#I SWEAR IT WAS ANCHORED WHEN I LOOKED AT IT IN STUDIO

[chaoticorphanchild]

" ag onn y "

[withleeknow]

hi lovely!! first off congrats on 1k that's so so awesome and you deserve all that + more truly :( your writing is so tender and so lovey

i would to join in on your little drabble event!!! could you do something for hanji and the song compass by the neighbourhood? that song reminds me of him so so much so i hope you get the vision!! thank you angel and have a beautiful day!! ✮⋆˙

compass.

pairing: producer!jisung x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, hurt/comfort?, fluff, swearing, arson jokes? lmao word count: 1.4k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / request masterlist / ko-fi

you're always there to help me when i'm down i'm lucky you've been keeping me around you're the star i look for every night when it's dark, you'll stick right by my side

compass - the neighbourhood

"fuck, fuck, fuck!"

the sound of jisung's verbalized frustration draws your attention to his desk and setup in the middle of room, where he's been sitting for the better part of two hours, hunched over the equipment like he often does when he's in the studio.

it's written all over his face just how upset he is that this particular piece he's working on isn't flowing right. the deep furrow between his eyebrows communicates utter displeasure. the clench of his jaw tells you he's angry, and that he's angry at himself for not being able to work through his block.

you abandon your comfortable spot on the couch in favor of pattering over to his side where he's all tensed up like an aggrieved hamster whose body can't contain the annoyance he feels. jisung can be short-tempered sometimes, but you know how to handle him in moments like this.

sliding a hand over his back, you say, "take a little break with me."

he huffs out a breath, eyes still focused on his laptop screen. "i can't afford a break. chan hyung expects this to be done in two days."

"so it's in two whole days. you can leave it for fifteen minutes, it won't kill you."

"but i still have to rework the first verse and figure out what in the fucking hell this second verse is-"

"han jisung," you scold him lightly, to which he instantly shuts up and peers up at you with his big eyes, immediately apologetic when he recognizes his harsh language.

"sorry," he mumbles, "i'm just stressed."

"which is why you need a break. you're not doing anyone any good just sitting here and trying to make your laptop explode with your eyes."

he lets out a pathetic-sounding mewl but he follows you to the couch regardless. jisung knows you're right because you always are. you're the more level headed between the two of you, whereas he's the one who lets his emotions get the better of him sometimes.

before, he would often succumb to his negative feelings. it's hard to keep his cool when nothing seems to go right and there's a deadline on his ass. he'd get so frustrated with his work that sometimes, he would delete whole tracks off his drive only to instantly regret it and spiral even more. he'd take it out on the people around him with his grumpy attitude and misplaced pettiness.

when jisung is overwhelmed, he tends to spin out in all directions. he splinters and drowns in a sea of his own making, constantly being pushed away further and further from shore because he doesn't know how to anchor himself, how to hold on so he wouldn't drift far away. his solution to soothe his anger has always been to give into it, to rip whole pages from notebooks and lock himself in his studio for hours on end until he could plow through the stubborn creative block. it'd often leave him exhausted - emotionally and physically so - and in no better state than he started out with.

jisung accepted this a long time ago - that his way of dealing with his emotions wasn't very healthy, but it was the only way he knew.

that is, until you popped into his world and taught him that people can be lifelines too. falling upon him like a wish that he never realized he was making his whole life.

"what's the matter, baby?" you ask, prompting him to air out his grievances as he lays his head on your chest while you card your fingers through his soft curls. he leans into you instantly, a long sigh escaping his pouty lips. jisung's got a lot of pride, and he would rather die before admitting to anyone that he loves to be babied by you behind closed doors.

he knows the question is just your way of getting him to verbalize all of his pent-up frustration, and not because you're eager to help him traipse through his mind palace and solve whatever dilemma he's having with the track. let's be honest, you never really have a clue what he's talking about, but it helps that you're keen on listening to him even though you can't offer him any valuable insight. more than you could ever know, it does wonders for jisung, just being able to untangle his thoughts and release the mess in his mind.

he could simply just talk to chan, sure, or any of his other friends who work in the industry. but again, his pride is an awful thing sometimes.

you never make him feel like he has prove himself to earn your love and attention, though. around you, jisung feels enough as he is. there's never been any need to toughen up in your presence.

"i just... i can't work with this track. nothing is flowing right. i hate everything i come up with." he rambles on about the things that plague his mind; topline this and beats that - they're really just words to you. you weren't blessed with the same genius in music that jisung was, so you just listen until he's done, until he concludes his tangent with a groan as he nuzzles further into the comfort of your warmth.

"you said that the last time, you know?"

"said what?"

"that everything sucks and you hate it."

"because everything sucks," he whines again, his eyebrows knitted together as he adorns a petulant pout. "and i hate it."

as you play with his fluffy hair, you feel him lean into your touch like it's the very thing that will bring him clarity. in a way, it does. your gentle touch may not give him the answer he needs, but it quiets the static in his mind, drowns out the continuous buzzing that muddles his brain.

"you're too hard on yourself," you say, to which jisung just huffs out a breath in disagreement. "i'm serious. you say this every time but it all still works out in the end. you're so smart, and talented. you shouldn't forget that."

his frown only deepens in response to your words. he knows you're right; things have always turned out fine before. trust the process and all that shit, but he's hot-headed and impatient sometimes, and he doesn't want to endure the stress that often comes with the process. he just wants to get to the finish line.

then, you continue, "remember 13?"

"what about 13?"

"you didn't like it at first either. you were so dramatic about it. but you sucked it up and finished it anyway. you made a hit and nobody could stop talking it. i believe in you. you just need to believe in yourself too."

in complete silence except for the sound of your steady heartbeat in his ears, jisung keeps laying on top of you like a weighted blanket, soaking up your words as a flower would in warm sunlight. of course he remembers 13 and the day he let you listen to the song for the first time. you'd nearly burst into tears in the middle of this studio, pressing kisses all over his face while you gushed over how proud you were of him.

"damn you," he mutters after a while. "why do you have to be so rational?"

"someone's gotta be. if i wasn't here, you probably would've ripped all your hair out, set your keyboard on fire and ran off into the woods."

he shoots up instantly, propping himself on two elbows as he glares at you even though you've got a valid point. it's not that far-fetched of a scenario.

"what?" you tilt your head with a coy smile. "am i wrong?"

jisung stares at you for a quick minute, and it's that very smile you're wearing that mitigates his frustrations and dulls his urge to sabotage his work out of self-inflicted anger. he says nothing at all, just leans down quickly to give you a kiss full of appreciation, despite the way there was a frown tugging on his eyebrows only seconds prior.

"you good now?" you ask, the words coming out a little muffled against his mouth.

if it's with you, then he is. you're the anchor that helps him part his stormy seas. you're the compass that always guides him home. he really doesn't know where he'd be without you, or how he'd manage in times like these if you're not by his side to ground him.

"always good with you around."

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.04.2024]

[sicknessbysalem]

happy lost in heaven album day!! if youve listened by time you answer whats your favorite song? anyway! honestly im so happy to see lex and soren again. can we possibly see something with them? maybe see something of one of them (im biased to lex but… either works) thats gives us an insight into the new lore + emeto obviously! thank you so much!

omg i love you! i think i even deleted the post forever ago talking about how much i love c/hase a/tlantic!!

i have listened to it, multiple times! I think my favorites are HOURS LOST and YOU, but also RICOCHET and DISCONNECTED are bangers!!

i decided to do a semi continuation of this fic but also could just be a standalone, and weaved in some new lore to show where lex and soren are at right now in their relationship as well as lex and his whole situation!

if you have any requests, comments, questions, etc., send them my way! i am so honored to be entrusted with lex and soren and i thoroughly enjoy these boys!!

tw emeto, fevers, trying to hide an illness, panic attacks, references to substance abuse trauma

The sound of the guitar strings hummed softly through the small studio, a melody that was familiar but still searching for its final shape.

Lex sat cross-legged on the couch, hunched slightly over his guitar, his fingers moving deftly across the strings, the faint calluses on his fingertips pressing into each note with a practiced ease.

Soren and Ksenia were deep in conversation over the latest track arrangement, their voices a quiet murmur against the steady strum of Lex’s playing.

Normally, Lex would have been sketching on his tablet during these breaks, doodling absentmindedly between takes while ideas flowed around him. Or, he’d be making abstract works based on what he saw when he heard the music.

But today, his focus seemed clouded, as though a thick fog had settled over his thoughts, leaving him feeling disconnected from the usual rhythm.

Every few minutes, he found himself clearing his throat—a small, dry sound, almost unnoticeable, except for how often it kept slipping out, a reflex he couldn’t shake. A habit Lex didn’t remember picking up, but had for as long as he could remember. A way to stave off nausea, he assumed. Or try to, anyway.

Soren’s gaze flicked over to him, a subtle glance that didn’t seem intrusive but held a quiet awareness, and Lex shifted under the attention, fighting the prickling discomfort that seemed to crawl along his skin.

His stomach gave a faint twist, the sensation low and persistent, a hint of nausea that lingered just enough to keep him slightly on edge. He cleared his throat again, this time with more force, trying to dislodge the tightness that seemed to have settled there.

“Dusty in here today?” he muttered, his voice steady but strained, offering a casual excuse as he shifted his gaze back to his guitar. “Could swear it’s getting to my throat.”

Soren gave him a brief nod, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but his eyes didn’t quite match the lightness.

“Maybe we should air the place out more,” he replied, his tone light but laced with a gentle care that only Lex would recognize, the subtle way Soren sometimes let him know he was there, that he noticed.

Ksenia had probably only heard fragments, but she looked up and offered a smile, standing from where she sat and opening up the window and pulling open the sliding door to the balcony.

“There, maybe the fresh air will help us think,” Ksenia shrugged.

Lex forced a small smile in return, shrugging as though it were no big deal, as though his skin didn’t feel cold and prickly beneath his old sweatshirt, despite the warmth that hung in the studio.

He shifted slightly, tugging the sleeves down over his hands, hoping the familiar fabric might ground him, anchor him through the quiet discomfort that was starting to settle deeper in his bones.

He pushed through the next half hour of playing, his fingers moving through the chords with mechanical precision, each note clear but somehow lacking the ease that usually flowed between them.

His head began to feel heavy, a faint ache forming just behind his eyes, and he could feel a slight chill spreading through him, an unwelcome reminder of a time when this sensation had been far too familiar.

Memories of the Silver Lining Tour flickered at the edges of his mind, bringing with them an uncomfortable tangle of anxiety and guilt, even though he knew that wasn’t where he was anymore.

In the past, on that tour, he’d always been slightly sick, or on edge, as though his body and mind were locked in a constant struggle. Back then, he’d hidden his nausea behind a facade of forced laughter, blamed his exhaustion on the long days, the flights, the sleepless nights. Anything beyond that was substance abused and left only himself to blame.

He could still remember the weight of that mask, the way he’d kept everyone at arm’s length, hiding the extent of his misery with a practiced ease. Now, sitting here, feeling the faint ache in his stomach and the beginnings of a dull chill, he realized he was still fighting that urge to downplay, to brush off any sign of discomfort before anyone could ask questions.

Lex shifted again, his stomach giving another faint twist that sent a shiver down his spine, the nausea growing more insistent, a weight that settled heavily, as though testing his endurance.

He cleared his throat once more, but the sound came out weaker this time, less controlled, and Soren’s eyes flicked up, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied Lex.

“You okay?” Soren asked, his tone casual, as though it were just another passing question, but Lex caught the concern lingering in his gaze, the slight tension in his posture. “You’ve coughed half a dozen times in the last hour…”

Lex forced himself to nod, keeping his expression neutral, leaning on the familiar habit of brushing things off with ease.

“Yeah, probably just allergies or something. Just feels a little… off today,” he replied, his voice steady, though even he could hear the faint edge of strain.

He looked down, focusing on the guitar in his hands, letting his fingers pick out a soft, aimless melody that kept him grounded, at least for the moment.

But Soren didn’t move his gaze, his attention lingering in that quiet, perceptive way that always managed to unnerve Lex without intending to. He didn’t press, though, just leaned back slightly, his fingers idly tapping on his notebook, as though he were giving Lex the space to be honest if he wanted to, but also letting him keep his guard up if that was what he needed.

Ksenia was absorbed in her own notes, humming a faint tune under her breath as she scribbled, her mind clearly lost in the music. Lex felt a twinge of relief at her distraction, not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary. He took a slow breath, willing his stomach to settle, but the faint chill was beginning to seep into his bones, and he found himself wishing he could just curl up somewhere warm and quiet, away from the bright lights of the studio.

The minutes crawled by, each one marked by the growing ache in his head and the steady hum of nausea that refused to dissipate. He was vaguely aware of Soren’s gaze flickering toward him, and each time he looked up, he caught a brief glimpse of concern in Soren’s eyes, the subtle way he seemed to anticipate each uncomfortable shift, each forced cough.

Finally, Lex felt a light touch against his temple—a familiar gesture, one that had become a quiet habit between them. Soren brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Lex’s face, his fingers gentle, lingering for just a moment before he settled back into his chair. The gesture was almost automatic, a silent acknowledgment that Lex wasn’t fooling him, that he didn’t have to keep up the facade.

Lex’s chest tightened at the touch, a mixture of comfort and unease knotting in his stomach, the remnants of old defenses clashing with the warmth of Soren’s care. He took a shallow breath, his stomach twisting again, the nausea inching closer to the surface, but he pushed it down, swallowing against the uncomfortable tightness in his throat.

“You sure you’re good?” Soren asked quietly, his voice barely above a murmur, meant only for Lex.

Lex forced a smile, nodding, though he could feel the effort it took to keep the mask in place. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice softer now, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Just… a little tired, I guess.”

Soren didn’t push, just offered him a quiet, understanding smile, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s shoulder for a moment before he returned to his notes, giving Lex the space he seemed to need.

As the recording session continued, Lex struggled to keep his focus, each passing moment feeling heavier, the chill seeping deeper into his bones. He leaned into the music, letting it carry him through the discomfort, but the memories of that tour lingered, casting a shadow over the present.

He reminded himself that he wasn’t there anymore, that he was safe, surrounded by people who cared, but the habit of hiding, of masking every symptom, ran deep, a quiet ache that lingered beneath the surface.

With each strum of his guitar, he tried to shake the memories, to remind himself that he was here, with Soren and Ksenia, that they were just working on music, nothing more. But the nausea and the faint dizziness clouded his mind, blurring the lines between past and present, until he felt like he was straddling both worlds, each one pressing down on him in a way that made it hard to breathe.

As the afternoon stretched on, Lex’s discomfort deepened, each symptom sinking into him like stones pulling him under. The nausea that had been a low, manageable hum became a sharper presence, curling tightly in his stomach, twisting in relentless waves that made his throat feel raw and tight.

He cleared his throat again, a small cough escaping before he could stifle it, and he noticed Soren’s gaze flicker toward him, the concern in his eyes growing with each strained sound.

Lex shifted where he sat, tugging the sleeves of his old sweatshirt down over his hands, hoping the familiar fabric might warm him enough to shake the chill that had settled deep in his bones.

But even with the hoodie’s weight around him, he couldn’t shake the shivers that ran sporadically up his spine, a subtle reminder of the feverish heat simmering beneath his skin. He clenched his hands, willing the nausea to pass, but each breath only seemed to tighten the uncomfortable coil in his stomach, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point.

The music continued around him, Soren and Ksenia discussing their ideas in low, familiar tones, but Lex could barely focus, his thoughts clouded by the ache in his head and the weight of memories pressing down on him.

He coughed again, the sound rougher, harsher than he intended, and this time he could feel his stomach lurch in response, a small, unwelcome gag that he quickly swallowed down.

His throat burned, and he had to clench his jaw, forcing himself to breathe through the nausea, refusing to let it get the better of him. Memories of that tour flooded his mind—nights spent hunched over in tiny, cramped bathrooms, the hollow ache in his stomach as he fought to keep anything down, the weight of his own exhaustion dragging him under, while he hid every symptom behind a practiced smile.

The memories settled over him like a heavy blanket, a quiet, relentless reminder that his body had once betrayed him in ways he could never forget. He tried to shake them off, to remind himself that this wasn’t the same—that he wasn’t there anymore. But the nausea was insistent, each cough digging deeper, pulling him closer to that edge he was so desperate to avoid.

“Hey, angel,” Soren’s voice broke through the fog, gentle but laced with a quiet urgency. He was watching Lex with a subtle intensity, his eyes narrowed in that way that told Lex he’d noticed every single one of those small coughs, each barely-contained gag that Lex had tried to swallow down. “Still with us?”

Lex realized Soren must’ve said something to him, or asked a question, and Lex was too wrapped up in his head to process it. He nodded slowly, but Soren didn’t say anything else, just shifted slightly closer, his presence a steady, grounding force that somehow eased the tension coiled in Lex’s stomach, if only by a fraction.

Lex managed a weak smile, hoping it might pass for casual, as though the nausea wasn’t clawing up his throat, as though he could ignore the uncomfortable ache pressing in on him from all sides.

But as he opened his mouth to say something, another cough slipped out, harsher this time, and he had to cover his mouth, his hand flew to his mouth instinctively, fingers pressed against his lips as he tried to keep the bile down, his face paling as he felt a faint, acidic burn on his tongue.

Soren’s hand was there in an instant, reaching out to brush Lex’s hair back, a gesture so gentle, so instinctive, that it sent a rush of warmth through Lex’s fevered haze. He felt Soren’s fingers graze his temple, steadying him, and Lex knew, in that moment, that Soren understood—had probably known long before Lex had admitted it to himself.

“Oh, Lexi,” Soren murmured, his voice calm, a quiet strength lacing his tone. “You’re not feeling good, are you?”

Lex swallowed, forcing a weak chuckle, his voice strained as he tried to brush it off. “It’s… I’ll be fine. Just… something in my throat,” he managed, his words barely audible, laced with a tremor that betrayed him.

His stomach twisted again, a sharp, insistent reminder that he was fighting a losing battle, but he clung to the excuse, hoping it might somehow make it easier to ignore.

But Soren didn’t let go, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s shoulder, his arm in such a way it held Lex’s hair down along his back, but the hold was a subtle reminder that he didn’t have to pretend, not here.

“Lex,” he said softly, his tone a gentle nudge, his fingers brushing against the back of Lex’s neck in a way that was both comforting and steadying.

Lex closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping as he finally let go of the thin pretense, his stomach churning with an intensity that made his head spin. He could feel the nausea creeping higher, settling in his throat, the burn unmistakable, and he knew, in that moment, that there was no stopping it.

Ksenia, noticing the quiet exchange, looked up from her notes, her eyes widening as she took in the paleness of Lex’s face, the way his hand was pressed tightly against his mouth. Without a word, she reached for the trash can, bringing it over just as Lex’s stomach twisted violently, the nausea surging with a force that left him breathless.

“It’s okay,” Soren murmured softly, his voice a steady presence beside him, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s back. “Lex, babe, you’re going to be sick, but you’ll be okay. Just breathe—I’m right here.”

Lex barely had time to brace himself before his stomach heaved, his body giving in to the sickness he’d been fighting so hard to ignore. The nausea hit him in relentless waves, each one dragging him under, and he felt Soren’s hand on his shoulder, a steadying weight that kept him grounded, kept him from slipping into the tangled mess of memories that threatened to pull him down.

He gasped, his breathing shallow and ragged, his fingers clenching the edge of the trash can as he fought to keep his balance. Soren’s hand moved gently to the back of his neck, his fingers warm and reassuring, and Lex leaned into the touch, letting it anchor him through the worst of the nausea.

“You’re doing great,” Soren whispered, his voice soft, a quiet comfort in the haze of discomfort. “Just let it out. I’ve got you.”

Lex’s chest tightened, a mixture of relief and vulnerability washing over him as he let himself lean into Soren’s support, his mind still clouded by the ache in his stomach and the memories he couldn’t quite shake.

For a split second, Lex thought the nausea was dissipating, but the sudden small gasp and equally intense wave of acid that splattered in the trash can told him he wasn’t that lucky.

He could hear Ksenia’s soft footsteps nearby, her presence a quiet reassurance, and he felt a faint sense of gratitude that she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t asked questions or looked at him with pity.

When the nausea finally eased, leaving him hollow and exhausted, Lex slumped back against the couch, his head hanging as he tried to catch his breath. Soren was still there, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s back, his touch a constant reminder that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to carry this on his own.

“Hey,” Soren murmured, his voice gentle, a soft warmth that cut through the lingering fog. “You okay?”

Lex nodded weakly, his throat raw, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yeah… just… wasn’t expecting that,” he managed, his tone laced with a faint, self-deprecating chuckle, as though he could somehow downplay the intensity of what he’d just gone through.

But Soren didn’t push, didn’t ask for explanations. He just offered Lex a faint smile, his hand moving to brush a few strands of hair from Lex’s forehead, a quiet gesture of care that left Lex feeling both comforted and exposed.

“Happens to the best of us,” Soren replied, his tone light, a subtle reminder that he wasn’t judging, that he understood.

Lex managed a faint smile in return, his chest tight with a quiet gratitude he couldn’t quite put into words. The memories of that tour still lingered, casting shadows over his mind, but here, with Soren and Ksenia by his side, he felt a strange sense of relief, a warmth that eased the weight of his discomfort.

Ksenia offered him a water bottle, her expression softened with an understanding that only a close friend could offer. “Just take it easy, yeah?” she murmured, her voice a gentle reassurance.

Lex nodded, taking the bottle with a shaky hand, his gaze flicking between Soren and Ksenia, the quiet warmth in their eyes grounding him, reminding him that he didn’t have to hide, not here. And as he took a sip of water, feeling the coolness soothe his raw throat, he let himself breathe, let himself be cared for, if only for a moment.

The initial wave of nausea left Lex feeling hollowed out, his head spinning, his skin clammy and cold beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

His breathing was shallow, each breath a careful, measured effort to keep the nausea at bay, but he could feel the sickness digging in deeper, a weight that settled heavily in his stomach and chest, pressing in on all sides.

Soren stayed by his side, his hand resting on Lex’s shoulder, his presence steady and calming, but Lex could barely focus, his mind clouded by the fever that had begun to build, making the room feel stifling, oppressive.

Ksenia was there too, her gaze soft with understanding, but Lex could feel the tightness in his chest growing, a creeping anxiety that wrapped around him, suffocating in its intensity.

His fingers clenched around the edge of the stool, his knuckles white as he tried to steady himself, tried to find some anchor in the midst of the spinning room. The memories of Silver Lining hovered at the edges of his mind, a familiar specter that lurked just beyond his vision, pressing down with a weight that felt as real as the fever and nausea churning inside him.

He could remember the dimly lit backstage rooms, the way his body had felt weak and uncooperative, the hollow, aching sensation that came from nights spent fighting his own exhaustion and anxiety. The burn of liquor, the rush of everything else. And every time, the inevitable crash that came.

“Lex,” Soren murmured, his voice a soft, grounding presence, pulling Lex back from the edge of the memories. His hand was still on Lex’s shoulder, warm and steady, and Lex could feel the concern radiating from him, a quiet reminder that he wasn’t alone. “You’re not feeling any better, are you?”

Lex sighed softly, shaking his head as he tried to push down the nausea, the fever, the anxious knot that seemed to have taken root in his chest.

“It’s just… dizzy,” he managed, his voice a weak whisper, barely more than a breath. He could hear the strain in his own words, a quiet, familiar edge of fear that he hated to admit, even to himself.

“You always get dizzy when you throw up,” Soren said, trying to be reassuring but knowing he probably fell short. He pushed Lex’s hair behind him and carefully rubbed Lex’s back. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m going to lay down for a bit,” he continued, his gaze dropping as he tried to avoid the concerned looks from Soren and Ksenia. “Just need to… let this pass. You two should keep working. I’ll be back as soon as things… level out.”

Ksenia exchanged a brief, uncertain glance with Soren, her eyes flickering with worry, but she didn’t press, just nodded slowly, a small, reluctant acceptance of his words. Lex could feel the tension in the room, the way his own unease had bled into the space, turning it from a creative sanctuary into a place where he felt exposed, vulnerable.

Soren’s hand lingered on his shoulder, a quiet protest that didn’t need words, but Lex gave him a weak smile, his gaze steady, trying to convey a reassurance he didn’t quite feel.

“I’ll be fine, Soren,” he said softly, though even he could hear the tremor in his voice, the edge of anxiety that threatened to spill over.

Reluctantly, Soren let go, his hand falling away, though his gaze never left Lex, his worry palpable. “Alright,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a gentle concern that made Lex’s chest tighten. “But if you need anything, you let us know. Don’t try to… don’t keep it to yourself, okay?”

Lex managed a nod, but he couldn’t bring himself to say more, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He turned, the room spinning slightly as he pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself against the wall as he made his way toward the bedroom. His vision blurred at the edges, and he had to grip the doorframe to keep from stumbling, his legs weak beneath him, the fever and dizziness making it difficult to stay upright.

Once he reached his room, he closed the door softly, sinking onto the edge of the bed as he let out a shaky breath, his head falling into his hands.

The quiet of the room settled around him, a heavy, suffocating silence that amplified every ache, every shiver that ran through him. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he tried to gather himself, but the nausea surged again, sharp and relentless, a wave of discomfort that left him gasping for breath.

He pressed his hand against his mouth, willing the nausea to pass, but his stomach was stubborn, twisting painfully, and he could feel the bile rising, a harsh reminder of the times he’d been in this exact position before. Memories of the tour blurred with the present, the sickness overlapping, until he could barely tell where one ended and the other began.

He could remember sitting alone in tiny, dimly lit hotel rooms, his body wracked with nausea and exhaustion, the hollow ache in his chest growing heavier with each passing day. He had fought through it, kept the facade intact, hiding every symptom behind forced smiles and laughter, even as his body crumbled beneath the weight of it all.

Now, he was free of that—no substances, no constant dread of falling apart in front of everyone. But the habit of hiding, of masking every discomfort, ran deep, a defense that had become second nature, even now.

He pressed his hands against his temples, feeling the heat of the fever pulsing beneath his skin, a reminder of the vulnerability he couldn’t quite shake.

He lay back against the pillows, pulling the blanket over himself, hoping the warmth would ease the chills that had settled in his bones. But even as he closed his eyes, trying to find some measure of comfort, the anxiety gnawed at him, a quiet, insidious fear that whispered he was back in those dark rooms, back to a time when he had no control over his own body or mind.

The fever pressed down, making his thoughts heavy, his breathing shallow, and he curled into himself, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as though it could shield him from the memories that surfaced with each wave of nausea. He wanted to be strong, to push through, to prove that he wasn’t the person he’d once been, that he wasn’t broken by the memories that haunted him.

Time blurred, each minute stretching into an eternity as he lay there, feeling the fever pulse through him, the nausea twisting in relentless waves. He could hear faint footsteps outside the door, soft, cautious sounds that he knew belonged to Soren, but he kept his eyes closed, hoping to feign sleep, hoping to keep Soren from seeing the state he was in.

But the footsteps stopped just outside, a pause that hung in the air, and Lex could feel the weight of Soren’s concern pressing against the door, a quiet, unspoken question that lingered in the silence. He could picture Soren’s expression, the gentle worry, the warmth in his gaze, and part of him ached to let him in, to let him offer the comfort that he knew would ease the weight on his chest. But the habit of hiding, of pushing through alone, kept him silent, his chest tight with the quiet fear that he would somehow drag Soren down with him.

-

Lex drifted in and out of a restless sleep, the fever pressing down on him like a heavy blanket, pinning him to the bed with its relentless heat. In the dimness of his room, time lost all meaning, and he felt trapped in the haze of sickness, caught between waking and sleeping, the fever blurring the edges of his thoughts until he couldn’t tell where reality ended and memory began.

Every now and then, he would catch a glimpse of the familiar objects in his room—the posters on the walls, the soft light filtering through the curtains—but they seemed distant, removed, as though he were watching his life from somewhere else, somewhere feverish and surreal.

When he finally opened his eyes, he felt a fresh wave of nausea roll through him, sharper and more insistent than before.

His stomach twisted painfully, and he shivered, a sudden chill spreading through him that made his skin prickle beneath the layers of his hoodie. He tugged the blankets closer, his fingers shaking as he tried to hold onto the warmth, but the chill only deepened, sinking into his bones.

His throat was raw, his head pounding with a dull, relentless ache that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was closing in around him.

Everything felt wrong. His head hurt, he was absolutely freezing, and yet he could feel his long hair sticking to the back of his neck and his cheek. He wouldn’t be able to tie it up, but he could push the wet hair off his skin.

He pushed himself up, the room spinning as he sat up, and for a moment he had to close his eyes, willing the dizziness to pass. His breathing was shallow, each breath a careful effort, as though he were afraid that any sudden movement might tip him over the edge.

He could feel the nausea building, a sick, twisting sensation that left him lightheaded, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it down much longer.

Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbled toward the bathroom, gripping the wall as he moved, each step an effort to stay upright. His vision blurred at the edges, and he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, a cold, clammy sensation that made his skin crawl.

He barely noticed the faint sound of footsteps behind him, too focused on the overwhelming nausea that threatened to spill over, the sickness pressing in with a force that made his head spin.

As he reached the bathroom, a familiar hand settled gently on his shoulder, grounding him just as the nausea surged, sharp and relentless. He felt himself lean into the touch, desperate for any anchor, any sense of stability, but the sickness was too strong, too insistent to ignore.

His stomach heaved, and he barely had time to brace himself before he was hunched over the toilet, his body giving in to the sickness with a force that left him breathless. He heaved, hard, whatever was in his stomach coming out and splashing sickeningly into the water.

Soren stayed beside him, one hand resting lightly on Lex’s back, the other gently holding his hair out of his face. His touch was warm, steady, a quiet reassurance that kept Lex grounded, even as his body betrayed him, each wave of nausea dragging him under.

Between the heaving breaths and the sickness that left him gasping, he could hear Soren’s soft voice, murmuring quiet words of comfort, a gentle reminder that he wasn’t alone.

“Easy, get it all up…” Soren told him, and Lex’s body was happy to oblige. IN fact, the next heave was so hard, backed by a heavy wave of sick, that it knocked Lex right to his knees.

But the fever was thick in his mind, clouding his thoughts, and he felt a faint, creeping panic settle over him, an echo of guilt and fear that he couldn’t shake. The memories of those nights on tour—nights spent hunched over in small, dimly lit bathrooms, the bitter taste of regret heavy on his tongue—flooded back, and he couldn’t stop himself from spiraling, the familiar shame rising up like bile.

“I didn’t… I didn’t do this,” he whispered, his voice shaking, spitting into the toilet, barely audible over the sound of his own breathing. His hands were trembling and he could feel the anxiety tightening in his chest, making it hard to breathe. “I’m not… I’m not high, I swear, I’m just… I’m just sick. I didn’t do this.”

Soren’s hand moved to his shoulder, his touch steady and reassuring, and he could hear the gentle concern in his voice as he replied,

“Lex what..?”

“I’m not.. I didn’t… I promise I didn’t…” Lex spoke, fragmented and panicked before heaving again.

Soren filled in the blanks, sighing softly and carefully pulling Lex’s hair out of his face, “I know, Lex. It’s okay. You’re just sick—it’s not anything else.”

But the words barely registered, the fever making it difficult to hold onto the reassurance, and he could feel the panic building, a weight pressing down on his chest, suffocating. His breath hitched, his vision blurring as the room seemed to close in around him, and he clenched his fists, trying to push back the memories that crowded his mind, the images of nights spent fighting himself, fighting his own body.

“It’s… it’s not that,” he repeated, his voice a desperate whisper, as though saying the words might make it true. “I didn’t… I didn’t do this to myself.” His hands were shaking, his chest tight, and he felt another wave of nausea roll through him, sharper this time, as though the panic were fueling the sickness, making it worse.

Soren’s voice was soft, calming, a steady presence that cut through the haze.

“You’re okay, Lex,” he murmured, his hand rubbing gentle circles along Lex’s back. “You’re just sick, that’s all. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Lex could feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, a quiet desperation that he couldn’t contain, the weight of his own guilt pressing down, heavy and relentless. He wanted to believe Soren’s words, to trust that this was just a simple sickness, nothing more, but the memories of that tour, the shame that had haunted him, were too deeply ingrained, a scar he couldn’t erase.

His stomach twisted again, a cold, clammy sensation spreading through him, and he shivered, feeling the chill settle in his bones. He leaned forward, his body tensing as another wave of nausea hit, and he felt Soren’s hand on his back, a steadying warmth that kept him grounded even as he fought to hold himself together. He heaved, again. He never ate much, couldn’t eat much actually, and yet it felt like he was purging an entire buffet’s worth of food.

“It’s… it’s not like before,” Lex whispered, as he caught his breath, his voice breaking, as though saying the words might make it true. “I’m not… I’m not drunk or high, I just… I don’t know why I feel this way, but it’s not that. I was fine this morning… It’s not…”

“I know,” Soren replied softly, his voice unwavering. “I believe you, Lex. You’re not alone in this. I’m right here, and you’re going to be okay. You probably just caught the bug I had over the weekend…”

The warmth in Soren’s words cut through the fog, a small, fragile comfort that settled over Lex like a blanket, easing the tightness in his chest. He closed his eyes, his breathing still shallow, but the quiet reassurance in Soren’s voice grounded him.

But the fever was relentless, the nausea unyielding, and as he opened his eyes, he felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him, his hands clenching the edge of the sink as he tried to steady himself. His vision blurred, his thoughts a jumble of fear and shame, and he could barely hear Soren’s voice over the rush of his own heartbeat, the quiet terror that lingered just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t… I didn’t do this,” he whispered again, his voice a faint, desperate plea, as though saying the words might banish the memories, the guilt that had haunted him for so long.

Soren’s hand stayed on his shoulder, a steadying presence, his voice gentle as he replied, “I know, Lex. You’re safe here. You’re going to get through this, okay? I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Lex’s chest tightened, a small, fragile sense of relief settling over him, though the fear still lingered. He spit, trying to rid his mouth of such a foul taste.

“Got it out for now?” Soren asked, and Lex nodded. He was sure he wouldn’t throw up any time soon, and now he was miserably hot. As if he could feel his fever. He felt something brush over his mouth, the toilet flushed.

“Okay, here, I’m just grabbing your hoodie, nothing else,” Soren said, trying to keep Lex from panicking more as he helped his fiancé pull off his sweatshirt, tossing it aside. “How are you feeling? Still panicking?”

Lex hesitated, curling in on himself, “Not… not going to be sick… really fucking hot…”

Soren gently kissed the side of his head, “I know angel, I’m sorry. Here…”

Soren stood, grabbing a rag and running it under cold water, pressing the damp cloth to Lex’s face, “Better?”

Lex nodded, soaking in the sensation. It was relaxing and shocking in a good way. Soren wrapped an arm around him, using his other hand to press the rag to different spots on Lex’s face. Lex closed his eyes, leaning into Soren’s touch, letting himself be anchored by the warmth, the steady comfort that cut through the fever and nausea, grounding him in the present.

“Just breathe Lexi,” Soren said, “You’re going to be just fine…”

[redvanillabee]

Deadpool & Wolverine reactions under cut (spoilers alert)

They should have led the multiverse saga with this movie.

