#but in the fic he gets a little miracle baby! :^) surprise its me i am chewing on him because the snake dna gave me a mouth nose and snake

[narutomaki]

need to stop writing SI fic where Orochimaru creates a baby with his own DNA and snake summons chakra + DNA

like it's only happened twice but

[heliosundercover]

Batboys and

how they talk about you

Bonus fic as a thank you for allowing my jason fic to do well 💋

Dick Grayson-

, who talks about you like a goddess walking the earth, loves you more than words. The type to talk about you so much that people doubt your real

 

“My girlfriend is so sweet, guys. Today we went to that one library I like. Guys, have I told you even her favorite book is adorable?”

It doesn’t help that he tends to get caught up in certain details, completely ignoring other ones. No one knew your name until a week into dating.

 

Jason: “If you asked me before, I would’ve never believed him; weve all gone a little insane, but now that Ive seen proof, I'm happy for him. He gets to be well-dick, and she gets to smile and nod, but I swear she enjoys it. They’re weird together.”

 

Tim: “We love Dick. A lot, but we were looking at a wonderful facility that has an in-patient gym in the beginning. But the way he looks at her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually did miracles.” 

 

Damian: “At least I believed him at the start. He was smitten and absolutely whipped. I thought it was just like Dick. I don’t know why I, of all people, was the only one that caught it.

 

Bruce: Yeah, I knew she was real. Why would I ruin everyone’s fun? I mean, Dick is a bit. Aloof sometimes… I'm not exactly surprised; he’s not exactly amazing socially sometimes, but with her, he’s extra awkward, and I watched him flirt with men and women. But look, as long as he’s happy, we’re happy for him.”

 

Dick is a completely drunken idiot, with so much training thrown out the window. 

(Can you tell I'm not a fan of a playboy dick😞 im sorry i love a good love stuck man)

 

Jason Todd-

, who is extremely protective of his peace, sometimes acts as if you’re fragile. He was the type to invite you to a family game night where he called a family meeting an hour beforehand, forcing everyone to be on their best behavior. Needless to say, it was awkward, but one uno round later, he realized you fit in just fine. 

 

“I knew my girl would win. She's a gangster.”

boast when you absolutely dominate everyone playing in the game. You never quite beat the cheating allegations.

 

Dick: "I don’t know how he did it, but he found someone who brings out a side of him I haven’t seen in years. No one is that good at uno; naturally, at least, I think she’s a meta. I'm not saying that non-metas aren’t good at uno.”

 

Tim: "You know how in movies the girl animals just have lashes, and how the boy is always darker and the girl will be like a lighter color? It's like she was made for him. I'm glad he found his anamorphic girl, Wolf. But, can I be honest? I think Alfred was telling her our cards.”

 

Damian: "I'm glad Jaybird is happy. He’s definitely earned it. Even if she cheats at UNO, they’re perfect for each other. Hell, the cheating is what makes them perfect for each other.”

 

Bruce: "I'm glad to see Jason happy. The sparkling in his eyes, the boyish smile, is the same joy I saw after he hit me with a car iron and ran off, giggling. I like her.”

 

 

Bruce Wayne-

is proud to show you off publicly. He’s not one to spoil someone, but sometimes he can’t help but pick up trinkets for you. Sometimes you’d wake up to keychains, jewelry, or even clothes somewhere in your shared room. 

 

He tried so hard to be there for you and protect you from his line of work. Some nights, he wouldn’t come to bed at all to avoid waking you. Some nights, if you worried too much, he would send Dick out in the Batman costume so he could be by your side. 

 

"Shh, baby, its ok... Tonight, I'm staying with you, okay? I love you; do you know that? And I know sometimes the risk scares you, but I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Dick: "It's nice knowing Bruce isn’t constantly brooding about it. Well, I knew that fact already, but this is different. I only see a light in his eyes when he’s doing stuff he absolutely loves. Like when he talks to his parents tombs and we pretend we don’t see him.”

 

Jason: "i think that man would come back from the dead more dramatically than I did for this woman. And I waged like 3 wars.”

 

Tim: “Sometimes I see them sitting in the library together in silence. All they do is enjoy each other’s presence. Its adorable”

 

Damian: “Dads earned it. And when I say he’s earned it, I mean he’s earned it!”

 

Bruce isn’t the easiest to be with, but he always makes up for it.

[mabelstone]

hello babie

little angst fic in light of the new matt pics? gruffy stubborn horknee matt? a little christmas miracle?

love u miss u

hi sugarpie miss u more

hope this suffices <3 i couldn't think of a 'christmas miracle' i am sorry xx maybe i'll write a soft christmas fic after this

18+ ofc, you know me by now

Nobody Compares to You

matt stone x reader

word count: 2.1k

***

Being with a prolific near-billionaire with a ridiculously successful TV show and a close-to cult following has its downsides. The copious amounts of groupies, stalkers, etc, etc. Not to mention that he's the textbook definition of a workaholic, which often meant you would go days without seeing each other due to your conflicting work schedules, despite sharing the same bed each night.

You knew this going into your relationship with him and you swore you wouldn't have it any other way.

That was until you found out about the new hire at South Park Studios. A painfully beautiful, bubbly young woman around your age, funny and oh, so intelligent. To your dismay, everyone in the studio had grown very fond of her, including your beloved boyfriend. The part he failed to mention was that she was now his personal assistant, hence why she would text him at inappropriate hours and was practically glued to him each time you visited him at work on one of your days off.

You could look past the groupies and die hard fans as you knew they wouldn't ever stand a chance. But a young woman so full of life, someone who made Matt cackle the way only you and his friends could unearthed something deep inside you. An unmistakable hatred for this girl, though she hadn't done anything wrong, per se. This created a rift in your relationship with him, and though you wanted to blame her, it was painfully clear that it was your doing.

One day you'd surprised him with lunch, taking in a container of his absolute favourite meal that you'd slaved over all morning.

"Oh, thank you, gorgeous," he'd kissed you tenderly, though his words to follow suggested he wouldn't be eating it any time soon. "I wish you'd called... Belle and I just got Chinese, I'm stuffed."

Your smile faltered, peering over at the twiggy blonde tapping away at her laptop with her long, neon orange nails. "I wanted to surprise you. My mistake."

Belle looked up intermittently with an unreadable expression, "yeah, so sorry. What was your name, again?"

"Y/N," you shot her a fake smile that was about as friendly as a kick to the jaw. He mustn't talk about me often. "Ah," was all you could muster, a pang of disappointment flooding your veins.

"I'm sorry," he frowned lightly, a gentle hand taking yours. "I'll have it for dinner! You know me so well."

"So you'll be staying late again?"

"At this rate, it's a safe bet," he smiled sympathetically. He looked tired, no surprise. You sometimes selfishly wished that he'd get a bad cold or something so he'd be forced to stay home with you. "I'm really sorry."

"Meeting in five, Matt," Belle spoke up, her tone a lot friendlier than it was with you.

"I'll get out of your hair then." You didn't say bye, instead speed walked to your car, fuelled by your rage toward his assistant.

Matt: Not even going to say goodbye to me?

Matt: This isn't my fault

You: i just didn't know you were having lunch dates with your assistant

You cursed yourself straight after your message sent, realising just how ridiculous you sounded. Like a jealous teenage girl.

Matt: Lunch date? You mean having lunch with your coworker is now considered a date?

You: does she even know you have a girlfriend?

Matt: Do I really have to share my personal life with my assistant? She does, yes. What has gotten into you?

