#as is now a new chapter two (which I realize is 3 on AO3) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

awrkive · 7 months ago

Text

NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 2 — JJK (m.)

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 22.5k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, lots of screaming into your pillow moments FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF, lovely hot nerdy jk ): (i think i speak for all women when i say that nerdy jungkook is the best jungkook say I IF U AGREE),[explicit sexual content: masturbation (f)], has the budding romance finally hit the second towers? read more to find out

NOTES hey everyone thank you so much for the overwhelming support on this silly little fic. i hope you guys enjoy this update and let me know your thoughts in the replies/reblog section and in my inbox, wherever you prefer hehe <3

NB!JK VISUALS | TAGLIST OPEN

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

You usually finish prepping for the office at around 7:40 am, just enough time left to walk to the station and catch your bus at exactly 8 am.

As of now, it's 7 but the clock's longer hand has moved past the 40-minute mark, and you are still in your living room, supposedly all done and ready to go – except that you're stuck on the floor looking at your laptop perched on your coffee table, staring at it blankly, the HR email looking right back at you; almost daunting.

Subject: Invitation to Ceremony: Announcement of Interim CTO Dear Blue Nexus Inc. employee, We hope this email finds you well. We would like to inform you that a ceremony has been scheduled on July 29, 2028, 10:00 am at the AVR Hall 5, 12th floor. The purpose of this event is to announce the appointment of our interim Chief Technology Officer (CTO), Mr. Jeon Jungkook. As you may be aware, our previous CTO, Mr. Shin Juman, is currently on medical leave recovering from a stroke. While he is recuperating and undergoing treatment, it has become necessary for us to appoint an interim CTO for an indefinite period of time to ensure the continuity and effectiveness of our operations. Your presence at this meeting is highly valued as we introduce the new leadership to the team and outline our strategic direction moving forward. Light refreshments will be served. Thank you for your attention to this matter. We look forward to seeing you at the ceremony. Best regards, HR Department

You've been reading it over and over again you're sure you can recite it with ease if prompted. It's in the hopes that the name Jeon Jungkook will suddenly disappear somewhere in the email – that maybe you missed some detail, and it doesn't actually mention his name at all. You read the email repeatedly wishing that it is just a glitch in the system and what you found out about yesterday are all just a part of your extreme delusion. Maybe it's one of those nights with Jimin at his apartment where you would indulge in a little bit of guilty pressure – pots, to be exact – and just let it take you to a whole new world.

But you and Jimin didn't go home together last night, and you definitely did not smoke pot. He went straight to the airport and you straight home with nothing but mixed feelings inside, and you were more than thankful that Jimin was in a bout of panic himself about not getting there on time that he didn't notice you squirming in his passenger seat.

There is a vague memory in your head with him telling you he was going to come with Namjoon, but you can't be for sure. Everything that transpired that night is all reduced down to the very moment in the comfort room when you realized the glaring information about Jungkook being three eggs in your basket: first, he's Jimin's cousin. Second, he's an executive in your company – a CTO, to be exact – and while you aren't exactly working under his department and they are all the way up ten floors above you, he's still technically your boss according to the hierarchy. The son of the CEO of the very company you are working at. Not only is he the CTO, but third he's also your neighbor. Someone you've met weeks ago whom you may have developed a growing relationship with that will now possibly be bleak in a matter of hours or days depending on if you are going to tell him or if he finds out.

That is the thing that you're currently debating with yourself about as you let your eyes glide over the unsuspecting email from HR for the nth time.

7:50 am – the clock on your screen reads.

You think about the dock pay that you're gonna get if you come to work late. At this point, you can run to the station and still catch your bus, but you have to decide in a minute for that to be possible.

Groaning, you feel defeated as you shut your laptop close and stand up from the floorboards, your eyes going over to the door across from you which earns yourself a wince.

I'm gonna get a dock pay and it will all be Jungkook's fault. That jerk.

Okay – obviously, he's far from a jerk and he has nothing to do with any of this. You just like blaming anybody.

You sigh, grabbing your bag, finally making up your mind to just go and see for yourself what today has to offer you. A little optimism, if you will. But if you manage to bump into Jungkook at that company you aren't sure if you're not going to do something embarrassing because one thing about you, you do not know how to face certain challenges in life like a matured individual – you always have to be a little overboard and overdramatic with it.

You were heading towards the door when you suddenly remember your ID.

Your ID. Funny.

As you pick it up off the coffee table, you think about how you don't really wear it on the way to work and on your way home. You don't like the feeling of the lanyard wrapping around the skin of your nape, so you've always just worn it when you're in the office where it is mandatory. Otherwise, you make sure to take it off.

Suddenly, you think about a scenario where you're the kind of employee to wear their ID all the time, and those nights where you'd go to Midday straight from work to have dinner with Jungkook would've turned out differently because then if you were to have worn your ID during one of those meetings, he would've figured out that you're working at the same company. And maybe... the conversation about his relation to Jimin would've came up.

And maybe, you won't feel so... complicated about the whole thing.

How – in the two weeks that you've spent with him – do you know too much yet so little about him? How did you ever not ask each other where you work and how did this all come to you like a landslide and now you have no way out?

God's sake, you know about his dog, and you've exchanged numbers... and yet...

Although, granted, maybe you should've asked for each other's socials? Does he have Instagram? Twitter? Maybe if you had exchanged those sooner, you would've gotten to know him more and made the connections you only recently found out.

You want so badly to reach out to Jimin to talk to him about all of this. But he hasn't really contacted you since he sent off Namjoon to the airport. Maybe he really did leave with him, and it isn't just your imagination when he said something about going there last night when you sneaked out of the party.

But deep inside... you do not really want to talk to him about any of this, at all.

It is, to simply put, awkward.

You feel ashamed for gushing about your neighbor that is apparently the same person as his cousin. Feel embarrassed about how you ogled over him to Jimin when in fact, they're related. You don't know about other people, but you know the unspoken rule about not dating your friends' relatives? Not like you're dating Jungkook, but you have a crush on him for fuck's sake. The strings do not even stop at their blood relation because it extends to your workplace as well.

You know Jimin well enough to feel confident about not getting judged by him if you were to tell him about it, and if he actually does, he will directly say it to your face as far as you're concerned. But...

It's just all too awkward to tell anyone about. You're in too deep in the sea of embarrassment and shame you cannot think of ways to get out of it.

Your head is starting to hurt, and you know it's the sign to stop thinking. So, you shut up all the voices in your head and walk towards the door ready to go out, telling yourself that whatever happened, you're going to handle everything cooly like the grown woman you are.

Stepping outside the threshold of your apartment, you're just about to turn around to lock the door on your way out when suddenly, the door across yours opens and there welcomes you the man starring in your list of problems for the day: Jeon Jungkook, your neighbor Unit 446.

"Oh, hi. Good morning—"

You turn on your heel so quickly and open the door to your apartment so fast it's almost at the speed of light, entering your apartment once again and slamming the door closed, pressing your back on it as your eyes widen; heart beating at a staccato of thug, thug, thug as you take a moment to hold your breath.

What the fuck.

How in the hell is this the first time you see each other getting ready to work? It couldn't have happened in the first week you knew him or hell, the first day?! Why must you have bumped into him like that the moment you finally knew about who he is? Everything is getting way too ridiculous. It's like the universe is telling you once again that you'll always be her middle child: unfavorable by all ends.

"Shit." You hiss, biting your lip quite harshly as you think about how you must've looked like a goddamn fool turning on him like that for no reason. Jungkook must've been weirded the hell out – and rightfully so.

You face-palm. Damn, you were just telling yourself you're gonna handle everything like a grown, matured woman.

You unconsciously walk on your tippy toes on the way to the small window on the side of the door that lets you oversee outside your door, peeking from there like a creep as you watch Jungkook, still on his porch – with his grey coat over his arm – looking down on his phone and doing something with it.

That something is apparently sending you a text.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:52am]: why did u seem like u just saw a ghost?

The message read when you open your phone at the bell of notification. You haven't even read all of it yet when another one comes in.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:52am]: am I that appalling in the mornings? Haha 🥴

On any occasion, you would've laughed and go along with the joke, but you do not know what to say to him.

You stand there doing nothing, just staring at his two consecutive messages, poorly left on read. You purse your lips as you peek from the small window again, getting a glimpse of Jungkook standing still on his porch, eyes glued to his phone. He waits for awhile, and then you see him shaking his head with a hint of... smile on his face?

And then your phone dings once again.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:53am]: good morning by the way. Get safely to work

You stare at it so hard that the next second you look at the window, he isn't there anymore.

Letting out a heavy breath, you knock your head on the door, thinking about how you missed your 8 am bus and you have to wait for 30 minutes for another one to come and most especially, how you're going to get a dock pay for being late.

It's almost as if Jungkook is running for higher office the way his face is plastered all over the LED screens inside the building, showing the announcement of his ceremony. It's taunting almost, the way it was the first thing you see when you swiped your ID for entry.

Although, you do find it funny that it's the same man you just saw in front of you when you stepped outside of your place earlier this morning.

"Sol," you call your co-worker and also your friend, sliding your swivel chair closer to her desk. "Do we really have to go to the ceremony?" You ask, seeing that everybody in the office is already setting aside the stuff on their desks to head out to the 12th floor where the announcement ceremony will be held.

Sol fixes the post-it note on her computer first before turning to you, "Of course we do."

You pout at that.

"Is Ms. Jung really gonna be mad if we don't attend?"

"You know how she has this obsession of making our department look good, so I'm assuming yes." She answers, and you slump in your seat knowing damn well she's right to think that. Sol sees your seemingly grumpy disposition and asks, "Why? You don't wanna go?"

If only she knew.

You shake your head to her question.

"I just think it's gonna be boring," you shrug, the lie rolling on your tongue seamlessly.

"Eh, at least it's less work for today. Those things run for two hours and there's free lunch so that's that."

Events like these are supposed to be advantageous for you because again, Sol is right and those things do run for about two hours meaning less workload. Also, free lunch. Who doesn't like free stuff? But then again, Jungkook is going to be there and with your luck, you're starting to think that you're going to see more of him from now on. That is just how the world works against you.

"You're right." You say, frowning becoming more and more apparent, you're sure.

Sol chuckles at you and stands up herself, fixing her dress as you follow her out of the office.

Before you could completely go out though, you stop her on her tracks.

"Hey, do you think you have a face mask I can borrow?" You say, looking hopefully at her. Sol raises her brows, obviously confused at your strange request. Clearing your throat, you pretend to cough a little in your fisted hand. "I'm feeling a little under the weather today, but I drank my meds this morning. Forgot the mask." You reason with her, adding more lies to the conversation.

"Oh, I see. Okay, I think I have it." Sol perks up at the realization and you both enter your office once again, with your co-worker digging through her desk's drawer for the mask you were asking her for.

She hands it to you as soon as she finds it and you're quick to wear it around your mouth, silently rejoicing in your head at the brilliant last-minute plan you came up with in your head in order to avoid anything with Jungkook later. Not that you expect him to do something if he, indeed, sees you – you doubt he even will, given that the hall is huge, and you are planning to sit all the way back – but the mask is just a precautionary measure so there are less chances of him recognizing you or anything crazy like that.

Together, Sol and you ride the elevator down to the 12th floor and unsurprisingly, a lot of the company's employees are already there, finding their seats, chitchats heard across the hall.

"Sol, __!" Joonhwi, one of your co-junior accountants and also a friend, calls out to you both, separating himself from the other accountants and heading to your direction. "You're sick?" He asks as soon as he sees your face covered with the mask.

"A little." You reply.

Joonhwi nods his head and then say, "I thought you girls were planning to ditch the ceremony."

"I'll do anything to not see your face but then again we work together so I have no choice." Sol snarkily remarks.

"Sol, can you please refrain from professing your love to me with all these people around?" Joonhwi retorts back, smarmy and teasing, ever the expert on how to get on Sol's nerves.

"__, can you get this khia away from me?"

You laugh at both of their exchange, shaking your head at their silly antics. You don't know if Sol is just... emotionally constipated, but damn, she sure is clueless as hell about Joonhwi's feelings. It seems like everybody from the accounting department knows except for her.

Shaking your head, you go straight to the seats available with Joonhwi and Sol sitting on opposite sides of you.

"Anyway, I heard they're appointing Mr. Jeon's son." Joonhwi suddenly say.

Now that makes you squirm.

"Really?" You utter, just to give them a reaction.

Sol looks at you weird. "I thought everybody knew that?"

"Well, there are lots of Jeons in Korea..." you tell her, earning a laugh from Joonhwi which makes Sol frown.

"A man is not allowed to laugh in my vicinity, Joonhwi, shut up," she says rolling her eyes. Her tone shifts when she speaks to you though, suddenly sounding more gossip-y as she shows you a picture on her phone. "Look at the material, though,"

You look at the photo of a man who very much has the same and exact coloring of the one and only Jeon Jungkook you know and you have to swallow the lump in your throat.

"I mean, I've always thought Mr. Jeon was a DILF but his son is – damn." She adds, zooming in on Jungkook's professional head shot.

You and Joonhwi both give her the stinky eye.

"Have some class." you tell her, earning a laugh from both of them.

"For the record, you agreed to that before." Sol points out, referring to that dinner you three had at a barbecue house awhile ago. For the record, though, you were both drunk and Joonhwi had to haul Sol's ass back to her place and call Jimin to get you to yours.

"I refuse to acknowledge anything I've ever said when I was drunk."

"Okay but is anybody getting the urge to get transferred to the IT department expeditiously?" Sol jokes, obviously swooning over Jungkook.

Joonhwi snorts. "The CTO doesn't even go there."

"Killjoy much?" Sol frowns at him. "He'd visit, though. Imagine the eye candy."

You eye her in a teasing manner, "You have enough candy on your plate, Sol." And then you subtly look over Joonhwi.

Joonhwi himself doesn't seem to expect the insinuation, but nonetheless you know that he got the message of you implying he's good-looking and if Sol is looking for that, he's just there. That is why he suddenly loses his smirk and rests his back on the seat, crossing his arms as he retires himself from the conversation, obviously dodging your teasing.

Psh. Emotionally constipated co-worker number two.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sol asks, but she can't get an answer as the ceremony begins.

"Good morning, everyone. Today marks a significant moment as we gather to appoint our interim Chief Technology Officer," The host starts the introduction, "We are here to acknowledge the pivotal role of the CTO in our company's journey to ensure continuity in our innovation efforts. It is with great pleasure that I introduce Mr. Jeon Jungkook, our interim CTO, who has been selected to step into the position."

And there is him, in his grey suit that you've seen him in earlier. He's wearing his glasses as well, the one that has the thinner frame. You notice he switches between two kinds; he wears the thick-framed one off work and the thin-framed one during work, like right now.

Jungkook smiles at the applause that reverberates all over the hall. There are LED screens that hang on both sides of the room and you can see his face clearly there. Sol gushes over how good he looks.

"Jesus, wow..." Sol whispers to herself, and you're sure she did not mean for you to hear that, so you try not to acknowledge it because deep inside, you agree with her. That's exactly your reaction when you saw him for the first time in the stairs of your apartment complex – and he didn't even clean up in his suit that time.

Jungkook stands on the podium with an easy-going smile on his face, his aura screaming confidence. He looks so sure of himself, like he's born to actually do this.

"Thank you, Mr. Park. Good day to all. I am deeply honored and humbled to accept the role of Chief Technology Officer at Blue Nexus Incorporation. As we navigate this interim period, my commitment is to uphold..."

You watch as he starts his speech, noting how well he speaks. You aren't a stranger to how people have different personalities when they are in and off work, but it's almost disorienting to see Jungkook going all professional, his voice soft but edgy at the same time, just enough for you and everyone to recognize a bit of authority in there.

He looks over the crowd, and for a brief second, you feel as if his eyes glossed over you far longer than he had other parts in the room.

But that thought dies down as quickly when he immediately goes back to speaking, and you're sure you just imagined it.

You're in the middle of your night routine when your phone suddenly dings.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:44pm]: just remembered we never really got around to that boxing machine, did we

Right. Today is Friday and you are supposed to go that boxing machine to determine if he's gonna supply your daily boba or if you're coming over to his place so he can cook you both a meal.

But that deal was made days ago when you still were clueless about his identity, and admittedly, you'd say that right now, you're doing anything to avoid him.

Scrolling through your message thread and seeing Jungkook's texts since that morning being left on read makes you feel bad. You know it isn't fair. It isn't nice to just suddenly go leave people dry like that, especially Jungkook who has been so strangely non-confronting about your sudden weird behavior.

It takes you a few minutes to give him a reply due to you erasing and retyping your message repeatedly.

You [10:47pm]: sorry ive been busy the whole day with work ):

Was what you lamely came up with. You couldn't have done better than that, to be honest with yourself.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:47pm]: I see Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:48pm]: so raincheck tonight?

You [10:48]: sorryyyy for cancellig im just feeling a little under the weather

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:49pm]: ohhhh ok ok sorry for texting late

You [10:50pm]: asbdbsfjshf its fine!!!!!!!!

Maybe you didn't think it through, but you find yourself typing the next message and hitting send way too quickly.

You [10:51pm]: maybe tomorrow?

You're thinking about taking it back, but Jungkook has already replied.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:51pm]: ok. I'll see you tomorrow 😊

Pursing your lips, you wonder what he's doing tonight.

Is he working? Maybe some take-home paperworks? What do CTOs even do? He must be really busy... though you think it has to be otherwise since he had the time to text you.

You stand up from the chair of your vanity table, patting your hair one last time and jumping to your bed, ready to overthink some more then sleep when an idea suddenly pops up into your head the moment your eyes lay on your phone.

Making yourself comfortable on your mattress, you pick up the phone from your night stand and unlock it, your fingers making quick work of opening the Instagram app and typing jeonjungkook on the search bar.

The results show you a few accounts that resemble the username you looked up, but as you check each one, none of them seems to belong to the man you're looking for. So, you try a few varieties: jungkook, jungkookjeon, jeon... JK?... but then you're sure you've milked out the last of your brain juice trying to come up with a possible username for him but to no avail.

Jimin must be following him, you think to yourself. Since Jimin is a snob on his verified and public account and isn't following anybody there, you go straight to his private account to try and find a Jungkook in his following but again – you guessed it, failed search.

"Does he not have an IG?" you ask yourself, feeling quite exhilarated.

You think about Twitter, but remembering Jungkook's face makes you share your head in disagreement with yourself. There is no way he has Twitter. That guy looks terminally offline and doesn't have the face of someone who likes tweeting in his leisure time.

You'd say it was curiosity rather than desperation when you decided to install Facebook and hoped to see some of him there. You did have little hopes though, as you started typing his name, thinking there was no way you'd see him on the app because, who even uses Facebook nowadays except moms and dads and grandparents?

But then as you jokingly type his name and enter it on the search bar, a few tagged pictures of him show up.

The first one is posted by a Jeon Junghyun, his brother, and the picture is from 2017. Said picture is of Jungkook at the airport sitting on his luggage, and the caption reads as: good luck in college brother.

You stare at the picture, noting how young he looked in it and suddenly feel disoriented when you see his arms with no ink around them. They're so bare, and he definitely looked more lean, not like the muscly guy you know him as now. He was starting college here, so he must've been only 19 in the photo... meaning he got his tattoos in the States while he was in college or maybe even later than that?

You click on Jungkook's page, the one that his brother tagged in the photo, but all you see is the default Facebook profile picture and a locked account.

Feeling disappointed at that, you go back to his brother's page and check it out, throwing all your shame away as you look through his photos.

He must've limited his audience since the public posts are all outdated, but there are a few pictures in which Jungkook is in them, as well as other recurring people who seem to be their parents.

There's a recent family picture of them in the Eiffel Tower – uploaded in 2022 – all four of them.

As you see Mr. Jeon, the CEO of your company, with his family, it's hard not to feel... whiplashed, for the lack of better term. From the looks of it, they seem to be... close? For the record, Jimin does not have any casual pictures of him with his parents, and as far as you know, they never went out on trips together – just galas and all that socialite events. You know they are only mere pictures, not solid enough to assume what Jungkook's relationship is with his family, but you're starting to think maybe it's a good one.

That'll honestly be surprising, given that every wealthy family you know has dysfunctional relationships. Nevertheless, it will be quite... adorable if what you think is true.

"Oh my god," you say, disbelieving, as you recognize Jimin in one of Junghyun's public photos while scrolling through more.

It's an event of some sort, and how can you not spot Jimin when he looks conspicuous in his orange hair? You remember this being in your sophomore year in college, and how much Jimin actually hates that hair and wants to burn down every picture that reminds him of it.

You snort as you zoom in on Jimin, taking a screenshot of the photo, mindlessly going to your messaging app; ready to send him the photo to poke lighthearted fun, but then you realize—

"Oh, I can't do that."

Jimin will ask you where you got the photo from, and you'll have to tell him that you were cyber stalking his cousin. Then, he'll ask why you were stalking his cousin, and he will find out the very thing you don't want him to find out.

That makes you frown, quick to delete the message you were just about to send and put your phone back to your nightstand.

Well, that ruins fun.

You wish you can tell Jimin or anyone for the matter, but you currently don't feel comfortable about doing that.

Sighing, you look up at your ceiling, then forcefully close your eyes to avoid more thoughts coming into your head.

You start counting sheep until you fall asleep.

There had been a lot of times where you felt like shit about yourself. They happen way too many times that at this point, you'd lost count. It wired you to think that there must be something wrong when a day goes all too well.

But there is no beating the feeling of self-antagonism when you ditch somebody – even if it's for a valid reason.

Sure, you've ditched Jimin a couple of times, and he always makes sure to rub it on your face as much as he can until you pout at him and explain to him that there are just some days you do not feel like going out. Jimin, as your best friend, understands that about you, of course.

A lot of times, though, it's the dates you tend to ditch the most. Three dates – you recall – is the number of times you'd skipped out of, just because you had a panic attack thirty minutes before the meeting that one time and two times for the plain, simple fact that you had a realization that you did not really like the guy you were planning to see.

Shin Taemu, the guy from the IT department asked you out last month for a second date and you texted him a last-minute, half-assed lame excuse about having gotten period cramps. Up to this day, you're still wary about using the IT department's copy room because his texts, since then, have been left unanswered. You saw him awhile ago at the cafeteria, though, and he seemed to be treating you non-differently even after you ghosted him suddenly.

Recently, you're doing the same thing again to Jungkook.

It isn't dating, of course – just the whole ditching thing.

You feel terrible for canceling on him again on Saturday when you just told him Friday night that you would go to that boxing machine. He had texted you a simple "we still on?" with a smiley emoji that gave you the creeps (because that smiley emoji does not ever mean the person is smiling behind it – knowing Jungkook though, it's probably not the case, and you're just overthinking it). You've left that text to rot until Sunday morning, and only picked it up later during the night, telling him you were "sorry I just saw this now! I was swamped with work stuff" even though you've never brought paperworks at home in your whole career and you were just binging The X-Files, bashing those two idiotic emotionally constipated FBI agents when you are quite one, yourself.

Sometimes, you fear you're no better than a man. Jimin will willingly knock your head on a door to get you to your senses and tell you all the things about why you should never compare yourself to them – but there are times like these when your shortcomings – specifically your lack of proficiency in communication – mirror that of a man's, and you hate every single second of it.

Until then, you dreaded for Monday to come.

But it's ultimately inevitable

And when you wake up from your sleep, it's Monday, and you have to go to work whether you like it or not.

And oh, to add, Jungkook hasn't replied to your message. Which – okay – ouch. But you're not supposed to be hurt by it; if anything, you kind of deserve it after ditching him so many times. He isn't an idiot, and you're sure he knows you lied... you're just thankful that he's not saying anything if he does know, indeed.

You have thought things over in the shower this morning, though.

If Jungkook is three eggs in your basket, why will it matter? So, what's the big deal if he is Jimin's cousin and that he works at the same company and lives in the same apartment complex?

You finally admit that those things matter to you initially because... you have a crush on him. If you didn't, you'll give fuck-all if he's related to your best friend. You won't care at all if he's your boss because you don't have to worry about fantasizing about him.

But the thing is, you do have some sort of romantic feelings for him, and that is why those things moved you in a way that makes you feel and act a little weird around him.

And now there's this feeling of guilt that has overtaken your entire system. Because if you just see Jungkook platonically, these things won't happen. And you hate it, because he's genuinely a good friend. Someone who may want a friend in you too, but you are ruining it all because you have trivial feelings for him.

Absolutely ridiculous.

But now that those realizations have become clear in your head, you've made up your mind by thinking that those eggs don't matter.

It doesn't matter that he's Jimin's cousin, doesn't matter that he's an executive. You are his friend, and it's was okay to have friends that are your other friend's relative and friends who are your boss.

Of course, it's still awkward to think about him catching you in your home clothes but on a more serious note, your crush will never see the light of the day and even if it does, there's no way Jungkook will accept it because guys like him never settle with people like you. And you don't even mean that in a self-deprecating way, not at all! You are just fully aware of the practical world you live in and know that the vast disparity of your economic status will never work, especially with the kind of family he was born into.

With that said, you are ready for things to be back the way they were. No more pussyfooting in the office in fear that you'll bump into him, no more canceling on his innocent invitations to dinner, no more pining over him secretly and putting malice over everything that he does because you're going to be a renewed person now.

You're ready to take on the big shoes and be matured enough to address his questions if ever he has one.

So, you enter the elevator of Blue Nexus Inc. with a sort of spirit that you're sure will be hard to take down, creating pictures in your head that depict a smooth-sailing conversation with Jungkook where you're ideally going to be cool in it and not at all panic-y.

It's alright. Nothing is going to change—

Your thoughts are disrupted when somebody enters the elevator and the people in it suddenly start bowing their heads, a series of greetings reverberating in the confined space.

Fuck.

"Good morning, Mr. Jeon."

"Greetings, Mr. Jeon."

"Mr. Jeon."

Your eyes widen when you see Jungkook walking in with his black suit and sleek black hair, his eyeglasses sitting on his nose.

Okay, so nevermind the illusion that you're going to be cool now – you're absolutely panicking in your position!

Thank fucking god you're at the back with two persons in front of you, hoping they are enough to at least cover your frame as Jungkook stands in front after greeting back the employees inside.

Oh my god. Fuck me.

You tilt your head to the side with a wince on your face, sneakily raising your arm over your head to take your hairclip off so your hair fans your face. It is a poor attempt at covering yourself lest Jungkook suddenly turns around and recognizes you as a result.

But in that moment, you must look stupid as hell that the guy beside you looks at you weird.

You stand upright, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He just snubs you.

That makes you roll your eyes.

You go back to staring at Jungkook's back agonizing the thought that you really aren't ready at all to confront him. You thought about it all morning, but the moment he got here, all those ideations of you being cool around him from thereon are suddenly thrown out the building.

A few seconds after, somebody drops off at the 13th floor, and it starts to make you feel nervous.

What if more people start going out and then you'll be left alone with Jungkook? You intended to go to the 16th floor where your office is... Jungkook is – wait, where is his floor? You actually have no idea. But you are certain it's floors above you. Oh god! How can you possibly move past him without him recognizing you? Shit. You didn't think about that.

Now, you're starting to lose your bottle, your head not able to form ideas to get through him. The elevator is small! And people are starting to head out...

You look at the position indicator of the elevator, telling you that you're going way up to the 15th floor. A few seconds after and it dings, the elevator door opening. The guy in front of you heads way out, and you can see Jungkook still on his spot.

You find yourself not being able to move, completely stoned in your position.

You sure as hell aren't going out unless he does first! That's your solution. If he's located at the topmost floor, you're going to wait until then. You're just going to ride the elevator down again.

But what you don't see coming is Jungkook suddenly moving to head outside the elevator.

Looking at the indicator once again, you confirm if he really is going to the 15th floor.

The door already closed by the time Jungkook is finally out, which eases your nerves. You're way too relieved to forget thinking about why he's in the 15th floor.

You stop at the 16th with a smile on your face, feeling like you just got away with murder. You've never done it – get away with murder – but that's exactly how you feel.

On your way to the office, your phone vibrates from the pocket of your trousers.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [8:56am]: Correct me if I'm wrong but I think I just saw you at the elevator today

You thought of ways to dodge his bullet, thought about denying his claim and telling him that he must've seen somebody else because you work all the way across town and him seeing you would've been impossible.

But you know the attempts will be futile.

If anything, though, you take it as a sign to finally make things right.

Avoiding Jungkook will never be efficient. In order to be successful in that regard, you'll have to hand in your resignation or move out of your apartment completely and you can't do that.

Besides, for what it's worth, you kind of miss hanging out with him and if you were to continue hiding from him, you will have to say goodbye to having him around at all.

The moment you got off work today, you think of plans to talk to him and maybe, just maybe, invite him for dinner – to, hopefully, make up for all the times you've bailed on him.

With a tail tucked between your legs, you stand apprehensively in front of the door of his unit, still unsure about your plans but doing it nonetheless. There's no going back now.

You ring the doorbell, taking your hand back quickly as if you just got electrocuted by it.

Please don't answer. Please don't be home. Please don't answer—

And there he goes, in his plain white shirt and grey sweats, hair wet from his previous shower – you assume. He's still drying his hair with a towel when he opens the door, but his ministrations stop the moment he lays his eyes on you.

You just give him an awkward smile that probably look more like a grimace.

"Hi."

The surprise is evident on Jungkook's face. Regardless, he is quick to get over it and gives you a big grin instead. An expression you did not expect to get.

"__, hey," Jungkook greets, placing the towel around his neck and letting go of his doorknob. "What brings you here?"

You balance your weight on your other side and purse your lips in a thin line.

"Do you, uh, wanna grab dinner?" You ask right away, not wanting to beat around the bush.

Jungkook's smile somehow grows wider at your question, and you don't know what to feel. If he's petty, he'll reject your invitation but with the look on his face right now, he doesn't seem to have the intention to do so. At least you hope so. It will be so embarrassing for you to have come all the way to his place instead of just asking him through text.

He was about to answer when somebody suddenly approaches the door.

"Jeon Jungkook?" The guy asks, and you immediately shot your eyes to look at him. With his printed shirt that reads a famous food delivery brand and his hands carrying bags of what you assumed take-out food, you figure what he's here for. "Here's your order, sir."

Embarrassed, you scoot to the side to give way to the food delivery guy and let him extend the bags towards Jungkook who grabs his wallet from the pocket of his sweats to pay for the food, thanking the man in the process.

He already has plans for tonight, you realize. Your invitation to dinner is futile because he already bought take-out.

The food delivery guy gave you a look before he took off in which you returned a timid smile for. And then, you turn around to look at Jungkook again.

"Nevermind, don't answer my question." You say, referring to your invitation prior to the arrival of his food delivery. "Uhm, bye. Good night."

You were just turning your heels to go the other way around when Jungkook suddenly speaks.

"Wait, don't go yet," Jungkook steps to the side and inserts his wallet back into his pants. He raises the bags of take-out and arches his brow towards your way, "Do you like Thai?"

"I do." You reply, not really understanding where he's getting at first.

Jungkook smiles. "Good. Do you wanna come inside?"

When you realize what he just said, you shake your head, "Oh, no, no. We could grab dinner outside tomorrow if you're free."

"This is enough for two?"

He's inviting you to his place. Is he insane?

You shake your head once again. "No, Jungkook, I really don't want to impose on—"

Jungkook cut you off with a hearty laugh.

"__, you won't be imposing. Come on, I bet you haven't had dinner yet either." When you don't answer, he insists again, "I think I have Thai tea around here somewhere."

You narrow your eyes at him.

"You think I'll go inside just 'cause you have Thai tea?" you say, raising your brow at him, challenging Jungkook to say something to that. He shrugs with a smile of amusement. Then you break your demeanor and sigh. "You're actually right. I can probably be bribed with daily boba supply."

Jungkook laughs at your absurd claim.

"No matter what's on the line?"

"Yeah," Then you decide to joke a little, "If you're the one on the line."

His laughter only becomes louder, and you shake your head at him because you genuinely wonder why he laughs so much at your nonsensical jokes. You would consider yourself funny but not that funny.

But this is good. Joking is good. This dynamic is surely better than you avoiding him.

"You're so..." Jungkook stops to look at you and you stare back at him. That moment stretches into a minute until you feel the hair on your nape stand.

It's the night air, and not at all the almost intimate way he looked into your eyes.

That's what you'll tell yourself tonight.

"I'm so what?" You decide to break the silence, seemingly snapping Jungkook out of the trance he's put himself in awhile ago.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Okay, now you're just making me curious."

"It's nothing."

"Okay, I'm gonna let it pass this time..." you say, eliciting a low chuckle from him.

He must realize that you've both been standing on his porch for a while now.

"Come," he says, gesturing inside his place.

Your steps are a bit hesitant as you follow him inside. But nonetheless, you both get in, Jungkook offering you a pair of home slipper that are almost twice as big as your feet as he locks the door.

When you let your eyes wander, you're more than surprised to see the state of the interior.

Jungkook's place is surprisingly... clean.

Sure, it must be because there aren't any decorations or much furniture yet, but from your experiences with men, the one thing they have in common is that they are messy. It's almost impossible to not see clothes strewn all over their places or food wrappings on any surface at a corner, but Jungkook's is spotless.

Except maybe for the few boxes that stand beside the door of the room all the way across the room which you assume is his bedroom, but other than that, there's no indicator that a man is residing inside. Admittedly, it's even cleaner than your own.

"Sorry, it's a little messy. I haven't unpacked all of my stuff. Got busy."

He seems to notice you eyeing the aforementioned boxes, and hearing his words, you shake your head.

"Oh, no, trust me. This is the cleanest place I've ever seen." You say truthfully.

"Thanks." Jungkook responds with a smile.

His apartment, like yours, has an open layout so from where you are in the living room, you can see him putting the bags on the kitchen counter, unloading them and starting to transfer some of them into his own plates.

You approach his direction to find yourself useful.

"Is it okay if we eat at the coffee table? My table set hasn't arrived yet..." he rubbs the back of his head, a sheepish smile painting his face.

"It's fine."

His coffee table is wide enough for all the food to fit, anyway. That's what you thought when you bring all the food to the living room, sitting on the floorboards opposite of him.

Before you start dinner, Jungkook asks if you want to watch something on the TV.

"It's like a jumbotron." Is your throw-away comment when he turns on his huge ass TV. It's genuinely so big you aren't even exaggerating. You are not that good with estimation but the screen is probably the same height as you...

"What?" Jungkook chuckles, looking at you all confused.

"Nothing. Just that your TV is so big."

"Yeah? I wanted to buy this one for so long and I got really lucky to get it on sale here. I have the Criterion channel so I've been wanting to watch stuff with an OLED screen—" he cuts himself off and looks at you with a hint of embarrassment. "Sorry."

You look away before you can go on a spiral about how cute he looked with a proud smile on his face while he was going off about how he got his jumbotron on sale. He was geeking out about a freaking TV. But you guess it makes sense for a tech guy like him.

"Uh, what do you want to watch?" He asks, going through his streaming services.

The big TV and the streaming services just click so much in the context of him. You, in contrast, cannot relate. After forgetting to unsubscribe to Netflix a few months ago, it automatically stole the thirteen thousand won from your account, and since then, you're more than traumatized to pay for any streaming services until today. Pirating is bad but so is capitalism.

"Anything is fine."

"Okay."

You really couldn't have cared less about what he's going to click on, but National Geographic pops up on his big screen and you think he must be joking but he starts tuning in with genuine interest.

Oh. Wow.

He's just a big nerd trapped in a hot human body, huh?

How cute. And how unbelievably hot to discover this about him.

After a few minutes into the documentary, it turns out that whales are interesting to a certain degree. Sure, Jungkook's huge ass screen made it a little funny because the pictures are too big, but they did pique your interest a little, especially when Jungkook would add in a little of his own knowledge about them. When you asked him about the weird little stick thing on their mouth, he told you that they were tusks and only male narwhals had them, and that they used it as some sort of sensory tool. He admitted he hyperfixated on whales for a while when he saw them first on Discovery Channel as a kid.

You didn't even have to pretend to be engrossed, you were just in genuine awe of his interests and how enthusiastic he was about sharing them.

Food is starting to run out, making you realize that it's been awhile since you've eaten Thai food and you should probably eat them once again tomorrow.

You're just about to ask Jungkook which restaurant he got it from when he beats you to speaking first.

"You're still in your work clothes."

You stop.

"Yeah..."

And then you're reminded of why you're here in the first place.

It isn't for the whales or for Thai food, that's for sure.

You haven't changed out of your work clothes, indeed, since you planned going out for dinner in hopes of talking to Jungkook while ago. The night is going so well so far that you actually forgot about that. But then since he already cocked the gun, might as well just pull the trigger and get it over with.

You look at him, an uneasy feeling settling in your nerves.

"So... about your text earlier."

There is a hint of a smile on Jungkook's lips when he nods his head.

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't me." You say, trying to look for a reaction, trying to see if he'll insist or anything.

But Jungkook just nods his head again.

"I see."

He does not seem to see, though, and you know right then and there that your cover is finally and officially blown.

"Okay, I lied. That was me." You take back your words, jutting your bottom lip out when you add, "Turns out we work at the same company. And that you're apparently my boss."

"And you're my cousin's girlfriend."

You gasp audibly.

So he knows you were at that party! How? And what? He thought you were Jimin's girlfriend for real? Wait, does he not know it was all Jimin's ruse?

"How did you know that?"

"They mentioned Jimin's girlfriend was in the bathroom when I arrived. I asked Jimin about it and he told me her name was __."

You would face-palm yourself if Jungkook wasn't present.

Ugh. Of course, Jimin doesn't know.

"Well, okay, just so you know, I was a paid actress." You tell Jungkook, which earns you a laugh from him. Then you cover your mouth, realizing you shouldn't have said that. "Oh—uhm, do you know...?" You trail off, looking at him expectantly and hoping he knows what you meant.

You swear you remember Jimin telling you that Jungkook knows about him being gay, but now you are second-guessing yourself and you will be in trouble if you did slip up.

Thankfully, Jungkook nods, seemingly understanding where you're getting at.

"Don't worry, I know." You heave a sigh of relief at his verbal confirmation. Jungkook takes the tom yum goong and started peeling the shrimp from the bowl, continuing to say, "And Jimin brings a fake date to every family gathering, so I knew right away he was lying about dating somebody," Jungkook chuckles, and as if an afterthought, he adds, "I wish I could've seen you act. You two left so early."

Well... you did play a role in that, you think. But you can't tell him you purposefully didn't go back to the table that night because you saw him.

"Oh, Jimin had to send Joon off at the airport." You say, which is actually true. For a change.

He nods. "His boyfriend, yeah... did he go to Italy with him?"

You wonder how he knows about the Italy thing. Jimin, probably. They're close after all—

"Namjoon's a close friend as well." Jungkook adds, as if having read your thoughts.

"Ah," you nod, not surprised at all about their apparent link.

Wealthy people do have a tiny world.

"Jimin hasn't actually contacted me yet since that night."

It has been a few days, and you're starting to think he's dead or something. Your calls go straight to voicemail and your messages do not send. You've sent him a few on social media as well but it seems like he hasn't been online at all.

"I'm worried about him. Has Namjoon said anything?" You look at Jungkook, hoping he'll say yes.

But he shakes his head instead.

"I wouldn't be worried, though. I think they're together."

"In Italy?"

"Yeah."

You won't be surprised if that's the case. Jimin is the king of spontaneity and if he did fly off to another country abruptly with his boyfriend, you won't question it.

You do miss him though and you're gonna make sure to make him feel bad for not telling you anything soon.

"You're right." You sigh.

Jungkook has been peeling shrimp for awhile now, setting them aside in a small bowl. You think he's gonna eat it himself, but you're surprised when he slides off the bowl to your direction.

"There. I noticed you weren't eating the tom yum. You don't like it?" Jungkook asks, smiling at you.

You can't help it; blood rushes to your cheeks at the realization that he just peeled shrimps for you.

Is this normal for him? Like, does he just go around and do things like these for friends?

You will scream in your bathroom later when you get home.

"Oh, no, uh... I'm actually allergic to shrimp." You give him a tight-lipped smile.

You feel bad at the way Jungkook's expression drops as soon as you said that.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't know," He takes the small bowl quickly and looks at you apologetically.

"No, it's fine! I didn't tell you either."

"I'm really sorry. I should've asked first."

"Jungkook," you chuckle. "It's fine. Thank you, anyway."

"I could've done serious damage to you, huh?"

"Yeah, you'd have to tell Jimin you killed me because you fed me shrimp."

"Don't say that," Jungkook laughs. "How long are you friends now, by the way?"

You nip on your chopsticks, answering him.

"We've been friends since college... so almost ten years."

"That's really nice."

And then you remember to ask, "Did you tell him?"

"What?"

"That you know me?"

"No. Not yet, at least. Didn't have the chance." Jungkook proceeds to eat the shrimp himself and you have to keep yourself from letting out a breath of relief at his answer. "Did you tell him?"

"No. Uh— I know this is weird. But... can you not tell him?" You ask. Jungkook looks at you for a bit, studying your face. You clear your throat when seconds passed and he still hasn't said anything. "It's just that I want to tell him on my own time." You decide to add.

"Okay." He says after a while, smiling.

Thank god he doesn't ask any more questions.

"Thanks."

And now there's another elephant in the room that you still need to address.

A bit hesitant, you open with, "Did you uhm..." You think about how to word it, but then you think, fuck it. "Did you know by that time at the party that I work at Blue Nexus?"

Jungkook shakes his head.

"No, I saw you at the company and only put two and two together."

Your brows furrow. "When?"

"Uh... earlier this morning."

"Oh. Yeah..."

You don't know exactly why, but you feel a tinge of disappointment that he meant earlier. You really thought he recognized you at the ceremony.

But then you shake the feeling off and jokingly narrow your eyes at him. "Why didn't you tell me about the party, then?"

"Why, did you see me there?"

You shut your mouth. Right. You're supposed to pretend you didn't seen him that time.

"No." You lie.

"So I thought it didn't matter... though I was pretty surprised when I saw you today."

"Ugh, I thought I hid myself pretty well." You lament dramatically, embarrassed that you really thought covering your face with your hair would do you any good.

"Nah," Jungkook shakes his head while laughing at your misery, "I thought, "who is this five-foot woman hiding in the back","

"Wow." You gasp, not believing his audacity. But you're also thankful that he makes talking to him so easy. The way your conversations goes from funny to serious is so seamless, all because Jungkook knows exactly how to turn the wheels around.

"Kidding. I actually recognized you by your blouse..." he gestures at your baby blue polo sleeves, making you furrow your brows, not quite sure how he meant. But then, he continues, "Did the ink ever come off?"

Oh. Right! He had seen you wear the blouse before and even heard you tell him the story about how the jammed printer caused a blot of ink to stain your cuff.

You're surprised he even remembers that. It seems so long ago.