Like, this is literally the only time since the multiverse saga began that I feel like the 'prerequisite readings' were worth it. The comic book roots and the many, many, many variations of Deadpool and Wolverine are addressed head on. We get direct and deep cut visual references: the Scarlet Witch temple, B-15 as a boss in the TVA, like I feel that yes, if I had specifically caught up with Loki TV for this movie, I would feel that effort has paid off. I was getting very tired of those very vague 'ah yes Kang has lived many lives' comments from, say, Quantumania.

And because they are actually leaning into the different branches of Marvel products and now uniting them under the Marvel Studios label, they actually properly acknowledged the legacy of these characters and how people feel about them. I loved those behind the scenes clips of old X-Men movies in the end credits. Properly acknowledge their past and exits. Admitting with their chest that yes, we probably won't see Ian Mckellen as Magneto in the MCU, but damn wasn't that a fun time.

(Instead of all this, oh will Tom Hiddleston return as Loki? We don't know! He doesn't know! He said he certainly enjoyed playing Loki for 10+ years! But we will never actually give this character and actor a proper celebratory exit because what if we want him back for a cameo five years later!)

Lady Deadpool really was Blake Lively. Twitter was right. Lol.

Sweary Chris Evans as Johnny Storm was so fun; it's so refreshing to see him as not Stoic Monologuing Cap in the MCU. It just wrong-foots you enough.

At this point is2g Krzeminski is the anchor being of the Agent Carter universe because how else do you explain the complete death and absense of anything Agent Carter in the main MCU. Did like the entire cast of AC/AOS just swear off Marvel permanently. When can we get at least a name drop. I'm desperate here Feige help.

*Logan starts downing a bottle of Jack Daniel's* Me: my boys are finally in the MCU 🥺🥺🥺

Jokes wise, I think the movie was trying a little too hard with the unserious, jokey social commentary angle. Like that whole 'oh my friend identifies as a feminist' thing. Like, look, I don't know what that achieves. To either side of the political spectrum those jokes just end up sounding very clowny. It's not as if Marvel has ever been considered the pinnacle of progressiveness (cutting out gay Russo in Endgame for certain markets? Throwing CM2 under the bus when it was released during a strike? Letting the fans beg for almost a whole ass decade for a Black Widow movie, only to release it when Natasha is canonically dead?) They really don't need those jokes.

All in all: some jokes were a miss, but handled the multiverse and comic book roots pretty well. 7.5-8/10.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

I See You : Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Warnings and Information: Going with a 13+ rating just on account of language in the form of Star Wars and real-world swearing, just to be cautious. Self-indulgent modern AU fic, but you can read it too. This is practice for Crosshair's character as well as something mildly therapeutic. I'm… fine, but not fabulous, y'know? Job hunting is not exactly fun, so I'm just writing out my frustrations. How many Clone cameos can I fit in here? We'll find out together. They're not dead, what are you talking about? Empire gets compared to any one of those multimillion-dollar companies that treat you like shit no matter how good of a worker you are with Palp as the soul-sucking CEO in modernized terms. Rare fic without minor instances of Mando'a, but plenty of my stylistic and narrative use of italics. Minor proofreading. 

Word-count: 4,237

The phone rings. You put it up to your ear so fast you nearly drop your cell in your haste to answer, not even looking at the screen. You should've. It would have saved you time, the realization that these people were not reaching out to get back to you about your job application. You hang up halfway into the pitch about repairing damaged products you don't even own. 

The lid slams to the washing machine."Oh, fuck me!" you yell, groaning loudly.

You're of two minds; be consumed with your frustrations and take it out on the washing machine, or just clean the paint stains out with your tears. You're sure that'll work just as well as the detergent in order to get out that large smear of phthalo blue. Except, it won't, and the sooner you get this load started, the less time the paint has to set and stain. The lid is lifted.

Footfall softer than falling snow, Crosshair makes his way in from some other part of the shared house, his expression passive as he observes you dunking fistfuls of dirty clothing into the wash-drum. "Is that an invitation or a request?" He at least waited to make his remark until he was certain you noticed him and gave him a trademark "what the kriff do you want?" sort of look. 

Knuckles pale as you grip the lip of the machine with one hand. "I'm not in the mood for your-" 

"No; I know you're not." Crosshair interrupts you. "But I came to see if you hurt yourself, mostly." 

"I'm fine." you snarl, slam-dunking the last of the clothing from the hamper anchored against your hip. "I slammed the lid." A neat brow buckles just a fraction, all the response you get as you push your way past him, returning to the small office that served as your art studio in this house. You're really not in the mood. You were a whirlwind of emotion, most of it negative. 

You can feel his eyes from the doorway, trained on the back of your neck as you work. Gosh you made such a mess, you shouldn't have used so much paint thinner. "Go away, Cross. I need to clean up my easel and see if I can't salvage this portrait of…" You stop, breath hitching when you hear Crosshair clear his throat softly. He's directly behind you now, his voice taking on a slightly serpentine quality in its softness.

"Your clean shirt's on backwards, doll." 

You shake your head, stubbornly refusing to believe him. "Nice try. Not while my hands are dirty. Tell me again once I get this mess cleaned up." 

Wordlessly, Crosshair plucks the runny canvas from its easel and makes sure not to take it beyond the edge of the tarp. Hunter would be disappointed to find a mess on the beautiful hardwood floors so soon after he's treated them. And you'd be disappointed with yourself to give a portrait to an important friend in its current state. What should have been beautiful, angular and geometric lines are little more than a royal mess.

"Just go ahead and trash it for me…" 

The same brow arches. "Why?" 

"Because I don't want to give Hardcase a painting that looks like that..." you reply, huffing in your disappointment and frustration that you'd gotten so sloppy with your oils. "I said his portrait would be perfect practice for crisp, angular forms with that beautiful pop of blue from his tattoo and this is… far from it." 

Your housemate looks at you with mild surprise. As far as mild surprise goes for Crosshair, anyhow. He wouldn't look quite so aghast like Wrecker, or frown quite so deeply as Echo. 

"Who are you and what have you done to the Bob Rossified [____] we know and admire? What happened to the happy accidents?" Ordinarily, the comparison to the famous art instructor and television host would have made your face burn brighter than your favorite brand of alizarin crimson paint. 

Instead, you scoff at him. "Very funny..." 

"I'm serious." Crosshair insists, setting the portrait back on the easel once you've wiped it down, "What's the matter?" 

You shouldn't snap at him, but your mouth just runs away from you. "I thought I got a call back from the place I applied to. I was wrong! It was some damn spam call, and I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed. Okay? Happy now?" 

The palms of his hands flash in a surrendering fashion to you before he speaks. "I'd say you're more angry than disappointed." Sighing, you take your cleaning rag and do Crosshair a favor by removing the thinned, blue oil paint from his hands after he notices it himself. "Kriff. Sorry." 

Gently, you assure him you'll take care of it. That it's no trouble. That he's right, after some thought, "I guess… I am angry. All these places that are supposedly so kriffing desperate for employees sure take their damn sweet time. Or they seem to be hiring everyone but you. It makes me feel… invisible. They should have called me by now! Right…?" Crosshair looks at the calendar tacked to the wall of your little studio, where it's written in your favorite color the day you applied to the art supply store. They definitely should have by this point, he agrees. 

"Have they reached out by email?" he asks gently, watching as you take that same cleaning cloth and gingerly wipe down the bottom edge of the canvas. He's convinced you for the time being not to break it over your knee and pitch it into the curbside bin until you at least give yourself an hour away from your brushes to think it over. 

You shake your head, "I've been checking every day. Nothing." You now wash your brushes before the paint gums up the bristles, at least. And then you promise you'll lay aside your brushes and go grab a bite to eat with him. "And most places these days, they're likely to actually trash your résumé if you call them to 'follow up' on your application process. That old piece of unsolicited advice needs to die out, pronto. Just because it worked for- for- Agatha and her generation, doesn't mean it works for mine!" 

Crosshair snorts. 

"What?" 

"Agatha?"

"Shut up… I could have gone with Karen and been unoriginal." you grumble, gingerly fixing the arrangement of your fan brush. 

Crosshair retorts sarcastically, giving you a playful smirk. "The 1930s called, they'd like to know why you're using such a dated name." Ordinarily, Crosshair stays out of your hair (and your studio) by never bothering you as you work, but it's clear that he's trying to cheer you up, even a little. 

"Unless the 1930s is offering me a job," you start, plucking the thin script brush from his dexterous fingers just as he begins to twirl it, "it better not bother me by calling…" 

"The art store will call you eventually, I'm sure…" he tells you, the grim frown matching your souring expression. "You love art. You're a creative person. What better person to work at a place like that than someone who could practically recite an episode of The Joy of Painting in her sleep?" You point out, playfully, that Tech could recite an episode of Painting in his sleep just as easily as you. But at least you crack a smile as you do so, so he lets it slide. "Okay, you and my brother." Cross concedes, thinking back to the time the household decided to try a "painting party" to break up the seasonal gloom last December. "Maybe Hardcase and Wrecker too, if the pocket squirrels make an appearance." 

Here, you finally chuckle. "Forgetting Fives would be criminal. Or how concentrated Dogma gets." 

Cross just nods agreeably, hoping to keep a good thing going. "I wouldn't dare. My point is, you'd be amazing at an art store. They'd be lucky to have a gal like you who gives a kriff about art working for them." 

You flash Crosshair a confused and crooked smile as you set down the last of your brushes and tighten the last twist-cap on your tube of oil-based paints. "You think so?" You're surprised how… sincere Crosshair sounds. You had to do a little metaphorical arm twisting just to get him to join you when the only spot left in the living room was a seat on the couch next to Rex. 

Cross just nods decidedly. "C'mon. Let's grab a burger or something. My treat." A burger sounds great, you tell him, fixing your shirt so it's not on backwards before you stroll out the door.

Maker above, did he really mean his treat. Crosshair took you both down to the best burger joint in the city, where the two of you ate your respective orders and split a carton of fries with the house seasoning and plenty of salt. 

"Oooh, kriff me…" you moaned blissfully, sucking your fingers clean of the granules of salt and seasoning, "these fries hit the spot every time." They're probably your favorite thing here, honestly. Perfect amount of crispness, balanced flavor, and hot; never ever tepid or cold. Cross snags a few more fries from the carton before nudging it your way, inviting you to polish off the rest. "You don't want any more?" you ask, curious. "There's still plenty in there to share." 

He offers a lazy shrug, "I'll think about it." He slips his phone from his pocket when he hears a ping, and he hums thoughtfully after reading the message. "... Think I should let Wrecker find out on his own that he's home alone?" You can only shake your head disapprovingly of the wry smile, mouth too full of food to chastise him. While Wrecker and Crosshair weren't afraid of messing around with one another, you worried about it getting out of hand on occasion. "Fine. I'll let him know we're not home so the big guy doesn't worry, doll. In fact…" 

Cross types down a message much longer than a simple courtesy "we're not home" text, and then cleans up the discarded burger wrappers and straw sleeves, snagging a few more fries once you say you can't possibly eat another bite. "Good. Not a lot of fun when you go shopping hungry." 

"Didn't we just make a grocery run two days ago?" Crosshair shakes his head, then pitches everything into the large garbage receptacle as you grab your things. "Not that kind of shopping then." you determine. There were a lot of possible options, but you didn't have to slog through another massive grocery list, at least. "Where are we going?" 

"You'll see." Crosshair replies simply, holding the door for you to follow after as he steps into the parking lot. "I had an idea." Now you really wonder where you're going, or what he has planned. Crosshair and spontaneity get along about as well as a Tooka and bathwater, sometimes. 

You have to remind yourself that Crosshair wasn't a complete stick in the mud all the time, and when you first met him, he was still working for the same company that his other brothers had quit once they found out what kind of person the man who ran this multimillion company turned out to be. 

First found himself working under some bloke named Edmon down the managerial line, before he was arrested for embezzlement. Then a real asswipe of a superior named Nolan took over, and after someone got hurt really badly on a "company retreat" and Nolan refused to call for an ambulance, Crosshair finally came to his senses about the place. 

They don't give a shit about how loyal of a worker you are, just like Hunter, Wrecker, Tech and Echo warned him. They were right all along. 

You thought you mattered to us? Please… Someone younger and desperate enough will come in and take your place if we feed them enough honeyed lies!

So Cross stole Nolan's car and drove himself and the injured coworker down to a hospital two hours away from the company retreat. Crosshair had known the guy for less than 24 hours (or something like that), but Mayday's injury helped Cross come to realize that the company was a sinking ship. So he got them both out. Now, Mayday and Cross spend every Sunday night checking in on each other. Cross works odd jobs from home, mostly, and Mayday… Well he was content with not being employed for a while. 

The longer Crosshair has been living at home with his brothers again, the more he's starting to get (some of) his old sense of self back. He's no longer couch surfing because he didn't want to deal with his brothers fussing over his choice to remain with the company. 

He was never, ever kicked out. 

Cross had always been welcome to come back home, with a spare key tucked under the welcome mat if he ever needed it. 

You'd been the one to find him letting himself into the house at three in the morning after Mayday talked Cross into going and seeing his brothers. You were "leasing" a room from the brothers at the time, and they had let you know the deal about Crosshair. "Please don't call the police if you ever find someone who's just… let himself into the house. That's our brother. We've been worried about him. He's made choices we don't agree with, but he's still our brother. We care about him." 

Of course, Cross had no warning about you, but he eventually warmed up to you in time after you had practically broken Hunter's door off its hinges to let him know that Cross was here and he was tackled into the coffee table by the biggest of his brothers in Wrecker's excitement.

That spare key under the welcome mat now sits on your ring of keys, which you fiddle with in your hands the longer you and Crosshair drive through the city. 

"Isn't this the way downtown?" 

"Mhm." 

"Still won't give me a hint, Cross?" 

"No." he chuckles, pulling the steering wheel into a smooth left turn. "You'll see soon enough, doll."

He's taken you to the art store, to your surprise. The one you applied to. Not that specific location you applied to in town, thank the Maker, but the chain, rather. "I haven't been to one of these places in years…" Cross admits softly as he pulls himself out of the car. "Figured while we were out of the house, we'd stop by." 

"How come?" you ask. You'd recently just bought a bunch of paint, so it's not like you needed anything in particular, really, maybe just wanted… There was one particularly pricey art supply you've had your eye on and lusting after for a while now, but given your current unemployment status, you're really trying to control your spending. "You got a project in mind, or somethin', Cross?" 

Shoulders bounce. "Not really." 

"So… what are we doing here?" 

"Looking." he declares, steering you into the store by your shoulder. "Lookings always free. So is anything you can apply the five-finger disco-"

"Cross!" 

"I'm kidding." he declares semi-defensively, laughing at the expression on your face. "C'mon, doll, you know I'm kidding. Hard to smuggle out a whole canvas or large pack of… whaddya call those markers? Cop-picks?" 

Mild mortification turns into bubbly giggles over his decent effort to pronounce the brand name. "Copics. They're called Copic markers. And, they're kind of a scam." He just looks at you with an expression of confusion, so you figure you better explain. "Here, lemme show you." Taking his hand, you lead Cross down to the aisle dedicated to sketch pads, pencils and markers. On the shelves, there's dozens of specialty packs and bundles with quirky names. 

Oceanic, "Beach Blast!", and skin tones are all prominently stocked for the summer. Singleton markers are what you're looking for though. You pluck a Copic Classic from one of the slots, and point to the price sticker. 

A whopping 9.65 credits for a single kriffing marker. "Keep that in mind," you say, as you scoot down the aisle and show him the stock of Ohuhu brand markers, "and compare it to this." You select a similar color to the Classic in the Ohuhu brand, and tap the price sticker. A far more reasonable 2.49 credits.

He scratches the back of his head and neck. "What the kriff…? Is there a significant difference in the brand or something?" He's not exactly all that artistically inclined like you are, so to him, he's not sure if there's anything he's seeing that warrants such sticker-shock for a damn marker. 

"Just the name, really. Copic markers aren't really the end-all-be-all of alcohol-based art markers anymore. Ohuhu branded markers are just as good as Copics, and you get more markers for say… fifty credits in Ohuhus than Copics." you explain, putting the markers back in their respective slots. "I won't bore you with more details that go into it, but that's the bare bones of it." 

Cross nods politely to indicate he's listening to you, lifting a pack of art markers off the display to give it a closer look. Once he has satisfied his curiosity, he puts it back and glances at the different sketch pads. "And these probably tell you what they're best suited for, somewhere." You confirm his thought with a simple nod, tapping one of the sketchbooks. Drawing pad, 64 pages best suited for graphite, marker and colored pencils. 

"They'll often tell you either on the cover, or on an inside page, sometimes. Depends on the brand."

You're getting the feeling that maybe Cross is looking for something after all, but he won't admit it to you. He keeps asking you question after question as you go down each aisle of the store. If there's a section dedicated to a particular craft you're not very familiar with, the two of you just look at the items in silence for the most part. You're (pun not entirely intended) pouring over all the different resin supplies together when Crosshair asks you another question to break the silence. 

"Do you ever show your art online? Some kind of… creative forum, or something? Or is it all just personal projects, like the portraits you've done for Rex and the one you're trying to do for Hardcase?" 

You chew your bottom lip for a moment as you mull over what you'll say. "I… stopped. For a long time." 

"Why?" 

You huff softly, returning one of the unusual resin molds back to the shelf. Little space shuttles and UFOs and such. (Space travel… wouldn't that be something?) "I couldn't get out of the trap of comparing myself to others. I don't know if you could call it imposter syndrome, or anxiety, or what. But I just felt… small. Unnoticed. Invisible." Crosshair frowns, stepping closer to you to allow someone with a large cartful of yarn and children's paint sets squeeze past. She looked like a teacher, gentle and kind and so, so tired. But she gave the pair of you a kind smile as she moved down the aisle and pondered over the different bags of beads one could buy in bulk for crafts. 

"That's the second time you've used that word, [____]." 

You give him an inquisitive look, surprised by his statement. The rare use of your name. "Wh-what word?" 

"Invisible." Crosshair answers, closing that gap between you further when his hand reaches out to cup your face for a moment to scrutinize you, study you. "Is that how you feel?" 

"I guess?" you start, but you think a little more, and you find that, yes, sometimes you do feel invisible. "I feel like… people don't… notice me. Like I'm trying to do it all damn wrong. It's been fucking weeks and places won't call me back! Or I'll post things and it gets a handful of interactions when I put the effort into it, but the shit I don't, that's what fucking blows up and goes viral. I don't fucking get it and I… sometimes I just don't know why I bother trying to apply myself when I'm just… invisible and unseen. This shit sucks, Cross." you admit a little bitterly. You take a deep breath and apologize for swearing in the store, in case the other customers can hear you. You apologize again when the tears begin to prickle and well in the corners of your eyes for getting so worked up, but you're just kind of at a loss for what to do next. You've tried so many things… you just feel like you're talking to yourself because no one will answer your applications. 

Crosshair doesn't say anything for a while, and you don't take it to heart. He's not the chattiest of your housemates, as you learned a long time ago. Sometimes, he did have things to say, but he wanted to take some care with his words if Cross sensed he needed to be a little more delicate. 

And he could be surprisingly good at being delicate when the need arises.

Assuringly, tenderly, Crosshair brushes the tears from your eyes and motions for you to follow him. "I see how much this stuff matters to you. If a stuffy old art store can't see it, just know that I see it. You're not invisible to me, kid. I see you." He's brought you to the paint section, coming to a stop in front of the selection of oil paints in particular. 

"I may not understand all of… this," he gestures broadly at the display of thick, silver-foil tubes of paint, and selects a beautiful cerulean blue off the rack, "but I see how much this means to you. You know your shit. You're getting better all the time. I see that. One day, I think people will see that you know your shit too, and you won't have to feel so invisible anymore. But I see you. Hunter, and Wrecker and Tech, and- your friends see you, doll. You've got such a passion for these things… but you're…" 

You wait for him to continue for a moment, wondering what he wants to say. You decide to hazard a guess when all he can offer is a soft shrug when he finds himself at a loss for words. "Beating myself up, too much…?" You eye the tube of paint in his hands, and wonder for a moment why he's been taking so many things off the shelves only to look at them before putting them back in their proper place. Tech's told you Cross has sharp eyesight, perhaps more on the farsighted side if anything. (Was he more farsighted than you initially assumed?)

"Perhaps." Cross admits, softly juggling the tube in the palm of his hand. "If nothing else I said sticks with you… I just hope that the fact that I see and recognize your efforts does, doll. I know I'm only one person, but sometimes, just hearing it from one person is all we need." 

You feel your cheeks pinch with a little smile hearing him say that. One of those things, one of those times where someone says exactly what you needed to hear when you didn't know you needed to hear it most. "That's… awfully nice of you to say, Crosshair. Thank you…" 

"I should give some credit to Mayday," Crosshair admits with a soft laugh, now pulling a tube of cobalt and ultramarine blue off the shelves, "he's the one who's been encouraging me to… do what feels right, if he thinks I'm feeling a little lost between the odd job. And doing what feels right includes helping you restart that portrait of Hardcase if you really think you need to trash the first one." 

"Is that why you keep grabbing all those different blues?" you giggle, watching him now idly shuffle three different tubes of blue oil paint in his hands. 

Crosshair nodded, making you laugh as he grabbed a fourth tube with a wink. "Yeah. I noticed that you didn't have these blues back at home. And that you use phthalo blue a lot like a certain painter." 

"Are you comparing me to Bob Ross again?" you tease, stifling a laugh as you make your way to the checkout together. You've been away from your brushes for more than an hour at this point, and you're itching to get back to the process of creating while you still have the time to do as much as you want; before you're hopefully contracted with a job offer and have less time to dedicate to such things. 

"Maybe." he purrs mischievously, ringing up each of the paints before carefully wrapping them up in their own separate plastic bags for the trip home. "If I am, do I get to see you paint?" 

You can only shake your head with a gentle laugh. "We'll see, Cross." 

That's good enough for him, he says as you collect the receipt from the self checkout machine, just so long as you promised you'd give yourself a little more grace and faith that soon enough, you'd get the job offer you wanted. 

Some days will be easier than others… but you'll do your best, you promise. You're pretty sure you can manage that.

[Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

Tagging: @the-hexfiles who wanted to see some soft!Crosshair <3

Note from Frost: Apparently Mayday got assigned some kind of "Work Dad who takes care of and looks out for the younger employees" vibes while I was writing this self-indulgent (and mildly therapeutic) quick-fic, lmao. And hopefully, this ends up being good practice for soft!Crosshair down the line, as it comes into play in the next long-form series I'm working on. Yeah maybe it's perhaps a tad too out-of-character, but kriff it. 

[eoieopda]

for birthday asks!!! 3 and 25 and also i love you okay BYE

coincidentally, i also love you (full homo).

(3) favorite line/scene you wrote this year:

my favorite scene is from aphelion. i basically scooped out a piece of my heart with a melon baller and smushed it into a word doc for many strangers to read. it's probably a lil long for this answer but it's my birthday and i'll cry if i want to 😌

Sorry. That word had slowly mutated into a punctuation mark over the last year. It’d wormed its way into every sentence, whether or not it had any business being there. Hi, sorry, I was in the studio when you called. I love you, sorry. I miss you, sorry. I’m so proud of you, sorry, I wish I could have been there. You heard it even when neither of you spoke, felt it in every bit of quiet. It sat between you on the drive from the airport to that restaurant you used to like — the one by the lake. It filled your unoccupied hands on the walk in from the parking lot, rested like a centerpiece in the middle of your table. Neither of you ate much. You wished you’d had some semblance of an appetite, if only to fill the pit growing in your stomach. To distract from the way Namjoon’s eyes went glassy whenever he looked at you, or to keep your bottom lip from trembling. Silent and sorry, the two of you watched the wind force waves; which, in turn, forced anchored row boats to collide with the dock. Anchored. There was that word again. It’d been sitting untouched in the backlog of your vocabulary for longer than you’d care to admit. You knew its dictionary definition, of course, but it’d never been a word you’d ascribe to yourself. Leading up to last November, it wasn’t a feeling you’d knowingly craved, either. If you were honest, you might have hated it and its synonyms, too.  Rooted. Tethered.  They were on the tip of your tongue now, finally yours to taste. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that your resistance to them had always been a coping mechanism. Your amygdala trying to intervene. Until you met Namjoon, stability had been unfamiliar and elusive. It’d outrun you for so long, there’d only been one conclusion left for you to leap to: You didn’t deserve to catch it. But you did catch it. You found him, opened yourself up to believing that you were the kind of person who got to have roots. For a year, you tried so hard to nurture them, loved the beautiful thing you’d grown in spite of yourself.  You earned them, so why couldn't you keep them?

(25) a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

oh, god. i can't narrow it down to just one, so here are the five that immediately come to mind because i will (and do) talk about them to anyone who will listen: (1) a word from our sponsors - @ugh-yoongi, (2) the iron ring - @sailoryooons, (3) my feet to follow, my heart to hold - i swear this would be on the list even if you weren't the person asking asdfghjk, (4) mixtape - @/sailoryooons.... again. don't look at me, lmao. (5) don't sweat it - @miraclewoozi.

🪩 send me an end of the year ask

[btscontentenjoyer]

If OC is the one setting the standard for Jungkook, he's the one setting the standard for ME 😭😭😭

“I understand. Hey,” another break in his speech, “I’m proud of you.” Aw is that her dad :(( It really will take a while for everything to settle and the wounds to heal, he definitely could have supported her and done so much more for her. But at least there is hope for relationships and connections mending, if they were any good to begin with.

"That very semester is still a major component of Jungkook’s memory. Ever since, he’s seen a handful and a dozen and a hundred pieces that matched the words once uttered. Just, never as much as today." 🥺🥺🥺

"There’s a dull realisation in the back of his mind; and it evokes quiet anger in him. That… there was always a potential anchor inhabiting the same house as you, but never serving as one." Yuppp, he could have been supporting her the whole time but instead he chose to stay silent, and that still brings a lot of pain, it's not only the being openly vile to her like her mother that hurts.

“Because,” you continue your vent, “he was strict but not like her, and… Sometimes he did recognise bullshit when he saw it. I’d hear them talk and he wouldn’t always see eye to eye with her. But a bit more open support would’ve been cool, you know?” She's so precious 🥺🥺🥺 trying to see the good in him when he so obviously didn't do enough.

“Yeah… yeah. But maybe someday she can be proud, too.” Aw I will always hope for OC's sake that her mother gets it together, no matter how much I don't like her.

“The issues you deal with. And the ones I deal with. You and I together, okay?” 🥺💕

"And he’d know. Because if he’d been comfortable enough, he would’ve long ago; he had the chance to. Yet, the courage never surfaced — until with you." Yupppppppp!!

“Fair,” is what you settle on, though, “wouldn’t I know what brain outages your romantic ass causes.” They're so cuuuute. And I can attest as well that I've had to stop reading and collect my thoughts because of some things cmi Jungkook has said that have hit right in the feels.

"Fuck, not when he’s kissing it off…" Good thing he didn't say that out loud because I don't know about OC, but that would persuade me for sure and there would be no one answering the door for the guests lmaoooo.

"Quite a while ago. You visited him for the first time in Namjoon’s studio back then; recalled it at the exhibit, too. Crazy how sentiments have changed. From a silly play-pretend game to damaged souls to this…" They've come so far 🥺🥺

"He looks at you with something knowing and so telling in his gaze; he feels it unveil through his own stare. The knowledge he possesses about something, and that you don’t." Aaaah so excited about that 🥺🥺

"Jungkook can’t help but chuckle. You’re a breath of fresh air to be around; so incredibly tender when you’re yourself. After all those weeks, you’re finally back to who he used to know. Not as sad anymore." I'm so so happy about that too, so happy that OC feels happy <3

"Barely a couple seconds later, you’re back to where the trip started. Following suit when he kneels near the table; swift beam spreading over your face when he clears his throat and narrates, “This… Is where I painted on you. Not on another medium, but I painted on you. Remember?” AAAAAAAAAH!!!!! I love love love this moment from the series, it's definitely one of my favourites. I absolutely need to reread it now.

"He snickers at your choice of words, but then inhales, and very sternly says, “Yeah. We also had sex here, so it’s forever tainted. I remember it felt… like… we should do it ag—” 😳😳😳😳😳😳 This man, I swear!!

"Funny — how his strong chest holds a feeble heart. Bursting and aching, full and yearning." He's so precious and I love him so much 💕💕

“Ohh, okay, okay. Well, since we’re talking about it. Even if you didn’t paint it,” Jimin says, “been wanting to tell you that I loved your exhibit stuff. Uhm, Eun showed me pictures. Hope that’s okay.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 As I think I've said before, knowing how protective Jimin is of OC and the kinds of reservations he had about Jungkook, it really means a lot now that he's trying to warm up to him more.

“Yeah. No worries. Everything for our girl.” 🥺🥺🥺

"To his chagrin, most of them offer to help momentarily. Taehyung swarms around you, insisting on plating, making it impossible for Jungkook to find a moment to ask what your conversation was about. And eventually, he gives up — if it’s important, you’ll tell him." I wanna know too 👀👀👀👀

"If anything other than this life is considered good, then Jungkook doesn’t crave that goodness. The unbridled chuckles, and your never-dropping smile are beyond everything twinkling and gorgeous already." All of them and their happiness are so precious to me <3

"He can nearly see your heart ache. And feels his own thump a thousand miles a second. A fraction of it breaks off and jumps into your chest, making it yours; it does it all the damn time until you hold the entirety of it in the palm of your hands." Love these lines 🥺🥺🥺

"Unhurried, he steers your finger further, stopping at the blue tint; clearly hears you draw a breath when he tells you, “And this… This is my girlfriend. She’s even prettier in real life… that’s right.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭

"And in the end, him and you aren’t tragic like them. You will never wither — only bloom." 💕💕💕

“Bedroom. Right now.” Lmaoooo the man has had enough 😤😤

“You’re a clown, I’ll admit,” you whine his name, and he laughs, “but I’m telling you. I know my mom and that was her I-like-you voice. Which I didn’t doubt for a second, by the way. Like, she really seems happy with how my life has turned out, and with whom. As am I. Understand?” One thing about cmi Jungkook is he always knows exactly what to say and how to say it to reassure her 🥺🥺🥺 It feels so calming and sweet and yet so stern that there's no way you won't take him seriously and start to believe it yourself.

“You’re the one I want to spend all my time with.” He pauses when you look at your blanket-covered lap, hiding your twinkling eyes. “So it’s clear.” This is such an amazing feeling when it happens to you 🥺🥺 and even more amazing when you actually do get to spend your time with that person 🥺🥺

"You nod; someone as hard-working as you would understand. In a sense, you’re a role model to him, too — a sentiment that you, as you have often emphasised, reciprocate." Something I love so much about them ����🥺🥺

“Rather than adhering to any rules or standards I could have, I feel like you’re building them for me. You make me have a type, you know?” He feels you dissolve in his arms as he taps between your clavicles. “And that’s you. I don’t want anyone if I can’t have you.” 😭😭😭😭 this is so real honestly, when you find a person who doesn't meet your standards but actually builds them, you know you've found a keeper.

"You in a dress. You in his house. You, dominating over every single heart that’s dear to him." I can't wait 🥺🥺🥺

“Flowers to match? I don’t know. Maybe you can draw on me. Here,” you lead his hand to your thigh, sticking there for a while until you move up to your hip. “Or here.” When this happens, I predict I will be freaking out about it as much as I was while reading the body painting scene. And that was a lotttt.

“But,” Namjoon knocks against the random drawing open on the table, “you already have so much to show. And you can revamp stuff from college, too. Besides, it’s okay to try your best and be scared at the same time, Jungkook! That’s part of a growing artist’s job.” Ugh I love Joon so much. And I love how him and OC are perfect at teaming up to reassure Jungkook.

"In some way, opening to a blank page serves as inspiration alone. You furnished him with something so simple yet gorgeous; thoughtful engraving to use as a reminder to hold onto his efforts." Aaaaaw

"You’re diving into a stable job, well-paid, well-known. If you end up carrying both of you on your shoulders… would you think of him as a washout? Grow frustrated and dissatisfied?" Poor baby still has insecurities about not being good enough for her huh 🥺

"Your finger swings to and fro between Namjoon and you, and your expression changes from empathic and soft to the sweetest, most gut-wrenching smile he’s ever seen. The apples of your cheeks lift, pupils sparkling when you vow, “We’re here for you." 🥺🥺🥺 What better cheerleaders are there?

"Cry about the shiver down his spine and the flutter in the pit of his stomach. About the world becoming a backdrop to everything in the middle of the pavement; and about how his thoughts only revolve around your shared breaths and the feeling of your warm cheeks." He's so in love!!!!!

“We really do have the same brain, don’t we?” he asks." They're so similar and it's so cute!!

“Because they’d say, and I quote, ‘Just wait.’ They knew we couldn’t stay away from each other even before we did.” You laugh. “Eun told me that day in the kitchen.” 🥺🥺🥺 They believed in them that whole time and so did I.

"Funny you’d be so nervous around someone who wants to see the entire world with your hand in his." 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"It’s crazy. How effort is never required from your side for him to feel that way. How you only need to breathe and talk and smile and stay." Pleaseeeee it was already so cute before but now repeating it makes me wanna cry for some reason 😭😭😭 Imagine someone loving you so fully and so truly that you literally need to do nothing else but be yourself for them to adore you and think about you constantly 😭😭😭 It also reminds me of how he wants her to be completely herself when she meets everyone because that's who he loves and he's so sure that everyone else will love her too without her needing to even try 😭😭😭

Cmi Jungkook is theeee standard, I've believed it since day one and he has come through and provided me with more evidence every step of the way. I love him so so much. And I can't wait to see the roadtrip because I love their lil friend group so much too 🥺🥺

colour me in: blooming | jjk (m)

Summary: You're the flower blossoming in Jungkook's living room, no matter how relentless the rain. And you're the sun he tirelessly orbits — warm as a home.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; hints of angst, fluff overload, suggestive ➳ warnings: full jk pov!, fluff fluff fluff, but also crying, bits of insecurities, mommy and daddy issues, their friendddsss <3, oc's favourite blanket smells like him <3, his feelings for her are consuming him in a gorgeous way 🥺, grocery shopping 🍏 and then a housewarming party, jk chocolate chip nips appreciation (oc pinches them lol), horniness, implied sex + implied boner, sexual tension, flirting and teasing and bickering, yearning, convos about their relationship/life, cooking together hehe, jk is so… jk, kissing/making out, the ending ♡ ➳ word count: 15.6k ➳ a/n: domesticity is my favourite city and i never wanna leave lol. i've genuinely been enjoying fluff more than i ever thought i would. this chapter made me so damn happy and i hope it has the same effect on you guys, too <3 let me know how you liked it; feedback is always appreciated 🥺 also, there are lil sub-headings to avoid confusion with the timeline!! enjoy!! 🤍 ➳ a/n2: even though i am a tiny bit late… happy birthday @jkaxl. love you so much, axelle <3 ➳ listen to: daylight by taylor swift (ty anon <3) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

”Are you happy?”

“I’m… I’m adjusting to it all. It’s new. But so far I feel— relieved.”

“Okay.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I didn’t encourage that feeling earlier. But… you know. You found your way on your own, and somehow, I find that just as remarkable. If not so much more.”

“Thank you.”

Silence breaks the dialogue, but there are still shreds of unspoken words he’s not letting out yet. Right on the tip of his tongue, resting quietly; so you wait. Let your weary gaze slump to your lap, blinking until you hear a rustle and a—

“Do you want to come over sometime?”

You don’t know.