You: she gets to spend every minute of every day with you

Matt: So this is about her? Don't be so jealous, this is a work relationship.

Matt: Gotta go.

Your eyes blurred with tears as you drove home in silence, your jaw ticking in frustration. You couldn't help but wonder if you were in the wrong. Surely he would have had to pick her as his assistant, right? Why couldn't he have picked a man. Or, as awful as it sounds, a girl who wasn't so attractive. Or maybe a girl who wouldn't have graduated the same year as you.

He got home at 11pm, a bit earlier than you had anticipated. You couldn't sleep though, your mind running wild at the possibilities. With all the time spent with her and away from you, would he fall for her? Would he stop loving you? Was she planning to whisk him away from you? Was your little argument today just pushing him further into her arms?

He walked into your bedroom and didn't say a word. He walked straight into the ensuite and locked the door before you had a chance to speak, closing your mouth immediately.

When he came out, he looked visibly more relaxed, newly grown out curls dripping beads of water onto his skin. He sat in front of you on the bed, only a towel keeping him decent.

"Care to tell me what that was earlier?" His voice was stern, eyebrows slightly raised.

"You tell me," you tone was unwavering as well, arms folded across your chest.

"I wish I could," he huffed, the frustration clearly creeping back. "I can see that you're jealous. But I think theres a bit more to it, isn't there?"

"I miss you."

"Of course I miss you too. But I have to go to work. I can't control the hours!" He raised his voice slightly. Maybe there was more to this for him, too.

"We haven't had sex in two weeks, Matt," you sighed, looking toward the ceiling as that awful, sad feeling reared its ugly head again. "You used to want it- need it, every second day, at least."

"We haven't had time!" He sighed now, running a hand over his face. "I've had to... deal with it myself."

"Does your assistant have to be there for that too? Does she add it into your calendar?" You bit, meeting his eyeline again, that now had narrowed on you, angry brows knotted together.

"You are a brat, you know that?" He spat, appearing as if he were about to double over in anger.

"I'm a brat, huh?" You laughed humourlessly, shaking your head at him. "I spent all morning cooking for you. Every day I do all the cleaning after I've been working all day. I iron your clothes for the next day and have them ready for you every night before I even think to do anything for myself. Before I even have dinner!"

He just stared back, not interjecting for a change. His expression softened as he let you get it all out.

"I have done that for you for four years now! Four years! But I'm a brat, huh? All because I miss you and yes, I'm upset that you have a pretty new assistant. I'm upset that she spends all day with you, gets to have lunch and sometimes dinner with you. She gets to eat and laugh with you, all the while I come home to our house alone. I go to sleep alone and wake up alone. Do you know the things I would do to have lunch with you just once a week? The fact that I'm even explaining myself is ridiculous, I-"

Your rambling was cut short but warm lips pressing gently against yours. Your hands instantly found damp curls, fighting the urge to cry at the fact he was finally at your fingertips, and not when he was snoring beside you in the small hours. He was finally there, finally, you had his undivided attention.

His fingers quickly hooked into your panties, pulling them off in one autonomous motion. He wasted no time disconnecting your lips, positioning himself between your thighs. His warm tongue flitting over your clit sent a shockwave of electricity through your body, a sharp gasp from your lips piercing the overwhelming tension in the room. You grabbed a fistful of his hair without a second thought, grinding down onto that beautiful face. The coarseness of his beard scratched your inner thighs, sending a chill down your spine. With your eyes screwed shut, you moaned his name just as you had imagined for nights on end, his own groan vibrating against your core. You opened your eyes when you thought he'd pulled out your vibrator, soon realised it was just his phone buzzing somewhere on the bed spread. He didn't slow his motions, continuing to lick dizzying stripes across your clit. You felt around for his phone, wishing you hadn't when you saw her caller ID on the screen.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Mm, what?" His voice was muffled against you, only pulling away when you pulled your hips away. "Oh, come on. I can't control when she calls me, babe. It's probably something really important."

You realised you weren't angry at him, but absolutely livid with her. You just had a gut feeling about her. You knew girls like her, you could tell from he minute you laid eyes on here. She just wanted to climb the hierarchal ladder that was your beloved boyfriend. Unfortunately he was going to have to figure that out on his own. You couldn't help but give him the cold shoulder that night.

***

Things had slightly improved between the two of you. You'd been intimate more frequently, things often getting so steamy that one time he'd bent you over the kitchen counter, resulting in very burnt chicken for dinner.

For the sake of your own sanity, you'd stopped torturing yourself with your imagination over his beautiful assistant. He loved you, he was as faithful as they come.

Matt: I'll be home in 30 xx

He'd messaged you that two hours ago. You were worried you'd have to start calling police stations, but he finally responded to your missed calls with another text.

Matt: Long story. Talk soon.

He returned home an hour later, the door slamming behind him. You startled from where you sitting on the couch, having stress drank through half a bottle of red wine at this stage. He scooped you up from your position on the couch, eliciting a loud squeal of surprise from you, followed by the thunk of your wine glass hitting the carpet, effectively painting the rug crimson.

"Don't worry about it," he breathed against your skin. "Missed you," he trailed kisses along your jaw and neck, your breath hitching when he would hit your sweet spots.

"Mm- what happened at work? Where were you?" You grabbed his jaw in an attempt to slow him to no avail. He continued to carry you to the bedroom, physically in front of you, but mentally somewhere deep between your thighs.

"Don't worry about it," he echoed, placing you down onto the bed. You felt a little worried - he only got like this if something really stressful happened. He was usually great at talking about his feelings, especially when something happened at work.

He continued to kiss down your body, trying to strip your clothes with such haste you could barely keep up.

"Babe- stop. Stop." You huffed, finally getting a grip on his tireless wrists. "What happened? Were you with her?"

Then he came back into his body, eyes narrowing on yours. "We're seriously still on this?" He groaned, sitting back on his knees. "I fired her."

"Fired her?!" You couldn't hide the surprise in your tone, but masked the happiness very well. "Why? I thought she was a hoot, no?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," he sighed. Catching your expression, he realised you weren't going to let up until you had the full story. "Jesus- okay, she tried to make a move on me. Happy? You were right." He rolled his eyes.

Now you were beaming. You thought you'd be more upset, but his obvious disgust debunked that thought immediately. "Say that last part again."

"You were right," he rolled his eyes again, playfully this time. "Now take off your clothes."

"Yes, sir!" You laughed too, stripping off your clothes so fast, you'd miss it if you blinked. Immediately, he was on top of you, a growing hard on pressing into your thigh.

"Nobody compares to you," he mumbled against your lips, stripping his boxers without taking his eyes off you, drinking you in. "Nobody."

His words warmed you to your core, words you didn't know you needed to hear. Despite the intensity leading up to this moment, he slid himself in slowly, stretching and filling you inch by glorious inch. You arched your back into the feeling, bare chests rubbing against one another.

"I love you," you breathed, grinding gently into him, both of your hips connecting in slow synchronicity. His warm arms surrounding you, pulling you impossibly closer.

"I love you," he kissed you slowly, "so, so much."