Raising your arm to examine the cuff area of your blouse, you look at it with small amusement.

"Yeah, it did, actually."

"How did you do it?"

You deadpan, "You're not asking me how I do my laundry, Jungkook."

"Hey, I love doing laundry," You raise your brow, not believing him, but Jungkook insists. "No, I really do."

"Okay." You nod, chuckling because he really seems way too eager to prove to you that he loves doing laundry.

What you've found out about him so far is so... mesmerizing, to say the least. With how he looks like – you meant, the tattoos and the body – you would most likely assume he likes guy stuff. You know, big macho man stuff like that. But turns out, he's just a guy who likes big TVs and NatGeo and... laundry.

He's such a fascinating person.

"I'm also not your boss." Jungkook suddenly says, making you look up at him.

"Well, you're CTO, you technically are." You point out.

"Technically, yes. But I don't oversee the accounting department, so you're not really working for me, which means I'm not your boss."

The mental gymnastics make you frown but you get his point.

"Okay, that's true. But still... your father is Mr. Jeon."

"Would you believe me if I denied that?" He jokes, the tilt in his voice telling you he is.

"You kind of look the same, so I probably wouldn't believe you."

"Really? A lot of people say I look more like my mother..."

You've seen the pictures. It's more of a split, really. But you can't tell him that obviously.

Silence sits in his living room for a while, the NatGeo narrator serving as background noise at this point.

You drop your chopsticks down and sigh. Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows, worried about your sudden seriousness.

"So, you're not like weirded out about this whole thing?" You ask him straight to the point.

Joking is good, as you said. And this night is going better than you thought. But it feels like you are just glossing over the facts, and you need to address it with him lest it becomes a problem in the future. You don't know how exactly they are going to be; you just have a feeling in your heart that they are going to.

"The what?" Jungkook says, looking genuinely confused, as if he doesn't know what your deal is.

"The I'm-your-cousin's-best-friend? And the fact that you're an executive at the company I work at and we live in the same building?" You lay out, sounding exasperated now that you're taking it all out.

Jungkook stares at you for a bit.

"Why would that weird me out?"

He isn't being dense, you can see that. He's just plain confused.

You sigh once again. Seems like you've been doing a lot of that these past few days.

"Because it's just... too many eggs in the basket."

Jungkook chuckles, wiping his hands with a tissue. "Isn't it good you have many eggs in the basket?"

You glare at him, and it makes him raise his hands as a peace offering.

"It's bad because..."

"... because?" Jungkook, now with his hands clean, props an elbow on the coffee table, looking right into your eyes as he leans closer to your direction.

You look away.

"Because it means I can't hang out with you anymore."

When you look at him again, the smile is wiped off his face, suddenly exchanged with a frown.

"Why?"

"Because again, it's too many eggs in the basket and—" Running out with metaphors, you say the first thing that was off the top of your head, "That makes you my uncle."

Jungkook's jaw drops a bit.

"Your thought process really amazes me."

You grimace, already expecting that. "Thanks, I get that a lot."

"No, it's really... interesting."

He doesn't look judgmental at all, just full of genuine awe, but you're eager to come to your own defense and so you say, "You don't get it? It's like—" You fling your hands around, trying to explain what you just said. "You don't have a close relationship with your uncle, right? 'Cause it's awkward. When you're with them it's like being with your boss, which means you can't be friends with them 'cause, again, it's awkward."

Jungkook still looks like he doesn't know what the hell you're talking about, but he nods his head, nonetheless.

"Okay... but I have a very close relationship with the CEO..."

You pout. "That's not what I meant."

And when he chuckles at that, you know he's fucking with you and understand exactly what you were trying to say; fooling around as if you aren't having an internal crisis.

Jungkook must've seen how you're genuinely not finding anything funny and stops.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me the past few days?" He raises his brow, but his voice is gentle as he speaks.

You didn't think he'd confront you about that, but you decide to look away when you try to lie as an answer.

"No...?"

Jungkook only chuckle at your indignation.

"Okay, okay, let's divide and conquer, yeah?" He smiles at you. Warm and soft. "First, you're Jimin's best friend, what's the issue? It just means you must be a good person to hang around with because you're friends with the person I'm close to. Second, I'm not your boss, will you please stop saying that? And third, we're neighbors... so what? We just happened to rent in the same building. No big deal."

Your frown just gets deeper at what he said because... he's right. So right.

You overreacted the whole time you tried to hide from him.

With nothing else to add, you weakly ask, "Okay but... can you fire me?"

In your head, it's a relevant question. You don't know how the chain of command worked at the company. He's an executive which probably means he has firing rights, right? What if he finds you too rude towards him over the past few days that he wants to take your job away from you? Can he fire you because of personal vendetta?

"Asking the important question?" Jungkook teases.

"Damn straight, I am. I mean, I did complain to you about my job before, and it turns out you're one of the executives at the company."

"I can see the wheels in your head turning but sorry to say I'm not actually an official executive. I'm just an interim CTO. And no, I don't have the right to fire you," Jungkook chuckles, seemingly amused at your thoughts. "And you can complain to me about your job all you want."

You send him a suspicious look.

"No, thank you."

"Seriously?" He asks incredulously. "Interim CTO or Jimin's cousin or not, I'm still Jeon Jungkook. Just your plain ol' neighbor."

"You say that but what if I arrive to my desk tomorrow with my things packed because you told Ms. Jung all the things I told you about her?" You squint your eyes at him.

"God, you're unbelievable." Jungkook says in between his laughter.

"Okay, but I wanna ask you something." You say. Jungkook hums. "I'm curious... why here?"

It isn't like your apartment complex is abominable or anything of the sort. When you were still on the look-out of apartments five years ago, here was the only decent one that did not cause you a 3-month pay. It's why you chose it in the first place. The unit is big enough for yourself and it's located at the center of the city, which means that it's near establishments that are relevant to your daily living. The bus station is also just a few minutes walk, and it only takes you an hour commute to get to your company building. It was the best out of all your choices back then.

However, for a guy like Jungkook, you wonder why he isn't at the big shot complexes like in Cheongdam or Hannam. You don't doubt he can afford those.

But Jungkook surprises you with his answer.

"It's cheaper."

You can't help but raise your brow.

"What?" And then as if realizing your look, Jungkook chuckles. "Oh, I see... you think I'm, like, rich?"

You shrug.

Jungkook answer with a simple, "My parents are loaded. And anyway, it's near the company. I also really like it here so far. Hannam felt like prison when I stayed there in my first week. Guards were way too strict."

Nodding, you recall Jimin's stories about that gated community when he himself stayed there for merely three months. It makes sense for it to almost seem like prison, though, given that most people who live there are high profile.

"I commute on my way to work. What about you?"

"I bought a parking spot nearby; it's surprisingly cheap compared to America."

You wouldn't know because you've never had a car in your life. First of all, you refuse to apply for a driving license because you're sure you'll kill yourself on the road. Besides, cars are expensive. You'll stick to your buses and trains all your life even though commuting sucks ass sometimes.

But you nod at Jungkook's words.

Soon, you both engage in more conversation about yourselves until you notice the time.

"It's getting late, I should go. I have work tomorrow." You tell him with a pout, genuinely disappointed about having to go.

Jungkook looks over at the clock hanging on his wall and then turns to you, "We have work tomorrow, you mean."

You blush at that for no reason.

"Well..."

"Okay, I'll walk you to your place."

"What?" You laugh. "That's ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about it? You're so short, the crickets might attack you." Jungkook says with a serious face.

That makes you frown instantly.

"Ugh, you've got to stop saying that. I'm starting to dislike you."

"Hmm."

Jungkook indeed followed you on your way out, though, but not without you insisting that he didn't need to walk you to your door because it was literally just across his, but Jungkook was persistent and you had no choice but to walk the five steps it took to get in front of your apartment from his own.

He's still laughing when your face is still contorted into an unpleasant expression.

"Okay, good night." You say. You point to his chest absent-mindedly, but you quickly take it back when you feel how hard it is. "A-and stop calling me short, I'm not. The __ karma is real, I have Jimin to prove that."

"Fine, I'll stop." Jungkook smiles, watching as you enter your threshold.

"Good."

You stand on your door, leaning over the frame and not closing it just yet.

Jungkook gives you a heart-warming smile before he says, "See you tomorrow."

And he speaks the words so gently that you feel your cheeks heating once again.

"S-see you as well."

"You look banging in that polo shirt." Jimin says, obviously chatting you up because the moment you accepted his call earlier this morning, you did not hesitate to tell him off about going MIA on you so suddenly.

"It's literally just a plain white polo."

"Okay, and you still look good in it, so..." He shrugs, but you can see the look on his face, sheepish and apologetic.

You scoff.

"You can't compliment me out of sulking. I'm mad at you."

There's a pout that forms on his lips quickly; a tactic so predictable you almost roll your eyes.

"I know... but I told you! Joon and I spent the last week—"

"Fucking each other to Sunday and back, blah blah blah. Still, you could've told me you went to Italy, you slut."

Jimin lets out a loud laugh at your blunt words.

"Slut shaming in the big year of 2028? I thought you were better than that." He shakes his head, pretending to be pointed and curt with the bitchy look on his face. But you know he's just teasing to get you out of your own bitchy mode as well.

It works every time.

You don't fight the way your eyes roll on their own accord as a response this time. Jimin compromises, "Okay, I'm sorry! For not telling. It's just that I've turned off my phone for the past week because I'm sure dad and his secretary are going to blow up my phone— they are, by the way, so cut me some slack."

Forgiveness comes easy when you take into consideration what he's been through for the past few weeks. The spontaneous trip to Italy and him flying along with his boyfriend may come off as immature, but you know deep inside he's just wanting to get away from the reality of his life: which is pretty much toxic family with incredibly high expectations and boring ass management school.

You are certain they are giving him shit, and you don't need to add more to that.

It's 7:20 and you're currently prepping for work. Privacy is almost moot in your friendship with Jimin, so you're quite literally dressing up in front of him on call, sweeping your hair to the side as you pull up your trousers.

"Okay... are you having fun there?" You ask instead.

Jimin smiles a knowing grin. "Babe, I just told you me and my boyfriend are having sex 24/7 in here, I'm having the most fun in my life."

You button your trousers and groan at his words.

"I wish I was also in Italy."

"I mean, you could."

You give him a look.

"And what? Third wheel you and Joon? No thanks."

Jimin just shrugs, the angle of his camera going shaky for a bit as he moves to lay on what you assume is his bed.

"I don't know, girl, maybe you'll find a nice Italian man here."

That earns him a snort from you while you duck to wear your sandals.

"I've long forgotten that fantasy since I was 19."

"You're not a stranger to relapsing..." Jimin clocks and that makes you shoot up straight so he can see the look of incredulity on your face as an immediate reaction to what he just said.

"Rude!"

Jimin just snorts. "Okay but for real, how are things going over there for you?"

You sigh. "Same old, same old. Pretty and single and working a very boring job."

Your best friend can't help but mirror the wince on your face.

"You could change the last two but never the first one, babe. So, you see, you're still miles ahead." He says as a matter of fact, sounding like he's giving out some sort of motivational speech.

"Lucky me," you noted with a straight face. You start rummaging your bag to see if you got everything you need. Then, there's something at the tip of your tongue. Something you've been wanting to open up to him. So, you start by clearing your throat – subtly, you hope.

"But you know, life's pretty... eventful the past few days."

Jimin quirks his eyebrow at that, obviously catching onto what could possibly be a new news.

You bite your lower lip, nibbling on it slightly as you contemplate whether to tell him about what you've been up to.

For some weird reason, you still haven't told him about Jungkook, and it seems like Jungkook has made good on his promise not to tell your best friend because if he did break it, Jimin would be inquiring you all about it now.

You figure now is sort of the perfect time to... maybe tell him.

"Uh, well... not eventful, per se, just a little..." you trailed off, finding a bit of uncertainty in your voice. You see Jimin's face morphing into more of a confused look rather than intrigued as the second passes. Pursing your lips into a thin line, you finish your previous sentence with, "Just a little different, I guess."

"Don't edge me, I swear to god." Jimin threatens playfully, making you chuckle.

"It's not something groundbreaking, okay? It's just the, uh, do you still remember Mr—"

The yawn that Jimin lets out stops you from completing your words, and you remember him mentioning a while ago that it's currently midnight from where he is.

"Ugh," Jimin groans, "Sorry, I slept so late yesterday. Anyway, go on, what were you saying?"

The uncertainty you felt a while ago increases, and you decide that maybe, now is so not the perfect time to bring up Jungkook, his cousin.

So, you shake your head, smiling at him, packing the words of your confession in a box that that you place at the back of your head, ready for unpacking when the time calls for it – which you don't exactly know when.

"Nah, go to sleep. This conversation can wait."

"You're gonna kill me with curiosity."

Rolling your eyes, you make a gesture of shoving him.

"I have to catch up with my bus soon, anyway." You say, dodging his insistence.

"Just tell me pretty please, I won't be able to sleep!" He dramatically says.

You roll your eyes again at the theatrics.

"It's really nothing big."

Well, it is. Sort of. Or maybe it's not, and you're just doing that thing again where you put too much thought over something inconsequential.

You swear you were ready to tell him about Jungkook, having even hyped yourself in the bathroom a few days ago and practicing what you're going to tell Jimin. But as of this moment, right now, it suddenly feels... unimportant. Not in a negative way. Just in a... does-it-really-matter way.

Jimin will find out eventually. But not now when you're not totally ready.

"I know what this is," Jimin suddenly says. At his suspicious tone, your heart starts to pick up the rate of its beat. You can see the way Jimin squints his eyes at you, and you wish he doesn't see the way you're slightly frozen. "You got back with your ex, Hansung."

You hope he sees the disgust on your face the moment he let out the words.

"Oh my god, hell no!" Is your instant response. Just hearing that name again made the hairs on your nape rise. "Jimin, what the fuck."

Jimin rolls his eyes. "You look so nervous, that's how you look like when you're about to tell me you've done something stupid."

Okay, fair. The assumption is coming from a valid basis. It makes you frown at him.

"You're such a bitch." Jimin laughs at the way you deflate. You let out a sign. "It's just... Taemu. From the IT dep."

"That guy?!" He exclaims and quickly covers his mouth. "The cute guy you refused to date a second time... you're finally dating him again?"

"What do you mean, finally?" You narrow your eyes at him, surprise at the positive comment about Taemu. "Jesus, I thought you were with me when I said I found him boring."

"What can I say? He can be cute and boring." He points out, as if he did not talk behind the Taemu's back when you ranted about the guy to him.

"You're fake as hell." You laugh, unbelieving.

Jimin joins your laughter, finding his sudden switch up funny as well.

"But you're, for real, dating him again? It means he still likes you?" He asks, obviously intrigued at this newfound information.

Unfortunately, it's a bit of a lie. You feel bad, but it is a great scapegoat to dodge the bullet of the conversation about Jungkook.

"I don't know... we're talking."

Which, for once, is true. Taemu and you did not exactly end on a good note (courtesy to you, boo), but you work in the same company, after all. There are times in the company's cafeteria where you bump into him, and it would have felt weird if you just snub him and act like you did not have an acquaintanceship before he asked you out to a date. Taemu's ultimately still your friend, and there are no hard feelings on his part, you can confidently say. He's... nice, you guess. Somehow of an afterthought. You're starting to think you completely misjudged him on your first date.

You take a quick trip to the fridge to grab a glass of cold water since Jimin is on loudspeaker anyway.

"That reminds me," Jimin suddenly quips. You hum to acknowledge him. "My cousin now works at your company, right? You still remember Jungkook? Have you met him yet?"

You couldn't help it; the water splattered all over the place when you heard Jungkook's name from his mouth.

Jimin quickly asks you a series of "are you okays" and you respond with a "yes" that's interrupted with a cough every time; a weak nod with a raised hand, telling him not to worry.

"Water just got in the wrong track." You reason, coughing and slapping your chest to regain your breathing. When you see wet spots on your shirt, you let out a whiny groan.

"You're so jumpy today. You're sure you're fine?" Jimin checks once again, and you have to bite your tongue to not show the way you froze a little at his observation.

You nod at him, showing him an expression that hopefully conveys he's the one being weird and definitely not you.

"Yeah, it's fine." You look down on your shirt. You're debating whether to stick with it and just let it dry in the bus later or completely change out of it. "But uh, your cousin! I did see him. We had a ceremony a week ago."

You would've said that with a smile, but Jimin knows you too well that he'll surely know it's fake. So, you spoke with an almost straight face. What Jimin says next surprises you a bit, though.

"I hope you meet each other," Jimin's excitement is visible on his face. "It'd be kinda fun; my closest cousin and my best friend... imagine that? I think you'll like each other." He seems to be so geeked about the idea that even when you're internally having a crisis, you can't help but find it cute. But then his smile gets wiped off his lips just as quickly as it showed. "It'd be awkward, though. He's, kinda like, your boss, right?"

You suddenly remember Jungkook's words about him not being your boss. It makes your lips curl, but you have to shake off the thought.

You give him a hesitant look.

"Well, not really, but he's an executive. So... it would be awkward. I guess."

Jimin nods, agreeing with you.

"It's crazy though, I never thought he'd be working at uncle's company so soon..." He trails off and he looks deep in thought, like his words were just supposed to be inner thoughts and you're not supposed to hear them. But he shakes his head after a while, moving on to another subject that makes you quietly sigh in relief. "Anyway, I'm sure I'm keeping you up. I'll sleep and you better tell me all about Kang Taemu when I wake up, okay?"

You chuckle, shaking your head at the threatening tone of his voice.

"I will. When will you come home, anyway?"

He groans, obviously not wanting to discuss home for the reasons you know exactly what. He confirms your assumption by telling so.

"Honestly, I don't know. I'm trying to avoid responsibilities as much as I can. God, I wish you were also here. There's a bar Joon and I discovered that sells these insane bottomless mimosas."

Before you could reply, Jimin goes off the frame suddenly, but the lower part of his face makes you see the way his lips curling up into a smile and saying, "Hey, hon."

There's a greeting from another person on the other end of the line – one that you are certainly familiar with.

Jimin moves his camera and as expected, you see Namjoon waving at you.

"Hey, __,"

You mirror the smile on his face. "Hi, Joon."

"Let's not keep her up. She has to go to work," Jimin tells Namjoon. "Anyway, bye. Kick some ass at work."

Laughing, you tell them, "I'll be off. Good night to you both."

When the call ends, you look down to your shirt once again, seeing that the little wet spots still haven't dried yet. Sighing, you decide to change out of it because it looked untidy.

Too bad you didn't check the time when you were doing it though, because as soon as you were done buttoning the new shirt you've worn, the clock hits 7:55 am. You bus arrives at exactly 8 am.

"Shit." You hiss, scrambling out of the apartment hoping that you can somehow run your way fast to the station and hop on it on time.

But you're no The Flash or Usain Bolt. To piss you off more, the strap of your bag got caught up with the handle of your door.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" You whisper, hastily untangling the strap off the door which won't let up.

"__?" As soon as you hear the familiar voice, you stop with what you were doing and turn to Jungkook, conjuring up a what you can only hope a pleasant enough smile.

"Hey!" You say, chirpy in that weird way. You hope he didn't catch you cursing the door.

But with the way he was looking at your hand on your door, you knew he did.

Sigh. He just really has to catch you in your most vulnerable moments, huh?

"Good morning," Jungkook greets with a smile, ignoring the case at hand. As usual, he looks put together with his sleek suit and styled hair and eyeglasses.

"Morning," You say, slowly taking off the strap around the handle, gentle and slower this time.

Fucking door handle, you thought bitterly.

As you do that, you catch a glimpse of your wristwatch. Shoot.

You look back at Jungkook apologetically, moving away from your porch. "Nice seeing you. I have to catch my bus."

"When is it coming?"

"At exactly... two minutes from now. Bye! Gotta run!" You were about ready to literally run but Jungkook calls out your name.

"Wait!"

You stop coming down the flight of stairs to ask him, "What?"

"I can drive us together there."

"Oh," You slap your hands on your trousers. "That's so nice of you. Thank you—" And then suddenly, his words register, and you take back your quick agreement. You hate that you're so slow sometimes, but it's innate at this point. "I mean, no! That's a nice offer, but no, thank you."

"You won't catch your bus at this point," Jungkook says as a matter of fact, even taking a quick glance at his own watch. He begins to walk down the stairs to walk with you. "It only takes thirty minutes to drive by car to the company." When it takes you long to answer, Jungkook insists, already predicting the "no" that you're going to hit him with. "Come on, do you want to be late?"

"No."

Jungkook smiles at you. "Okay, so...?"

You purse your lips into a thin line, blowing your bangs and giving him a sheepish look.

"Okay, fine. But I owe you."

The smile on his face only grows wider. "More than fine by me."

He leads you both to the parking building nearby where his car was, only taking about a few minutes to walk towards.

When Jungkook points at his car, you follow his behind him shortly, stopping on the one side of the door. You're just about to open it when you feel Jungkook looming behind you, his hand extended forward to open the same door. You stretch your neck to look at him in question, making sure to keep a decent distance between you both.

"Uh...?" You utter.

And then it hits you.

He's trying to open the door for you.

You take a step back after the realization, feeling shy about the prospect of such a chivalrous act from him.

"This is the driver's seat."

"Oh!" You exclaimed. Eyes widening, you walk backwards to give him more space. "Yeah! Fuck... sorry," You apologize, cheeks starting to heat in embarrassment.

You round about the car and enter the passenger seat quickly, seeing Jungkook already set in his own place. You look to the side, almost pressing yourself to the window just so he won't see the way you wince.

So fucking embarrassing. This is exactly what you write about in your diary during high school days.

"Your seatbelt," Jungkook says, and you look at him with widened eyes. Right. You were way too deep in embarrassment that you forgot about it. You fiddle with the seatbelt a few seconds before he speaks once again, "Let me."

And you couldn't have stopped him from leaning closer to you to grab the seatbelt and wear it around your waist, carefully and gently, making you hitch your breath at the sudden proximity.

Of course you've noticed it way before, but this is the first time you were close enough to deduce that he smells like green apple and fresh laundry. A little different from the musky scent that you were used to smelling on men that you've been with before.

"There." He smiles at you before sitting back on his chair, wearing his own seatbelt.

You are way too stunned to acknowledge what he did that for the first few minutes, you're just quiet, mind flying to some place. You only snap out of it when Jungkook speaks again.

"Slept late last night?"

You shake your head at his question. "No... just facetime with Jimin this morning. You were right to tell me not to worry, he's with Joon."

Jungkook nods at your words, turning the ignition of the car. He starts to reverse, and you feel yourself growing embarrassingly hot when he does the thing of putting his arm around the back of your seat while the other spins the wheel, stretching his neck to look back.

You decide to look away for your own sake.

"Uh, anyway, I'm really sorry."

"Hm?" Jungkook hums, eyes on the road as he starts driving.

If you think about it, you were just at his place a few nights ago eating dinner with him, and now, you somehow find yourself in his car as he drives you both to work. His constant kindness is not lost on you... but Jungkook's casualty makes it seem like this is just his plain nature.

You quirk your head to the side.

"Are you free later for lunch?"

"I can arrange my sched. Why?"

"Do you want to go together?" You ask. You'd say the offer is a form of compensation for his help today, but getting lunch together for the pure sake of it doesn't sound bad, either. Both works, so you're only a bit hopeful as you try to look for his reaction.

Jungkook has a hint of surprise on his face when he takes a quick look at you before turning his attention back on the road.

"Really?" There's a little lilt to his voice, as if he's not surer if you're being serious.

You shrug to appear casual. "If you're not too busy, that is."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Where are we going?"

"You're gonna find out later." You tell him. Jungkook cocks his head to the side, intrigued.

"Okay... where should I meet you, then? At your office?"

"Oh, god, no." Is your quick response. Jungkook immediately looks at you in offense, but it's more like amusement when he stares longer. At that, you wave your hand so he doesn't get the wrong idea. "No, no, I mean— it's just rude if an executive, like, comes to our office."

"You're still not hung up on the boss thing?" You roll your eyes at his teasing tone which earns a hearty chuckle from Jungkook. He shakes his head playfully at you. "I doubt anyone would care."

You jut your bottom lip out because he's probably right. But still, your co-workers would ask, and you're not trying to dig yourself a hole by making yourself news of the day because the newly appointed interim CTO just walked into your office for what? Lunch? The HR would have a field day.

"Maybe we can meet at the parking lot?" You offer, thinking it's the sensible place.

Jungkook smiles. "Alright."

You had to stay behind Joonhwi and Sol as lunch came, making an excuse about going out with a friend as opposed to not coming with them. In your head, you think you were doing Joonhwi a favor.

After that, you were welcomed with text from Jungkook when you turned on your phone. It said he was already at the basement where he parked earlier, so it wasn't exactly hard to spot him right away the moment you got there.

The drive to your destination was quick enough to only amount to around fifteen minutes. As soon as Jungkook managed to park his car somewhere, you lead him to where the place you'd chosen for lunch.

When he finally registered where you were, his amusement does not go unnoticed.

"I've always wanted to go here," He tells you, looking around the stores in-line by the street.

You look back at him in surprise.

"You haven't been here?" Jungkook nods and you want to ask him if he's kidding around, but then you realize he's no ordinary person like most of the people you know in your life, recalling that Jimin's first time in a marketplace like this was only when you introduced him to it during sophomore year. "But you eat street food, right?" You ask him, even though you know he does. You did spend nights on that food truck around your building.

"Of course I do," Jungkook chuckles, rubbing a hand at the back of his head, seemingly shy. "I just never tried it here."

You give him a wide grin. "You're gonna enjoy it here. Follow me, I have a favorite store here that sells really good hotteok."

You spent the better part of the morning thinking about the place where you can bring him, opting out of going to cafes and restaurant because it was just getting kind of old. Aside from the fact that you stopped going to the food truck across your apartment building, it's also been a while since you enjoyed some street food yourself. You're also delighted to know that this is apparently Jungkook's first time going here.

The area is usually livelier in the later hours of the night, but there are still a lot of people by lunch time. Students, civilians, tourists... a usual day in Seoul, you can say.

When you reach the hotteok stall, you ask for your usual right away, almost asking the same thing for Jungkook but remember that he might actually want something else.

"Do you want other flavors instead?" You look back at him while he stands behind you with his hands in his pockets. He's forgone the coat – it's somewhere in his car seat – which left him with his usual polo shirt, sleeves folded up to his forearms. He kind of looks broody with his stance and you know... the exposed tattoos – but he looks adorable when he gives you that familiar easy-going smile at your question.

"I'll have whatever you're having."

You're hungry for a while now so you don't wait a long time to take a bite of the hotteok when it's finally served. It's hot, and Jungkook laughs as you learn it the hard way, sputtering as you move the food away from you.

"Fuck!" You curse, blowing air and fanning your mouth which doesn't really do anything.

"Slow down," Jungkook says in between his chuckles. You feel his arm resting on your back as some sort of support. "I'll get you some water."

It only takes him a few seconds to stop by a nearby stall to get you some bottled water, and you thank him after drinking it quickly.

"Sorry 'bout that," You apologize, smiling sheepishly.

"There's a—" Jungkook gestures at his mouth. You arch your brow at him, a bit confused. He tries again. "Something in your—" He interrupts himself, shaking his head, and takes out a handkerchief from the depths of his slacks.

Your immediate reaction is to take a few steps back when he goes to wipe at your mouth. Jungkook stops, pausing his movement. You give him an awkward thumbs up which prompts him to continue.

"Done."

You choose to gloss over that occurrence, taking another bite of hotteok after that.

"You know I always wondered why I don't see you going out of your apartment every morning." You start a conversation while you walk together mindlessly.

"You wonder... why?" Jungkook looks at you for a brief moment. With a teasing grin, he says, "You wanna see me every day?"

You gasp.

"Gross, Jungkook." You say, absolutely scandalized at what he said.

He just laughs, shaking his head, amused at your reaction. It makes you roll your eyes.

"I just figured you don't commute so you don't need to leave early." You tell him.

You notice he seems to be extra playful today.

"Oh, yeah, that's right."

"Lucky you. I'm so sick of commuting."

"You don't like driving?"

You shake your head, "I don't know how to drive, and I don't have any intention to."

"I think I've heard that from Joon before." Jungkook chuckles.

"Oh yeah, he told me one time he'll most probably kill himself if he drives. Which– same."

Jungkook bites on his hotteok, chews on it for a while before saying, "That's what I thought when I started to drive a motorcycle."

You almost snap your head to look at him.

"You drive a motorcycle?" You ask, just to be sure you heard him right.

Jungkook nods. "Hm."

"Oh, wow... that must be..." You trail off, looking blankly ahead of you.

Well, now you can't get it out of your head. Jungkook riding a motorcycle with his tattoos out. Jungkook riding a motorcycle with a leather jacket.

Ugh. You told yourself you were gonna forget about the stupid crush! This is so counterproductive. There's nothing special about a man who drives a motorcycle! Not at all.

"Must be...?" Jungkook curiously asks you.

"Nerve-wracking." You say, which you think is a fair answer. He doesn't have to know that you're thinking about a totally different thing.

He nods. "It was for the first time. Mom always gives me an earful whenever I use it." He shakes his head while laughing.

You can't help but ask.

"You're close with your mom?" It only registers to you that the question must be way too privy, but Jungkook doesn't seem to think so as he answers casually right away.

"Yeah. She was really glad when I came home."

You smile. You once thought he's close with his family... turns out you aren't exactly wrong.

"That's sweet."

He just gives you a soft smile. "You?"

"Oh, me? She, uh, died awhile ago. So."

The smile on Jungkook's face falters.

"That... sucks."

"Thanks." And then it makes you laugh. "You know most people say sorry. You're the first one to say it sucks."

"I..." Jungkook seems to track back on what he said. "I mean, I'm sorry, of course. But it must suck, right? I just... love my mom a lot. Can't imagine losing her."

You nod, completely understanding where he's coming from.

All your life, people have always felt sorry for you for losing your mom, your only parent. Of course, you're thankful for the sympathy, but sometimes... you just need someone to be real with it. Someone to say it sucks – because losing a parent is hard. Losing a mother suck.

"You're not so bad, Jungkook." you comment after a while, and as you take a quick look at Jungkook, you see him in another light. The same light you see a person in when you figure you want to befriend them and be in their life.

"What do you mean by that?" Jungkook asks with an arched brow.

You shake your head, smile not going away.

"Nothing!"

Jungkook annoyed you some more about it and you had to laugh at his curiosity because it was funny the way he insisted about something really inconsequential. Even when you went to another stall to buy some drinks, he still tried to bring up the same thing, but you're more stubborn than him so of course his efforts did not bear any fruit.

After a while, you sit on some bench while you eat tornado fries.

"I don't like this." You say, looking at your stick and frowning. Turning to Jungkook, you extend your tornado fries to him. "Try this one."

He takes a bite from your own stick. Surprisingly, he seems to like it.

"You wanna exchange?" He offers his cheesy tornado fries in exchange with your sour barbecue-flavored one. You nod, taking it from him. Jungkook chuckles at you. "I told you to get that one."

"I was feeling experimental." You tell him simply.

When you were in front of the stall, you told him how you didn't like sour barbecue at all but still wanted to give it a try. Obviously, that did not go well. Good thing Jungkook bought the cheesy flavor, though.

From your peripheral vision, you see a group of what seems to be a group of teenage girls sitting on the bench across from you. Judging from the very familiar uniform, they're in high school. They've been there for a while now and you notice they've been stealing glances at your direction.

You glance at Jungkook and snort.

"Looks like someone here has some admirers from Seoul High School." You tease Jungkook. He does not seem to notice the girls at all, looking at you with confusion first before turning his head to look across.

In a second, Jungkook turns uncomfortable in his seat.

"That's Seoul High School?"

You laugh at the obvious way he ignores them looking at him. Still, you nod your head at his question, "Yup. Went there."

You subtly look at the girls' direction again, catching them do the same and you can just see Jungkook's ears getting red by the second, visibly embarrassed at the unwanted attention.

"That's just across my high school." He casually says, trying so hard not to mind the girls.

"No way!" You gasp. "Yongsan International?"

He nods.

"The cheerleading teams on both schools used to have, like, this big beef before, you know that?" You tell him, ready to lay out the huge gossip that happened in your batch. And then you remember, "Oh. You've probably graduated when I entered senior year in high school."

Jungkook gives you a look. "Rude. I'm not that old."

The sass comes unexpectedly which makes you laugh out loud you almost choke on the fries.

You were just about to tease him some more when somebody approaches you both.

"U-uhm..."

When you both look at the girl, she's one from the group who was shamelessly looking towards your direction, which is obviously aimed at a specific someone by your side, Jungkook.

"Hi!" You greet cheerfully.

The girl blushes and then turns to Jungkook.

"O-oppa..." She utters, hesitant when she pulls something out of her skirt pocket. It's a small, crocheted sunflower.

You coo at the sight, looking at Jungkook in amusement. The man beside you just grow more uncomfortable in his seat. He looks so constipated, god bless him.

"My friend told me to give this to the eonni beside you."

Your smile is quickly wiped off your face the moment her words sink in, confusion slowly coming to paint your expression. You look at the girl but before you can say anything, she's already walking away as soon as Jungkook takes the crocheted flower from her. You watch as she and her friends ran, their figures slowly disappearing from your line of sight.

"Looks like you got admirers from Seoul High School." Jungkook quips beside you. "For the eonni beside me." He teases, extending the cute little flower to you.

Hesitantly, you take the flower from his hands.

"You know, it suits you." Jungkook says when you don't say anything, still stunned from the literal turn of events.

You look up, baffled. "Huh?"

"A sunflower. It suits you... you're like it." He smiles, soft and gentle. There's a look of fondness in his eyes that you couldn't have mistaken for anything else. "I'm glad they gave that to you."

You open your mouth to speak, but there's nothing at the tip of your tongue.

Shying away from his gaze, you mumble a low, "Thank you."

You don't think you hear his next word right.

"Cute."

You have a hobby of collecting hobbies instead of focusing on one thing to be good at, jumping from one activity to another, even if it means abandoning your previous thing. Hobbies for most people means time lent to be better with it every day, but in your defense, you don't necessarily think you have to be good at something.

You've tried drawing. You've tried dancing. You've tried the guitar and you've tried the ukelele and you've tried crocheting and you've tried to study astrology. You've built three huge boxes of storage containing the needed materials for each of them, but they end up collecting dust.

Why can't a hobby just stay as a hobby, anyway? Why can't you just feel goofy one day to suddenly start drawing and give up the next day the moment you realize shading is hard? Why can't you just buy dress patterns and only sew the skirt part because tops are complicated to sew? Why can't you just learn four guitar chords because it's enough to play at least five songs using them?

None of it matters, you think. People will pressure you to push and push until you can possibly capitalize on something you're good at, but it just isn't the case for you.

You'll collect all the hobbies in the world until your head is full of random things and you just burst with it.

And true to your words, you find yourself wandering about in the baking aisle of your local grocery store at the late evening hours.

Yep. It's 2028 and your hobby pick for the year is baking.

So, what if you're a disaster in the kitchen? Cooking and baking are two different worlds! At least that's what Google tried to tell you a while ago when you were cleaning your bathroom earlier this morning, suddenly craving for some matcha cookies after you were done.

It sounded about right in your head that you decided to pick up ingredients for it, deciding it will be your dinner. At the back of your head, you think you should've just gone to the hundred cafes surrounding your apartment complex like, you know, any regular person would if they're craving something. But you figured that if you know how to bake, you could get matcha cookies anytime you want.

What can you say? You like to live life on edge. (You'll probably burn yourself in the oven later, but that will just be another lesson that life is soon to give you. You're just taking it in advance.)

But living on edge doesn't mean getting your card declined when you turn it to the cashier to supposedly pay for your grocery.

"I'm so sorry, uhm, can I have a few seconds, please?" You tell the cashier, giving her an awkward smile as you grab your wallet from your tote bag again, taking your card from her. You take another one of your debit cards this time and offer it to her, subtly looking around in hopes that no one is watching.

"Oh, we don't accept debit cards issued by this bank, ma'am." She says, and you're just about ready to dig yourself a hole from this complete, utter embarrassment.

"Okay..." you trail off nervously, glancing at the computer to look at your total. "I'll just pay in cash."

You do not, in fact, have enough cash.

You can tell the cashier is getting impatient from the way she shifts her weight from one side to another, and you keep yourself from making eye contact with her, fumbling with your wallet.

Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year and your card chose to decline on this very particular day. Why don't they accept your debit card? And why don't you have enough cash with you? Are you really this broke?

This is going to be a disaster. You can't afford to go to prison for this. Can you even go to prison for not paying grocery? Okay, maybe jail time for like 12 hours? But you have work tomorrow!

"Excuse me, miss,"

Somebody says but you refused to look at whoever it was, still counting the bills in your wallet that do not even accumulate to half the amount of your total.

"You can charge her bill here."

At that, your head quickly snap to the owner of the voice only to reveal himself as no other than Jeon Jungkook.

You swear you almost sigh in relief at the sight of him and have the sudden urge to hug him big time.

Jungkook looks at you and gives you a smile.

"Hi."

"Jungkook," you breathe. "Thank god you're here."

The cashier looks at you both weirdly but nonetheless swipes the card Jungkook gave her., instructing him to type his code on the key pad. There's nobody in line for the cashier you went to other than you both because it is too late an hour to be getting groceries, so Jungkook is able to butt in seamlessly and get his cart checked out as well.

"You're very much welcome." He says warmly.

Jungkook's dressed just as casually as you; a combination of simple white t-shirt and shorts and a pair of sliders. His grocery contains a lot different than yours, showing all sorts of food ingredients. You wait for his stuff to get bagged until you both head out of the store.

His car was just parked nearby, so you follow him towards its direction to apologize.

"I'm so, so sorry for earlier. I'll pay you later when we get home, of course." You say, just now registering how embarrassing it is for him to catch you in that situation. You're no stranger to getting your card declined... but really, now?

You decide to add awkwardly, "Or... do you have Kakao Pay?"

Jungkook chuckles while he opens his trunk, picking up his bags of groceries to place them in there. He shakes his head, keeping his hand outstretched to upwards to hold the hood of his car.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

You're about to speak in protest when he gestures at the bag in your hands, as if asking you to place it in the trunk as well. You shake your head repeatedly.

"No, it's okay, I'm just gonna take a cab home." You say, pointing to your back where the street is, politely refusing his obvious offer to drive you home.

He's done too much in the span of ten minutes you've seen each other tonight. He's paid for your groceries for heaven's sake, and he still has the intention to drive you again to your destination? Not adding the fact that he also just drove you to work yesterday to keep you from being late. It's like he's just doing you heaps of favors and so far, you've done nothing in return.

"__, please, I'm offering." Jungkook insists. As usual. "I really don't mind."

Shoulders deflating, you let out a sigh.

"It's just that..." You start, nibbling on your bottom lip.

"What?"

"You've just been doing me a lot of favors lately." You say, looking away from his gaze.

Jungkook calls your name gently. You train your gaze at him. He steps closer to you and gives your shoulder a soft tap. "Hey, I'm not counting."

The words in itself aren't all that special, but the way he said it and the way he looked at you while he did may have just did a little damage to your heart because why did it seem so genuine?

Still, you shy away.

"It's just really embarrassing." You say, out of argument now.

Jungkook lets out a sound of amusement and takes the bag from your hands. He didn't even give you the chance to protest before he managed to put it successfully in the trunk of his car, together with his own groceries.

"Why don't you pay me back by helping me make dinner tonight?" Jungkook muses.

You give him a weird look.

"You really want me in a kitchen? Have you not listened to my horror stories this whole time, Jungkook?"

He laughs as he leads you both inside his car. You follow quietly behind but this time, you don't mistake the passenger seat from the driver's seat and instantly wear your seatbelt as soon as you're sat.

"I dunno, I'm just offering. I thought it'll be fun." He shrugs, turning on the ignition of the car and starting to drive back to the apartment building.

"Okay, I can at least chop some onions and garlic..." You trail off. And then you remember as an afterthought, "Oh, I'm actually baking tonight as well."

Jungkook takes a quick surprise glance at you. "You never told me you know how."

You snort. "I don't know how, trust me. I'm just starting right now."

"Is that why you went out grocery shopping tonight?" He arches a brow.

"Yep. Totally a spontaneous thing. I wanted, like, this very specific matcha cookie..."

Jungkook laughs. "Should I help you with the baking as well? I might learn from you."

"Really? You want to help?" You ask him delightfully.

He nods, making your grin wider.

"Sounds fun."

You both agreed to cook and bake at his place, partly because you personally are not ready for him to see your own flat. When you get inside his unit, Jungkook cutely bragged about his table set that just arrived earlier this morning according to him.

Personally, you've barely cooked at your own place let alone somebody else's. The one time you were in someone else's kitchen was Jimin's but even then, it was just to microwave some pizza and other take-out food.

It should feel weird to be prepping ingredients with someone, to move around the kitchen with the goal to make yourself a homecooked meal – especially with somebody like Jungkook – but truthfully, it felt almost... natural. Probably because you're conversing casually while you're doing things so there isn't any awkward silence.

You're making tangsuyuk, according to him, and he's obviously taking the lead – expertly prepping the meat while you go chop some spices needed for the dish.

"Is this okay?" You ask, showing him your work. You hope he likes it because you're kind of under a weird pressure to be in here, helping him. Also, you're not sure if you minced the garlic right.

But Jungkook just gives you a hearty smile.

"Good girl."

And goes back to what he's doing as if he just said nothing.

Which—okay, he seemed to have unconsciously said it that now you're gaslighting yourself whether you heard him right or not. Did he really say what you think he just said? What the fucking fuck.

Thankfully, Jungkook's too busy to notice that you become a bit frozen in your position for a good ten seconds. If he truly didn't mean to say that, he needs to get those words out of his vocabulary before he sends you in a sudden cardiac arrest. It'd be the most mysterious death of humanity.

"Do you need the carrots?" You ask, raising the vegetable in your hand.

Jungkook nods and you start to peel it. He watches by your side when you begin slicing the carrot.

"Cut them into Julienne slices."

"Huh?" You look back at him. "Not the cooking jargon, Kook." You deadpan, the nickname seamlessly coming out of your mouth.

He apologizes and tells you exactly what he meant. You furrow your brows in concentration to achieve what he wants, but Jungkook just laughs beside you.

"Okay, let me just—"

He's behind you a second after that, towering over your form and circling his arms around you. Your breath hitches as Jungkook places his hand on top of yours – the one that holds the knife – and begins to guide you through slicing the carrot.

You can feel his breathing from the proximity of your position, and even though there's still distance between the both of you, it's only hairsbreadth away and frankly, the ridges of the front of his body are so prominent against your back.

Jungkook does not seem to face the same internal panic as you though, because as soon as he deems that you are staring to get it, he steps back and let you do the thing on your own.

He leans back on the countertop, crossing his arms while looking at you.