So you respond in just that uncertainty, “Maybe at some point? When it’s… not so overwhelming anymore.”

“I understand. Hey,” another break in his speech, “I’m proud of you.”

Your heart suspends for a fraction of a moment, but you feel the seething, searing pain. Fresh, clumping up your throat.

“…Thank you.”

THE SUNDAY AFTER THE PRESS CONFERENCE

When Jungkook locks the door, the apartment is quiet, but the living room light still glowing.

Still fired up and hot, the cool back of his hand pats his warm neck and cheek. Your name threatens to tumble off his tongue, but an oddly calm feeling advises against it. And as he carries his bag into the living room, setting it down next to a big flower pot you so wanted, he sees why.

Because you’re curled up on the couch, temple against the back of it, legs pulled in. Your favourite blanket — that you swear constantly smells like him — is draped half over you, falling off one of your shoulders.

You’re sound asleep. 

Jungkook recognises the pout even from afar; lets his eyes drift from your face to the hand peeking out of the blanket. Brushing a piece of paper that is holding on for dear life, attempting not to slip off your lap.

What if he never moved? If he kept staring?

Back in college, one of his dearest professors used to say, “You know it’s art when even blinking feels like a waste of time. You don’t want to spend a second not looking at it.”

That very semester is still a major component of Jungkook’s memory. Ever since, he’s seen a handful and a dozen and a hundred pieces that matched the words once uttered.

Just, never as much as today.

The sky has obscured since he left two hours ago — he wonders how fast that time passed for you. Either way, he reckons you didn’t rest until your body forced you to. Because it’s not anywhere near bedtime; but the changes in your life constantly add to your exhaustion.

He wanted to help. He did all morning before you sent him away, arguing that, “You’re already doing too much. And you hate paperwork anyway!”

To which he expressed, “But I don’t hate you or having you here!”

“Just go!” You reached to his left nipple, poking it, and he, wearing a frisky smirk, instinctively threw a protective hand over it. “The muscles demand your attention desperately. Just don’t look at other girls’ butts, ‘kay?”

He chuckled.

You made it sound like a life-altering goodbye to a year-long journey instead of a brief trip to the gym. He nodded solemnly, nearly saluting as he agreed, “You’re right. Gonna make sure I’m able to crush you extra hard.”

But it seems you crushed and knocked yourself out well enough. And that after he sent out various emails with you, drafting and crafting a battle plan, googling salient issues and their solutions, and writing down lists of everything still left to do before you can actually move in.

The two of you are lucky the landlord is laid-back. Usually, they don’t let anyone move in so quickly; demand a couple months. And you’ll already be settling here officially the very next.

Not that it makes any difference.

You already spend your dusks and dawns here, clinging, reluctant to go home. And he won’t tell you to; he’d be a fool to. Plus, he hates his bed cold.

Jungkook’s steps are slow, muscles painful to the touch. He sweeps his tresses back as he nears your slumbering, balled up form, soon pressing a hand into the arm of the couch. Suppressing a groan, he leans in; frees your closed eye from a lock before he plants a kiss next to it.

You stir with the softest flutter of your eyelashes, just a teeny tiny bit.

God. You tilt his world off its axis.

“Baby,” he whispers.

It must be pulling you out of the remnants of your doze, because your muscles awaken, corners of your lips twitching. The movement of your legs finally pushes the paper off the blanket, and Jungkook hurries to catch it before it can drift to the floor; places it on the table.

He kneels; and for the briefest, smallest moments, you flinch when your pupils eventually align with his. Then, relaxation floods you anew, and you grip the blanket, sliding it back over you — only for it to glide down again.

You smile — a tired beam, accompanied by a sigh. Not quite wide, because you’re not fully there yet, but still so genuine. Stretching a little, you murmur, “You’re back.”

“And you’re still working,” he scolds, albeit cushioning his words by bringing a fingertip to your jaw. Flicking affectionately, softly. “Did you eat?”

“Mhmmm. But it’s—” Your hand taps for something, moving under the blanket; and a second later, you’re lighting up your phone, squinting at it. “It’s not late. Gonna eat with you again. I’m not that tired anymore.”

As if on cue, you yawn, tears of weariness collecting. You interrupt it with a gentle snicker and promise, “I mean it.”

The lopsided smile emerges on his features quickly. The drowsy, vulnerable tone in your voice caresses his heart like a gust… but the meaning behind it doesn’t pass by him so fast.

“Don’t overwork yourself, okay?” he repeats for the fifth time today alone; it’s become a constant habit. A reminder, like clockwork. “The body knows when you do.”

“No. I feel great.”

“Just. Be nice to yourself, munchkin.”

“I am,” you defend, attempting to stress the verb, but not quite getting there, “I am. Don’t worry so much.”

An impossible demand; but how would he explain it to you?

Despite the shake of his head, he still gives in, “Okay. I’ll shower and be back in a sec, yeah?”

He waits for your confirmation until you hum in unintelligible agreement, moving back in to plant a kiss on your forehead. Rushes to the shower, washes off today’s effort.

Wet hair strands pushed back, he finds you shuffling and organising the papers you read and filled in today, placing them neatly in the middle of the table. You look more awake now, delivering a content smile before heading to the kitchen with him.

Only, your mind might not be entirely unfogged yet — because your movements are slow. Different from how he handles the stir fry that the two of you cooked for lunch together.

You were proud of your creation — told Jungkook how you’re still far from the skills he possesses, but not bad to start with and improving every day. Seasoning better, understanding how to cut faster without hurting yourself in the process.

It’s lovely, watching the contentment spread in your eyes.

Yet, Jungkook always makes sure to stand close to your back, hands lifted, persistently ready to salvage the situation if need be.

But right now, judging from your clearly burdened brain, he bestowed a relatively simple task upon you. And you look so cute doing it — bun all messy, shoulders slumped, sporting (after stealing) his joggers since they’re so ridiculously comfortable, so get your own.

He side-eyes you every now and then, forbearing a chuckle; but when your lower lip juts in concentration, he can’t help but sling an arm around your waist. The jug containing the iced tea shakes, and you hold the glass carefully, voicing a little, “Oh— I… Kook.”

You’re wide-eyed and caught off guard; blinking when he tilts his head and leaves a kiss under your ear. 

You raise your shoulder at the tickling sensation, and when you call his name again, your voice is reprimanding. But he could pick out the endearment even in his sleep.

That’s how it goes every hour of the day; sweet and new ever since you started frequenting his place even more often than before.

Something has occurred since the press conference. Two days only — but the universe has changed. Maybe it has expanded faster than ever and birthed a couple billion more stars, made even the nights brighter. He doesn’t know.

All he does recognise is that unnamed, newfound feeling spreading in his chest, and he’s been unblurring it. Bit by bit. Letting it take on a form that will soon consume him. He’s sure.

And soon, there’ll be a fitting word and definition matching this phenomenon, too.

It’s triggered by even the smallest things.

Like by the sound of your steps when you walk through the apartment. Or by the way you hum your favourite song all the time, unconsciously; then singing the line you hold dearest to your heart before resuming to the hum.

Trust in me when I say…

Or even… by how you’re facing him an hour later, satiated and cross-legged on the bed as you finish up today’s work.

You’ll have to notify the bank and whatnot of your move soon, so you need to brainstorm the relevant institutions that the new address and information will go to. It shouldn’t take too long; you’re diligent, so you’ll just be noting down all numbers next to the places you need to contact and then crash.

Jungkook soon takes over that task, lips moving as he reads the words, writes them down. And amidst the end-of-the-day chore, you crane your neck to read, and tell him, “You have such pretty handwriting.”

“So do you. I didn’t know you made circles over your lower case I’s,” he looks closer to where you scribbled, tapping the pen against a letter, “and awwh. The curves of the T’s!”

You giggle before you add, “I’ve heard a pretty handwriting symbolises inner beauty, by the way.”

“Ohh, so we’re both beautiful.”

“No doubt. We need to take more pictures… we look great together.”

That’s what’s been filling the hours of these days, too, Jungkook supposes. The airy, light atmosphere within the four walls he’s come to share with you. Laughter and shared glances, despite the stack awaiting you — because it signifies far more than paperwork.

Which is why it surprises him when a subtle switch occurs, suddenly and unannounced.

When he looks at your fingers lifting a paper, he can’t say what you’re seeing, but your ardour falters a little. Crooning dying, expression not matching the smile on the pictures you spoke of.

Delicately, you trace the edges of the document before putting it back down, aligning it with the rest of the pile. Pushing the whole thing to the side, you sigh, and he, a silent observer up to this moment, asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm?”

“You’re thinking about something. And I don’t like it when you’re quiet like this.”

“Oh… It’s nothing.” The shrug is subtle and unconvincing, and the tight shutting of your lips so telling to him. He senses the tension before you finally reveal, “Dad called today. And…” He waits; another shrug. “It’s nothing. He just asked how I was holding up. And that he’s sorry things had to escalate on Friday.”

Ah. Odd.

Jungkook would never say it to you: Because he has never been one to talk families down, sever a bond by voicing his opinion, even if the relationship’s already hanging by a thread. No… he’d never say it to you.

But.

There’s a dull realisation in the back of his mind; and it evokes quiet anger in him. That… there was always a potential anchor inhabiting the same house as you, but never serving as one.

Hidden behind your mother’s back, letting it all pass — probably for you to build character.

Jungkook has always assumed that his dad did just that, too. Throwing him into the world without support, letting a seemingly irresponsible teenager, and then young adult, experience hardships in order to learn how to deal with them.

In contrast to your father, his dad wouldn’t apologise to him… yet, in the end, morally and emotionally, both your families fucked up big time.

“Oh…”

You nod, elaborating, “He wanted to know if I was going to visit him. But I need a bit of time.”

Right… thinking about it, you haven’t seen your father in a while. And your mother hasn’t blown up your phone since Friday evening — when you came out of the glass building, with equally glassy yet hopeful eyes.

You truly must have let off steam in there for her to back away.

“Is that why you were saying you’ll be rushing to the house after work?”

Because as far as he recalls, you’ve been talking about gathering your stuff immediately after working hours — or on Saturday mornings. Never any other time. Because you know they won’t be at home then.

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I feel horrible neglecting him like that, because he seems to be glad that I’m happy, but…”

Your lips point downward; you clear your throat, but it doesn’t hide the tremble in your voice, “I just wish he’d defended me sometimes. Dunno. Maybe he did and I just don’t know about it? And it never worked? It’s what I like to think.”

God…

“Because,” you continue your vent, “he was strict but not like her, and… Sometimes he did recognise bullshit when he saw it. I’d hear them talk and he wouldn’t always see eye to eye with her. But a bit more open support would’ve been cool, you know?”

Shit, how it angers Jungkook.

The knot in your throat; how you avert his gaze; the looming tears. It all angers him.

He moves his hand to your knee, keeping his voice and heart steady for you. Simply uttering, “Baby…”

“And… and then today he suddenly seemed… I don’t know.” You take a deep breath, shaking your head. Your blinking fastens, and you vehemently dodge Jungkook’s eyes. “I dunno how casually he said it, but he told me he was proud.”

The way you emphasise the word… as if it’s a stranger to you, like you’re trying it out…

Jungkook sighs, heart and chest heavy, muttering so kindly—

“Oh, sweetheart… Ah, come here—”

His palm shoves the papers aside some more, uncaring, and brings you closer to his body. Yearning for your embrace, he shifts with you until your legs wrap around each other. Fingers slither to your chin to raise it, and then pinch your cheek adoringly.

The bedroom light falls into your sparkling eyes, shiny with the dampness. You’re not crying, but you sniffle for a moment.

“Of course he is,” he whispers, keeping your face upright, “what’s there not to be proud of? You’re so fucking cool.”

“…You think?”

“Of course I do,” he repeats, “you’re so inspiring and smart and funny and awesome. I’m the proudest of you, in fact.”

The heat increases beneath his palms as your cheek smoulders, pupils promptly softening. As if the outline of your irises is blurring, relinquishing the harder, unwanted emotions.

“I could probably live with just that,” you respond, managing a tender laugh and mixing it with your sniffles. “But…”

But perhaps, the heavy heart won’t get entirely lighter just yet. And Jungkook’s turns half blue at the same time as yours.

“I wish my mom could react the same way instead of being so… stubborn. I mean, it’s a good thing that I want to stand on my own two feet! And aside from work — she also saw me in the summer, and she knew how I felt without you. She sees how I feel now with you, too, and yet.”

You puff out some air, as if you’d been dying to rant; and he imitates the release of a quiet breath, but for wholly other reasons.

Because…

Along with the melancholy drenching your voice, the guilt shoots an arrow to his heart. Guilty about this damn summer; about the days he nearly gave up on you. If he could encase your fractured soul in a quick cure…

“I’m sorry she keeps hurting you, baby. And… I’m sorry you cried. Being sad over a loser like me was the last thing you needed, so…”

He’s half joking; lifting the corner of his lips. You seem to know, too, because you match his smile — still pledging, “Being sad sucked, but… you’re right here now and. I do need you.”

It’s so easy for you to tinge his entire being in a bright pink. Because somewhere in the depths of his mind, he admits that he wanted to hear this. That he wants you to need him as much as he needs you.

“And I’m right here to stay,” he promises. “Even if she doesn’t. Okay?”

“Yeah… yeah. But maybe someday she can be proud, too.”

It’s fucking you up more than he thought. Probably more than you thought.

“I’m sure,” he guarantees, “some people accept their mindsets as the only truth, angel, but one day she’ll come around.” You only nod. So he adds, “I’ll fix this with you.”

“Fix it?”

“The issues you deal with. And the ones I deal with. You and I together, okay?”

Your motions are slow. The nod is barely one; maybe because his hands refuse to establish yet another distance to your skin. And maybe because you’ve tired yourself out once and for all. The slight slouch is telling; your body needs some rest.

Enough with the papers.

“You know… somehow, this excites me,” he says. The grin emerging confuses you for a while; the flicker in your eyes is as delightful as the moment. “Pulling out all the stops and making things better with you, I mean. I wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.”

And he’d know. Because if he’d been comfortable enough, he would’ve long ago; he had the chance to. Yet, the courage never surfaced — until with you.

His touch drops from your face to the side of your neck, shaking you gently before he says, “You excite me all the time.”

Shouldn’t be news to you — bearing his unceasing kisses and everlasting words in mind, his bliss is difficult to miss. There’s barely any containing it around you.

And maybe you know what he means; because judging from your dreamy smile, you can’t seem to muster any self-control either. Feeling the joy bubbling, growing, simmering in the middle of your stomach until it explodes and you—

Wrap your arms around his neck abruptly. Attacking him until balance abandons him, falling back onto the bed before you land on top of him. The hug is crushing, your body pushing into his with every sliver of fondness you can summon.

He could say something. Blurt more admissions dipped in honey. But he doesn’t question it; doesn’t comment on it. Only relishes the silence and your warm cheek against his chest, cuddling in.

And sighs in contentment.

A WEEK LATER

You’re messing up the structured system he established for himself.

The groceries are scattered in the cart; instead of playing Tetris with them, as he usually does, you’re piling them up randomly, unaware of the mess.

Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to tell you that the pack of eggs isn’t supposed to be balancing on top of other products like this. Because holy shit, you are buzzing. Not because you don’t know how to grocery shop, but because of the conversation this morning.

”I've got a whole list in my head. We’ll need a shit ton to make this work tonight.”

You were taming your hair as you listened; watching your reflection follow your movements — and as he readied himself for the day, Jungkook watched from afar.

You’d decided that for now, a week was enough to mourn the loss of whatever familial bonds could’ve been. Just last night you told him that starting this new life means an opportunity to gradually leave your sorrow behind, even if it takes some time.

And in celebration of the new arc you’re so joyfully approaching, you’d decided to host a housewarming of some sorts.

Jungkook’s friends already know his place; but the pronoun has changed. This time, you want them to step into your apartment, too.

Securing a hair strand with a clip, you asked, “Do we have it all here?”

“Not everything. Gotta go grocery shopping later.”

“Ohhh…”

Your fingers floated to the edge of the wash basin. You held it in your grip, leaning over it a little, staring into your own eyes quietly. He checked with another step closer to the bathroom, glimpsing at the expression in the mirror.

Calm, but thinking.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling his jeans’ zipper close.

“Uhh. Do you need help?”

“You should rest. You’re already doing so m—”

“No, no, I mean…” You let the sink go, folding your fingers. Inhaling for just a moment when your eyes fell on his bare torso. “I want to go grocery shopping with you. It’s Saturday and I have nothing to do until tonight. So… Please don’t go without me?”

The big eyes and saccharine question went straight to his heart; like one of Cupid’s pointy, sharp arrows targeting the exact middle of the organ. What else could he have done other than breaking into a breathy laugh — wide grin building a lively start to the morning.

“Of course. I’ll wait until you’re ready then.”

You raised a triumphant, tight fist, and he shook his head in delight. Diminished the distance between your bodies, a hand pressing into the back of your head before pulling you to his lips and placing a kiss to your forehead. Right before—

“Hey— ouch?”

It didn’t hurt; but he still felt the fingers pinching his tiny nipples — and heard your cheeky, “Why are they always hard? And why are you always shirtless, Jeon?”

He didn’t argue that changing into outdoor clothes didn’t count. Instead, the bright golden light you cast in his mind distracted him, taking him back.

You’d said that to him before; everything has changed since then.

“Why are you smiling like this?” you ask, holding a pack of four yellow apples in one hand, red ones in the other.

“Hm?” Jungkook rubs a hand over his cheek, feeling the glee in his countenance before flattening the dimples. “It’s nothing. I’m just liking how much fun you’re having.”

“I am! But most of all because I can’t wait to cook with you today.”

Your words instantly conjure pictures of a potential evening; idyllic ones mixing with utter chaos. Rushing and cutting and serving — but for one of the very first times together. Only milestones ahead.

A higher pitched gushing threatens to fall out of Jungkook, right here in the fruit aisle. But instead, you raise your hands again, asking, “Which ones?”

“Hmmm… neither. Let’s get the green ones.”

You let your arms fall, a finger pointing towards him, and say, “Ohhh. Good call.”

And then you proceed to complicate the cart labyrinth again. What a savagery. Jungkook waits until you’ve turned around and works on reorganising again, following his system. Then, he thinks — this could be draining, but it’s not.

Because you keep each other entertained. And neither of you bothers about the gapes you receive.

Not when he leans over the cart, shoving it in teeny tiny steps; continuing when he realises it makes you laugh.

Or, when you cheer once you find something the two of you like that nobody else enjoys; accompanied by exclaimed Ohhhhs and Haaas. And not as you argue when you find something to disagree about.

It seems that you do not dig dates, and he, the friendly omnivore, takes playful offence in that. He teases you across half the supermarket until you turn the tables, picking up an eggplant and interrupting him with a,

“Look! This is you.”

The roll of his eyes only veils his amusement a little, he’s sure. Because your enthusiasm remains steady, including the impish pull of his beige Supreme beanie over his eyes and a kiss to his cheek that paints the spot in a rosy dust.

Pointing to a glass of honey, Jungkook soon fights back, “And this is you.”

“…This is way too sweet and I do not know how to counter it.”

“Romance tends to make people speechless, darling.”

Your expression resembles an ellipsis; whether you’re out of answers or overwhelmingly affected by the selection of his words, he doesn’t know. He knows he’d short circuit if you ever said that to him.

“Fair,” is what you settle on, though, “wouldn’t I know what brain outages your romantic ass causes.”

You’re the model definition of a cheesy, movie-esque couple. Taehyung and Eun differ from the nature the two of you showcase; they already threatened to bring paper bags in case Jungkook and you overdo it tonight.

Can’t blame them. The world is certainly pink-tinted when you bicker and jest at the register; or when you hurry through an Ikea — courtesy of your last minute plan to buy plants — to make it home and cook in time.

Just this morning, you were daydreaming about the concept of furniture retailers and how such shops allow building a home with the most special person.

And then, as if wanting to clarify your sentiments, you turned in the car, facing him as you struggled with the belt, just to say, “Which is you for me. I’m building a home with you.”

Jungkook’s legs still melt into a puddle whenever he remembers the softness in your words, and the puppy gaze you threw as you finally leaned back in your seat.

Which is why it’s such a shame that the clock is ticking so relentlessly.

Because your initial elation turns into disapproval only for today as you wade through the labyrinthine, time-consuming design the store is so popular for. Trying to keep up with Jungkook’s pace and hastening across the rooms.

And even then, neither of your laughter ceases; you turn the most stressful situations into deep solace. The pressure soon gives way to a calm satisfaction the moment your apartment door opens.

You set up the few plants you brought; some under the window, some on the desk in the bedroom, right next to the Beauty and the Beast rose, and a jade plant in the living room. For good luck, you said.

And then, after resting for five minutes and abandoning all further breaks, you start work in the kitchen. Which proves as cooperative as he thought — that is, until you get into a friendly argument about whether to do the dishes now or later.

“One of us keeps cooking. The other washes up what we don’t need anymore,” Jungkook explains, repeating it over and over.

To which you keep defending, “Or. One cooks one dish. The other handles the second. And we finish cooking faster and then do the dishes together.”

His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, and he whines, “It won’t make much of a difference!”

“Well, if it doesn’t, then we could do either!”

“BUT… it might get crowded if we work at the stove at the same time, babe—”

“You just don’t trust me with th—”

“Keep yelling at me like that, and—” Jungkook interjects, and you wince a tiny bit; but he continues a mere, barely lasting moment later, “and I swear I’ll kiss you.”

Beat of silence. Your eyebrows are still furrowed. And then, amidst the agitation, you erupt into laughter. Blend it with the chortle he can’t suppress, either.

To Jungkook, the sound is akin to a song — and he could spin the record all day long.

Spoiler warning — you do not kiss. But the lively chuckles and free-spirited conversations dye the atmosphere and flavour it. Its sweetness feels like a feathery kiss, too.

And whether it’s that very unlimited sense of familiarity, gradually growing, or your unwavering teamwork at last — you’re surprised when the late afternoon transforms into an early evening, a dimly blue, cloudy sky already changing into different shades of grey.

Time passed fast; but the hour-hand on the clock still hasn’t quite moved to where you’re waiting for it to settle. Because back in the living room, you’re still an hour early. Your guests are invited for around six, but you can’t say when they’ll actually show up.

Seems you wrapped up work at a convenient time. Better now than late.

You kiss your teeth in the middle of the room, scanning it for something to do. It’s clean; pretty. Plants set up, table wiped, cushions neatly set on the couch. So you remark, “We were so stressed, I didn’t think we’d be finished already.”

Jungkook, already plummeting onto the far end of the couch, pats the spot next to him, saying, “That’s good. Gives us a bit of time to relax. Anything you wanna do?”

But you don’t sit down yet. You watch your manspreading boyfriend lean back, big inked hand wrapping around the remote control. You look at the open button of his shirt, and the singular hair strands; the side parting. The mole under his lips and the big eyes.

He just doesn’t notice it until the lack of a response continues.

“Huh?” he voices again, finger stopping over the power button before his eyes flit back to you.

You look deep in emotions and distracted; if he could guess, then even… ferociously yearning. He waits with a dancing heart until you admit boldly, “There’s plenty I can think of that I wanna do right now.”

You fold your hands behind your back, chest out a little, legs crossing. You curl your lower lip in, nibbling at it. It affects him, and you know. He sucks in air, a hand on his thigh. Blinking at you, and then poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

He leaves out a puff of a tiny laugh, shaking his head a bit. Nearly succumbing to the thought that…

Perhaps there’s an activity you can indulge in before they come, right—

Wrong.

Jungkook, no matter how tempted, throws another glance at the clock, and argues, “Stop thinking of eggplants. They’ll probably be here soon, so your smooth-talking is not allowed to work!”

Your body relaxes, back in its prior position; you pout for a second. “Fine. Then I’ll get dressed before anything else.”

Jungkook sighs in relief — close. Way too close. Tonight might just stretch his jeans if you keep this up; his blood is already abandoning his brain and putting its attention elsewhere.

But you’re well-mannered in the company of guests, right?

Only one way to find out — an hour to go.

Jungkook heaves his body off the couch merely ten minutes later.

And maybe even that was too early.

Maybe he should’ve waited for you to trudge out of the bedroom; or should’ve gotten his clothes and changed somewhere else. Because when he follows your steps to find a new attire for himself, too, you’re sitting at the very edge of the bed, dress already on.

It’s not too posh; rather casual. A green cotton one, pulled up to your hip because you’re dragging transparent tights over your legs. A patch of your thighs is still visible; part of your ass on display where your panties don’t reach. Skin far too empty without his kiss on it.

He doesn’t know how you do it; but within a moment, you elicit a plethora of emotions in him. Burning desire; comfortable warmth; cosy affection. You look so cuddled in in that autumn dress.

Pretty. So gorgeous; you’ll drive him insane.

But the craze doesn’t manifest in hunger this time, but gathers in a single breath, let out in a sigh. Which… makes you recoil. Your hand briefly bolts to your chest, eyes rolling, head shaking. You murmur a quiet, “Babe…” before resuming the task.

Jungkook watches as you lift your body to pull your tights over your ass and the dress back into place, and then reaches out a palm to you; urging yours to settle in it.

Still trapped in a cube of daydreams, he tugs you in until your grace radiates toward him, and then tells you—

“My baby is the prettiest ever. Ever, ever.”

You take his fawning with glowing cheeks, smile so unbelievably worth being alive as you answer, “Your baby isn’t sure if she deserves this so suddenly, but… thankful either way.”

Your voice is an endearing mix of soft and enthusiastic. The combination that breathes life into a room. You’re so…

“God,” he says, squeezing your hand, lifting his other fingers to touch the hem of your dress. Fixing it albeit already perfectly sitting. Then looks up; eyes dropping to your lips. “Maybe you were right. Want to kiss you stupid right now.”

And he would; he wouldn’t hesitate if you didn’t move a palm to his face, pressing a thumb to his plush mouth. Telling him, “Nope, too late. The make up wasn’t easy to do. And dark lipstick is hard to remove.”

Fuck, not when he’s kissing it off…

“I…” Gulp. “Fine, princess.” He removes your hand from his face, towing you back into the living room. “Then, what do we do now? Movie?”

“Nah… It’s so hard to stop watching. Gonna kick them out again if we start now. What about… hm.”

Your eyes dart across the room, and Jungkook takes the moment to suggest, “Or we could have some soju already? Or wine, beer, whatever?”

“Or…”

You wait. Jungkook follows your gaze to the back of the room, surprised when it falls on a peeking canvas behind another big plant pot. Oh — that’s still there. He never took it out, and neither did you. Protecting his privacy, probably.

But perhaps it’s lighting a bulb over your head, because you soon ask, “Or. Wanna give me a house tour?”

“A house tour? Don’t you know every corner already?”

“Yeah but,” you shrug, rounding the couch with him in tow, “I wasn’t always here. You organised the place the way you wanted to when you moved in, so you’d know it better. Like…” You point to the turned painting, “What’s that?”

“That’s… Remember the drawing I had in my notebook? Of Gureum?”

Quite a while ago. You visited him for the first time in Namjoon’s studio back then; recalled it at the exhibit, too. Crazy how sentiments have changed. From a silly play-pretend game to damaged souls to this…

You nod.

“Yeah so,” he continues, “I painted him on a bigger surface.”

Your eyes shoot open, genuine interest in them. “Oh? Can I see?”

“Of course.”

It’s not his best work, honestly; but it is close to his heart. A piece he still wants to improve and feature in his own exhibit once it rolls around. The colouring process will be interesting; it’s barely an outline yet.

But you seem to perceive it with utter fascination and sheer joy. Because the moment Jungkook heaves the canvas up, turning it for you to see, your chin drops. You gasp, mumbling under your breath, “You’re kidding!”

“…Do you like it?”

“It’s so cute! This is…” You lean in, taking in every detail; commenting on it. “He’s a fluffball! Oh my god, the tongue peeking out. He looks so happy.” When you look up into his eyes, Jungkook’s heart does a thing; and his cheeks the other thing. “You painted him from memory?”

“Mmh, maybe a couple details? But I got most of him from a picture my aunt sent me a while ago. He’s been looking much older these days and I wanted to capture him before he ages even more. Made me miss him so much.”

“Awwh, Kook…” You pout. “I really want to meet him one day.”

He looks at you with something knowing and so telling in his gaze; he feels it unveil through his own stare. The knowledge he possesses about something, and that you don’t.

You might notice hints of it, but you don’t question it. Listening when he responds, “You will. He really is a fluffball and remembers me even after months and years of distance.”

“I love him already.” You lift, straightening your back. Watching as Jungkook sets the painting back before you add, “Okay. House tour. What else?”

“Hmm. Let’s see. Come.” He leads you the short way to the cupboard, and you follow in tiny steps, like an explorer running from one treasure to another. So exhilirated. So fucking cute. “Look, these— and don’t laugh, these are precious to me.”

“Laugh?”

“…These,” he opens the cupboard doors, reaching to the far back, behind some decoration; and pulls out a deck of cards. “Are my Yu-Gi-Oh cards. I used to collect them long ago, but I’m never throwing them away. Also—”

Your lips are parted, your eyes focused. Eyebrows shooting up gently, delighted when he takes out another small object from the back.

“My Jiraiya figure that I got for my tenth birthday.”

“Holy shit… I really never bothered looking in hidden corners.” Yeah… but now that you are, you’re making this place your own, too. No, it already is yours, the way he is. He swoons at the thought. “This is so cool. Why would I laugh?!”

“Ah… Were you a Naruto fan?”

You tilt your head. “A little. More into Detective Conan, though.”

Jungkook wonders… How foolish might his smile be looking right now?

“You… keep surprising me, angel,” he says — and you seem to like the praise.

Because you light up, forefinger touching his chest as you reiterate, “See? The house tour wasn’t a bad idea at all! Look at us tracking back the path of our souls, too.”

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle. You’re a breath of fresh air to be around; so incredibly tender when you’re yourself. After all those weeks, you’re finally back to who he used to know. Not as sad anymore.

Never sick of the hand-holding, he grips your palm again, voice hushed when he orders, “Follow me, quick!” The mysterious journey leads you to the closet next; back to the quiet bedroom as he playfully shushes you. “I haven’t worn them in a long time, so you won’t know, but… Look, because the secret's out.”

You crane your neck to see what he’s referring to. And when you do, you coo and laugh straight away. Endlessly enraptured when he claims, “Wahh. They were my super-favourites.”

Iron Man socks. Obviously worn a hundred times; so, so him.

His bunny teeth flash in all their glory when he smiles, dimples out and corners of his eyes crinkly. He feels you hold his hand tighter, and you pick the most supportive tone when you say, “You need to start wearing them again! It’s so sweet when you’re geeky.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He stuffs them back, though not to the very bottom anymore; places them on top for easy access. And then, he continues, “Okay. One more thing for the glorious house tour, and we’re done. It’s another important sight, actually.”

“Ah. Oh?”

Barely a couple seconds later, you’re back to where the trip started. Following suit when he kneels near the table; swift beam spreading over your face when he clears his throat and narrates, “This… Is where I painted on you. Not on another medium, but I painted on you. Remember?”

You must. He rarely abandons paper and his usual colours like that; but you were the most marvellous masterpiece he ever covered. The most outstanding canvas he’s ever drawn on…

“I do.”

Your gaze falls sideways; are you remembering the same heart on your waist that he does? And how he touched it; smeared it under the shower water. How your back pressed into his chest, unknown what feelings you truly harboured, but never failing to showcase his own care to you.

The kisses on your shoulder. The whispers in your ears. The plea for you to stay.

“Of course I do. It was so calming,” you add, “and so beautiful.” You touch the soft carpet, plucking at its tiny fibres. “You consider it a sight at Jeon manor?”

He snickers at your choice of words, but then inhales, and very sternly says, “Yeah. We also had sex here, so it’s forever tainted. I remember it felt… like… we should do it ag—”

“Now it’s you saying these things!” You move a fist to his bicep, pushing against it lightly. “Be serious. Be romantic! It’s not the time to make me want you.”

“Oof, hey… For the record, I was being romantic! And also, I only want you more when you’re being sweet,” he rubs the spot you grazed; he barely felt it, “but seriously. I still remember everything I felt for you. And how crazy you drove me… and how vulnerable you were.”

You’re still stroking the fur of the carpet as you look into his eyes; and he sees a molten puddle in yours. Only one side of your lips lifts, but the softness in your voice is genuine, “I think I still am. Just a lot safer than before.”

“…Good. Me too.”

And that’s all.

That’s all his mind comes up with, because all the words and infatuation are locked in his heart, moving to his fingertips when he inches closer. He raises them to your chin. Knees near yours and close the yawning distance until your lips are a whisker away.

Funny — how his strong chest holds a feeble heart. Bursting and aching, full and yearning.

If he could, he’d stay here with you forever, just like that.

But. The two of you have a party to host.

And the suddenly ringing phone reminds you of it. Makes you flinch until your noses and foreheads touch, and you laugh, rubbing them as you tap the couch for the device. The two of you lean against the sofa, cosy on the carpet as you pick up.

He hears Eun’s voice announce through the phone, “We’re all here. Just a warning, because you better not be naked.”

You shoot a glance toward Jungkook. He snorts, and you start, “Why would we…”

“‘Cause we’re early for once. Taehyung didn’t need as much time with his hair today. So be prepared.”

Jungkook nods in confirmation. Taehyung usually needs to be told an earlier time when invited to an event or get-together.

There are sounds in the background, and he readies himself to register another voice. But not a second later, the doorbell chimes. Guess the two of you will have to wait with the bare devotion. 

Because for now, it’s time to indulge the gang. Let them stream in with vibrant greetings, wrapped gifts, endless booze and sweets as irresistible as you.

Jimin is the only guest coming in a little later, rushing straight from his shift. And Jungkook recognises quickly that he’s not Jimin’s first pick for conversation after a timid handshake and parting of ways.

There’s no enmity between them; Jungkook reckons it’s more the awkwardness from the Blue Night still lingering between Jimin and him. Maybe even some leftover guilt about how he used to perceive the younger man.

At least, it’s strange when he, eventually, does take a seat on the couch, separated from Jungkook only by a healing Yoongi. You’re busy talking to Eun, and Taehyung has escaped to the bathroom. Yoongi maintains a healthy atmosphere with casual talks and soft jokes.

But even if somewhat reluctantly, it seems that Jimin is at least trying when he leans back on the couch, enabling a better view to Jungkook as he asks, “Did you paint that one?”

Jungkook follows the finger pointing at the wall next to the window; nothing too out of the ordinary. Just colourful flowers. It’s okay. Better this than nothing to warm up to each other.

Turning on the couch, Jungkook waves a hand in denial as he explains, “Ah, no, no. She bought it because she thought it’s cute.”

“But you could paint that, too,” Yoongi argues, followed by Jungkook’s shy, “I guess.”

“Ohh, okay, okay. Well, since we’re talking about it. Even if you didn’t paint it,” Jimin says, “been wanting to tell you that I loved your exhibit stuff. Uhm, Eun showed me pictures. Hope that’s okay.”

That’s surprising. Jungkook considers himself gifted in this sense, but— having someone actually boast about his work for him makes him feel… accomplished? Appreciated.

No wonder you hold your friends in such high regard.

“Yeah! Of course. Thank you, Jimin.”

“It’s a pretty place, by the way.”

