddy now, I did so like that little slip you made in the heat of the moment” he turned to leave the room before waving his finger at the pile of fresh linen still folded at the end of the bed; “Remember to finish up before you leave”
He left the room without another word. You went to object, but just as you did you felt the phone in your pocket vibrate. Quickly checking it your eyebrows practically shot off the top of your head, seeing the tip transfer come through for $2000. Biting your lip, your thumb hovered over the accept/decline buttons, the moral dilemma tearing your mind in two.
-
In the hallway Steve watched his phone. He could see that you’d received the notification of the tip. When he saw your action on the app he smiled and slid the phone back into his pocket, already planning your next visit.
PART 2 >>>
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Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Tag List: @prettieststarker @readysetstarker @lover-starker@starkerprince @starker-flame @i-am-irondaddy @blush-reincarnated@c6h12o6-work @von–gelmini @caseysroses @darkobsidianquill
*
This is the least favorite part of Peter’s days, visiting his uncle. Its not like he doesn’t love him, of course he does, but its not exactly easy to look at him lying in a hospital bed with a tube sticking out of his mouth because some asshole shot him. And Peter knows whoever did it, because despite the whole thing being caught on camera the cops aren’t competent enough to find the guy, has probably led a complicated life too but that doesn’t make it easier. Its just what he knows Ben would say, if he could respond to Peter’s thoughts. He doesn’t know how Ben managed to stay as positive as he had, no matter what shitty thing was happening. Its admirable, Peter thinks, that he was always able to maintain that regardless of what was going on.
He’s quietly contemplating that when May walks in looking a little uncomfortable and it has to be worse for her. Peter can’t even imagine what it must be like, watching someone you’ve been married to for so long like this. “Apparently we’re up to date on payments,” she says softly, walking over and standing beside him. “That’s not possible.”
Peter shakes his head, “its fine, I got a job,” he tells her.
May clearly doesn’t buy it and he can’t say he blames her. “Doing what? Because there’s not a whole hell of a lot that pays that much and Ned confirmed you didn’t drop out of school.”
The good news is that Ned clearly didn’t tell her what his job was. “Oh, um. Internship, it pays well because its really hard to get into,” he lies.
“Shit, for that kind of money they might as well hire someone to work there full time,” May says and to Peter’s surprise she leaves it alone, settling her hand on his shoulder instead and squeezing. “If you get yourself into trouble, let me know,” she adds after a few moments. His stomach squeezes a little because he’s not in trouble and he doesn’t want to worry her, but he’s not really willing to tell her the truth either.
*
When he gets to Tony’s he’s kind of grateful that he knows exactly what’s going to happen because its a bit of a relief. He’s kind of had enough of wild cards and Tony is nothing if not thorough in his expectations so Peter changes into Liz’s skirt, determine that she’s never going to get it back now because he couldn’t possibly look her in the eye while she wore it and makes his way to the couch in the living room. He’s got homework, mostly writing up a few reports for class and its tedious more than anything but at least it keeps him focused.
Ned has already done his half in the google doc they’re sharing and Peter sends a silent thank you to him for not being a garbage lab partner. He got stuck with Flash once, which was weird because Flash apparently didn’t recognize him and then hit on him like he didn’t spend three quarters of high school calling him ‘penis parker’ and a bunch of other uncreative names when he thought of them. Turns out he’s as smart as he was in high school but he liked to wait until two hours before any given project was due to do the work and that just stressed him out. But Ned is reliable and not a total shithead so his half is done and Peter starts in on his. Might as well be productive before he’s essentially at work.
He’s managed to get a good chunk of it done by the time Tony walks in looking harassed. Peter looks at him over the back of the couch, “bad day?” he asks as Tony walks over.
Tony lets out an irritated sigh, “you could say that. You?” he asks, leaning against the back of the couch.
He could lie, but he doesn’t much see the point. Plus it works, feeling kind of the same way Tony does. “Not much better, but at least I don’t have shitty patterns for group projects so there’s that,” he says.
Tony laughs, “half the struggle in like, any collaborative situation. Which conveniently happens to be my problem. It irritates me when people don’t pull their weight,” he mumbles.
“Yeah, but you can like… fire them. I can’t fire shitty group project members, all I get is a strongly worded email to my professors saying that they’re lazy assbats in the most polite way I can manage.” Which always requires a group ‘is this too salty’ edit from his friends that takes an hour or so before he sends it. Life would be easier if he could just fire people.