"You're not so bad at this like you claimed." He comments.

You feel your cheeks heating up, so you focus your full attention on the carrot, your hands seemingly having developed a mind of their own throughout the time. Well, at least it's doing the right job. You can only hope you don't slice through your fingers... imagine cutting them right into this very moment.

"This is a trauma response from watching too much Gordon Ramsay."

Jungkook chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

"We're just gonna wait for another thirty minutes for the meat and the mushroom. Should we start baking? What do we do first?" He says, washing his hands first before walking towards your direction.

You take your phone out from your pocket, looking at him a bit apologetically as you say "sorry" for pulling up Google. For the record, you haven't memorized shit and this is your first time baking.

Jungkook shakes his head, telling you there's no need for apologies because he "can't bake for shit" himself. That makes you feel relieved. You thought he's just good at a lot of things.

You don't encounter any trouble while mixing the dry ingredients, but when it comes to the wet ones, you think you've done something wrong. Jungkook tells you to try it. When you dip your finger into the mixture and taste it, you automatically scrunch your face.

"What, why?" Jungkook asks curiously.

"I don't think this is quite right..." You say, looking down at the mixture sadly.

"Mayve we can add more vanilla...?" He takes the bottle with him, ready to pour some into the bowl.

You pout. "But it says one teaspoon and we already put one teaspoon."

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know... give up?"

Jungkook chuckles as he says your name.

You sigh. "Okay, maybe we'll try some that."

You do as you say, and as you taste it again, you're delighted to notice the elevated flavor. Mindlessly dipping your finger again into the bowl, you offer it to Jungkook to try.

The very act just sinks into your head when he leans down to suck it off your finger.

It happened quick, not at all sensual and slow like the movies make it out to be, but you feel your heart rate picking up at the feel after-effect of Jungkook's hot tongue touching your skin. But as you look at him, his eyebrows are furrowed, assessing the taste, not at all in a trance by what just happened.

"Oh, definitely better." He comments, as if he didn't just... suck your finger?

... Which you offered.

That he took willingly.

You turn away from him and pretend to busy yourself with the electric mixer, fumbling with the paddle.

"Are you cooking the tangsuyuk yet?" You ask, changing the subject. Jungkook is completely unaware of the current chaos in your head, walking towards the refrigerator to take out the pork he marinated earlier and the bowl of mushrooms.

"Just tell me if you need help." He tells you, touching the small of your back as he passes by you to get to the stove.

You feel your cheeks heating at the touch, moving aside to let him start frying the meat with the batter he's busied himself with awhile ago.

"Shit!" You say, surprised at the sudden whir of the machine. Jungkook quickly looks at you. You laugh and give him a thumbs up. "I'm fine here!"

You both work together on your own thing, and when you let the dough to rest, Jungkook, at the same time, finishes frying the meat of the tangsuyuk. You don't want to feel useless while you don't have anything to work on, so you peer over what Jungkook is doing and ask him if you there's anything he needs.

"Do you want to make the sauce?" Jungkook asks you. You scrunch your nose and hesitantly nod. He seems to notice your uncertainty and chuckles. "I'll teach you."

"Okay, but don't blame me if it tastes like shit later, okay?" You warn but he just shrugs and laugh, telling you that he'll talk you through the process and there's no need to be nervous. You can just experiment with it a little, he says.

You've watched a lot of Hell's Kitchen episodes that you have this silly, unrealistic expectation on what goes on in kitchens, but thankfully, Jungkook isn't like Gordon Ramsay at all and is so unbelievably gentle in teaching you even when you almost spilled soy sauce on the countertop and put too much vinegar than needed. He shrugs your worries off by fixing the thing, thankful that when he offers you the ladle to taste the sauce from it, it's more than decent.

While Jungkook prepares the tangsuyuk for your dinner, you take the time to form your cookie dough into small circles, leaving it in the oven to bake while you follow Jungkook into the living room and start eating the food that you cooked – or he cooked.

Jungkook teases you that you lied about not being good at cooking, but you have to remind him you didn't do shit and only the bare minimum. He looks like he's not convinced.

By the time that you're finished with your dinner, the oven's timer went off. Jungkook insists that he wash the dishes even though you feel like you should be the one doing it, but he tells you to check your cookies in the oven and so you did.

You're not expecting anything, but it will feel really good if it tastes at least okay.

Crossed fingers, your mind says as you take out the sheet pan.

First impression: it looks okay to the eye. Like real cookies.

But soon, your parade is rained on when you try to bite into the cookie.

It looks like real cookie, all right, but apparently doesn't taste like one.

Your face contorts into a frown as soon as you bite down into it a second time.

Okay, that's it. Put them in the tupperware as soon as possible, you thought. So, you do just that, placing all of the pieces into the plastic box and securing them away.

From where you were, you can hear Jungkook shutting the water off on the sink, his footsteps coming near you. Once he gets close, he peers down at what you're doing. Intrigued, he asks for one.

"No." you shake your head. The cookies are to be gatekept not because it's too good but because it should not be consumed at all. Jesus. You just ate Jungkook's tangsuyuk and it tasted exactly like the ones you've eaten from restaurants; it'd be such an embarrassing contrast to your own work.

"Don't be stingy," Jungkook playfully says, already making a move to reach for the cookies in your hands.

You hide the tupperware behind your back and stop him with your other free hand.

"Don't come closer. These cookies are not for consumption. Go away."

But he just arches a brow, walking a few steps forward.

"Jungkook!" You whine. "They don't taste good, and I'm embarrassed by them."

"Just one bite," Jungkook chuckles at you, not understanding your mortification. "Come on, __."

But you're stubborn and you won't let him have any of it even if he tries hard.

Jungkook is just as determined though, as he threatens to get closer and closer to you.

You squeaked out his name when he takes a hold of the tupperware but thankfully, you're quick on your reflex and able to take it back.

The whole thing prompts you to burst into laughter as you run around the island of his kitchen, giggling at the silliness of it all.

Your efforts to get away from him eventually go to waste as he managed to get ahold of your waist with his one arm, the other not missing the beat to steal the cookies from you.

He's firm over his hold, lifting you up while laughing against your head as you try to wriggle away.

"Let me have one bite, __," He says, and with his one arm, sits you on the countertop, not letting you go just yet even when you're fully sat.

You try to snatch the plastic from him but he's much quicker this time. When he opens it, you have no choice but to cover your face in embarrassment.

"I told you it's bad." You say, pouting at him, noting the expression on his face as he chews on the cookies that tells you it definitely does not taste good.

"You're a first timer." Jungkook just says, putting down the tupperware.

"Don't try to make me feel better." You frown even more.

"I'm not! I'm just pointing out that this is the first time you tried so of course it's not gonna be perfect right away?" He offers, some sort of comfort, maybe?

But your shoulders deflate because he's right.

Still.

Jungkook must have noticed your mood and tries to cheer you up one more time.

"Come on, you still made a really good tangsuyuk."

That makes you chuckle, unconsciously kicking his knee slightly making him let out an ingenuine, "Ow!"

You don't notice one of the straps of your spaghetti top falling off until Jungkook fixes it for you in the middle of your shared laughter.

"Thanks." You smile at him, mindlessly touching the strap, keeping it in place.

Jungkook hums as he helps you jump out of the kitchen counter.

The night ended with him walking you to your unit again, a rather silly thing he keeps on insisting to do. It's hard to put a name on it, but there's a certain feeling in your chest when you went out of Jungkook's apartment.

A feeling that lingers its way through when you receive a text from him after you come out of the shower that night.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:05pm]: good night chef

You fight off the smile that forces its way into your lips as you type out a reply.

You [11:06pm]: good night :)))))

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:06pm]: i thought u already slept

You [11:07pm]: at 11oclock??? what do u think am i a grandma

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: fair Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: but i had fun earlier. we should do it again sometime

You lie on your back, can't help yourself from letting a small giggle.

You [11:09pm]: jungkook-a You [11:09pm]: just tell me u wanna be with me??

You meant that as a joke, obviously. Just like how he joked about you one time over lunch about wanting to see him every day when you brought up the topic of not seeing him come out of his apartment. You did not mean anything by it other than friendly banter.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:10pm]: 🤔 Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: that can be arranged. you can be my personal sous chef and I'll build us a restaurant

You [11:11pm]: sweet

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:11pm]: you havent seen all, baby

Your lips part.

Okay...

Your relationship is absolutely platonic at best. But you can't help but think that he gets a little flirty at times... like the few moments in his kitchen earlier. Is it bad that you're thinking way too much about that specific memory of him licking your finger without thought? Of his strong arm effortlessly carrying you against his rigid body and putting you on the countertop, almost manhandling you? Is it bad you can't get the memory of him fixing your top out of your head?

His use of nickname ticks a little light at the back of your head, and you decide to poke the nest a little.

You [11:12pm]: really? what r u wearing right now

Just a little jokey-joke between friends and nothing more.

You don't even expect a reply to that, but your phone dings a second after, and when you open your message thread again, your jaw parts wider this time.

It's a picture of Jungkook lying his bed, his face cut off from the frame. But you know it's him from the arm that peeks out, his tattoos a familiar sight by now. The photo is taken at a low angle, just enough for you to see the sleeveless shirt he's sporting and the strings of his grey shorts.

You [11:14pm]: i meant that as a joke

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:14pm]: 🥴

You do not know what he meant by that. You look for a picture to reply with, and the HAHA reaction is expected the moment you pressed send.

You [11:15pm]: stripper patrick says good night

Laughing silently at the meme you sent him which was Patrick from Spongebob wearing a pair of black fishnet tights and boots, you wait as three dots appear on Jungkook's line.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:15pm]: you're a minx

You chuckle, reacting to his message with an emoji and turn off your phone, almost throwing it on your nightstand and scrambling to bury your face in your pillow to let out a sound of a weird sob, but you're smiling your face off and your cheeks feel way too hot.

The truth of the matter is that you ended the conversation because you're afraid of where it's going.

Turning around, you lay on your back and stare at your ceiling, calming the beat of your heart and forcing your eyes to shut close.

But the picture Jungkook sent you keeps on popping up in your head, almost like those ads from shady websites on the internet, and when you think about it, it triggers a slur of memories that play like a picture in your head: his lips wrapped around your finger... his strong arm... his subtle touch on the small of your back...

"Ugh," you groan, slapping your hands over your face.

You furrow your brows to appear serious, thinking that it'll make you think of something serious as well, wrapping a blanket over your body and sighing when the technique doesn't work.

Okay, think of dogs... and puppies...but that's apparently a wrong move because now you're thinking of Jungkook with his dog.

You're obviously awful at this.

You turn on your bed once again, muffling a sound in your pillow.

But then as minutes passed, your restlessness continues to prevail and you're about to cry with the unknown frustration that sits at the back of your head.

Laying in silence for a while, your hand finds itself roaming over your body, your thumb catching your nipple through your thin top. You pinch the nub, experimental, until it turns into a pebbled rock in your touch.

You bite your bottom lip as your other hand trails down over your panties, running it around the waistband, down until you reach down, down, down to your core.

Your lips part when you feel its heat, two of your fingers starting to stroke where your nether lips were. You sigh at the sensation, squeezing at your boob and turning your head to the side, thinking about how good it feels.

Slowly, you reach down under your parties to part your lips, moaning at the wetness that welcomes you below.

You start to stroke gently with your middle finger, drawing figure eights over your core and making sure to put friction on your clit. The ministration produces more wetness in your cunt, and you spread it over for easier access inside as you start to poke into your hole.

"Oh my god," you mewled, breathing heavily against your pillow, pumping a finger into you. It's a little tight, and you remember you haven't touched yourself like this for over a few weeks now.

But god, how could you forget the feeling of it? The feeling of something going in and out of your cunt, gliding so smoothly because of the abundance of wetness all over.

"Fuck." you sigh out, lips parted, eyes closed to feel more of the sensation.

Your other hand reaches under your top to fondle with your boob, helping you stimulate yourself into that familiar feeling of great ecstasy that comes with your pussy getting touched.

It's starting to feel hot, and you can feel the beads of sweat starting to form on the side of your head even though the AC and your fan are both on. There's a zap that starts from your spine that comes with a sort of electricity coming from within, transferring that tick into your belly which prompts you to pump into your hole faster.

The sheets are a mess at this point, with your feet kicking into them as your movement picks up pace.

"Oh god," you cry out silently, muffling your sob in the comfort of your fluffy pillow.

You chase the feeling of completion, closing your eyes once more, trying to figure out how to get there.

And there's one familiar man that pops inside your head.

Jeon Jungkook.

"Oh shit," you hiss, pinching your nipple and going in and out faster.

Jungkook with his lips around your finger. Jungkook pressing his body against your back. Jungkook carrying you against his body. Jungkook's electric touch as he fixes the strap that's fallen over your naked shoulder.

You let out a pathetic moan, trying to shake away the thoughts of him.

You aren't supposed to. It feels wrong. So wrong.

Suddenly, you feel frustrated over still not reaching your climax up to this point.

You let out a heavy breath, pulling out your fingers from your pussy and from under your panties.

You don't get off. You never do – with your fingers, anyway, that is. And that's why you have a trusted toy buried deep at the back of the drawer of your nightstand, kept away for occasional uses. You'd say you need it right now, but you're too flushed and tired to take it out.

And there's also a melancholic feeling in your heart upon realizing that you just thought of Jungkook while touching yourself.

"Shit, shit, shit." You hiss, the cusses mostly dedicated to yourself.

You shake your head as you sit on the edge of your bed, your hair a bird's nest and clothes strewn over your body as per your reflection on the full-body mirror across your bed.

Sighing, you let your head down and massage your temples.

"God, what's wrong with me,"

You feel guilty... because you aren't supposed to think of a friend when you're trying to get off. You told yourself you'd stop finding Jungkook hot or cute or what-the-fuck-ever so that stupid crush can go away finally. But it feels like all your efforts – or lack, thereof – always seem to fall short.

This isn't good. You need to think straight.

A sudden loud ping catches your attention, almost startling you because it's in the middle of the night, after all. When you snap your head to the side, you see your phone with the light out.

You instantly feel a little nervous. What if it's Jungkook? There's an irrational fear in your head that he knows what you just did, but you shake the thought away, scolding yourself for getting way over your head.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you feel scared to open your phone but then, did you really have a choice?

Slowly trudging to the direction of your phone, you pick it up from the table and turn it on.

August 18: Your cycle forecast Ovulation in 2 days. Your sex drive may just be hitting its peak🌡️ Tap for tips to make most out of it👉

"Oh fuck me." You curse, throwing your phone on the bed, feeling pissed all of the sudden.

Fucking period tracker app... and ovulation.

PART THREE | ...

#fic: nb #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook x reader

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climbthemountain2020 · 2 months ago

Text

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

Ch.1/5 | Ao3

Elucien Holiday Fic for the @acotargiftexchange

Completed Word Count: 33K Chapter Word Count: 7k

For @itsybitsybluesy I hope this hits all your boxes! The story is finished, and will be fully posted this week <3

Two Days Before

Lucien POV

Lucien looked into the mirror, the lamp casting a low light and making the shadows jump around his face and glow like a halo around his copper hair. He brushed it back over one shoulder, fussing with it then scoffing at himself as he realized how nit-picky he was being.

He checked his pocket watch, jittery as the moments ticked down.

It was nearly time to leave and walk to the River House for Solstice and Feyre’s birthday. Just as he had done every year for the last five, he’d winnowed into Velaris earlier in the day. The wards had been marked to his signature and blood, clearing easily for him as Emissary to Night. As soon as he’d arrived, he’d grabbed a bite at Mirania’s Cafe, his personal favorite, and gone to his apartment to bathe and dress and have a cup of spiced tea that he’d definitely not poured whiskey into.

He straightened, tugging down his vest and checking the sleeves of his forest green tailored jacket. He had hand selected this outfit, the colors of Autumn always highlighting his features best, as much as he despised his court of origin. The burnished orange paired with the green always made him feel a bit like a pumpkin, but from experience, he was well aware that they paired well with the rest of his appearance. He brushed his shoulders a final time, checking the mirror once more and nodding as if to support himself.

This was ridiculous.

Of course, Lucien always took great care in his appearance. He had pride in the way he presented himself: clever, courteous, and well-dressed. He had, after all, been raised in high society, for all it had been worth in the end. Additionally, the company he tended to keep in Velaris was mostly well-dressed, too. He couldn’t afford to look lacking around them.

Lucien locked his front door behind him, balancing the box of gifts in one arm while simultaneously tucking the keyring into his inner jacket pocket and making his way down the carved stone steps and onto the cobblestone street. The winter sun had just begun to set over the towering, snowy mountains of Velaris, and the streets were lit with twinkling lights that bounced off all the shining boughs of holly to celebrate the upcoming holiday. Despite splitting his time the past few years between here and his primary residence in the Human Lands, Lucien loved Velaris more than he’d ever care to admit. The city always smelled like a mass variety of delicious foods and drinks and spices, and laughter and joy always seemed to filter through the streets to echo warmly around his ears. Autumn had never had anywhere like this, nor had Spring or the Human Lands. Velaris was truly unlike anything he’d ever known.

Some visits, he’d stay a little extra time, spending days upon days just walking around the city. If Rhysand or Feyre were aware, which he was certain they were, they never mentioned it to him. He’d explored just about every space in the city now, and even some of the mountain trails, lakes, streams, and forests nearby. Lucien loved being here.

There was only one thing that could make it better.

Lucien shuffled the box of gifts in his arms, the unwieldy weight making it difficult to hold in just one arm. His gift for Elain this year was a bit more personal than in the past, but he hoped it would also be something practical. He’d noticed she’d been more interested in germinating the wide variety of flowers that surrounded the River House in the past year, each new flower cropping up more lovely and colorful than the last batch as she tended them with great care and precision. He’d found a lovely leather craftsman in The Rainbow, and while he’d waited on the new leathers he’d commissioned, he’d browsed the store. In one corner, perfectly tucked into a shelf, had been a book on display– a leatherbound journal with the shape of a vine pressed into the cover. He’d thought that perhaps, as she crossed and bred more flowers, she might like to keep track. So, as he purchased his leathers, he’d asked him to press the name Elain into the cover of the book too.

Things had been lighter between them the past year, though he wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends. Once things had very obviously come to an end between her and the Shadowsinger when he’d found his mate, Lucien had given Elain his time and patience, and in time, they’d worked their way into something tentative just this side of friendship.

It had begun when he’d come upon the River House to meet with Rhys a few months before the previous Solstice. She’d been in the garden lining the front walkways as he’d approached. He wasn’t in the habit of stopping to speak to her then, but when he’d seen the gloves on her hands, he’d stopped short, his feet rooted to the ground. Elain was barely bundled up against the chill of the air, her shoulders almost entirely exposed as the wind tossed her hair over her freckled back. She’d been humming, digging through the brambles surrounding flowers of bright purple and yellow. He was in awe of her effortless beauty, as he always was when he saw her, his body and mind unable to communicate whenever she was around.

As though she sensed his presence, she turned, meeting his eyes with a little gasp. He loved her eyes, a soft brown as downy as a fawn’s coat, beautiful against her porcelain, freckled skin and bright cheeks.

So, there they stood, two strangers, bonded irrevocably for life, who had barely exchanged four sentences save pleasantries in the years past. She stuck her hand out lamely, gesturing at the flowers, the pretty leather of the glove stained with earth and catching his eye again.

She cleared her through. “The crocuses love the cold, but, uhm, the brambles tend to start moving in if I don’t stay on top of them.”

It had been such a simple statement, the most bland of information, but Lucien was riveted. A bright blush crept up Elain’s neck and face.

“The gloves help when it’s cold. I meant to tell you. I never wear gloves to garden. It’s not that I don’t– that I don’t like them. I do, they’re beautifully made. I just like the dirt under my nails. But in the winter, they’re very effective with the brambles.”

Lucien could feel the smile spreading unbidden across his face. It was perhaps the most words he’d ever heard her speak at once, and the fluster in them had him feeling some strange type of giddy.

He fought and lost the urge to tease her a bit, to see that blush creep higher to the tips of her beautifully pointed ears that she finally left on display regularly. He ached to trace them with his lips, nip them with his teeth, as he did so frequently in his dreams.

Don’t scare her off Lucien. This is a fragile moment, don’t be a cad.

He lost the war with himself, the urge to see that gorgeous flush again overwhelming all sense left in his centuries-old body.

“Your flowers are beautiful, my lady. I’m sure that they are pleased whenever you find time to be on top of them.”

Elain let out the most ungraceful sound that Lucien had perhaps ever heard from her, a laugh her body had resisted. The blush rose just as he’d hoped, beautiful and soft and pink as it raced to the tips of her ears. He gave a sweeping bow and a smile, continuing on into the house and sending the smallest rush of warmth back at her to soothe her skin against the frigid air. He refused to look back, his decision made. For the blush alone, it had been worth it.

That had been over a year ago now.

It would have been foolish for Lucien to assume that things would change between them after that, and they hadn’t, not really.

But…

At first, he thought he was imagining it.

At his next visit, Elain had averted her eyes as usual at his presence, but his breath had caught in his throat to see her at dinner wearing the pearl drop earrings he’d gifted her years before. He’d never once seen her wear them. They caught the light beautifully, and she had tucked her hair back, showing them off for anyone willing to look.

It felt intentional; it felt like a claiming.

He had forced himself under control, begged his mind not to read into it, to get his hopes up.

Then that night, with Mor in town and Nesta and Cassian down from Illyria, the seating arrangements had been shifted for dinner, leaving the only open seat for him at the end corner of the table next to Elain. His eyes crept back again and again to the earrings and the way they swayed gently back and forth as she spoke. All night he fought the urge to inhale too deeply, to speak past pleasantries and risk scaring her away.

But his body fought him every second.

Smell her, touch her, taste her, it said.

And it was impossible to avoid, the smell of her, honey and cinnamon and glazed pears nearly making his eyes water and his cock half hard under the cover of the table. He’d glamoured himself immediately, unwilling to risk making anything awkward, especially with a loudmouth like Cassian around and always ready to tease him like a bawdy older sibling. He liked Cassian, but there were no secrets safe with the giant bat.

As dinner that night had come to a close, he breathed a sigh of relief to think he’d made it through. Elain would escape to the kitchen as she always did, and everyone else would drink in one of the many sitting rooms of the River House, and he would be safe.

Gods , but he wished she’d come, too– plop down in his lap, let him press his nose to the juncture of her neck and shoulder and inhale until he was dizzy with the scent of her.

“Did you get enough to eat, Lucien?” Feyre poked fun at his clean plate as she stood with Rhys to move to the sitting room as Nuala and Cerridwen cleared the table.

He laughed. “The food here is always impeccable. I’ve long gotten over the stigma of being the first to clean a plate.”

Everyone chuckled, and Lucien began to push his chair back to move with them. Before he could remove himself from the table, Elain spoke as she began to clear the remaining dishware. It was so quiet he hardly heard it, but she bent closer to him under the guise of picking up an errant fork, her breath nearly in his ear.

“I’ve always seen some merit in finishing first, personally.”

Everyone had already left the room, and no one but Elain was there to witness Lucien’s sharp inhale. Nor the way his cock immediately stiffened along with his spine.

With a swirl of honeyed pears and demure smiles, Elain had pulled back and was already gone, not sparing him a single second look.

Had he imagined it?

He spent weeks plaguing himself with that very question. But the next time he’d visited it had happened again. This time, the middle man had been a cream-filled pastry from a local bakery on one of Lucien’s morning visits. He’d shown up early that day per Rhys’s request in order to overlap with Nesta and Cassian’s schedules, so they’d opted to do a casual meeting over breakfast. Elain was helping Feyre with Nyx on one of the small couches lining the massive dining room, and Feyre reached back for him just in time for Lucien to sit down. Naturally, Elain would be eating breakfast with them; it was her home. But Lucien hadn’t been prepared for her to lift the small tea plate with the full pasty on it, meeting his eyes from across the room when no one else could see, and taking a bite so large from it that the cream exploded across the plate in a surge so disarmingly sensual Lucien nearly choked to death on his tea.

So, for the past year, not only had she made a point to wear those blessed earrings every time he’d stopped in, but she’d made a habit of torturing him.

Between innuendo, teasing visuals, and side comments that no one but him ever seemed to hear, Lucien was convinced he’d lost his entire mind.

That Solstice, he’d brought her a cookbook from the vendor’s quarter in Velaris. It had specialties compiled from every court, running the gamut from appetizers to great feasts to desserts, all nicely bound. For the first time, she’d looked him in the eyes as she’d opened it, thanking him and stroking a finger back and forth over the cover while Lucien tried his hardest not to explode into a million fragments.

He’d come back a week later to update Rhys on a matter on the border of Spring, and waiting for him in the study was a plate of cherry clove tarts, his favorite childhood dessert from Autumn

He’d felt twisted up at the emotion at seeing them for the first time in decades, the smell of them causing the sharp sting of unshed tears to burn his eyes. His mother used to love making these, sneaking them beneath the edge of the counter to him as he skittered off to devour them in an alcove, yet unaware of the sort of life that lay ahead for him. He controlled himself as he waited for Rhys to finish a meeting, and when the door finally burst open, he was surprised to see Elain carrying a tray with tea and cups

She startled. “Oh! I didn’t think you’d be here yet.”

“You made these?”

She blushed again, that lovely spread creeping up her neck at the implication before he even realized what he’d asked. “No, Nuala did. They were in the book you gave me. I thought you might like them.” She poured two cups of tea and handed one to him. A chai. “I figured it might be nice to have something from Autumn when I heard you’d be coming.”

“That is…very kind, Elain.” Lucien was having trouble finding the words, so he sipped the tea instead.

“Well, have you tried one?” She gestured to the tray. The tarts were covered in a dusted layer of powdered sugar, Elain carefully selecting one and placing it on a small tea plate for herself. Lucien leaned forward to help himself– no part of him strong enough to resist cherry clove tarts. He sat back, carefully shaking any loose sugar, then stopped in his tracks as he watched Elain lean in to take a big bite, her pink tongue slipping out of her mouth and over her perfect lips to catch the sugar and missing a bit of cherry at the corner of her mouth.

He wanted to put his mouth on it, suck it off her skin then keep going.

Lucien nearly fell apart as he watched her swallow, her throat bobbing as she consumed the pastry. Something primal and uncontrolled within him was begging and roaring and tearing to toss her on the couch, lift her skirts, and fuck her stupid.

Something about the mischief glowing wild in her eyes told him what she was imagining wasn’t far off.

She raised a finger to the edge of her mouth, pressing the errant piece of filling onto her finger, then sticking the same finger into her mouth, sucking it elegantly. Her eyes, the soft brown of a fawn’s coat, didn’t leave his for a moment.

Lucien was only saved by the grace of the doors opening once again and Rhys entering.

“So good to see you, Lucien,” Elain said through a smile as she turned to go, leaving him absolutely wrecked in the process.

Now, as Lucien walked through the streets of Velaris for yet another Solstice, he felt ready to snap every time he came within a mile of her. He could hear the beating of her heart quicken when he came into the room, could see the delicious flush over her soft skin as they spoke. Something had shifted between them, despite no one else seeming to notice or care. Everyone still treated her like their little baker, their gardener, sweet Elain. Lucien was sure she was sweet in many ways; in fact, he’d like to try a taste and test that theory himself.

But he held himself back. Elain had distanced herself from him for so long, for so many reasons, and he would let her decide when, if ever, she was ready. And when she did, he would be waiting. Until then, though, he remained a pile of dry brush, waiting for the single scratch of a match that would burn it all to embers.

He passed the garden beds in the dark, the sun now sunken below the mountains surrounding them and the lights lining the path illuminating his way. He could practically see the ghosts of him and Elain speaking there, could almost smell her on the wind, hear her laughter dance around his ears. He shook his head and pressed on, shifting the box to one hip as he knocked on the door.

“Lucien!” A very pregnant Feyre flung open the door, hugging him and nearly bowling him over with her belly. “Sorry. Stomach first.” She waved him in, undeterred. “We’re still waiting on a few. Come on and have a drink. I can take those!” She grabbed the box of gifts, carting them off to the study as Lucien shucked off his coat to hang it in the foyer. He could hear the merriment rooms away, people laughing and cracking jokes, ice clinking in glasses. Between Feyre’s found family and Vassa and Jurian, Lucien had more community now than he’d maybe ever had in his life. Five years ago, he wouldn’t have believed it. He surely wouldn’t have believed he’d be sharing a Solstice with Rhysand and his brothers, but here they were.

He couldn’t sense Elain anywhere in the house, the steady thrumming of her heart mysteriously absent as he pressed down the hall and joined the others. Rhys poured him a drink and clapped him heartily on the back as he took a seat and chatted. All the while, his mind was elsewhere, eternally searching for her in every space he entered.

“...strange, though. Nothing major, but definitely a pattern.”

“How many does that make now?”

“I think that was maybe the seventh in as many months, maybe even less.”

Lucien’s interest was piqued, of course, now that he’d been caught out not listening. “What’s that?”

“Velaris has seen a series of vandalisms lately–”

“And Rhysand is being over involved, despite us doing quite literally the same things here as younglings.”

Lucien grinned again– Cassian wasn’t shy about getting some drink in him and sharing innumerable stories about their youth. Even Lucien had to laugh when he wasn’t rolling his eyes.

“What sort of vandalism are we talking about?” If they weren’t seriously on alert, he imagined it couldn't be anything too grave.

Cassian piped up as soon as Rhysand opened his mouth to speak, earning another irritated look. “ Nothing. It’s the work of a bored teenager, I’m sure.”

“Tampered wards, things moved around. More recently there have been a few small, contained fires and explosives,” Rhysand offered.

“Explosives?” Lucien lifted his brows.

“They’re firecrackers, Rhys. Get your head out of your a–”

“Alright, here we go!” The voice of Nesta filtered through the room as she raced in, her nephew on her shoulders flapping his wings valiantly. Now that he was nearing four and his wings were strong enough to start supporting him, the group had been allowing him to practice flying. Every time Lucien visited, they were trying another method to strengthen them enough to carry his full weight. Lucien enjoyed watching Nyx; it tickled him to see such seasoned warriors care so tenderly for such a small person. Something he never dared to address within himself ached at the thought of a family all his own. And, as always, he shoved the thoughts away violently. There was no use imagining something that might never exist. Lucien knew from experience the pain that getting your hopes up could render.

“You’re too overprotective now that you’re a father, Rhysie. What are you going to do when Nyx is tearing up the town? Call in the Darkbringers ?” Laughs came from around the room as Feyre settled next to Rhys, giving him a kiss. Nesta returned with Nyx to Cassian’s side, a protective hand coming around her shoulders. Lucien, not for the first time, reveled in this feeling of family around him. Years ago, he’d felt very much the outsider at these gatherings, always uncomfortable and not quite the right fit. But something had shifted long before Elain had started speaking to him more. Perhaps it had been the sacrifices he’d been willing to make in the battle with Koschei , or maybe just the recurrence of his presence had finally become commonplace enough to be accepted. Regardless, this was another home to him now– these were the people he’d chosen to surround himself with. He was glad to spend his Solstices here, and happier still to have another holiday in the Human Lands for Christmas.

The front door slammed open, boisterous voices in the hall pouring in. Lucien knew that it was not Elain. No one seemed worried, and he tried not to be either. Elain had been fae for years now. She was smart and knew Velaris well. She was likely just out grabbing last minute supplies for dinner or dessert, knowing her.

Emerie and Mor rounded the corner, arms around each other and flushed from the cold. Mor had taken the longest to warm up to him, for the obvious reasons, but he found he liked her quick wit and admired the fierceness with which she protected her friends. They’d eventually bonded drunk one night while he agreed to tell her embarrassing stories about Eris growing up.

“Lu Lu! You’re here!” With acceptance had come nicknames.

Emerie slung Mor down onto the couch. “We started a bit early at Rita’s,” she pretended to whisper, Mor shoving at her butt with her foot.

Behind them were the Shadowsinger and Gwyn, much quieter in their entrance, but wrapped around each other nonetheless. They weren’t particularly talkative, as far as members of the inner circle went. But there was no denying how in love they were. Lucien’s heart ached a bit, longed when he saw the way their eyes always met, their covert touches nearly missable by anyone not searching for them. Would Elain be quiet in that way? Reserved? Or would she love out loud like Mor and Feyre? More thoughts that he regularly forced from his own head.

“Is that everyone?” Cassian asked Rhys, changing topics.

“Everyone who’s coming. Amren somehow lost a bet and is spending Solstice in Summer.”

Mor snickered. “God, she’s done for. Or maybe Varian is. Who knows with the two of them.”

Around him, everyone continued talking, but Lucien was no longer paying attention, the pounding in his ears suddenly overwhelming. It was the steady thwump , thwump , thwump of a familiar heartbeat, one he knew just as intimately as his own.

He couldn’t see her, but Lucien knew Elain had arrived. Her heart was pounding in time with his, a steady beat with an echo that always calmed something in him at the same time as it drove him mad. His body immediately went on alert, skin flushed and blood rushing below his waist. This back and forth dance with her was like the longest, most intense edging he’d ever experienced in his life. Every time he visited, he found himself glamouring his scent for the entire duration of his stay.

It was only moments between when he’d felt her arrive and when she bustled out of the kitchen, face flushed and eyes a bit wild. Lucien had a moment where jealousy roared inside him like an ugly beast. Had she been out with another suitor? But her scent hit him from across the room with the intensity of a brick wall, and there was no one there except her, lovely and light and intoxicating.

“So sorry! Had to finish the icing.”

Liar, he thought, but he let the amusement remain in his eyes alone. Beautiful little liar.

But Lucien kept her secret, despite his own curiosity. And when he sat down next to her at dinner, he scented her again, just to be sure.

Sometime in that past year, his seat had regularly become the one next to hers. No matter the other company present, he would find her as he looked for his own seat, the open one on her left belonging to him. They had never addressed it, nor had anyone else, but it continued nonetheless.

Another thing Lucien had learned was that the members of the Inner Circle never missed a chance to celebrate, and every chance they had to celebrate, they cooked enough food to feed a family of twenty for roughly two weeks. He couldn’t complain– every single thing he’d ever eaten there had been nothing short of mouth watering, and he always finished everything with great gusto, often reaching for seconds, and greatly savoring the leftovers they inevitably sent him home with. Tonight’s feast was no different, plate upon plate of roasted meats, vegetables soaked in butter, the creamiest mashed potatoes that Lucien had personally ever seen, as well as side dishes that he’d never even heard of before lined the table.

He listened as everyone spoke around him, the way they normally did. He enjoyed being a listener, most of the time, interjecting occasionally but mostly just enjoying the friendly back and forth. Elain, as usual, was quiet by his side. He caught her frequently in his periphery, practically dragging his eyes away from her by force each time.

Until one time, he found her looking back. The conversations continued, loud and brash, around them, but her eyes stayed hooked on his. Then, without saying a word, Elain lifted a forkful of food to her mouth. Lucien tracked the movement like a predator watching its prey, each millisecond it traveled through the air sending thousands more sparks down his spine until, finally, the fork met her lips. Her pink, perfectly bowed lips– which took their precious time closing around the fork, pursing slowly, intentionally, as she closed her eyes, savoring the food.

Lucien had the sense to check his glamour before his heart gave out right there at the Solstice table.

When she opened her eyes again, batting her lashes and returning her fork to her plate, a smirk teased her lips.

Cauldron boil and fry me.

Lucien’s breathing had sped up, and he fought desperately to get it controlled before someone else noticed he sounded like a panting animal. He forced his eyes back to his own plate with willpower that he must have plucked from the very depths of his soul.

He was confronting this tonight. Somehow, some way, he was getting Elain alone. He adjusted in his seat, his cock hard and angry in his pants, and saw Elain smile fully down into her food.

Oh yes, there would be discussions.

+++

Waiting through presents and dessert was a special kind of torture for Lucien, his body aching to move the night along so he could get her alone, even just for a moment. A highlight, however, had been Lucien seeing Elain open the present he’d gotten for her. She seemed a bit flustered as she opened it, eyes somewhat glassy with emotion as she’d looked at him after.

“Thank you, Lucien.” His name on her tongue nearly drove him mad with as tightly as he was wound. But he simply nodded in response as she turned to set it tenderly aside, as though it was something precious.

Now, it was long past midnight, the night quiet and the revelry settled into something more casual and comfortable. Mor was crashed out on the couch, her head in Emerie’s lap as she stroked her hair. Gwyn and Azriel had left not long after dinner, having just arrived back from spy work on the continent before coming to the River House. Nesta and Cassian were retiring to a guest bedroom, too drunk to fly or winnow home. Elain had long since gone to the kitchens to help clean up and pack food and treats to send off, always careful to let Nuala or Cerridwen prep, package, and deliver the one for Lucien.

But he hadn’t seen her in hours, the steady beating of her heart close, but not close enough. He could feel his chances slipping away.

“Lucien, would you like to stay?” Feyre asked sweetly, coming up to him with a hand on her stomach, Rhys not far behind.

He was not so drunk he couldn’t get home–he was actually quite sober– but being in the same house as Elain while he slept was a special kind of torture. On the other hand, it would give him more time tomorrow to speak with her. He’d made up his mind.

“Sure, thanks for the offer.”

“You know where your room is.” She gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. “Happy Solstice, Lucien.”

“Happy birthday, Feyre.” Lucien had stayed often enough that he could find his way down the airy halls of the River House, the ceilings reaching high on each floor and windows lining each inch of open space to show the sun and stars. The room he typically stayed in was at the end of the hall, where most of the other bedrooms aside from Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx slept. It was reserved for him and him alone, though he didn’t stay often. They simply had more rooms than they needed.

He liked the comfort of it. It had floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Sidra, and a bathroom of his own so he didn’t need to wander far. He shucked off his vest as he entered, draping it over the chair by the door. But Lucien stopped when his eyes caught on an item sitting in a beam of moonlight on his bed.

There on the duvet was a small package. He stepped closer to find it was wrapped in brown paper, delicately tied with a twine bow. He could scent her on it, the wrapping carrying hints that he could mistake for no one else. He picked it up in his hands, the box nearly weightless and yet carrying the weight of the universe within it.

Elain had gotten him a Solstice present.

He was nearly afraid to open it, afraid to ruin the magic. She’d never given him anything before. Had hardly thanked him for his presents before last year. And yet, here it was. A gift that felt so undeniably her resting in his palm.

Lucien carefully pulled the twine, setting it on the bed. He would save it and the paper and everything else forever, he knew without a doubt. As he opened the small box inside, his heart leapt into his throat. There in the moonlight, he could see a pair of cufflinks nestled into the cotton buffeting. They were oval, remarkably shaped, the center filled with something that appeared to be resin cradling the most lovely assortment of crushed fall leaves imaginable. It looked just like the woods around the Forest House, a rare piece of home that he actually missed.

It was, without a doubt, the most thoughtful gift that Lucien had ever received.

Lucien’s chest twisted momentarily, the emotion overcoming him. But when it happened again, he knew it wasn’t emotion tugging in his chest.

It was the bond. Elain was pulling on the bond.

Like a specter in search of the afterlife, he followed the pull blindly, setting the box down on the table by the bed and moving towards the door without another thought. He felt it again, stronger this time, and he obeyed, no doubts in his mind about where she wanted him to go.

He usually avoided any feelings through the bond, shoving that need to touch it, stroke it, caress it deep down in his chest. But the pull was unmistakable this time, and it was coming from Elain.

Occasionally– in her dreams, he’d assumed– she’d touch the bond, just enough that Lucien would feel it. At first, it had been enough to drive him insane, especially knowing she’d done it unintentionally. After a while, he’d learned to mostly ignore it, to see it for what it was: purely innocent, a naive mistake, a mistaken brush against something she didn’t fully understand. But this was not that.

All sense was lost when he felt a third pull, a beckoning, a summons in his chest. His hand hit the knob and turned, his sights set on her room down the hall. He would get his conversation after all, it seemed.

The second Lucien emerged into the hall, though, he was met with the burgeoning sounds of chaos– loud voices and slamming doors, lights turning on throughout the River House. It took a moment for his mind to catch up, and he saw Elain shoot into the hall too, as though she’d been waiting right on the other side of her door. Her frantic eyes met his in the darkness as she pulled her robe tightly around her body.

She’d been waiting for him .

He didn’t have time to process as the hall filled with everyone else, the voicing cresting together as she shook her head minutely.

“What’s happening?” Lucien hadn’t had the time to change out of his clothes, trousers and cream colored undershirt rumpled but at least still on. Cassian was half naked as he bustled into the hall behind a grumbling Nesta.

“There was an explosion.” Rhys was all business, entirely on alert as he held a sleeping Nyx in his arms.

“Where?” Nesta’s sharp voice cut through the hallway, the drowse of sleep no longer roughing her voice.

“The bank of the Sidra near The Rainbow. Someone hid a cache of fireworks charmed to go off.”

“Any injuries?”

“None, and no damage reported. It was far enough from the buildings.”

“Just enough to wake everyone up,” Cassian grumbled through a yawn, an oof leaving his chest as Nesta elbowed him.

“So why are we all up?” Mor was not a morning person at her best, and her day of drinking certainly hadn’t left her at her best as she slumped against Emerie.

“I want to check it out. It might be a trap, a distraction to draw our attention away.”

“ Or , and hear me out, Rhys, it could literally just be fireworks on Solstice– Nesta , stop!”

“We can check it out, Rhys. It’s fine,” Emerie reassured. Rhys handed a sleeping Nyx off to Feyre to take to Nuala and Cerridwen, then began assigning roles as Lucien waited to be told where to go. Feyre returned, her clothes changed and her eyes alert as she approached him.

“Lucien, take Elain to the Human Lands for now?”

“Oh, Feyre, I hardly think that's–” Feyre put up a hand to silence her sister, and something flared inside Lucien before he could stop it. He hated the way they treated her, as though she were a child just like Nyx, someone to be moved and maneuvered and dealt with rather than as a functioning adult amongst them.

“It’s safer there, Elain. Please, go with Lucien.” Feyre’s eyes were pleading as she turned to her sister, and though her brows were furrowed in clear annoyance, Lucien saw the moment it smoothed out. Her pretty brown eyes met his over Feyre’s shoulder.

“Fine.” Lucien could see Feyre’s shoulders visibly relax, but the tension in Elain’s held fast. She turned on her heel and went back into her room, closing the door behind her just slightly harder than necessary. She had changed much in the past five years– her mannerisms, her fashion, and clearly the way she spoke to Lucien. But the one thing that hadn’t changed was her reactions to her sisters. She always seemed to defer to their wishes, their judgment, their expectations.

Lucien hated it.

“Thank you. I just want to know she’s safe while we look into this.” Lucien looked down at her.

“Feyre, you know your sister is older than you and also a fae, correct?” He injected some teasing into the words, but he hoped they struck a chord.

“Of course I do. But you know how Elain is.”