Yoongi wiggles a finger back and forth with an agreeing nod, snacking away, a quiet listener for the time being. There’s something amusing about it; makes Jungkook smile as he tells Jimin, “Thanks. And I’m glad you could come. Can imagine work’s a lot, so…”

“Yeah. No worries. Everything for our girl.”

Jungkook hums as the chat dies and the awkwardness returns. And then, he remembers—

Speaking of — where are you again? Still in the kitchen? Seems so. Or at least, moving away from it bit by bit.

Immersed in a conversation, holding the frame of the living room door, at the threshold to the anteroom. You’re discussing something with Eun, your expression focused. He can’t really make out your words because of those exchanged between Jimin and Yoongi, but…

A moment later, you do look at him. And then away again immediately — as if he caught you. A motion of your hand waves whatever cryptic topic off; and intrigued, Jungkook comes to a stand.

In vain — because Taehyung returns the same moment, babbling about whatever Yoongi just said. And you use the opportunity to march into the room, asking Jungkook to help you set the table for dinner.

To his chagrin, most of them offer to help momentarily. Taehyung swarms around you, insisting on plating, making it impossible for Jungkook to find a moment to ask what your conversation was about. And eventually, he gives up — if it’s important, you’ll tell him.

So for now, he relishes the evening your friends grant the two of you. They compliment the food, narrate short and long stories, watching Jungkook and you unwrap the gifts — board games from Jimin, cutting boards and wine from Yoongi, a stylish, modern thermostat from Taehyung and Eun.

The ecstasy overflows, the screeches probably making your neighbours think of you unhinged. Wine spills on the table; curses exchange; laughing turns into crying.

If anything other than this life is considered good, then Jungkook doesn’t crave that goodness. The unbridled chuckles, and your never-dropping smile are beyond everything twinkling and gorgeous already.

And he’s happy, too. Elated when you cover your mouth when you laugh; and overjoyed when you stand at the window after dinner, leaning forward. Breathing in the autumn air.

Jungkook follows once things wind down and the guests agree upon an appropriate volume. He mimics your stance, lower arms on the windowsill and hands hanging relaxed.

His fingers graze the withering flowers in the window box. They’re slowly dying by the hands of the approaching cold, and the rain keeps overwatering them. Yet… they still let it hurt them, holding on for as long as possible.

So in love with the shower.

It’s almost a bit tragic.

Jungkook refocuses, turning to you and asks, “What are you doing?”

Your head moves to the side, and you kill the remaining distance between you. Step close until you’re nearly nudging his elbow.

“Just,” you nod into a haphazard direction; into the outside world, “looking at the rain. Got a bit stifling in there.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook throws a glance over his shoulder. “Also, I think they’re getting drunk.”

“Mhmmm. Except Jimin. Poor him is looking at the alcohol so longingly. Did you notice that he didn’t drink?”

“Someone has to drive them home, and Yoongi with his healing injury is out. I offered, but Jimin insisted on taking care of them and not, as he said, bothering us. Super thoughtful, really.”

You smile, nodding along before you silence. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking of; or what you’re seeing. Maybe you’re truly only revelling in the rain; contrasting it with the sunshine you radiate.

Maybe he should look for a rainbow somewhere.

In the midst of the tranquil evening, your gape strays from the drizzle with a blink. It descends to his twirling thumbs, and then moves along the length of his arm. Jungkook notices your attention from the side, but only turns to look at you when he realises what you’ve fixated on.

You gesture towards the hues and outlines on his skin, delicately touching the writhing snake as you say, “Want a tour for them, too, if you’d ever allow. I imagine it could be fun.”

“Tattoo tracing?” His lips move into an endeared smile; you look so fascinated. Like you’re seeing them for the first time. “I’d be down. I could even…” His fingers journey to yours, gently leading them to the flowers. “I can even give you a sneak peek.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Look.” He guides your touch over the dazzling orange of his tiger lily. “This is me. Tiger lilies beg for love. I’ve always sought love, too.”

Your eyes change. He knows you see it, too — the urge to never be abandoned again, all the time.

He can nearly see your heart ache. And feels his own thump a thousand miles a second. A fraction of it breaks off and jumps into your chest, making it yours; it does it all the damn time until you hold the entirety of it in the palm of your hands.

Unhurried, he steers your finger further, stopping at the blue tint; clearly hears you draw a breath when he tells you, “And this… This is my girlfriend. She’s even prettier in real life… that’s right.”

For a bit, you’re speechless. Jungkook keeps admiring you in the forget-me-nots for another second, and when you don’t speak on, he meets your eyes. You’re shaking your head, and then — slowly wrapping an arm around his, moving close, head on his shoulder.

From this angle, your cheeks are demanding to be squeezed; eyelashes kiss them softly, your lips tempting curves when you laugh. Jungkook doesn’t get enough of you… and you don’t want to make it easier for him either.

Because, “Shit,” you say, “you were right about pining more when someone’s being romantic. ‘Cause you’re making me want you so bad, in every way. Are you… still up for kissing me stupid?”

“Ahh… babe.”

“I just… You excite me, too, you know?”

“Don’t say these things while they’re here, baby,” he warns, although as tenderly as anyhow possible, “you’ll give me a heart attack, I mean it.”

“Now you know how I feel all the time!” you tease, fingers flicking raindrops into his face out of nowhere.

Jungkook recoils and squirms, taken aback, but it takes him a mere second to play along. He gathers rain in his palms, threatening to toss it into your face; bickering chaos at the open living room window until your damp hands rejoin and delicate digits interlace.

And as he looks at the sad flowers again, the reality of the moment makes him think. How the two of you used to resemble the blossoms in your window box, once enduring the incessant melancholy, too.

Much like the flowers towards the downpour, Jungkook and you reached for each other while being watered by gloom — but unlike the flowers, you’re still sprouting and thriving into something vivid and fragrant. Not beaten by the agonising shower.

The rain hurt me, but I wanted to keep fighting. Because I hoped. Because I adored.

And in the end, him and you aren’t tragic like them. You will never wither — only bloom.

An hour later, the apartment is empty.

You opened all the windows to eliminate the suffocating air; and the hot water running in the sink soothes your cold skin. What a relief to watch the clinking dishes lessen; you sigh at the small amount still left, and Jungkook catches it immediately.

“See?” he teases, loading the dishwasher. Even that seems like a task after such a day; tidying up the living room was more than enough. “Good that we did most of it during and after cooking. It’s so much even now.”

Eyes heavy, you admit, “I should learn to listen to you more.”

He clicks his tongue, skipping a response, and then, out of the blue, says, “Angel… I could get used to this.”

“To me listening to you more?”

“Yes. But no. To you being here.”

You glow up, even though you’re still facing the sink, smile a little hidden, “You need to. Because I’ll be annoying you all the time.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

You hit him with a spoon, wetting the spot a bit before handing the cutlery to him. Delivering a head tilt, he smirks. Amused before he remembers something and asks, “Hey. What were you and Eun talking about earlier?”

“Hm? When?”

“Before dinner. It looked serious.”

You halt mid-movement. Did he catch something? Maybe. But you only insist, “Nothing special. About her graduation… you know, since it’s pretty soon.”

Huh. Doesn’t seem to quite cut it.

“Mmmh. Anything else?”

You feign a thoughtful moment, as if you’ve wiped your memory clean off whatever she said to you. Then, you tell him, “Yeah. I told her how you played around with the recipe and came up with the best dinner ever. And how hot you looked doing it.”

“…You said the last bit, too?”

“No.” Jungkook blows a raspberry before comically pressing his lips into a line, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault. I mean, do you know how attractive is it to be among people and know that this one person is still only looking at you?”

Oh, all too well…

“I would definitely know,” he chuckles. “Shit. You’ve been testing me tonight, you know?”

“…How?”

“All those compliments and ambiguous statements.” You shrug your shoulders in apparent innocence, muttering a small, ”It’s true" before he digs, “Anyway, don’t distract me. Anything else she said?”

Perhaps you’re done playing games. And perhaps you should’ve kept doing just that; because your next answer is a much greater tease.

“…I’ll tell you about it soon enough.”

Jungkook squints, organising a plate into a free spot, playfully disgruntled, “Unfair.”

“Hang in there.”

“Alright. You’re lucky I trust you.”

Your grin is gaping wide, and he attempts his best to ignore it. But when you add an evil snicker to it, regarding him with pure mirth in your eyes, he folds, “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just so cute. You’ll keep acting like you’re digging, but still always know when to respect my decisions. Maybe the bar is low? But I find trust ridiculously attractive.” You throw a longing smile at him, bringing a damp fingertip to his cheek to poke. “And to top it off… You’re so pretty, too, and I’m just… enamoured from all sides and—”

You wait and he uses the moment to wipe his cheek on his shirt. But when you don’t speak on, he spurs you on, “…And?”

“And I want you so bad.”

The plate waiting to be set into the dishwasher drops on the counter. Jungkook stares up, regarding the ceiling with a seemingly agitated look. You don’t know what’s truly whirling in him, so you warily ponder, “…What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Jungkook turns the water off, taking the cups from your hands and placing them in the sink. He shakes his palms off the liquid, and then whispers, “Okay. Later.”

The hold around your wrist is firm, and the tug firmer. Determined, he leads you out of the kitchen, slapping a hand over the light switch; your eyes are wide when you ask, “Wait, we’re not do—”

His answer is predictable; yet, you didn’t foresee it. Because—

“Bedroom. Right now.”

THE MORNING OF THE CONFESSION

Unlike you, Jungkook has considered himself a night owl ever since he entered the bustling world of college. Settling in the city was a stirring experience, and the thrill of it, along with a girlfriend, exams and newfound friends, kept him up until the sun rose again.

He enjoyed what he did, too. Loved school, so he didn’t mind the fatigued eyes during lectures. Truly one of the handful of joys that helped rid his head of the brain fog he bestowed upon himself after each long, sleepless night.

And he was an avid participant in classes despite his sheepish persona — they shook him awake, the late afternoon workouts obliterating the rest of the exhaustion. Maybe that’s why he was so reluctant to flake out for the night, too; still energised.

But while Jungkook carried the spirit of a straight-out-of-the-high-school-freshman who disliked falling asleep early, he despised waking up at the break of day just as much.

Would groan, blinking into the sun, with no one to blame for his agitation but him. No matter how deep his fascination for his studies and how quick the fading of his initial irritation — the first few minutes of every day were pure agony.

Jungkook is still a night owl. Still wants the nights to stretch, albeit for other reasons now. But his attitude towards mornings has changed.

There’s a shift in his preferences now; you moved his universe by an inch, altered it so effortlessly. Suddenly, he doesn’t regret rising with the sun next to him. He doesn’t curse the groggy feeling anymore.

There’s a silky touch he seeks every single morning that his eyes open to, lips he follows with his own blindly. You’re a permanent presence now, air and fire to his lungs, and he feels the freshness, feels the burn whenever your fingers brush his shoulders upon waking up.

He won’t need to check in at work for a few hours still; yet, sleeping in would mean losing the minutes that you’re still here before walking out the door until the evening.

He’ll sacrifice a slumber for this. Voluntarily.

And it’s crazy how none of this requires any sort of effort or pleading from your side. How all you need to do is to breathe and talk and smile and stay.

Those extra moments, no matter how fleeting, grant him a little more time on Earth with you, and he grasps it greedily. Even when you spend it teasing the hell out of him. Or, even when you wake up with scorching cheeks and endearing, high pitched complaints.

Like today.

“I still can’t believe yesterday,” you say.

“It’s okay.”

“I embarrassed myself so hard. Thinking about it, can I really show my face at the wedding? I’ll probably make things worse.”

Jungkook keeps glancing at the back of your head, the loose bun shaking with your movement. Smoothly, his fingers trace up and down your back; a gesture he started randomly and continued the moment you mumbled, “I like it… continue?”

Sat between his legs, you’ve been swaying for a while, both uneasy and amped about the approaching event. And to Jungkook, it’s as sweet as it is frustrating to see your brain fuming like that.

“Come here, baby,” he demands, content when you reverse into him. He wraps his arms around your chest, pulling you to his body, and presses a pillowy kiss to your temple. “You’re overthinking again. I promise you, we’ll make sure you have the most fun.”

“I embarrassed myself so hard,” you repeat, and Jungkook kisses his teeth.

“You’re a clown, I’ll admit,” you whine his name, and he laughs, “but I’m telling you. I know my mom and that was her I-like-you voice. Which I didn’t doubt for a second, by the way. Like, she really seems happy with how my life has turned out, and with whom. As am I. Understand?”

One more kiss to your scalp. He swings you from side to side, ignoring the ticking of the clock. In a few, you’ll be leaving the apartment, and Jungkook will need to kill the hours until he joins Namjoon at work. 

He shouldn’t be missing you already; but he still holds you tighter. Tighter until you let out a little groan, a hand on his arm. He can’t read your thoughts or decipher whether his promise helped; because you don’t answer yet.

Only wait for a few seconds, allowing him to wallow in your warmth until you call, “…Jungkook.”

“Mhh?”

“Talking about life and stuff… did you always imagine yours to be like this? Just curious.”

“Like this?” he ponders, mentally intertwining every current branch of his life into one healthily growing tree. He’s liking it. “Well… I graduated. An exhibition ahead that’ll hopefully bring me a step closer to my own studio and profession.”

You hum in pride, tapping his arm as an affectionate reward. He continues, “I do what I love, have some great friends… and I get to spend my days with my favourite person? Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

You crane your neck to look at him; your lips are so close to his, tilted into a smile that’s so unbelievably you. “You called me that last night, too.”

“Huh? Oh, that’s right. And… I mean it. Like. Now that you’re here, it’s even clearer somehow?”

“…How so?”

“Mmh… whenever I used to get home, I’d think of what to eat and of showering and going to sleep. And when I come home now, the first thing I think of is you. What we’d cook tonight. Or what we might watch or talk about. You’re…”

He feels your chest rise under his limbs; a sigh of fondness as he knows it best.

“You’re the one I want to spend all my time with.” He pauses when you look at your blanket-covered lap, hiding your twinkling eyes. “So it’s clear.”

“You always sound so hopelessly…”

You halt mid-sentence, the touch against your arm tensing — much like his own heart, jumping to the next beat with a heavy thud. You shake your head; Jungkook doesn’t get to dwell in further thoughts… still doesn’t have the words for them yet.

Or doesn’t want to admit them yet.

If he thought about them long enough and arrived at a conclusion, would you think he’s rushing your relationship? Would it scare you?

Better not find out yet.

So he lets you talk and listens, “Anyway. So, is there anything, like… more? That you want to achieve someday? Or that you think of sometimes before you go, that’s still left for me to do.”

How fitting.

Pretending to be sinking into thoughts, Jungkook hums, letting his chest vibrate against your back, and then answers truthfully, “Yeah? Maybe a couple things. We’ll see them with time when I gather the courage to tackle them.”

“Like what?”

“Hmm… am I allowed to say that already?” More simulations, teasing you with a fake distant gaze and a hissing inhale of air. “I’m not sure. You’ll know.”

“Hey! That makes me nervous.”

“No need.” You interrupt his speech with another sound of disapproval, pulling a dorky, infectious chortle out of him; his nose scrunches up. “I’m kidding. I’m talking about all the goals I have for my career. I don’t want to stop, no matter what. Keep going and keep striving for more.”

You nod; someone as hard-working as you would understand. In a sense, you’re a role model to him, too — a sentiment that you, as you have often emphasised, reciprocate.

Yet, you advise, “Just don’t overwork. Think of Icarus! We can’t always get more than more, you know? There’s happiness in satisfaction with what we have, too. But either way…” You angle your legs, pulling them close; cuddling into him more. “I’ve got your back.”

And perhaps that’s one of the gazillion traits he cherishes so much about you.

Your position at work is reputable and treasured, and you could easily push him to work harder, too. Could want him to match your career success, because it’s more or less guaranteed for you.

But you don’t. You stand by his side, prioritising his happiness and mental strength, albeit unaware of how his future might turn out. When you say you’ve got his back, he believes you.

“I know,” he says, lips in your hair, breathing you in. “Yeah… I know.”

“Hmmm… okay,” you move on, “what about me? Do you have any expectations? Certain standards and rules? I just,” you reach forward, tugging the blanket over your chest and his arm, “I feel like that’s something one should talk about. Tell me if it’s too much, though.”

“No, you’re right. But honestly? Is it… is it weird to say that you’ve kinda become a standard?”

“…I— What do you mean?”

“I just mean that… I’m never going to tell you that I expect you to be loyal and kind because it’s the bare minimum, right? Who doesn’t want all that? I know you are, so I don’t need to say it. So I don’t have any other expectations from you; these things are already the foundation of our relationship. Just. Mmh, how do I say it?”

He thinks for a moment, but you’re nodding, as if you’ve already understood. But his thoughts don’t end here; they’re just difficult to word. In his mind, they’re clear, but upon having to express them, he doesn’t quite understand the concept of language anymore.

Curses its limitations.

But then, as emotions gingerly gather to a coherent sentence at last, he tries to explain:

“Rather than adhering to any rules or standards I could have, I feel like you’re building them for me. You make me have a type, you know?” He feels you dissolve in his arms as he taps between your clavicles. “And that’s you. I don’t want anyone if I can’t have you.”

Did he go off track? Possibly. But you don’t seem to mind.

Because your voice is painfully sweet and miniscule when you speak, on the brink of losing the fight against the tremble, “But you have me. Pinky promise that you do, for a long, long time.”

Yeah… yeah, he does. And he’d be damned if he let this go.

Because if he ever did — if he ever so foolishly lost you again after combating these cruel storms, you’d still remain his standard. He’d look for you in each face passing, and in every laugh sounding.

The blueprint. And an everlasting memory.

Does it make sense? He doesn’t know.

And it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re right here.

“I’ll take your pinky promises,” he says, overjoyed as he crosses his legs over your shins, peppering more kisses onto your cheeks, the corner of your eyes, on your ear. He speaks in between your sighs and quiet laughs, “What about you? What do you want?”

“I… I don’t think I’ve ever had any expectations either, but. The wedding and—” You hesitate, as if considering dropping whatever you were going to list; and then you start anew, “The wedding made me think, and I— I just want to have so much fun with you.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I want all the ordinary things we do to feel special because it’s us doing them. And I don’t ever want us to regret anything, so… I want us to be brave.”

“Brave? Well, you’re already the strongest and bravest person I know.”

“Braver. I want to live without restraints. And I don’t want to overthink anymore.”

Hmm…

Jungkook has seen your jumbled up thoughts before. The pain you cause to your mind sometimes, and the zoned out eyes painting pictures of what you fear the most.

He knows that feeling. Has battled one too many beasts to lessen the ache; even if it’s not always possible. Even if he seeks reassurances sometimes, too. And maybe that’s the prominent and sole reason why he never dismisses your disquiet.

Why push you away if you’re already at an impasse? Why not lead you out of the maze?

“Take it easy, okay?” he soothes, letting his grip around you fall bit by bit to search for your fingers instead. “Restraints can’t beat us.”

“Yeah! I’m hopeful.”

“You should be.” Because thinking of all you’ve fought within the span of a couple weeks… “You’re the first person to show me that there’s no reason to be scared, you know?”

“Then…” You sit up, curling your fingers around his hand, lifting it mid-air in sudden eagerness. “Just imagine how life could go, right? We could go to the ocean. Oh.” You gasp, sucking in air. “Oh my god! The Great Barrier Reef!”

“Ohhh, that’s actually a solid bucket list item. And then, bungee jumping?”

You nod zealously; lacking your fingers’ mobility required to list things, you instead knock your intertwined hands against your thigh each time to come up with something new. Like now, “Cliffs. And northern lights, too. I’ve always wanted to see them.”

Reflexively, you look up.

Stare at the glued-on stars from last night, and the now missing projection you dozed off to. An effective visual lullaby; you didn’t even stir when Jungkook turned it off, tucking you in properly. In your blanket; in him.

“Hell yes,” Jungkook confirms.

“But the first stop’s your hometown… and the wedding. I want to meet your family and be super awkward about it.”

Jungkook laughs, forehead falling forward against your head. He shakes it for a second, and then recalls, “Ah… so chickens and family awkwardness. What else?”

He didn’t expect this to work out before he asked you. Considering you’ve barely started at Novaura, he anticipated gentle rejection. But now that it’s become a certain event in the incredibly near future, his heart pounds every time you mention it.

Because…

You in a dress. You in his house. You, dominating over every single heart that’s dear to him.

And it seems you’ve already thoroughly thought about this, because your answer shoots out of you like a bullet, “Wanna dance with you. And kiss you under the lights.”

“Angel… you’re over the moon about this, aren’t you?”

“…Too obvious?”

You allow a fleeting glance back to him before your eyes fall down to his bare arm, ending in a hand clinging to yours; covered in ink, much like the rest of his right limb. He knows you’re staring at the flowers without asking.

And as if knowing, reading your soul, he doesn’t find himself surprised when you suggest, “And then… one day… What do you think? Should I get a tattoo someday, too?”

“Totally, if that’s what you want. What would you wanna get?”

“Flowers to match? I don’t know. Maybe you can draw on me. Here,” you lead his hand to your thigh, sticking there for a while until you move up to your hip. “Or here.”

He wonders how focused your thoughts are right now. Because if they are, and you’re not fixating on the changes of his skin, you probably won’t register the countless goosebumps under his tattoos.

A giddy sensation spreads throughout his body, collecting in his chest and tummy. Memories of a nearly bare body, painted in his dozen colours returning. And then, pictures of the same hues blurring, smudging.

He breathes an exhale, insane at the thought of kissing those lines. Of lips trailing up your skin, stopping at your hip, dying a pleasant death.

Fuck.

“I… I would. I’ll paint you any day.”

His words come out more airy than intended, fingers itching to pinch your chin, to move your face to his. To slide down the mattress, to kiss your lips swollen, making out with you until the sun sets…

But the world is cruel and too real; the clock still ticks until he realises that freezing in place isn’t an option right now. So he says, “As much as I hate to say this… You should get ready for work.”

You groan; there’s something sweet about your unwillingness to go. Relatable. And it sticks until the exhaustion washes away with each second. Small breakfast in, clothes on, newfound work spirit restored.

Must be a good day approaching. 

And you’ve been enjoying the recent ones, he assumes. Despite being so good at what you do, there’s a clear difference in how you tackle a day at Charmante versus at Novaura.

And you confirm it when he accompanies you to the entrance, bidding you goodbye until you meet again later, “What I love most about Novaura is that they don’t feel the need to communicate everything with Mom. They’re their own independent world and trust themselves.”

“Right… You as someone equally independent will fit right in, so they’re lucky to have you there. Makes me wonder, though.” Jungkook pauses, watching you grab your jacket from the wall hook, “Are your Charmante people okay with you being at Novaura so much?”

A COUPLE DAYS LATER

“…I really don’t know if I can do this.”

Well, shit. Wasn’t he ready to strive for more, run endlessly until his feet tired? Where is the dread suddenly emerging from?

Jungkook has barely set his sketchbook down when lightning bolts head for him.

Countering his concern with kissing eyebrows, Namjoon’s full lips purse, dimples gone as he wonders, “What are you even talking about?” — Much at the same time as you utter a threatening, “Shut up,” pastry lifted, ready to throw at him.

Jungkook shies away from the table, ready to dodge your attack; returning when you place the crumbly croissant back on your plate. He presses his lips together before smacking and kissing them, finger rolling the pen over his sketches, but eyes fixated on Namjoon’s notebook.

“I’m serious. There’s so much to do until November, and I… how do I get so much done?”

“But,” Namjoon knocks against the random drawing open on the table, “you already have so much to show. And you can revamp stuff from college, too. Besides, it’s okay to try your best and be scared at the same time, Jungkook! That’s part of a growing artist’s job.”

“But, are you sure I’m a growing artist?!”

Namjoon mutters something under a breath, and you add something unintelligible to the reassuring mix. Jungkook’s worried gaze remains on the rough lines of pencil on paper, teeth repeatedly nibbling his lower lip. Baring his mole.

He closes the sketchbook, staring at the golden, imprinted letters on a dark black background. He’s filled a quarter of it already; the very piece you gifted him for his birthday almost a month ago.

In some way, opening to a blank page serves as inspiration alone. You furnished him with something so simple yet gorgeous; thoughtful engraving to use as a reminder to hold onto his efforts.

But…

Amidst the lasting zeal, he’s been racking his brain. Because. What if he immerses himself in this, spending hours tainting his fingertips in different tints — only to steer towards failure?

What if it doesn’t work out? And he ends up not amounting to much, other than trying his luck online and living on a bare minimum of a salary? Would he start tutoring young, aspiring artists?

And you…

You’re diving into a stable job, well-paid, well-known. If you end up carrying both of you on your shoulders… would you think of him as a washout? Grow frustrated and dissatisfied?

You’ve been repeatedly declaring your unswerving support, but what if you some day do realise that…

Ugh.

He stuck to this passion with the full knowledge he would never fall out of love with it; but now that he’s working for his dreams, the process seems so scary all of a sudden.

“And I’m at the wedding, too…” he says.

He leans back in his chair, moving his pupils away from the paper and instinctively up to you. More concerns threaten to tumble off the tip of his tongue, but when your eyes suddenly flicker with disappointment, his lips shut again.

You blink, unsure, before you ask, “Do you… not want to go? We could totally stay here if you need the time.”

Oh… 

Hadn’t you gushed about the event day in, day out now, he would’ve maybe believed your words. And in some sense, you probably do think of the alternative as okay, as long as he profits from it.

But he sees it in your eyes. And not just in yours — he’s been as enthralled by the idea as you. Which is why…

“No,” he responds, “no. We will go.”

Because the prospect of winding down with you has been keeping him sane. Doting on you under the countryside stars, showing you all you haven’t seen before, body to body dancing with you…

He’s not missing out on that, no matter what.

And god knows you need the break, too… especially after the utter hysteria last Friday…

“Kook, think about it. You need to be absolutely sure,” you argue, genuine worry in your gaze; from his side eye, he sees Namjoon nod in confirmation.

“I am. We’ll go, baby, okay?”

You don’t avert your gaze; your mouth closes a little, but you stay unblinking, waiting for his mind to change. He knows because he sees the thoughts floating at the surface of your eyes.

Like you’re still pondering; of course you are. As someone who’s been working hard for their career, even if just for a few months, you’d know. Who’d understand if not you?

The trance lingers between the two of you, and Jungkook lifts his lips, a vow and certainty in his smile. Moment only broken when Namjoon clears his throat and encourages once more, “Give it a shot, Jungkook… Those high-profile people need to see what you’re capable of! I mean, we’re so lucky to have them coming to our exhibits.”

Namjoon gestures randomly, across the small restaurant as he says, “Say what you will about this city, but we lure in quite a few esteemed artists for sure.”

“Who says something about this city?” you ask.

“I do,” Namjoon’s voice is soothing. One thing Jungkook has learned about him is that his flowery mind never rests. Lyrical; not always easy to understand. “I love and hate it. Leaving it, living it.”

He pauses, sipping on his diet coke before smacking the taste away and ordering, “Ask me anytime if you need any help, alright? And be confident.”

“And… what if it does work?”

Your gentle laugh sounds from the opposite side of the table, the straw of your milkshake on your tongue. The rhythmic melody calms something deep in him; perhaps more because he understands your reaction.

You’re just as cute worrying about things that he knows you’d ace.

“Well,” Namjoon starts, aware that Jungkook knows; still annihilating his unease, “the guy is ready to buy your art. If it goes well, he’ll sponsor you. Then, at some point, you’ll be able to afford your own studio and grow as an artist. Ideally.”

“Ah… ah, really…”

”Kookie,” your voice calls; you lean over the round table, shoving the milkshake aside, “don’t worry. And in the most unlikely case that it doesn’t go as planned, know that I’ll cheer you on either way.”

“And me too,” Namjoon raises a hand.

Your finger swings to and fro between Namjoon and you, and your expression changes from empathic and soft to the sweetest, most gut-wrenching smile he’s ever seen. The apples of your cheeks lift, pupils sparkling when you vow, “We’re here for you.”

He…

He could look at you all day, blinking be damned. Could pour out his emotions every second of every minute of every hour, and it’d still not match the endless letter his heart keeps crafting for you. 

Disregarding how much of a shipwreck the two of you were last Friday, his chest has still lightened ever since; an epiphany has never been sweeter.

Because…

The words he couldn’t compose into a poem before are now an ardent confession, with rhymes and a melody and infinite beauty. Roaming his mind nonstop, caught in that baby pink bubble.

When had his senses last heightened this much?

Because somehow, he still feels the damp trail of tears he cried that night. And the heart that beat against your cheek. You, frozen against him, processing his words.

If there are ways to make him fall in love harder, you’ve been presenting them all the goddamn time.

And fuck, it’s been hard focusing on anything but you.

Like, on paying. Or on upholding a conversation with Namjoon — assuring him he’d be back in the studio in a bit as he prepares to bid you goodbye for the day.

To his chagrin, the walk to your car isn’t long. It’s parked at a corner, convenient for lunch dates like these; you promised you’d join one with Joon at some point, and you did. Forty-five minutes passed too quickly. Felt like a moment.

“Namjoon is so nice!” you comment, hands in the pockets of your denim jacket.

You keep swaying back and forth, from your heels to your toes and back. Your smile and movements suggest a free spirit, but your risen shoulders and the shallow crease between your eyebrows drench you in something tense.

You’ve been like that since you suggested staying, focusing on his work.

“He’s so wise, too, really,” Jungkook responds, close to you in case your swinging moves leave you tumbling, “like, a cool mix between calm and dorky. I’ve been learning so much from him.”

“Jeon Jungkook and his love for his mentor. You will never stop talking about him.”

Jungkook shrugs, a hand to the nape of his neck, face warming, “He’s cool, what can I say?”

“Yeah.”

And once again… he sees you gulp. Unsure, pupils flickering. You usually don’t struggle maintaining eye contact. So he soon wonders, “Are you okay? I… I hope you didn’t misunderstand what I said earlier. I really do want to go to the wedding.”

“Hm?” you voice, chin lifting a bit before you dispute, “Oh. No, I believe you. If you say it’s okay, then that’s how it is.”

“What then?”

“What do you mean? Do I really seem like something’s up?”

“A little.”

“Uhm…”

You roll up your eyes as you dig into your thoughts. Scouring your brain for whatever might be meandering in the back of your mind. Hm… seems you’re not fully cognisant of the subtle change in your behaviour, either?

So maybe, it means nothing after all.

Then again. It must be something.

Because in hindsight, he didn’t only notice today, but all weekend, too—

Oh…

Maybe you’re just getting used to the new developments; maybe they’re just making you a bit bashful like him. Maybe…

Okay. Deep breath. He just needs to make it sound like a joke, nothing pushy or odd or awkward because—

“Or is it because I told you I love you? Have I scared you off already?”

He watches your breathing stop. As though flexing an x-ray stare, watching your lungs dry up, air stuck in your throat until it escapes through your nose. Honestly… he’s been feeling the same.

“No!” you answer, tone breathy, pulling a hand out of the pocket to sprightly push at his shoulder. He barely budges. “Of course not. All that does is make me want to faint.”

Jungkook chuckles, delighted when your laugh matches his own. He doesn’t always know how to take a compliment either; but you fix your speechlessness with that glow on your face. Fills his own body with fairy dust, too. 

His dimples are valleys when your fingers move to his open jacket, grazing the zipper and filling the seconds with quiet tenderness. He doesn’t know what to say to you until you let the silence prolong and then giggle into it once more.

If he could just dive into your brain. But all he has are his own, messy thoughts.

And those tangled thoughts say—

“Angel… Can I kiss you?” Now his lungs are collapsing, too. Worse, so much worse when you look into his eyes, still so surprised at every sliver of affection he signs. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

No… he needs to. Needs to blossom in this breezy weather. But he won’t tell you that.

He’ll just keep looking at you. One second, two seconds — until you’ve raised your hands to the collar of his jacket to move him closer, soon sneaking your touch further up to his neck. A miniscule and wordless hint of approval, and he basks in it avidly.

Twitching palms hesitate for only the subtlest of moments before they’ve dashed up to your cheeks, cupping your face and leaning in and…

Lock.

A picture of a lock. And of its key.

The first thing to flash into his mind.

Because how do his lips fit so perfectly between yours? When you touch him like this, delicate fingers caressing his jaw, how do you feel so much like a feather? And the damn way you sigh into his mouth… how you reciprocate the kiss.

He will never tire of telling you, telling himself, that you match him just like the ocean complements the shore. And it’s baffling. How perfect this feels, and how right it feels.

You do make the ordinary extraordinary.

Like a kiss that is shared a million times a day, between so, so many people. But you’re moving your lips against his. Holding onto him, tilting your head, soaking in his warmth. Going tentatively, then a bit faster, then slow again.

For the merest moments when your mouths part, you gasp, inhaling before pushing your fingers into his hair, at the back of his head. Then back against him, seeking his tongue; such soft sounds meeting his that he swears he could cry.

Cry about the shiver down his spine and the flutter in the pit of his stomach. About the world becoming a backdrop to everything in the middle of the pavement; and about how his thoughts only revolve around your shared breaths and the feeling of your warm cheeks. 

Just you.

You, you, you.

Still too far away. Why do you drive him so incredibly mad?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He loves you. He loves you.

Under a breath and against your soft pillows, he mutters your name; so airy that he barely recognises his voice. His tongue drags over your lower lip, pecking one more time before he establishes an intruding distance between you.

Your foreheads touch for a transient bit, thumb skimming your cheek. When he opens his eyes, yours are still shut, and you’re feeble in his grip. And then, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

You swallow again. Take a breath before admitting, “You’re right. There’s something I want to ask you, and I was so stupidly… nervous about it.”

“Yeah?”

“The whole gang, they… they’ve been planning something. They paid for it and all, but they’re waiting for me to give them an answer, so they know if I need to pay them back or if they should cancel or, or—”

He interrupts your ramble with a soft, “Tell me, babe.”

“Okay,” your eyelids finally open up; your gaze is so hazy when you look at him. “It’s a trip. Four days, three nights, during the wedding week.” He hasn’t said a word when you hurry to add, “But, we can leave earlier. It’s a road trip kinda thing to the mountains and the beach and. They want us there, too.”

”Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

“I… Baby.” He moves back, shaking his head. He was careful not to ruin your hair, well aware you have half a work day ahead of you; but he still brushes a strand back. “Were you and Eun talking about that two weeks ago?”

“Yeah. And Tae also said I should be the one to ask because you’d like that. But then things happened and all the stress and…”

“But… even before that. Why were you so nervous asking me about it for so long?”

“Because,” you answer, one shrug of your shoulders, “I wanted to wait and see how you feel about the exhibition and the workload. And you already have limited time because of the wedding and I didn’t want to take away more of it.”

He can’t help but beam; why does this feel… endearing? Mirrors his own thoughts when he asked you about accompanying him to the wedding.

“We really do have the same brain, don’t we?” he asks.

“You’d think we’d learn.”

You say it lightheartedly, yet gnaw on your lips. He tongues the inside of his cheek, keeping eye contact, and then queries, “There’s something else, right?”

“Ah, just.”

You look unsure, trying to make sense of your thoughts, but your uncertainty makes him uncertain, too. So he exhales before he prods, “What? What what? Is it something bad?”

“No! Just. They’ve been wanting to do this since the summer. They never talked about it to me because you and I were… you know.” You kiss your teeth, and he uses the second to whoosh away the aching memories. “But they never cancelled for us, either.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they’d say, and I quote, ‘Just wait.’ They knew we couldn’t stay away from each other even before we did.” You laugh. “Eun told me that day in the kitchen.”