“Yeah, but then you have to replace them and that’s a pain in the ass too,” Tony says, looking amused. “Assbats?”
Peter shrugs, “its the best I could come up with on short notice.”
Tony nods and looks him over, gaze stopping at his skirt for a moment. “You wore it,” he says like he hadn’t asked Peter to.
“Yeah, I um, you asked me to,” he points out.
“Doesn’t mean you’d listen. Can I kiss you?” he asks.
Yeah, its not like its a hardship to kiss Tony given that he’s not exactly bad looking so Peter nods. He’s anxious to get into this proper anyway, figure out what Tony is like when he’s actually doing the whole dom thing rather than just as a person. Peter already knows he likes him as a person. Tony looks him over slowly, eyes landing on his lips for a moment before he reaches forward and tilts Peter’s head up a little and leans in. The kiss is soft, sweet- tentative, like he isn’t sure of himself and that’s cute.
He goes to pull away but Peter pulls him back, shifting so he’s leaning up into Tony more. Tony cups his cheek, thumb brushing his cheek as he gently coaxes Peter into it, biting at his bottom lip a little and Peter lets out a soft moan. Tony pulls away but Peter grabs his hand before it can disappear too. “Don’t be cheap on me, Tony, I happen to know you have money,” Peter tells him surprised that he said that.
Tony takes it well though, smiling down at him with amusement. “I knew you were a good choice. Mind if I sit?” he asks, gesturing to the couch.
Peter frowns, “its your house,” he points out.
“Its your space I’d be sitting in,” Tony says.
He shrugs, “feel free,” he tells Tony, closing his laptop and curling his feet up, setting the laptop aside. Tony rounds the couch and reaches out, curling his hand around Peter’s crossed ankles and pulling them into his lap slowly, like he’s giving Peter time to pull away. He doesn’t, he just goes back to stretching his legs out as he settles in. Tony sets his arms down on Peter’s legs, one hand curling around his ankle as he strokes Peter’s ankle bone with his thumb.
“Here,” Tony says, shifting a little as he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. He hands it to Peter and he frowns.
“A card?” he asks. Some kind of credit card, he assumes but that makes no sense.
“Yeah, a card. Get whatever you need with it. Or whatever you want,” Tony tells him.
“You’re like, aware I get paid, right?” Peter asks, squinting.
Tony snorts, “you’re aware I’m like a billionaire, right?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Peter can’t help the small snicker he lets out, “I mean yeah I know that but still. What’s the deal?”
“In my experience people have things to pay for in this line of work, usually something expensive. Take the wiggle room,” Tony tells him.
It occurs to him that Tony thinks he’s paying for school and Peter is happy to let him think that, actually. “Um, okay,” he says, setting the card on top of his computer.
“And buy something that isn’t pizza or hot pockets, I know how college students live,” Tony says and Peter laughs.
“Do you though?” he asks. Someone with as much money as Tony probably didn’t have like, a normal college experience by any stretch.
“Yeah, my lowest point was the time Rhodey and I ran out of food so we made Mr. Noodles with cranberry vodka. I don’t fucking recommend, we threw it up basically immediately,” he says, wrinkling his nose.
Oh god, ugh. “That’s disgusting and way worse than that time we all decided we wanted Frootloops so we went out to get some at three in the morning and came back only to find all the bowls were dirty so we made makeshift bowls out of tin foil.” Then they hate their food like trolls but it was great because they actually managed to find the damn Frootloops. Took a couple stores but they found them.
Tony laughs, shaking his head. “Tin foil bowls?” Peter nods and Tony grins, “that’s creative, I’ll give you that.”
“And disposable, so no extra dishes,” Peter says proudly.
“So you’ll use the card?” Tony states more than asks.
“I mean, if I need it maybe.” He doesn’t really need more money, just what he’s getting so he’s sure it’ll be fine.
“Use the card,” Tony tells him, tightening his grip on Peter’s ankle for a moment. “I gave it to you for a reason.”
“Three am Frootloops?” Peter says, grinning.
“There are better uses than that but sure, three am Frootloops,” he says, staring at him for a long moment before he smiles. “Come here,” he tells Peter, moving his arms off his legs.
Peter shifts, crawling over so he’s sitting in Tony’s lap. He looks a little surprised but recovers fast, wrapping an arm around him as his lips quirk up. “You’re perfect, you know that?” he tells Peter.
He blushes a little and looks away, “I don’t know about that,” he murmurs.