The words filled him with ire. Smart? Talented? Capable beyond measure? How would anyone ever know when they made practice of shoving her into carefully curated corners. It wasn’t an argument he’d win tonight.

“Of course I will take care of her, Feyre.” She nodded, looking relieved, and moved to walk back over to the group. “But she deserves more credit than I think you give her.” Feyre stopped for a moment, back still turned to Lucien, before she continued on down the hall. He sighed and turned back to the door, finding it opening slowly as he did, Elain coming through now dressed with a small bag over her shoulder. Lucien took the bag immediately, and then found himself extending his hand towards her without thinking. She barely hesitated before taking it in her own, her skin so soft against his calloused fingers that it nearly took his breath away. He winnowed them straight out before he could do anything he’d regret, their feet hitting snowy ground.

The house towered in front of them, far more room than any one of them would ever need. Despite the late hour, smoke rose in the moonlight from a number of chimneys, a soft glow emanating from within. It was much colder here than in Velaris, and though he flexed through the way his magic always felt bound when he first crossed over, he still sent a little burst of warmth Elain’s way as he gently pulled her towards the house.

Jurian and Vassa were likely long asleep, but Lucien pulled out his own key to open the front door, locking it again behind them as he offered to take her coat. She shrugged it off as she looked around the bright foyer, starry eyed, and Lucien tried not to focus every bit of his existence onto the outline of her chest.

“You live here?” Gods, her voice was so sweet. He almost forgot she’d asked him a question, fumbling to find his voice to respond.

“When I’m not in Velaris, yes.”

“It’s lovely.” The manor was atypical, one they’d built after the fall of Koschei to house Vassa away from the castle that held such poor memories for her. She’d wanted to live with Jurian, maintain a life separate from her past while continuing to rule. Lucien had helped them construct it, sturdy walls of wood and stone, sort of a mimicking of the Forest House but with brighter colors per Vassa’s request. The tapestries were all wildly well lit, the colors from within and the lamps in the hall making sure every inch of the home felt cozy and bright. They’d included unique furniture from the continent, Prythian, and the Human Lands, making a hodgepodge of colors that, rather than making it tacky, made the house seem lived in. Nearly every space had its own fireplace, and though they didn’t often entertain, they kept rooms ready and available in case. Lucien loved it here, and judging by Elain’s eyes, she had never seen anything like it. He hoped, for whatever it was worth, that it was someplace she’d like, too.

“It’s home.” He smiled as he said the words, his chest lighting up as she turned to him and smiled back. Despite how the evening had turned, she was here, with him, away from her meddling family and the pressures of Velaris. Perhaps this turn of events hadn’t been so negative after all.

“Come, let me show you your room.” Without thinking, he pressed a hand to her lower back, leading her up the mahogany staircase into the upper halls. When they reached the second story, she spun again to take it all in, the warm air rising here to make the loft even cozier as they made their way into the hall of bedrooms. Blessedly, he noted, Jurian and Vassa were silent tonight. Despite being on entirely the opposite side of the house, Lucien had taken to wearing weighted ear plugs some nights to drown out the sounds so he could sleep. It wasn’t the welcome he’d wanted for her, certainly.

Somewhat selfishly, he showed Elain to the guest room right next to his own room. He reasoned that it was for the window view of the distant mountains and not the proximity to his own quarters. He opened the door, motioned her in, and set her bag down near the dresser, sending a flame into the lantern on the nightstand, and then another into the fireplace. He tried not to preen at Elain’s impressed little gasp as she spun near the bed.

“Our home is your home. Feel free to help yourself to anything here. There’s a bathroom right across the hall from you, and I’m right next door.” He pointed lamely to the left, as though she might see through the wall to his room, to his bed, through him straight into his soul, even.

She took a step back towards him, then another, and he felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He longed to finish the evening they’d started, but he tamped the urges down as he always did. She’d had a rough night, was somewhere unfamiliar, and any promises or intent made before didn’t necessarily still apply.

Still, she stepped closer.

“I, uhm, I apologize for the night. I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your Solstice.”

“It’s not how I was imagining, certainly.” Her voice was soft, and she took a final, tentative step forward. They were close enough to touch if they reached out their arms, close enough that Lucien could feel the tension crackling the air between them. He wanted to kiss her. It would be so easy to just take a single step and close that gap. So easy to wind his fingers through her hair and pull her mouth to his.

Kiss, touch, taste, claim–

Lucien was a gentleman, and as he had for the past five years, he renewed his oath to let Elain come to him when she was ready. All the way to him.

“Goodnight, Elain.” Lucien tried not to feel gutted or hopeful at the disappointment that crossed her face as he stepped back into the low light of the hallway.

“Goodnight, Lucien.” His name on her tongue was nearly enough to send him sprinting back through the doorway. Instead, he stepped to the side, taking the two steps to his own door where he would lay awake in his bed, knowing she was mere feet away from him, and thinking about the way it had felt when she’d tugged down the bond between them.

#acotar gift exchange #gift exchange 2024 #for my new friend #elucien fic #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elucien #holiday vibes #oops all smut and fluff

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spookyrea · 1 month ago

Text

For Years to Come (maybe even more)

After revealing to Loki that you two are soulmates (in an admittedly less-than-ideal fashion), the two of you finally discuss your matching soulmarks.

Chapter 2 / 3 - read on AO3

A soulmate-identifying mark AU - heavy petting involved in this chapter (kinda *shrug emoji*) - epilogue will contain smut

(chapter one) -- (epilogue)

If Loki was going to avoid you, you decided that it was well within your rights to avoid him, too.

You spent the last week of December on Natasha's couch, pretending to help her knit by unwinding her skeins of yarn while watching whatever wintery drivel you could find on television. She never asked you what was wrong but you suspected that she already knew, between her super-spy attention to detail and the compromising position she had found the two of you in on Christmas Eve. There was a decidedly Loki-shaped hole in every conversation, a vacancy that she would open to you with a side-long glance. Thor and I are going to go look at the lights before they take them down, she might say. His brother will probably join, since they're attached at the hip.

You never took the bait, which she respected (if sometimes with a rolled eye). Inevitably, by virtue of there being twenty-odd people living in one designated tower, more people were folded into your menagerie of distraction, and you made it all the way to the new year without having to think about the letter burning a hole in your kitchen counter.

That wasn't to say that Loki's absence wasn't festering inside of you; you hadn't realized how large a role he played in your day-to-day until he was gone. You had been so hyper-aware of his presence every time he entered a room, and now you could only focus on the emptiness where Loki should have been. On the churning discomfort in your chest that one day he might finally enter the room and not come sauntering up to your side to try and vie for your attention. Occasionally, you would catch the low hum of his seidr in the buzz of a fluorescent light, or in the twinkling sound that preceded snowfall, and would yearn for the sweet kiss of magic against your cheek.

“You have to tell me what happened,” Wanda insisted, eventually. She laid beside you on your couch, her feet propped up at awkward angles to avoid smudging her still-wet nail polish. “Or else I’m calling Steve and then you’ll really be in for it.”

You weren't in the mood for one of his pep-talks, though, so you pulled your blanket down from your head and sighed. “Loki is my soulmate.”

That must not have been the answer she had been anticipating. You watched one foot slowly drop, then the other, and then Wanda was turning on the spot to look at you, her black-rimmed eyes blinking over at you. “You’re joking.”

“He kissed me.” It felt good to tell someone else. It made it all real, somehow. “We got into an argument because he likes me and I’m so awkward around him that I can’t look him in the eyes, and then he kissed me.”

“But you like him.”

“Yes.”

“You got in an argument because he likes you and you like him.”

“I wrote him a letter.” You scrubbed your hands over your face, trying to will the hysteria away. “It’s stupid. It’s so stupid. What a mess.”

“Was he any good?”

You laughed, watery, your eyelashes a little damp. “Yeah. Yeah, he was.”

“Okay.” There was a sincerity to her voice that was uniquely Wanda. As if she had approached the world upside-down and somehow come back with exactly the right thing to say. “Imagine if he was a bad kisser. Then he’d be nothing but a pretty face.”

“You can teach someone to be a good kisser.”

“He’s ancient. If he hasn’t learned how to kiss someone by now, it’s hopeless. And also – Loki. He would see it as a personal attack. He would kiss worse on purpose.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

The television droned in the background; two men were making intricate sugar cookies decorated to look like disco balls. They had an easy kind of camaraderie that spoke of years of work together. You watched in a companionable silence until an advertising break broke the spell. “So are you two… together now?”

“Um… no. No, I don’t think we’re going to be together.”

“You know he goes a little,” she spun a finger through the air, flashing red for extra effect, “when you’re around?”

“The seidr thing?”

“I was thinking about the ‘I'm-the-coolest-guy-in-the-room’ thing but sure, that too.”

You sighed. “Why couldn't you be my soulmate? I can talk to you.”

Wanda was a pragmatist at the end of the day. She was a little like Steve in that way -- fiercely empathetic in a practical way. “How does ‘talk to your soulmate’ sound as a resolution?”

“It sounds like a start.”

“Mine is to learn how to cross stitch.” There was a plan forming behind her eyes; she took you by the wrist and hauled the two of you off the couch before stomping off in search of her coat. “We need to go get you a new outfit.”

“We do?”

She nodded. “A dress. A pretty dress. A dress that says ’sorry I was so awkward but you’re really scary and hot and I’m only a puny mortal’.”

“You just want an excuse to go shopping.”

“I am a woman of many interests.”

You bit back a smile. Linking your fingers together, you gave her hand a long, strong squeeze and let her pick the first store on your agenda.

You were running a little late; there was a shoe malfunction, and a missing eyeliner pen, and before any of you realised it was almost ten o’clock. You took the train; in New Year’s Eve traffic, it was a tight fit – each car was full to bursting, humid and smelling of sweat and cologne – but you only had to make it three stops. You held onto the rail and Natasha, Carol and Wanda held on to you, giggling, sidled up close.

The bar Tony had rented was, mercifully, only a few feet from the subway entrance. The three of you picked your way through the snow while Natasha, ever the pinnacle of grace, somehow glided across the sidewalk in her five-inch heels.

The place was dingy in a homely kind of way. All exposed brick and wooden beams, the walls were covered in sports memorabilia and framed Playboy covers, and a net of twinkling lights was strung up along the ceiling. A low drone of chatter and jazz hung in the air, a nostalgic sound that reminded you not of winters passed, but of years from now when you would look back on this moment. Outside a snowstorm howled, blanketing the city streets in a navy haze, but for now you were warm and dry and a little lovesick.

Natasha kissed your cheek before slipping away to find Clint, who no doubt had already turned his hearing aids off and was nursing a beer in some secluded corner. Wanda clung to your elbow for support while she scanned the crowd, balanced on her tiptoes. “Do you see him?”

“No. Hey, wait–” You caught a loose bobby pin, hanging on by a thin curl, and smoothed her hair back in place. “Ok. Better. Have you found him?”

“Thanks.” She had that look in her eye, that fit-to-bursting expression she got when the whole extended family got together. It seemed the entire Avengers rota was in the room. “And yeah, there, with Thor and Steve.”

A long table – which you suspected was actually three or four pushed together, based on how haphazardly the chairs were scattered around it – sat slightly askew near the back of the bar. Your team had congregated at one end, grinning, a few clearly inebriated.

Loki was tucked away at the very opposite edge, rolling a glass between his hands. His perpetual rain cloud seemed to have given way to a veritable storm because a few of the lights overhead were sparking, glowing green around the edges. Some pretty creature hovered by his side, twirling her shiny blonde hair and batting her eyelashes.

Her neck was exposed; her mark was a stark thing made up of sharp geometric lines, and you admired how bold she was to approach him knowing she wasn’t a match. She was leaning over the back of an empty chair, tracing a neatly manicured nail down its woodgrain. Her comment had Loki smiling, rolling his eyes good naturedly, preening a little under her attention. She tilted her head toward the dancefloor; though you couldn’t see her face, the question was obvious.

“You look great,” Wanda whispered.

“Thanks. So do you.”

You watched Loki consider her offer. He enjoyed company, of course; Loki was seldom alone, even if that meant hanging around crowds who weren’t very fond of him, or that he was fond of. Maybe it was survival, or loneliness, or some combination of the two, but Loki liked to be included in the joke, even at his detriment.

Yet his eyes scanned the crowd, seeking someone else’s attention. Everything felt right when they found yours.

You took your time rounding the table, lingering by Steve and Rhodey so you could watch Loki unwind to a petulant slouch. When you reached the end, Darcy leaned over to give you a kiss on the cheek, smearing her lipstick a little in the process, and pushed a drink into your hand. “Happy new year!”

It was a short distance but a long walk to the empty seat next to Loki. The closer you got, the more excited his seidr seemed to grow; it whispered sweet nothings in a language you couldn't understand, crowding up against your cheek like an affectionate cat. Ushered you close so it could kiss you so tenderly while Loki looked on with cool disinterest. He waved the girl away.

“You looked lonely,” you hummed. “All the way over here.”

“My ill mood was making our colleagues’ devices malfunction.” He tsked, taking a long pull from his glass. “I’m afraid you have the same effect. On my seidr, I mean.”

“You mean it doesn’t… play with other people?”

His expression was unreadable. “What was it you said? ‘You make me nervous because I’m attracted to you’?”

“The other you didn’t seem all that nervous. Ginger-Loki.”

“You do like him better, then.” It was meant to be a joke but the mirth didn’t quite reach Loki’s eyes; he watched you a little despondently, like a man who had spent his entire life just shy of perfection.

“I told you before. I like this Loki.”

“He’s not very nice.”

Your right hand tiptoed across the table to lay over his wrist. Now was not the time to be shy. “I’m sorry about the letter.”

“I’ve been called worse in languages older than you.”

“Maybe so. I wasn’t done, though. It was supposed to say something like ‘You’re vile and–” Something about his expression made you pause; Loki’s gaze had gone far-off, fixated on the snow accumulating on the windows. “...It was supposed to be a love letter.”

He snorted. “Charming.”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever. I could barely stand to look at you sometimes because I thought you would notice. I wanted to put everything down on paper but then I just… couldn’t.”

“So you attacked my character. Delightful.”

“Loki. Look at me.” It was his turn to avoid your eye, it seemed. You pressed on his cheek until he was looking levely into your eyes. “Have you been trying to hit on me?”

“‘Hit on’. No, I was not trying to ‘hit on’ you. I’m a prince. I was trying to woo you. Or at the very least, manufacture conversation.”

“How many times have you tried?”

“How many times have you run away, kitten?”

There was a great commotion across the bar. Steve called your name, hands planted on his hips. “Tell the kids they have a curfew.”

Peter, Ned and MJ began to complain all at once. They had commandeered one of the overhead TVs to play someone’s Nintendo Switch and were passing the controller back and forth to beat a boss. Morgan sat in Wanda’s lap, too young to understand the mechanics but eager enough to cheer on, and each of them wore a knitted cap that Natasha had made for them.

It came over you all at once. You were sure that Scott and Sam would join them in a few minutes to help beat the boss. That Clint would come by and take Morgan somewhere quieter when she started dozing off. That Bucky and Steve would pick people at random and swing them around to club music that didn't match the sock hop, just for the fun of it.

You had a soulmate but it didn’t really matter, at the end of the day. All the anxiety, the fear and loathing and stoicism -- none of it was necessary. You would pick these people no matter their marks, and they would pick you because love was an innate but fickle thing; there was no use trying to control it, only to appreciate it when it happened.

“Let them stay, Cap," you called back. "Until the crowds die down.”

Peter and Ned whooped. Steve smiled like he never intended to run them off, anyway.

Loki tugged on your shirt sleeve; how he loved to do that, to commandeer your attention. Like a dog not yet done playing fetch – look at me, he demanded. I’m starved of your affections already. His fingers threaded through yours.

“I’m not running away this time, I promise."

A single curl was snaking free from his short ponytail, falling across his forehead in a little crescent shape. He pushed it aside with your linked hands, like letting go was out of the question.

“Why are you here,” he blurted out. “If it’s pity, or some self-sacrificing sense of duty, then I would advise you to leave.”

You watched him watch you.

“I think… We’re finally on an even playing field. And I owe you another letter.”

“You could call me despicable this time. Egregiously egotistical.”

“I could call you ‘mine’.”

Loki’s seat was askew, not quite tucked under the table, and he turned sideways to face you, one arm dangling over the back. He finished his drink in one long pull, tilting his chin just high enough to strain the crisp collar of his shirt. “Do not pretend. I have to warn you, I’m well versed in wanting.”

It was perhaps the first time since you met Loki -- before even being hired, back when you were a street-level hero who got roped into conflicts too big to comprehend -- that neither one of you was trying to fill an awkward silence. Loki played with your hand, puppeting your fingers open and shut with the same meanness that one might pet a beloved cat, while you sipped on your drink. You found that you liked the silence; when neither one of you was anxiously prattling on, you seemed to get along quite nicely.

“What does, um… Ket– kettlina? What does it mean?”

His other hand threaded through the elastic in his hair and snapped it free, vanishing it elsewhere with a flick of his wrist. “Ketlinkr? It’s a diminutive.” He shrugged. “‘Little cat’.”

Magic hummed – maybe his, or maybe the inherent magic of love – in the air, kissing your cheek so sweetly. Loki, seeming to sense it, traced the spot with the tips of his fingers.

Every breath you drew was heavy. You wanted him to lean in so badly that it hurt, worse than a pang, worse than an ache - there was a pain inside your chest that you felt only his mouth could soothe. “Kitten.”

He smiled – shy, almost. “Yes, but affectionate. T’eta minn ketlinkr. My kitten.”

At some point, his hand had crept over the back of your chair. In the half-circle of his arms, it was as though every dream you had ever dreamt had secretly been about him. Like every moment of déja-vu, every time you heard someone call your name and found no one there, every inexplicable instance of strange magic in your mundane life - it all traced back to him, in that moment. “Ketlinkr,” you tested the word. “I never did agree to the nickname.”

He drew the pad of his thumb over the lipstick smudge on your cheek, blinking uninterestedly down where his thumb came away red. “T’eta hverr, ketlinkr. Minn minikla ketti.”

“Why not, um… Ben…”

“Bendr,” he hummed. “Would you like to be my mortal wound?”

He knocked at one of your chair legs, tottling you backwards, then forwards when you overcorrected. You collided inelegantly with his chest, giving him the perfect opening to slide his arm around your waist and ‘catch’ you before you tumbled out of his lap. The new proximity pressed his cheek to yours. “Terribly sorry, kitten,” he spoke against the shell of your ear. “You’ll have to excuse my manners. All the alcohol I guess. I don’t know my own strength.”

You clutched at his collar. “You did that on purpose.”

“You have no proof. It’s your word against mine and I am excellent on the stand.” He held you tightly, winding his other arm around your back like a snare. You felt his cheek tip up in a smirk against yours, your shared giddiness seeming to overwhelm.

“I thought you were going to be nice.”

“That was the red-head. This is your Loki. Loki-Loki. He’s vile. ”

“Good evening, New York!” Tony had clambered up on the stage and commandeered the microphone. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, so many buttons deep that you could just make out the lines of scar tissue around his arc reactor. “Just a reminder that you have two minutes until midnight. So if you haven't found your soulmate yet, you’d better pick the hottest person in this room and settle for second best. Or hope! You never know.”

The crowd cheered. Loki deposited you on your knees, precariously balanced on his lap. “Hottest person in the room?”

“You’re supposed to kiss someone at midnight. Something about ringing in the new year and good luck in love.”

“Oh. Well, good thing I’ve already snatched you up. It would have been a blood bath if I had to find you with a minute until midnight.”

You tipped your head back and laughed. “My blood, more like. You should see the looks people are throwing you.”

Indignation glanced off his eyes; his hand rode up the length of your back, the heel of his palm slotting just under your skull to cradle your head. “I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“It’s less about ‘letting’ and more about a dozen peoples’ personal journeys to find out what’s under your collar.”

The televisions mounted to the ceiling flickered; a thirty-second countdown began ticking down overhead. You tested your weight against Loki’s chest, curling your fingers around his shoulders.

“Well, if it’s tradition,” Loki started, his voice coy but eyes burning hot, “then who are we to deny?”

“You’re right. Tradition to uphold. It would practically be illegal not to.”

“Exactly. And I’m a good guy now, right? A hero. I am bound by duty to respect the law to the letter.” He paused. “That sounds horribly boring. Forget I said that.”

The crowd started counting at fifteen - a few stragglers at first, snowballing until the entire room was chanting. It was infectious, so heady that you felt as though your chest was fit to burst any second; you turned your face down to meet Loki’s, hardly able to stop yourself from just leaning in and sealing your mouth to his.

“I like it when you look at me,” Loki murmured.

You slid one hand over his cheek and traced the lines carved by his smile. “I like it when you look at me, too.”

Five, the room chanted. Loki tilted his head, his lips parting with an inaudible sigh. You moved your hand back down to his shoulder to steady yourself. Four, three–

You didn’t make it to one; Loki closed the distance early. Time slowed to an endless stretch that consisted only of his thumb, tracing a long, slow line down your ribs; of the amorous sound of your breath catching in your chest; of the weight of his legs pressed against yours. Though it seemed impossible, he drew you even more securely against the solid wall of his chest, so that you had no choice but to unfurl, winding both of your arms behind his neck.

The room must have been alight with noise and celebration but when you pulled away, you were only aware of him. His heavy-lidded eyes tracked your lips with a liquid kind of want, something that seemed to spill from him with every shaky breath.

He kissed you again.

“Why don’t you bring me back to your room,” he whispered, “and I’ll show you why they call me Silvertongue.”

You crammed yourselves in the backseat of a cab with the middle seat yawning a respectable distance between you. The driver greeted you with a grunt, his eyes resolutely fixed ahead; at just past midnight, you had a feeling he wasn’t in the mood to listen to drunken drivel or to sit through a peep show.

The streets were chaos; why you thought this would be easier, you couldn’t comprehend. Later, you would blame it on the dizziness, or the lovesickness.

You blinked out of your reverie when something brushed against your wrist. Loki’s hand had crossed the distance between you and lay, palm facing upwards, next to yours. He’d wiggled his index finger under your pinky.

With every block that you crossed, your giddiness was melting away to something else entirely, something hot and wanting. Something like honey, or maybe whiskey. At three-and-a-half blocks away from the tower, the two of you tumbled out of the car with a lacklustre happy new year, which the driver waved off. You paid him with too many bills, not willing to wait a second more.

The tower was deserted; even the lobby, which was usually lit up all hours of the day, was dark. The security guards had all left for the night, waved away by Tony with the insistence that FRIDAY could vet potential intruders while they enjoyed their evening. Your footsteps were painfully loud in the empty atrium.

Loki followed you up to your room like a spectre. By the time you got to your door, your hands were shaking so badly that you could hardly get your key into the lock, too distracted by the way Loki was mouthing at your jaw, breath hot and humid on your skin, his hands riding up your sides to tangle in the fabric of your dress.

“You have to stop for a second,” you gasped. “I can’t– I can’t think with you like this.”

His tongue traced a line over your pulse point. He turned you around and plucked the key from your hand before crowding you against the door, the open curve of his mouth a teasing pressure against yours. You heard the key grind against the little pins, then turn; Loki caught you at the last second when the door swung open underneath you, laughing, equal parts arrogant and aroused.

Loki leaned against the doorframe, his arms bracketing it on either side, and watched you back away. His head tilted; his eyes pulled you apart like a butcher pulled pork. You continued until the backs of your thighs met your couch, your bag and coat forgotten to the side in a sad heap.

The deadbolt slid into place with a click.

You beckoned him forward for a quick kiss. Hardly more than a peck.

“Oh, I think I deserve a little more than that.”

You hummed. “Careful, ben.. .”

“Bendr.” He reached up and toyed with your bottom lip, then leant down and licked where his thumb had been. “Your accent is infuriating.”

“I’m trying,” you gasped. One of his legs slotted between yours so he could lean his weight on the couch, effectively pinning you under him.

“Loki–” You were cut short by a sharp roll of his hips against yours. A truly evil grin shaded his handsome face before he tipped his head to kiss you again. You squirmed, turning your cheek; undeterred, Loki pressed his mouth to the highest point on your cheekbone. “Loki, really–”

“It’s fun. We’re just having fun, kitten.” He punctuated his sentence by working his hand over your body, palming one breast upwards with a turn of his wrist.

“Stop interrupting me.”

His mouth closed over your pulse point, dull teeth scraping over your skin with purpose. The hand not groping your chest slipped under your skirt, hiking it up so he could toy with the waistband of your underwear, drawing a featherlight path along the edge before occasionally sliding his thumb under, admiring the soft skin of your hip. Any coherent thought fizzled and stuttered until your mind was a blank well for him to pour his desire into. Don’t I make you feel good, he asked. Imagine what I can do with my hands. With my tongue.

He cooed at you, licking a long, flat stripe up your neck. The hand around your hip slid even higher, slotting nicely under the jut of your ribcage. He pressed his face into the dip between your neck and shoulder and sighed, his chest filling then draining to a terrible, shaky emptiness. He pretended to smile. “Humour me. Use me.”

Using the hand in his hair, you twisted his head to the side and kissed him, pressing all the things you couldn’t say into his lips. How sorry you were for not speaking sooner. How you hoped there might be a future left to scrounge. "Have I ruined it?"

His mouth twisted to a funny line. You got the impression that he wanted to continue pretending, to slip into a caricature of himself where your words hadn't hurt him. Maybe it would be easier to act as if the two of you had organically fallen in love and not stumbled, face-first, into a strange, unconfident dance. But then -- Loki had made many mistakes in his lifetime. Had fought losing battles until the end of days in the name of spite, or pain. He couldn't fault you for a mistake he would have made ten-fold, had he been in the same scenario.

So he kissed your knuckles for the simple pleasure of kissing you.

“Loki." You would write him a hundred love letters after tonight. “Look at my neck.”

His hands drew away slowly, though the ghost of them lingered; his seidr smoothed up and down your sides, as if Loki was committing to memory the feel of you unconsciously.

He twisted the top button from its buttonhole, then followed the placket all the way to the top of your belly until your dress was limp and wide open. It slipped down your shoulders; you would have expected him to be ogling you, or to make some lecherous comment now that you were exposed to him, but his eyes stayed neutral, his hands shy where they traced your upper arms.

“I’m going to turn around now.” You disentangled your legs and twisted, drawing your feet up and over the back of the couch so you were seated on the back.

He was silent for a while. “Have I developed your mortal hysteria? I must have conjured you up out of lust.”

“No, Loki. It’s just a… a cosmic prank, I guess.”

Silence yawned and stretched, a creature warmed from a long slumber. Eventually, Loki rounded the couch so he could kneel on the cushions between your knees. You wound him in by the collar of his shirt, fisting it until he was close enough to be kissed, whereafter he met you in steps – realization, that you were kissing him; elation, that he might get to kiss you; and desperation, to keep you there forever.

"What else could you call me?"

"Duva. Ljufi. Ah, ja, minn ljuflinkr."

"Ljufi?"

"Love." The stereo system under your tv picked up, crackling with static. The air grew thick with ozone and magic, which settled like humidity over the back of your neck and whispered nonsense. “Alright, my skittish kitten… What do you call me?”

“Hm... Love, maybe? Um, sweetheart? My soulmate?”

He nodded gravely, hands on either side of your face. “We have weeks to make up for. Again.”

You threaded your fingers through his belt loops, urging him to lean his weight on you. He followed gingerly, drawn by your voice like a dog on a lead. “Soulmate. My soulmate.”

He couldn’t ask you a third time. He was too busy committing to memory the curve of your mouth against his.

The picture was uploaded to Twitter on January 1st at 3:47 AM – It was terrible quality, taken in a dimly-lit bar only a minute after midnight. You and Loki were perfectly framed in a sea of lovers, so wrapped up in the other that you weren’t aware of the flash. Darcy’s lipstick was still smeared on your cheek; few stray curls hung in a curtain in front of Loki’s eyes; and his right hand was balled up in the fabric of your dress, the tension just right, so that the top few dots of your soulmark peeked out.

You were both beaming.

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x female reader

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sunnie-angel · 7 months ago

Text

Part 4: The Plan

part 3 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: one step back, one step forward in this dance with jason’s warring desires for intimacy and distance

tags: swearing, UST, light angst

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.7k

a/n: i’ve never experienced an american thanksgiving so all of my knowledge of it comes from pop culture. this is basically the last of my ‘set up’ chapters, so plot + relationship development is going to really hit their strides starting from here.

Jason is learning to live with the thousand pangs of guilt that go hand in hand with his determination to be your friend and only your friend. Guilt churns his stomach so often that it fades to just another background distraction. Every time you stiffen up when he pulls back, every time you try to catch your face before the disappointment can shine through, he sees it all. He should keep his distance, stop reeling you in close before drawing back unexpectedly, but he can’t quite manage it.

A more recent encounter is still seared into his brain. It plays behind his eyelids as he swims laps around the pool with Rei.

The two of you had been heading to the dinner two blocks off of campus after Duvall’s class, the fiery light of the sunset colouring the worn paths across the quad. Class had been predictably… painful. Reading it for his own purposes or for a group of students to discuss, Frankenstein has always struck a raw nerve. I am thy creature and I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king, if thou wilt also perform thy part, which thou owest me. Seen and made raw by a woman and her monster years in the past, and isn’t that just the rub? The world spins, new generations live and die and live again to be just as disappointing to the men that created them. Jason’s heart had ached behind his sternum and even the usual balm of your chatter had taunted him with everything he denies himself. He’d made all the right noises, kept his head down and hands jammed into his pockets as the two of you had finally made it to the diner.

“God I almost lost it when what’s-his-name in business started talking.” You’d snorted as you’d opened up your menu, plastic pages clinging together. “Like is it really so hard to have an ounce of empathy? We should start a list of worst takes because that had to be a top five. Jay?” Jason must not have been playing his part well enough because now you’re looking at him, too silent, too caught up on the long stale nickname. “What are you thinking Jay, because I’m thinking pancakes for dinner.” All he could think of is the one and only Dick took him out for pancakes. Begrudgingly. And how it had ended with Dick storming out, suddenly excited about hanging out with the Titans, only to come back disappointed when he had realized he was Jason’s only ride.

“Don’t.” It had come out low and mean, lobbed through gritted teeth like something hot and vicious. Jason had watched it hit you, the way you’d leaned back from the table and hunched your shoulders closer. “Just don’t call me that, yeah?” It had taken concentrated effort on his part to breathe, mimic loosening the tension in his body, to look smaller and non-threatening.

“Oh. Okay, Jason.” Silence had stretched out between the two of you, an almost tangible distance. The words to explain, to apologize and smooth things over had stuck in his throat. The fading light had caught your face for a moment, your face crumpling in hurt before shuttering closed. Your blank face was burned into his mind’s eye just as clearly as all the ways he had not repaired things between you.

Jason surfaces, water sluicing off of his shoulders, before going back under for another stroke. His body takes over the pattern of striking and breathing while his mind returns to the diner. There’s a small animal part at the back of his mind that’s wary of the water. Keeps a small part of him on the look out for any tinges of green to the liquid in the irrational fear that he might also come out of this body of water changed. Actually taking Rei up on his offer to go swimming was in some ways a punishment for Jason, adrenaline thrumming through his veins until his muscles flagged from exhaustion.

Rei is waiting for him at the entrance to the gym, water bottle half empty and lid still unscrewed. His glasses keep sliding down his still damp face but he grins at Jason anyway.

“You sure you’re not looking for a spot on the swim team? Because I’m sure the team captain would get the coaches to make an exception for you.”

Re-shouldering his duffel, Jason asks, “Now why would he do that?”

“I’d do it because I want one last trophy for the relay team.” Rei says wryly.

“No shit?”

“Yeah, I don’t really advertise it because I’ve been doing it for so long that I keep forgetting new people don’t already know I swim. But if you want a spot you’re in. You lapped me like what, four times?”

“Five,” Jason says sheepishly. “Not much of a team player, so I’m gonna have to turn you down.”

“Fair enough,” Rei shrugs. “But I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You probably dodged a bullet though, the coaches are hard asses about not drinking before meets.”

“Yeah, speakin’ of drinkin’, what the hell was in those drinks you made the first night.”

Rei laughs and the conversation takes a more lighthearted turn as they head across campus to the student union. It doesn’t take much to keep the conversation going so Jason has time to turn over Rei’s invitation over in his head. Jason would never have been able to accept — spackling over his extensive scarring for even just today had been a pain — but it had given him hope that maybe even after all his mishaps with you, that he might still be achieving ‘normal’.

Wednesday comes by and Jason makes up his mind to show up the weekly study session. With the Thanksgiving weekend coming up he’s got less work than ever but an even stronger desire not to be alone. Campus has emptied out in anticipation of the long weekend, the student union almost echoingly empty. Lina and Rei are already taking up a bench, sickeningly affectionate and dodging the balled up paper scraps Danika is tossing at them. You sit next to her, rolling your eyes at her antics then egging her on whenever Lina swoops in to leave another lipstick stain on Rei’s cheeks. He hesitates before committing to the seat at the end of the table nearest to you. The fresh loukoumades burning a hole in his bag will have to be shield and apology enough.

He’s nearly there, three feet out from his target, when the sound of a chair getting angrily out of the way diverts his attention. Will is dragging his bike through the field of chairs, cursing up a storm that has even Jason with all of his years in Gotham taken aback. Quite possibly its the most words Jason’s heard Will say out loud in the scarce months he’s known the man. The incongruity of the scene with who Will generally is as a person sends most of table into nervous half laughter.

“Will? Will what’s wrong? The biking parking finally full or something?” You ask, disbelieving.

“What the fuck does it look like?” He snarls, before throwing the bike to the ground in frustration.

“Hey—“

“Will, what happened?” Lina cuts Jason off, uncurling herself from around Rei and leaning forward. Her eyes are wide and searching, and in Jason’s opinion, not suspicious enough for the uncharacteristic rage on Will’s face.

“Some motherfucking cock sucking moron nearly ran me off the sidewalk in their piece of shit gas guzzler. That’s what happened.” He goes to throw himself into the seat next to you but Jason beats him to it, larger frame boxing him out. Throwing Jason an annoyed glance, Will slouches into the only seat left. He brandishes his coat clad arm in front of Lina and Rei, still thrumming with pent up energy.

“Look what they did!” He exclaims.

“I don’t think any of the bandaids in my bag are big enough for that scrape.” Rei says regretfully.

“What— never mind the scrape, look what they did to my coat!” He pulls the fabric tight across his wrist, shoving it under their noses. Rei and Lina give each other confused looks over Will’s head.

“There’s a lose thread?” Questions Danika.

“Yes! Thank you, yes! That idiotic jackass made me scrape up my Loro Piana jacket, do you know how much this costs?!”

“So,” Danika interjects, “won’t your family just buy you a new one and write this off for taxes or something?”

“That’s not— okay that piece of shit not only destroyed my jacket and put my life at risk but he’s also polluting with his mid-life crisis pollutant puker. You know there’s a reason Gotham ranks worst in pollution for cities in New Jersey? It’s thanks to people like that who don’t care that their cars are leaking oil and going knocking people — who are just trying to be nice to the environment — off of their bikes when they were just minding their own—“

“Report it to the police or campus security then.” Jason interrupts, before Will can get into the rant he’s building up steam for. “You got close enough to see the oil leaking, you probably saw the license plate too.” Jason pulls the loukoumades out of his bag and slides them over to you, keeping eye contact with Will the whole while. Will breaks eye contact first, pulling his perfectly intact black wool coat tighter around him before shoving his hands deep in the pockets. You’ve cracked open the container and let out a hum of delight. Will’s eyes dart to the table.

“Didn’t get it. How was I supposed to know that one minute I’d be riding along, and then the next I’d be traumatized for life by some inconsiderate brute?” He sulks. And oh, yeah, not everyone had grown up with B and all of his lessons on paying attention to your environment for evidence.

“Yeah, speaking of trauma, who’s got plans for thanksgiving yet?” Danika asks, mirth and humour her weapon against the atmosphere.

A sharp elbow knocks once into Jason’s ribs. He turns to look down at you, hoping your bid for attention won’t turn out to be disappointing. You meet his gaze with cheeks stuffed full of fried dough and honeyed syrup, eyes narrowed and considering.

“They’re not pancakes, but I thought you’d like ‘em anyway.” Jason says.

You swallow, before beginning to speak in a low voice, letting the flow of conversation continue around the two of you undisturbed. “If this is an apology, there better be more from where that came from.” Your small lopsided smile is sincere, but it doesn’t quite erase the image of your blank face from the dinner from his memory. Nodding, he goes to pull out the second Tupperware container that he’d had the foresight to prepare and you begin to lick the leftover syrup from your fingers. Jason’s vision narrows down to your thumb and forefinger, glistening in the fluorescent lights. He could swear his heart skips a beat when your pink tongue flicks out, his breathing certifiably irregular when you start to suck on your fingers. The image of your lips shiny from syrup will probably be engraved on his second headstone as the cause of death.

“—son, Jason.” Danika’s voice, high pitched and insistent, breaks the moment. He’d be embarrassed at tuning out his situational awareness if he wasn’t also scrambling to answer her half-heard question.

“No plans for me. My family and I aren’t really in a ‘gatherings and gratitude’ place right now.”

“Whoops, we’ll add your family to the off-limits list. What do you usually do then?”

Your phone starts buzzing, and you swear under your breath as you navigate sticky fingers and tight jean pockets.

“I just make a fancier meal than normal, watch the parade on the tv. Not much to it.” He replies off-handedly. He doesn’t mention the extra patrols he’ll do, in anticipation of one of the Rogues deciding to make a splash across holiday headlines.

“Sorry, I’ve got to answer this.” And already you’re trying to climb over Jason to get out from the booth and away from the table. It brings your face closer to his than it’s ever been and Jason would be trying to pin a name to the exact shade of your eyes if it wasn’t for the worry on your face. The nearly empty building means that you don’t wander far from the group. You pace as you listen to whoever is on the phone and play with the charm on your necklace. Will catches on to Jason’s line of sight and rolls his eyes, still sulking in his chair.

“So there’s a whole list, yeah? Things you don’t talk about?” Jason asks, trying to distract himself.

“Oh I wouldn’t call it anything so official.” Lina dismisses.

“No but we totally should!” Fires back Danika. “It would make things sooo much less awkward if Jason knew not to bring up just how much money Will’s rolling in, or the fact that Rei hates talking about the team right before a swim meet, or that when she,” and here Danika lowers her voice and nods in your direction, “plays with her necklace on a phone call fifty bucks says it’s someone from her family.”

“Got it, no askin’ her about the secret phone calls.” Jason says with a tight smile.

“Oh it’s nothing super secret.” Danika leans back into the corner and waves a lazy hand. “Just that most of them were dead set against her doing English instead of some ‘useful degree’ like pre-med or engineering. Don’t know why though, I don’t think’ I’ve ever met anyone that hates calculus more.”

But Jason, Jason thinks he does know why. Puts together the little pieces of your past you’d entrusted to his scarred hands and looks to the shared weft of your past. Looks at a girl whose family had scraped and fought to make a life untouched by poverty in a city that doesn’t easily forgive, and knows that it took luck and bone wearying effort to make it out of the Alley’s clutches. He looks at the girl who is used to being told her opinions don’t matter and yet believing in them anyway, who has put together a path leading right to her dreams even if the detours take her back to the place her family was happy to leave behind. Jason looks around the table at these fresh faced kids in their $6000 jackets and knows that none of them understand the constant, cavernous fear that all of the little luxuries they take for granted will suddenly disappear like morning fog. Jason knows the kind of courage it takes to push past that dogged fear and refuse the path your family pushes you down in order to achieve loftier goals.

The conversation has moved past him now, wrapped in his reverie. Rei and Danika have devolved into the kind of hardline negotiation Jason would have expected to see between seasoned lawyers rather than undergrads.

“C’mon Danika, I know you want a Pinterest worthy friends-giving but it’s just not going to work out this year.” Rei chides. “There’s just no time that’s gonna work for all of us.”

“Yes but it’s our last year when we’re all for sure going to be in the same place for the holiday weekend!”

“Look, we should all be free the Friday after the long weekend. We’ll do another night out, me and Lina will host the pre, and it’ll be our version of friends-giving. I’ll even make turkey themed cocktails if you want.”

“Gross! Fine, fine.” Danika most definitely does not whine. “But make them pumpkin pie themed cocktails instead.”

Jason’s got half an ear on the conversation, but continues to study you as long as his input isn’t needed. You sigh and seem to deflate as your call ends.

“So boys, are you ready to see the damage Rei can do when he’s got his full bar cart with him?” Lina asks, coy as anything. “I’m sure he’ll be able to make something that will even get you dancing, Jason.”

You shuffle around Jason, trying to squirm back into your bench seat. For a brief moment, your thighs bracket his.

“If that’s the plan,” Jason breathes out shakily.

Part 5

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #red hood fic #ydcmb (uibyt) series #sunnie writes 🌻

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axkirak · 6 months ago

Text

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : II]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings: Qimir x f!reader(SEAsians Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: your mother always reminded you, "You will never hate the desert. Your blood is the desert. The desert is your home and your tomb." but You hope desperately that your life will be different.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : Previously, I changed the story from a reader-insert to an OC due to backlash for specifying that the reader is SEA. I didn't enjoy writing it and nearly deleted it. However, support from AO3 readers encouraged me to stay true to my original style and affirmed that specifying the reader's ethnicity is not wrong (especially since Manny is also SEA). I’ll stick with the reader-insert style. If you don’t like that the reader is SEA, feel free to find other fics.

Also, today is my birthday. so I decided to give a gift to others by releasing a new chapter of my fanfic. I hope you like it.

➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 2] You will never hate the desert. Your blood is the desert. The desert is your home and your tomb

You realize how quickly your life has changed, as your feet tread on the wet sand of Pabu, a small planet far from your birthplace.

Tatooine—where you were born and raised, is almost at the edge of the galaxy. There's nothing pleasant to see except for vast stretches of dry sand. The air is scorching hot because there are two suns in the sky. The cities are teeming with thieves, thugs, and smugglers. You hate your home planet so much, but your mother always reminded you, "You will never hate the desert. Your blood is the desert. The desert is your home and your tomb."

You know that the desert your mother spoke of isn't Tatooine, but another similar planet. An ancient world that disappeared from galactic records along with the death of your ancestors.

It's funny how your family's fate has always been the same: born in the desert and dying in the desert.

You hope desperately that your life will be different.

"Stop daydreaming; we still have a lot of work to do."

Qimir's voice comes from behind. His elbow gently nudges your arm, urging you to hurry off the beach. You turn and glare at him in annoyance, but obediently comply. You lift the cargo box to your side and turn onto the old stone-paved road, the only path leading to the upper town, the main trading hub of this island.

After reluctantly living together for more than two years, you've finally been given an additional role beyond being a prisoner. You're now Qimir's temporary assistant, helping him transport contraband to sell on small planets outside the watchful eyes of the Empire's law enforcers.