Even before you did?

Untrue. He knew he didn’t want to live without you the moment you left his apartment, tear-soaked and heartbroken.

“Okay…” he starts, “and you were worried because?”

“Because you always get so sad when I talk about the summer. Explaining the context of the trip seemed hard to me, and I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”

Oh…

Shit, man.

“You’re… ahhh… my sweet baby.” He wants to hug you to his chest and never let go. But you’re already running out of time, lunch break nearing its end, so he only grips your shoulders. “You know that it gets better after two minutes, no? Because whatever happened, I have you now.”

He flicks your chin as he has been lately; it cheers you up. Makes you smile a bit, conjures the pout away. Adding to the effect when he says, “Don’t worry so much, my love.”

Another inhale. Then, you admit, “I’m sorry. I dragged it out.”

“It’s okay.”

“So… would you come? Do you think you could take some time off work and all? I’d understand if it’s too much.”

“Hmm… Right before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Mid-october, yes. We could leave earlier!” you reiterate, hellbent on assuring he’s not obligated to do anything. So sweet, how you scratch your head. “They’d drive on. It’s convenient because it’s all in the same week.”

“Mountains and beach, you say.”

“If you don’t like them, we can stay at the hotel and chill together.”

Shit.

His grin widens with each heartbeat; you notice, because despite your suggestions, you sound more lively now.

And yet, it’s funny you’d question all these things like this at all. Don’t you remember damp cheeks and gentle touches?

Just days ago.

How he was still trembling when you left Eun’s complex. How he stopped you before climbing into the car, much like now, mumbling a timid, “Angel…”

And then retracting when his heart combusted. Looking into your eyes, still red, his own mind filled with nervous fear before settling on, “Nothing. Let’s go home.”

Or how you cried in the living room. How you broke down, terrified he might walk away. How his breath quivered, how his head spun, how he felt like he might throw up or faint or scare you off.

The damn sickness in his stomach until he spat the hidden words for the first time. And the pounding of his heart when you responded with a mumbled, “Kook… How.”

And… how his chest constricted at everything that followed after that. Don’t you remember?

In spite of every indication he threw your way — you still worry so much.

Funny you’d be so nervous around someone who wants to see the entire world with your hand in his.

What did you call it again? Wanting to be brave.

So fucking easy with you.

“How about…” he begins, staring into anticipating eyes, hearing a storm of cheers rumble, “going shopping before we leave?”

Your demeanour changes momentarily. The unsure girl, afraid to hurt him, soon finds her way back to her foundation. You light up, a hand over your mouth; your cheeks must be hurting. 

You deliver one, short jump and then pull him back in, kissing his lips once before scattering a couple more pecks next to them. He soon finds himself pushing you towards your car, forcing you back to work, but you have a thousand things to babble about.

He’s adoring all the bright stars in your eyes — now he understands how you feel when you see the same universe in his.

It’s crazy. How effort is never required from your side for him to feel that way. How you only need to breathe and talk and smile and stay.

Stay stay stay.

The word sails and wafts through his dazy thoughts like a silent prayer. Begging and begging; pleading to allow him to pour all his love on you, although he doesn’t need to ask. You always let him anyway.

And he guesses he’s using that permission thoroughly. Maybe that’s why keeps craving and burning for more; why he’s been holding you tighter these nights.

His tiger lily pressed against your heart.

*head in hands* they are so crazy for each other, pls 😭 warmth and reassurances and support and bickering literally build the foundation of their relationship and i love them sm :') for some reason the editing process knocked me out, but i still adore this one so so much, and i hope you guys did, too!! 🥺

feedback is always so so appreciated!! you guys are literally such a freaking supportive bunch and have kept this series alive for so long and i love you to death :( here's to the first one this year!! as always, please consider leaving a like, reblog (with or without feedback!), comments and spammm my inbox with everything that's on your mind hehe <3 any kind of msg makes my day!

and nowww!!!!! moving on to cmi: palette and VACAYYYY!!! mwah mwah 🤍

[mayaflowerxs]

THE 8 TRAGEDIES

Synopsis: The 8 different ways a bond between two, can end tragically.

Warning: Angst! TW! swear word usage, humiliation, anger issues, neglect, insecurities +. Just a warning this is just an imagine and no way am I considering the boys any of these sorts of aspects I’m giving them! Sad so if you cry easily get the tissues. Pretty long so embrace yourself.

Pairing: Stray Kids x reader

CHAN: THE NEGLECTION

Chan’s relationship with you was nothing less than heaven sent. Everyday, he looks besides him with a bright beaming smile. Another day grateful to have you in his arms. The many dates this man has taken you, the hugs and cuddles. Beautiful sunsets he had you two watch and the many hot chocolate filled mugs on winter nights. Each day he made a promise to himself more to never let you go. And maybe he was inviting in the inevitable. Maybe he overdid it. For as the months had gone by, years. The promise rings he got you two was slowly losing its meaning. “I’ll be there soon.” Were becoming his famous line. The clock manages to grow late until his arrival. Mornings were becoming chilly when you pat the spot next to you and have it be empty and cold. Time spent with each other was becoming limited and the time off he had from work still managed to make it seem like he wasn’t really there. Channie the man you fell in love with. Time was ticking even if none of you knew it yet. Not only that, your patience with him was too.

“Chan you’re never home and when you are, you lock yourself in our room with that damn laptop of yours. I know how important work is for you but so is our relationship.” “Can you calm down?! It’s nothing too extreme. I would’ve been done long ago if you haven’t kept interrupting me. There’s a reason why I have that sign in my studio y/n, that doesn’t mean for you to barge in with food.” “Well sorry I’m just looking out for you!” “And I’m sorry you have nothing better to do other than be kissing up to your boyfriend’s ass all day!” And that was only the beginning. You tried very hard to justify the slight crack forming in your guys relationship. But when yet another night was spent him brushing you off and going straight to bed you were on the edge. Infuriating how your boyfriend can’t seem to see the problem. How even in the beginning he’s been like this, how did it manage to get so out of control? “My work means everything to me y/n! Why can’t you understand that?” In that moment, he was angry. He left for a fresh breath of air that soon turned to him back in his studio locked up with his music. The morning came, he had not arrived. And you were done. Rushing home to give you the grand news that him and the boys would be touring soon, only to be met with absolute silence. “Y/n?” But only an echo returned his call. The room was as vacant as every other place in the house. The closet only held his clothes, bathroom only left with his things. He was absolutely alone. He didn’t want to believe it was true. It couldn’t have been right?

And like I mentioned before. Everyday he does look besides him with a bright beaming smile. Only this time, it turns into a quick frown when he was met by a cold empty spot next to him. Gripping your pillow tightly as he cries into it yet again. Silently calling out for you, where could you have gone? It’s as if you managed to disappear completely off the face of the earth. With every success he now reaches in his life, it has slowly grown meaningless. Looking out to the crowd with the many faces that cheered him on and congratulated him meant nothing now that he was missing his anchor. With the promise ring still on his finger, he forces a smile at the camera as him and the guys accept yet another award. Bowing at the end, he watches as his necklace falls out, your very own promise ring he found left at the bed side table tangled in between the chain. A reminder he will live the rest of his life with wondering what could’ve continued be heaven sent if he hadn’t neglected your relationship. Lastly, with a pang smile he walks off the stage the feeling of the chain around his neck feels to be suffocating him more and more he keeps it on him.

CHANGBIN: THE INSECURITIES

Spending whoever days reminding your lover boy how precious and beautiful he is was never a curse to you. Never a chore nor a pain in the rear end. You always found ways to truly prove to him just how perfect he was to you. Whether by dates, kisses, movie nights or many more things. You truly loved it more when you saw the confidence seek in him more and more. You felt so proud and it only wanted you to kiss him to death for it. Yet you just never imagined his insecurities becoming a problem to the relationship at one point. “They’re just a friend Binnie.” You’d tell him and he’d shake his head. “It was for work.” , “It’s just the mailman.” At first you found it endearing. For many years you were told by friends how having a jealous boyfriend would be absolute goals to have. And you couldn’t lie you found it hot and amusing at first. But now? You were running out of ways to reassure him for the umpteenth time. You were slowly being drained. The simple squeeze of his hand when he tenses his jaw was no longer enough. Or the subtle kisses to his soft spot when he glares at whatever it’s causing him to feel insecure about didn’t do it for him. “Binnie you are more than enough for me. They can never compete, because in the end you are who gets stuck in bed with me.” With a smirk, you two lay down on the bed and spend the rest of the night in pure bliss. You thought his jealousy would lower then.

“Y/n, I’m fat aren’t I?” “What? Who told you that?” “Me.” And again came to reassuring words. But what would Changbin do if now it was you who was feeling insecure? How would he help you in time of need? “I know how you’re feeling, today I was hanging out with a few of my friends and they make a pig joke about me. It felt awful, is that how the world sees me as?” And maybe you were a fool to not speak on it or maybe you did the right thing for not calling out the things he was doing. Whatever the case may be you began to slowly notice just how much of a problem it was for him. “I just think you need to see a therapist.” “What?! Why? I’m perfectly fine y/n! Never felt better.” “I just think your insecurities could really be a bigger deal than it is. I’m worried if we don’t at least check then it can get worse.” “Y/n you’re speaking nonsense!” “Please Binnie-“ “No!” Your desperation was becoming crystal clear. And no matter how much you tried convincing him, he wouldn’t budge. To ‘prove’ to you how fine he was, he stopped talking to you about his feelings. And it only worried you more. As the days went by you thought it was semi fine. Still wary about him, you kept an eye on him. When you heard his comeback was right around the corner, you knew what it meant. Stress of getting his raps right, and making sure they sounded good. Getting the choreography to perfection and hitting the gym a lot more for the music video and performances. The staying up late perfecting each song. You couldn’t sleep not knowing how Changbin was feeling in having you so closed off.

Terrified you the night Chan called you to come pick him up from the recording studio. Gasping as he sat up against the corner of a wall, the sleep deprivation and alcohol in him got the best of him. “Changbin? You hear me baby?” “Please don’t ever leave me.” “What are you saying Bin?” “Promise you you won’t ever leave my side. Promise me you won’t ever leave me alone because I can’t see myself living my life without you in it.” Thinking about it now, it should’ve been a clear sign for you to leave. Most would say. For you, it should’ve been a clear sign to get him the help he so dearly needed but you focused more on the present. Taking him home and helping him shower. When getting him to bed, the little bit of shield you held up absolutely broke as you cried yourself to sleep. The exhaustion getting the better of you. Were you selfish for wanting out? For to even think about it in the slightest? Feeling as if you were walking on eggshells with him, one day you finally plead to get help. You felt all hope collapse when he angrily says no and barges out of the apartment. The small card of a therapist, the best of the best you searched hours for was left laying on the table. With a tired sigh, you grab your bags and headed on out. The amounts of time you stopped to turn around only to continue moving forward was too many. It broke you even more being in the freeway for more than a few hours and seeing the call coming in from him. The many missed calls and unread messages. You could only hope the best wishes for him. And while you felt a tear roll down your cheek as the ringing of your phone settles down, being met by the noise from traffic and the low tune of the radio music, Changbin sat on the marble floor heart broken. Sobs leaving him as he tossed and threw things across the house. Smacking everything off the table, the card flying a bit slow that it catches his attention. Picking it up, he looks at the number on it. Was he too late getting help? Would it bring you back? But whether it did or not, Changbin felt like an idiot only to now realize just how much help he truly needed, so he dialed.

MINHO: THE DISRESPECT

You never minded the sarcastic comments Minho made. Or the tease and taunts he threw your way. Mainly because they first started out for anyone who wasn’t you. The remarks would be thrown at anyone who tried crossing the line with you. You found it endearing how protective Minho got and made you feel all soft inside. Especially with how different he was with you compared to others. The softie he showed you was nice but you always wondered if he was going to show you a little bit of the true self of him which was what everyone who wasn’t you knew of and sure enough you got to know him. After a few months of dating the teasing would come. Nothing too extreme, the smug grins and smirking looks would drive you mad and would result in kissing the daylights of him. Few pinches to your side and the sassiness later kicked in. You found it very entertaining and when you started giving him a bit of the same energy you two couldn’t have been the more perfect couple. People would always say just how much you two completed each other and almost as if you two were soulmates. Now a thing you learned about him that very moment is how blunt he can be. A loud laugh leaves him when the comment left their mouths, “Yeah right. Soulmates.” It wasn’t a big deal, if anything you didn’t real believe in soulmates either. Until months in time such comments like those would only escalate.

“I told you we should’ve came earlier, congrats y/n you costed us the dinner table.” What he said was true but with everything going on, the last thing you needed is for him to throw an ‘I told you so’. Having to deal with such comments recently you feel yourself feeling more and more ticked off. Only a matter of time before he really poked your sensitive spot and blow up. And it’s not such comments like that, at home he picks and point things out he didn’t like. Criticizes your ways of doing chores or the types of groceries you’d get. “You should’ve come with me Minho, now suck it up and eat what I bought.” “Y/n not even the cats are willing to eat that. Where’s your sense of taste go to?” He’d scoff and walk away. It stung really. His critics were getting more harsher, you knew deep down Minho didn’t mean it in a rude way by the way he’d chuckle and smile. But you seriously started to become affected by it. What lead you to absolutely lose it? “Are you seriously going to go out looking like that?” Hurt and angry by his choice of words you yelled and cried in frustration. Waving your arms as you dropped stuff from anger. Mouth shut and with frantic eyes, Minho quickly was by your side apologizing. “I’m sorry, I crossed the line. I shouldn’t have said that and I never meant to hurt your feelings. Forget what I said, I only said it because I know everyone will stare and I hate having creeps stare at you. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you with my words.” Everything seemed to be fine afterwards. His comments were at a minimum and no longer judged every little thing of yours. But you should’ve known the calm was only going to bring the storm.

His grumpiness was a whole other level now. Usually he’ll lock himself away from others. Responding in anything but nods and hums. He never liked taking his attitude off on you which is why he secluded himself from you. But his anger just only grew and grew he didn’t know how to control it anymore. “Can’t you just leave me the fuck alone for one minute?! You’re suffocating me!” His outburst scared you, nodding silently and walking off. You didn’t know how to deal with it, thankfully he came to you but was it always going to be that way? The small outbursts he’d have was becoming a regular occurrence. Either people were being stupid and tested his patience, or his order was wrong, can’t find any of his good clothes, choreographing is being a pain. Many things were irking him and you were becoming the punching bag. Obviously he never hit you physically but with how sharp his words were cutting you, you were sure to be left pretty bruised up afterwards. You honestly didn’t know how to confront him, you seemed to always stay your distance when it came to him coming home. But when the day finally came to tell him how you felt about his anger issues it only ended with things breaking, items crashing and profanities being tossed left and right. “Fucking hell if I’m that much of a bother than let’s break up! Last I need is for someone constantly crying to me because they can’t seem to stop whining for every little thing!” Oh man did that hurt. “Okay.” The cloud of anger began to leave, eyes widen and mouth slightly agaped. “What?” “Let’s break up.” “Babe-“ “No! I’m so tired! Tired of your tantrums you throw every day! I fear for myself Minho because that’s how harsh you get, I’m not going to continue pretending everything is going to be okay when you can’t even realize you’re turning yourself into this big baby! I’m breaking up with you!” At lost for words, Minho couldn’t find the strength in him to go after you. The loud slam of the door was soon followed by silence. A soft meow is heard from below him, feeling Soongie’s fur touch his leg he notices just how small the room got. Where did all this anger get him to?

HYUNJIN: THE MISLEADING

His charming charisma often times was hard to truly understand it. Many would say it’s confidence and others would say is flirting. Whatever the case may be, you were heavily affected by it. As the popular boy, he was used to people constantly throwing themselves at him. Whether to date him or to ‘befriend’ him. But he never complained, he was living the life. And you. Well you were simply a student trying to get by. You didn’t have many friends but that didn’t bother you, people knew of your name so you weren’t considered the loner or the many other insulting names the popular kids gave others they considered ‘inferior’. Hyunjin was one of those people who knew of your name. How could he not when you two had about three period classes together? Especially when you two sit close to each other in two of them. Conversing with one another wasn’t awkward especially with how well you two got along. And of course with due time, you developed feelings for him. You felt lame for making up fake scenarios in your head of you and Hyunjin. Your first date, first kiss. How the school would react with you two coming out as a couple. You two followed each others socials, watched his stories and caught up anything new about him. So yeah it stung a bit when finding out he was dating someone.

And yet you still dreamed. Dreamed of something with him by how ‘friendly’ he was to you in class. How he’d always doodle on your paper or make annoying habits like close your chrome book or take your textbook away from you. Anything to gain your attention. Anything productive he’d point at you and make it some sort of competition to one up you. Those fantasies of yours seemed to be fooling you even more in thinking they could potentially come true. When your friends asked you who you liked it took a while to say Hyunjin but when you did they all squealed in glee. Noticing the random comments Hyunjin would throw at you when passing each other or how he’d mention the inside joke you two shared out of nowhere and wait for your laugh. Your friends were sure he’d confess which didn’t help the fantasyland in your head at all. But it all went out the window when his girlfriend transferred most of her classes to match with his. That includes the ones you two shared. Now any chance he got, he’d move seats to be with her. At the back of the class they’d sit. Little whispers shared between them and anytime any activity happened the competition he’d start with you, has turn into words of encouragement to her. His attention span on you seized and it felt as if you were invisible to him. Worse was when he unfollowed you on his socials. It stung badly and that was the fat reality you needed to come out of that lalaland you put yourself in. You thought by time your crush on him would simply be swept under the rug right? Wrong!

Your friends couldn’t seem to wrap their head around the fact that Hyunjin had practically kicked you out of his life for good. “It was for the best either way.” You tried to shrug it off with a chuckle but deep down you were still hurting. What didn’t make things better was how they kept talking about it, in denial that this great chemistry you two shared simply disappeared. “Can’t believe Hyunjin really kicked you out of his life! I thought he shared the same feelings as you!” Head held down, you failed to realize the infamous girlfriend had heard the entire conversation from a few tables away. Any hopes she could simply brush those words off was absolutely low. Because by the next week, it would have become absolute hell for you. You hated the stares you got or the low whispers. Confused how people would point at you and others would snicker. Pulling your phone out you’d text your friends, paranoid something had happened while you stayed oblivious. But when they didn’t answer it only made you even more anxious. It all went down hill when lunch came around and she approached your table. Gasping as she pours the cold chocolate milk all over you, phones already began to record the scene. “So sad how you really think you’d have any chance with my boyfriend! You pathetic waste of space!” Looking up as the cafeteria grows silent, Hyunjin sitting a few tables back with his head down. Trying your hardest to fight tears back you got up and left. “Y/n wait!” You heard a voice shout behind you. It was Hyunjin, and the fool you were to think he’d say something, anything to make you feel better. Now that everything was out in the open. “I’m so for any confusion I caused you. You, were just never my type.” It was the best he could come up with in the spot. And he was right. He was so focused on making his toxic relationship work he failed to realize the great chemistry he had with you. The year went by and over time people seemed to forget about the whole ordeal, except you. No you lived the rest of your high school years with a scowl on your face, never once talking about boys or crush. And while Hyunjin was out of a relationship, seeing you looking better than ever in your last year in High school. He never stopped thinking about you, you never once looked his way. Feelings completely gone and what was now replaced with sourness. “Hey y/n-“ “Who are you?” Confused, he chuckles softly. “What?” For the years that traumatic day put you through, you did everything in your power to forget about him until his face was simply that. A face. And now standing before you, you couldn’t put any sort of recollection about him. “It’s me, Hyun-“ “Don’t talk to me creep. Last thing I need is for another human with a dick between his pants to make my life hell.” Walking away, now it was Hyunjin’s turn to stay behind with a stinging heart. The missed opportunity to finding real happiness in a relationship was completely missed and he’s regretting every second of it.

JISUNG: THE MISTREATMENT

Jisung has known his entire life what it’s like to be mistreated. Either his parents always pushing him too far, the industry expecting highly of him or the fans wanting nothing but a smiling Jisung if not then he’s immediately an asshole. Growing up he’s noticed how hard life is with all these expectations. It was no longer pressure just flat out abuse. But he’s grown used to it, he says. Humor was his muse. His coping mechanism and any joke he has, he says. He was just so thankful because of this humor he found you. Humor lead you to him and life was finally having a sunny day. He always feared the dark clouds would come and like everything else, his relationship would go to shit. Always waited in paranoia. But with that, he also took advantage with each and every blissful day he could spend with you. Lots and lots of kisses shared between you two, laughs and secrets. He wasn’t a man of many words when it came to his problems, but you knew. And he was glad you didn’t pressure him to speak on anything. He was grateful for the massages, back rubs, soft kisses on his temple and bubble baths drawn for him. Cuddles for sure his top favorite. He loved you so much it fucking terrified him. Fear. Something he’s had trouble dealing with. Something that also made it harder for him growing up. Maybe that’s where this insane pressure dropped on him came from. If he didn’t become something in life, his parents would disown him. If he wasn’t the best rapper, the industry would be ashamed of him. If he wasn’t the best idol, his fans would stop supporting him. And if he couldn’t love you as a boyfriend should, you’d leave him.

Of course there were times Jisung was quiet. Obviously he’s not going to be the usual loud cheerful boy. But when he’s stay more and more quiet, you worry. This silence would just lead him into overthinking. You didn’t want him to start making up unnecessary doubts and so you talked to him. “Please I just don’t walk to talk about it.” He’d say. Usually saying this to his parents, they wouldn’t budge. If anything they’d look relieved to not have to hear their son rant. But you insisted, and his palms grew sweaty. Shaking his head, he was persistent to not speak and so you let it go. You noticed a true change in him when you spoke to him about work. “Well you just have to suck it up and accept it.” You didn’t expect that response. He seemed so blunt about it too like it was so easy. You didn’t know what exactly you wanted from him maybe a simple ‘its okay, everything will be fine’ or maybe even a cuddle session. Jisung didn’t see a problem, it’s what the company had told him when they demanded him to record with a sore throat. He wouldn’t see why you’d find it hurtful. A dinner date to your favorite restaurant. Things were going great until you saw a sudden shift in his mood. He got quieter than he was and you asked. “Is it because I’m not smiling? Smiles aren’t the only thing symbolizing someone’s happiness.” He’d snap at you. Eyes widen, you look around embarrassed that he said it loud enough a few heads had turned. Saying that was something he wished he could tell the world.

The time ticked and your patience was wearing thin. Who was the man that was supposed to be your boyfriend? What happened to him? “Jisung I don’t like the way you’ve been acting lately.” “God damn it y/n, what’s up with everyone expecting so much from me?! Either I need to get a successful career to be someone in life or be the best rapper to get fame or always have a smile on my face to please the people on the internet in order for them to not call me an asshole. Now you?!” “Jisung I didn’t know you had this much pressure on you-“ “Obviously you didn’t, always coming to me about your stupid problems you fail to notice I’m going through shit too!” Were you really that selfish? You tried not to burden him with your problems, tried minimizing it the most. Was this how he truly felt? For the next week you backed off a bit. Letting his words sink in so you quit doing the things he couldn’t stand. Well thought he couldn’t stand. Now it only scared him how ‘distant’ you were becoming. Now he was coming to you for the cuddles, the back rubs and massages. When you tried to retract some of that affection to him, he’d snap. Treating you like dirt all over again. “I’m tired Jisung! So tired!” Rolling his eyes, he was blind sighted. What were you so mad about? “I hate how mistreated I feel! Invalidating my feelings when stressed, always shutting me out and getting angry when I ask certain things. It fucking hurts Han!” Face dropping when he saw the tears rolling down your face. And then it clicked. He’d thrown all his trauma upon you. And this entire time, when he had been waiting for that said cloud to come and rain on the beautiful relationship they have, he never expected for it to have already appeared. Worst part, he’d never thought he’d be that cloud. “I’m fucking done Jisung.”

FELIX: THE IMPERFECTIONS

Felix always strived to be the best of the best. He doesn’t know whether it’s him being competitive with himself, or determination of some kind. Or maybe he’s just so damn hard on himself. But whatever the case might be, he never backed down on anything. He was always told to always keep trying for success. Set your mind on something and you can get it. Always told to fight hard or it’ll never happen. So it’s what he did, something he didn’t like. He’d perfect it. At first you were proud of him. He was able to overcome any obstacle he had. He wanted to lose weight, and he did. He wanted to get rid of the pores he had, and he did. He wanted his dancing skills to get better and they did. But that was all in the beginning. Watching him was so admirable, seeing him get excited to try new things in order to reach his goals. Try new workouts, buy new products and add more practice hours. At the end of it, you’d proudly hug him and fill his ears with many compliments. Thousands of kisses all over him and lots of smiles. He’d even have you join him, if he wanted to try a new recipe he’d ask for your help. Everything he could think of, he found happiness as long as you were with him each step of the way. But that could only last for so long. Each day, you’d wake up with an adorable Lix asleep besides you. Cute freckles that covered his nose in view, holding back the urge to simply peck the living daylights out of him.

But as the days progressed, so did his goals. More time spent on them, which means more work. Now you’d wake up with a cold spot next to you. No adorable Lix besides you. In the kitchen, Felix would only drink a protein shake. A quick kiss and he was off to practice. The hours grew and he wouldn’t return until almost midnight. Sore muscles by the next day that you’d gladly massage but even then that didn’t stop him. The bathroom sink slowly piling itself with the large amounts of skin products. Each for a certain day and hour. Every night Felix would spend half and hour focusing on his skin that didn’t even need focusing in the first place. “Can you see the pimple?” “What pimple?” Hours spent looking himself in the mirror. Asking himself absurd questions that you’d assure him were bull. You noticed the frustration growing when you heard him making noise at three in the morning making brownies. Trying a new recipe he can’t seem to master. Hours he spent awake lying in bed because he can’t seem to stop thinking about the countless of the things he needs to be perfect at. His sleep was being cut down along with his food. His health was being affected and it only worried you how far he was going to take it. You couldn’t stand to continue letting him do this to himself so you talked to him about it. Told him to slow it down but he thought it was nonsense. “How can you really achieve a goal if you’re going to cut down the motivation by half. Then it’s no longer a goal worth motivated yourself for.”

The freckles got covered not soon after. He said it was only holding him back from having the perfect face. Whatever that meant. He skipped dinner time and spent it dancing the same choreography over and over again. His patience got thin too. Anything set him off, mind always thinking of ways to be perfect. “Please Lix, give yourself a break.” “You don’t get it! You’re not motivated to do anything! Try to find something to do in life then we can talk about whether I should slow myself down or not!” Man Felix never raised his voice at you like that. Was he right? I mean yeah you had your goals but you weren’t like Felix. You weren’t determined to be perfect. Just to reach whatever it is you wanted. And that’s where things got twisted for him. He didn’t try to reach his goals at all anymore, he just wanted to be perfect. Perfect for himself, the world, you. Recording his lines, he had gotten very hard on himself. No matter how many times Chan has told him he’s sounds okay, he couldn’t settle for that. He had to be perfect. If not perfect in life then what is the purpose of it all? He wasn’t realizing just how mad he was driving you and the relationship. The worry for him skyrocketing and just how oblivious he is to his own self damaging was scary. “We’re not perfect y/n.” “Huh?” “Us. This relationship. We need to fix it or we simply can’t have a future together.” “You’re joking right? Felix I know this relationship isn’t perfect but quite frankly your meaning of it is to completely wash all morales of something and turn it to a fantasy you hope for it to become real when it can’t.” “Do you want to fix our relationship or not?” “Not if you’re going to act like this.” “Then I guess this is it.” He should’ve felt glad to have gotten rid of something that would only weigh him down to perfection but how hard things got without you. No moral support, no back rubs and no pecks all over his face. He really felt himself be sick, too many pounds lost and face breaking out by the many products. The image he tried to perfect was quickly worsening. What a hard reality to finally see the perfect Felix he tried to make himself be could never happen. And now, with a stomach ache, acne on his face, sore muscles and an empty bed he shall realize his mistake and be okay with the fact that his imperfections aren’t all that bad.

SEUNGMIN: THE AMBITION

Seungmin lived his entire life feeling self conscious. First it was because of his braces, then his dancing skills, then not being as outgoing as his members and now his vocals. He’s grown up to seeing so many idols that were once like him, no one important become something so admired in life. He wanted to be recognizable and to be remembered. He simply wanted to be accepted in society. And for that, he fought hard. He fought dirty. The two of you have been close friends since childhood, Minnie was always the shy boy who loved making jokes whether they were funny or not. His sole mission was to make you smile, his eyes sparkled when you laughed. You know how anxious he can get, the reassurance from you was always given. You were his ears and shoulder to cry on and you so let him gladly. Getting to where he is now was not easy and for that, Seungmin was forever grateful to have you in his life. Turning to his side, he’d feel the heavy weight on his shoulder lift when seeing you there. Somewhere along his predebut years he knew you were the one. Yet he coward every chance he got close to confessing. The night he was going to be determined whether he’d get into a group and debut or not, he spent the entire night in your arms.

His first two years in a group was tough. They were the most judgmental years as they were still new. They still weren’t really accepted as a group and that came with very critical audiences. But that didn’t stop him from going above and beyond and so proudly he walked up that stage and performed his heart out. Five years laters, he has the largest grin on his face as he no longer gets the nervous tingles running through his body. If anything he’s excited, shaking with excitement to get on already. Going over his lines, he doesn’t see you enter the room. Something he’s been doing now. He’d do his thing for hours while you sat to the side and admired. First he didn’t mind he no longer paid much mind to you, or the lack of hang outs. Yet when he gets up to hit the stage, you go to stand and wish him luck but freeze when he simply walks past you. Not a glance spared your way. The next day, you spend the night sighing for the hundredth time. Checking your phone and seeing not a single notification from him. He promised a night together, so where was he? Messaging I.N, he sends you a video of Seungmin laughing with a few other idols who came to visit them. Papers in hands which you assumed were lyrics, a set of headphones placed on top of Seungmin’s ears. And the familiar layout of the recording room. You should have been upset that he had forgotten but a part of you couldn’t. He was doing what he loves and he seemed to really enjoy his time. And so for that, you shut your tv off and let the popcorn lay out on the table cold.

Your time with him was now scarce. When you did see him he continued to go over some of his vocals. Recording and hearing himself, and even asking you if they sounded okay. “You sound great.” But a simple hum, he ignores whatever else you had to say. Anything else you had to say would fall silent in his ears. Not only that, he began to hand around more vocalists and lyricist. Getting an opportunity to be an MC and he gladly took it. His name was getting out there, checking your medias and his face and name were being mentioned more. You felt proud but couldn’t help but feel the slight fear he was forgetting about you. “That’s ridiculous. You’re still my best friend!” Seungmin pinches your cheek, your heart squeezes at the name. Best friend, it’s all you ever will be for him. If that’s what you are still. His attention on you momentarily as his phone rings. His partner who was also an MC had called him. From the other room you heard him laugh like he’s never had. You didn’t know how long you can go and when you had enough. You and him had a huge argument like no other. Ending with him slamming door behind him, in disbelief that you weren’t supporting him. Now hitting the streets, he grinned as fans began to approach him and soon a mob. Security guards everywhere as they tried to get him through his location. Best news was when he was able to conduct the MAMA awards with a few of his idol friends. Your name never once came to mind and yet when the group got its first award he quickly ran backstage after the show to find you. Confused you weren’t there, he’d call you. It’s been three weeks he noticed since you contacted him. His messages were all mostly you texting him, few calls was always of yours and not his. And when he tried contacting you, nothing went through. That was odd, phone must not be working? But it didn’t take him long to realize it wasn’t his phone, his heart froze as he checked his Instagram to see a single story of yours revealing you on a flight. A location set to France. You left him.

JEONGIN: THE UNAFFECTION

You were fine with it. You get it not everyone’s love language was physical touch and that is why you were such a good match with him. It balanced your relationship with him, until it didn’t. You don’t know exactly when the tipping point came to be, but you do know when you began to have a different opinion on the matter. Before though, it was you who initiated everything. A kiss on the cheek, a hug, cuddles, hand holding etc. You liked it. You liked seeing your boyfriend get flustered whenever you did simple acts of affection. In public, he wasn’t fond of pda and so you respected it. Of course you held his hand every once and a while and you were understanding when he dropped your hand. The times he would make a bit of a distance between you two when the guys were around didn’t hurt, maybe a pout but like always, you were understanding. In the end, one would meet their breaking point and now was yours. Walking out on the streets to buy him a birthday gift, filled with glee as you look through the store to buy him the perfect gift. Only to come across a couple having fun. Giggling as they made jokes and fooled around, holding hands and a peck on the cheek. You didn’t realize you were staring for so long and by the time the couple was out of sight you felt bummed out. Imagining what would it be like for you and Jeongin to do such a thing just once in your relationship.

His birthday came. Everyone was around and singing him happy birthday. Large grins plastered on everyone’s faces as he blew the candles. Clapping, you lean in and kiss his cheek. “Happy Birthday!” An awkward chuckle and smile, he moves away from you slightly as he lets the boys smear a bit of cake on him. Ignoring you and trying to forget you ever even kissed him. Usually you would be okay with it, but this time. You felt that sting one would normally get. For the first time, you yearned for just a little bit of the affection most couples had. Did that make you needy? As the time went on you tried very hard to not let it get the best of you. Constant reassurance that you were fine with minimal affection, that you were okay with Jeongin pushing you away simply because he didn’t want a simple kiss to the cheek or cuddles. Yet even when no one was around, you went for cuddles and he would pull away. Focusing on his phone or tv, a smile flashing towards you just so that you know not to take it to heart but now you were. You were getting frustrated, upset that your unaffectionate boyfriend wasn’t affectionate. Hugging his back side one morning, a tired good morning. You felt content at the moment, til you weren’t. “Morning.” He’d say and slightly shrug you off. Mood immediately going sour as you take a sit down. With a huff you ate your breakfast and didn’t bother starting up a conversation like you always did.

It’s what you did most days now. You stopped initiating anything. Deciding that for once you wanted your boyfriend to pull up his big boy pants and show he was at least capable of starting something, affectionate or not, physical or not. But instead, you were more annoyed by how confused he got when you weren’t doing anything. “Why didn’t you hold my hand?” He’d ask suddenly but you would shrug. You waited, staring at his hand but nothing. And when you decided to finally hold his hand again, he brushed you off as he went back to whatever he was conversing with the guys. Feeling like you were about to explode in front of everyone who was around you swallowed down that anger. Deciding to go on with the group in silence. Jeongin didn’t notice. The icing on the cake, he began to ignore you when Han teased you and Jeongin as the young couple while standing so close at a store checking out the figurines. “I can’t do this.” You shake your head as Jeongin only eyes you and moves away from you, rushing over to stand next to Hyunjin and laugh like he didn’t just reject you. No longer moving forward you go to turn around. “Y/n, you coming?” Chan would ask. “No.” “Why? Everything okay?” Looking between them and over to Jeongin who only looks down. You wondered if he even cared, how little he bothered to check how you were. “I’m just…done.” You’ll simply say and walk off. Confused, they’d look over at Jeongin who would finally look up. See you walking away with feared, sadden eyes. What did you mean by that?

[hanqu0kka]

Between Guilt and Forgiveness

Pairing: Bang Chan x F!reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Summary: You innocently thought that your week couldn't get any worse, but it all went downhill when you accidentally broke your boyfriend's laptop.