You felt more connected than you had in weeks, months, even. And in that moment, you too though, nobody compares to you.

you know me by now. no proof reading sozzy and this ending sucks balls... but its dry out here

[not-a-big-slay]

Cruel summer

Kaz Brekker x gn!reader

I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

Said, "I'm fine, " but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate

And I screamed for whatever it's worth

"I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

summary: it was always complicated with him, but when alcohol starts to question your situationship, you decide to let it all out...

warnings: alcohol, drunk confession, mentions of blood (non- violent)

a/n: did you know im obssesed with writing fics to taylor's songs? anyways, i had this idea on a long car ride, listening to this song and i wanted to write this for the longest time. its super similar to my fic jigsaw, but what can i say, im a sucker for drunk confessions. i made it gender neutral, so its told like "you did this" ,"he looked at you" etc. also, why tf did i think that gn reader means goodnight and that it means something similar like SFW. my first post in 2023, enjoy :)

Your blinking was slower and slower, eyes focusing on your floppy feet that tried to gain balance with every step. You thought you did a good job with not falling, thinking of it as a miracle, yet you entirely ignored the gentle force on your hip, navigating you outside. "When you said we should get a drink, I thought of one, not...several" Jesper with his hand on your side stopped mid-sentence, thinking about the number of drinks you talked him in to, but failed due to his own drunk self. His voice had a surprising echo, and you soon realised so did the other noise around you. Strangers' laughs entered your ears repeatedly, as if they were worried you wouldn't hear them the first time, horses' hooves stepped in front of you and their impact with the stone ground rang like church bells at midnight.

You were so taken by the magic sound that you didn't process Jesper pushing you up into some dark room and almost didn't feel the smooth hands pulling you in. Unwillingly, you fell down, but luckily sat on something soft. You noticed Jesper sitting down next to you and in a moment you were on the move. Oh, carriage, you thought. You adjusted your eyes and looked at the person in front of you, noticing the familiar long straight hair. You smiled and mumbled: "Hi, Inej.". She smiled a little at your drunken face, but was quickly filled with concern. "Whose great idea this was? I swear only you two could get this wasted." she sighed and her hands reached under her, pulling out two bottles.

"Thank you." said proudly Jesper and Inej rolled her eyes. Excitment filled you upon seeing her hands streching to you with the bottle grasped between. You accepted it and brought it to your lips, thinking of the bittersweet taste you drank at the bar, but it was dissapointing when your mouth tasted the cold blunt liquid. Water. You closed the bottle, setting it next to you and said to Inej: "You wouldn't be mad if you were with us. That's on you."

"You should be thankful that I'm even here at this hour." she toughened her voice, but didn't raise it. She knew it was enough to woke up some sense in you. When you two were silent, she continued: "So? Which one of you idiots had this idea?". Jesper didn't speak, however his eyes did when they shot at you. A few hours ago, you met him outside on his regular night door-watching and convinced him- very easily- to grab a drink with you. You needed a distraction in the chaos surrounding you. After a while of trying to shake their gaze off you, you sighed in defeat. "Fine," you exclaimed, "it was me. I just needed to clear my head, and hang out with Jesper, it's been far too long." you crossed your arms and winked at the boy beside you, but a scoff from Inej made you look at her. "Please, we see each other all the time, even Wylan is getting sick of him." she spoke truly, watching Jesper getting offended, but redirected her eyes on you.

She knew of your situation, how could she not when she's almost invisible and nosy. You and Kaz were far over inconspicuous looks and light touches, but boldly flirting at any moment. It wasn't Jesper's style of flirting, but just fearless remarks or answers that made you blush and fastened your heart. It also threw you into overthinking and uncernity of your bond with him. Sometimes it made you think the flirting covers more serious feelings, but often it sang with a friendly banter. It drove you crazy, took many hours of your sleep, and you knew it wouldn't matter if your stupid heart didn't fall for him. When you witnessed Wylan and Jesper's cat fight, you thought it was obvious for both of them that they like each other and they just were afraid to make the first move- even though that didn't go as planned, according to Jesper- or just enjoyed their wordplay. Now you weren't so sure, but you refused to ask the sharpshooter. He would only make fun of you or wouldn't take it seriously. "You seriously fell for him? This must be a dream" you already heard him say and his laugh caused goosebumps on your skin.

"I'm fine." you told her slowly, trying to convince her of your lie and subconciously wrapped your coat over you. Before visiting Jesper, Kaz stopped you in the hallways and was interested in your way outside. "I just thought of getting a drink with Jes." you said and quickly added "or anyone that would like to join." after realizing the Zemeni boy is supposed to be working. He didn't seem fazed by your answer though, probably used to Jesper disobeying orders, and just nodded in understandment. You weren't in the mood to talk to him, the redness in your eyes caused by your regular overthinking was still visible and you wished he would fail to take notice, so you smiled at him and continued your way down, then he stopped you with your biggest weakness.

Him saying your name.

You turned to look at him and noticed his reached out hand holding a coat. You realized you forgot yours in the bedroom when you went to complete the idea of getting drunk. You took it carefully, as though it was a bomb sensitive to touch. You put it on and thanked him shortly, trying to get down the stairs with your shaky legs.

No, you weren't fine.

Inej seemed dissatisfied with your answer, but didn't push. You smelled the scent again, the same thing that made you ordering shots. The smell of leather, gunpowder and his perfume. If the world ever ran out of oxygen, you were sure this would keep your heartbeat going. You wanted this scent to cover you, to soak in your skin and to flow side by side with your blood. Maybe that was the alcohol, but you needed this to happen, right away if possible.

A plan started to form in your mind as the carriage came to a stop and Inej helped you out. She grabbed your hand and placed it over her as she placed her other hand over your hip on the stomach, making her way into the Slat. Jesper walked along, he wasn't as wasted as you and capable of getting in his bed. Once inside, you wished goodnight to him quietly, wondering why Inej beside you flinched and every person still up looked at you weirdly.

When you were upstairs, you stopped Inej before Kaz's door. She looked at you and then in the direction you stared intesively in. "This isn't your room." she explained and tried to continue walking, but you stayed glued on the floor. "I need to do this." you mumbled and looked at her as if she knew what you were talking about.

She sighed: "Can't you do it tommorow? Sober?". You just shook your head. Tommorow you would be fully aware of everything and probably would talk yourself out of it, while right now, you wouldn't feel the consequences fully and could say what you truly feel. Inej stood silent for a moment, thinking whether she should let you fuck up or violently get you to bed. Joy filled you when she just sighed loudly and whispered "whatever" to herself. You waved her and she returned that action in a form of shaking her head and a frown. You took a deep breath and brougth your fist up.

After knocking and regaining balance because of the knocking, the door gradually let you see inside. Soon you were looking at the face of the man you cried for, all confused. "What are you doing here?" he said, but didn't stop you when you pushed passed him to get inside. You needed to cover your tears that already, without saying a single word, treatened to show. You wondered if you could do this. "Are you hurt?" he asked, obviously concerned. He's right to assume this, not every day someone knocks late at night, eager to get in.

"Yes." you admitted and turned to him. He noticed your tired eyes and a fazed out expression. "You're drunk." he observed, his tone did not sound angry or dissapointed, you could only hear the concern he was filled with and that was slowly tearing your heart apart.

"That's irrelevant" you waved your hand, blowing the fact away, so it wouldn't get in your way when talking. He leaned back on his table, supporting himself with his hands and streched out his bad leg: "Of course it is.". You hated this position, it made your knees weak. "What's important is who hurt you." he explained again. You giggled silently, shaking your head, and looked down. His protective trait was one of your favorites. It either made you feel loved or mocked, but right now you felt none of those options. After a moment you looked up.

"Guess."

Kaz sighed: "Y/N, I won't play some stupid game when you're in pain." His annoyance could be heard in the Crow Club and yours could be more visible than your drunkeness. "I'm fine!" you said harshly immidiately after him, "Now guess.". He sighed again after your repetetive plea. He studied you for some time, giving in on your request. "Come on, it's not that hard." you cheered him on, "I supposed someone like you would get it easily.". He can improvise based on little clues about a person, guess and threaten them with their secret he only assumed they had, yet he cannot see his own damage.