Tony tilts his head back up, “I do, baby. Now, do you want to get into this?” he asks.
Peter nods. “I kind of want to know what I’ve got in store for me,” he says.
Tony pets up his thigh with the hand that isn’t settled on his waist, “well, not too much tonight. Just some basic training,” Tony tells him. He pouts and Tony smiles at him again because apparently he likes that kind of thing. “Don’t look at me like that, you’ll be back soon anyway so its not like you have to wait all that long.”
“Training?” Peter prompts and Tony’s smile gets wider.
“Yeah, baby. You ready?”
*
Peter is on his way home feeling kind of… good when he sees them. He stops for a moment and looks, debates on walking away but he feels giddy and happy and his afternoon with Tony was good and the shoes are pretty. They’re a soft pink, the same one he’d worn at Tony’s the first time he was there and they’d look cute with that skirt he stole from Liz and he doesn’t need shoes. He definitely doesn’t need shoes that he’d probably never wear because where would he wear heels? So he goes to walk away, making it maybe five paces before he turns around and goes back because he likes the shoes and he had a shitty morning, he thinks he’s earned some shoes.
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A swapped place in Sweet Jazz City Chapter 1: Masks and Faces (Epithet Erased Fanfiction)
Inspired by the Role Swap AU created by @spliinkles.
Synopsis: We all know the stories of Sweet Jazz City, people did things and other people reacted to those things. However what if places were switched? Banzai Captain Molly prepares for her first great heist while rambunctious twelve year old troublemaker Giovanni sneaks into a the Sweet Jazz Museum after hours.
Prologue: https://professoruber.tumblr.com/post/189820483268/epithet-erased-role-swap-au-fanfic-a-swapped
Chapter 1: You are here
==============================================================
Giovanni couldn’t believe it, real life criminal stood before him. He had a million questions to ask them and hoped they’d be impressed by the diabolical vandalism he has committed. Through his sheer joy he manages to get through a few words of excitement.
“Wow, criminals! Awesome!”
==================================================================================
Earlier that day….
==================================================================================
Detective Sylvester Ashling stood before the crime scene, analysing it with investigative genius mind. The crime had been committed without any alarms, the culprit or culprits having gotten in from cutting through the roof while somehow not alerting anyone or any security.
And while the good detective would never admit it, even he was mildly puzzled by this.
“So, what do you think detective?” questions the stressed gallery curator, who has been spending all their time since the robbery alternating between cooperating with police and apologising to wealthy patrons.
“Well it’s about time I was brought in to bring an end to this caper. Behold as I unleash the powerful mind of a master investigator” He answers dramatically, somewhat reassuring the curator.
He returned to considering the circumstances and events this this criminal act, all while absentmindedly swinging around his yoyo. The thieves in question got in from the roof, and by that he means burst through. The cracks are visible and it seems like they simply forced their way down by sheer weight pressure, something which would’ve logically caused much noise and alerted even the most asleep night guard.
But security cameras showed all nightguards were doing their jobs, and neither security guards nor cameras recorded any unusual noises.
And then there were the teddy bears, these toys were left in place of these very expensive statues. They have already been taken in for examination but so far, no noticeable traces evidence could be found on them.
This is not the first time such an event has occurred. In past months alone there has been a variety of bear theme crimes, many committed in areas with high Banzai Blaster activity.
But as Sweet Jazz City’s most brilliant master detective, or at least that’s what he always called himself, Sylvie was sure he would get to the bottom of this in now time.
He gave a laugh which most definitely sounded awesome and showed his masterful genius and did not sound like clown laugher in anyway, which drew a few stares from others.
These criminals will rue the day they decided to commit crimes in the notice of Detective Sylvester Ashling.
==================================================================================
Dr Percival King stood admiring the fine exhibits of the prestigious Sweet Jazz Museum, honoured to be attendance of the fine work of noble historians. Truly there are few greater pursuits than that of knowledge, an ideal with Percy took to heart.
As a criminal psychologist her days consisted of long hours of analysing the sickening debauchery and vile criminal minds of her patients. Hers’ is a dangerous road yet she has chosen it nonetheless.
As she walks around examining these exhibits her attention is drawn to a tour group of children being led by two museum staff.
“Ah, I see that this museum makes sure to spread its knowledge to aspiring youths. Very excellent” she compliments to no one in particular as she was over to get a closer look.