Warning: some swearing

Words: 2.4k

Author's Note: Hey guys, how you doing? I hope you like this! English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any grammar errors.

That was terrible.

Actually, terrible was far from describing what had happened. It was a catastrophe, a tragedy, the apocalypse itself, the end of the world. No, you still didn't think any of this was enough to sum up what you have done.

With tears burning in your eyes, you looked at Chan's laptop, the same laptop that contained years of work, compositions, unfinished songs, notes and contacts that were probably worth more than your small apartment in the center of the city. The same laptop that was now in front of you, completely turned off, without the slightest sign of life.

It had to be a nightmare. That couldn't be happening. You shifted the mouse, praying to all the gods in the universe for a miracle. Nothing. You desperately pressed the power button. Nothing. Your reflection on the off monitor seems to mock you.

Feeling that your tears were about to fall, you huddled yourself in the chair, hugging your knees tightly. You needed to remain calm and think of a rational solution.

How would Chan react? Would he be nervous? Angry? That was the only thing crossing your mind. The thought of him being disappointed and sad invaded your head, and that was enough to make you collapse.

Tears poured down your face, broken sobs escaped your lips, making your whole body tremble. You mentally cursed yourself for agreeing to use your boyfriend's laptop to study while he was rehearsing a new choreography.

What would you do now? You could gather some money working a few extra shifts to get him another laptop, but nothing would be able to repair all the work and effort that was lost.

You felt horrible. It's been a rough week. You could count on your fingers how many hours you had slept in the last seven days, courtesy of the three essays you left to do at the last minute, because you know… procrastination! But this was the icing on the cake. The wreath that was missing in your grave.

"Baby?"

Your whole body instantly tensed as you heard Chan's worried voice sound in the room. Distracted by your own thoughts, you barely heard him open the studio door.

His eyes were wide, his face was contorted with worry. Panic washed through your body, making you cry harder.

Chan closed the distance between you, wrapping your trembling body in a tight embrace. Chan's hugs were your safe haven, your anchor in the middle of the storm. No matter how bad things got, whenever he wrapped you in his strong arms, you felt safe, like nothing in the world could hurt you while he was there with you.

Tears soaked his sweatshirt but he didn't seem to mind. Instead, he gently stroked your back, depositing small pecks on the top of your head.

"Hey love, what's wrong? Why are you crying? Please talk to me."

Even being confused, his voice remained calm and warm, like a cup of tea on a rainy day. It only made you feel ten times worse. You didn't deserve him. As you stared into his pretty brown eyes, guilt started to eat up your chest, spreading fast through your lungs.

"S-sorry, I-I didn't..." You only noticed you were hyperventilating when Chan took your face in his hands. Concern covered his eyes.

"Sweetheart, you need to calm down. Can you take a deep breath for me? Here, let me help you. Try following me."

He placed your hand over his chest, cupping your cheek with his free hand. Even though you were a hot mess, you tried synchronizing your labored breathing with his.

"That's it. You're doing so well, angel." He whispered softly. "Everything is fine now, I promise. I got you."

Chan hated seeing you like this. It hurts him physically in an unexplainable way. His heart clenched painfully every time a single tear dropped from your precious eyes. It was his duty to make you happy, and seeing you like this, bursting into tears, made him feel as though he failed you.

Lately, he has been busier than usual, but he wasn't blind. He saw how stressed you were because of schoolwork. He knew you weren't sleeping properly or eating well. When you arrived at his studio, he clearly saw how tired you were. You looked like a cracked jar about to break. It was slowly killing him inside.

Chan insisted you got some rest, but you were too stubborn. So, he allowed you to study in his studio but promised himself that as soon as he finished his appointments, he would make sure to get you home and put you to rest before you broke down. But now he realized he was a little too late.

"I'm sorry." You muttered.

“You don't have to apologize, love. I know you're tired and-"

You interrupted him, “No, Chan. You don't understand. I-I did something… I-”

“Baby, it's okay. You only need to get some rest. You can't keep harming yourself like that.”

You knew it was wrong, but the way he was treating you, so patient and understanding, was making you annoyed. How could he not see the dead laptop hovering like a ghost right beside him? Couldn't he feel something was terribly wrong? That you were practically a murder?

Taking a deep breath, you decided it was better to just say it all at once. As they say, sometimes you just have to rip off the band-aid.

"Chan, I broke your laptop." You said in one breath, squeezing your eyes shut.

A sudden silence fell over the room, the only noises coming from the air-conditioning in the ceiling. You watched with a sinking heart while Chan's previously serene face turned into an expression of astonishment. Looking to his right, he finally saw the black screen of his laptop. His lips formed a small "o" shape. He blinked fast as if he was having trouble processing what you just said.

"What?" He said in disbelief.

Not knowing what to do, you started rambling, “I-I don't know what happened, I swear. I was almost finishing my essay, but the screen suddenly switched off and I couldn't get it to switch up again. I swear it was an accident, I really don't know what I did wrong. It was alive and suddenly. Poof! It blacked out and went to the land of dead electronics. I'm sorry. I’m so sor-”

"Y/n, shut the fuck up," Chan whispered coldly.

You were proud to say you could read him like an open book, but at that moment, you had no idea what was going on in his head. His face was impassive, his eyes were dark and distant, but you couldn't make out any emotion.

"How could you do that?" He finally said after a long silence. "Do you know how many important files I had saved in there?"

"Chan, I-"

"I've told you to be careful!"

"I know, but-" You tried again.

"I was nearly finishing a song that took me days to produce." He yells, making you involuntarily flinch. "Fuck, y/n!"

"I'm sorry."

"I know you always delay and don't give a shit about your work, but that doesn't give you the right to fuck up with mine!"

"I'm sorry." You muttered under your breath.

He scoffed, running a hand through his messy hair.

Chan's head spun fast. Despair rose in his stomach like a frightening monster, enveloping and twisting every organ in his body. He paced back and forth across the room.

Part of him wanted to scream and cry at the thought of all the things he had lost, and he was really about to explode, but all the anger he felt vanished into thin air when he saw your tear-up eyes filled with guilt.

He let out a long breath. It wasn't time to lose his mind, you needed him right now. Carefully, he pressed your body against his, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted. When he felt your arms wrap around his back, he let his head rest in the crook of your neck, getting intoxicated in your familiar scent.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He said, fighting his own tears. Now that the anger was gone, the full impact of what he had done weighed on his shoulders.

“Don't apologize. It's my fault, I deserve this.”

“No, you don't. I'm sorry for yelling at you, I don't know what got into me. I'm such a jerk."

"I'm sorry." You repeated like a broken record.

"Shhh, it's okay."

“I always screw things up.”

"What are you talking about? You never screw anything, love. It's quite the opposite, you always make everything better. So, please, don't say that. It was an accident, okay? It wasn't your fault, you don't need to cry."

"But-"

“Shhh, it's okay, I promise. I'll solve this. Now stop crying, you know I hate seeing you like this.”

He pulled away, placing a comforting kiss on your temple before heading towards his laptop.

Tucking your head into your knees, you stifled a sob, trying to stay as quiet as possible. He was still disappointed in you. You were sure of it, but Chan was just too kind to show it. He always puts others’ needs and comfort over his own. But you messed up real bad this time. It was only a matter of time before he realized you were a burden in his life, that he would be better without you.

"I know it won't solve anything, but I'll get you a new one-" Your rant was cut by Chan's loud laugh exploding in the room.

This is it. He's gone completely insane.

When you looked up, you found your boyfriend lying on the floor, laughing so hard that tears sprang in his eyes. A small light on your left caught your eye. You almost had a heart attack when you saw the laptop, the dead laptop, restarting.

“W-what? How…” Nothing else made sense to your fried brain.

"Baby, you didn't break anything." He said breathlessly. "The laptop was only discharged. I simply plugged in the charger."

"Oh."

A wave of embarrassment swept through your body, making your face burn more than the sun itself. Dumb, dumb, dumb! How did you not notice that before? It was so painfully obvious, so fucking simple.

"I must have forgotten to put it to charge this morning." He smirks playfully. "And you were probably so focused on your work that you missed the warning to plug in the charger."

"Ah."

Your brain was so melted, you felt like a baby who couldn't form a single phrase. So you did the only thing you could still properly do at the moment: you bury your head in your hands.

“Aww, you don't need to feel embarrassed, my love. It's fine. I said you never screw anything up.” He lowered your wrists and filled your face with kisses. “Wow, you're so red. Stop being so cute, you're going to end up killing me like this.”

"I'm not cute, I'm stupid."

"This is not true. You're just tired, that's all.” You eyed him suspiciously, making him laugh. "And maybe you're a little forgetful, but just a little bit."

You whined, "I thought I broke it."

“Nah, you didn't. In the end, it was all my fault.”

"How can this be your fault, Christopher Bang?" You asked indignantly. He grimaced at the sound of his full name.

"I should have told you the battery was low." He shrugged. You open your mouth to retort, but he cuts you off quickly. “And it's no use saying otherwise. It's my fault, end of discussion.”

"You're too stubborn."

"Everyone has their flaws, right?" You just rolled your eyes. He looked at you with a teasing gleam in his eyes. “You need to rest now. Enough of killing my heart saying you broke my precious laptop.”

“Chaaan.” You cried, still embarrassed by what happened.

“Come on, you need to sleep, otherwise you'll soon become a member of baboracha."

“I hate you,” you said, pouting. "Don't tell anyone about this."

“I'm joking, I'm joking. I swear I won't. Now, come here."

He pulled you gently, bringing your lips together in a calm and comforting kiss. It didn't take long for him to deepen the kiss, it seemed like he was trying to assure you that everything was fine, that he'd love you anyhow. He slowly parted your lips and rested his forehead on yours. He looked down at you, concern shining in his eyes.

"I'm really sorry for earlier. I hope you know I didn’t mean none of the things I said."

"It's fine." You peck his lips again.

"No. It’s not. I know college hasn't been easy, but you always give your best in everything you do. I'm so proud of you. Sorry for saying those mean things."

"Chan, stop. You were mad, I get it."

"Still, that's no excuse for what I did."

"Oh my God, what do I have to do to make you stop apologizing?"

"I don't know," He said with a shy smile. "Maybe you could kiss me? I think my lips miss yours already."

You smiled softly at seeing him so shy and flustered, his ears burning in a bright red. You leaned in and kissed him, granting his wish without a second thought.

For the rest of the night, you both cuddle on the small sofa in his studio, listening to some music on Chan's laptop, which, thank God, wasn't broken. You lost count of how many times he had apologized between sweet kisses, but you were there by his side, assuring him that everything was fine.

The next morning, you were happily eating your breakfast in Stray Kids' dorm, waiting for your boyfriend to get out of the shower, when Hyunjin tossed himself in the chair beside you, smiling mischievously.

"So, y/n... I came to welcome you!"

"What? Hyunjin, it's not even my first time here." You said, confused.

"You dummy." He laughed, flicking your head lightly. "Chan told us what you did last night, and we all agreed that you're officially the new member of baboracha. Congratulations!"

"HE WHAT?" You yelled, choking on the juice you were drinking.

"Well, welcome! Now I should probably get going, you look exactly like Kkami when I forget to feed him."

"CHRISTOPHER BANG YOU'RE DEAD."

[pingutats]

my dearest darling

in which you and harry spend a sunday morning having coffee & cake, and spontaneously decide to go engagement ring shopping together.

warnings: a little suggestive at the end. mostly just pure fluff!

word count: 3.4k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

The little alleyway off the main street filled with café tables is a perfect place for you and Harry to sit unseen. In fact, in this little alcove, it’s easy to watch the world pass by the two of you. It’s a nice reprieve from the usual of the world watching Harry. 

He’s wearing sunglasses anyway, just in case—despite the overcast weather. 

You frown at him, resting your elbows on the table and lacing your fingers together to rest your chin on. “I really think that makes you more conspicuous.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Nah. Or at least, if people notice, they’re going to notice an odd bloke in sunnies, not me.”

“They’ll notice it’s you.”

He glances at the busy footpath. “‘S working so far, love.”

A young waitress rounds the corner from the cafe’s front entrance and sets your coffees down on the table. You move your elbows off the table politely to give her space.

“Thanks,” Harry says, reaching for his black coffee. 

You smile at the waitress as you wrap your hands around the latte you ordered, warming up your freezing fingers. You notice the way she hesitates before she leaves, how she looks at Harry like she wants to say something before before quickly spinning on her heels and walking away. When she’s out of earshot, you look at Harry. “She knows.”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

The waitress reappears a minute later with the little cakes you ordered. This time, she’s braver. “I’m so sorry—are you Harry Styles?” she asks, saying his name in a voice that’s akin to a reverent whisper.

His eyes dart to you for a split second and he raises his eyebrow enough that only you’ll notice, conceding to you, then smiles at her. “Yeah, I am. Sorry, what’s your name?”

You watch him navigate the encounter easily, like you’ve watched so many times. The girl asks for a photo and he politely declines, explaining that he doesn’t want to draw attention, but offers to sign a napkin for her instead. He a short message (nice to meet you, all my love) to her and draws a couple hearts after he signs his name, then passes it to her with a sweetly genuine thanks her for her support. 

“Oh my gosh, no, thank you,” she says earnestly. “It was so, so nice to meet you.” She glances at you, then, and her cheeks go even pinker. “Thanks,” she says again, and then she’s gone.

You let a giggle free at the awkward way his fans treat you, like they don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk to you as well, and how they struggle to find something to say to you anyway. Once it might have bothered you. It’s just amusing to you now. You raise your brows at Harry. “All your love?” you tease, quoting the message he wrote on the napkin. “Where’s my share?”

He pouts from behind his sunglasses. “Don’t be like that.”

You kick his shin gently underneath the table. “I’m kidding around. She was sweet. I like watching you do that, you’re so good at it.”

His foot swings around to trap your ankle between his. “Trying to play footsie at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning? You little minx.”

You roll your eyes and wrench your foot free, rattling the table as you do so. He laughs—a sharp barking ha! that makes you smile through your embarrassment at causing a small commotion. 

“Who’s conspicuous, sorry?” he asks.

 You shake your head at him and stab your fork into your apple and cinnamon muffin. He keeps giggling as he slides his own plate with the carrot cake to his side of the table and picks up a fork himself.

“Mm, that’s good,” he says after he swallows his first bite. “Better than the one I make.”

“Well, baking isn’t known to be one of your talents.”

He claps a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.” He leans over the table and skewers a piece of your muffin on his fork, dodging your attempts to swat his hand away with great agility. He pops it in his mouth triumphantly, cocking his head like he’s challenging you. 

In return, you steal a piece of his cake. 

“That was a much larger piece than what I took,” he accuses. 

You shrug.

His phone, face down on the table, dings. He glances up at you. 

“Check it,” you tell him. You know he only has alerts on for his closest friends—otherwise his phone would be ringing all day long. “I don’t mind.”

He bites his lip apologetically and flips the phone over, reading it. “Oh, it’s Tom. Hang on a sec.” He starts typing back.

You crane your neck around to read the message—something about Tom being free at the end of July, and Harry is giving a thumbs-up to that.

“Where are you off to?” you ask. 

“France, maybe,” he replies. You’re aware that discovering this kind of information so suddenly would be jarring for most couples, enough to even incite a fight—but you and Harry aren’t exactly a normal couple, and international trips are just part and parcel of your relationship. Hell, he goes on world tours for months at a time. You’re lucky, you suppose, that you function just as well long-distance as you do when you’re living together. 

“Lads’ trip?”

He sends the message and clicks his phone off, leaning back in his chair. “Nah. Taking you to Paris and getting down on m’knee in front of the Eiffel Tower,” he says, nodding sagely. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, Tom’s there to get the photos.” He shovels a forkful of the cake into his mouth and then points his fork in the general direction of a street busker playing a violin across the road. He swallows. “And I’m getting that guy to play a little tune, for the atmosphere,” he adds. 

You raise your brows. “Oh, you’ve got budget for this, then.”

He smiles. “Nothing but the best for my dearest darling.”

You snort.

He carefully cuts a piece of cake with the edge of his fork. “Nah, we’re thinking of doing a trip down to his friend’s studio in—somewhere in France, I can’t remember really. Friends and family welcome too, if you want to come. Apparently it’s a real nice place.” He eats his mouthful and then lifts his sunnies to look at you with clear eyes. “We are getting married, though. I mean that.”

Your cheeks threaten to burst from how badly you want to smile, but you force yourself to assume a serious face, just to humour him. “Of course we are.”

Despite the butterflies it inspires, this conversation isn’t new. You’ve been with Harry a couple of years now and you both know you’re on the same page when it comes to your shared future. There are no hard plans, but the direction is set. You’re getting there someday. 

He puffs his cheeks out. “I feel like you aren’t taking this as seriously as I am.”

You sigh melodramatically. “Well, sweetheart, I haven’t seen a ring yet.”

“A ring? You should have asked,” he drawls, then suddenly sits up straight and points a finger at you. “Don’t take that as a challenge. I want to be the one to ask.”

You shrug. “Can’t make any promises.”

His arm shoots forward to grab at your hand and you almost laugh out loud at the puppy-eyes he’s making at you. “No, please, baby, I swear you can do everything else, but let me do the proposing bit.”

In your heart, you’re happy he’s so insistent, because this is exactly how you want it to be too. In your mind, though, you really enjoy tormenting him. 

“I’ll think about it,” you concede, and he groans.

“I’m buying a ring soon as I can, just to lock it in,” he tells you as he destroys what’s left of his carrot cake.

Once you’ve finished and Harry’s gone up to pay for the coffee and cake (he also took a moment to lean over the counter to snap a group selfie with the waitress who served you earlier and a couple others too) you walk back up the street in the general direction of your car that’s parked a few blocks down. The weather is pleasant today and the sun is even peeking out from behind the clouds now, justifying his sunglasses. 

Your mind starts to drift (his arm wrapped loosely around your waist anchors you to the real world) as you think about how nice it is to be with Harry, how you’ve learned to appreciate each physical moment you have with him because they are so precious. After the tours, the promotional trips, the film sets, and all the little things in between, you understand how to be with Harry. You know not everyone can handle a life like this, and you’re sure that if it wasn’t Harry whose return you awaited, you wouldn’t be able to either. But he always returns. 

Harry comes to a sudden halt in front of a shop window, gazing in. You’re nearly yanked off your feet as you keep trying to walk with your arm around him—he’s so steady that he doesn’t budge. You stand next to him and look into what you realise is a jewellery store. 

“What do you think?” he asks. 

“Huh?”

He looks down, his arm squeezing around your shoulder. “Said I’d get you a ring, didn’t I?”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “What, today?”

“‘M not asking. Just preparing.”

You raise your eyebrows up at him. “That is… that is really a technicality.”

“Humour me,” he says. “C’mon.” He shepherds you into the store, steering you by your shoulders. 

It’s small and pretty in here, the air from the fans cool against your sun-warmed skin. There are hardly any other customers at the moment, so you have some kind of valuable privacy. There are a couple of glass counters that run along either side of the store with meticulously placed themed displays inside them. You gravitate immediately to the closest thing, a cluster of rough amethysts hanging from necklaces. 

“Aren’t these so cute?” you comment to Harry.

His arms wrap around you from behind and you reach up to grasp onto his crossed forearms resting against your chest. “Oh, yeah, they are.”

You stay there looking at the necklaces for a little too long—it’s not like you’re really that fascinated by the jewels, but more that you’re just enjoying Harry’s head leaning over your shoulder and his chest pressed to your back as you stand there. When your gaze meanders along the counter and you see something new, though, you shake free of his grip and follow your whims.

This store isn’t labelled out front with a massive brand. You’re pretty sure it’s an independent jeweller, judging by the neat description cards that accompany each small collection, explaining the theme in a lively and personal manner. This is what makes you really fall in love with the place and feel sure that this is where you’ll find the perfect ring. You know Harry could afford any ring from any famous brand, the heaviest jewels imaginable, easily worthy of a feature article in Vogue magazine. He could probably organise to have a diamond dug up fresh specifically to go on your finger. 

It’s the fact that Harry could give you anything in the world that makes you not want it at all. Special, to the two of you, isn’t something that you’ll find in wealth or the crowds that adore him.

It’s found in a day like this.

“Oh, my god, H, look at this one,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist and pulling him over.

He bends over the counter, his gaze following the line of your pointing finger. “Oh, that is pretty,” he says. 

It’s a simple gold band with a small, neatly carved diamond fixed to it. It isn’t flashy at all, which is what drew you to it. You knew he’d like it too. Despite the decadence of his performances, he can be a different man behind closed doors and you love that part of him. The secret part, the one that only you know so well. 

“I’m in love with it,” you tell him.

Harry nods. “Yeah, I think that’s the one.”

You never doubted that he would agree, but his assent sends a bolt of excitement up your spine. It’s all so real, suddenly, and you can’t wait to see him on his knee for you, to see that ring on your finger. You know your ring size off by heart (how could you not, being in a relationship with the jewellery connoisseur that Harry is), so there’ll be no need for you to try it on today. You’re left with only the raw anticipation of the day he’ll slide it onto your finger. 

His hands come down to rest on your hips as you both stare at the ring. You imagine you can hear his heart, knowing that it’ll be beating erratically because his excitement must match yours—you know how he feels about the idea of marriage. 

He spins you around to face him, leaving his hands on your hips. He looks at you very seriously. His sunglasses are resting on top of his head now, pushing back his curls and revealing his green eyes and furrowed brow to you.

“You know, if we’re seen buying an engagement ring…” he begins, trailing off. He shrugs. “Just want to think about that.”

You screw up your nose. “According to some magazines we got married last week, and also six months ago. Just being in here is probably going to spark something.” You glance behind you, as if you’ll see journalists scribbling away on their theories, then flatten your palms against his chest, smoothing out his shirt. “I’m happy to ignore it. I want to just do our thing, H.”

He nods, pursing his lips, and gradually the crease in his forehead disappears. “Okay. Good.” Twin smiles spread over your faces and you have the feeling of being two giddy kids, high-schoolers about to have their first kiss. Something new, unknown, exciting, that the two of you are going into together. His eyes are practically sparkling at you. If this was a cartoon, you think his pupils would be shaped like hearts right now. Something is starting to bud and you can feel it growing up inside you and between you, preparing to bloom. 

“Alright,” you say, breaking the insulating silence to draw you both back to the real world. 

He blinks a couple of times as if he’s just waking up. “Alright,” he echoes. “Let’s get it.”

He waves over a man drifting through the store in a neat suit and points at the ring. “Excuse me, can we please have a look at this one?”

The two of you watch the man unlock the cabinet and slide the plate of rings out, placing it on the counter. He picks up the one Harry pointed out. “It’s a lovely one, sir.”

“It is,” Harry says. His hand finds yours and squeezes your fingers. “What size is it?”

The man checks the price and tells you, and your mouth drops open. Surely there is something supernaturally perfect going on, because it’s exactly your size. You and Harry look at each other incredulously. 

The man seems to notice your unspoken conversation, because he helpfully adds, “We can resize it if you need.”

Harry chuckles. “No, it’s perfect. I think…” he trails off, looking at you. “What do you think?”

You nod at him, grinning. You rub your thumb over the back of his palm as he tells the man, “Thank you. We’d like this one, please.”

You stand slightly behind him as he pays for it, flexing your hands and wringing them in front of you. You know it’s all in your head, but your left ring finger is tingling as if it senses that it’s missing a piece. You really just want to wear the ring at this minute, but when the man selling it to you offers, Harry shakes his head quickly. 

“I’ll hold onto it for now,” he says. He accepts the little box from the man and slips it into his pocket. “Thank you so much.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir. Enjoy it, and congratulations to the two of you.”

Harry snakes his arm around your waist as you walk back out to the street. His hips knock against you as he squeezes you into his side, and you can feel the little box in his pocket. You can’t help the grin that takes over your whole face. You worry you look like an idiot, smiling so widely at nothing, but when you glance up at Harry, he looks exactly the same.

Your car is parked down a quieter road and you get to relax a little once you’re away from the crowds of the main shopping strip. You can walk a little more slowly and Harry loosens up a bit. His hyper-vigilance starts to strip away. You can see the tension in his shoulders dissolving and here’s your Harry, emerging from his defensive layers. Most people wouldn’t notice this change, but you do. You feel how he adjusts the grip of his hand on your hip, how he leans into you a little more as you walk. In your closeness, you can smell his cologne and you think of how you watched him spray it on this morning—and how you’re going to be watching him do that for the rest of your lives.

He glances over his shoulder and you copy him. The narrow street behind you is empty, but you don’t get a moment to really register this before you feel his arms tighten around your waist and you’re swept off your feet for a second as he crashes his lips into yours.

You close your eyes, letting the kiss envelop all your senses. The sweetness of the cake’s icing lingering on his lips; his arms locked around your waist, holding you up; the rapid beating of your heart. He pulls away slowly and your eyes flutter open. His face is just inches from yours and he’s looking at you with such intensity you feel naked. Not for the first time, you’re in awe of how impossibly green his eyes are; you could make a palette from every forest in the world, and it wouldn’t hold a candle to what you see in front of you right now.

“Y/N,” he says. He cracks a grin. “I’m so fucking happy.”

Your reply is simply to grab him by the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Your hand tangles in his hair and you feel his tongue running along your bottom lip before he pulls away again quickly.

“Fuck,” he says, sounding lost for breath. “Need to stop before I make a fool of m’self in public.” He even physically takes a step back from you, his eyes comically wide.

You giggle. Your gaze travels down his body and you notice the indent of the box in his pocket. “Is that a ring in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He shakes his head at you. “You’ve gone all giddy. ‘M getting you home right now and then we’re celebrating properly.” He turns around and starts walking towards the car, his long legs carrying him faster than you can keep up.

Your stomach flutters imagining what his idea of celebrating might be. Suddenly, the only thing on your mind is getting back to your house as soon as humanly possible. You run after Harry, skipping around in front of him and jogging backwards as you waggle your fingers in his face. “So, when are you going to pop the question?” you ask.

“Oh, honey,” he says, patting his pocket with the ring. He grins. “It’s going to be when you least expect it, I’ll promise you that.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed—if you did, a reblog or a message is really encouraging and lovely for me to see!! the title is taken from the song by etta james.

this fic is the first part of a series called “here we are in heaven,” and i’m really really excited about it. you can read my earlier fic, at last!, if you want to see where this will end up, but there will be more parts to fill the in-between. plus blurbs and stuff! let’s chat about it! 

my masterlist can be found here. have a beautiful day!

[writeformesinpie]

Macabre Game

Hwanwoong x Fem!Reader

Word Count - 1.9k

Genre - Yandere

Summary -

You’ve been working at the television studio for 8 months and you have noticed Hwanwoong, I mean come on, who hasn’t? He is adorable AF and everyone seems to want to be close to him, he is constantly surrounded. But, there’s something off about him, something just under the surface that only you seem to notice.

Warnings -

Violence, swearing, blood, smut/suggestive

KPOP Masterlist

   There’s something about Hwanwoong that just makes people smile.

   People don’t talk about him behind his back, at least not to say anything cruel. You’ve only ever heard the nicest things about him from the rest of the staff. He’s well liked. The girls in the office all say the same thing: he is simply the cutest, completely unthreatening and kind. The perfect man. Although maybe not. Considering they say he’s perfect, the type of guy they would like to take home to meet their mothers, they always end up crying over yet another failed relationship with some awful guy who was ‘just so hot.’ If only they had chosen someone more like Hwanwoong.

   After all, he’s perfect, isn't he?

   You're not so sure. There’s something sexy, something almost dangerous under that sweet persona that he adorns everyday, something you can’t quite put your finger on. The way his smile vanishes when he thinks he’s not being watched, the way he picks endlessly at the lint in his pockets, the way his amusement sometimes doesn't reach his eyes.

   There’s something about Hwanwoong that you want to see more of. Sometimes you stay later than you need to in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his inner identity. It’s rare to see but it happens from time to time. It’s the smallest twitch of a muscle in his jaw, a glance that lingers longer than necessary, a strained smile that no one else notices.

   But you do.

   He’s talking to a small group of men right now and as he brushes his hand through his hair with an uneasy laugh, you know to come up with his bubble tea. He needs an interruption. He needs an excuse.

   “Ah, thank you,” he says, winking at you as he gathers the loose papers in front of him on the large curved desk. “I didn’t even realize the time. I better get a move on.”

   They make their excuses and start to disperse, leaving him alone to his work. Staring for an extended moment, you take him in. He’s hard to put a finger on, a contradiction. Both manly yet cute. The slope of his jaw is sickly sweet while his chin demands attention. His lips can be thin or thick depending on the look he gives. Not even his hair stays the same. This week has been a two-tone mix of an off-brown and gray. Two colours that shouldn’t work well together yet, on him, they do.

   Sometimes you imagine describing his likeness to a sketch artist. What kind of monster would turn up on the page? It would not be him. Not Hwanwoong.

   He doesn't need to be working here right now. In fact you’re not sure how he gets away with it. In the studio surely other people need to film at this particular desk, the newsroom has more than one team after all, yet no one ever tells him no. He gets his work done before the next news team needs to film so they must figure there’s no harm.

   As a popular news anchor, Hwanwoong is often scouted. Who wouldn’t want him on their channel? He’s a huge draw for the network so they dote on him, spoil him even.

   After a moment you realize he’s staring right back at you. A faint gasp exits your lips and you look down at your clipboard, nod and start to walk away, wondering how you could be so careless but his voice stops you.

   “Do you want to go for a walk?”

   “A walk?”

   “Yes. Not too far. Just to clear my head before I head home." His voice is a husky nectar and his smile looks genuine as he collects his papers. Placing them neatly into his briefcase, he tosses the bubble tea in the trash as he starts to walk across the room. “Let’s go out the back.”

   “Okay." Your voice is soft and unsure as you follow him through the hallway that leads to the back door, grabbing your coat and bag on the way out. The fresh air hits you like a truck, the coldness of it biting against your skin as you pull your scarf up around your face. He doesn't seem to notice, not even bothering to tie his light jacket around his small frame.

   “There’s a park up here that I visit to clear my head.” He smiles over his shoulder, almost as if checking to see if you’re still following. Even the back of his head is mesmerising, his fluffy hair fluttering in the bitter wind.

   “Isn’t it a little cold to go to the park?” And a little late? It’s almost midnight in the dead of winter. Not many cars are out. You only see one driving further down the street before it too disappears into the night. You are the only two people foolish enough to be outside on foot. It could be worse - it could be snowing.

   “Is it?”

   Following his quick steps, you feel thick drops of moist frost land on your nose and looking up you realise swirls of white flecks are dancing down from the dark sky. You sigh. He looks back over his shoulder with youthful exuberance as he twirls a few times, his palms up to catch the snow. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

   He is.

   “Yes.”

   You don’t bother to mention how cold it is as you walk up to the small park, even the bark of the sturdy trees starting to turn white. He pulls out a small cloth and wipes down two swings before motioning for you to sit.

   Taking your spot next to him, the unsteady feeling of the rickety old kids seat caves into your body. It makes you uncomfortable, but not Hwanwoong. He’s already starting to swivel back and forth, his smile infectious. Smiling, you start to move your legs to gain a little momentum as you watch him, ignoring the cloud-covered stars above.

   “You know I notice you watching me.” He continues to sway back and forth, his face moving with the rhythm of the creaks from the rusted metal, his eyes flicking back and forth with the movement, his gaze lingering.

   “Huh?” A chuckle croaks out as you twist the small seat back and forth in an attempt to slow the contraption, your heart starting to pound in your ears.

   “It’s pretty obvious. I figured you wanted me to notice.”

   “Did I? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

   He laughs, somehow now at a complete stop, his legs digging into the hardened sand under the swing as he pulls you towards him. “It didn’t upset me. If it did, I wouldn’t have let you keep staring.”

   His eyes drift over your face before staring fiercely into your eyes and you realize he doesn’t just mean the stupid mistake you made tonight; he’s talking about the last 8 months. He’s noticed you watching him. He’s noticed, and you weren’t being as careful as you thought you had been.

   “I like that you noticed. You did notice, didn't you?”

   “Notice?”

   “The monster. You see it, right?”

   Monster? Swallowing hard, you realize just how quiet it is out here, how solitary. Alone. You’re alone with him.

   “I’m surprised you came out here. Actually, I’m not,” he says, dropping the metal from the swing, the abruptness of the action causing you to spin until he steadies it from the ground in front of you. “You couldn’t resist seeing more, am I right?”

   The silence rages loud in your eardrums as he studies you until he steps back, turns, and walks over to the school bus-yellow slide. Jogging up the stairs to the right, he looks over his shoulder with a small smile and a raised brow. Angelic. Alluring.

   You follow.

   His mellow laugh follows him faintly down the slide as you make your way to the top. As you look down you see him. He grins up at you and waves. He’s closed himself off again. He’s back to the persona of himself he presents to the world and maybe on this bitter, cold night while surrounded by dark shadows, that's okay.

   As you follow him down, a ginger smile on your face, he strolls over to the slide and slams his steel-toed boot onto the edge of the exit. Gasping, you grab the slippery railing to stop yourself before you collide.

   “The thing is,” he says, his eyes round with a smile reaching inhumanly across his face, “I’ve been watching you too.”

   “You have? Why?” Your heartbeat is loud, pulsating within your body. He moves closer. His face hovers. Your body screams for you to get away and you resist the urge to crawl back up the wet slide. “What do you want?”

   “You,” he whispers. He’s on all fours now, pinning you down against the frigid metal. “I want to play with you.”

   Before you can respond, his lips are on yours. Warm, inviting. Your own open and let him in, sucking on his tongue. Heat floods across your face from ear to ear and you wonder for a moment if he can see the effect he has on you before your thoughts start to fade. Hwanwoong takes up too much space to think.

   Reaching out, you brush your hand against his damp hair, pulling him closer. His hips pin you down, cradling you against the slide. Snug. He pulls back to kiss your eyes, lips and throat. While a hand cups one of your breasts, the other runs circles up your thigh.

   “So… do you want to play a game?”

   “A game?”

   “Hmm. Let’s play hide and seek,” he says, biting your lip.

   “Right now?”

   “Mmmm.” He chuckles, kissing your jaw and licking your neck. As if he is two places at once, his tongue darts from one spot to another, hungry. “And don’t let me catch you because I’m the big bad wolf.”

   He bites into your neck and you yelp. The pleasure and pain combine as his hard cock rubs against your throbbing heat. His hands explore your body. He pulls at the layers that protect you from the elements, protect you from being devoured right here and now. Though the longer his hands glide across your skin, the longer his hips grind against your tender clit, the longer he nibbles his way down to your collarbone, the more you want these unwanted clothes to disappear.

   “I’ll give you a head start.” It takes you a moment to realize he’s serious. He’s leaning back, giving you space to get away. “I can’t decide if I want to keep you or devour you.”

   “What?” You’re confused until you see a glint of silver from under his shirt. He smiles as he looks down at the hilt sticking out from beneath his tight jeans before pulling out the dagger. “But I thought wolves were weak to silver.”

   “You’re right,” he says, slicing your arm. When you cry out in surprise and pain, he laughs. “Then I guess you’re the monster tonight and, as an upstanding citizen, I can't allow such a beast to live.”

   “Hwanwoong, you really hurt me,” you say, tears prickling your eyes as you hold your bleeding arm.

   “Oh? But I haven’t even started yet? I’ll count to 30.”