You growled impatiently. "Forget it, of course you wouldn't know, you don't even know what you want!" you yelled and started to walk around, surprisingly stable. What you said though wasn't true. You knew what you wanted and still didn't do anything to get it. You were both at fault for your pain and cries, it wasn't fair pinning it on him. Kaz calmly watched you go a few rounds around his room and waited 'till you slow down. "Go to sleep." he said when you finally stopped due to tears announcing their arrival. "No." you whispered, not knowing if it's to him or to your watery eyes. He still spoke: "You're wasted."

"Yet I'm still aware of my feelings! Whiskey didn't help, unfortunetly!"

Concern filled his eyes again upon seeing the tears drowning your eyes. His back straightened, but he didn't step closer to you. You laughed and allowed yourself to cry. Hands wrapped you tightly into Kaz's coat. "I love you, you prat!"

A thing about you when you're drunk is that sometimes, you say things you only think about, without even realizing it. The two of you were taken aback at the same time. Your eyes widened, making eye contact, both of you couldn't believe what you just heard. You were the first to react and laughed, bending forward and back. You looked at him again, a small smile on your face while your gaze took in every detail.

"If this ain't the worst thing you've ever heard." you said. Exhaustion creeped up on you, you knew that sooner or later you will fall asleep, no matter where you are. Kaz was looking down, his expression unreadable. You blinked slowly for a moment, trying to fight the fatigue. It was harder than closing them, but you managed to open your eyes and glanced back at the man, also looking like he fell asleep on the spot. You watched him, mouth opening to say something, when you spotted it.

A smile.

No, a grin. A wide, evil grin appeared on the cold, numb face. Fear suddenly rushed into you. You saw Kaz smile just once and it was before he violently murdered someone. Not a good sign, you thought. Any courage of saying words was gone, you just waited what he will do next. It was like watching a deadly animal, just standing in front of you while you tried not to disturb it. You almost flinched when he looked up, his grin smaller than before yet still shameless. You held your breath, afraid to trigger something invisible in the air, and waited for his voice to reach your ears.

"You should go to sleep."

There it was, the goal of your plan, the dream of your longest nights. You exhaled, surprised but relieved. Eyes found his and you could read him like an open book, finding the mutual feeling you longed for a long time. You smiled and nodded at his words, but when adrenaline left you, the exhaustion filled you completely. You fell back onto his bed, unaware it was there in the first place. He walked over to you, so close you could see the real details on the cane, and gently lifted up your head by the chin. Your eyes were closing, all of your power tried to keep them open. You decided it was time to stop Kaz from studying your dozed off face.

"Can I sleep here?" you weren't sure if you would made it back to your room now, so without waiting for the answer, you laid back and closed your eyes. You heard Kaz walking and a chair shifting. His scent was all around you, sinking into your skin, hopefully flowing in your veins by now. You grabbed the coat and squeezed it onto yourself tightly. Kaz's wide grin was the last thing on your mind before falling asleep.

‎

He looks up grinning like the devil.

[aleyuhs]

hold tight ♡ jacob bae

warnings: implied big dick jacob, unprotected sex, afab reader, "baby" as a petname once, swearing but you're already reading a smut fic so it shouldn't bother you a whole lot, not sure if this is fwb or boyfriend so feel free to interpret it however!

wc: 1.3k

a/n: first post yay! + sorry for the word vomit in this...? i think it works tho and pls tell me if you spot any typos that bother you! i'm bad at proofreading

“have i ever told you how pretty you are like this?”

maybe if circumstances were different, something like that would’ve just been a cute thing to say. just another thing jacob noticed about you, something said so casually as if the two of you were conversing about the weather.

but you’re not talking about the weather, why— no, how could you be expected to speak when you’re laid bare for jacob, back arched and ass shamefully raised as his thick cock delightfully drags against your insides? it’s not like either of you are even sure what time it is anymore, so how could anyone expect the two of you to know what’s going on outside of your little bubble? who cares if the sun is shining like a miracle was performed, or if there’s a storm that’d put the fear of god in even the strongest men. you’ve got both those things inside that bubble with jacob anyway. mind and heart torn in between appreciation and fear, how could he, soft spoken and kind little jacob, surprise you every time you get with him like this?

he makes another comment, one about you being “cute when you’re out of it”, and you want to tell him to shut up, you want to wipe that stupid grin off his face. but even so, you can’t even get a single word out, instead whines and pretty little moans replace whatever coherent phrase you wanted to say. and jacob keeps smiling every time you try to snap back at him. it’s in some ways endearing, how you always think you can make some witty comment while he’s helping you forget. even after all this time, you still haven’t caught on that he gets rougher with you whenever you feel like this is your chance to get back at him. finally having caught your breath just enough to look over your shoulder and open your mouth, only for the words to come out as a pitiful whine rather than anything of importance. if it wasn’t for the fact that it feels like he’s in your fucking guts you could’ve maybe had the energy to control your expressions; stop yourself from looking like you’re in love with how he fucks you.

it’s pathetic, really, that this is what became of you two. actually- it’s just you; you’re the pathetic one here, aren’t you? always seeking jacob out when you’ve got a lot on your mind, choosing to have it fucked out of you rather than working through it. it’s not like he minds, jacob always took pleasure in helping you forget about things. a test you flunked, messing something up in class, rude customers at work, a comment made by a friend that rubbed you the wrong way, a boy pissing you off. pick your poison, he’s got the antidote.

an antidote in the form of rough hands grabbing at your hips, pulling you back to meet his every thrust, cock buried so deep inside you that you can’t help but whine about “how fucking big he is” whenever he lets you have a moment of rest; those times when he slows down just to card his fingers through your hair, grabbing and twisting it enough for him to pull you back against his broad chest. free hand making its way to your sensitive and neglected little nub when he picks up the pace again. fingers skilled in their movements, bringing you closer to the edge faster than you’d like to admit. jacob had always been good with his fingers. years of playing guitar and months of practicing the piano giving him a certain precision that was hard to find in other men.

though jacob had always insisted he “just knew you better” than your previous partners whenever it came up. you’d always deny it like your life is on the line, and yet, during sex it was one of the few things that your stupid mouth manages to say clear enough for anyone to make out. he’s always thought of that as a testament to how he’s right, and you’re just being stubborn. you only ever seem to be honest when he fucks you dumb, jacob, jacob, jacob repeating in your mind like a prayer. the only coherent thought in your silly little head being something along the lines of wanting to thank him over and over as he fucks your worries out of you.

so for once, you do just that; moaning out a “thank you” when he picks up the pace, fucks into you harder; hand once in your hair moving to your front to grab at one of your tits, the movement rough yet so good it makes your head spin, brain fuzzy from it all. his own head gets nestled in your neck, deep purple marks blossoming on your skin as he leaves traces of his appreciation for you along the sensitive area, nose teasing your jawline when he moves to whisper in your ear about how you’re being so good for him, how he wants you to come so fucking bad. and he knows you’re close, he knows how to read you; how to make sense of even your most slurred words. he’s been with you too many times not to after all, to him it’s easy to tell what you want when you start babbling incoherently about him and his cock, how close you are; and he knows that all you need is just a little push.