The tour itself was fairly standard and admittedly lacklustre at time, however a notable occurrence was the information on the ‘Arsene Amulet’, a mysterious artefact capable of stealing Epithets.
Such an item would catch her attention both for her research into if a person’s Epithet affect their criminal capabilities as well as that such an item would likely come under threat of theft, and as such studying it would provide an excellent resource in delving into the dark motivation of criminals.
She respectfully waits for the tour to be finished and for the pair of museum curators to be free before approaching them.
Walking up to the young woman she believes was called Mera, Percy launches into introductions and explanations.
“Good day miss museum curator. I was hoping to discuss a hypothetical partnership with the Sweet Jazz Museum in order to further my research into the minds of the criminal element”
The museum guard in question looked caught off guard “Wait… what are you talking about? Who even are you kid?”
Percy looks somewhat embarrassed at her own forgetfulness “Uh of course. I apologise, I have not introduced myself. I am Dr Percival King, criminal psychologist residing in Sweet Jazz City” she explains matter of facty.
Mera meanwhile still looks confused and also doubtful “A psychologist? Really? Sure kid whatever you say, now did you need something”
“I can assure you I am a registered psychologist, as impersonating a professional would be a severe offence” As Percy hands Mera her business card and qualifications, she briefly notes Mera had a nervous reaction to the mention of impersonation.
Suddenly the other tour guide bursts into the scene and shouts “Greetings apprentice Mera and teenager I have never met!” He catches sight of Percy’s qualifications causing his eyes to go wide “Ah a psychologist I see. Greetings Dr Percival King, I am Indus Tarbella, the man whose Epithet is BARRIER!” He suddenly proudly shouts and flexes as his sentence finishes while he also shows off his barrier.
Percy merely nods in greeting “It is a pleasure. With your permission I seek to extend my research to that of the Arsene Amulet which I heard will be displayed in the Museum”
Mera looked startled at the mention of the Amulet, but kept her cool mostly “Uh… look ‘Dr King’, as much as we’d LOVE to assist in growing your bright young mind, I am afraid that we will be much too busy tonight with… museum work… for any ‘psychology research’ to be done”
Indus looks saddened by these works but nonetheless agrees “Indeed my apprentice speaks truthfully. Are work will take us to great lengths in the coming nights, am I am afraid we must tearfully stand in the way of your quest of knowledge”
Percy was disappointment but not upset “I understand, please allow me leave my details with you before I take my leave. And with that I bid you both good luck in dealing with the inevitable assaults on the sanctity of learning by the many vicious thieves who will no doubt be on their way here”
Despite the sincerity and non-accusing nature of Percy’s words, it still causes a great deal of alarm in Mera, who begins waving her arms around in a panic “Thieves? Who said anything about thieves? What do know kid!” Her tone shifts rapidly from fear to accusing and back around again. Causing Indus to come in to comfort her and calm her down.
Percy takes some moments to analyse Mera’s reaction but otherwise seems unperturbed by the outburst.
“I apologise for my lack of explanation, I simply assumed you were already aware. As someone who has studied criminal psychology for a number of years now, I have come to find an understanding and pattern to their actions. An artefact such as the Arsene Amulet being placed in a museum would attract many opportunists and scalawags seeking the notoriety and validation that such a theft would be assumed to entail, of course their broken vile minds are unable to comprehend that crime leads to nothing but suffer, but I digress. With crime rate increasing and many of my disenfranchised troubled peers flock to criminal dens of debauchery such as the Banzai Blaster”
Percy looks to her personal belongings “it is for those reasons why I always carry this” she begins to motion to a real ass goddamn sword which she is carrying, causing another startled reaction from Mera and a look of amazement from Indus.
“Is that...?” Indus asks with a tone of wonder. Percy nods and confirms “Indeed it is. But do not be alarmed, I assure you on my honour as a psychologist that I am both fully trained and licenced to wield such a weapon and am prepared to only use it for the purpose of self-defence”
Indus and Mera both stare at her for a while, Indus is the one to break the silence with a request “Please remain here young psychologist, while me and my apprentice talk over there”
Both Indus and Mera scuttle off to a corner to talk, while Percy stands there politely waiting. After a while they return.
“So… look here’s the deal kid. We thought about it and with all these threats of thieves and stuff around, it might not hurt to have another ear in the museum. Just so long as you stay in the offices while we’re busy” says Mera, to which Indus smiles which prompts Mera herself to give a small smile.