Qimir is tall with long legs. It only takes him a few strides to reach your side. "Haven't you ever seen the sea before?" the man asks, noticing that you keep turning to look at the blue ocean.

You nod. The faint, fresh, salty smell of the sea and the strong wind blowing across your face make you feel better than usual. "I grew up on Tatooine. There's only desert there. I've never seen this much water before."

You fall silent, suddenly realizing you've said too much.

No matter what, you always stay cautious. You try to speak as little as possible when you're near this man. But Qimir is the opposite—he talks incessantly, which is annoying. The more you show your irritation, the more he keeps talking. It's obvious he's deliberately trying to provoke you.

And this time is no different. Once he notices you're avoiding further conversation, he takes over, telling you about Pabu and other planets without you asking. You want to pretend not to listen, but deep down, you can't help but be interested. You've never had the chance to travel or learn about life on other planets, having spent most of your time after your mother's death quietly hiding. Until you met Qimir,. He's traveled everywhere, and he seems to know everything. Many things sound nonsensical, but many are too interesting to ignore. Like the story of Mon Cala, a planet that's entirely ocean, with a grand capital city standing tall underwater, and most of its population looking like fish. Or the fact that black holes aren't empty as many believe, but home to strange and dangerous creatures. However, they remain an unsolvable mystery because no one who has gotten close to a black hole has ever survived to tell the tale.

"I’d love to see fish people," you mutter to yourself, but Qimir’s keen ears catch it.

There's an inexplicable sadness in those words, he thinks as he turns to look at your profile, half-hidden by hair blowing in the sea breeze. "If our ship passes by there, I might take you to see them," he says, his words unexpectedly gentle.

You press your lips tightly, not responding. Perhaps you would feel a bit more appreciative if you didn't already know that what he said would never happen.

You've seen it in your dreams. Prophetic dreams foretell the future. In about four months, Qimir will have to deliver his last expensive cargo—which is you—to his client.

But beyond that... a shadow of doom completely obscured the future. You don't even know what this dream means. It's too dark to see, too terrifying, and too mysterious to understand. But one thing you're sure of, that day will be a day of death. And the clearest path is your own demise.

You frown. For a moment, you suddenly feel something—not in the form of a vision, but a deep premonition hiding beneath your consciousness.

A revelation is approaching.

But you are at a loss to determine what it could be.

Due to Pabu's highly liberal political policies, the city's population includes many immigrants from other planets, most of whom are often outlaws. This means an increase in the number of thieves and robbers, and consequently, a higher chance of being ambushed.

No place in the city was entirely safe, so Qimir decided to set up camp outside the city instead. He called it a vacation home, even though nothing about it resembles a house In reality, it's a large cave on a seaside cliff, which had been modified to resemble a living space. It's somewhat odd and out of place, but it has everything a typical home would have, all neatly organized. There are beds and desks carved from the gray stone of the cave, a small kitchen adjacent to the pantry, and even an old cleaning droid on duty.

For you, this place is much quieter than the city. There aren’t even small animals around, let alone people passing by. It’s an ideal spot for meditation or perhaps trying to use your visions again to find a way to escape.

Of course, you haven't given up on your original intention. You’re just waiting for the right moment.

But you can't use your visions recklessly. It’s not just that you don’t want to; foresight is too dangerous, It’s a trade-off that isn’t worth the risk. The future is not like the past. There are countless branching paths that can change at any moment. The further you look, the more painful it becomes, and you risk losing your sanity. You don't have the strong prophetic abilities of your ancestors. You are a weak, distant descendant. Without the training your mother forced upon you, you probably would have died before you turned fifteen.

For safety, you decide to look at the near future, roughly calculating the chances of what will happen tomorrow if you decide to escape. All the results lead to only one path: no matter how you try to escape, Qimir will still catch you.

You sigh in frustration, silently questioning yourself. which path could possibly help you avoid death?

"We are **** ******** We don't hope, we plan"

Your mother's voice echoes repeatedly in your head as you lie with your eyes closed on the hard stone bed, trying to meditate silently instead of falling asleep as you should.

You spend the whole night pondering the things your mother taught you, until the morning sunlight creeps in through the cave mouth, gradually dispelling the darkness of the night.

You hear Qimir stirring, getting up from his bed, followed by the sound of coarse fabric rubbing and footsteps as quiet as a cat sneaking out silently. He always goes out at the same time and returns later in the morning. Qimir never tells you what he does, and you never ask. You don't want to talk to him more than necessary.

...But that doesn't mean you're not curious.

You step down from the bed, feeling the stiffness that gnaws at every part of your body, especially your legs. You shake out your legs before walking outside the cave, following the earlier footprints stretching across the sandy beach. The early morning air is quite cool because the sun hasn't fully risen yet, making the sea breeze chilly. You hug yourself to ward off the cold, regretting not bringing a cloak. All you have on is a long-sleeved cotton shirt and baggy brown pants made of low-quality fabric, so thin they barely protect you from anything.

Soon you notice a pile of clothes left on the sand near a rocky outcrop by the beach. You recognize them as Qimir's clothes. You scan the area for Qimir before spotting his tall figure soaking in the water, naked and relaxed amidst the sea and the surrounding rocks of various sizes, which look like protective ramparts or a hidden place secluded from the outside world.

The sight makes you startle, almost exclaim but manage to stop yourself. Embarrassment quickly forms as a flush of heat spreads across both your cheeks. You didn't expect to intrude on his private time like this. Luckily, Qimir has his back to you; otherwise, you would have felt even more awkward if he had seen you first.

You know that the best thing to do right now is to quietly slip away before Qimir notices. However, something about him catches your eye first.

It's the large scar on his back—a terrifying long mark crossed-shaped. It definitely doesn't look like a scar from a mere accident, but more like someone intentionally tried to take his life.

You frown, confused, curious, mixed with a strange sense of apprehension towards Qimir. What could he have done to deserve this?

For the first time, you realize that you don't know anything about this man, except for the name he told you.

"If you're going to stare at me this long, I might have to start charging you."

You jump in surprise. Qimir didn't even turn to look at you when he said this.

Before you can make an excuse or hurry away, he turns back as if anticipating it, meeting your eyes openly with a mischievous, teasing smile. Those black eyes look particularly intense, contrasting with his pale skin in the water.

"Want to join in?"

His hand sweeps back the damp hair falling over his face before he swims closer to you. Water droplets cling to his tall, muscular frame, sparkling like gems in the sunlight, breathtakingly beautiful and alluring.

The sight makes you breathless, as if you're drowning underwater even though you're standing on solid ground.

It takes almost a moment before you regain your composure. Your feet quickly retreat from the shore, as if afraid he might drag you into the sea. "Don't move!" you shout at him when you see Qimir about to rise from the water while still naked, leaving you flustered and unsure of where to look.

Qimir can't help but laugh at your mix of shock and anger. "If you're not going to join me, I'd like to put my clothes back on." The man points to the pile of black clothes near your feet. "But if you want to see me naked, I don't mind," he smiles innocently, his sparkling eyes never leaving you for a second.

You feel increasingly irritated. You know he's trying to tease you again.

You want to get back at him somehow, even just a little.

Your eyes glance down at his clothes on the sand, and suddenly you have an idea.

"Your suggestion is very interesting," You nod at him before reaching down to pick up his clothes. "Seeing you walk around naked would be quite a sight indeed."

Qimir's eyes widen, only realizing what's happening when he sees you clutching his clothes and running away at full speed.

"You!! Stop right there!"

The shouting voice behind you sounds closer than you expect. You quickly glance back and see Qimir chasing after you rapidly, still naked. His bare body and flustered expression are both hilarious and amusing. The allure he had before is completely gone.

You can't stop laughing, even as he finally catches up to you.

You stand no chance against Qimir in terms of size or strength. As soon as he grabs you, the outcome is inevitable. After a brief struggle, Qimir trips you, causing you to fall onto the sand. The impact leaves you winded, but you keep laughing even while lying there. It is the first time in a year that you have the chance to laugh so heartily and for so long.

Qimir hurriedly dresses as fast as he can, glaring at you as you show no signs of stopping your laughter. He then sits down beside you, his broad chest under his clothes rising and falling with rapid breaths, exhausted from the sudden morning exercise. "You little brat," he says to you, still panting, trying to contain his anger. "I should just kill you."

He means it; he isn't joking. If anyone else had heard this, they might have been terrified, but you don't care. You are laughing so hard you can barely breathe, your cheeks flushed with a rosy glow, as vibrant as any typical teenager should be. Qimir stares at you without blinking, this time not in anger but in contemplation.

You have never smiled or laughed before, not even once. You always wear an expression as if you are carrying the weight of the entire world, like someone hiding something deep in their heart or someone who has experienced too many terrible things to mention. Many times, he senses this—you seem like someone much older, perhaps even more than him, as if an old soul is trapped in your youthful body.

Who exactly is this woman? He wonders, looking at your plain, unremarkable face. There is nothing particularly memorable about it, except for your eyes. They are the deepest, most brilliant blue he has ever seen.

There is something both captivating and unsettling about you.

"You have talent, you're cunning and quick. You'd make a good thief. Could be quite helpful in my work."

You stop laughing and look up at Qimir. His tone sounds too serious to be joking, but his lips are curved into a smile, completely different from his angry demeanor earlier. "Are you offering to teach me?" you ask, confused.

"Would you like to learn?"

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head slowly. "What's the point, when I'm probably going to..."

You don’t finish your sentence, letting it trail off. The bright expression from moments ago is fading once more.

"When you're what?" Qimir asks, his curiosity about you growing stronger.

"Nothing," you answer his question with the same phrase you always use, while painfully swallowing the word 'die', unwilling to reveal more.

You don't realize the sharp, intense gaze from Qimir, subtly hidden beneath his friendly smile.

...and you certainly don't realize that your choice to remain silent might lead to events spiraling beyond control.

#qimir x reader #qimir fic #qimir x you #the stranger x reader #the acolyte fanfiction #qimir x y/n #the acolyte x reader #star wars #the acolyte #star wars fic #the acolyte fic #qimir #Angst and Tragedy #strangers to lovers #the curse of cassandra

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shadowuserannie · 25 days ago

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playing a notes game for motivation. to write my Nezha older brother to MK AU for Chinese/Lunar New Year. :D

Context; I celebrate Chinese/Lunar New Year. I want to write/kick crying out into the world my Nezha older brother to MK AU on AO3 for the occasion, which is as said. It's an AU in which Tang and Pigsy pray to the protector deity of children, after finding a random child left on the doorstep. Nezha hears the prayer and, throughout the years, finds he cannot leave MK alone and accidentally becomes something of an older brother figure.

This was previously named Accidental Brother-Sorry Babysitter-Acquisition, which when I came to my senses has now been deleted and changed to...idk actually but I can have fun with it--

anyway go check out the teasers still under that name on here. Just search #accidental brother sorry babysitter acquisition au on my blog ig?

Edit; for teaser one and teaser two

Hey so how are you doing? mentally and physically? Is there anything affecting you rn? And if you don't want to say publicly, my DMs/anon asks are open if you want to vent.

what's the weather? It's raining constantly for me here, thanks to monsoon season.

(limit to 5 notes per user)

10 notes; prologue/chapter one (Nezha first meets MK)

20 notes; chapter two (Nezha helps MK home when he gets lost)

30 notes; chapter 3 (Nezha beats up a full child trafficking ring)

40 notes; chapter 4 (Nezha starts actually babysitting and Pigsy begins the process of mental adoption)

60 notes; chapter 5 (MK starting school and the trials and tribulations and Tang signing Nezha up for a rollerskating competition.)

80 notes; chapter 6 (Wukong bugs Nezha into letting him meet the kid that he's gotten newly attached to, Nezha meets Mei and gains the heart attacks that come with it)

100 notes; chapter 7 (MK's crisis, realization he's trans, further troubles and Nezha kicking more ass as a result.)

120 notes; chapter 8 (MK and Mei and romance, and Nezha trying not to murder mandatory heterosexuality-obsessed idiots.)

140 notes; chapter 9 (MK graduates, Nezha gets guilt tripped by Red Son)

160 notes; chapter 10 (Nezha dodges canon like it's a speeding bullet, Lunar New Year slash Spider Queen slash Wukong finally doing the smart thing and telling at least one person, aka Nezha, about LBD's return.)

180 notes; chapter 11 (Nezha gets chewed out by Wukong for taking the full brunt of a self-destruct seal he made for the Samadhi Fire map himself, the reveal of godhood proper to Nezha's found family)

200 notes; chapter 12 (intermediary before diving into season 4.)

I'm not ending at season 4 beginning/end. There's more after that, I'm just physically incapable of that much cramming.

....now--

@cer-rata @crippling-pages @ohmygoly @kotlcpuppetshow @thelasttaleofthepari @telugu-girl-13 @solangelo-taylors-version @fantasygeek-134 @theaspengrove @sabrine-bree-the-bravery @emmlivia @floofeeeeee

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wintaerbaer · 1 year ago

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things we don’t say: part 5 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut

word count: 12.1k

chapter warnings: jeon jungkook, seventeen is here because i needed fill-ins (also they’re not singers but their music still canonically exists in-universe so good luck figuring that one out), a wedding!, tae is WHIPPED, the infamous butt debate, jealousy (plural), jimin has terrible timing, alcohol consumption ft. a drinking game, a mega cliffhanger i’m so sorry

a/n: while not required, i highly recommend reading the prequel drabble if you haven’t yet as it has some heavy relevance to this part and the next! special thanks to @btsborahaee and @jeonwiixard for beta-ing this chapter and letting me gush and brainstorm in their inboxes on the regular <3 also, shout outs to @animeniacss and @taegularities for sprinting with me all the time (and a forehead kiss to rid for coming up with the idea for the bathroom scene, mwah)!

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

"After today, I never want to see a ribbon ever again."

Jimin fumbles his fingers over the thin string, throwing his hands up in a huff when the slippery material resists his efforts to tie it. With Hoseok and Sunny's wedding only two weeks away, you'd offered to help out with some of the prep work, and Taehyung suggested hosting a mini prep party at your apartment as part of his efforts to make new memories since you'd moved back. True to his word, he’s been at your place nearly every day the past few weeks, cooking dinner with you and rewatching your favorite shows from high school.

You have to admit it’s been pleasantly domestic.

"It's not that bad," you say, finishing off your own ribbon around one of the tiny boxes of chocolate which will be distributed to each of the two-hundred-plus guests as a wedding favor.

"No, I'm serious. I don't even want to tie my shoes anymore. I'm a Crocs guy now."

"I've heard girls love sport mode," Taehyung quietly teases. "Is that right, Y/N?"

The flirtatiousness of his tone startles you, and your eyes snap up to meet his where he sits across from you at the dining room table. He's smiling one of those mischievous grins that makes your stomach churn, belly lurching when he stuns you with a wink before turning back to his own tiny box.

What the fu—

"If any of you show up to my wedding in Crocs, I'm kicking you out," Sunny grumbles.

Hoseok smacks his lips as he ties off a ribbon. "Does that also go for—"

"You as well, yes."

Your group settles into a momentary silence at her declaration—not a sound besides the ripple of ribbon and paper. At least until—

“I got laid wearing Crocs once.”

The entire table groans in unison, and you toss a bit of balled up wrapping paper at Jungkook's chest that bounces pathetically to the floor as Jimin boos. “No one cares about your sexcapades, Kook.”

“What, it was impressive!” he argues. “Just be thankful I'm not bringing any of them to the wedding.”

“I almost wish you were,” Hoseok grumbles. “You'd better not be picking up anyone inappropriate that night. Sisters, cousins, aunts—”

“That was one time!”

“—and anyone else even remotely close to family are off limits.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, pouting to himself, before he says, “Moms?”

The table boos again, more bits of wrapping paper flying his way.

“I'm kidding! Kidding!”

“Actually, Y/N,” Sunny murmurs, leaning towards you. “I hate to bring it up, but are you planning on bringing anyone else in Jace’s place?” Her expression is one of compassionate regret, with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, but the question still hits you low in your chest, knocking the wind out of you.

“I feel terrible asking,” she continues, “but one of my friends from high school originally declined a plus-one, and now she’s asking if there’s any way we can squeeze in this guy she met two weeks ago, and normally I’d tell her no, there’s no way I can change the head count two weeks out and who is this guy anyway, but then I figured that we do technically have an extra spot so we could fit him in, but I’d definitely give you the option to bring someone else first if you wa—“

“It’s fine,” you say, trying to ignore the way everyone else around the table is now looking on in sympathy. “I have no one else to bring. Let her guy come.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” It feels like you’re dying inside, but you try to look unbothered, especially since you can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Sunny quietly agrees, just as Hoseok suddenly jumps in at her side.

“You know, Tae isn’t bringing anyone to the wedding either,” he says, looking between the two of you. “Why don’t you just go together?”

“I’m also going alo—“ There’s a thump under the table and Jungkook immediately shuts his mouth.

You glance at Taehyung, who’s looking back at you with a dip in his eyebrows and parted lips. It was probably a given that you would spend time at the wedding hanging out already, but wouldn’t going together mean something else entirely? A promise of dancing and proximity and a label the two of you have never shared?

Perhaps that’s the reason why he’s staring at you with a touch of discomfort. Your own skin prickles at the thought, and so you scratch away the itch at your chin and deflect.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to.” Then you stand from the table sharply, hitting your limits with this conversation. “I’ll be right back.”

You head for the bathroom, not even needing to do anything in there, but sure that you can busy yourself for a few minutes to get your emotions under control away from your friends. But as you’re about to swing the door shut behind you, a large hand reaches out to stop it with a thud, and Taehyung quickly slips in before closing the door himself.

“Tae, what are you—“

“Come with me.”

You’re practically chest-to-chest, and if not for the fact that you’ve stopped breathing with his question, you’d probably be pressed up against him in the tight space.

“What?”

He licks his lips, pulls in air through his nose like he’s bracing himself.

“Come to the wedding with me.”

The room is heavy with silence as his request fully sinks in, the air between you thick and hot as you try to get some of it into your lungs. It’s hard, though, to develop a coherent thought with him standing so close—his scent engulfing you and dark, searching eyes fixated on your expression.

“I don’t kno—“ you begin, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Why not? Like Hobi said, neither of us is bringing anyone already.” His fingers brush yours—an apology for mentioning it again. “So why not go together and…not be as alone.”

You shift on your feet. “But you do know that you don’t have to do this. I’m fine without a plus one. There’s no shame in it for me.”

“Y/N,” he huffs. “You know that I like being around you, right?” He nudges gently against the underside of your chin, making you look at him directly. “I wouldn’t have stuck around this long if I didn’t.”

You’re still skeptical—nervous about the implications of what this would look like, especially when you just got out of a relationship. To you, it feels very much like teasing a boundary. But Taehyung is all nerves in front of you, gaze darting up-and-down your face and a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth telling you that he’s chewing on his lip.

And of course, because it’s him, you cave.

“Okay.”

He beams and, not for the first time, you feel your chest lighten at the sight of his boxy smile. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, smiling back.

“Okay.” Almost impossibly, his grin gets even wider, and you can see the wheels begin to turn in his head. “Do you have a dress picked out yet? What color is it? I can match you.”

It takes you aback. You wouldn’t have even thought about that. “Emerald green.”

“Emerald green,” he repeats, something registering behind his eyes, and he licks his lips again. “Okay. Great.”

He shifts like he's getting ready to leave, but you catch his fingers to reel him back. And you hate to put it out there, hate to even bring it up, but after everything you’ve been through, you need the clarity.

“And Tae,” you say, “this isn’t a date, right?”

He gives a slow blink, a wave of unknown emotion rippling from forehead to chin before he smiles gently at you, eyes softening at the corners. “Of course not.”

You nod. “Okay.” And a small part of you feels…disappointed?

But there's no time to dwell on it as he exits the bathroom, and you follow him out in spite of doing exactly zero bathroom things. You return to the dining room together, your friends clearly trying to look nonchalant as they diligently work on their party favors but being way too quiet to not have been trying to eavesdrop on your conversation.

“Sunny,” Taehyung says as you take your seats, looking positively brighter. “Just make sure we're sitting next to each other, yeah?”

She snorts. “As if you were anywhere else to begin with.”

Blue skies stretch endlessly in front of you, wind running through your hair and sunlight filtering in through the sunroof as you and Taehyung make the trip to the lakeside resort where Hoseok and Sunny are to be married. He's the absolute picture of relaxation in the driver's seat, wearing sunglasses and a mindless smile with his fingers wrapped delicately around the steering wheel like vines.

He'd opened the door for you when he picked you up, a seemingly spontaneous gesture that had left you both shy and blushing. But if the afternoon started with a touch of unusual awkwardness between you, the prospect of your “not a date” wedding date making itself known, it has since evaporated in the hot summer air. At this point, you’ve spent the past hour chatting, playing road trip games (Taehyung somehow destroying you in the alphabet game in spite of having to focus on driving), and burning through three boxes of Pepero.

“These are an addiction, I swear,” you say, crunching down on a chocolate-filled stick and clapping your hands in delight. Taehyung’s eyes leave the road for a second as he takes you in and grins.

“Was that the last of it?”

“Oh.” You peer into the box. Empty. “Yeah. Sorry. Did you want it?”

“No, it’s fine. You can have it.”

“I sure hope so since I already swallowed it.”

He laughs, whole face lighting up with it, and you feel something turn over behind your ribcage as if someone’s flipped your heart like a pancake. It makes you think that even though you were supposed to be making this trip with a different person, you’re glad it’s him instead.

My love only amounts to this.

The lyrics ring out through the car, and Taehyung leans forward suddenly, turning up the volume on the stereo.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s your favorite song!” he joyfully says. “I know you like to sing along.”

You stare at him blankly, taken aback because you don’t think you’ve ever mentioned this to him. When did he notice…?

“C’mon, sing with me. Play a song I know and one step. Hold my hands and put my feet in, two steps.”

His sweet baritone sounds out beside you, and you feel a grin break out across your face. You always forget what a joy it is to hear Taehyung sing.

“The person to know all my secrets is you,” you sing, joining along. “So I’m even more thankful.”

“Sometimes when you get tired, and I see you crying with your head down, I don't know what to do. What can I do?”

You’re both belting it out at the top of your lungs by the time it gets to the chorus, and you think the sun has somehow moved inside the car with how bright and warm you feel.

My love only amounts to this. But thank you for staying by my side, my baby.

Your car charges down the road, trailing laughter and joy in its wake, and your chest feels light for the first time in weeks.

Even if my love only amounts to this. I'll be your umbrella in the rain. I'll protect you on all your days.

Jimin, Maya, and Jungkook meet you in the hotel lobby—a marble behemoth with wrought iron staircases and sofas that definitely cost more than your rent—and you all line up to check in, gawking at the elaborate chandelier that hangs above your heads.

“How did they even afford this place?” Jimin wonders.

Maya sucks her teeth. “At this rate? I think they might have mob ties.”

“Feet pics,” Jungkook says simply.

Once everyone has obtained their key cards, you set off to find your rooms. You’re all on the same floor since a certain section was booked specifically for the wedding, but with you having a room with only a single queen-sized bed, you’re down the hall and away from the others who booked doubles.

While Jimin, Maya, and Jungkook break off to get acclimated in their own respective rooms, Taehyung follows you into yours with a touch of melancholy, your luggage slung over his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re fine here alone?” he asks, setting your bag on the ground. “I can room with you if you’d like. I’m sure Kook wouldn’t mind.”

“There’s only one bed,” you point out, blushing.

Taehyung also goes slightly pink. “Well yeah, but the other week we just…or I can take the couch. Or we can ask Kook to swap rooms?”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I’m alone at the apartment all the time anyway.”

He nods, looking oddly shot down. “Alright. But if you change your mind, just ask.”

“Unlikely,” you tease with a wrinkle of your nose. “You snore.”

He gasps, feigning hurt. “I do not.”

He doesn’t. But you still tilt your head solemnly, pressing your lips together as if preparing to deliver bad news. “You do.”

“Shit,” he sighs before the two of you break down in giggles.

A few hours later, the five of you wind up at the resort’s restaurant for dinner, lamenting the exorbitant prices but enjoying an incredible meal. The night dwindles down as you settle in at the bar, figuring you can have a couple drinks before resting up for tomorrow’s big day. With a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, you have a perfect view of the lake outside and the glow of the sunset spreading out above the trees. It tints the room orange, seeping onto every surface, including Taehyung’s forearms resting atop the bar.

You trace his veins with your eyes, study the way they trail to his hands curled lightly around his low ball glass. Your friends are talking about plans for tomorrow, but you’re not paying much attention; you’re far more interested in trying to figure out when your best friend’s arms started looking like that.

“And don’t worry, Chim. If I have the chance to get lucky, I’ll make sure not to use our room,” Maya says, placing a hand over her heart in pledge. “No locking you out because I’m a good friend.”

But Jungkook has tensed up next to you, and in spite of the cute pout of his lips, the creasing of his forehead suggests that he’s genuinely upset. “Hook-up? You’re going to find a hook-up?”

Maya looks at him incredulously, drink paused halfway to her lips. “Possibly. Aren’t you?”

“I…” His teeth bite into his lip. “It’s a wedding.”

She barks out a devilish laugh. “So? When has that ever stopped you?” A spiteful glare is sent his way that even has you shrinking behind him in secondhand shame. “Since when do you have morals?”

Taehyung’s knee squeezes against yours under the bar—a warning, probably, but your brain momentarily becomes fixated on the weight of it, on how nice it feels to have his warmth pressed against you. It’s not until he taps a finger against your thigh, signaling with his eyes at the sullen man behind you, that you pass on the touch, giving Jungkook’s elbow a gentle nudge in support and encouragement. He takes a quick look at you with sad, vulnerable eyes, and you’re reminded of how flustered he’d been during your conversation a few weeks ago.

“I was actually thinking,” he begins, more serious than you’ve ever seen him, “that maybe we could go together since neither of us have dates.”

Maya snorts, setting her drink down firmly on the countertop. “Why, so you can ditch me halfway through for the first woman that flutters her eyelashes at you? No thanks.”

Jungkook physically recoils like he’s been slapped, the force sending him back so far that he practically winds up in your lap. “You really think I would do that?”

His voice is tiny, hurt dripping from every syllable, and it makes Maya finally look up, face dropping as she seems to realize the wounds she’s inflicted upon him.

Her brows draw together, and she opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by the bartender popping up to ask if anyone needs a refill. By the time he leaves, the moment’s passed, and Jungkook briskly stands up, throwing some money down on the bar.

“I’m done. See you guys tomorrow.” And he strides out towards the hotel lobby.

You hop to your feet, shaking your head at Maya. “That was uncalled for.”

She looks guilty but says nothing, rubbing a finger along the rim of her glass, and you follow Jungkook out, calling his name as he approaches the elevators.

“Jungkook!”

He spins to face you with a frown, thumbs hooked in his pants pockets like he’s trying to look casual, but his eyes betray his discomfort. “What?”

“She didn’t mean that,” you say, slightly breathless from your jog across the lobby. “I know she didn’t.”

“Sure she did. That’s who she is. Always speaks her mind.” He shrugs, shirt rippling over his shoulders. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”

“Don’t you though?” you ask. “You’re not a bad guy, Kook. You deserve simple respect at least.”

“Maybe I don’t.” The elevator dings, and he steps inside, turning back to you with a final sad smile. “Night, Y/N.”

A sense of dread taps into the back of your skull, fear that your original inkling on this relationship was perhaps correct. Though you’ve since warmed up to the idea of Maya and Jungkook as a potential couple, it was this exact tension that you were worried about—their fire and gasoline dynamic harboring implications that could blow up your entire friend group.

Taehyung strolls up next to you as the doors roll shut, sighing as he comes to a stop. “He okay?”

“No, but don’t try telling him that.”

He purses his lips. “I had a quick talk with Maya. Reminded her that just because she’s had bad experiences with guys in the past doesn’t give her the right to take it out on him.”

“Good,” you say. “She probably needed to hear it.”

A nod as he assesses your figure and asks, “Are you coming back to the bar? I already covered your tab.”

“Oh, I’ll pay you back—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You can make it up to me a different time.”

You smirk at him, stepping closer. “How about I roll it into your Christmas present?”

“Deal.”

You let out a soft laugh, and he offers to walk you up, pressing the button to call the elevator back. The two of you chat about nothing in particular as you make your way to the third floor, commenting on the ridiculously patterned carpet in the halls and laughing about the strangely risqué photos that you noticed hanging in the rooms.

When you arrive at your door, you swipe your key card over the sensor, turning the light from red to green and wishing Taehyung goodnight, but he loops his fingers around your wrist to lightly tug you back.

“Y/N.” He curls his bottom lip over his teeth, head dipping towards the ground in a shy smile as he searches for his words. “I’m…really looking forward to tomorrow. It’s going to be fun.”

He’s adorable; he truly is. Seventeen years of affection, and he still finds ways to endear you to him even more, bits of gold from the lamps catching on the browns of his eyes as he stands before you.

“It is,” you say, tongue tied around your own apprehension. He hums and looks like he wants to say more—tangles his fingers in front of him and chews on his lip as he fidgets. But after a moment passes—you still stuck on his eyes—he jerks his chin down in a nod, says goodnight, and leaves you standing at your door in confusion, taking one look back as he swipes his own key card down the hall and disappears into his room.

You enter your own space with your mind whirling, not sure what the hell just happened but also sure that you’re not upset about it. And once you’ve gone through your bedtime routine and settled in for the night, you fall asleep thinking about brown eyes and shy smiles, welcoming the most restful sleep you’ve had in weeks.

You awake to the sound of Maya knocking on your door promptly at 9am with her suitcase in hand, casually making her way to your bed when you let her in and picking up the hotel menu from the side table while you stare at her. "What are you doing?" "We are going to order room service and watch some shitty TV, and then I am going to help you get you ready for your date." "It's not a date," you say on impulse, though you're internally tamping down the involuntary flutter that's tickling your stomach. "If it's anything, it's a guy taking pity on his unexpectedly-single friend." "Pity date then." She says it with a nonchalant wave of her hand and doesn't give you the chance to speak when you open your mouth to protest. "Y/N, please, just give me the chance to make his jaw drop. If there really is nothing there like you say there is, then what's the harm?" The harm, you think to yourself, is the tingling feeling that's been increasing in intensity when you've been around Taehyung recently, warmth flooding your body at just the thought of him. Your brain has been desperately explaining it away, chalking it up to years of familiarity and comfort being stoked by the emotional trauma which (you're quick to remind yourself) you're still working through. No, Y/N, I don’t have feelings for you. It's these thoughts that, in the end, have you acquiescing as Maya lets out a joyful squeal. At the very least, you make your friend happy and get some well-deserved girl bonding time. Really, what's the harm?

The idea has barely finished running through your mind when you’re already beginning to regret it and wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Maya wheels her entire suitcase to the foot of your bed and pulls out no less than seven bags of make-up, a curling iron, hairspray, four different brushes, and a straightener.

“Are you doing the entire wedding party after this?” you ask incredulously. “Why did you bring so much?”

“Needed to be ready for anything,” she says, organizing her tools into neat rows. “When I’m done with you, every straight man and half the women will be falling at your feet.”

Your face heats, and you subconsciously rub at your arm. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Okay, then just one man.” She raises her arms, fingers arranged into a square through which she peers at you like she’s sizing you up for a photograph. “Hmm, where should we start?”

You and Maya make your way to the resort's event hall a little while before the ceremony is scheduled to begin. Seating doesn't seem to have opened yet as guests mill about the entryway, the buzz of conversation filling the space above your heads, and the two of you pause at the top of the stairs to see if you can spot your friends. "I think Kook's got a purple tie," she says, peering around. "And you know what he's wearing why?" you ask, but she ignores you. "Oh, look, there they are." Maya's goal may have been to get Taehyung's jaw to drop, but you're left stunned when you look over to where he's standing with Jimin and Jungkook, the now-familiar tingle rippling through your veins once again. His black suit is perfectly tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist, emerald green tie wrapped around his neck to match the color of your dress as promised. He's slicked his hair back and away from his eyes so you're able to see how they nervously dart between Jimin and Jungkook, clearly not listening to whatever it is they're enthusiastically saying. Actually, once you look more closely, everything about his body language screams nerves for some reason, his hands moving back and forth to play with the hems of his jacket before smoothing the lapels over and over again. Maya waves, grabbing Jimin's attention, and you watch as he grins at the two of you before leaning in to say something to Taehyung, pointing at where you're standing. Maybe, you think, just maybe you appreciate Maya's plan from this morning after Taehyung glances up at you. His incessantly-moving fingers finally still—halfway through re-adjusting his tie—and his perfect Cupid's-bow-lips pop open, eyes wide as he soaks you in in your floor-length gown. Maya’s worked your hair into loose curls cascading over your shoulders and bare back, and while you convinced her to not go wild with the make-up, she strong-armed you into agreeing to a deep red lipstick that’s only accentuated by the green of your dress. A smug cough comes from your right (clearly Maya's pleased with her work) as you descend the stairs and approach the trio of men. Jimin and Jungkook greet you brightly while Taehyung still looks mildly concussed, continuing to stare at you with his mouth half-open. "Alright there, Tae?" you ask, reaching up to adjust and smooth out his tie, messy from where his hands had frozen on it.

The pads of your fingers are hot where they brush against the hard muscle of his chest, and you try not to read too deeply into the pounding of his heart. Taehyung makes a weird noise akin to what you'd imagine a drowning fish would sound like, and Jungkook gives him a sharp slap on the back, which seems to knock him out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. "Incredible!" he blurts, and you almost want to laugh at the reset-button-like effect Jungkook's smack seems to have on him. He clears his throat, composing himself further. "I, um—you, I mean. You look incredible." You thank him, ignoring the second wave of smugness that comes from Maya's direction, just as the event staff open the doors and begin ushering guests into the hall. Taehyung offers you his arm, and you gladly take it as he guides you to sit alongside your friends.

The wedding hall is as grandiose as the rest of the hotel, with columns ornamenting the sides of the room and a massive flower arch constituting the altar. You all talk as you wait for the ceremony to begin, admiring the decor (the bright bouquets of red, purple, and blue flowers pop against the stark white of the venue) and trying to see if you recognize any of the guests.

“Oh, there’s Sunny’s cousin Chan,” Maya says, peering out over the room. “Remember we met him at that party one time?”

“Didn’t the two of you drunkenly make-out?” you ask.

Jimin frowns. “I thought they hooked up.”

“No, Y/N is right.” She fixes her hair, oblivious to the way Jungkook is now staring at the man in question, hackles raised. “Wouldn’t say no to that happening again; he was good with his hands. Tae, are you alright? You’re looking at Y/N like she’s sprouted four more arms.”

You swivel your head around to see Taehyung next to you, entirely flushed red above the shoulders. He licks his lips as he meets your eyes, blinking furiously like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maya waves a dismissive hand, shuffling her attention to Jimin to ask if he knows about the music choices for the ceremony.

A throat clears on your right. “You do look nice. Really.” Taehyung looks utterly sheepish, his head tilted low as he softly pays you the compliment, and it reminds you of how shy he was last night as well. A butterfly takes flight in your chest, and now you’re the one blushing.

“Thank you. You cleaned up nicely, too,” you reply, and he blinks at you in a way that has you second guessing your words. “Not that you don’t always clean up nicely. And not that you don’t normally look very handsome. Because you do. Look very handsome, I mean. All the time.”

His bashfulness morphs into amusement, lips quirking up in an affectionate smile. “Oh, really?”

Your face heats up even more, mouth opening to respond with you don’t even know what, and you’re grateful when a hush falls over the room, the beginning notes of a wedding march signaling the ceremony’s start.

Hoseok appears first, looking dapper in a full tuxedo and grinning ear-to-ear. He walks down the aisle with long strides like he can’t possibly get to the end fast enough, bouncing on his toes as he settles into his spot.

The officiant is next, followed by Iseul and Seokmin, one of Hoseok’s childhood friends. Hana and Namjoon stroll in arm-in-arm after that, then Yumi and Jiho, and finally, everyone rises to their feet as Sunny appears at the entrance and begins her walk in, gaze finding only her groom.

Just as Sunny reaches the head of the aisle, a teary-eyed Hoseok taking her hands in his, another image, one which had once occupied your mind almost constantly but hadn't plagued you in weeks, takes hold: you and Jace in a similar setting, pledging forever to each other in front of your friends and family.

Maybe you had gotten ahead of yourself—the discovery of the ring box in his desk along with the natural longevity of your relationship sparking your imagination—but in the weeks leading up to your heartbreak, you had allowed your mind to plan—what kind of dress you'd wear, the colors you'd pick out, what you might say in your vows. It seems stupid now, dwelling on a future that's already evaporated into nothingness, but seeing the echoes of your dreams being played out in front of you, it’s like you can feel the sand physically slipping through your fingers.

Right as it starts to become too much, as you feel your chest tighten and heart ache, there's a brush of skin against the side of your hand, and glancing down, you see that Taehyung's reached over to quietly hook his pinky with yours. You turn to face him, but he keeps his eyes directed on the bride and groom, face neutral and unreadable, and you know he's giving you the chance to pull away, no questions asked.

But the gesture has warmth flooding through you, thawing the ice of your previous thoughts, and so you move to slip your hand under his, lacing your fingers and pressing your palms together tightly.

Taehyung looks at you then, a shy smile crinkling his eyes and twisting up the corners of his mouth, and you grin back, the previous ache in your chest replaced with a steady flutter as he begins to skim his thumb back and forth in a gentle caress.

You stay that way for the rest of the ceremony—watching your friends vow eternity to each other, Taehyung's hand tethered with yours.

Classical music drifts from the speakers at the back of the room as you find your seats for the reception. The ballroom is tremendous, with tall, arched ceilings, a gorgeous chandelier, and a wide dance floor that you’re sure will see a ton of action later. With the tables seating eight, you see that you’ve been placed in a grouping of you, Taehyung, Maya, Jimin, Jungkook, and three of Hoseok’s medical school friends, who introduce themselves as Wonwoo, Joshua, and Mingyu.

Thankfully, your group hits it off immediately. Wonwoo is rather reserved, more an observer of those around him than anything, but Taehyung and Jimin quickly strike up a conversation with Joshua about college after the latter mentions having gone to the same school as you, albeit never crossing paths. Maya and Mingyu, meanwhile, immediately fall into their own introductions, talking about how they know Hoseok and Mingyu’s studies to become a doctor.

“If you ever need a headshot or something, let me know,” Maya says, laying a hand on his arm. Across the table, Jungkook's head shoots up. “I do work as a photographer and would be happy to help.”

“Oh, really?” Mingyu makes no move to remove her hand; if anything, he shifts even closer. “What are your rates?”

“For you? Free of charge. Any friend of Hoseok is a friend of mine.” They're in their own little bubble now, Jungkook watching wide-eyed. “Besides, you'd be doing me a favor. With a face like that, you're a photographer's dream. Perfect model.”

Mingyu smirks. “A face like what?”

“Dangerously handsome.”

“HEY, WHAT DO YOU GUYS WANT TO SPECIALIZE IN?”

Jungkook practically screams it, and not only do Maya and Mingyu turn to look at him in bewilderment, but so does the rest of the table and a few guests in the neighboring seats.

Joshua clears his throat awkwardly, eying Jungkook like he might be rabid. “I’m trying for pediatrics.”

“Surgery,” Wonwoo says.

Maya turns towards her new companion. “What about you, Mingyu?”

He leans back in his chair. Gives a light tug on his tie. “I have a residency lined up in obstetrics and gynecology.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me—”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says, cutting him off as he slides his chair back from the table. “Why don’t you help me get a round of drinks?”

“But—“

“C’mon.” He says it gently, like he’s trying to coax a toddler, and rises to his feet, giving you a gentle tap on the shoulder as he goes. “Cosmo?”

“Yes, please,” you say, and he nods, dropping a quick wink your way as Jungkook joins him, grumbling under his breath.

Joshua watches them walk away in the direction of the bar. “Is he always this…”

“Annoying?” Maya scoffs.

“Transparent.” Wonwoo quietly smirks.

A gentle laugh sounds on your left as Jimin hears. “I don’t know that anyone has ever described Jungkook as subtle in his life.”

Maya frowns, Mingyu looking downright perplexed at her side. “I don’t think I quite understand what’s going on,” he begins, but Maya soothes him with another press of her hand to his arm.

“Don’t worry about him. It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Tell me more about your residency.”

The reception passes in a swirl of music and drinks and food—and oh goodness, the food. Plates heaped with calamari, crab legs, and tiny filets wrapped in bacon are placed at the table by wait staff as your group digs in. Even Jungkook is placated, no longer scowling at Maya and Mingyu.

"Ughhh, I am never eating this well again," Jimin groans, stretching back in his chair and giving an exaggerated rub to his belly.

"You'd best get ready to," Taehyung says from your other side. "This isn't even dinner."

"This isn't even dinner?!"

Dinner turns out to be just as delicious and lavish as the appetizers, and it's no surprise that once dancing starts, your friends opt to stay seated for a while longer talking and digesting. As the party climbs to a full swing, Mingyu asks Maya to dance, Jimin and Jungkook start a debate on whether the butt is one body part or two, and Taehyung excuses himself to the restroom.

“It’s one part that’s split!” Jimin loudly exclaims. “The top is connected!”

“Jimin, go home, stand in front of the mirror, and pull your right ass cheek up. See if your left cheek comes up with it, and then get back to me, you absolute clown.”

“Do they do this a lot?” Joshua asks, the two idiots arguing between you.

“At least once a month.” You take a sip of your drink as you look on, bored. “I’m pretty sure this one is a rerun from last Halloween.”

“It’s one,” Wonwoo says, amused.

A flash of green catches your eye, and you look up to see Taehyung standing by the side of the bar, speaking with a woman. She's about your age, you think, and pretty, wearing a low-cut dress that certainly accentuates her chest.

She and Taehyung are talking excitedly, and you can tell he's putting the charm on—eyes bright, signature boxy smile lighting up his face. Nausea simmers in the pit of your stomach, and you force your attention back towards Jimin and Jungkook, trying to focus on whatever nonsense they're debating now.

This isn't a “date-date,” you remind yourself. And Taehyung hasn't had a relationship in a year—not since he was so torn up after Luna. He deserves to meet someone.

You’re spaced out next to your friends, still only halfway listening to them jabber on about butt cheeks, when a slow song starts up over the speakers and, within seconds, a hand is being extended over your shoulder.

You look up to find Taehyung's eyes gazing steadily down at you, a small but confident smile playing on his lips.

"Dance with me?"

And in spite of the unease that had plagued you only moments ago, you don't hesitate to let him wrap up your small hand in his large one and lead you to the dance floor. His palm settles on your lower back to pull you in close, and maybe it’s the proximity or the intoxicating smell of his cologne that weakens your resolve, but you find the words spilling out.