so jacob does just that; hands moving with a certain urgency that you just don’t pick up on, too cock-drunk to realize before it’s too late, his hands already pushing you back down to how you’d found yourself earlier. it almost hurts, just almost, how strongly he’s pushing on your back; your cheek squished against one of his soft pillows and breathing constricted as if you weren’t already fucking struggling with controlling yourself. though you don’t have it in you to complain, not when it feels this good, not when jacob is pushing you closer and closer to the edge. choked moans make their way out from your mouth, and you know you’re cutting jacob off, you can hear him say something- though it’s lost on your ears, only picking up on his question of “who’s making you feel this good, baby?”

despite how badly you want to, you struggle to answer, every nerve in your body alight and weight on your back not helping you at all; but he doesn’t let up, instead just cooing at you like you’re some poor, helpless creature. it’s shameful, really, how that makes the rubber band in you pull and pull; finally snapping when he tells you to cum; the sensitivity too much for you anyway with how you’ve been close for so long now. your body jerks and shudders beneath him, a plethora of his name falling from your lips as you release all over him. for a moment it’s like even he struggles to keep himself together, the weight on your back easing up little by little till he’s dragged his hands down to your hips. you always tighten up so nicely for him when he keeps pumping into you through your release, it brings him closer to the edge; and when he comes soon after you it’s only perfect, hips flush against yours like he just can’t get close enough, deep enough, moans strained and eyebrows furrowed.

for a while he stays snug in you, relishing in the feeling and only pulling out when you wiggle your hips just a bit. now having grabbed one of his pillows so your cheek is resting on it properly, allowing you to look at him over your shoulder with a dazed smile, one he returns as his hands caress your hips softly- gently, even.

jacob’s the first one to break the silence, voice telling of what you’ve done as he speaks, “helped you relax, didn’t i?”

with all the energy you can gather, you flip over onto your back, supporting yourself on one elbow as you sit up to use your other hand to pull him down with you. playfully, teasingly, adoringly telling him to ���shut up” while you hug him close, arms wrapped around him in a sticky embrace that neither of you feel like moving out of.

[bubblyhoney]

can i request a fic where sapnap takes the reader to his hometown? like the classic going to places he went to when he was younger. maybe playgrounds and ice cream shops idk

places i used to go

warnings: language of course, an allusion to virginap, my uneducated guess of what sapnap was like in highschool, tiny detail of long haired!sapnap, singular canon detail of underage drinking, jokish about marriage

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

words: 2191

A/N: you are a god, anon. i love comfy and nostalgic fics like these and it was so fun to write. if you hate it dont tell me but if you like it lemme know akskdjd

inbox/requests: open

-

The wind whips fast on your bare fingers, cool and quick and raising goosebumps in its wake. You blink in the haze of the early sunset, head lolled to the side of the headrest. It feels good.

“That’s where I went to high school.” Sapnap interrupts your thoughts and points a finger at a collection of tall brick buildings down a side street. The silver of the lettering is dull, but you can still feel the nostalgia.

“And you’re about to see the park that me and my friends used to hang out at after work and—actually, nevermind.” His arm drops to the middle console and he looks straight ahead with slightly pinker cheeks.

“Do what?” You ask, voice all sweet, and a grin grows on your face. You turn towards him and wiggle your eyebrows.

“Nothing. Homework.” He avoids your eye contact and hikes his hand up higher on the steering wheel. “Anyways— Do you want to get some food before we head out? I know a great place.”

You two were just coming to a close on your little trip to visit his family; it was his step-mom’s birthday and you decided to make a week of it. It was your first long-term trip with Sapnap, and also your first time meeting his dad’s side of the family. You were proud to say she loved you. His little sister took a little more effort to talk to you of her own volition, but soon enough she was on your side.

You have a couple hours to kill before making your flight back home, so Sapnap has taken it upon himself to give you a quick tour of his hometown.

“Yeah,” you decide, bottom lip popped out. “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Uh, duh.” The Neighbourhood’s Stargazing starts through the speakers and he reaches to turn it down. “I’m so ready to get home and sleep.” He stretches his neck in his seat, letting out an uncharacteristically inappropriate grunt when his bones pop. You make a disgusted face, nose wrinkling, but stretch your own back, slumping down in the seat. The day had been full of packing up and this horrible hike his dad liked to do early in the mornings, so you two were pretty beat.

“Okay, we’re here,” he announces three sleepy minutes later in his best attempt at a whisper. Lifting your head off of the corner of your seat, you blink in the setting sunlight as a yawn splits your face. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and struggle to get your seatbelt off in that post-nap haze. You’d barely been asleep for thirty seconds, damn it. The air is a swampy heat when you step out of the car onto rocky gravel and nearly twist your ankle climbing over the curb. Sapnap catches you by the lower back, trying to hide his laugh but failing miserably. You slide him a dirty look, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can manage while limping towards the front entrance.

The door jingles when you two breach the doorway, alerting a bored-looking hostess that the circus has arrived. She looks at Sapnap a second longer than she should, eyebrows screwed together in silent confusion. But she leads the two of you to a booth near a large window, handing you sticky menus and promptly fucking right off to the host station. She nearly runs.

“Do you know her?” You ask, inconspicuously hiding your face in the search for their 24/7 breakfast menu. You feel his eyes on you.

“Don’t think so.” He leans on one elbow and slides his phone out of his jeans’ pocket. In the 25 seconds it takes for you to find their french toast and sides menu, he has browsed and closed his phone with an animatedly shocked look on his face.

“What?” You give him a weird look and put down the menu.

“I totally went to homecoming with that girl.” He eyes the hostess. You glance over at her again, meeting her gaze, and offer a polite smile. She turns away quickly, eyes wide.

“She’s cute,” you say, voice high and fake, and he drums his fingers on the tabletop as an amused look makes its way onto his face.

“Are you—?”

“What?” You reply right back.

“Nothing.”

Thank God the server comes up to your table then and starts asking for drink orders, or else you’d have to admit (sheepishly) you were a tiny eensy-weensy bit annoyed. Only a tad. But after requesting a Dr. Pepper and a water the conversation surrounding the nervous-looking hostess dies.

“I’m so hungry I think I feel my stomach shrinking.” You flop your head onto your arm on the table top and make a whiny noise into the stack of napkins your server left at the table. Sapnap rubs his thumb into the side of your forearm, touch warm and nearly dissolving the pangs of hunger and jealousy.

“You weren’t hungry an hour ago.” He lifts your hand to his face and plants a kiss on the back of it. Oh, pulling out the big guns, huh? “I would have made you something.”

You tilt onto your chin, pouting, and stare up at his cute face. His cute, scruffy, perfectly-kissable face.

“I think I got hungry staring at you for half an hour.” A mischievous grin grows on your previously-petulant face and he just shakes his head.

“I do have that effect,” he admits with cockiness in his tone, lifting his eyebrows and leaning back into the booth with his lips pursed.

The server returns with two glasses and takes your food orders onto their little yellow notepad. You chug the water down when they leave for the kitchen, getting your lap and chin thoroughly wet in the process. Sapnap just snorts at you and shoves the napkins your way.

“So,” you start, patting dry your jeans. “tell me what you were like in high school.” You cross your arms and settle into the booth, smirk on your lips.

“What I was like?” He parrots, sipping at his soda, looking thoughtful. “Firstly, a virgin.” You make a noise. Duh. Dude had a buzz cut his junior year. (You’ve seen the pictures. His step-mom particularly likes them.) “Secondly, I was actually— well, I wasn’t popular, but I had a lot of friends. We were all semi-athletic lonely band kids but we had fun. Had one girlfriend senior year but she went to Cal Tech in the fall and I didn’t. I, um, worked at a Dairy Queen in the summers and gained so much weight I had to lose all over again for Unified Track.”