Indus pats Percy on the back “It is our honour to support the troubles of a young scholar such as yourself”
Percy has a look of gratitude “As a fellow academic I thank you. And you have my word that I go over my research away from your work while you are busy. And also, that I will make sure to report any suspicious behaviour to you”
==================================================================================
Meanwhile across town Molly had just finished stocking the last of the shelves with the new toys she had made. Her face plastered with false joy for the sake of the annoying customers which just love to continually interrupt her stocking with obvious and meaningless questioning.
“Right over there, sir” “No need to worry sir” “What can I for you sir” “Sorry sir those coupons are for other competitors” “I’m sorry we failed to meet your satisfaction sir”
These are some of the phrases she has trained herself to repeat without thinking since she was ten. Even if her main job was filling her dad’s place as the toymaker, she did still have to deal with customers often, and Lorelai just loved every chance to outsource her own work to Molly.
False smiles and resisting the urge to hit people who deserve it so much has been Molly’s life. She would’ve gotten crazy by now if she didn’t get a chance to be herself around her friends, and by friends she means fellow criminals.
Stocking the last shelf, Molly proceeds to make her way to the counter, stopping several times to deal with customer, all while she retained the same level of faux cheerfulness that is expected of those in retail. She walked steadily forward in the heels she swapped out her working boots for, as her mother has always made sure Molly knew to keep up appearances when in working among customers.
“All selves are done Lorelai and my shift is over. I’ll just be clocking out and heading back to my apartment to get ready for night school now” Molly doesn’t wait for her sister’s response and instead simply takes her leave, clocking out and letting another staff member know just in case Lorelai wasn’t paying attention. With their mum still probably off discussing business deals across town, it would be up to the hired staff to keep an eye on Lorelai for the night, Molly gave a silent prayer for their continued relative sanity.
She takes off her apron and places it in a small back closet of the store and continues outside in her simple green dress after having her nametag placed in her bag, nothing about her would make her stand out but anything other than a normal woman. The special devices for the heist which she has made on the side were store safely to be ‘collected’ later. Having to juggle her legitimate and illegitimate work was tough but her first job as a Banzai Captain was worth it.
Making sure to get to the bus stop before it gets too dark, she rushed to the nearby bus stop just in time to catch the next one to her apartment.
She sits down and crosses her legs, looking like just any other passenger. And just like any other passenger gets up and calmly walks from the bus and to her stop when it is called.
The rest of the walk to her apartment is simple as she wears a mask, the mask which she has trained herself to wear for almost a decade. Token girlish giggles at compliments and flirts, smile at passersby, one foot forward at a time. Her mum had always ‘encouraged’ her to act as expected and in public nothing about Molly Blyndeff deviated from what one might expect a young woman in both life in the retail world would act.
She buzzed into the apartment complex, waving and smiling at any of her neighbours who by chance were also out and about across the building, even the rude ones. She gave a final token giggle and “Thank you” to the older lady who lived down the hall who had just told her that the heels she wears everyday look particularly nice tonight. She didn’t have anything against the old lady and she did seem perfectly nice to Molly, it’s just that Molly just barely had the energy to deal with anyone after work.
Entering her room with a smile which immediately dissolves the moment the door is shut, Molly collapses into her small bed. Finally feeling the effects of all the energy, she has expended across the day in wearing her mask.
She just lays there for a while. Not moving. This is one of the few places she can still act herself, its why she worked so hard to get this tiny one room apartment, with the only attachment being a small walk-in closet sized washing room.
Getting up slowly she squeezes into the washing room and splashes some cold water on her face before taking off her dress in favour of some jeans and a purple singlet along with her favourite woolly jacket pulled over it. A cute mildly bear themed head band is snuggled into place among her hair as she takes out her retail heels in favour of criminal sneakers.
Going through her possessions to make sure tonight would go according to her plans, her eyes briefly falling to the smudged-up picture of her family, back when her dad was still alive.
It had been cried on, torn apart and put together again dozens of times and the damage showed, yet despite all this it was one of the few things Molly could see with complete clarity.
In the picture her dad was alive and holding her mum’s hand. Molly and her young sister both stood between them and Molly had a genuine real smile on her lips, a rarity as the years went on.
“I’m sorry…” she said, and unlike her trained response to customers, this apology came from somewhere else.
Sighing, Molly tucked the photo deep under her clothes, out of sight and out of mind.
What happened all those years ago is irrelevant, all that mattered to Molly tonight was the heist. Night school had simply been a cover for her work with the Banzai Blasters, once Molly may have been uncomfortable with the lies but in the tightly controlled Blyndeff Household she quickly realised that it was the only way to survive.