"Did you get her number?"

Taehyung looks at you quizzically, brow furrowing in confusion. "Whose?"

"The woman at the bar."

His face relaxes as he realizes. "Oh, yeah. I did."

"Good." You manage a smile. Why does it feel so hard? "It really is…good you're getting back out there. Are you going to ask her on a date?"

He laughs, mischief in his eyes. "I don't think her fiancé would like that." And now it's your turn to look confused.

"Her fiancé?"

"I met the two of them through Hoseok a couple times so we've chatted. Nice people." He nods his head, and you look over to see the woman now dancing with a man not too far from you. "They just got engaged, and she knows I'm a photographer so she asked if I'd be interested in doing the wedding. I said I'd call her this week to talk about it."

"Oh." You can feel your face flush, but there's no doubting the relief that floods through you. And Taehyung surely notices, grinning down at you in amusement.

"Were you jealous?"

"No!" you say, but perhaps a little too quickly because Taehyung laughs, his fingers applying a gentle pressure to your back to pull you closer.

"I'm here with you," he murmurs matter-of-factly.

You shake your head at him. "It's fine, Tae. If someone catches your eye…like I said, it could be good—"

"I'm here with you," he repeats, more firmly this time. He releases your hand for a moment to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and you have to look away. You spot Hoseok and Sunny swaying together in the middle of the dance floor, pressed closely together and smiling at each other like they're the only two people in the world. What it must be like to have someone look at you like that, you think, to hold you like you're something precious to be cherished. You had thought Jace made you feel that way, but now, watching your friends gaze at each other so delicately, so in love, you're no longer sure he even came close.

"What are you looking at?" Taehyung's voice rouses you out of your thoughts, and you suddenly notice his hand has drifted a little higher to where the back of your dress dips down low, exposing your bare skin.

Trying to pass off the shiver that involuntarily runs through you as a nod, you gesture at the newly married couple. "They're so good together."

Taehyung follows your line of sight, watching Hoseok lean down to murmur something in Sunny's ear that makes her giggle and press her face into his chest. "They are."

"Can you imagine loving someone like that?" Your voice is a bare whisper as if the words slipped out on their own accord, like a wish you didn't even realize you were making.

Taehyung's fingers splay at your spine, gently tugging you in until your hips are bumping his. Startled, your eyes snap back to him, breath catching in your chest. He's gazing at you intently, but as opposed to the intense fire that you've seen from him at times, there's only a deep warmth to his brown irises that you're not sure you've ever seen before. He looks at you with softness, with both a sense of familiarity and wonder that can only be attributed to your many years of companionship, and you see it all swimming behind his eyes—every day spent together seeking refuge from your families, every stupid childhood fight, every time you comforted each other through the bad days. And before you can deflect, can explain away the question as a rhetorical slip of the tongue, you hear his answer come out on a breath.

"Yes."

There’s a weight to it, the word landing from his lips like a stone into water, and you suddenly forget where you are. The world around you fades away: faces, music, and noise all receding into the background until it’s just him and you, you and him.

Just like it’s always been.

Taehyung's head dips towards you as if pulled by gravity, and your body responds in turn, hand sliding from his shoulder to the hair at the nape of his neck and eyes fluttering shut. Your breaths mingle together, his nose lightly brushing against yours, and you find yourself on the brink of keening forward, on the brink of diving headfirst into a place of no return, when—

"Hey, we're going to step outside for some air. Do you guys wanna—oh."

You spring apart. Jimin is staring at the two of you, eyes so wide you're worried they might fall out of his head. His hand is still half-raised, pointing in the direction of the doors behind him, and you use this to make your escape.

"Yeah sounds good I'll come outside definitely," you babble before speeding towards the exit. Glancing back over your shoulder, you see Jimin say something animatedly to Taehyung, but the latter shakes his head and mumbles something back, his face pink.

The night air is cool on your skin, and you could not be more grateful for it because what the fuck was that?

Were you really about to kiss your best friend? Or was he going to kiss you? Things had certainly been…different between you two recently, but this surely would have been an awful idea. If something went wrong or there was a misunderstanding, you'd likely never be able to come back from it.

He said he doesn't have feelings for you.

…But do you have feelings for him?

Maybe yes, his smile has always set your heart alight unlike anything else and yes, your brain seems to have been lingering recently on how damn handsome he is and yes, you'd do anything for him at the drop of a hat—follow him anywhere—but given your history, of course you would, right? He's your best friend.

And he deserves to be more than a rebound. Because that's what this must be—lingering heartbreak amplified by the emotions of a wedding. You may have even imagined Taehyung leaning towards you, a desperate fantasy of a mind just wanting to be loved.

That's it, you decide. Your brain must have finally snapped into a world of delusion.

You're so caught up in your thoughts that you don't hear Jungkook approach you, practically jumping out of your skin when he places a gentle hand on your arm.

"Y/N—shit—you okay?" He looks at you with his big doe eyes wide and apologetic.

"Yeah," you say, as your racing heart begins to calm. "You just startled me."

"Sorry, I tried to call you, but I don't think you heard. We're back over there if you want to join us." He nods his head in the direction of a patio area behind him, and you spot Namjoon, Joshua, and Wonwoo sitting around a table next to an elegant fountain, its ornamental lights illuminating the magnificent swan sitting atop it. They’re all laughing and, for some reason, the sight makes your chest tighten.

"Um, maybe in a little bit. I think I might just need a walk right now."

Jungkook studies you, biting ever so slightly into his bottom lip, and you think you see something in the way of understanding behind his eyes (you wonder if it has anything to do with the notable absence of Maya and Mingyu). "Do you want company?"

When you just give him a small smile and shake your head, he nods.

"Okay, well…you know where to find us." He moves to rejoin the others, but then turns back towards you, taking easy steps on his heels. "And just shout if you need a friend."

You meander around the outside of the hotel, following the stone path that paves its way around the perimeter. There's a certain kind of peace out here. Though the summer is nearing its close, you can still hear crickets chirping in the grass and spot the occasional firefly dangling in the air. You focus on the swishing of the cars out on the main road and try to let the sound clear your mind, but as you settle on a short brick wall overlooking the property's enormous lake, you realize it's no use.

Your eyes drift closed as you sink into the grief once again, let it slowly overtake you like quicksand until your lungs are crushed and burning. But more than anything, you’re simply exhausted—perpetually drained by the demons which have once again arrived to feast on your psyche.

At this point, you think most of your frustration lies with yourself. Maybe you’re being overdramatic, maybe you should be over it by now—if only you were stronger, more resilient. Not the miserable pushover you feel you’ve turned out to be. Harsh? Yes. Unfair? Perhaps. This does feel like the breaking point in your life’s long line of abandonments, digging up feelings you haven’t felt since you were a child.

But that being said, it also makes you feel like you should be used to it by now. Should be used to having to bounce back—what else can you expect from the world at this point, really? What a fool you were to even think that this time would be different.

The sound of quiet footsteps has you opening your eyes again, and you’re not sure whether the man in front of you is the first or last person you want to see right now.

Taehyung has his hands in his pockets, watching you with that calculated expression he always has on when he’s trying to gauge your mood. But all you can see in his face on your end is concern, not a hint of awkwardness or trepidation after what just transpired between the two of you in the ballroom.

So it really must have been all in your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Kook said you seemed upset.”

“I’m fine.” You try to push out a smile, but he unsurprisingly sees right through it, closing the gap between you and gesturing at the spot to your right.

“Mind if I sit?”

You’re still not entirely in the mood for company but you can’t bring yourself to say no to him, so you give the tiniest of nods and Taehyung settles on the wall next to you.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, the buzz of the surrounding trees continuing its serenade. Taehyung doesn’t push, doesn’t say anything, only provides a steady presence. On particularly bad days when you were kids, you’d both wander down to the local playground and sit on the swings for a while. Sometimes you’d talk—either to rant and let it all out or make each other laugh to distract yourselves—but most nights, you’d just sit in the quiet and enjoy the feeling of not being alone.

It feels like that now, with Taehyung’s warmth radiating at your shoulder and the stars hanging above, but tonight, you’re compelled to speak.

“I’m really pathetic, huh?”

Taehyung’s eyes flash as he looks over at you, but he doesn’t interrupt, sensing you want to say more.

“I’m at my friends’ wedding, I’m supposed to be celebrating them and their love for each other, and instead I’m out here having a pity party.” You scoff. “It’s pathetic and selfish.”

“First of all, we are out here having a pity party,” Taehyung begins, and it draws a sudden laugh from you that you think sounds halfway deranged, but he only smiles.

"Secondly, you're not pathetic, and you're not selfish. You just went through a traumatic event, you know? You're allowed to have emotions."

"I know, but I just don't…want to," you sigh. "I just want it all to stop. I'm so tired of feeling weighed down especially on a day like this, but it's like it just doesn't end. The reminders don't end."

"You thought he'd be here," Taehyung says softly, and though his head nods slightly in understanding, his voice is tinged with sadness. "You miss him."

"I—that's not exactly it, no," you quickly say, not wanting him to think that you somehow regret being here with him. "Given what he did…like you’ve said, it's not forgivable, so it's not like I wish he was here. I mean, sure, are there some days where I reflexively think about him and stuff? Of course—we were together for four years—but I…still would prefer to never see him again."

Taehyung lets out a short sigh that you interpret as approval, but he stays quiet, giving you time to work out your thoughts.

"I think it's more the loss of security than anything. Seeing Hoseok and Sunny up at the alter…I couldn't help thinking that I was so, so close to that—to having that one person that I could commit to walking through life with. A partner, a friend, just someone to have day-in and day-out. Forever." You choke up, a fresh wave of tears lodging in your throat that you try to keep down. Taehyung is stiff next to you, staring down at his hands in his lap.

"And I want that, Tae. I want that so bad. But it's…so scary to start from scratch after feeling that close. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I'm just constantly overwhelmed and feel like I can't outrun it, and then I feel guilty on days like this because I shouldn't be letting it get to me, and—"

"Hey, hey, Y/N, shhhh." Taehyung finally jumps in as you begin to spiral, reaching out to take your hand in his. "You don't have to worry or feel guilty because you are going to have all of that. Okay? You will."

"You can't know that."

"I do." He slips his pinky around yours briefly before his hand comes up to cup your jaw, guiding your eyes to his. "I promise you. I don't know how far out it'll be, but one day we'll all be together again at a place like this, and it'll be your turn." He gets a faraway look in his eye, seemingly perceiving something that you're struggling to even grab a glimpse of right now. "It'll be everything you've ever dreamed of—intimate and outdoors, right? I know you always said growing up that you were going to get married at the Spring Day Gardens. If you still want it, it'll be yours."

You let his words draw you in, painting you a picture so beautiful you're afraid to even let your heart believe in it. But his baritone voice presses on.

"And it'll be perfect. Not a cloud in the sky—nothing but sunshine. And we'll all be there, and you'll have your favorite lily bouquet and your perfect dress…"

Something stops him, and he blinks at you, dropping his palm from your face and glancing away at the lights from the party before resuming his tale.

"And the guy…" He licks his lips, and you feel the hand that's still holding yours tighten ever so slightly. "He's going to love you so much. Properly love you. He's going to see you come down that aisle and weep because he's just going to know that he's the luckiest guy in the universe. And if he doesn't cry right away, I'll kick him in the shins up there until he does because in spite of what Jimin and Jungkook think, we all know that I'm actually your best man."

You let out a watery giggle, the tears flowing freely now, and Taehyung reaches up to swipe a few off your cheeks, letting out a chuckle of his own.

"I want to believe you," you say quietly. "And hopefully one day I will. I just…I need more time."

"Whatever you need, you know I'm here for you," he murmurs, and you nod.

You fall back into silence for a few moments, Taehyung dutifully continuing to hold your hand while you lightly sniffle and wipe at your cheeks.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to go back to the party like this—I think you ruined my make-up," you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"Maybe, but you're the prettiest raccoon I've ever seen."

You laugh in earnest now, your shoulders shaking with it, and Taehyung smiles at you before suddenly rising to his feet.

"Wait here," he says, and then he's jogging back up towards the venue.

The silence envelops you again as you continue to mull over Taehyung's vision. Your battered heart is hesitant to dream, all of your imaginings coming in with fuzzy edges and blurry details that you just can't seem to place. But you're sure Taehyung was definitely right about one thing—you can't imagine a situation where you get married without him standing by your side.

It's a handful of minutes later when the man himself finally reappears with a hand behind his back and a mischievous smile on his face. When you raise your eyebrows at him in question, he comes to a halt in front of you and presents a full fifth of your favorite whiskey.

"What do you say we get out of here?"

The dim hotel lights cast a soft glow about the room as you and Taehyung pass the bottle back and forth, the mood significantly more casual than the extravagant party you just ditched. The decor may be fancy—Hoseok and Sunny certainly didn’t skimp when it came to location—but the two of you are perfectly rumpled, stretched out on the expensive sheets: you having removed your make-up and changed into your pajamas and Taehyung propped up against the headboard with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his jacket and tie tossed over the couch.

You’ve started up a game of Truth or Drink, a somewhat milder version of Truth or Dare, where you get to take turns asking each other questions, and the respondent has the chance to either answer the question or take a mouthful of whiskey. Normally, between you and Taehyung, such a game would be low stakes, with your shared years and few secrets between you making it hard to ask challenging questions. But something about tonight and the need for a distraction seems to have made both of you competitive, going for questions that you know the other wouldn’t want to answer.

“What was the last thing you cried about?”

“One thing you don’t like about me?”

“Favorite position?”

“Did you really lose your virginity in a tree house?”

“What’s your greatest fear?”

"If you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?"

"Oh God, one of those cupcakes from Sweet Night Bakery," you groan. It was a place you had passed every day on the way to school, the wafting scents of cookies and cakes playing pied piper to your youthful noses. You had always dreamed of one day being able to afford the expensive pastries but had fled your hometown before having the adult money to do so.

"Seriously? Anything in the world and you want a cupcake?" Taehyung laughs, pink tongue poking out from behind his teeth.

"It's not just anything, it's one of my life's dreams," you counter, playfully shaking a fist at him for emphasis, but Taehyung seems unconvinced. "Fine then, if you have such a good answer. Same question."

He tilts his head at you, a mild haze in his eyes that tells you that while he's not drunk-drunk, he's definitely tipsy. A beat passes and he takes a drink.

"Ooh, mysterious," you slur. "But I win."

"Alright, alright." He grins at you. "I concede to your sugary dreams."

You mirror his smile, observe the way his fingers curl in his lap as you try to think of your next question. He’s always had nice hands—so delicate and careful with everything he touches. It’s odd, you think, how such gentleness could emerge from a home and upbringing that was anything but. How someone as bright as Taehyung could come from such darkness.

“Do you want kids one day?”

The question takes him by surprise when you ask it, and he physically startles, turning the bottle in his hands slowly. “I don’t know. Why?” He looks at you then, and you feel like you can see a riddle being worked out in his head. “Where did that question come from?”

“I don’t know,” you echo. “You spent so much time earlier imagining a future for me. I realized that we’ve never really talked about what you want for yourself outside of your career.”

Growing up, you’d discussed your dreams for the future, of course. But while you have always skewed towards the romantic, envisioning rings and weddings and vows, Taehyung’s always been much more practical and career-oriented—his plans always involved degrees and promotions and retirement funds.

A beat passes as he continues to fidget with the whiskey bottle before he again says, “I’m really not sure.”

“Well think about it now,” you challenge. “Or drink up.”

He chuckles to himself, some private joke in his head. “It would terrify me, I think. But I’d love them with everything I’ve got. Want to give them everything I didn’t have and be better than my parents were.”

You hum in agreement; you’ve had the same thoughts on occasion. Some who grew up in your situation may have been turned off the idea of children—and the idea does scare you in certain respects—but you’ve always been stubborn. “It’d be a chance to prove that it doesn’t have to be that hard. That you didn’t deserve what you went through.”

Fingers graze against yours in a subtle show of kinship. As always, you understand each other. “Exactly.”

And he may be struggling to imagine it, but you can see it so clearly: a small boy with big, brown eyes and a boxy smile riding on Taehyung’s shoulders. The two of them playing in the sand at the beach house or walking down the street together—the boy’s tiny hand tucked safely in his father’s.

The image chokes you up, fills you with so much warmth you think you might burst.

“You’d be an amazing father, Tae.”

There’s not a single doubt in your mind about it—that this incredible, thoughtful, selfless man would also be a wonderful dad. He doesn’t look so sure, but a flicker of recognition passes through him.

“You’ve said that to me once before,” he murmurs.

“I did?”

A nod. “One time when you were drunk junior year.”

You don’t remember it, the memory lost to the alcohol. “I guess drunk me has flashes of brilliance.”

“Maybe we’ll see someday.”

“I hope we will.”

Suddenly nervous, he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in the long column of his neck. “But it’d have to be with the right person.”

“Has there ever been anyone who you thought was close?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re asking a disproportionate amount of questions.”

Reaching over, you pull the bottle from his hands, drink down a mouthful of burning liquor, and set it right back in his lap. “Answer.”

Wide eyes appraise you through the dim light; he looks almost impressed. “No.”

“No, there’s never been someone you could see a future with, or no, you won’t answer?”

“The first one,” he says. “I’ve never been with someone I could imagine having kids with.”

You frown, the blunt despondence in his tone cutting. “Not even Luna?”

A look is thrown your way—pursed lips and creased brow telling you that’s a stupid question.

“What happened with her?”

He scoffs, lips immediately wrapping around the bottle as he takes a gulp.

“So something did happen.”

“We broke up,” he states. “That’s what happened.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never said why.”

He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. As if you’ve just asked him what he wants for dinner and not why the longest relationship of his life ended. “We weren’t compatible.”

You can’t help but sigh, a small part of you hurt that he still refuses to talk about it, that he’s closed this part of himself off to you. “You don’t trust me?”

“Y/N, no.” He shakes his head, looking genuinely remorseful to have given you that impression. “That’s not it. It’s just…impossibly complicated—“

“Was it me?” You’re suddenly reminded of a conversation with Maya from weeks ago, when she’d suggested that you were the reason all of Taehyung’s relationships had failed.

His lips part, tongue pushing into his cheek like he’s trying to hold words back.

“It was, wasn’t it?” you push, and his teeth dig into his tongue now, chewing. “You can tell me. I can handle i—“

“You were part of it, yes.”

In spite of what you’ve just said, the words land like a blow. You’ve spent years watching him go through breakup after breakup, and now you find out that you were a source of that anguish all along—helped fuel that heartbreak in his life.

It pains you to think you’ve been holding him back.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” you whisper.

“Because there was nothing to tell. It didn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Tae. If I’m getting in the way of your relationships…I want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy.”

That silences you, the sincerity in his voice leaving you blinking at him, and he continues.

“She didn’t like how close we are—most of them haven’t. But it doesn’t matter because at the end of the day, I’ll always choose you. And that’s the end of it. Nothing left to tell.”

You feel like you should protest this, insist on him putting himself and his future first.

But given similar circumstances, wouldn’t you do the same for him?

“Did Jace ever give you shit about us?” he asks, reading your mind.

He had, ranting about Taehyung that night in some fucked up attempt to explain away why you’d found him in bed with another woman. Before then, you hadn’t noticed the signs: hadn’t picked up on his reluctance to spend time with your friends, hadn’t read into the way he stuck close to your side on the rare occasions he did, a possessive arm always tight around your waist.

It all made sense afterwards, and you hate that the vulnerability and anguish of the moment made you question your own actions. You never would’ve shut Taehyung out—never in a million years—but it initially made you think that maybe if you’d been more attentive towards Jace, had been more sensitive to his feelings, that maybe you wouldn’t have wound up in the situation you did.

You recognize now that he didn’t deserve it in the end, obviously, but heartbreak is a funny thing.

Not wanting to have to admit to any of that out loud, you whisk the bottle from Taehyung’s hands again and drink. He watches the movement of your throat with heavy, knowing eyes, immediately taking the whiskey back for his own sip once you’ve finished.

“I must admit,” he says, the alcohol clearly loosening his tongue as he sags against the headboard. “I’m a little relieved about things ending for you and Jace. Aside from him being a certified douchebag, I mean.”

You frown, not sure where he’s going with this, and the look on your face must come across as offense because he’s quick to clarify.

“Not that I liked seeing you hurt.” He shakes his head, and you can see some anger at the situation still lingering under the surface. “No, never. But I just…now I get to keep you longer at least.”

“Keep me?”

“Yeah, this…” He wags a finger between you. “You know this has to end one day, right?”

The whiskey should be warming, but your veins fill with ice at his words. Losing Jace was one thing. Losing Taehyung would be a different matter entirely.

“You’re always going to have me,” you say, reaching for his pinky.

But he pulls his hand away.

“Not like this.” He smiles with what you assume to be intended comfort, but his entire demeanor is tainted with sadness. “One day, when you have the dream guy and the family and the white picket fence, there won’t be room for me. Not like this.”

It feels like earlier—him trying to paint you a picture of a possible future for you—but unlike earlier, you can’t picture this future. You don’t want it. Not if he’s not there.

“Tae—“

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He gives another sad smile, takes another drink. “No husband is going to want a third wheel hanging around. I understand. I want you to be happy, too.”

But you wouldn’t be happy without him, and in many ways, you’ve always known that to be true. But that knowledge hits you now with such force, such raw truth, that it renders you speechless and leaves you staring at him, drunken eyes laser-focused as if discovering the very center of the universe.

You want to challenge him on his statement, make him see that he’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But the alcohol muddles your thoughts, has your brain dropping half-formed sentences through your mind like Scrabble pieces that you can’t quite wrangle into a coherent thought.

Taehyung takes your silence for agreement and, seeming to suddenly realize that some kind of line has just been crossed, takes the quiet opportunity to flip the conversation back to your game.

“The shoes you gave me for my seventeenth birthday,” he begins, the words tipping out slow and oddly calculated for someone who’s had as much to drink as he has. “Where did the money come from?”

You know where he’s going with this. And it’s perhaps the only secret you’ve kept from him in the entirety of your friendship. “Christmas money, I told you.”

“No, really.”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“I never saw that house decorated for Christmas even once.”

“Could’ve been from an aunt or uncle.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?”

It wasn’t. You snuck the money out of your father’s desk one day knowing that he wouldn’t have even noticed it was missing. Absent-minded in everything aside from work, your father had misplaced things constantly. You drink. And even though it’s supposed to be an avoidance of the question, it gives him his answer.

“I knew it.”

“They weren’t going to miss it, and you needed it more.”

“You could’ve gotten in so much trouble.”

“I knew I wouldn’t. I didn’t. And it was worth the risk regardless.”

Looking back, you wish you’d had more of a fear of getting caught—wish your parents would’ve scolded you, screamed at you, anything. It would’ve been better than the indifference you’d been met with day in and day out. As if you were invisible.

Taehyung’s head swings from side-to-side. “You shouldn’t have. I would’ve been okay.”

“And you shouldn’t have punched Jace in that club, but you did anyway, didn’t you?”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not. You’re not the only one who gets to put your ass on the line for the people you care about. You were worth the risk.”

He blinks, regarding you as if you’ve presented him with some outlandish concept. Like you’ve asked him to explain rocket science or open-heart surgery. “Then you should’ve told me then.”

“You would’ve given them back.”

“Maybe, but then at least we would’ve been in it together instead of you lying to me.”

“And you’ve never lied to me?”

He hesitates, tongue tracing his bottom lip. “No.”

“Okay, then. Truth or drink: what’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?”

You know there must be one, can read it in the way his shoulder is suddenly pressed against yours as he tilts into you. Fingertips skim the bare skin of your knee, tentative in their movements, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath as the distance between you closes to mere centimeters, his gaze roaming your face and snagging on your mouth.

And you feel it—the pull that you’ve always felt towards him, the gravitational force that’s kept you in the same orbit since you were children. Two souls that intertwined the moment they sensed the other’s presence with a flash of awareness and said, You, you, you.

Thinking back on the entirety of your life, you don’t know how you possibly could have made it through without him: your best friend, your partner, your sanctuary. In such a volatile world—a turbulent youth marred by uncertainty and sorrow—he took your hand and held you steady, made sure you didn’t go through it alone.

In hindsight, you can’t truly regret it. Yes, there will always be a part of you that will resent your parents, wish that they would have loved you enough to spare you the hurt and stress they put you through. But just like the night when he brought you back to your apartment—held you close as you fell asleep in his embrace—your memories with him far outweigh the trauma you endured. When you think of your time spent growing up, he is by far the brightest star, outshining any darkness that may have lingered at the corners. It’s not the empty house or your parents’ stony faces that you think of first, but him: blanket forts and starry nights and walks in the park and blurry photographs and sometimes tears, sure, but only with him there to hold you.

Looking at this man in front of you, in every familiar line of his face and body, you know, without a crumb of doubt, that you’d do it all again. Screw Jace and Luna and your parents and anyone else who’s expressed disdain at your closeness with him. He’s written into every line of your history, every memory that’s worth something. And he may fight you on it, but he’s worth every risk you’ve ever taken—you would’ve stolen a thousand pairs of shoes for him. You’d move mountains and drain the oceans if he needed you to. You’d do anything.

You couldn’t live without him. You don’t want to live without him.

A moment of clarity, a wave of revelation as you lock eyes and are met with your favorite color. And at long last, you find the words.

I love you.

Your heart throws itself off a cliff…

And you lean in to press your lips to his.

a/n: happy holidays to all who celebrate 😊

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

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scary-grace · 6 months ago

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Enough to Go by (Chapter 14) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Chapter 14

When you agreed to be Tenko’s sidekick, playing for keeps this time, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t involve anyone else. You broke that promise almost immediately, but Kazuo made you break it, so you decided it doesn’t count. Your friends who were killed in the Kamino incident weren’t dragged into it by you specifically, but you’re still part of the reason they died, so you have to count them, too. Mitsuru’s stayed out of it by having a girlfriend and being too busy to notice whatever the hell you’re up to, and Yoshimi’s got enough to worry about with her illness. You never wanted your friends to get caught up in this. You thought you’d hidden it well enough to keep Mitsuko and Ryuhei safe, too.

Except now Ryuhei and Mitsuko have met Tenko, and they’ve become the League’s first ever sleeper agents. Every time the two of them show up at your apartment, for any reason, League-related or otherwise, you can’t help feeling like you’ve failed them. You feel like you’ve failed Tenko, too.

Tenko’s not here today. He’s been spending at least some time at the new hideout Overhaul provided in order to keep up appearances, and with Kurogiri on another mission, it’s harder to move people back and forth safely. Toga and Twice are embedded with the yakuza full-time, which means you haven’t heard from them other than a request from Toga to go thrifting and find her a new coat. It’s cold in the Hassaikai base. Compress is usually at the new hideout, too – now that he’s got his prosthetic, your services are no longer needed. The people who spend the most time at your apartment now are Dabi and Spinner. And your friends from before.

Dabi and Spinner aren’t here today, but your friends are supposed to be here at any moment, and as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you hear the secret knock on the door – followed by an order to “let us in, you criminal”, which sort of defeats the purpose of a secret knock. You unlock the door and open it. They both push past you eagerly, only to pause, disappointed, when they realize your apartment is empty. “Come on,” Ryuhei complains. “I wanted to meet the rest of them.”

“Not even your weird boyfriend’s here? Lame,” Mitsuko agrees. “I wanted to give him this.”

She’s holding your high school yearbook. “Why?”

“So he can see all the bad haircuts he missed out on. This –” Mitsuko gestures at you “ – is the result of five years of my influence on your fashion sense. He owes me.”

“Yeah. I’ll be sure to let him know.” You’ll show Tenko the yearbook when hell freezes over. You shut the door. “Do you guys have questions about any of the stuff we talked about last time?”

“No. I don’t care that I’m not fighting,” Mitsuko says. “My quirk sucks for it.”

“Not if you fine-tuned it enough. If you could sense people’s intentions towards you really closely, you’d be able to tell their moves ahead of time,” Ryuhei says. “My quirk could be good for fighting, though. Is he sure he doesn’t want me fighting?”

“Yes,” you say. Tenko was impressed by Ryuhei’s quirk, but if Ryuhei gets captured, he’ll be a potential link to you, and Tenko’s still trying to keep you out of any suspicion. “For right now, anyway.”

“Fine,” Ryuhei says. He sits down on your couch with a thud, and Mitsuko grabs the armchair. You take the other end of the couch. “We got some stuff going. Inada’s been looking into the Hassaikai a little more –”

“We’ll get to that,” Mitsuko says. “Tell her our real idea.”

“Supply caches,” Ryuhei says. You blink. “Storage units aren’t that expensive. We could rent a bunch of different ones all around the country and fill them with stuff you guys need – like medical shit, food, supplies –”

“New information, if we’ve got any,” Mitsuko adds. “Phones aren’t safe. If they’re tracking where your signal is coming from, they’ll find it bouncing all over the place, and that’ll be suspicious from somebody who’s supposed to be in Yokohama.”

“Why wouldn’t I be in Yokohama?” you ask. Then it clicks. “Wait, you think I’m going to be with them?”

“Uh, yes.” Mitsuko and Ryuhei trade a glance. “At some point you have to, right? If you’re their medic, they need you to be with them wherever they are.”

“Kurogiri just comes to get me.”

“What if they need you and he’s not with them?” Ryuhei is giving you a weird look. “What happened with the one guy’s arm – it could have been bad if you weren’t there, right?”

It would have been. Nobody else in the League carries medical supplies, and without you to smooth the way at your clinic, Compress could have easily been reported to the police and arrested. “And it would make more sense for you to be with them,” Mitsuko continues. “Your boyfriend’s a lot more hinged when you’re around. If that’s what hinged looks like for him, I don’t even want to think about what he’s like on his own.”

Tenko’s more grounded when you’re around, or so you’ve heard from Spinner. He and Dabi don’t argue as much, and he’s apparently a lot less apathetic about things. But you’re still taken aback by what your friends are saying. The role they’re envisioning for themselves when it comes to helping the League is the role you’re playing right now, because they don’t expect you to play it for much longer. You hadn’t even thought of that. Are they right?

You’re not going to think about that right now. “I think supply caches are a great idea,” you say. “How many were you thinking?”

“That depends. How much money are we working with?”

Money’s not the only thing it depends on. It also depends on where the League is likely to be, and how easily they’ll be able to travel, and whether they’re more likely to be spotted in big cities with tons of surveillance or small towns where everyone knows everyone, and a whole lot of other questions. Mitsuko points out another benefit of you traveling with the League full-time; the cops still don’t know your face, which means you can move around freely even when the rest of the League can’t. The longer the three of you talk about it, the more it makes sense. You’re starting to wonder why Tenko hasn’t brought you with the League full-time already.

You’re in the middle of looking up storage units when the doorbell rings. The sound scares the hell out of you, like most unexpected sounds do these days, and you rocket to your feet. “Where are you going?” Ryuhei asks. “It’s probably just a delivery. Did you order something?”

You shake your head. “The others might have. They’ve done stuff like that before.”

Ryuhei accepts the explanation, but Mitsuko doesn’t. She follows you to the door. “I’m getting a weird feeling.”

“Like a feeling that the delivery guy is going to kill me?” you ask. Mitsuko shakes her head. “Then it’s fine. It’s easier if I just grab it now.”

You unlock the door and find yourself looking at a man holding a manila envelope. You can see your name written on it, along with your address, in neat but spidery handwriting. You hold out your hand for it. “Do I need to sign for this or something?”

“Nope. Just confirm your name and address.” The delivery guy holds the envelope just out of reach until you confirm both pieces of information. “Perfect. Here –”

He places the envelope in your hand, but once you’ve got it, his other hand comes up, and both enfold yours. The delivery guy is holding your hand, and in the split second before your mind registers just how weird this is, you find yourself feeling sick. Really sick. Dizzy. Nauseous. Another split second later, just as you’re thinking you should pull away, pain knifes through your skull. It’s not just weird. It’s a quirk.

A status effect quirk? You try to pull your hand away, but your arms feel like lead. Your voice comes out strange and slurred. “What –”

“Overhaul requires your presence,” the man says, and your stomach twists. “Come with me.”

“Fuck you.” A pair of arms wrap around your waist and yank you backwards into your apartment. Mitsuko pulls you away from the door and keeps pulling, even when your legs give out and she has to drag you. “Sasegawa, get your shit together!”

The man steps across the threshold into your apartment, dropping the envelope on the floor. “Thought you’d be alone in here. This is going to get messy.”

He reaches for you, but before he can make contact, Ryuhei hops the couch and gets between the two of you. The would-be kidnapper’s hand collides with Ryuhei’s face instead, and Ryuhei’s quirk activates. You’ve seen Ryuhei’s quirk at work before, but it always amazes you just how fast the rebound happens. The kidnapper’s got next to no resistance to his own quirk. Most people don’t. He throws up all over himself and the floor. He’s throwing up blood.

“Okay, what the fuck?” Ryuhei snaps. “What kind of quirk was that? Who is this guy?”

“Hassaikai,” you and Mitsuko both say at once. Mitsuko keeps talking. You’re too busy trying not to retch. “See how his eyes glow green? His quirk’s called Irradiate. It can paralyze people if he wants it to. Or it can kill.”

“So how the fuck did you miss it? You’re supposed to read intentions!”

“His intention was to kidnap her, not to hurt her or kill her! Hurting her is just a byproduct! My quirk doesn’t do what you think it does!” Mitsuko sounds as pissed as you’ve ever heard her. She shakes you. “If you’d just listened to me –”

“We have to do something about him.” You cut her off and gesture at the delivery guy, who’s now having a seizure just inside your doorway. “Emergency services. I have to call them.”

“You want to get him medical help? He just tried to kidnap you!”

“I need him to leave. And I don’t need the cops here.” You know the Hassaikai are under investigation. You’ve already come into contact with them once that the heroes know about. If you’re documented making contact with them again – “This guy is just a delivery guy. We don’t know what happened. When I opened the door and took the package, he started convulsing. That’s it.”

“And what about you? You look like hell,” Ryuhei shoots back. “You’re a nurse. Isn’t helping with shit like this your job?”

Shit. It is your job. If the cops come here, they’re going to ask why you’re not tending to the guy who tried to kidnap you. “One of you needs to call,” you say. You pull away from Mitsuko, fighting the urge to throw up, and head to the delivery guy, tilting him onto his side so he won’t aspirate if he starts vomiting again. “Now.”

While Mitsuko places the call, you try to remember what you know about radiation sickness. Not a lot. You seem to remember that the symptoms correspond to the dose, and that instant vomiting isn’t a good sign. Vomiting blood is never a good sign. But you got nauseous right away, even though you didn’t throw up. If this guy actually irradiated you, you’re in trouble, too. Did Mitsuko say his quirk was radiation, or just that it mimics the effects? You need to ask her, but she’s still on the phone, acting really panicked and hysterical to ensure that the EMTs get here fast. You’ll ask once she hangs up. In the meantime, you’ve got one hell of a headache and a guy having a seizure on your floor. You’re busy.

The EMTs don’t question your story when they arrive. They get the gang member off your floor and onto a stretcher, give you a bodily fluids cleanup kit to deal with the vomit, and book it. Ryuhei’s too squeamish to help you clean, but Mitsuko isn’t. The two of you work on taking the stain out of the carpet while Ryuhei opens the envelope the Hassaikai member brought with him. “I should be the one to open it,” he says when you protest. “If there’s a quirk in here it’ll bounce off of me.”

“Why would there be a quirk in an envelope?”

“Why would the Hassaikai send a delivery guy to kidnap you? These people are insane.” Ryuhei rips open the envelope. “No quirk. Just a letter. It’s – well, fuck. This is bad.”

“Don’t just say ‘this is bad’. Read it,” you say. It’s quiet for a few seconds. “Well?”

“It’s not addressed to you. It’s for Shigaraki,” Ryuhei says. Your stomach lurches. “I guess the guy was supposed to leave it here for Shigaraki to find after he kidnapped you. Overhaul’s saying he doesn’t trust Shigaraki to behave himself just for Toga’s and Twice’s sake – wait, are they hostages? – so he’s going to hang onto you, too. And – fuck, this guy is a freak.”

“Wait, let me see.” Mitsuko strips off her gloves and goes to investigate. You come over, too, but she shoos you back. A moment later, she swears. “We can’t let him see this.”

“See what?” You’re not done with the bodily fluids cleanup, but you peel off your gloves and step around Mitsuko. “He was going to kidnap me. I should get to –”

“You don’t want to,” Mitsuko snaps at you. You’ve never heard her take that tone before, and you’ve heard her get really harsh. Then, to Ryuhei: “We can’t let him see this. If he sees this – look, I’ve been around the yakuza before. I’ve seen some shit. This is fucked up even for them.”

“What is it?” you say, exasperated. You’ve met Overhaul. He creeped you out plenty in person. You doubt a letter could do the same thing.

“I think we should show him,” Ryuhei mumbles. “Let him see what he’s up against.”

Your phone starts buzzing in your pocket, and you pull it out to find a text from Tenko. We got him. We’re on our way over.

They got who? And why are they coming here? How are they coming here without Kurogiri? Are they really traveling through Yokohama on foot? They’re going to get caught. You can’t think straight. Your head hurts. “Mitsu, is that guy’s quirk actual radiation or just the symptoms?”

“Actual radiation.”

You might be screwed. The thought that your would-be kidnapper is even more screwed than you are isn’t much of a source of comfort. You put on a fresh set of gloves and go back to cleaning up the mess of guess-it’s-radioactive bloody vomit on the floor.

Tenko and the others don’t arrive until half an hour after you’re done cleaning, when you’ve switched clothes and showered off and you’re sprawled on the couch, reading the Wikipedia page on acute radiation sickness and trying to decide whether the continued urge to vomit is the result of anxiety or whatever dose of radiation you caught from the kidnapper. You hear the secret knock, but Ryuhei’s at the door before you can even get up from the couch. The door opens, and a moment later you hear Compress’s voice. “Who are you?”

“New ally. Who are you?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Tomura says impatiently. “Let us in.”

Ryuhei lets him in, and the rest of the League piles into the apartment after him. The entire rest of the League – Twice and Toga are back, looking extremely pleased with themselves, and everybody else looks like they’ve had a great day, too. “Overhaul’s fucked,” Tomura announces. “Turn on the TV. I bet they’re covering it.”

You switch on the TV, and everyone comes to settle around it. Twice plops down on the couch next to you, only to scramble up a moment later when Tomura comes over. Tomura’s not shy about being affectionate with you in front of the League. He pulls you against his side, not quite into his lap, and you lean against him, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t want to tell him about the attempted kidnapping, and now you don’t have to. It’s a relief.

It turns out that the League’s revenge against Overhaul is just the final piece of Overhaul’s worst day ever. The heroes moved against him at last, destroying his headquarters and capturing his lieutenants, effectively destroying the Shie Hassaikai for good – and on top of that, Tomura, Dabi, Spinner, and Compress attacked the convoy that was transporting Overhaul to a villain-specific hospital. A hero’s dead. Two cops are badly injured. And Overhaul himself is now short both his arms, and his quirk.

“I was thinking,” Tomura says, “somebody who hates quirks shouldn’t have one of his own. We got revenge for Compress –”

“I took his arm myself,” Compress says proudly. Twice high-fives him. “And in revenge for Magne, we took everything else that mattered to him.”

“Those quirk-destroying bullets he had? Those are ours now,” Dabi says. “Smug bastard. He had it coming.”

“You have no idea,” Mitsuko mumbles. Dabi gives her a weird look.

“We messed with them during the heroes’ raid,” Toga sings out, grinning her sharp-toothed grin. “And I got to see Izuku! He’s so cute when he’s covered in blood. Ochako and Tsu were there, too! I wish I’d gotten to talk to them more – they’re so pretty –”

At least Toga likes the idea of having age-appropriate friends. She’s got a few screws loose already, but only hanging around with you and a bunch of older guys probably isn’t helping. On the TV, there’s another alert – something about a girl the heroes were trying to rescue from Overhaul, who’s since gone missing. “And on that note, Saintess,” Compress says over Twice’s crowing about just how badly they pissed off one of Overhaul’s lieutenants, “we have a present for you.”

He extracts one of his spheres from his pocket and uncompresses it on your coffee table to reveal a messily severed arm. Mitsuko yelps and recoils. “Wrong one,” Compress says hastily, and compresses it again. “This is for you.”

You have a bad feeling about it, and once he uncompresses the second sphere, you’re proven right. In place of the arm, there’s a tiny girl sprawled out on the table. She’s wearing a hospital gown, her arms and legs heavily bandaged. She has greyish-white hair, just like the girl in the picture on TV, and just like the girl in the picture, there’s a horn on the right side of her forehead. She’s also asleep, or maybe unconscious. There’s a hectic, fevered flush in her cheeks, and her breathing is rattling and uneven in a way that raises a whole host of red flags.

“This is Eri,” Twice says as you stare in horror. “Isn’t she cute?”

“She was the key to Overhaul’s plans,” Tomura says. “Her quirk’s Rewind. It activates when she touches someone, and it turns back the clock on their body, or parts of their body. Overhaul was using it in the deleter rounds to turn back quirk factors until they no longer exist.”

“He was being so gross with her,” Toga says. Her mirth from before is gone. “He kept cutting her and using his quirk to put her back together again. We could hear her crying if we went down to that level.”

“The heroes were trying to rescue her, but we nabbed her when their backs were turned,” Twice adds. “And we brought her back here! She should be with us, don’t you think?”

You can barely think. “Can she control it?” Mitsuko asks. “Like, is it active right now?”

“Maybe. Why?”

Mitsuko doesn’t answer. She grabs your hand away from your side, yanks it towards the coffee table, and slaps it down on top of the little girl’s hand. Your entire body jolts, and you struggle to pull free, but Mitsuko leaves your hand there for a second, two seconds, three. When Tomura grabs you and pulls you back, she lets you go. “What the hell was that?” Tomura demands.

Mitsuko doesn’t answer him. “I can Google shit just as well as you can,” she says to you. “Feel better?”

You do. Your headache’s completely gone, along with the nausea, and it’s easier to think – and now you get why she did it. The exposure to the little girl’s quirk Rewound you, past the point where you were exposed to the radiation quirk. You’re not irradiated any longer, which means that by bringing Eri back here, Compress and the others have saved you a lot of trouble. But they’ve also caused a problem. A really big problem. “We can’t keep her.”

The League stares at you. “Why not?” Spinner asks.

You’d expect that question from Tomura or Dabi. Not from Spinner, who lived at least adjacent to the real world until four months ago. “She’s a little kid,” you say. “Kids need stability. They need a roof over their heads and to know they’ll have food and a safe place to sleep every night. And if one of you is about to say that you didn’t have that and you turned out fine – no, you didn’t.”

Dabi snorts. “But she’s so cute,” Toga complains. “Look at her little cheeks. I just want to bite them!”