“Relatable,” you comment, drinking noisily at your water. He fiddles with the paper straw wrapper and crunches it up into a ball. It goes soaring into your drink with a quiet “Kobe” and you just give him a look. He smiles toothily right back at you. “Stop being cute, I’m trying to listen to your story.”

“Oh, my bad,” he mocks. “Anyways. That’s what I was like in highschool.” You fish the paper ball out of your water and flick it wetly at his arm. It sticks and you choke on a laugh, cheeks puffed.

Two plates of warm food are set down loudly onto the table and you thank the server with a surprised smile, Sapnap mirroring you.

Two minutes of wordless chewing passes, minds occupied just by “food, me eat” instead of anything related to your previous conversation. You realize that Sapnap is one of the loudest chewers ever, and he realizes that you fail to notice the streak of maple syrup in your hair.

“C’mere,” he mumbles through a mouthful of omelet and hash browns and beckons you with his hand. You lean closer, chewing slowly, as he pats a napkin at the strands of hair trapped in syrup.

“Thanks, baby.” You take the napkin from him and pause your assault of the warm french toast before you to clean the sticky sugar out of your hair. He just watches you, half of a smile on his lips.

You two finish your food in record time. It’s borderline vacuum-like. There’s a short grace period where you just sit like two lazy cats, slumped down in the booth and holding your full stomachs. But the check comes soon after, and you both pay your way and are out of the restaurant without any mad dashes for the bathroom. A miracle, really, because of the American-like amount of butter you both consume.

“I’m a much more functional person now,” you mutter into the cotton of his shoulder, swinging your hand in his. He just hums in agreement.

“I guess we’re not getting ice cream, then,” he teases, and you just groan in response.

“I don’t feel like having diarrhea on a plane, unfortunately.” You sigh heavily when you have to split and get into your respective sides of the rental car.

The entire trip (somewhat roundabout because of the amount of side quests to show you things from his childhood) to the airport Sapnap is a chatterbox. He’s like this when he has sugar: either bouncing off the walls with energy or talking your ear off.

“That’s where my dad proposed to my step-mom. I was kinda young but I remember being surprised at how big the ring was— dude broke the bank for her.” It’s a little gazebo you catch a glimpse of through the trees in a park. It probably was an incredibly picturesque moment, and you can sense how much she must have loved it. With just meeting them this weekend, you can already see how much love those two have for each other.

You hope people can see how much you love Sapnap.

“Oh my God, it’s still there.” He points out the side of your window to what looks like a Dairy Queen that has been through World War 3. “My buddy Eric and I once spilled a gallon of that liquid ice-cream-shit all over the men’s bathroom.”

You shoot him a horrified look. “Why was it in the bathroom?”

He just smirks.

“—And that’s my Uncle Ron’s house. Had my first beer there.”

“And last, hopefully,” you add, pulling a disgusted face. The two story bungalow is cute, and one of your favorite colors: olive green. “That shit is nasty.”

He just shrugs and continues down the side street.

“Is this the park you were talking about?”

He pulls into the gravelly parking lot of a small clearing of tall trees, a picnic table and campfire sat squat in the middle. But he doesn’t respond, just turning the car off and climbing out. He reaches the passenger door without speaking, and opens it for you. You climb carefully out, confused.

“Come on.” He takes your hand and starts for a small path to the left of the picnic table. The mid-sunset shade envelopes the both of you.

“I hope this isn’t where you kill me.”

“No,” he snorts. “I just wanted to show you something.”

It’s just a few moments of stumbling through the damp underbrush before you’re coming face to face with a small, mossy pond that sits right underneath an incredibly old willow tree. He stops right on the edge of the rocky path and turns toward you.

“This your make out spot?” You ask between a grin as he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush to him. Your innocent smile fades when you feel the press of his lips to the side of your neck, light and ticklish. Oh.

“No,” he murmurs, and just breathes you in. “I came here once—the night before I graduated highschool. And I told myself when I really really loved someone I’d take them here with me.” He sways with you in his grasp, a gentle and song-less dance.

You grip his shoulder tighter in your hand and lean into him.

“That’s— awfully romantic, huh?” Your voice is quiet. Almost nervous. He just makes a noise of agreement.

“So here we are.” His voice is the opposite of yours, all strong and confident.

You two just move together for a moment. The sun breaks through the tree canopy, shining bright orange down onto the glassy surface of the pond. Crickets and frogs chirp back and forth as the willow vines swing in a cool evening breeze. You watch nature come alive around you, suddenly grateful for the man in your arms.

“Don’t propose,” you whisper, breaking the gentle tension. A laugh breaks the silence and he’s pulling away to look at you. Maybe in disbelief. A strand of hair falls into his eyes and you brush it away, fingers stilling on his temple and sliding down onto his cheek. Stubble scrapes against the skin of your palm and he stares at you through those meadow eyes.

You realize in that moment that he is exactly himself. Of course he is. He’s Sapnap, and everything that encompasses that. Dark and light and fiery and cool. He always has been, and always will be.

You realize you wouldn’t mind if he proposed.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. let me know what you think

[fullfiresiren]

beauty of the dawn

jujutsu kaisen

fushiguro toji x reader

The notion of a loving family was something foreign to Fushiguro Toji. Family, to him, was a bitter word -- full of hate and abhorrence. Abandonment and fear were a commonality in his own childhood. But in you, he finds a warmth he didn’t think he deserved – a home he craved, a love that makes him feel safe; full of gentle touches and soft kisses. But he’s scared. He's broken, and angry, and he knows the threat of his family is always lurking close, snapping at his heels, ready to devour. You bring the notion of family to his doorstep, and he spooks. He panics. He can’t let them find you, he can’t and he has to give up the only feeling of warmth he has ever known to do so.

It haunts him forever – leaving behind the only woman he ever loved, and a child he will never know.

word count: 3.8k.

notes: *inhales* ANGST— lmao but really, I live for it. Toji may be a bad person, but I suck dick, not morals, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bro I fr don’t even know what came over me. This has been like the smallest headcannon for me and somehow it turned into this horribly sad piece, and although Toji is a dick, I also think he is an incredibly complex character that, at the end of it all, was just a desperate father trying to look out for his child. I think he deserves much more than he got, and he kinda gets shat on in this fic lmao I'm so fuCKING SORRY FOR THAT--

warnings: nsfw/18+, angst, hurt no comfort, abandonment, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader

“Take me,” he prays, panting secrets that fall from his lips onto your soft skin; promises of pleasure as he breeds you deep. “Take all of me.”

And you do – over, and over, and over again.

Hilting him to the deepest part of yourself, and holding him close, so close, his breath a hot ghost across your face as he leans his forehead against yours. You keep him there until he is finished, taking his seed like it was sacrament. He gives you everything he has to offer, and only when you have slipped into a light slumber does he pull away.

He never strays far, though, and he cannot stay away for long. You are like sweet honey and warm sunsets; the breathing embodiment of a life he was never before privy to – the promise of something better; a miracle. Far from the cold depravity and sharp pain of his own family, in you, he found only warm touches, and words of tender affection. Toji feels so overwhelmed by the amount of love he has for you, that sometimes it’s unbearable. He feels so happy he could die.

He is not an honest man, by any means. He kills for a vocation -- and enjoys it, too. It’s something he’s good at. It’s an easy way to make money, and it helps him pay for his half of the rent on the meagre apartment you share. It also lets him keep the fridge full, make sure you’re always warm, and that you’re never without. He doesn’t really care about himself or what he has to do – so long as you’re happy.