   “This isn’t funny.”

   “One, two, three. Hurry up now,” he says with a grin. “Once I finish counting, the hunt begins and I won’t stop until I find you.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this content! If you did, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging and/or following, and check out my masterlist for similar content. Have a great day!

[alpacaparkaseok]

Dad of Destruction

requested by anon - thanks for the super fun request! I hope you enjoy :) (a picture of your request is at the bottom of the one shot)

Premise: You love Namjoon with all your heart, and you’re so happy that together, you get to raise this child. However, you also want that child to make it to adulthood in one piece, and Namjoon has a startling talent for breaking things. Mama bear mode = ON.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none, but I’m so soft for this concept

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

You’d heard plenty of people joking about how much of a mama bear you’d be once the little one came along, you just never realized that they were right.

Sitting up in the hospital bed with the smallest, most beautiful bundle of joy wrapped up in your arms, you can almost feel this new side of you sliding into place. 

“I won’t let anything hurt you. Ever.” You mumble the words out with tired but glowing eyes. Namjoon grunts in agreement from where he stands beside the bed, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his newborn daughter.

Giving him a soft smile, you can’t help but feel like you’re floating above the clouds with the way your daughter yawns in your arms, completely unaware of the world she’s just been born into. 

Namjoon brushes your hair back behind your ear. “You must be exhausted,” he observes. You make a noise that resembles a yes. “Here, let me take her. You rest.”

Suddenly you’re wide awake. “N-no, it’s fine, Joon. I’ll hold her. I’m not that tired.”

“You sure?” There’s a small flash of concern in Namjoon’s eyes, but he knows to just let you have your way for now. After all, you did just go through a grueling delivery. 

“Positive.”

~~~~

You can only get away with it for so long. 

You manage to stay another night at the hospital, with Namjoon only ever holding Lily - that’s what you and Namjoon decided to name her - when you are in the room.

Preferably within arm’s length. 

It’s not that you don’t trust Namjoon...

It’s just that you don’t overly trust him. Especially as you were reminded of his destruction abilities this morning when he very nearly broke the carseat as he attempted to get it set up in the back. With every crack and curse that he quietly spit out at the infernal device, you held Lily a little closer to your chest. 

Winking down at the newborn, you faked a confident smile. “Daddy’s got it, don’t worry. We’ll get you home in one piece.”

Of course, you drove home. Namjoon tried to protest (he’d gotten his driver’s license six months ago purely for the ability to be able to drive his child around) but one look from you had him chewing on his lip while sheepishly sliding into the passenger seat. 

The next few days comprised of a few small gatherings where the boys came bearing a ridiculous amount of gifts and even more ridiculous smiles once they spotted Lily. Everyone commented on her beautiful eyelashes, and argued over who she resembled more. 

You secretly hoped she’d take after Namjoon’s side. If you were being honest, she already had little dragon eyes that resembled her father. It made your heart melt. 

Your heart positively stopped beating altogether anytime Namjoon wanted to cradle Lily in his arms to show her to Jin or Tae. 

Everyone noticed, and laughed. Your tense shoulders and unblinking eyes as you tracked Namjoon’s every movement had the boys in tears as they guffawed over your actions. Namjoon blushed, settling Lily in Tae’s eager arms. 

It got worse once Namjoon realized that you relaxed once your daughter was in Tae’s arms. 

Or Jin’s.

Or even your nosy neighbor’s, who had come prying not long after the boys had left. 

It had been endearing to see you all protective before, but now it was offensive. Because you were trying to protect your daughter from him.

If Namjoon was being completely honest, he still didn’t quite trust himself to not mess anything up. But he’d at least like a vote of faith on your part. 

So a couple of weeks later as the two of you sat across from each other at the dinner table, he wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up with you.

Your shoulders were slumped, your eyes drifting shut as you picked at your food. Namjoon watched, waiting to see if you were about to pass out in your dinner. When you didn’t, he decided it’d probably be nice to make some small talk.

“I can’t believe I have to head back into work tomorrow,” he sighed. Bighit had given him two weeks off to spend with you and Lily, and it was safe to say that he’d loved every moment of it. But it was time for him to head back into work. 

You frowned at him over the table, and the part of him that was sad about having to return to work only doubled in size at the expression on your face.

“It’s gone by so fast,” you muttered. “Can’t we pull just one more week? I’m going to miss having you around all day.” A part of you also wondered what it would be like to feel like you could take a nap without keeping one eye open in case of an emergency. 

Lily could handle herself, it was Namjoon that always kept you in high alert. 

Not that you’d ever admit that to him.

Namjoon smiled softly, and you noticed just how exhausted he looked as well. Through and through, you two were equals. “I’m going to miss you guys.”

Plural. A thrill races through your body at the plural form of his words, reminding you that together, you’ve created a little family. 

Pushing back in his chair, Namjoon looks contemplative. “You know, I bet I could take Lily with me to work sometimes. On the days where I’m just working in the studio. She’s young enough that I could just set up the little newborn swing and let her nap while I work. The boys would love that, too. And you could...I don’t know, take a nap?” He laughs a little, oblivious to how pale your face has gone at the notion of him taking Lily alone to work. “We’d be fine, I think. I’d take the diaper bag, and there’s a bathroom just down the hallway-”

The images of everything that could possible go wrong - one of them being an entire speaker being knocked off the table by your clumsy husband only to land on your helpless daughter - is enough to have you shooting to your feet.

“No way,” you sputter. “That’s definitely not happening. Not for a long, long time, Namjoon.” Heart thundering against your chest, you hardly notice the crestfallen expression on Namjoon’s face. 

“It was just a thought-”

“And I’m putting a stop to that thought.”

“I just thought it might be nice for all of us-”

“Nice?” You must look like a gasping fish at this point. “Nice, Namjoon? No. I wouldn’t be able to rest without Lily here! You really think I could just leave her with you? What if something happened? What if you knocked something off your desk and hurt her? Spilled hot coffee on her? Forgot she was there? I...that would be a nightmare!”

Namjoon hardly has time to open his mouth to respond before you’re grabbing both of your dishes and rushing back into the kitchen to wash them. Chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, you hardly notice Namjoon’s presence at your elbow before he’s lightly nudging you to the side. 

“Let me,” he mumbles quietly enough that you hardly catch the words. “Go to bed. I’ll finish up.”

You pay him no mind, scrubbing at the dishes with reckless abandon. Namjoon breathes in deeply, struggling to steady himself. 

Tears are pooling in your vision now, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve lost all control over your emotions. 

Over your life. 

“I...” you sniffle in the direction of the sink, “I’m sorry, Joon. It’s just-”

“No, don’t apologize.” Namjoon nudges you again, pulling the sponge from your hands and setting to work on the dishes. “I know that everything is different and new, and you’re probably feeling out of balance. I should have thought about that. Lily is...your anchor right now. I was just upset, because that’s supposed to be my role.”

His words have your eyes widening as you realize that everything he said is correct. Namjoon doesn’t bother to look to see if his words rung true, opting to focus on the plate that has been clean for a while now but continuing to scrub at it. 

“Go to bed,” he orders lightly, still not looking at you. 

Mouth wide open, close it again. Then re-open it. “Namjoon, I swear, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m just...freaked out.”

He nods curtly. “I know.”

~~~~

A part of you remembers feeling the bed dip not long after you’d collapsed upon it, letting you know that Namjoon was also settling down for the night. He’d gone completely still after sitting on the edge of the bed, looking over at you as though he might say something. 

Instead, he’d slid under the covers as smoothly as possible before turning the lamp off. 

It was one of the rare occasions that he’d managed to not tip anything over in his search for the lamp switch, but your exhausted brain hadn’t bothered to celebrate the occasion. 

You were exhausted. And you realized that it wasn’t so much physical exhaustion as it was emotional. 

Of course you didn’t want Namjoon to have to go back to work tomorrow, but you were also looking forward to a little sliver of peace knowing that you only had to worry about Lily. 

Starting tomorrow it was just going to be you and Lily. A little team of two against the world. 

Sleep completely overtook you, and Namjoon’s words managed to slither their way into your brain, following you into your dreams. 