“No biting the kid. If you’re going to bite the kid we’re definitely not keeping her,” Tomura says. You can’t believe he’s still thinking it’s a good idea to keep her, and when he turns to look at you, you can see that nothing you’ve said has sunk in. “She could stay with you. It’s safe here.”

“No, it isn’t,” Ryuhei says, and you glare daggers at him. “Don’t. I’m not going to act like there wasn’t –”

Whatever he was going to say, it’s cut off when the girl on your coffee table startles awake. She pushes herself to seated with shaking arms, glancing left, then right. Her eyes are bright red, like Tomura’s, and as you watch, they begin to fill with tears. Her mouth is trembling, and so is her voice when she speaks. “Where’s Deku?”

“Oh, come on,” Tomura complains, and the girl cringes. “You want Midoriya? Really? I – hey!”

You’ve elbowed him into shutting up. The girl is curling in on herself, arms wrapping tight around her knees. “He was going to save me,” she whimpers. “Him and Lemillion and the man with the glasses –”

“They did save you. From Overhaul. Then we saved you from them!” Twice chirps. “It was no trouble. Say thank you!”

“Hey,” you warn. They brought Eri to you. It’s your job to help her. You turn to her and soften your voice. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re safe here. Nobody here is going to hurt you. I promise.”

She shakes her head. “Nobody here will hurt you,” you say again. You don’t even want to think about what it must have been like for this girl to live under Overhaul’s thumb, being tortured by him to manufacture the quirk-canceling bullets. “You aren’t in trouble. You’re not going to be in trouble, and even if you were, there’s nothing you could do that would make one of us hurt you. That’s not what we do.”

“Overhaul –”

“He’s gone,” Tomura says. Eri looks at him. “We got rid of him. I took his quirk away and left him for the heroes. He’s not coming back.”

“We’re not him,” Spinner adds. “He sucked.”

Eri’s shoulders relax slightly at that. Then her face crumples. “I want Deku.”

You preemptively elbow Tomura, then start strategizing. If you touch her, you might get rewound further than you want to be, so you need to find a different way to comfort her. You hand her a box of tissues first, pluck a few out to show her that it’s okay to take them, and get to your feet. “The rest of you, stay where you are,” you order. “I’ll be right back.”

Your apartment doesn’t exactly have kid stuff in it. You find a spare blanket in your hall closet and come back, unfolding it and settling it carefully around Eri’s shoulders. She’s picked up the tissue box, but instead of using it, she’s hugging it. At work, you keep a box of cheap stuffed animals to give to scared kids, for them to hold during their appointments and take with them when they leave. You don’t have any stuffed animals here, so maybe you can give her a pillow. Or –

You head to your room on autopilot, dig into the box of things you brought from your parents’ house, and come back. Tomura’s eyes go straight to the object you’re holding. You know he recognizes it. He wouldn’t be staring like that if he didn’t. “Is that –”

You nod and crouch back down next to the coffee table. “Eri,” you say, and she looks at you. You hold up the plush corgi Tenko gave you for your sixth birthday. “I’ll trade you for the tissue box. This is way more fun to hug than that is.”

Eri’s red eyes brighten ever so slightly, but she’s hesitant to reach for it. Maybe she thinks you’re going to take it away. You set it down on the table and push it towards her, making sure to pull your hand away so she knows you aren’t planning to snatch it back. You feel the smallest sense of relief when she drops the tissue box and grabs the plushie with both hands, hugging it tight against her chest. It’s really cute. Or it would be, if you didn’t know why this is happening to her. If you didn’t know why she’s in your apartment in the first place.

She peers at you from between the plushie’s ears. “Who are you?”

“I’m Saintess,” you say. You’ve never called yourself by your code name before. You feel twenty kinds of dumb. “It’s really nice to meet you. But I know it’s probably not comfortable to sit on the coffee table. How about you go sit in that chair –”

Dabi’s in it. Tomura glares at him until he moves, and Eri stumbles over to it, trailing the blanket and clutching the toy. “And get comfortable,” you tell her. She burrows into the blanket, watching all of you with enormous eyes. “Do you feel okay?”

“Cold,” she says. Chills, then. Probably a fever, too. “It hurts.”

All those bandages. You don’t want to know what’s underneath them. “Okay. I’m going to put on some gloves so it’ll be safe for me to touch you, and then I’ll take your temperature and check to make sure you’re okay. Is that all right with you? It’s okay if it’s not.”

Eri hesitates. “Will I feel better?”

“You won’t feel worse,” you say. She nods, and you go back to the hall closet for your first-aid kit.

You try to tune the others out as you tend to Eri, but you can’t quite make it stick. Dabi is asking Toga and Twice about which heroes they dealt with during the operation against the Hassaikai, Compress is raiding your kitchen, and Spinner is way into your personal space, wanting to know what’s going on with Eri. Tomura is, too, at first. You catch him watching you more than once, a weird look on his face. You know him well enough to know most of his expressions, and that one’s new. You wonder what it means.

Then, while you’re waiting for the thermometer you just put in Eri’s mouth to beep, you glance back to check on Tomura, and he’s gone. He’s over by the kitchen table instead. There’s an envelope in his hands.

No. No, no, no. You grab Ryuhei, order him to take the thermometer out when it beeps and memorize what it says, then race towards Tomura – but you’re way too late. The envelope and the letter inside it crumble to dust as you reach him, and when he looks up at you, his jaw is clenched so tightly that the tendons in his neck are standing out. “What happened?” he snarls.

“Lower your voice,” you beg. You don’t want him to scare Eri. “It’s not a big deal. Nothing bad happened. It’s just –”

“Don’t fucking lie,” Mitsuko says, coming up beside you. You don’t have to warn her to keep her voice down. “That yakuza bastard sent a hitman here to kidnap your girlfriend. It would have worked if Ryuhei hadn’t been here to give him a taste of his own quirk.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “The Hassaikai’s been dismantled, right? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“They knew where you were,” Tomura says flatly. “When I find out who told them –”

“Nobody had to tell them.” The pieces are coming together in your head, slow and ugly. Overhaul saw the bandage on your hand at the warehouse. He’d have known that the League would need to seek help for Compress, and the free clinics are the only place where an injury like that won’t result in immediate police involvement. “A Hassaikai member showed up at my clinic. He asked about my hand.”

“Overhaul brought it up, too.” Tomura’s right hand lifts, clawing at his neck – lightly at first, then harder. “You – Inada – why did you use the kid’s quirk on her?”

“She got radiation poisoning. That’s the fucking hitman’s quirk.” Mitsuko ignores you when you tell her to shut up. “My guess is, Over-fuck knew he could fix whatever his hitman did when he got ahold of her. Him fixing it wasn’t an option. So I used the kid.”

“I owe you.” Tomura is still scratching, and now he’s focused on you. “They knew where you were. They’ve known since we made the alliance. It – fuck!”

“Hey, keep it down,” Spinner calls anxiously. “You’re scaring the kid.”

“Her temperature is 40 degrees,” Ryuhei adds.

Shit. “We need to table this,” you say to Tomura. His eyes flash. “That girl is really sick. It’s not safe for her to stay here, and I can’t help her the way she needs. She has to go to people who can help her.”

“The heroes? Fuck that.”

“She has to,” you say again. “They can help her. We can’t.”

“What makes you think they’ll do anything?” Tomura’s expression twists. One of his nails digs deep into the side of his neck and pulls up blood, and just like you did before, you cover his neck with your hand. “They won’t give a shit. They didn’t when it was – when –”

He breaks off. You wait, and he looks away. “Forget it.”

“They’re running her name and picture on the news,” Mitsuko says. “They care about what happens to her, and you all are in enough trouble without another kidnapping on your record. They’ll look for you twice as hard.”

Tomura’s fingernails scrape lightly across the back of your hand before his hand comes to rest over yours, index finger raised. “I’m not just dumping her on the street.”

“You won’t be,” you promise. “I’ll take her to the police station. I can say I found her wandering around –”

“So they’ll think we just dumped her on the street.”

“Or that she got away somehow. I don’t know.” You don’t have time for this. “Her fever’s high enough that she might not remember anything. If she does, she’ll remember we didn’t hurt her. That we took care of her while she was with us. She’ll know we aren’t him.”

Tomura’s shoulders relax slightly. It matters to him to be better than Overhaul. It matters to you, too. “Hang on,” Dabi says from where he’s leaning against the wall. “Maybe we shouldn’t send Saintess to drop the kid off. She’s had one run-in with the Hassaikai already, and the police already know about it. Her turning up with the kid is too big of a coincidence. Inada should be the one.”

“Two run-ins. Overhaul sent somebody here for her.” Tomura’s hand tightens around yours. “Her identity’s compromised. When we leave this time, she’s coming with us.”

Your stomach drops. “The kid trusts her,” Tomura continues. “And she’s a nurse. It’ll look like we left the kid by the clinic or something.”

“Why does it matter where we drop the kid off?”

“So we don’t end up looking worse than they do,” Tomura snaps. “What’s the point of revealing their hypocrisy if we just throw someone away?”

It’s quiet for a second. “Wait until nightfall, then,” Dabi says shortly. “So we can at least keep a lid on the number of people who see Saintess wandering around carrying a missing kid.”

“She’s sick,” Spinner says. “Doesn’t she need help as soon as possible?”

“Not if it gets us caught!”

You’re on Spinner’s team here. “What if Compress uses his quirk on me and Eri both? Then he can bring us near the police station, so we won’t have to walk as far and risk getting spotted. We won’t even show up on camera until we’re right there.”

“What kind of distance can you release your quirk from?” Tomura asks Compress, who shrugs. “If it’s far enough, you can give the sphere to Inada or Sasegawa to carry.”

That’s the plan they settle on, eventually. Compress will use his quirk on you and Eri, Mitsuko will carry you both to the police station and text when she’s there, and Compress will deactivate his quirk from a distance. Eri’s breathing is raspy. You need to hurry. You roll her up carefully in the blanket, making sure she doesn’t touch you. “The puppy,” she mumbles. “Can I keep him?”

“Of course,” you say. You were too old for it, and you don’t need a keepsake of Tenko when you have the real thing. “He’ll take good care of you as long as you take good care of him. Are you ready to go?”

She nods. You pick her up. Rolled in the blanket like this, she’s unwieldy but light. You turn to face Compress. “Okay, let’s do this. We –”

You get compressed mid-sentence, and the next thing you know, you’re standing in an alleyway a block and a half from the police station, face to face with Mitsuko. “Be careful,” she says. She looks pissed, and you’re not sure why. “Look, me and Ryuhei are activating the sleeper thing right after this, and you’re going with them. We’re not going to see each other for a while.”

Oh. “I’m going to miss you,” you tell her. Mitsuko laughs. “They still don’t know my face. We’ll see each other.”

“We’d better.”

“Keep an eye on Yoshimi for me,” you continue. “And Kazuo. I worry about them.”

“We all do,” Mitsuko says. “And now we have to worry about you, too.”

You feel a surge of guilt, one that melts into bemusement when Mitsuko leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. “Go on. I’ll see you around, Saintess.”

Saintess. That’s your name now, isn’t it? It’s the one everyone’s going to use. Mitsuko leaves the alley first, heading in one direction. You stand still and watch her go, watching a piece of the life you had before disappear around the corner. Then you adjust your grip on Eri and aim for the police station.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shimura tenko x reader #tenko shimura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #please hold #man door hand hook car door

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carpetbug · 1 year ago

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ML Feline Blue AU Chapter Two: The Pont des Arts

1 • 2 [tw: blood and slightly gory imagery] • 3

ao3

The last time Marinette had felt such paralyzing anxiety as she traveled towards the Pont de Arts was middle school. It was the day she realized she had a crush on Kim, and Socqueline - her best friend at the time, who left Francois’s Dupont at the end of 8th grade - had almost immediately shut down the immature day dream that was their future together. Still, Marinette had made her way to the bridge after school to stare at the locks of all the couples that had been here before her and conjure up sickeningly sweet fake scenarios of her new heartthrob. The craziest thing she had done that day was silently wish that Kim would magically reciprocate her romantic feelings, and still it had felt like she was walking some invisible tightrope, putting her life on the line for some spectacular balancing act she knew she could never pull off. She can still remember the way her hands shook and stomach churned while she perused the locks that decorated the bridge's walls. The fear she felt that day, that heavy stone of discomfort that lodged itself in her stomach, she felt it now all the same. Only this time, instead of feeling like she was merely risking her life, she could have sworn she was marching straight to death's door. And the miniature ladybug creature, this ‘kwami’, was doing little to put her unease to bed.

“You’re not listening, are you Marinette?” the alien-like red bug questioned delicately with a slight inflection to her already syrupy voice. Her eyes softened with guilt when Marinette met her expression with a lost look, lips parted slightly as she struggled to respond.

“I-I’m sorry.. uh.. Tek…?”

“Tikki” the small bug smiled patiently.

“Right. Tikki. I’m sorry Tikki” Marinette sighed and adjusted her hold on the miracle box. What a guardian she would be, she couldn’t even remember this kwamis name. How was she supposed to do.. well, everything else?

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“I died. That old man pushed me into the seine and I died.” Marinette stammered in disbelief as her limbs pushed her away from these freaks of nature without waiting for her brain's command.

“Don’t be scared, Marinette! We’re your friends!” The ladybug themed creature said reassuringly, dropping the intense tone with which she was speaking seconds prior. She, along with all the other small beings, floated effortlessly in the air. “I am Tikki, the kwami of creation. We aren’t going to hurt you, Master”

“Master?” Marinettes throat went bone dry as the words rattled her brain. She was their master? “Oh my god I’ve actually lost my mind.” She chuckled under her breath. The chuckle morphed to a steady laughter, and soon enough she was doubled over in hysterics, hands clutching her sides so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her ribcage. “That OLD man PUSHED me into the SEINE and I DIED!” She shouted in a side-splitting roar of laughter.

“Good job Sugarcube, now she’s having a breakdown.” Marinette heard a much more sour voice taunt. Suddenly what seemed like a million more voices chirped in, each unique in its pitch and pronunciation, and each more desperate to be heard than the last. She could only hear broken sentences and words through the plethora of noise from the kwamis and her own uncontrollable laughter, an occasional ‘We’re doomed!’ and ‘Master Fu!’ catching her ear.

“Just hush, Plagg!” the ladybug scoffed in annoyance. She darted closer to Marinette, small fin-like arm extending to pat her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Tune them out Marinette, you simply need time. Your bravery will surface soon.” She tried to soothe the frantic girl before returning her attention to the other beings. “Everyone, please listen! We can’t do this now, not to her.” Tikki spoke sternly, yet the words hung in the air like a plea. “I.. I’m certain none of us are ready to speak about Master Fu," a dejected tone began to cling to her small voice as she continued “But he wants us to go forward. And he needs us to guide the new guardian”. Marinette looked up as her voice began to catch in her throat, a pang of pity shooting through her unstable heart at the sight of the tears beginning to pool in the small beings eyes.

“Master Fu?” Marinette repeated softly, peeling her hands off her body and standing up from the rough cement platform that offered her safety. With a powerful shudder she became painfully aware that she was still soaked from the seine. Her hands traveled up to her hair, removing the smooth ribbon that held together her right pigtail - the left had come undone in the water. “Is that... was that the old man?” She asked the kwamis with a weary tone, eyes trained on her soggy shoes as her hands wrung out her dark hair of the water still wearing it down. “Why did he-?”

“Throw you in a river?” the sour voice chimed in again. It belonged to the black cat, who was now floating leisurely on his back with a yawn. Marinette was almost certain she could see sharp teeth in the kwamis mouth. Tikki shot him a deathly glare, but he went on. “I’m Plagg, kwami of destruction, lover of cheese” He stated with casual disinterest, as if nothing traumatic had just occurred. “Not his smartest move, I’ll agree. But-” he sat upright and narrowed his eyes, voice taking a more serious tone “-he did what he had to do to keep us all safe.” his long tail flicked, motioning to the other kwamis. “That includes you.”

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“I was telling you about the kwamis, '' Tikki chirped, following by her guardian's side while levitating in the air. Marinette nodded, quickly glancing up to check what street they had reached, then darting her eyes back down to the wooden box she had hugged to her chest. It was getting harder and harder to focus on the bugs' words, her mind occupied only with thoughts of Master Fu. Despite the kwamis, and the freezing water that seems to have seeped into her bones, and the distressed voices in her head yelling at her that she was alone in this, Marinette couldn’t shake the idea that this man was still alive. He would be waiting at the Pont de Arts, ready to retrieve his miracle box and kwamis, and he'd reassure her that she would never have to worry about any of this miraculous nonsense ever again. Marinette wasn’t going to find his body. She wouldn’t.

“There's nineteen kwamis in all, but two of us are missing. Nooro and Duusu are the kwamis of transmi-”

“Tikki, I’m- I can’t-” Marinette bit her tongue as she fought to find the right words.

“What is it Marinette?”

“I’m sorry but I just can’t talk about this with you. It’s just… too much” Marinette mumbled, wishing the earth would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. “Can’t this Master Fu just explain things to me when we find him?”

Tikki blinked in surprise and remained silent for a few seconds. Then, she nodded and feigned a weak smile. “Of course Marinette. If we find Master Fu he will explain everything” she reassured.

Marinette nodded absentmindedly, taking another brief glimpse at the street signs and sighing in relief at seeing they were close to their destination. Suddenly this all felt like some sort of fever dream, like she would go home and sleep tonight then wake up in the morning with nothing changed. Except maybe she would always think about being thrown in the seine, the cold and brutal water that had seeped through her skin, leaving her fingertips wrinkled and pruny against the wood of the miracle box. And sure, it might feel real enough that her knees still wobble a bit as she walks, but everyone has horrible nightmares sometimes - right?

“Marinette”

“One second, Tikki” she stopped the kwami, still stuck in her train of thought.

“Marinette!” Tikki had paused, and Marinette turned her head to see the small red kwami floating, arm extended to point at the bridge that suddenly seemed to appear in front of them. When had they gotten here?

“Oh. Great, we’re here! Let’s find this Fu-Man and let me get home so I can go to bed and forget all about this.” She adjusted her hold on the box and began to cross the wide bridge when Tikki darted in front of her with urgency.

“Wait! Master, I must tell you, thi-”

“Sorry, but please just call me Marinette.”

Tikki smiled and continued “Marinette, I have to quickly warn you that- even we kwamis are not sure of the lengths this villain is willing to go. We do not know if he acts with mercy, so this may be something you don’t want to see. If you’d like, I can go ahead without you and see for myself then come back?”

Marinette scrunched her nose as she thought for a few moments. Eventually she shook her head and smiled- a genuine and kind smile that made Tikkis heart ache. “No need, I’ll come with you. You’ve been here for me during all this, so I want to be here for you until you’re back in good hands” she promised.

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“He was being chased?” Marinette questioned, reeling from the information the cat kwami had just dumped over her head like cold water. Fu had been pursued by some unknown antagonist for several weeks, until they eventually found and attacked the guardian. Marinette had only been an innocent bystander, a stranger in the wrong place at the wrong time, and a helping hand when Fu was at his most desperate for any kind of savior. She was the only way to get the miracle box out of the villains' reach in such a short amount of time. And the seine had been the only way to get her out of danger.

“More like hunted” Plagg sneered in response and crossed his arms

“Plagg, you're scaring her!”

“She should be scared!”

While the black and red kwami hissed at each other, the girl's head was spinning, overwhelmed with this new world she was suddenly a part of. There were so many questions running through her mind, all begging to be answered. But the most desperate one came first “Can we go back to the Pont des Arts?” She asked softly, interrupting their argument.

Plaggs expression widened in shock, and he was about to protest when Tikki stopped him. “Good idea, I’ll have all the kwamis return to the miracle box.”

“Well, wait-” she stopped her “Will you stay with me? I would feel a bit better if I had someone more informed by my side”

The red bug smiled and nodded, still ignoring the bewildered look from the cat. Before he could say anymore, she turned back to the kwamis, leaving him grumbling and following after her.

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“God. It’s already three a.m, papa is going to be awake and getting started in the bakery soon.” Marinette muttered to herself while checking the time, her and Tikki moving at a slow pace across the bridge. It was dark, the moon providing the majority of the lighting cast down on them. And, it was almost entirely silent. Save for the constant rushing of the water beneath the bridge -the sound was making her hands begin to shake all over again-, and the occasional distant hum of a car passing nearby.

“A bakery?” Tikki whispered in response.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “My parents own a bakery. ‘Tom and Sabines’.” Her hands came together then spread like she was forming a rainbow in the air as she spoke, adding a loving touch to the simple name. Tikki gave a light giggle.

“Sounds amazing! What kind of sweets do they make?” the red bug questioned before suddenly gasping, “Do they make cookies?! I haven’t had a chocolate chip cookie in so long!”

Marinette was taken back by the kwamis sudden eagerness for one of the simplest sweets their bakery had to offer, but she couldn’t help but give an entertained laugh. “We make all kinds of cookies. Snickerdoodle, peanut butter, red velvet, oatmeal raisin, -”

“Yuck.”

“Don’t you dare say that about oatmeal raisin cookies.”

“Get to the good stuff!”

She stuck her tongue out teasingly at the kwami before continuing, “chocolate chip, chocolate chunks, and like a billion other ones I'm forgetting. Give or take seasonal and custom flavors my dad makes from time to time, too.” When she looked up, Marinette swore a line of drool was trailing from Tikkis mouth, but as soon as she had noticed it the bug was in her face in excitement once again.

“Wow!” Tikki exclaimed. “I can’t wait to try them.”

“How long has it been since you last had a cookie?” she asked. Marinette wondered what parts of human life the kwamis knew of and took part in, given the ‘secrecy’ about their existence. They were familiar enough to have opinions on cookie flavors, apparently.

“Oh, I'm not sure. I haven’t had a holder in a few decades, though I have left the miracle box during that time, - Marinette? Are you not listening again?”

Almost as soon as the kwami had started talking, Marinette had frozen her stare on something ahead of them, and she seemed a million worlds away. Tikki turned to look and her heart dropped.

Blood soaked into the wood underfoot, leaving a dark stain that seemed pure black in the night time. More sat in small pools and splatters, some spraying across the lock decorations and steadily drip-drip-dripping into the surface below. The longer she stared the more she realized the Pont des Arts would now always feel like it had been smeared with death. It was all too fresh, like someone had drained the old man of all his blood and used it like paint, spreading the viscous liquid on any surface they could. It seemed like both an introduction, and parting gift. The display was left with intent, the predator that had gotten Fu was leaving a warning for whoever tried to come to his rescue. It said ‘I’m here, look what I am capable of. Look at everything I did. Look at what I’m willing to do.’

Marinette took a step back, mouth agape as she realized breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Her blood pounded in her ears, droning out the seemingly fraught help Tikki was trying to provide the panicked girl. Another step back and her legs buckled, dropping her directly into the glistening pools of gore. Her hands clenched into fists, now stained a dark red as she kneeled in the blood, and she panted in desperate need for air. It seemed to hang in the air now, the metallic tang filling her mouth and nose.

“Marinette!”

The screech - almost directly in her ear - snapped her attention back to the ladybug creature, whose voice was feverish with alarm. “Tikki..” she breathed, still struggling to keep from hyperventilating. “Tikki, this is him, isn’t it?” Marinette brought her hands up, now holding them raised in the air to shine in the moonlight. The crimson liquid trickled from her palm to her wrist, then down her elbow and back to the bridge. “This is Master Fu?” the tears began to fall down her cheeks now, the reality setting in. She was the guardian. She was alone.

“You need to get home.”

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Marinette gets home, soaked (though no longer bloody, thanks to an alley hose she passed on her walk), and exhausted. Her breathing still awkward and unbalanced, lungs aching from whatever water she took in from the seine. Her emotions bubble inside her, threatening to spill over from her eyes once again. It was bad enough you could tell she had been crying already, she didn’t need her parents to see her in the act. Tikki rested on her shoulder, tucked neatly into her hair as they approached the bakery.

“Home sweet home” she said, waving her hands with pretend enthusiasm as she tried to revive the playful energy they had earlier. Instead her voice felt deflated and hollow. Her hands reached for the doorknob, shaking slightly as they hovered above it.

“Do you not want to go in?”

“Its not that.”

“Marinette. You can talk to me”

Marinette took a deep breath. “I can’t hide all this from my parents. Not yet, at least. If I go inside now and they’re awake, they'll know I was outside then they’ll see I was crying and I’m terrible at hiding things from my maman so one word from her and I’ll instantly spill everything that happened and then they-”

“Slow, Marinette. Is there any way you can sneak in?”

“Only through a window or my balcony, both of which I definitely can't reach from down here” she huffed, the puff of breath blowing through her still damp bangs that hung across her face. She was about to grit her teeth and accept the inevitable interrogation her parents would give when Tikki spoke again.

“I can fix that.” the kwami gave a sweet smile before phasing seamlessly through the wood of the miracle box and returning with a small case in her arms. “These are the miraculous of the ladybug. If you put on these earrings and say ‘Spots On’, you'll transform and be able to get to your balcony undetected.”

Marinette hesitated, then reached for the box and opened the lid to peek at the miraculous. Inside were two round, red earrings each with five small spots, which she carefully plucked from their resting places. They went through her ears effortlessly and lacked the weight that many earrings came with. “Please don’t tell me this is going to hurt” she wheezed, eyes drooping with sleep.

“Definitely not.” Tikki reassured quickly. “When you’re inside just say ‘Spots Off’ to drop the transformation.”

“Well… spots on?”

Tikki flew through the air, this time as if she was being pulled by some invisible force - one coming from the earrings. Her vision exploded with pink as bubbling, glowing masses appeared out of thin air and swarmed onto her body. She held her breath and pressed her eyes closed, still awaiting a sting or ache to overtake her body despite Tikkis reassurance. Instead the magical clouds felt light and tingly on her skin as they passed over her from head to toe.

The buzz came to a stop in a few moments which Marinette took as a cue to open her eyes. Nothing around her had changed, she was still standing outside the bakery clutching the miracle box, only now she was dressed in a sleek red and black spotted suit from neck to toe. She was a ladybug.

Marinettes breathing hitched in her chest as she ran her gloved hand across the material, then up to her face where she felt the grooves of a mask across her eyes. Built in secret identity, cool. She felt refreshed, the soreness in her legs was now just a weak discomfort. She took a relieved breath, and slowly stretched her limbs as she gathered her bearings. A yoyo rested on her hip, also a solid red with five black spots like the earrings, but with the same honeycomb texturing of her suit.

“A yoyo? I’m going to… yoyo to my room?” she mumbled to herself as she gave it a few experimental tosses. Looking up, she took a few breaths and prepared herself. She took a step back and threw the yo-yo towards a neighboring roof, then gave a slight tug when it had wrapped around some solid object. It pulled her effortlessly from the ground, propelling her upwards while she struggled, airborne, like a fish out of water. In moments she landed, almost entirely flat on her face, on the spine of the rooftop.

It took a minute for Marinette to figure out her next step, which ended up being just to drop from the roof to her balcony. It had seemed much more complicated in her head, like she would have to be some ninja, hiding in the shadows. But she had left the trapdoor to her room unlocked, so it had required no more effort than opening a door. She landed softly on her bed, and subsequently threw herself back onto her blankets with an exasperated sigh.

“Spots off” she mumbled, already fighting the alluring call of sleep. Another flash of the magic light and the suit was gone, leaving Tikki in its place. She looked around, observing her new environment before turning back to Marinette.

“Home sweet home” She echoed the previous statement, then burrowed into the crook of Marinettes elbow as the girl groggily put herself to bed. With the miracle box held firmly in her grip, and the deep ache slowly returning to her muscles as the magic of the miraculous wore off, she mumbled a barely coherent goodnight to Tikki and let herself fall into the comfort of sleep.

#ml feline blue au #ml fbau #carpetbug writes #carpetbug art #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ml #marinette #miraculous fanart #ml au #tikki #ml fic #YIPPEEEEEE FELINE BLUE #still very excited about this story lmao #next up is origins!! i’ll try to update weekly but i make no promises #wasn’t too sure what to put for the trigger warning so i hope that’s good! please let me know if it is not

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antimony-medusa · 1 month ago

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Ao3 Wrapped

I like numbers so here I am delving into my works again!

Overall stats for 2024!

User Subscriptions: 218

Kudos: 1,703

Comment Threads: 376

Bookmarks: 479

Subscriptions: 126

Word Count: 186,620

That's a decrease on most metrics, but my word count is very comparable to last year, and I had no idea my subscription count had broken 200! Cool! Especially as I wrote some kind of out there fics this year, I'm very touched by that people want to stick around. I feel like I also do kind of absurdly well for comments, so thank you guys for that.

Fun Stats:

Fics Published: 25, including one on anon, for 186,620. This is down from last year's 31, but my word count last year was 198,621, so we're pretty damn close!

Number of One-Shots: 22— It was another year of going hard on exchanges, and that encourages one-shots! Of those, 14 were under five thousand words, so I'm pretty pleased with my objective of learning to write short was actually enacted, when I was experiencing deadline pressure!

Number of Multi-Chapters: 3 total, and one still unfinished. I didn't start any new ongoings and leave them unfinished this year, but I still have multiple languishing from 2022, and I didn't finish the one of those I was working on this year, so— augh. I need to stop doing events and finish some of those ongoings! But events are so good...

Number of Inspired Works: 3, because I participated in recursive exchange, where you write fic inspired by other people's fic and art! One of those was inspired by an animation, which I'm very proud of.

Longest Fic: You Blew Me Into Stardust (42,846 words), my beloved mech au. I did two fics for the aufest reverse bang, I also wrote Trying Hard Not To Smile Though I Feel Bad (16,254 words) for Aufest, which is a college au! The minimum for that event was 5k so I— went overboard a bit.

Shortest Fic: I just posted it actually, that's How To Make The Secret City’s Speciality Dessert - Roasted Brown Sugar Oranges And Buttermilk Ice Cream (912 words), that's a zine fic where we had a 1250 word maximum! I love this fic, and I'm so proud that I managed something short.

Most Kudosed Fic: Gonna Have It Out Like Fight Club, which is a bit unfair because that one has been acquiring kudos since 2022, and is now at 213 kudos. My poor neglected child the mafia fic I HAVE THE REST OF THE FIC OUTLINED I just keep writing things for events instead of writing you.

Most Viewed Fic: That's Gonna Have It Out Like Fight Club, with 2,220, but again a bunch of those are from last year, so probably my biggest fic is Trying Hard Not To Smile Though I Feel Bad, my 13-things-I-hate-about-you Niki & Ranboo au, at 1,457 hits. That one I honestly did not expect to get as big as it did, but I guess people like the comedy.

Most Subscribed Fic: Gonna Have It Out Like Fight Club, with 82 people wanting to know how that one ends. I"M SORRY. I"LL FINISH IT I PROMISE. I did notice my subscriptions to fics overall fell— people were still subscribing to one-shots last year, and this year I guess people realized that was not panning out.

Most Bookmarked Fic: okay so it LOOKS like it's Gonna Have It Out Like Fight Club at 73 but I can count dates so I can tell that only 28 of those are from this year, wait I forgot about private bookmarks. Hm. Well anyways the one I'm sure was bookmarked this year was Things Could Be So Easy (If You Let Them), my first real intentional shot at writing QPR emduo with a proposal, and boy having THAT unlocked was a delight. That one has 52 bookmarks.

Most Used Fandom: Dream SMP with 13 fics, and SMPEarth in second place with 5. I wrote 9 different fandoms this year, technically.

Least Used Fandom: this is A MULTIWAY Tie as Internet & Social Media (Anthropomorphic), Murderbot Diaries, Books of the Raksura, Original Work, Origins SMP, and Parkour Civilization are all at 1 fic.

Most Used Rating: Teen, 18 fics. I wrote my first two explicit fics this year, both for exchanges!

Least Used Rating: Gen, 1 fic.

Most Written Relationship: Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza, 10 times, UP FROM NINE LAST YEAR I'M DOING BETTER.

Most Used Additional Tag: hilariously, it's a tie between Comedy and Grief/Mourning, both with four times.

Most Frequently Used Characters:

Philza (16)

Technoblade (15)

Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF) (6)

Niki | Nihachu (5)

Tommyinnit (3)

Ghostbur (Dream SMP) (2)

Tumblr (Anthropomorphic) (1)

Jade (Books of the Raksura) (1)

Moon (Books of the Raksura) (1)

Archive of our Own (Anthropomorphic) (1)

Last year I was really startled that Tommy didn't make the list and well. I am not immune to Tommyinnit. He's back again.

Last Year’s Stats

And here's my stats! Tag me if you do this too, I like to see numbers!

#ao3 wrapped #my writing #stats

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ghoulishlygrey · 11 months ago

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Hammer Meets Steel Chapter One

Find chapter two here <3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Dammon x fem!reader

18+ MDNI

Tags: Oral sex, horns for handles, creampie

Read it on Ao3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You and your loyal companions had successfully defeated and cast out the remaining goblins. The grove, ever so thankful, offered to host a party in your honor, and to that you said, “how can I refuse?”

Dammon stood on the outskirts of the party, back leaned against a lone tree as he sipped from the bottle grasped between his fingers. He looked down, blue eyes peering down its neck to find it basically empty, “damn,” he muttered, pushing off the tree to find more wine. Instead, the sight he was met with made him stop in his tracks, the sight of the hero of the grove; the sight of you. You were standing by the fire, drink in hand and a lovely smile on your face, a smile that made Dammon stand still.

It took him back to that first day, the first moment he laid his eyes on you. You had just defeated the goblin ambush outside, your plate armor was smeared with blood, your hair wild, untamed even. You had brushed right past Arron’s wares, and beelined straight to his shoddy forge.

“I need some real steel,” you had said with a mischievous twinkle in your eye as you peered over at Dammon, “and I think you can help me with that.”

In that moment, as Dammon stared, star-struck at your grimey, cut-up face, he could’ve sworn he was in love with you. Which was ridiculous really, for Hell's sake he hadn’t even said a word to you yet. He cleared his throat, “Well, I do what I can.” He gave you an easy smile and shrugged his shoulder towards his wares, “You’re welcome to take a look, though it’s not much.”

And now here he was, standing in your camp, with an empty bottle. Right, he needs a new bottle, that was a good plan. But just as he was going to reach into the wine crate, his eyes flickered up and caught with yours. And, Gods, that *smile*. If a smile could kill, Dammon would’ve been one of your many, many slain souls. And for what’s more, you were walking straight towards him.

“Hey,” you greeted, bending down to retrieve your own bottle, Dammon tried not to realize he could peer down your shirt if his eyes flickered down. Instead he just cleared his throat and averted his gaze.

“Quite the party.” He said, uncorking his new bottle.

“I know right? It’s so good to see everyone happy after all that’s happened.” You replied, giving him a warm smile.

“I think everyone deserves a good break after everything.” He says, taking a sip from his wine.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you said, your smile turning wry before continuing, “it’s nice to see you away from the forge.”

He chuckles, “And I’m surprised you’re alone, usually you have at least three of your friends with you.”

“I finally shook them off,” you tease, looking over your shoulder to find said companions before turning back. “Plus I wanted to get you alone.”

“Oh?” He could feel his heart skip a beat, then immediately drum up in pace.

“Mhmm. I wanted to thank you for my new sword, the craftsmanship is lovely. I’d never commissioned a sword before but I’m glad I did with you.”

Oh. You wanted to talk about the sword.

“Forged from the heart.” The corners of his mouth tease a smile as he makes you laugh, your hand coming to rest on his crossed arm. A slight pink dusts his cheeks and nose at the contact. He clears his throat, Gods, why was he so nervous!?

“I can definitely tell, it feels perfect in my hands. Almost like it was made for me or something.” You tease, giving his arm a squeeze before letting go and returning to your bottle. Dammon could almost cry at the loss of contact, the way your soft hand laid over his sleeve so delicately, he missed it immediately.

“Hey, do you want to go someplace more… quiet?” You asked, your gaze flicking over to Alfira who was leading everyone in song, loudly chanting the lyrics for the crowd. Dammon’s eyes look between the two, heart pounding against his chest as he nods with an easy smile.

“Yes, please. I can barely hear you over Alfira, talented as she is.” He replies, sweeping out an arm for you, “lead the way.”

The two would make their way past the river and into the surrounding forest. “There should be a clearing around here somewhere…” you say, taking his hand in yours as you weave them between the trees. Dammon tries not to focus on the fact it feels like his hands were on fire with you holding him like this. Eventually, to Dammon’s dismay, you let go of him, motioning forward with your hand as he steps in front of you and into the clearing. It was beautiful. Tall, dark trees lined the circle clearing like a formidable wall, keeping everyone who wasn’t them at bay, giving them the privacy Dammon so craved. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a bubbling creek, faintly tickling his ears with its gentle trickling. In front of him, the clearing was lit by the beams of the moon, so clearly that he could step confidently without a torch leading the way. Fireflies beckoned them closer as they made their way through the tall grass to their perfect spot, which you unclasped your cloak and threw it down as a blanket for the two of you to sit on.

“Beautiful,” Dammon admitted, looking directly at you, hoping his admission would be confused for the scenery rather than at his true target: you.

“I agree.” You replied, smile shining brightly through the darkness as you looked around, coming to a seat over your laid out cloak.

You looked so beautiful tonight. You had recently bathed, that much was apparent from the lack of goblin blood on you, and you had let your hair loose from its usual spot atop your head. You were dressed in a simple tunic and leather pants tucked into high boots. Dammon noticed how the tunic color matched your eyes, making them pop even in the surrounding darkness. You shifted your legs, now pressing your thigh against his, a comfortable silence washed over you both as you took in your surroundings, and he took in the sight of you.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. You turned to him, eyes wide in surprise as you took in his question. For a second you don’t answer and that second is just enough for Dammon to lose all his nerve, his confidence shriveling up like a fire doused with water.

“Neverm-“

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, you can kiss me.”

But when he hesitates for another moment, it’s you kissing him. The kiss starts off slow at first, lips slotting over each other carefully. You feel Dammon sigh into the kiss, his hands coming up to wrap around your middle carefully, as if he was afraid he might break you. Your arms automatically wrap around his shoulders, hands linking behind his neck as you pull him closer.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just breathing each other in. Dammon couldn’t hear much outside the pounding of his own heart as you slid your tongue against his bottom lip, asking for access. You let out a little moan when your tongue meets one of his sharp canines, causing him to pull away.

“Did I hurt you?”

The question catches you off guard, you pant slightly from the loss of contact before replying, “No, of course not.”

Dammon’s heart swells at the sight of your kiss-swollen lips as they curve into a cheeky smile. “What?” You say, looking away shyly.Dammon takes your chin between his fingers and brings for face to look at him again, “You’re just so beautiful.”

Those words were all you needed to hear before pulling Dammon back into the kiss, tongue sliding expertly past his lips to meet and swirl around his own. He pulls you into his lap, situating your legs on either side of him so you’re straddling him. You can feel him straining against his pants as you grind down into him, neither of you quite believing that this is actually happening. His hands skate up your thighs, nails leaving little crescent indents as he squeezes the soft flesh. You moan into the kiss as he probes further, thumb brushing over your clothed clit momentarily before shying away.

“Is this ok?” He murmurs against your lips.

“Yes!” You reply hungrily as your hands slide down his arms, squeezing at the toned biceps.

“I want you.” You say, pulling back slightly to look into his face, he smiles brightly

“I’ve wanted you since I met you.” He replies, pulling you back into the kiss, not baring to part with you any longer. Something about that confession had a heat pooling in your core, and ache becoming ever so present between your legs. To know that his thoughts were tainted with the image of you whenever he was at his forge, you wondered just how lewd he got with it, wondered about all the things he wanted to do to you.

“I want to taste you.” He pants between kisses, head falling to suck on the pulse point in your neck.

“Oh Gods, yes.” Was your reply before he quickly repositioned you so that he was on top of your laying body. Dammon starts at your neck, kissing slowly down until he meets the collar of your shirt. His hands brush up under the seam of your shirt, before resting his hands upon your ribcage.

“Gods, you’re perfect.” He whispers softly, almost to himself. “I want to touch you.”

“Do it,” you reply, hand coming up to cup his face as you watch him from above, “Please.”

Dammon’s hand inch up before securely cupping each breast, he groans at the feeling of you in his hands. Your skin is hot as he gropes, kneading and rolling the tight buds of your nipples between his fingers, you cry out in pleasure, hands instinctively grabbing into his horns as he teases you.

After a moment, he stops, grabbing onto the hem of your shirt and inching it up slightly, he looks into your eyes. You nod, arms lifting up over your head to aid in your shirt's removal. it was about now that you were glad to have forgone underclothes today. The look on Damon’s face said it all, he was happy about it too. He smirks up at you, but chooses not to say anything. Instead he brings his mouth over one of your sensitive buds, circling it with his hot tongue. Your head lolls back, mouth held open in a silent moan. His hands go to work on your trousers, expert fingers undoing the laces quickly and shucking it down your hips in one fluid tug.

“You’re killing me here.” He groans out when he looks down and finds out you had forgone your underclothes on the bottom as well. You smile at him, carding your fingers through his tied-up hair.“What can I say? I had my hopes for the night.” And it was true, it seemed that everyone back at camp was getting cozy with someone tonight, and you had had your eyes on Dammon ever since you approached his forge for the first time; you couldn’t help but hope something would happen with him tonight. You felt like the luckiest girl in Faerûn that he chose you tonight, when you were sure this handsome man could have anyone he wanted in the camp. You bask in that fact for a while; he chose you.

Now that you were entirely nude in front of him, you couldn’t help but feel the least bit exposed. You tug on his shirt.“What about you?” You ask, hands dipping under the hem to lay your hands flat against his navel.“I want to see you too.” You add on, lip slipping between your teeth as you look at him through your lashes.

“Well since you asked so nicely.” He teases, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips before slipping his tunic over his horns. His body almost floors you, toned and ridged as it lays over you. Your hands naturally go to explore all the infernal ridges and curves of his muscles, gently skating your nails over wherever you could reach. All those years hammering away at the forge, working hard bending metal, really left its mark on his magnificent body, sculpting it perfectly for his occupation.

“I wasn’t expecting all that.” You tease, smiling up at him.

“Oh,” A light pink dusts his features, “Perk of the job, I suppose.”

You pull him down for another kiss as you whisper,“You’re perfect.”

Dammon grinds down on your exposed clit, the material of his trousers rubbing you just right, you bite your hand to keep from crying out.

“Ah ah,” He tuts, bringing your hand away from your mouth,

“I want to hear you.”

He starts to kiss his way down your body, making sure to lavish your breasts in attention before moving on, planting feather-light kisses to your belly button and finally kissing your aching cunt.

Dammon flattens his tongue against your wet folds, humming slightly as he tastes you finally. You cry out when he starts lapping at your hole, tongue moving in and out repeatedly. Your hands go to tangle in his hair, pulling out the hair tie as you do. You grip him for dear life as he works you over, your head falling to the cloak behind you. Dammon lifts your legs over his shoulder for better access, the tip of his nose brushing against your clit. You cry out again,

“F-fuck Dammon!”