The weight of his body is always heavy between your thighs, his chest solid, thrusts slow and deep, stretching you, making a perfect fit for himself inside you. He likes drawing it out – each time he takes you. He enjoys seeing you beg for release, relishes the way your tears slide down your flushed cheeks, because he likes being the one to kiss them away, knowing he is the only one who ever makes you feel this good. His name sounds so perfect when it falls from your lips at your height of ecstasy, and the way you take him in has him swearing he can see heaven.

You see a side of him that no one else does, but he’s dark, he’s toxic. The amount of sadness in his soul is challenged only by the sheer force of his anger. He's sure that he wasn’t always like this, but... he can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t. Everyone and everything was his enemy. He’s never really told you much about his family, or his past. His childhood had been dark, you assumed, based on the way he flinched around children, and steered clear of any conversational topics that included them or parental figures.

Toji Fushiguro was untouchable to everyone, and only just tangible to you.

He wants to be able to give you everything. He wants to lay his head on your chest in the depths of the night when he’s feeling lost, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to come home every night, no matter what happens to him throughout the day, and be able to feel the brush of your soft lips; to taste your tongue with his – god – he wants to. But he’s afraid. He’s scared. If he gives you everything... if he shows you who he really is... what happens if you see something you don’t like? Will you pull away from him? Will you cast him out and abandon him – just like his family did? Toji isn’t feeble by any sense of the word, but he thinks that would be the one thing that would break him.

That’s why he’s only let you see glimpses... and only every now and then.

He’s just so miserable when he’s alone. He’s angry at the world, and you’re the only thing that soothes him. The only thing he has ever loved.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror when he comes home, locked away in the too-small bathroom. You hear the keys turning in the lock; a signal of his arrival, and the door to your apartment opens, bringing with it sounds of paper bags crinkling, keys being tossed into their bowl, and huffing exhales as he struggles to kick his heavy boots off.

“Toji?”

“I’m home!” he calls, his voice a deep timbre in his chest, smooth like rich oak.

You follow it, leaving the safe space of your bathroom to find him, and when you pass the threshold into your small kitchen, he’s lifting bags of fresh groceries onto what little counter space you have. The movement carries with it droplets from an October rain that had caught him by surprise on his walk home, ones that hang from the edges of his black hair and drip down onto his damp black shirt.

“Toji,” you repeat, beaming as you bound into your small kitchen. “I have wonderful news!”

He spares you a glance between unpacking vegetables, dark eyes tracing the curve of your face, hands grasping at packets of food that need to be tossed in the fridge, and cans to be stacked in the shelves.

“Hmm?”

He offers you his face, leaning in close, pausing in his task to receive a small blessing of affection from you — a soft kiss against the scar on his lip that has his eyelashes fluttering closed, and then one more fully against yours – always greedy for any love you bestow, always chasing just one more, just once more, just another, my love, just one more...

He continues with his chore, but only when you giggle at the fluttering of kisses he peppers across your face, your jaw, suckling at your neck, your hands against his chest pushing him gently, urging him to finish his task – but not before you give him another deep kiss, all giddiness and mirth swimming in your gaze. He can’t help the deep chuckle that spills from his lips at seeing you so happy.

“Toji,” you begin, and he’s rummaging in the paper bags, brows furrowed because he could have sworn that he bought three carrots, and not two -- “I’m pregnant!”

He stills.

He can sense your beaming smile, almost feels the warmth of it on his cold skin, and it only makes him shiver.

The seconds tick by without any form of reaction, and the atmosphere grows horribly tense. Toji doesn’t look at you, but he can see from his peripheral vision that your smile slips at the same time that your shoulders round and you make yourself smaller, unconsciously closing off. You’re twisting something in your hands, suddenly nervous, and he has a nauseating feeling that settles in his gut, because he knows exactly what it is that you’re holding.

It’s proof.

“Are you... happy?” you ask, and you hate that you have to. It’s like a punch in the gut, and you’re afraid. This was not the reaction you were expecting at all.

“Are you sure?” he doesn’t know why he asks that.

He isn’t looking at you, and he isn’t moving – he’s not even blinking. You feel your hands becoming sweaty as you clutch the positive pregnancy test, mouth dry. A quickly increasing panic creeps over your skin, gripping you by the throat, and you honestly have no idea how to traverse this kind of response to your news. In the bathroom you only practiced scenarios in relation to a beaming, positive reaction.

Which room should we make into the baby’s room? Our baby can always sleep with us, though, and I know they’re definitely going to prefer you – I'm hopeless with kids... but I hope they look like you, Toji – a perfect combination of everything I love about you!

Do you want to pick names out? I hope it’s a girl... but a boy would be wonderful, too! I know the baby will adore you, no matter what! Do you have any names you like? We can name them after someone you love? If it’s a boy, I want to make his middle name yours...

Why didn’t you think he was going to show apprehension or reluctance? Why were you so idiotic to assume this is something he desired when he’s never given you any signs of wanting to start a family? He’s probably feeling entirely overwhelmed – and no wonder – you have no tact about this. Fuck, you’re stupid. You fucking idiot. Pathetic, dumb, worthless--

“Y-yes,” you reply, and your voice is a shadow of its former self. “I took three tests. I have one here--”

“How.”

You flinch a little under the curtness of his words.

“W-what—?”

“How did this happen?”

“Uhm...” your voice sounds so frail when you speak, and you can't help it. He’s making you feel like you’ve committed a horrendous sin. You’ve managed to combine the epitome of affection between the two of you into the creation of what will become a child – a perfect mix of the two of you, and yet, you’re beginning to hate yourself for doing so. You didn’t mean to... it was an accident... “We don’t... you know... use protection... and we... have sex... a lot...”

“I thought you were taking the pill.”

You feel like you want to throw up.

His entire body is unnaturally still, and he’s not looked at you once since you’ve told him. You are pretty sure that the can in his right hand is warping under the violent pressure of his grasp, and you wring your hands around the test nervously, the weight of it somehow heavy against your palms.

“I... don’t take the pill...” you remind, and then as an afterthought, you add, “I’m sorry.”

Words you never thought you would say in relation to this. You never though you would have to apologize in this kind of situation. You exhale a shaky breath, and it seems to bring him back to reality. He sets the can down on the countertop with more force than needed, and you try your best to blink back tears as you ask, “You’re... not happy... are you...?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and it hurts to say – god, it hurts. The words sting when they leave your mouth, like a hard slap against your face, but the ache is not nearly as bad as the way his silence is wounding you. You feel like you’re about to collapse from the amount of pain you have in your heart.

“I need to go somewhere,” is the most he offers you, before he’s turning on his heels and striding past you, leaving the apartment you share.

The noise of the front door slamming shut echoes in your mind long after the sound itself has gone.

He never did come back.

  — — — 5 years later — — —

 In the end, you were blessed with a baby girl, all chubby with round, rosy cheeks. Dark hair and eyes like her father, but soft and gentle like her mother. She was an almost perfect child. She never cried, and she never fussed, content in just being close to her mother. She listened when you spoke, and learned fast, growing just as quick, and you would die for her. She was your blessing; Akemi – the beauty of a new dawn.

You’re sure that he would have loved her more than life itself, but you try not to spare any thoughts his way anymore.

Toji gambles his life away, blowing through anything he earns as quickly as he makes it, drowning himself night after night in heavy alcohol to dampen his senses until they are nothing more than a faint hum in the back of his brain.

With any luck, those things will kill him long before the guilt does.