“She’s your...anchor. I was just upset, because that’s supposed to be my role.”

~~~~

You were so far gone into your dreamland that Lily’s cries took much longer to get to you that night. In fact, it was more the feeling of suddenly being alone in the bed that roused you from sleep than it was your daughter’s crying. 

Completely disoriented and still half in a dream that had to do with anchors and Namjoon’s studio, you sit up in bed and struggle to rub the sleep from your eyes. 

Another couple of minutes passed before you bolted out from under the covers, realizing that Lily had been crying, Namjoon was gone, and now it was utterly silent.

“Oh no.”

Wrapping your robe around your frame, you padded down the hallway to Lily’s room. Her door was open, with the soft light from her nightlight spilling out into the hallway. You’d just made it to her door when you heard Namjoon.

“See? We’re doing alright, Lils.” 

Peering into the dimly lit room, your heart clenched and then completely melted at the sight before you.

Namjoon, clad in nothing but his basketball shorts and mussed hair, stared down at his daughter with a smile so soft that you were sure you’d never seen it before. His eyes, however tired, practically glowed with adoration. Ever so gently rocking back and forth in the rocking chair placed in the corner of the room, he only had eyes for his daughter.

Lily appeared to be utterly content in her father’s arms, already drifting back to sleep. The only sign that she was still somewhat awake was the little hand that reached up to grip Namjoon’s finger. 

Together, your entire world swayed back and forth in the rocking chair that had taken an entire afternoon to put together. Quietly, gently. 

And as Namjoon slightly adjusted his hold, he did so carefully. And that’s when you saw it. 

The flicker of worry in his eyes as he brought Lily closer to his chest. The way he held his breath until she settled back into her sleepy daze. How that little smile reappeared as her little exhales tickled his skin.

Namjoon was learning, and judging by the fresh diaper laying atop the wastebasket by the door, he was doing just fine. 

No thanks to you, of course. 

At the sound of your sniffle, Namjoon’s head shot up. He winced, glancing down to make sure Lily hadn’t been rudely awoken. 

His eyes found yours from across the room, and he immediately bit his bottom lip. He began to slow his rocking, preparing to let you take over. 

You held up a hand. “No, it’s fine. Keep going.”

Namjoon froze for a moment before remembering to continue rocking. “...what?”

Shrugging, you silently make your way into the room and take a seat on a footstool beside Namjoon. “Keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

You give him an apologetic smile. “Yes. I...truly, I’m sorry, Namjoon. You’re just trying your best, and I haven’t given you any credit for that. You...” Tears blur your vision. “You’re a great father. And we both love you.”

Namjoon stares at you for a moment longer, eyes wide with emotion before looking down at Lily’s sleeping form. “How did we make something so perfect? She’s absolutely perfect.”

You giggle quietly. “Are you doubting my abilities, Mr. Kim?”

That soft smile splits into a boyish grin, the same he sported on your second date all those years ago. 

“Of course not. Although it does make me wonder...”

Your eyebrows raise. “What?”

That grin doesn’t falter as Namjoon whispers, “What do think the chances are that the next one is just as perfect?”

Fighting the urge to punch his arm, you settle for rolling your eyes. “We are not even entertaining the idea of another kid right now, Joon. Our daughter just turned 2 weeks old. Give me a break.”

“I want to give you a break,” Namjoon presses, wiggling his eyebrows. “So how about you let me take her to work? That would be a great break for you. You wouldn’t have to worry about either one of us!”

“Nope.”

Namjoon frowns. “Still a no?”

You look at the small form in his arms, peacefully sleeping. “Absolutely not. Maybe when she’s 10.”

Gasping, Namjoon’s eyes twinkle with joy. “10?! I was thinking more like 3...”

“Nice try, loser.”

“4?”

You give him a long look, finally rising from where you sit. Pressing a kiss to Lily’s rosy cheeks before turning to brush your lips against Namjoon’s, you sigh.

“6. Final offer.”

Namjoon sighs, but appears to be content. “Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you negotiate?”

Heading toward the door, you stifle a laugh. “We are not having another kid right now, Joon.”

His sigh of disappointment has you grinning, feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

Once you’re back into the hallway, you turn to get one last look at this moment. Namjoon has already focused on Lily again, oblivious to your actions. The moonlight trickles in through the curtains, and that’s when you take a mental picture of this moment. 

Of your love, your husband, your anchor. Holding your daughter in the soft moonlight.

masterlist

[themand0lorian]

Impression, Sunrise-Part 2

Summary: You and Marcus figure out the logistics of your new family and spend the first night/day with the kids.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating:  PG-13 (Mild swearing/FBI themes)

Words: ~4800

Tags: Idiots to lovers but mostly idiots, mild swearing and FBI-themes, childcare, mentions of police because toddlers don’t know what the FBI is, kids are dumb™️, hijinks

Notes: Thinking of posting the parts weekly so I have time to finish the series! Still unsure of the ending, but definitely open to suggestions :)

Taglist is open!

TAGLIST: @sugarontherims​ @ajeff855​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @imaginecrushes​ @giselatropicana​ @agingerindenial​

You hadn’t really discussed logistics with Marcus, or his sudden insistence that he wanted to help with the kids despite not knowing him very well, but the paperwork was signed, putting Grace and Eli in FBI protective custody until a guardian can be found. Some kind of legal loophole Pike pulled, likely calling in a few favors, and once black trash bags of baby stuff was hauled into your trunk, your curiosity got the better of you.

“How is this going to work, Pike,” you state, Grace on your hip and Eli standing with his hand in yours as you stand in the parking garage. Marcus is grunting in the back seat of your sedan, trying to attach two car seats to the safety hatches in the trunk and failing miserably. “What do you mean?” he grunts again, pulling a strap hard and twisting Grace’s seat 180 degrees. When he notices, he lets out another huff, stripping his suit jacket off to lay it in your front seat and cuffing his sleeves before trying again. “How are we both going to watch them?” Eli’s enamored watching Marcus move in the car, and your eyes also never leave his body as he tries again with the cord. “What’s he doing?” the little voice at your knee asks. “Putting in your car seats,” you answer, squeezing the hand in yours a little tighter. “I don’t know, kid. I figured they could stay at my condo. It’s a two bedroom,” Marcus says, mostly into the trunk of the car. “I know you’re in that tiny studio.” You face contorted; you did live in a tiny studio apartment in the heart of the city, nestled over a pub. But how did he know that? From your experience with him, he seemed closed off, too close to the job. He never came to happy hour or pizza with the team, and you were indifferent about it, understanding a boss with boundaries. Boundaries that seemed to disappear when two sweet kids were involved. “Okay, and what, we take shifts with them?” Your eyes watch as he begins to try Eli’s car seat, somehow more complicated than the first as he huffs in exertion. “If that’s what you want to do, kid,” he breathes heavily, wrestling another strap before muttering under his breath. “Shit.” “You’re really gonna call me ‘kid’ when there are literal children in our care, Pike?” Marcus stops his actions, sweat gathering on his brow to look at you. You’re standing firmly in place, gaze unwavering, until another small voice interrupts your staring contest. “What does ‘shit’ mean?” Both your heads whip to Eli, who is now looking between you with innocent curiosity after cursing like a sailor. You barely stifle a laugh as Marcus climbs out of the car dumbfoundedly, and you hand him both Grace’s sleepy body and Eli’s hand. “Here. You deal with this. I’ll do the car seats,” you chuckle, leaving Marcus to flounder with his answer. You can hear him as you deftly attach each one to an anchor point, then strap them in tightly to place. “It’s a bad word, Eli. Never say that again,” he scolds, as if he hadn’t said it first. Eli just nods as you get out of the car, reaching for the baby again to strap her in. “How’d you do that?” “Well, despite what you may think about me and my age, Pike, I have taken care of kids before,” you jab, and his face falls. Eli walks around the car with you to get strapped in his seat before you close the door. “I didn’t mean—” “It’s fine, Pike. Just—I’ll take them to your townhouse now, meet us there when you’re done here, and we’ll figure it out,” you sigh. The sun has long since set, and the one thing you did know about kids was that they needed routine, and you were decidedly breaking it by having them out this late. Marcus was going to finish up the paperwork from the failed arrests this afternoon, and he only nodded in response, handing you a key while typing his address into your offered Maps app before watching you pull out of the parking garage. Marcus’s townhouse is unfamiliar to you, nestled in the suburbs outside the city and dark when you pull up. You leave Grace in her car seat, already asleep as you detach the cradle, and lead Eli into the new space as he rubs his own eyes when you turn on the light and place the seat down gently. The space is homey, but not very cluttered; sparse decoration, mostly novels and DVDs living the shelves, a definite bachelor pad. If you didn’t know any better, you would have guessed Marcus had just moved in. You sat Eli on the couch while you went to get the bags of supplies you were given, wading through them to find a new pair of pajamas you think will fit the boy. Grace is wrapped in the blanket from the house you found them at, sucking at her pacifier, and you’re too afraid to wake her to change her out of her clothes. Eli’s uncharacteristically silent as you help him into a new set of pajamas, his stuffed rabbit not far from his side as he moves around the space, pliable and sleepy. You quickly find what you assume is the guest bedroom, setting up the portable crib in the corner and placing Gracie in it gently before tucking Eli into the oversized bed. Before you can pull away, his hand grabs yours, covers tucked to his chin and Wilbur in the crook of his arm. His voice is small and gentle when he speaks for the first time since arriving to Marcus’s home. “Don’t leave, it’s too dark in here.” “What if I leave the hallway light on? Would that be okay?” “No, I’m scared,” he whines. Your heart breaks a little further, but unable to refuse, you sink into the bed next to him without question, allowing him to snuggle against you from under the blankets as he tries to drift to sleep. Marcus comes home later than expected, trying to wrap up both yours and his work from the day after you left with the kids. The house is quiet, and he finds Eli’s discarded pajamas on the couch before venturing further in, careful to tread lightly. He stops in the doorway of the guest room; Grace is huddled in the crib, chest rising and falling. Eli’s kicked off the blankets in sleep, but has one arm gripped tightly to Wilbur. His other is wrapped around yours, as you also sleep over the blankets and still in work clothes. Eli tunnels closer to your side as Marcus closes the door to the guest bedroom halfway before retreating to his own room. He’s not sure what came over him today, offering to watch these kids when you clearly didn’t need any help. He had been reserved in his new position, hurt too many times to open up again. It was easier this way, he told himself when he was alone late at night in the house he had bought under the promise of a wife, a family. Easier to remain distant, to not get too close again. To anyone. Friends, coworkers or otherwise. Just Marcus, adrift in a boat at sea, swaying aimlessly among the current as it pulls him further from shore, from the life he thought he wanted, from the person he thought he was. Yet here you are, imitating the life he thought he could have, playing house. This almost feels worse, he decides. To have it dangled in front of his face with someone he barely knows, has barely tried to know. His thoughts are swirling as he tries to take stock of what he does know about you; your studio apartment in the city, the way you take your coffee, the sputter of your old car. The floral scent of your shampoo as he read the file over your shoulder, the curve of your hip that held the baby in place, the soft fingers that held Eli at your side in the parking lot. Fuck. Shaking those last thoughts, he attempts to get to sleep himself, but he’s acutely aware of the two--no, three, he reminds himself, mostly in vain--kids in his home that were somehow pulling at his heart strings all at once. Three kids he needed to do right by. Like seaweed stuck in the ocean floor, you’ve tangled yourself in his ship, and he has two options; cut you off, allow the boat to keep drifting, some part of you still attached, or stay intertwined, like an anchor in a deep rough until you’re both swept away. You awake to sunlight streaming in the open blinds, turning to face the source when you find Grace standing up in the crib, peering back at you. You both seem to have a silent stare off before you remove Eli’s sleeping figure from yours, going around to grab the girl before closing the blinds gently and leaving the room.  Fuck. You must’ve fallen asleep last night. At your boss’s house. Who you barely know. And who is now coparenting random children with you. You sigh heavily as you make your way to the kitchen. Marcus is already there, standing over the brewing coffee at the counter when you stop short at the sight. He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, and you glance at the clock on the microwave to see its only 7:13. You consider racing back to the guest room, uncomfortable with the intimacy of this new look, but Gracie coos in your arms, breaking your secret cover behind him as he turns, mugs in hand. “Happy Saturday,” he offers scratchily, your eyes catching the scruff on his chin as you blink absently at him. He hands you the mug and exchanges the baby with you before questioning your staring. “What?” “Oh—uh—nothing, I just, I think this is the most casual I’ve ever seen you,” you chuckle, straightening your work shirt from the day before on your figure, suddenly realizing you had been wearing the same clothes for over 24 hours. You watch as he makes his way across the kitchen, your eyes dancing over him to see a high chair at the table and a smattering of toys on the floor. You furrow your brow as he turns to you in response. “Well, it is the morning, k—” he stops himself before he says it, taking in the grimace on your face. “What now?” “When did you set all this up?” The house you walked into last night is transformed; cabinets locked together, little items are placed on high shelves. A changing table is put together in the living room along with a baby play mat with a mobile, two large objects that definitely hadn’t been there the night before. If you had to guess, the trunk of your car was now empty, all the items from CPS scattered throughout his living room. The house looked like the kids had lived in it for weeks instead of hours. “Couldn’t sleep last night,” he shrugged, taking Grace to the table and beginning to change her diaper. He coos at her as he works, and she blows cheeky smiles back as he pulls a new outfit from the pile on the couch to dress her. You watch them with rapt attention, making sure the girl is okay despite her delighted noises. He holds her up in front of his face when he’s done, as if to show off his handiwork, Grace gurgling in joy. “See, I can take care of kids, too,” he jokes, and you almost spit the coffee he gave you back into your cup. It’s made exactly how you like it, but your own tired brain is too focused on the baby to notice. “You’re supposed to put a shirt on her,” you chuckle, looking at the girl. She’s wearing corduroy overalls with nothing underneath, and Marcus moves her to the side to look at her more closely. “This isn’t a shirt?” He asks. “No, it’s pants,” you laugh, taking another sip of coffee before placing it down. You find a plain pink onesie in the pile and walk over to him, standing hip to hip while you quickly undress and redress her appropriately.  When you hold her out to him, showing off your own handiwork, she lets out a giggle as he grabs her tummy, walking her over to the playmat and setting her down to explore the new toys. The plastic block at her feet immediately goes into her mouth while you look for the formula Andrea had provided, Marcus watching your figure. “You know, this isn’t going to work if you hate me,” Marcus provides, starting to look for the formula as well as if he knew what you were going for. “I don’t hate you, Pike,” you retort, still sifting through the bags of clothes. “You’re my boss. We’re coworkers. I don’t even really know you.” “What is there to know?” “I don’t know? Favorite color? Favorite food? Irrational fears? Why you volunteered to help me with this?” you gesture to the flurry of kids toys that have scattered around his living room. “I don’t know anything about you other than that you came from Texas and like art,” you continue searching through the bags, sure the formula had been present last night. “Blue,” he says softly, and you sense that’s the only response you’ll get to any of your questions. You pause your search to look at him. 

“Look, Marcus. I know this isn’t the most ideal scenario, but let’s face it, we make a good team at work, and we can do this too, just like any other operation,” you reply seriously. 

”This isn’t an operation. These are kids,” he implores.

”I know. But they need routine, structure. Just like any other project we work on. But they also need comfort--It’s only a matter of time before Eli realizes something isn’t right.” He nods in agreement. “So let’s just get through the weekend, and on Monday we can start looking for the Bennetts.” “You just seem, I don’t know, on edge. Kids can sense that shit,” he replies, finally finding the box of formula and handing it to you. You take it wordlessly, trying to understand how he knew what you were looking for as you searched his face for clues. “You said not to say that word,” a tired voice calls, and you both turn on your heels to find Eli rubbing his eyes in the kitchen, Wilbur hanging from the crook in his elbow. Marcus lets out a rote sigh as you scurry over to him. “That’s right, Eli. Marcus didn’t mean to say that, right, Marcus?” you turn to the man now, tilting your head to indicate he should respond. “Yes, that’s right. I’m sorry I said a bad word, Eli,” he offers, looking to you for approval. You nod before making your way to the kitchen, opening the fridge to take a look. “What do you say, Eli. You like eggies for breakfast?” Marcus scoffs behind you. “What?” “’Eggies?’” He laughs, making his way to the fridge. You furrow your brow as he continues, closing the fridge door in your hand. “How about pancakes, Eli?” “Yeah!” the boy yells excitedly, climbing precariously on to Marcus’ barstools. The kitchen was nice, big island with a breakfast bar in the center, a cozy table tucked away for larger gatherings. Meant for a family. You try not to think about Pike’s family as you see Eli’s face barely peeking over the edge of the counter, watching you as you prepare Grace’s formula. When the first pancake is placed in front of Eli, he digs in eagerly, seeming to hum in approval as his chin almost hits the countertop. “We’ll need to go get some stuff for them today,” you mention, shaking the bottle in your hands and testing the temperature. It’s a bit warm, so you sit it on the counter to cool. “Like what? They gave us everything,” Marcus replied, placing another pancake on Eli’s plate before placing a third on a separate plate and handing it to you. You place it next to the bottle to continue. “A booster seat for him to eat, a nightlight, some more diapers, stuff like that,” you reply. Marcus nods in understanding. “Toys?” Eli asks eagerly, mouth full of pancake. His hand rests precariously on the ceramic plate, fork clanging sharply as he moves. “Maybe some toys,” you promise him with a smile before turning back to Marcus. “Definitely some less-breakable dishware,” you decide as Eli scratches the fork against the plate again. “How about I go home, shower, and I can get all this stuff and you watch them for a bit?” “No!” Eli yells, now done with his pancakes and hurriedly jumping off the stool. Marcus makes a move to help him but he’s already down, standing between the two of you. “I don’t want you to go,” he whines. “I know, bud, but I don’t live here. I need to get dressed, and I’m stinky,” you joke running a hand through his matted curls and turning to Marcus. “Add ‘hair brush’ to that list.” “But what if you don’t come back?” Eli whimpers, and both your hearts break simultaneously. You seem to understand now where he’s coming from, and that he comprehended more about his current situation than he let on. You and Marcus exchanged a guilty look until he spoke up again. “How about we all go together?” Marcus offered, and you let a small nod slip that you’d be okay with it. Eli nodded in agreement, grabbing Wilbur from the barstool to waddle into the living room. You grab the bottle with a sigh, following after him to get to Gracie, your pancakes forgotten on the counter. When you approach the baby mat, your heart drops to your feet. “Pike, where’s Gracie?” you ask nervously, unable to snap your eyes from the now-empty mat. You hear him drop his spatula and race over, seeming to take in the empty mat the same as you. A small patting noise brings you both from the stupor, twisting to the source to find Gracie sitting in the foyer, playing with Marcus’s shoe laces happily. Eli seems to see her there too as he stands between you. “Eli, I thought you said Gracie can’t walk,” you say suspiciously, unable to move your eyes from the teleporting baby. Eli picks up a wooden puzzle and takes it to the couch with a huff. “She can’t walk,” he says confidently as you look at Marcus. “Oh, she can crawl though.” Both of your shoulders finally relaxed with a sigh, and Marcus spoke next. “Add babyproofing to the list.”

It doesn’t take long for Gracie to finish her bottle and Eli to get dressed, followed by Marcus after he cleans up the kitchen. Soon, you have the kids packed up in the car, Marcus in the passenger seat as you make your way to your own apartment. He has a pad of paper in his hands, but too focused on the road, you don’t notice his scribbling until he tears off the top sheet and pockets it, beginning again. “We need to figure this out,” you say lowly, trying to keep the conversation in the front seat as Eli looks out the window. You’re distracted by his round face, barely swerving to miss a parked car. “I know, kid,” Marcus replies, finally stilling his pen as you tense. “I spoke to Carson this morning. His daughter is around Eli’s age, she goes to the FBI daycare in the office. I think we could probably put them both there while we work, since he’ll know we’re close by.” You nod in agreement, sparing a glance at Eli, who still watches the streets pass. “I’ll call tonight.” “Okay, that’s good but what about after work? On weekends? We can’t be together all the time,” you retort, trying to get to the point. This was more time than you had spent your boss since you started under him, and if you were honest, things were awkward. You still had on your work persona, unable to “turn off” while he was around, and he didn’t seem too keen to have you there either. You narrowly miss a squirrel in the road as your mind wanders. “I don’t know. You can stay at my place, at least for a few days, if you want,” he shrugged noncommittally, trying to ignore your poor driving. “At least until we can convince him to be apart.” You consider the options carefully as you parallel park in front of your apartment. The front of the car is barely at the curb, and Marcus chuckles at your poor attempt when he opens his door. The pub underneath your place is dead silent, some broken glass and cigarette butts littering the ground from the night before. You try not to notice how Marcus turns up his nose at them, sighing. “Fine. But only for a few days, or until we find the parents,” you whisper, turning off the car. You get Gracie up the stairs easily, ever the amenable baby. Eli, on the other hand, insists on walking up the rickety flight himself, with one hand gripping tightly to Marcus and one to the railing as he takes one at a time. When you all make it to the landing, you let them in, wincing at the state you left the apartment in; clothes strewn about, bed unmade, dishes in the sink. Based on how pristine Marcus’ house was, you could feel him silently judging you. “Sorry, I didn’t expect company,” you mumble, placing Grace on the ground who immediately crawls to the shaggy rug. Marcus and Eli follow behind her, settling on the couch as he pulls out the notepad again. “I’ll be quick.” You make quick work in the shower, remembering to bring in your change of clothes thanks to your new guests, and throwing some items in an overnight bag. It felt good to wash the stress of work down the drain. Your hair is wet and sticking to your neck in the steamy aftermath, but when you open the door, you’ve stopped dead in your tracks. Eli is drawing noiselessly on Marcus’s legal pad, pressing too hard in jagged straight lines, while Marcus is rocking Gracie in his arms, singing softly as her eyes close. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray— His voice is melodic and soothing, almost lulling you as well until you snap back to reality. You clear your throat as you move through the apartment, and he jolts at your presence, mouth shutting. You choose to ignore him as you pack some clothes in the bag, moving to the kitchen to grab a granola bar for the trip, but stopping at your sink. “Did you do the dishes?” Your once full sink is now emptied and spotless, dishware drying on a towel next to it. Marcus nods with a finger to his mouth, indicating Gracie is asleep and for you to be quiet. You move closer to the pair and continue softly. “Why?” “They needed to be done, especially if you won’t be back a few days,” he whispered, Grace curling tighter to him at the hum of his chest. Maybe Marcus wasn’t too bad. You nodded dumbly before making your way to Eli, who had now ceased his drawing.  You held it up to Marcus. “Looks like Eli had some things to add to your list.” The list he had been meticulously keeping, including all the random bits you kept mentioning, was now scribbled over with pen, words mostly legible but scrawled over. Marcus only shakes his head, grabbing the notepad with his free hand and making his way to the door, you and Eli on his heels.

You get to the superstore quickly, Marcus insistent upon driving after your poor attempt, a task you relinquish easily to look after the kids in the back. Gracie stays asleep the whole drive, but Eli is thrumming with energy, almost bouncing as you buckle him into the seat in the shopping cart. Gracie’s car seat goes in the main section of the cart, and you hope she’ll stay asleep for the duration of the trip; to make it shorter, you agree to divide and conquer, sending Marcus to the diapers and toiletries with the cart while you grab some other essentials. When he gets most of the things on his list, he finds you enamored in the children’s clothing section, rubbing your hands up and down a frilly pink dress, and he calls out your name with a quirk of his eyebrows. “Isn’t it so cute? Look at it, so tiny,” you coo, holding up the little dress on the hanger. The size you’re holding is clearly for a newborn, smaller than Gracie, but he plays in. “We have so many clothes from Andrea,” he replies, trying to quell expectations. The cart was mostly full already, an expensive trip that the FBI would likely reimburse but still. “I know, but look at it,” you coo again, this time with a little pout as you flounce the full skirt. Eli’s occupied in his seat, fiddling with his fingers as you and Marcus have a silent standoff. Finally, he relents. “Fine, kid, throw it in,” he jokes, and you barely have time to register the nickname as you grab a larger size and walk to the cart. When you put the little dress in (along with some “too adorable” onesies and a smattering of dinosaur pajamas and animal print shirts for Eli), you find the top of the cart covered in multicolored toys and stuffed animals. You even see now that Eli was playing with a truck in his hands, presumably also from the store. “Pass by the toy section?” You ask playfully, lifting the semi-awake Gracie from her car seat when she whimpers at the bright lights. Marcus rolls his eyes guiltily, taking her as you start to push the cart. “Cool truck, bud,” you say eagerly to Eli when he holds it out to you. You finish your shopping together, mostly silently, and make your way to the front of the store. It’s a weekend, so the lines are long, but Grace is conked out on Marcus’s shoulder and Eli is still wheeling the truck around, so you’re not worried about waiting as you check over the list. “Shoot, Marcus, we forgot baby shampoo,” you say, eyes scanning the sheet carefully under Eli’s drawing. “Babies need special shampoo?” You shoot him a look before he continues. “Okay, I’ll go find it.” You watch him walk away, Gracie’s chubby face tucked into his neck, until a voice startles you. “You have a beautiful family.” The elderly woman in front of you is looking at Eli fondly, before she looks back at you. “Enjoy them at this age. It’s too short. They’ll be teenagers before you know it.” You’re staring at her blankly, trying to figure out how to explain your current situation. “Oh, um—we, uh—we’re not, a family. We’re just--watching them,” you stutter awkwardly, looking to Eli for any discomfort. He’s wrapped up in the imaginary highway he seems to have conjured in the planes of the cart, unaware of you even speaking. “Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” she smiles, moving up a place in the line as you do the same. “Well, you two are naturals. The way he looks at you—” she lets out a exaggerated sigh, “You’ll do great once you have some of your own,” she says with a grin. You’re unable to correct her again before Marcus is at your side, one arm full of various bottles and the other supporting a tired baby. “Okay, I got the baby shampoo. Did you know they make baby lotion? Do babies need lotion? I got that too, just in case. Oh, and baby oil? What’s the difference between baby oil and baby lotion?” he rambles, throwing all three bottles into the cart as the woman who was speaking to you chuckles knowingly. He offers her a sincere smile as she turns away, finally going to pay for her purchases as your head swims with her words. You knew she was some random, nosy stranger, but you agreed-you did look like a little family. It stung when you remembered these kids had parents of their own, parents who you were trying to find and return them to. And what had she meant by “the way he looks at you?” “You okay, kid?” Marcus managed to pull you from your thoughts, and you nodded absently, pushing the cart to the next open cashier.

[sweetwritertanya]

My Little Show

Summary: You come up with a clever idea to catch your boyfriend’s attention, making Yoongi drop everything in the studio and rush back home just in time for the show.

Warnings: SMUT! This fic will include: swearing, stripping (female), lap dance (male receiving), erotic body touching, dry humping, protected sex (it’s been a while!), sex on a chair (armchair, actually).

Word Count: 2689

The hours have gone by him without him even knowing, laser focused on what he was doing and oblivious to the world outside of the room he was in. When in the studio, Yoongi could get so absorbed in his music that the concept of time completely escaped him. It was nothing new to you, and you have learned not to take it personally if he doesn’t answer your calls or messages for a while. That was something he truly treasured about you.

Of course, he still felt bad about it. Even if he never really showed it, when he reached for his phone and noticed five messages starting from an hour ago, all from you, his heart sunk and squeezed in his chest painfully. He had told you he would be home before dinner but that was long done now. Opening the text messages, he was expecting angry words and disappointment, but that was not quite what he got.

Th first three were just you asking when he would arrive and if you should wait for him before eating. Yoongi’s already thin lips pressed together tightly in guilt, making them even smaller at that. The last two, however, were much different.

‘That’s too bad, darling. Look what you are missing out on.’ You wrote. This text was only from a few minutes ago, compared to the others. And you had sent a video after.

Clicking on the dark video, Yoongi frowned his eyebrows as he tried to figure out what he was seeing. Just as he turned the volume up, hoping to hear your voice in the dark, your figure stepped back from the phone’s camera. You were in the living room and it was actually quite bright. Not by the head light, but due to the candles you had lit up around. Not that his sharp eyes were drawn to any of that.

No, his small droopy eyes opened wide and awake at the first sight of you through the recording. You were using his oversized robe, which was actually a bit tight on your large frame, black sash tying the garment in the middle with a bow.  Seductively, you walked back until your full body was shown in the middle of the room and slowly untied the fabric ribbon.

The robe opened up and you allowed it to fall off your shoulders and pool at your feet. You were wearing a black short babydoll that was barely covering your matching panties and the deep pungent cleavage revealed so much of your soft breasts that he was sure you were not wearing a bra. And then you actually smiled and bent down in front of the camera, hands on your knees and tits about to fall off the satin attire. Yoongi’s hands twitched and he licked his dry lips, having to change his position in his chair due to an uncomfortableness between his legs.

“Too bad you’re missing out on all of this, honey” your sensual voice whispers, before ending the video.

It takes him three minutes to save all of his work and gather all of his things before leaving the studio. In his hurried pace, not quite running because he wasn’t one to run, but surely in a much faster step than what was usual for him, it took Yoongi about five minutes to get home. He never thanked the fact that he got a place close to his studio so much before.

Coming in, the house seems dark and quiet. For a moment he wonders if you gave up on him arriving and went to bed but as he approaches the living room, the flickering light of the candles tell him you must still be up. Undressing his jacket, he calls for your name as he enters the room.

“Y/N?”

“About time, darling. Thought you’d miss the show” your voice almost purrs as you get up from the armchair that you had dragged in the middle of the room.

Yoongi smirks at the sight of you, although you had put his robe back on. The knowledge of what was beneath it somehow drove him madder than before. He steps towards you, but you seem to have other intentions and move around him, keeping a distance.

“That was quite a video you sent me. What are you playing, kitten?” He asks, eyes intensely set on you. You had that look in your eyes that never failed to stir him up. A look filled with naughty schemes.

“Like I said, I just wanted you home before you missed the show” you enlighten with a chuckle in your voice. You gesture your head towards the armchair you had just been on. “Why don’t you take your seat?”

Curious, Yoongi raises one eyebrow but follows your lead, sitting on the armchair with his back leaning back, arms resting and legs crossed. You like seeing him like that, like a powerful king. The flickering candles dance on his skin and his eyes look even darker now, intently staring at you, waiting for your next move. And you weren’t one to disappoint.

“Enjoy the show” you whisper hotly before you press play.

Yoongi swallows heavily as the slow bass-driven song starts playing, at the same time your wide hips start moving. It was a show alright, one excruciatingly sensual one that he wasn’t sure he could wait for the end patiently. With your back turned to him, your hands slide up your meaty thighs all the way up to your hair that you pull up, at the same time your hips rock from side to side. Even beneath the robe, Yoongi could envision your ass jiggling with the movement. His hands clench the armrest tighter.

You dare looking up from your shoulder to him, a small smile feigning innocence while your hands drop the robe from one shoulder, and then the other. With the fabric hanging by the middle of your arms, you suddenly turn around at a particular strong beat of the song and let it fall down to the floor, revealing the beautiful babydoll Yoongi had never seen before, showcasing the swell of your breasts and the thickness of your legs. Air becomes thicker around him and he has to lick his lips, uncrossing and crossing again his legs.

The smile on your beautiful round face becomes devious. Knowing what you were doing to this fine-ass piece of a man empowers you. Biting your bottom lip flirtatiously, you skim your hands with fingers sprawled apart up your inner thighs, brushing your center as you pull them up and your digits get caught in the fabric and pull the babydoll up, revealing your almost sheer little panties. You hear Yoongi suck a breath even as his position seems froze in the chair. Your smirk grows and when your hands reach your chest, you squeeze the flesh and let it bounce as you slowly squat down, legs spreading apart. A rumble escapes Yoongi’s constricted throat and by now he his clawing the armrests in restrain. You never told him he was forbidden from getting up or reaching out and touch you, but he felt like that was an unspoken rule in order for him to enjoy this show all the way to the end. If he made it there.

Keeping with the beat of the song, you snap back up and turn around, slapping your own buttocks hardly covered by the thin string in between them. The bountiful flesh wobbles and Yoongi is clenching his teeth together. His fingers itched to trace the stretch marks on it, feel the dimples and squeeze the fluffiness of your ass that his hands would barely hold.

The song slows down and much to his punishment, you swiftly get down to your knees and hands. Yoongi drops his leg and closes his eyes but only for a moment, overwhelmed by the image in front of him. You start crawling in an almost feral manner, a huntress with sights set on prey. Your back arched, tits hanging and pulled together every time you placed one hand in front of the other, approaching him slowly. By the time you reached between his legs and place your hands on his knees, anchoring you to get back up while swaying your body in front of him, Yoongi’s hips jerk without his control, the simple touch setting his constricted muscles ablaze.

“Y/N…” he roughly speaks in a low voice, your name sounding like a menace.

You bring your index finger to your lips, silencing him while you kept dancing just inches from him. And then you play with the straps of the babydoll, pulling one arm and then another off of them. Yoongi curses under his breath and throws his head back when you pull the garment over you head, bare torso in display for him. A frustrated growl leaves his tightly shut lips, small eyes half-closed and glassed over. Every cell in him was jolting with the need to just pull you in and touch you, feel your skin against his, grab those perky nipples with his mouth and lap on them until you screamed, grind himself on your hot center before burying himself deep. But you weren’t done yet.

Wicked smirk in place, you wiggle your almost naked body in time with the tempo, before turning around and twerking your butt on his lap, low enough to actually brush the evidently erect member between his legs. He almost chokes at the final hint of relief, taking every ounce of willpower in him not to move. He had to close his eyes now, it’s the only way to keep him steady. You vary between small brushes of your bottom and full on grind of his girth between your ass cheeks. Every time, you feel his resolution to control himself waver, driving him absolutely mad.

Song coming to an end, a long song purposefully chosen for this, you turn to face him and ran your hands over his shoulders, sitting on his lap. Your hands run down his arms until your reach his hands and you take them to place them on your hips.

“You can touch me now, darling” you allow, amused.

Yoongi’s eyes burst open then, almost unbelieving, before he sighs in relief.

“Fuck!” he curses just as his hands attach themselves to the malleable flesh of your ass and pull your core closer to him, grinding himself on you at the same time he violently slants your mouths together.

More than kissing, he is biting your lips avidly, ferociously, tongue plundering in and twinning with yours, running it along all the sensitive crevices of your mouth before pulling back and snagging your bottom lip in between his teeth. Your body ever so sensitive to his touch, so much aroused by all the seduction of before, it takes so little to leave you a moaning mess. His head dips down and his lips close around your erect nipple and you wail at the sharp pleasure it brings straight to your womb. You can’t help the way your hips start moving in synch with his, humping down on his covered length in search of much needed friction.

“Ahh…! Yoongi, need you! Now” you whimper as he drowns in your cleavage, playing roughly with your tits much like he wanted to since the first time he saw that video.

He doesn’t need any more convincing, immediately dropping his hands to his belt and undoing it impatiently. Your raise your hips and lick your lips, aching for him. You catch Yoongi’s wallet from the back pocket of his jeans before he pulls them all the way down his legs, searching for where you knew he kept a couple of condoms. Finding one, you rip it open with your teeth just as he pulls down his boxers and releases his cock from any confines. He reaches for the condom but you pull it away.

“Allow me” you say.

He nods and his Adam’s apple bobs in anticipation. With deliberately slow movements, you place the condom at the engorged red tip of his dick, very gradually pushing the latex down his length, a bit with one hand, another bit with another. You feel the member pulsating and twitching angrily at that. In retaliation, Yoongi pinches at your abused nipples, making you huff.

“For fucks sake, Y/N, I can’t” he speaks through his tense jaw, eyes burning into yours as his hand covers yours and helps placing the condom all the way down.

You smirk and slide yours hand up his torso, feeling his enclosed abdominals tense under your digits. Sliding even closer to him, you rub yourself on his protected member, soaked panties revealing how ready you were too.

“Was the show that much of your liking?” you tease, mouth going down to bite and kiss at his neck. His hips thrust upwards into your covered entrance, one hand setting on your plush hip while the other venters into the middle of your legs and pulls the fabric of your panties to the side.

“Fuck yeah” he answers, at the same time he plunges in.

It makes the both of you gasp, you at the sudden fullness accompanied by the brain numbing pleasure, him at the sharp relief your warm and tight body provided. Relishing in that first feeling, both stay still for a moment. But the urge to chase the much awaited high rapidly took over.

Yoongi is the first to move, backing his hips the further they would go in the cushioned seat before slamming back forward, hands settled at the curve of your hip to pull you closer. You respond to his movements avidly, holding yourself up on your knees and bouncing in time with his lunges. The air is static, the house quiet if not for your bodies colliding erotically, moans and grunts alongside heavy breathing.

That familiar pull at your womb, that deep and low pressure in your belly, keep on building up at every movement, unbearable need rippling through you like a bonfire. Gushes of arousal cling to both your bodies, spreading from between your legs to your inner thighs, creating shameful squelching sounds that become that much more noticeable once Yoongi picks up the pace.

His hips snap forward harder and faster as fissions of pleasure skitter through his gut, the pulse on his groin scorching his veins with molten need. Knowing he was about to be driven to the edge, Yoongi grabs your heavy leg and pulls it to rest on the armchair instead of on the cushion, making you yelp and consequently wail as the angle opens your legs further and his renewed speed makes him continuously press on that delicate pad of nerves inside.

His more vocal grunts and desperate thrusts tell you he is close too and, before you know it, your insides erupted throughout your body, scourging every inch and you cry out in absolute delight. Your walls clench him impossibly tight as you climax and it’s all it takes for him to follow. A molten wave of gratification left him shaking and spilling into the latex barrier, body shuddering beneath yours before giving out.

Heads still buzzing and vision still slightly blurred, you share content and loving stares, you chuckling before his lips attach to yours in absolute adoration. Carefully, you two disentangle and the spoiled condom is thrown out. Yoongi had pulled his boxer back on, but not his trousers, while you had put on his robe again, with nothing but your panties that managed to stay on during this endeavor.

You were resting on the armchair when Yoongi came back and pulled you up just enough for him to sit down and pull you to his lap. Sitting comfortably, he wraps his arms around your bulky frame and drops pecks at the skin of your exposed shoulder.

“Not hurting you?” you ask, referring to your weight on his lean legs.

“Nah” he replies in between pecks.

“Was my little show worth ditching work?” you snicker, eyes closing with weariness.

“Infinitely.” Small cat eyes shutting close too. “Always.”

[theogony]

A hazy shade of winter~ kam!on ice

So this collab (for @kotlc2021collab !!) which both me and Elizebeth have gone feral over is finally available to be shared with you and-

*high pitched screaming*

I'm super proud of this?? My first multi chapter fic and it's on these two idiots,,,,,on ice,,,,, I mean-

(PS: check out the companion artwork for this chapter by @shadymcsilverbangs I am in love with her art go stan that~~)

Genre: Kam! ice skating au

tw: Minor swearing, self depreciation by Keefe??

Words: 2.2k

●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～

The sound of the rain against the windshield of the car gave him some kind of comfort. Despite being only 8, Keefe hadn't been able to sleep more than a couple of hours during the last days and the dark circles under his eyes were enough proof.

"......Are you listening to me, Keefe?"

Having finally been anchored back into reality, Keefe stiffened as he looked down demurely in his father's gaze.

"....M'm..sorry.."

Not even bothering to look back from his side, Cassius Sencen tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as they neared their destination.

"Your mother insists on another outlet for that brilliant brain of yours, always scheming for pranks. And while I don't agree on this particular activity, I can't help but agree with her on the topic...."

Tuning out his father's voice for the umpteenth time that day, Keefe yawned, failing to hide it behind his hand, his moves a little delayed as he was still a little bit sleepy, his movements not fully coordinated yet.

Though his eyes loose almost any touch of sleep in them as soon as he gets a better look at the building he's father had just taken him into.

He'd learnt to expect surprises from life. But he'd never expected the vast ice rink in front of him, unoccupied and foreboding in the pale fluorescent lights that illuminated it only briefly, and the neatly folded ice skates his father had just presented with.

"You're going to learn ice skating."

-

The skating rink is always empty at six in the morning. It's how Keefe liked it: cold and empty, the ice a pale grey-blue under the glow of the overhead lights. In the summer, he would skate under the light of dawn where it filters through the rafters, but in winter, the darkness outside the pool of ice makes it feel as though it's all that exists in the world.

He smiled, a quip that Biana once said briefly passing his mind as he laced up his skates, something about moonlarks and gliding across ice that alluded to Keefe's lanky movements. Of course, those days were long gone, where he learnt at a small, joint studio famous for its ice skaters.

{{and where he met-

but then again, it's been so many years so perhaps not, but then again — perhaps he would, he would have remembered.}}

He shook his head harder as he rose up the cool ice and quickly set off, chinks of ice showering the cool ground as he began his latest routine. Such memories were nothing but a liability, and to quote his father (or coach), "Nothing but banale obstacles for the diable." He was the magnificent Devil of France - renowned for awing others, leaving nothing but misery and spite in his wake, not nostalgic recollections of simpler times.

Gliding effortlessly across the ice, Keefe hummed, for the time on the rink had always belonged to him, being both an escape and comfort. It was his own personal world; away from all of his trauma and the stupid tabloids and articles about him. He could lose himself in the beautiful motions, finding his personal balance. He loved the slight adrenaline of landing a difficult jump. He was almost always able to lose himself in the choreography and the powerful movements, losing himself in the happiness of being good at something. Closing his eyes, he jumped, spinning mid-air in slow-motion, completing one, two, three whole rotations, he prepared himself to land when a loud bang distracted him from his jump. Turning his body towards the sound instinctively, he felt his right toe pick catch the surface of the ice and he stumbled, landing sprawled across the ground.

Pain coursed through his body, at first numbing and cooling from the ice, then severe and jolting. Keefe could hear another loud bang, the sound of the rink's gate closing, and the swish of blades across the ice moving closer towards him. Picking himself up off the ground, he got a good look at the source of the noise, which rewarded him with a pale hand belong to a Vietnamese boy in a similar skin tight out fit as Keefe (though in shades of blue) staring at him, almost unimpressed by the almost complete routine he performed.

"Who're you?" Keefe mumbled, arching an eyebrow as he pulled himself up, rubbing the tender spot where he was sure he would soon be nursing an ice pack as his father screamed at him for yet again abandoning the specified routine. Which, to be fair to him, he certainly did - though for a change, it was because of this irritating idiot who'd just interrupted his performance - though he still couldn't figure out why he wasn't as angry as he was apprehensive, filled with this strange sense of deja vu and awe as he tried to halt chant of his brain going holy fuck this guy is attractive-

The boy sniffed, gliding away in almost eerie silence, but not before Keefe caught sight of the small lanyard that peeked out from his duffel, eyes almost comically widening as he peered up curiously at the now turned around skater.

Huh. So this was Tam Song.

-

It had barely been two months since he qualified for the top before another emerging competitor arrived. Word spread around that in South East Asia, a competitor known as Tam Song had arrived from Vietnam, making his way through the ranks, before becoming one of the top skaters in Asia. Some whispers say that each time he spins he jumps just a bit higher, and each time he twirls he freezes, just a bit more peaceful, his angelic face framed by the jagged silver tips that no one knew the backstory of. Others say that this angel, the one standing in front of him, can supposedly beat the Diable at his own game - the angel and devil, both evenly matched, locked in a battle for eternity.

But Keefe can't afford a tie.

{{He can't afford one-

-and the torn picture in the only sentimental object he owns - his  locket stands a testament to that .}}

He doesn't doubt the fact that Tam knows who he is, for one of the biggest events of the season was the selection of the skaters for the World Championships - despite both of them not being the youngest, the announcing of their names for the singles category was still no surprise to anyone who was an ardent fan. While the ceremony did lead to some (inexplicable? Weird?) fan fiction between him and many of his fellow competitors, his father had still prohibited him from viewing any of Tam's ��previous shows - other than an extremely blurry clip of him and his twin sister performing at an awards ceremony - though he was almost quite sure of the fact that he had seen Tam somewhere before.

"Um, hello? You do remember how to speak, is that not?"

Cheeks flaming, Keefe jolted back to reality as he stammered out a quick reply to the now skeptical ice skater, who looked equal parts unimpressed and hot - which certainly did not help his thought process become any clearer.

"Why are you here?"

Opening his mouth wide, Tam seemed to almost collapse in disbelief as he replied, "What do you think I'm here for? Baking cakes?"

"I was wondering what you were doing so early when the competition is clearly-"

"What are you doing here then?"

"To practice, duh-"

"And me as well. Tomorrow, my performance is the first - and therefore must set the bar for all others. And while my routine is good, I need it to be perfect. So if you don't mind me being so crass, I would implore you to leave."

Though his hip still smarted from the fall, Keefe indignantly shook his head as he replied, "No way! I was here first!"

"You're being a child."

"You say that as though you're not older than 18 by a few months-"

In an almost more condescending tone than earlier, Tam deadpanned, "I've seen the way you skate - and trust me, you're not the one who needs the practice out of the two of us."

"Well, your moves look like-"

Wait, Keefe thought, as his brain suddenly short-circuited, did my extremely hot and posh rival just compliment me?

Or was that just a ploy to throw me off my game?

Or was it-

"Look, forget what I said earlier. Just, Make sure you stay on the left half, ok? I'll take the right."

Keefe looked carefully into the Vietnamese boy's inscrutable expression, for any signs that he was mocking him or trying to joke with him. Seeing none, he nodded stiffly, before turning around to practice the same move.

{{He was the diable. And the devil didn't succumb to anyone.

-not even to him.}}

-

Keefe repeated the steps, almost unconsciously. Twisting and turning, looping over and gliding, the icy air skating over his face, for this routine was an old one - improvised for a charity event earlier, but having been practised for the past half an hour or so - now second nature to him.

It'd been way too long since he'd practised in front of a crowd this size. He was used to many eyes watching, whispers always surrounding him as he twisted and turned, the whispers becoming crescendos after a particularly spectacular turn, or empty rooms, with no one to judge him, complain about him or to try to gaud him.

He was aware of the new arrival on the ice next to him, but yet again he zoned it out, zoned out the sounds and movement around him, focusing on nothing but his two feet on the ice. Backwards and forwards he looped the rink, pushing himself till sweat rolled off his forehead, till his muscles burned with use.

But the more time that passed, the more he became intensely aware of the other man skating alongside him, the only one who'd decided to join him on the ice so far.

The man- no, Tam Song, skated like he had nothing to loose. But there was something breathtaking about the way he moved, the way his feet seemed to dance like second nature.

{{It reminded him of a deeply buried memory, of a boy with wings-

-but he pushed that dream down because there was no point to it, no point to it at all.}}

Keefe's motions were sharp and precise, practised to perfection; but this man moved like it was as easy as breathing like the steps took no thought at all.

Keefe was impressed, to say the least, for he'd never seen someone skate with such passion. He was almost tempted to introduce himself before he caught a glance of the man's face as he noticed that he was whizzing towards him at an alarming rate-

oh shit-

He winced internally, eyes scrunched up as he waited for the inevitable collision with the floor, his sore hip almost crying out in exasperation-

-before realising he had landed snug into Tam Song's arms, which were now holding him upright as his legs gave out uselessly on the ice. Considering the Vietnamese's short stature, and the fact that Keefe was quite tall compared to him, they both seemed to be on the verge of collapsing on to each other and on top of each other in a very, very snug pile.

Realising this less than a second later, Tam's cheeks seemed to burn red as he bent closer to Keefe, his lips moving dangerously close to Keefe's neck as he attempted to hide the huge blush that seemed to cover his face.

"So...."

Keefe's voice hitched as he turned his head a fraction to the left, as he realised the only way out of such a situation was to pull himself flush against his competitor - no, his arch enemy - and lean against him for support.

Muttering a silent prayer that Tam wouldn't be too scandalised, he looped his hands around Tam's waist, using him as a support to regain his lost footing on the ice (though a squeak was something he may or may not have imagined), before finally raising his hands up to his shoulders as he pushed against them lightly, enough to help break him out of his inner monologue of "ohshitohshit-" and pull away from Tam, now left with only an awkward silence that hung in the air.

"Um..thank you."

Tam looked up, a smile flitting across his face as he faced Keefe.

"No problem."

It was only then Keefe noticed the pale silver chain that hung from Tam's neck, which swung gently with every movement he would make, the engraving on the chain now visible for everyone to see.

"Thiên... than?"

{{A rush of memories seemed to come flooding back as Keefe realised the entire deja vu, the painful but hidden smile Tam had given him in the start-

-it was always, it was always him and only him-)

A storm of emotions passed over both their faces, leaving them both vulnerable for a few seconds, unflinching and naked in each other's stares, one realising just who the other was, while the other realised that he truly, truly did not know anything about him anymore-

Keefe had always dreamed of seeing him, hoped in all his heart that he would get just one more chance-

{{but they were the angel and devil, locked in eternity in polar opposites, destined to fight, for that is what nature decreed.}}

"You...you didn't remember me?"

{{he wanted to scream at Tam, remind him and hug him and show him that he kept it, he really kept it and-

-but he was the devil. And nothing but the devil.}}

And therefore, he did what he knew best.

He closed his eyes and ran.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.☪ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

AHHH FIRST CHAPTER FINISHED FINALLY-

I'll probably update in one and a half week gaps, so,,,expect another around 25th?? Anyway hope you enjoy this meanwhile-

>:)

Tag list: @enbies-and-felonies @brilliantblindinglights @shadymcsilverbangs

//Reblogs, likes and comments always appreciated!//

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Hesitant

note: this is a request from @jaketapperstan, I hope you like it :)

words: 3k

warnings: swearing, alcohol, smut

enjoy :)

„Oh my god, I love that song. “your colleague exclaimed, grabbing you hand as she tried to drag you to the dance floor.

You rolled your eyes at her, staying rooted to the spot.

“Sorry, but there’s no way in hell I’m doing that. I don’t want to make a fool of myself after only three months here.” you called over the sound of the music.

First and foremost, you didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself in front of him. Your boss, Jake Tapper, had been a constant presence in your mind since you first set eyes on him.

You had known him, from watching his shows, of course, but meeting the man in person had been an entirely different thing.

//

“Jake, come over and meet Y/N. She’s the newest member of our production team, it’s her first day today.”

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest when he approached you. He was tall, and surprisingly casual without a tie, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up. You almost didn’t recognize him. But it was the air of effortless confidence that surrounded the man that instantly made you feel drawn to him.

“Pleasure to meet you and welcome to the team.” Jake said, shaking your hand, the grasp of his large hand firm around your much smaller one. You felt like his eyes looked right into your soul, and you weren’t sure if you enjoyed being perceived by this man.

You awkwardly mumbled a reply, something about how grateful you were for this opportunity and that you were looking forward to working here.

Jake replied something, but you didn’t listen, you were too captivated by his face and the way it got lit up by his smile .

//

The crush you had developed in that moment had only grown stronger in the three months you were working at CNN now.

It was infuriating, you could barely function like a normal human being around him. The fact that he was your boss, and therefore totally unattainable made everything so much worse. You loved your job, no way you would ever put it on the line by hitting on Jake Tapper.

But no matter how often you told that to yourself, every time he entered a room, your heart rate instantly went up and your stomach dropped.

In conversations, you, usually blessed with a quick mouth, got shy and awkward, stumbling over your words like a teenager in front of her first crush. His presence just rendered you completely useless.

Frankly, it was embarrassing, and there was no need to add to that by dancing tonight and risking him seeing it.

It was the 40th birthday of some senior producer, and he had invited the whole team to celebrate with him at a great club in downtown DC.

You weren’t usually a big club goer, but it was nice enough and some drinks had relaxed you enough to aimlessly sway around to the rhythm of the music.

Suddenly, you could make out a too familiar voice over the noise of the crowd, and a chill went through you.

“Enjoying the party, Y/N?”

It was Jake. He had shed his anchor attire and was wearing a black button-down shirt you had never seen on him before. His hair was tousled and there was a faint blush on his cheeks that indicated that he already had his fair share of drinks.

He leaned against the wall beside you, and you couldn’t remember ever seeing him so relaxed and informal, no sign of his usually composed behavior. It was slightly unsettling, but he looked so sexy that you couldn’t tear your eyes off him.

“It’s alright, I guess. I’m not a big party person. How about you?”

You tried your best to speak over the music without screaming at Jake.

He leaned down a bit, angling his head closer to yours.

“I really like the company.” He said, and the timbre of his voice made shiver.

“Tell me, Y/N, how have you been? We barely had any chance to talk to each other in the last weeks.”

You weren’t sure if the warmth spreading through your body was because of the alcohol or Jakes close proximity, probably a mixture of both. But it definitely made it hard to focus on anything apart from his body, now only about a foot away from yours.

“Uhm, yeah, it’s been great, thanks for asking, I appreciate it.” you murmured.

“Do you wanna go somewhere in the back where it’s quiet? We could talk there?” Jake suggested.

Your heart was picking up speed, being alone with him was dangerous territory. But the drinks you had gave you the necessary courage to nod and follow him to one of the booths in the far back of the bar, where the music wasn’t as ear-piercing.

Instead of sitting down opposite from you, Jake slid in the seat next to you, close enough that his leg was brushing against yours. He was so comfortable around that it was easy to forget that he was still your superior.

“So,” he spoke, turning his body to face you “why do you spend the party on the sideline talking to old men like me instead of dancing with your friends?”

“Stop it, you’re not old. And it’s because I don’t like dancing, I look like an idiot.” You paused a moment. “And I enjoy talking to you.”

It was true, despite your awkward stammering, the conversations you had managed to have with Jake had always been great, he was a good listener and an even better talker. He had a way of making even the most trivial facts sound memorable and interesting.

“That’s good for me, I guess. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy seeing you on the dance floor but having you all to myself for a change is nice.” Jake replied, and the way he was talking to you radiated an easy confidence that was simply captivating.

You could feel the heat creep up your neck, he looked at you like he had really meant what he said, even in the dim light of the bar you could see that glint in his eyes. He was clearly hitting on you, and that fact was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

“What do you want to know, then? Not that you have me all for yourself?” You asked, putting on a nonchalant face to hide your inner turmoil.

Jake laid one of his arms on the backrest behind you, his hand just hovering over you. You shivered slightly, not from cold but from having Jakes fingers that close to the bare skin of your shoulder. He was clearly doing this on purpose, and it worked.

“Oh, I wanna know everything about you.” He murmured, and his hand reached out to let his fingers trail across the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Feeling his touch made your body shiver and your mind go blank, overwhelmed by the entire situation.

The burning longing in your stomach intensified and knew that you had to put a stop to this right now, before things got out of control.

You had never crushed on anyone so hard, but he was your boss. You repeated those words over and over in your head to prevent yourself from simply leaning into Jake and take him up on whatever he was offering you. You couldn’t just hook up with him in a bar while he was so obviously drunk.

“Jake, I’m sorry, but I have to go now.” You tried to make your voice sound steady, and resolute, even if you wanted nothing more than for Jake to just grab you and make you stay with him for the rest of the night.

Jake looked taken aback, but still got out of his seat, making room for you to step out of the booth.

“Everything alright?” he asked, “You need someone to take you home?”

“I’m fine. I’ll see you on Monday, have a good rest of the night.” You rambled, before all but fleeing the bar without saying goodbye to anyone else.

You walked almost a block before you stopped, taking some deep breaths to calm your racing heart.

You just had a far from innocent encounter with your boss, and now you wanted him even more.

+++

You had spent the whole weekend dreading going back to work on Monday.

You weren’t sure which outcome was worse, Jake being offended by the rejection or the possibility that he regretted even trying to hit on you.

Also, you couldn’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if you had taken him up on the offer. Maybe you could’ve spent your weekend tangled up in the sheets with him, but was a one-night stand, even with Jake Tapper, really worth risking your job? Definitely not.

At work, you tried to avoid any contact with Jake, arriving last minute to the morning briefing and fleeing the room the second he dismissed the team. During the show, your eyes stayed glued to your tablet, even if you weren’t able to make sense of a single thing you were reading, your thoughts circled entirely around Jake.

After you wrapped the show, you left the studio in a hurry, trying to make it back to your work space, but a familiar voice calling out your name stopped you in your tracks.

For a moment, you considered ignoring it, but you couldn’t just not answer to your boss, so you stopped and turned around to face him.

Jakes expression was unreadable, his voice serious as he addressed you.

“Would you please join me in my office for a minute, Y/N?”

You just mumbled something in agreement and followed him, the nervousness almost making you sick too your stomach.

Closing the door of his office behind you, Jake sighted and leaned against his desk. For the first time that day, you really looked at him and realized how tired and worn out he looked.

He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“Look, Y/N, I really have to apologize. What I did the other night was not only absolutely unprofessional, but it also clearly made you uncomfortable. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I had too much to drink, and I was reading the signals wrong. I thought you might feel the same but I know that’s not an excuse. Just let me tell you that I am really, really sorry, and if you don’t feel comfortable working around me any longer, I promise that I will find you an amazing spot on another show, just say so.” He was rambling by now and looked like a beaten dog.

Your head was spinning, him being sorry wasn’t something you had expected. And what was he even talking about you feeling the same? You had to clear this up, the poor man was absolutely devastated.

“Jake, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, not in the slightest. And I would never want to work for anyone else.”

You took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Your advances weren’t unwelcome. I was just so hesitant, because you’re my boss and everything. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to just hook up with you at a party, our work relationship is too important.”

Jake raised his head, a look of absolute surprise on his face.

“So you’re not feeling like I harassed you?” he asked incredulously.

“Oh my god, no!” you exclaimed, your voice coming out a tad too loud, but you didn’t care.

Jake breathed in relief before approaching you, putting a hand on your arm. Goosebumps started to break out over your body when he spoke again, his voice deeper and smoother this time.

“Who said I just wanted to hook up with you? Why do you think I haven’t had my eyes on you from the moment you stepped through these doors? What gave you the idea I haven’t waited for the right moment the entire time?”

“You have?” you whispered, staring up into his eyes. He didn’t answer, instead he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. You were starstruck for a moment, unable to move a single muscle, but when Jakes hand came to rest on your lower back to pull you against him, you softened under him and leaned into his body.

He broke the kiss to softly stroke your jaw and down your neck with a single finger, and you unconsciously tilted your head to give him better access.

“Is this really a good idea?” you breathed, not trusting your voice right now.

“Assuming you want this as much as I do, I’d say this is a damn good idea.” Jake responded, and hearing this encouraged you to reach out and start to loosen his tie.

His eyebrows surged up and a smug grin started to spread over his face, making him look much more like the guy from the bar instead of your serious news anchor boss.

“You mean here, right now?” he murmured. “Ok, fine with me, baby, just let me lock the door real quick.”

As soon as he had turned the lock, he was on you in a heartbeat, kissing you much harder now, his teeth softly biting your bottom lip. He buried his hands in your hair, tugging on the strands while you unbuttoned his dress shirt with shaky fingers, a task that got increasingly difficult when his distracting hands wandered lower to squeeze your ass through your skirt. You moaned against his mouth and he slowly pushed you back until your back hit the edge of his desk.

Jake shrugged his shirt of his shoulders and made quick work of your sweater as well. He stepped out of his shoes and trousers, but his eyes stayed on you, pupils blown, taking in your trembling form.

“You are so gorgeous, Y/N. Take off that skirt for me.” He murmured, and you moved like on autopilot, already so aroused that he could’ve told you to do literally anything.

“The bra as well, baby.” Jakes voice was already slightly strained, but still had that commanding edge that made you reach behind you to unclasp your bra.

It fell to the floor and Jakes hand were on your breasts a moment later, kneading the soft flesh and rolling your nipples between his fingers. You let out a small whimper, arching your back and grinding your core against the bulge in Jakes boxers.

“Jake, please.”

“Please what, Y/N? What do you want?” Jake cooed, pressing a kiss to your neck.

Instead of answering him, you swiftly pulled his boxers down his legs and wrapped your hands around his hard length, giving a firm stroke that made him curse under his breath.

He grabbed your ass to lift you up onto the desk behind you. Your panties were off before you knew it, and any sense of shame you might have felt about being naked on top of your bosses’ papers was forgotten when his huge hands roughly spread your thighs to step between them, the tip of his cock teasing you before he slid into you with one hard thrust.

You hastily slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle your scream that would’ve probably alarmed the entire office.

He filled you perfectly and instantly started slamming into you with deep strokes. There was a loud clatter as several items fell off Jakes desk, but neither of you seemed to notice, both lost in the pleasure the other one was giving.

“Shit, I’ve wanted this for months.” Jake grunted, “I knew you would feel amazing.”

You could only whimper in response, your hands now looking for something to hold on as Jake deepened his thrusts, using his tight grab on your hips to pull you flush against him with each slam of his hips.

He looked like a man undone above you, his hair was a mess and there was a look of such heated arousal on his face, it felt like his eyes were burning into you. It was intoxicating.

“Jake.” You whispered. “You feel so fucking good. Please don’t stop.”

“The next time I’ll fuck you, it’s going to be somewhere the walls are thicker. I want to hear you scream my name. “Jake growled, reaching between your legs to press down onto your throbbing clit. When he pinched you bud between his fingers, your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks .

You came with a cry that was swallowed by Jakes mouth crashing onto yours as he followed you over the edge, and you held onto each other, riding out the highs of your shared climax.

“Fuck. Wow.” you panted as soon as Jake let go of you.

“Yeah, wow.” He agreed and wiped some sweat off his forehead before carefully pulling out and stepping back to help you climb off the table. He was still catching his breath, looking around the office in search of his clothes.

“Sorry about that.” You muttered, pointing to the mess of papers and files that had fallen off his desk and were now scattered across the floor along with various items of clothing and something that looked a lot like Jakes desk light. “I think we broke your lamp as well.”

“Definitely worth it.” He chuckled and pulled you into another kiss. “Can’t believe that just happened.” He whispered. “I was so afraid I had scared you off with my behavior.”

“Jake, it’s alright, it wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy the attention.” You said softly, giving him a reassuring smile. Your heart was still racing, you mind trying to make sense of what just happened while you collected your underwear, being naked in that situation suddenly made you feel kind of vulnerable.

Jake was still watching you warily as he started to put on his clothes as well.

“Y/N, like I said, this really isn’t some quick hookup for me.” He took a deep breath. “Let me take you out tonight? No pressure, no expectations, we just talk and see what happens. What do you think?”

“I agree, I’m curious if you can still flirt with me without several drinks to ease the way.” You replied, chuckling and reaching out to fix Jakes tie.

You had no idea where your sudden feeling of ease came from, but there was no way you would miss the opportunity of having an actual date with Jake Tapper.

And who knew, maybe he could become something more than just your boss.