His tongue flicks up to your clit and you moan, “Yes! More!”

Dammon takes your command to heart as his attention seems to turn to your little bundle of nerves, lips wrapping around it and sucking gently. Then he changes tactic, flicking his tongue out to tease your clit, as his hands dig into their position on your thighs. You rock yourself against his mouth, grinding as best as you can and chasing your high as an orgasm appears on the horizon. Just a little more, that’s all you needed, just a little more.

Dammon seems to recognize this as he returns to your hole, his fingers coming in to substitute the attention on your clit, rubbing small, steady circles on the sensitive nerves. Your legs clutch around his head, squeezing tightly as you chase your orgasm, finally coming on his tongue with a scream.

When Dammon resurfaces, his face is slick with your juices, his hair hands loose around his ears and his eyes are blown with lust. You lead his face towards yours, tasting yourself on his tongue as you kiss him passionately. “I need you inside me,” You gasp as he gropes you again, lavishing the way his large hands feel cradling your breasts.

Dammon braces himself on one forearm, using his free hand to tug his cock free from his trousers,

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he leans down to join your mouths again, his rigid length slicking itself with your juices as it glides between your folds. His hard cock brushes up against your overstimulated clit over and over as he rocks his body above you, making sure to cover himself in your slick before pressing up against your entrance.

Dammon’s hand comes down to angle your hips, and he grinds against you one more time. “Tell me to stop and I will.” He groans, tipping his forehead against yours as he gazes at your eyes. “Don’t you dare.” You whisper, capturing his lips with yours. Dammon groans into the kiss, aligning himself with your entrance, he just couldn’t get past how perfect you are, how perfect this moment is. He slowly pushes himself inside you, moaning against your lips as your cunt swallows him inch by inch.

“So fucking perfect..” He grits through his teeth, sheathing himself inside you completely. “You deserve so much better than a romp in the woods.”

“Then take me out after this,” You gasp, folding your legs around him as you adjust to his size, “just you and me.”

“I would love nothing more.” He replies, giving your lips a cheeky peck before starting to slowly thrust inside you. You gasp at the feeling of being filled completely, of being stretched on his cock as he rocks inside you. This moment was everything you fantasized it would be and more, the way he felt inside you, his scent, just *him*. It was beautiful, it was perfect.

Slowly, but surely Dammon’s thrust started to pick up speed,

“Fuck Dammon,” You moan, stringing together your words the best you can, “feel so good…“

Dammon was in the same boat as he thrust inside you, each snap of his hips earning a groan from his parted lips.

“Me? You take my cock so good, such a good girl-“ he cuts himself off with a grunt, loving the way your velvety walls flutter around his cock after each thrust. His face returns to your chest, mouth taking one nipple between his teeth and tugging lightly before smoothing it over with his hot tongue. You cried out at the sensation, a little worry wiggling itself into your brain that maybe you were still too close to camp, maybe they could all hear you chanting Damon’s name as he takes you in this clearing. Oh well, was the conclusion you reached as your nails raked up and down Dammon’s muscular back, let them hear.

Your second orgasm was quickly approaching as he thrust mercilessly inside you, adjusting his angle to hit your g-spot every time.

“I’m gonna cum,” You confessed, hands coming up to cup Dammon’s face.

“I’m right there with you.” He says, leaning down to connect your mouths in a kiss. You feel his tongue enter your mouth as his thrusts become more erratic, sloppy.

A few more thrusts and you’re there, walls fluttering around his cock as you come, crying out his name against his lips. He pumps you through your orgasm, breath hitching as he separates your mouths.

“Where do you want me to-?” He asks, frantically looking over you as he waits for your answer.

“Inside me!” You almost yell, hands practically yanking him back down towards your face.

After a couple more thrusts, he comes inside you, filling you with his warm seed as he grunts loudly against your lips. You moan at the sensation of being stuffed, and he fucks his cum into you deeper. His hips still inside of you and he all but collapses above you, pressing his heated body against yours as he softens inside you.

The two of you stay that way for a minute, just panting as you come down from your highs. Your wrap your arms around him as he rests his head on your stomach, rising and falling with each of your breaths.

“Thank you,” He says into the darkness, “I’ve wanted that for a while now.”

“No problem,” you chuckle, taking a hand to run through his hair. “You owe me a date now.”

“That I do,” He replies, “that I do.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this little thing!! If you liked it, please consider giving me a follow as I will be writing more in the future.

#dammon x tav #dammon x reader #baldur's gate 3 #dammon #bg3 #bg3 dammon #bg3 smut #dammon x fem!reader

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thelastspeecher · 5 months ago

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Weird Little Critter - Chapter 4: Transitions, Part 1

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 AO3

You may have noticed this is a "part one". Well, @elishevart and I were working on Chapter 4, and then realized partway through we'd have to split it into two. And by the time we finished, we realized we'd have to split it into three. So keep an eye out for the next two chapters!

——————————————————————————————

“You’re making pancakes wrong,” Stan said to Angie. Angie pointed the spatula at him.

“You don’t get to have an opinion on this. You ain’t cooked a single meal since ya moved in.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t know how to cook anything except for breakfast!”

“The pancakes ‘re perfectly fine!” Angie snapped, gesturing to the stack cooling on a plate on the counter. Stan picked up the mason jar full of dried crickets Angie kept by the stove.

“You put bugs in them!”

“Only in Stanford’s!”

Ford tuned out Stan and Angie’s bickering as he chewed his final bite of cricket chip pancakes. He idly played with the new blue streak in his hair and sighed.

Now that Stan had officially moved in and wanted input on how things were run in the house, he was constantly butting heads with Angie. It seemed like the only time they weren’t arguing was when they were sleeping. Though Ford walked past Angie’s room the night before. She talked in her sleep almost every night, but last night, her sleeptalking had been a rehashing of an argument she’d had with Stan earlier that day.

The phone rang. Ford swallowed the last of his breakfast and stood up.

“I’ll answer that,” he said to Stan and Angie. Whether they heard him or not was up in the air. He sighed and walked into the living room. He picked up the phone. “This is Stanford Pines.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Pines,” said a voice Ford recognized. “This is Dr. Roberts from the Gravity Falls Pet Clinic. Is Angie there? We got the last of the results for Tubbs.” Ford closed his eyes.

Fantastic. He leaned against the wall.

“Angie and I share ownership of Tubbs,” he said. “You can tell me the results and I’ll pass it on to her.”

“Really? Let me check here…” There was some rustling. “Yes, your name is on the paperwork as well. All right, I can tell you. Everything on his bloodwork seemed normal, other than a strange high amount of silver, which could cause some neurological issues. When we drew some more blood during the appointment to remove his cast, however, the silver was gone.”

“I see…” Ford mumbled.

Silver, huh? Perhaps that could be related to why I took so long to return to human form.

“The x-ray looked fine other than his broken leg. On the ultrasound, though, we found something interesting,” the vet continued. Ford straightened, suddenly curious. “Tubbs was sexed as male, and he does have testes. However, he also has ovaries.” Ford’s jaw dropped.

“What?!” he shouted. The bickering from the kitchen stopped.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine. It’s surprisingly common for amphibians to have both male and female reproductive organs.”

“Will- is- can he-” Ford stammered. He was too terrified of the answer for the question to fully leave his mouth. However, the vet understood what he was unintentionally dancing around.

“I suspect that he could both fertilize eggs and lay fertilized eggs himself,” the vet said. Ford slumped against the wall. “I won’t know for sure without running some more tests.”

“There’s no need for that,” Ford said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Though…can I come by to pick up some printouts of the test results?”

“Of course! Bring some ID so that we can verify your identity.”

The security at the vet is higher than some doctor’s offices I’ve been to.

“Understood,” Ford said.

“Great! We’ll see you in a bit when you come to get the results, then!”

“Yes.” Ford hung up the phone. Someone cleared their throat. Ford looked over. Angie and Stan stood in the entryway that led to the kitchen, watching him curiously.

“What was that about?” Stan asked.

“Oh, uh, the doctor called with the results of my medical tests.”

“You mean the vet called,” Stan said. Angie elbowed him roughly. Stan winced. He looked down at her with a scowl. “You’re so bony it’s like you fucking stabbed me!”

“Oh, hush,” Angie snapped. She turned to Ford. “Did they have some concerns? The way ya shouted, it sounded like ya were spooked by somethin’.”

“No, not really,” Ford said quickly. Judging by the expressions on Stan and Angie’s faces, they didn’t buy it. “Apparently my bloodwork showed significant levels of silver. That was what took me by surprise. I suspect that may be the reason I was unable to return to human form for so long.” Stan still didn’t look convinced, but the doubt on Angie’s face faded somewhat. “I’m going to go to the office to pick up the test results to look them over myself.”

“You might be able to find somethin’ related to bein’ stuck fer days as a salamander,” Angie said. Ford nodded, seizing the lie. “Be polite to the folks at the vet, okay? They don’t know any of what yer goin’ through, so lashin’ out at ‘em would be completely pointless.”

“Of course,” Ford said firmly. “I understand that.”

“Good.”

“Hey, uh, while you’re out and about,” Stan said cheerfully, “maybe pick up some chocolate chips? That way Angie can make some decent pancakes?” Angie elbowed him again. “Oof!” Ford grabbed the keys to the pickup.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said dryly.

-----

The clock on the oven declared that it was past midnight. Ford rifled through the pages of Tubbs’s medical results under the soft yellow glow of the kitchen light. When he arrived at the vet, they had happily handed everything over to him, even taking the time to annotate the results, labeling structures on the x-ray and ultrasound, pointing out what levels were healthy for the various analytes in his bloodwork.

I didn’t expect to need their notes, but I clearly overestimated my ability to read medical results. Ford frowned at one of the ultrasound images. I would have no idea what I was looking at if they hadn’t labeled it.

“Yer up late,” a soft voice said. Ford jerked in surprise, one of the ultrasound pictures falling to the floor. The speaker, Angie, walked over and picked it up. Ford’s heart began to race.

“Well, uh, I could say the same about you,” he managed weakly. “I thought you went to bed hours ago.”

“I did. I got up to get a glass of water.”

“Ah.” Ford held out a hand. “Don’t let my late night studying delay you.” His heart sank. Angie wasn’t giving him the page. She was looking down at it with a small frown. “Angie, that is my private medical information.”

“Is this why ya got so worked up durin’ the phone call earlier?” she asked quietly. “And why you were actin’ a bit off the rest of the day?”

“I- I don’t know what you’re-” Ford stammered. Angie placed the page on the table, image up. Painfully visible red marker circled and labeled “Ovaries” and “Testes” on the picture.

“It ain’t uncommon fer this sort of thing to happen in what we call ‘lower vertebrates’,” Angie said. “Amphibians are included in that group. Though I mostly hear ‘bout it in frogs, rather than salamanders.”

“By ‘this sort of thing’, you mean…”

“Havin’ both ovaries and testes,” Angie said flatly. Ford closed his eyes. “This ain’t somethin’ to be ashamed of!”

“How?” Ford snapped. “How could I not be ashamed?”

“Look.” Angie sat at the table across from Ford. “This happens! In humans! Non-cursed humans! I learned ‘bout it in school. Durin’ egg production, sperm production, fertilization, gestation, sometimes development goes left when it was s’pposed to go right. Folks wind up with reproductive systems or- or sex hormones outside the norm.” Angie smiled. “It’s just another way of bein’.”

“I suppose you would have a less negative viewpoint of this, given where you’re from,” Ford muttered. Angie’s smile faded.

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?”

“Abnormalities and disorders are common in isolated rural communities.” A shadow crossed Angie’s face.

“That was uncalled for,” she said in a low tone. “All’s I’m doin’ is tryin’ to comfort ya!”

“Maybe I don’t want comfort!”

“You want to wallow?”

“Perhaps,” Ford said tartly, fully aware that he was purposefully being contrary at this point.

“Lord above.” Angie rubbed her eyes wearily. “This don’t change anything. It ain’t like ya were plannin’ on reproducin’ in yer cute salamander form anyways.”

“What about my human form?” Ford asked. Angie frowned at him. “The axolotl I spoke to at the pet store told me even when I appear human, I’m still an amphibian. Does that mean I-” Ford swallowed. He hugged his sides, choking out the words with difficulty. “Does that mean I have ovaries right now?” he croaked weakly. Angie stared at him. After a moment, she sighed.

“I don’t know.” She leaned back in her chair. “And…I know ya don’t want to hear this, but it’s a possibility, so I have to get it out there. You never had an ultrasound ‘fore ya got cursed. It’s possible you’ve always been like this and didn’t know.”

“Yes,” Ford said quietly. “That is a very real possibility. Polydactyly sometimes is tied to genetic disorders, after all. My doctor tested me for everything he could think of when I was a child. But it’s possible something was missed.”

“That- I weren’t tryin’ to tie it to yer polydactyly,” Angie said, sounding impatient. “I told ya, folks what have no symptoms can discover their reproductive systems developed in a weird way durin’ a routine exam or puberty or when they’re strugglin’ to have children.” Ford nodded. “The way I see this sit’ation is that we ain’t quite reached the bridge we need to cross yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said, this don’t change anything,” Angie said. Her tone had eased from irritated to gentle. “If ya start, I don’t know, developin’ breasts or experiencin’ weird hormonal swings, we’ll deal with it then. If ya want to have a child with someone and are strugglin’ to conceive, we’ll deal with it then. Those are the bridges we’ll cross. But we ain’t reached ‘em.” Ford let Angie’s words sink in for a few moments. He nodded slowly.

“You are correct. We have new data, but nothing it can be used for yet.” He slumped on the table, resting his head on his arm as he idly picked up another note.

“Exactly.” Angie yawned, politely covering her mouth while it was open. “And I know how ya work, so please don’t try to sneak somewhere with an ultrasound to get yourself checked out in human form. Ya won’t be able to operate the dang thing right and I’ll just have to bail ya out of jail.” Ford managed a small smile.

“Noted.” Angie yawned again. “Angie, you look exhausted.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Yes, but you’ve been looking tired in the middle of the day as well,” Ford pushed. Angie shrugged. “I think you may be slipping into bad habits and pushing yourself too hard.” Angie rolled her eyes as he closed his own. “I recognize it is slightly hypocritical of me.”

“It is,” Angie said. She shifted in her seat and looked away. “But…I have been feelin’ a bit like a cub scout den mother tryin’ to manage both you and Stan.”

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Since yer back to yer normal self, I’d appreciate ya doin’ more stuff ‘round the house. Maybe wrangle Stan every now and then.” Angie yawned for a third time. “All right. I’ve got to get back to bed. I’ll talk to ya in the mornin’.” She got up from the table. She clumsily exited the kitchen, bumping into the doorjamb on her way out. Guilt formed a painful pit in Ford’s stomach.

She really has been acting as our manager for far too long. A yawn escaped from him. I should go to bed as well. Ford began to gather up the paperwork. I’ll have to figure out a way to make it up to Angie for all her help. Perhaps I can purchase a gift of some sort for her.

-----

“I can’t believe he brought us here.”

“I can’t believe he suggested it.”

Ford cleared his throat, drawing Stan and Angie’s attention.

“Well, we have been cooped up in the house and more importantly I was stuck in my tank for most of last week, so an outing seemed appropriate. Besides...” He turned to Angie. “I thought we all could use the distraction.”

Angie nodded knowingly. To Ford’s relief, the bags under her eyes weren’t as prominent as they had been a few days ago. After their discussion in the kitchen, he had decided to seek out an activity to improve her mood and energy. Thankfully, he stumbled across this activity the three of them could enjoy, a town over.

“Yeah, but why a zoo?” asked Stan as they stepped toward the archway entrance.

“It’s actually a sanctuary for unwanted animals,” Ford explained. “The animals here are generally exotic pets that the owner couldn’t take care of, old circus or zoo animals, and rescued wild animals that couldn’t be released after being healed.”

“Why not an amusement park? Or a fair? Or even, I don’t know, the lake?”

“Are ya serious?” sighed Angie.

“What? It could- oh right. Yeah, after you got nabbed there, the lake might not be a great idea.” Stan looked away, scratching the back of his neck. Ford walked up to him and patted his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter. I admit that I might, ah, not yet be ready for the lake, but what happened is in the past.” He offered a reassuring smile. Stan returned the expression. Angie stood on her tiptoes to swing her arms across the twins’ shoulders, a grin of her own spread across her face.

“Then let’s get going, boys!” she exclaimed as she gently pushed them toward the entrance.

-----

The start of the sanctuary visit went smoothly. They began with the big outdoor animals. The place was clean and had undergone a recent makeover, as a volunteer explained to them. The enclosures holding the animals they oohed and ahhed at were now bigger and offered more stimulation and enrichment.

There was a bit of everything. Raccoons and skunks that people thought would make great pets. A bobcat that had been caught in a trap and lost a leg. An old retired elephant. A trio of young brown bears whose mother had sadly perished a few months prior. A pond with crocodiles that made a voice in Ford’s head tell him to stay clear. They were even given the opportunity to feed some of the giraffes and birds.

Ford couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Angie this happy and excited. He smiled at his friend, then glanced at his twin. Stan too had a broad smile and a spark in his eye. A spark that Ford recalled well from when they were younger. He smiled back and kept walking with them.

Everything was going great. The trio was headed to the final stop of the tour: the reptile room. Angie’s smile got twice as big as she rushed for the door. Both twins were right behind her.

As soon as Ford crossed the double doors, he was assaulted by an onslaught of tiny voices talking all at the same time.

“Food! Dislike strangers. Want water. Too cold. Too hot. Sleepy. Bored. Like strangers. Strangers fun! Look at me! Don’t look! Look! Look! Sad. Happy!”

Stanford looked for the crowd of people that clearly had to be in the reptile room. But he, Stan, and Angie were the only ones there. All he could see were the many aquariums housing reptiles and amphibians. His ears started to ring. A muffled voice came from his left.

“Ford, are you all right?”

He spun around to see his companions watching him with worried expressions on their faces.

“How are you so calm?” he asked. “Can you not hear it?” His own voice felt distant and overshadowed by everything around him.

“Hear what?” asked Stan. Ford opened his mouth to respond, but the voices were increasing in volume, overwhelming him. He covered his ears in vain. His breath came in and out faster, on the brink of hyperventilating. He closed his eyes, trying to reduce some of the stimulus overtaking him.

“Oh my gosh! Stanley, help me get him out of here now!” Angie shouted.

Soon, Ford felt two hands on his arms guiding him somewhere. He was too overcome to fight as he was led away. Fresh air hit his face. Ford opened his eyes. They were outside. The cacophony of voices was slowly starting to die down. Stan lowered him to the ground, his back leaning against a wall.

“All right, Sixer, deep breaths, take it easy,” said his twin as Ford gasped for air. Stan rubbed slow circles on Ford’s back, but despite their close proximity, he still sounded distant. “What happened back there?” Ford shook his head, unable to say anything. Thankfully, Angie spoke up.

“A few weeks ago when we went to a pet store, he talked with an axolotl there,” she said. “I’m guessin’ he heard all those critters in there. All at once. Which would be a lot. Am I right, Stanford?”

“I believe so,” Ford croaked. He could feel bile rising in his throat and swallowed to keep it down.

Another “fantastic perk” of my…condition. After a few minutes of breathing in the fresh outdoor air, Ford had calmed enough to regain control.

“How are ya feelin’?” asked Angie. Ford glanced up to see his friend looking at him, her blue eyes filled with worry.

“Drained and exhausted.” Stanford sighed. “It feels like my head is about to explode.”

“All right, I think we’re gonna cut our trip short,” declared Stan. He lifted Ford’s arm, helping him back to his feet. “Come on, Ford, let’s get you home.”

“And get ya somethin’ to drink when we get there,” Angie added. Stan looked at her with interest. Angie rolled her eyes. “I was referrin’ to water, not alcohol.” Stan rolled his eyes right back at her.

Ford grumbled, upset to be leaving so soon, but obeyed, even as his legs threatened to buckle at any moment. Stan supported him as they slowly trekked back to the car. When they got to the car, Ford leaned heavily against it until Stan unlocked the doors, then crawled into the back seat.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“About what?” Angie asked as she sat next to him.

“I ruined our outing because of my…episode.”

“Don’t worry, Sixer,” Stan said with a shrug. “It could have happened to anyone.” He turned the engine on and slowly drove them away.

No, it couldn’t. Ford leaned his head on his hand and watched the scenery pass by. Only my curse could have ruined such a perfect outing.

-----

The light of the first full moon since Stan had come to stay lit a path for Ford to follow home. There was a bounce in his step as he walked. He had heard about the legendary underground black market for magical creatures in Gravity Falls, called the Crawlspace. In fact, it was one of the first things he learned about the magical creature culture when he started his research. But humans were not allowed, and the ban was strictly enforced. Now, however? He had been able to locate the market and walk in without a problem.

And I finally got Angie that gift she deserves. It, along with something Ford had purchased for himself, was nestled snugly in a crossbody bag Angie had given him before he left for the Crawlspace. Ford was nervous about trying the potion he’d got for himself. Though part of me is excited to see what it will do. Ford arrived at the house. He opened the front door.

“Hello?” he called tentatively. The Stanmobile wasn’t in the driveway, so Stan was presumably out. But Angie was more of a homebody, so she wasn’t likely to have left with Stan.

“I’m in the living room!” Angie’s voice called. He walked into the house and made his way to the living room. Angie was sitting on the couch reading a book. As Ford approached, he could make out the title: Journey to the Center of the Earth.

“Why are you up late reading Jules Verne?” Ford asked. Angie chuckled. She patted the couch cushion next to her. Ford climbed up.

“I’m actually quite the fan of science fiction,” she said, sounding almost shy.

“I had no idea. I always see you reading field guides or other informative literature.”

“That’s fer research. Lately, I’ve been too busy to read fer reg’lar enjoyment. I decided to get some fun readin’ done while Stan was out of the house.” Angie slid a bookmark into the novel and set it aside. “Did ya find the watchacallit?”

“The Crawlspace?” Ford asked, amused. Angie nodded. “Yes, I did!”

“Oh, excellent!” Angie clapped her hands. “Did ya enjoy yourself?”

“Yes, it was most informative,” Ford gushed. Angie beamed at him. “I’m glad to have finally found a silver lining for the thundercloud that is my curse.” Angie stroked the top of Ford’s head.

“I knew you’d find a benefit somewhere.” A twinkle entered Angie’s eye. “Since it’s a market, did ya do some shoppin’?”

“Yes.” Ford smiled at Angie. “And yes, the bag you gave me came in handy. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” Angie leaned in. “What did ya buy?”

“I’ll show you!” Ford opened the bag and took out the two potions. They were in nearly identical dark green bottles, as Ford had procured them from the same seller. But Ford knew which one was which. He handed over the one he had purchased for Angie. “This is for you.”

“Aw, you didn’t need to get me anything!”

“Yes, I did,” Ford said firmly. “You have been a rock as of late. This is the least I can do.” Angie smiled.

“Thank you.” Angie looked down at the label, written in the language of the magical creatures. “Uh, what is it?”

“It relieves muscle aches and cramps,” Ford said.

“Oh, that’s perfect, I been strugglin’ with that,” Angie said softly.

“It’s also apparently a sleeping elixir. It should give you peaceful, dreamless sleep,” Ford continued. Angie set the potion by her book and wrapped her arms around Ford.

“Honey, that’s exactly what I need right now, thank you!”

“It’s no problem,” Ford said, returning the hug. Angie squeezed him, then let go. “You should get some rest.”

“I don’t know.” Angie looked over in the direction of the front door. “Stan ain’t back yet.”

“I’ll stay up for him.” Ford patted Angie’s hand. “Go to bed.” Angie chuckled softly.

“All right, all right.” Angie kissed the top of Ford’s head. “I’m goin’ to try this here potion out and get some shut-eye.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.” Angie got up from the couch and departed for her room, leaving her book behind. Ford pulled his potion out of the bag. He stared at it.

No. I should wait. After a moment, he shrugged and picked up Angie’s book, opening it to the first page. The font was maddeningly blurry with his poor amphibious eyesight. …Never mind. Ford looked around, spotted the TV remote on the back of the couch, and grabbed it. Television it is.

-----

“Is the coffee done yet?” Stan asked tiredly. He yawned. “I really need a cuppa.”

“It should be ready soon,” Ford replied, stifling a yawn of his own. He was feeling the effects of his late night. “Is Angie still asleep?”

“Dunno.” Stan stretched. The motion pulled the edge of his T-shirt up past his belly button. “If she is, that’s weird. She’s usually up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Yes, well, she comes from a farming family,” Ford mumbled. Stan grunted wordlessly. There was a shout from upstairs. Stan and Ford locked eyes. “That came from Angie’s room.”

“But that wasn’t Angie,” Stan said. “That was a guy.” A second passed. The twins abruptly bolted from the kitchen, coffee forgotten. They sprinted up the stairs to the attic. A strange man stood in front of Angie’s mirror and dresser, staring at his reflection. He looked at the two. Ford came to a stop. The man looked eerily familiar.

“Fiddleford?” Ford asked. The man, panic in his eyes, looked over at the mirror again as though not familiar with his reflection.

“I- I reckon I look awful sim’lar to him,” the man said in a quavering, heavily accented voice. “But I-” Whatever he was about to say was cut off by Stan slamming him against the wall. “What in the sam hill-”

“Who are you?” Stan snarled.

“I’m-”

“What did you do with Angie?”

“What?” the man asked, sounding both perplexed and terrified. Ford glanced over at the dresser. A dark green bottle sat next to Angie’s moisturizer and sunscreen. Ford frowned. He picked it up.

“I’ll ask a second time, but I won’t ask a third,” Stan ground out. “Where. Is. Angie?”

“I’d tell ya if ya let me get a word in edgewise!” the man snapped. Ford read the label on the bottle, his mouth silently forming the words. He felt the blood drain from his face.

“Talk faster, then!” Stan shouted.

“Stan,” Ford croaked. Stan looked over. “Stan, leave him alone.”

“But-”

“Come here. You need to read this,” Ford said firmly. Stan shot a glare at the man, but let him go. He stalked over to Ford. Ford held out the bottle. Stan squinted at the label.

“What the hell does this say and what does it have to do with some guy in Angie’s room?” Stan asked.

“I forgot you couldn’t read the language of magical creatures,” Ford mumbled. He adjusted his glasses. “This is a potion I purchased in the Crawlspace last night. One of two, actually. I bought one for Angie as a pain and cramp reliever. I bought the second one to, ah, study at home.”

“Which one is this one?” Stan asked.

“Not the one I intended to give Angie.”

“So it’s not to help with pain,” Stan said. Ford shook his head. “What does it do?” Ford rubbed the back of his neck. “Stanford,” Stan said, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice, “what potion did you give her?”

“It- it purports to be a, ah, transformative elixir,” Ford stammered. “It can transform men into women.” He winced. “And it can also do the reverse.” Stan and Ford looked at the strange man. The man blushed, his entire face beet red. He was wearing Angie’s typical choice of pajamas: an old T-shirt and athletic shorts. Though he was holding up the athletic shorts, as they were loose on his narrow hips.

“…Angie?” Stan asked. The man somehow turned even redder.

“Y-yes,” he squeaked out. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Holy Moses, Sixer. You turned her into a guy!”

“I know, I-” Ford started. He took a deep breath. “I must have mixed up the bottles. My vision in my other form is too poor to make out small lettering.” He looked at Angie. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.” Angie nodded. “Get dressed, then you can meet us downstairs.” Angie glanced over at his closet doubtfully. “Ah, get dressed as well as you can.”

“We’ll get you something to fit you better later,” Stan added. He shot Ford a look. “Ford’s paying.” Ford resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“S-sounds good,” Angie mumbled. He cleared his throat. “K-kindly leave so’s I can, uh, get- get ready ‘n whatnot.”

“Yes, of course,” Ford said with a nod. He grabbed Stan and pulled his twin downstairs. When they got to the ground floor, Stan looked back up the stairs, a pensive expression on his face. “What?”

“Is it just me, or does Angie make a damn cute guy?” Stan asked softly. Ford thought back to the brief glimpses he’d gotten earlier. His ears grew warm.

No, it’s not just him.

-----

“I still can’t believe you turned Angie into a guy,” Stan muttered as he flipped a pancake on the stove. Ford sighed.

“It was an accident and I’m incredibly distressed this happened as well.” There was a polite cough. Stan and Ford looked over. Angie stood in the doorway. While his shirt was the appropriate size, if fitting oddly, the jeans he wore were a few inches too short and loose around the hips, needing a belt. “We need to get you some new clothes.” Angie’s face fell.

“I’m guessin’ that means ya won’t be able to get me back to normal any time soon,” he said softly. While lower than before, his voice was still higher than average for a man, and had a melodic lilt to it, likely due to his accent.

“Unfortunately, no,” Ford confirmed. Angie sighed and sat next to him at the table. Ford silently noted, to his amusement, that despite Angie’s visible distress, he had made sure to follow his regular morning hygiene routine, with his face clean and his hair carefully styled. “I looked more closely at the label and instructions. You drank enough of the potion to keep you in this form for three days.” Angie stared at him.

“Three days?!”

“Don’t worry,” Ford said quickly, holding up his hands. “I’ll return to the Crawlspace tonight and speak to the seller. He may have something to reverse the effects of the potion early.”

“I’m comin’ with.”

“Humans aren’t allowed.”

“I can wear some of those Star Trek ears ya got in yer closet and pretend to be an elf,” Angie scoffed. “Maybe throw some pixie dust over me to get that supernatural sparkle.” Stan snorted. Ford frowned.

“I suppose that could work. But why do you want to come?”

“Ya mixed stuff up from yer bad axolotl vision. I don’t want to risk another mixup.”

“Ah.” Ford shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “…Fair.” Angie sighed.

“I weren’t tryin’ to hurt yer feelin’s…”

“No, I’m- I’m fine,” Ford said quickly. Angie gave him a look that suggested he didn’t buy it. Stan cleared his throat.

“By the way,” he drawled, “I heard the toilet flush.” Angie covered his face with his hands. “Whattaya think of the new…equipment?”

“You don’t need to answer that,” Ford said quickly.

“Oh, I weren’t plannin’ on it,” Angie said, his voice muffled by his hands. “Stanley, ya can’t just ask someone that!”

“Aw, come on. We’re all guys here!”

“Stan…” Ford said in a warning tone.

“Fine, fine. I’ll shut up.” Stan placed a plate of pancakes in front of Angie. “Eat up, Angie,” he said. He frowned. “Uh. Should we call you something else until you’re back to normal?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Angie said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It- it feels awful odd to be referred to as Angie when I’m, um, this.”

“Banjo, perhaps?” Ford suggested. Angie nodded slowly.

“I like it.” Angie- Banjo looked at Stan with a frown. “Somethin’ wrong?” Stan was watching with a frown of his own.

“Why the hell did Ford suggest Banjo and why the fuck did you agree to it?”

“Oh, that’s right, I ain’t told ya what Angie is short fer yet,” Banjo said.

“I thought it was short for Angela.”

“No. It’s short fer Banjolina,” Banjo said, beginning to cut up one of his pancakes. Stan raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell kinda name is Banjolina?”

“A McGucket one,” Ford and Banjo said together. Banjo shot a grin at Ford. Ford felt butterflies in his stomach.

Oh, no. Please don’t let this be a pattern.

-----

Banjo laughed goodnaturedly.

“No, I ain’t wearin’ the hat!” he said, playfully shoving Stan.

“C’mon!” Stan wheedled. “I paid for it with my own money! You’ve gotta wear it!”

“I believe I was the one to pay for it,” Ford said. Stan rolled his eyes.

“You pay me, so I paid for it.”

“That’s not how it-” Ford cut himself off, shaking his head. “Stop bothering Banjo.”

“He’s laughing, he’s having a good time.”

“I ain’t annoyed, Stanford,” Banjo said. “I’ll let Stanley know if I reach that point.”

“Hmph. Very well,” Ford muttered. After breakfast, they went shopping for clothes for Banjo. At first, Banjo insisted that they spend as little time as possible out and about while he was in his current form. But once he was wearing clothes that fit him, he calmed down significantly, even allowing Stan to talk him into going out for lunch and walking around Main Street after. Now, Stan was desperately trying to convince Banjo to wear the cowboy hat he had Ford purchase a few minutes ago.

I didn’t even realize there was a western store in town. But they had passed it while walking down Main Street, and when Banjo slowed down to admire the clothing in the display window, Ford insisted they go inside and find something for him. I feel like I need to make up for what happened. Though he seems remarkably unperturbed by this experience. A tendril of frustration began to uncurl in Ford’s gut. Why is he so blasé?

“You already got me to wear the cowboy boots,” Banjo said.

“But your jeans completely cover them up!” Stan protested.

“You should’ve considered that when ya told me to wear ‘em now,” Banjo retorted with a grin. Stan huffed. Banjo tossed his head, laughing. His caramel-colored hair bounced from the movement, drawing Ford’s eye. It was agonizing how much Banjo resembled Fiddleford.

I didn’t realize how much I missed F until I was reminded of him every time Banjo did something. Hopefully, the painful reminders would slow, now that Banjo was dressed. His fashion sense was different from Fiddleford’s, other than the same predilection for flared jeans. At the moment, Banjo was wearing a green flannel shirt with a simple orange undershirt. A far cry from F’s flamboyant tops.

“I reckon we should head back soon,” Banjo drawled. He tucked his hands into his back pockets. “The full moon will be risin’ ‘fore we know it.”

“Please, we’ve got plenty of time,” Stan said dismissively. “I think we should go get a drink.”

“Hmm.” Banjo titled his head and smiled at Stan. “I don’t know ‘bout that. I ain’t in the mood to deal with two drunk fellers on my own.”

“You don’t drink?”

“No, I do.” Banjo’s smile broadened. “I do it very well.”

“Oh, I get it. You think you could outdrink me.”

“Wrong.” Banjo leaned in. Thanks to his new height - which he seemed very pleased with - his face was mere inches away from Stan’s. “I know I can outdrink ya.” A goofy grin spread across Stan’s face, accompanied by a faint flush. Ford recognized the expression. It was the same one Stan made every time Carla McCorkle ran her hands through his hair or kissed him on the cheek. Ford thought back to what Stan had said earlier that day.

“Is it just me, or does Angie make a damn cute guy?”

Oh, no. No. Please tell me Stan isn’t developing a crush on Banjo! Sweet Moses, this could turn messy fast. For one thing, he won’t stay Banjo, he’ll return to being Angie! Ford cleared his throat. Banjo and Stan looked at him.

“I believe we have enough time to make one more stop before returning home,” he said. Stan punched the air.

“Yes! We can get wasted.”

“No, we cannot,” Ford said firmly. Stan blew a raspberry at him.

“Killjoy. What are we gonna do, then?”

“There’s a bakery a few blocks from here,” Banjo suggested. Stan perked up.

“Bakery? Hell yes!” Stan sped up his pace eagerly. Banjo chuckled. He and Ford fell into step alongside each other.

“That brother of yours is quite the character,” he said with a smile. “Luckily, he’s the kind of character I tend to be fond of.”

“Really,” Ford said flatly. With the continuation of Banjo’s casual attitude, the frustration Ford felt earlier was beginning to fester. Banjo looked at him, bemused.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“I’m just-” Ford took a steadying breath. “I’m just perplexed at how easy going you are being about- about-”

“About bein’ Banjo?” Banjo asked. He frowned. “Look, I ain’t happy ‘bout it.”

“Could have fooled me,” Ford said under his breath. Banjo ignored his comment.

“I just reckon it’d be a waste of my time ‘n energy to be overly upset,” he continued. “I can’t do anything ‘bout it right now, so why get all worked up? At least, now that I’ve had some time to adjust.” Banjo put his hands on his hips. “And what’s with that lil remark ‘bout me not seemin’ unhappy? Didn’t ya hear me shout this mornin’? Didn’t ya see how distraught I was?”

“And yet you don’t appear upset at all,” Ford said snidely. Banjo clenched his hands into fists.

“It’s called actin’, Stanford! Actin’ like I’m fine to make sure the boat don’t get rocked! It’s a skill I’ve developed while I take care of you ‘n Stanley!”

Ford scowled at him. “We don’t need babysitting,” he said shortly. Banjo stopped walking to face Stanford squarely.

“Really? Might I remind ya of the argument you and Stanley had not a month ago?” he retorted. Ford’s brow furrowed further.

“I was stuck as an axolotl for a week at that point! I had been to the vet on two separate occasions and was completely useless at home! I was getting frustrated and needed to vent!” As he spoke, his voice rose without his noticing it.

“So what’s frustratin’ ya now?! Yer not an axolotl and ya won’t be for another hour, so what’s eatin’ at ya?” Banjo’s voice was beginning to rise as well. The few passersby slowed down to stare, bewildered by the odd conversation.

“YOU are INFURIATING me!” shouted Ford. “For Pete’s sake! You’ve been a man for less then a day and are already comfortable in your new skin! You’ll be back to normal in a few days while I’ll still be cursed to be an amphibian for the rest of my damn life!”

An eerie silence circled them.

“Son of a- I’ve been cursed for half a year and I’m still uncomfortable in my second skin! I have to eat bugs! I have to sleep in water! My skin itches! I hate it! And here you are in the middle of town having the time of your life!” Ford was panting by the time he was done, looming over Banjo. Waves of heat washed inside of him, crashing against rising shame.

“Stanford?” came Stan’s voice behind him. He must have come back after he realized Ford and Banjo weren’t following him anymore.

“What?” Ford turned around to face his twin. He didn’t want to look at Banjo, not with the mist in the other man’s eyes. Stan gestured to the sides of his head.

“Um, your, uh, your gills are- are out.”

Panic washed over Ford as he raised his hands to the side of his face. He could feel the gills, six in total with three on each side, squirming. His ears were already gone. He then heard it before he could feel it. There was a pop and rip followed by a burning sensation at the base of his spine when his tail, big, round, and pink erupted. Ford fell to his hands and knees. The entirety of his body was aching and tingling.

What’s going on? The full moon hasn’t risen yet! A new worry filled Ford with horror. We’re in public! People could be watching! He looked around, but already his vision was worsening. Soon he felt his glasses slipping as his nose disappeared. From what he could make out, it appeared that only Stan and Banjo were currently present. But they were on Main Street. At any moment, someone could stumble across them.

“Banjo, what should we do?” Stan asked. Banjo stayed silent. “Banjo?”

“The two of ya can figure it out,” Banjo said, his voice thick. “I’ll meet ya back at the car.” Ford watched Banjo’s blurry figure walk away.

“...Great,” Stan sighed. He looked down at Ford on the ground. “I’m gonna, uh, move you out of the way, okay?” Ford nodded weakly. Judging by how loose his clothes had gotten, he had already shrunk to half his size. This conclusion was proven accurate when Stan picked him up and carried him into a nearby alleyway, both of them ducking behind a large dumpster. As soon as Stan dropped him to the ground, Ford fell on his side, his body continuing to morph into a new form. He struggled to his shifting feet.

“How are we going to get back to the car?” Ford asked, his voice breaking into a higher pitch. He hugged his sides and hissed through his teeth as waves of heat washed over his body. His tail curled around him, grazing his calf.

“Uh.” Stan looked around. “There’s a big box here. It looks clean enough. Once you’re done, you can climb inside and I’ll cover you with your clothes.”

“Okay.” Ford grunted as he felt his bones shift. “I really wish I wasn’t transforming in a dirty alleyway.”

“Eh, I’ve seen worse places to turn into a giant salamander,” Stan said with a shrug. He scratched his chin. “You- you really tore Banjo a new one back there. What was that about?”

Despite the pain, Stanford felt his whole body freeze in place.

“How much of the argument did you hear?”

“Only the end of it, really. Something about him having the time of his life?”

“I…” Ford sighed. “I let my temper get the better of me.”

“No shit. I figured out that much on my own,” Stan scoffed. “Why were you angry at him?”

“I’m just…frustrated. He’s doing perfectly fine right now, and I- I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Stan asked quietly. “You think he’s doing fine?”

“He’s joking and laughing with you.” Ford hissed as a particularly painful shift rearranged his jaw.

“Yeah, but it’s mostly anxious laughter. He’s had that scared deer look in his eyes all day. And he starts shaking if we stand still for too long. My guess, Banjo’s roughly one dropped ice cream cone away from having a nervous breakdown.” Stan looked over at Ford. “You really didn’t notice?”

“No! I- I thought he was taking his current circumstance in stride.” Ford winced, both from the pain of his transformation and the sting of just how poorly he had read Banjo’s body language. “I should have consulted you earlier. You were always better with people.”

“Eh. Neither of us have ever been good at the whole communicating thing,” Stan said. Ford sighed.

“Correct.”

“So, uh, are you done?” Stan asked. Ford moved his body tentatively. His legs, arms, head, and tail responded. The prickling that accompanied the end of his transformation had faded. And he could barely see a few inches in front of him.

“It appears that I am.” His voice was completely changed.

“Good. Step outta your clothes while I get the box.” Ford did as instructed and shimmed out of his now oversized sweater. When Stan came back with the box, he climbed inside. Stan covered him with his clothes. “Eugh, they got all slimy!”

“I produce a mucosal secretion from my skin during times of high stress,” Ford mumbled automatically. It was one of the things Angie had noted during her time studying Ford’s amphibious form before Stan joined them.

“It’s gross,” Stan said firmly. Ford felt the box rise off the ground. He curled up, his stomach churning from distress as he was carried back to the car. After a few minutes of Ford bouncing and sliding around in the box, Stan came to a stop. “Hey, Banj.”

“Banj?” Banjo’s voice said. Ford covered his eyes with his paws, overcome by guilt. Banjo’s voice was weak, as though he had just been crying.

“Short for Banjo.”

“Banjo’s already short fer my proper name.”

“Someone can have two nicknames.”

“Hmm. Fair enough,” Banjo said. Ford mustered some courage and poked his head up through the clothes. Banjo, blurry, stood a few feet away, leaning against the Stanmobile. “Hello.”

“Banjo, I-”

“I’m goin’ to act as though the last fifteen or so minutes didn’t happen,” Banjo interrupted. “At least, fer now. We’ve got to head back to the Crawlspace to see if anyone can get me back to rights.” Though Ford couldn’t see Banjo’s blue eyes, he could still feel them boring into him. “Will you agree to act that way as well?”

“Yes,” Ford squeaked pathetically. Banjo nodded. Stan unlocked the car and slid the box holding Ford into the back seat. Ford waited for Banjo to sit next to him. His heart sank as Banjo opened the passenger’s side door and sat up front with Stan instead. Even without saying a word, his change in behavior spoke volumes. Ford curled up tighter, a soft whimper escaping from him.

He’s furious. With me.

#Gravity Falls #Gravity Falls AU #Axolotl Ford AU #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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