Refreshed and ready for the night, Molly flashes a wicked grin as she got her bear claws, a literal bear life hand attached to a stick which she can use for self-defence if need be. As well as her pair of hand claws for climbing. Stuffing them into her back for now to avoid unneeded attention.
From the moment she exited her room the mask re-established itself naturally. She walked down the halls, briefly stopping to make some polite small talk with the old lady down the hall due to Molly now having more energy to deal with people.
Soon she returned to her walk. Heading down the streets of the town and towards the building where her night class was allegedly taking place. Her mum’s frequent insistence on keeping up appearance even through tragedy plays through her mind, making her work with ease and an aura of normalcy.
The cute smile of the young woman would seem perfectly normal to those passing by her. And yet a small tint of a maniacal grin itched itself ever so slightly into it, as Molly prepared to take one more step towards freedom.
==================================================================================
Molly sat in the passenger seat of the van, her friend Sound Phoenix, real name Phoenicia Fleecity, sat in the driver’s street. Molly took a moment to look at herself in the small car mirror, her new Banzai Captain uniform and cape caused a real smile to come to her face.
She reminded herself that while in this yellow uniform she wasn’t Molly Blyndeff, the hardworking and cheerful daughter of a respected businesswoman, she was Bear Trap, dark hearted criminal and newly minted Banzai Captain.
She still remembers the thrill of finding out about her promotion. Her old captain Gorou Shimizaki had been promoted to Banzai Vice Principal despite admittedly not being the most competent individual, thanks in large part due to Bear Trap’s role in the heist of several expensive statues.
Afterwards he took her aside and told her that as his first act as Banzai Vice Principal was stealing a bunch of donuts for himself. She wasn’t sure how that was relevant to her but then he also mentioned that while he was eating those donuts, he thought about all that she’s done to help him and recommended her promotion.
No matter her opinion on the abilities or intelligence of her old captain, she was undeniably thankful to him for that. Being a member of the Banzai Blasters was one of the few things which was truly hers. Rising up the ranks of this pyramid scheme was her way to freedom.
The van pulled up in a hidden spot near the museum, any noise which may have come from it having been muffled by Bear Trap’s Epithet.
Sound Phoenix was left behind in case of need of a speedy get away. The rest of the Banzai Blasters proceeded with their captain while making sure to stay within her noise cancelling field.
They kept the dark sidelines and eventually snuck to the back wall of the building. Molly’s hand claws were may specifically for this kind of obstacle. She had also made sure to use the time she was suppose to be making toys in order to craft several more hand claws for her minions, it was hard but worth it.
The team of thieves proceeded up the wall and using a map they had found online of the semantics of the museum, they walked over to the entrance area, deeming it the best place to begin their search for valuable items to steal and be most alert of any potential dangers.
Sawing a hole in the roof took some time but Bear Trap’s epithet made it so no one could hear it happen. After several silent moments it was done and carefully placed out of the way as they begin lowering themselves with a rope.
Night Fright, also known as Molly’s friend Trixie Roughhouse, remained on the roof to keep watch of any potential dangers.
The rest of the Banzai Blasters entered the Museum along with their leader.
“Alright girls. This is the Sweet Jazz Museum. Now all that’s left to do is stick to my plan and commit all the crimes” she said with a wicked grin which was soon shared by her minions.
“Alright first let’s search this area…” Molly’s voice soon trails off as a young boy with a brush of pink hair atop his head suddenly popped out from behind a desk.
Her mind raced with panic as she rapidly pondered what this child was doing here this late. Where were his parents? Did they abandon him? Did he run away? Is he hurt? Will he yell for the staff? Are his parents the staff?
In her panic she barely noticed she had dropped her muffling bubble and now the silence which filled the room came only from the surprise and shock of those within.
She braced herself for the child’s screams which would no doubt begin once he realises that he’s alone at night with a group of dangerous criminals. She is about to move forward to silence the inevitable screams when to her renewed confusion his face begins shifting not into one of fear but into one of amazement and wonder.
“You’re, criminals! Awesome!” He said with a smile. Bear Trap…. No,… Molly paused in her place, unsure of how to respond to that.
#epithet erased#role swap au#molly blyndeff#slyvester ashling#giovanni potage#lorelai blyndeff#percival kng#indus tarbella#mera salamin#fan fiction#fanfiction
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