He fucks faceless women, drunk beyond sense, and when he finishes, he leaves before they sleep.

“Hate me, (y/n),” he sneers, turning sharply to vomit up onto the wet asphalt, breath a shaky exhale as he stumbles into the cold night, thoughts only on you – only ever on you – unaware that he’s crying. “Hate me. I fucking deserve it.”

His face is smeared with bile and tears, and he is so fucking angry -- so desperately sad, and he cries, and cries. He wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He wants to meet her – his darling daughter – he wants to hold her, and kiss her forehead, and tuck her into bed. Fuck everything that he thought – he would have been a great father, he knows it – and you knew it, too. He’s so lost without you, and he wants to lay his head on your chest in the safety of your bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to feel the brush of your soft lips again; to taste your tongue with his, moan your name into your parted sigh, make you feel him again.

He screams, but it catches in his throat before he can, and he splits his knuckles open when he sends a furious punch against a brick wall.

He can protect you from a lot of things – but not the power of his family. Not that. He’s just one man, and they’re so many. He has a heavenly restriction, and they are all blessed with both innate and inherited techniques, passed down through eons. He knows what they’ll do if they ever found out about you – about the child, and Toji swears on everything he has, that he won’t let them touch you – or her. Even if he won’t be able to. Even if he’ll never be able to hold his daughter, to thank her for being born, to cradle her against his chest and feel her wrap her small fingers against his – he won’t let the Zen’in have her. He won’t.

But that doesn’t mean that he deprives himself from watching over her – or you. Eyes follow the two of you home from her pre-school, singing nursery rhymes to your hearts content, watching as she orders “up, up, mommy!”, squealing happily when you lift her onto your shoulders. He imagines himself in your place; lifting her to higher heights, hearing her giggle a chorus of happy songs as your hand finds his, lips on his scar as you tell him how much you love him.

But he always keeps his distance, dark baseball cap shielding his features, and leaves before you feel someone following you.

It becomes increasingly hard to keep it at that. He starts pushing the boundaries, testing how close he can get. He knows he shouldn’t -- he has no right to – but when she dropped her stuffed toy one time in the supermarket, and you were oblivious to it, he finds himself bending down to grasp the too-soft toy in his calloused hands, dropping it in your basket when your back is turned, and your brows are furrowed as you regard the price difference between her favorite flavor of juice compared to the off-brand ones.

The thrill of being so close, of doing something, anything fatherly, was like a fix – a short relief from the aching despair and loneliness constantly plaguing him, and he finds himself doing it more and more – always pushing, always testing the waters. He even smiled at her once when she caught him staring, and she sent her own toothy grin back at him. His heart soared.

His daughter’s name was Akemi, and he first heard it when it fell from your lips one warm afternoon. He wants to write her name on his heart – right beside yours.

He wants to give her something – a pretty gift, but he doesn’t know what. He was never good at buying presents, and would only ever bring you flowers, since it seemed like something that could never go wrong, and would always bring a bright smile to your face. Flowers would be strange for a child, though. He twists the dainty silver bracelet between his large fingers, thinking bitterly that this was the same way you held the pregnancy test all those years ago. He didn’t really care how much it cost him. He’s sure that the salesman added unnecessary tax and extras to the price just to give himself more commission, but Toji doesn’t care – he just wanted something pretty to give to his daughter.

When he finally sees her enter the park, small hand tugging yours happily, his mind goes empty, and he can’t stop staring. You are as beautiful as ever, and it’s no wonder his daughter is so ethereal when she has you for a mother.

She is perfect, he thinks -- too good for this life -- and even though it’s the worst thing he has ever done, he is reminded that pulling away from you was the only way to save her from his family. It looks like she escaped the curse of inheriting any of his bloodline's techniques, and what’s more so – it seems like she, too, is oblivious to curses; skipping past them as she chases leaves that skit about the dirt path of the park, her teddy in her arms. Toji dips his head down when she draws near the bench he’s sitting on, the brim of his baseball cap keeps his face hidden, and his sadness known only to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He bristles when her voice floats past his ears, so gentle and sweet.

“Hey, mister,” she pokes his knee with her slim finger, so tiny compared to the size of his body, and he jerks at the contact. “Is this yours?”

She’s holding the bracelet in her small hand, the silver glinting in the morning sun, offering it up to him with large eyes, so close to him. At this distance, he can see the true color of her eyes – exactly like his own – and the small freckles that dot her skin. The longer he stares, the more his chest constricts painfully, tightly – he’s finding it hard to breathe, and he exhales suddenly, sharply snatching it away from her.

The force of the movement causes her to stumble a little, tripping over her feet, and before she knows it, the man who was once sitting before her has entirely caught her in his large arms, scooping her up before the ground has a chance to harm her.

She blinks once... twice... swaddled in his arms, sitting against his broad chest, and Toji frantically looks for you, finding you caught up in talking to another mother, too busy to notice. He knows he would scold you for it if he was still in your life, but when his daughter laughs, he snaps his head back to look at her, forgetting what thoughts he had in his mind at the glinting sound of her happiness.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, “You’re fast! Thanks for catching me!”

He doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything at all. His plan was to give her the bracelet, telling her that it was a late birthday gift from someone that loves her very much, and walking off before she (or you) has the chance to catch on or respond. But now that he’s inches away from her, holding her close as she peers up at him, he’s lost again. He’s lost, and he can’t breathe. He needs you to steady him, but you aren’t here, and he doesn’t know what to do, what should he do, what should he--?

“Where did you get that scar from?” she asks innocently, her large eyes suddenly trained on the mark beside his lips.

“F-from an accident,” he mumbles, “a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she hums, hands splayed against his broad chest, looking around her, swaying her legs absentmindedly. “Wow, you’re really tall! I can see everything from up here!” she exclaims happily, “My mommy’s not as tall as this, so when I sit on her shoulders, I can’t see nearly as much as I can now!”

“Oh,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, “is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “Mommy’s not as big as you are either.”

At this, he gives a genuine laugh – a sound he hasn’t heard fall from his lips in a long, long time, looking at her with quiet adoration.

“She’s not as fast as you either,” she continues, “you were super-fast!”

“She’s strong in her own ways, though,” he mutters, offering her a soft smile.

“Do you know my mommy?”

He bristles, actively avoiding her gaze. His heart is racing from this much interaction with his daughter, and he’s sure she can feel it under her small palm. It beats for her – if only she knew, and Toji contemplates, for the briefest of seconds, just telling her. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it enters. He doesn’t have that choice, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“Not really,” he mutters, dipping down slowly to set her footing on solid ground once more.

“She’s really pretty,” the little girl continues, playing with the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a small moment of fondness and familiarity, “and nice – and she makes great food!”

Toji realises only after the fact that his hand had settled on top of her head, and he’s stroking her hair softly, thumb caressing her cheek when he moves to cup her face. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and Toji is overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions. Pride in you for doing all this by yourself and raising such a wonderful child, shame for abandoning you and his daughter, mirth, anger, warmth, sadness, love--

“Akemi!” you call, seeing her lift her head at the sound of your voice. “This way, honey!”

“Oh, I have to go now! My mommy is calling me!” she perks up, gripping her teddy a little tighter and offering the man a smile. “Bye-bye!”

“W-wait!” he calls, thrusting the gift into her small hands. “This is for you, uh... f-from me...”

She looks down at it, before her whole face lights up, and Toji is suddenly breathless – she looks so much like you when she’s surprised, happiness blossoming over her face the same way it would on yours.

Toji feels a deep-rooted emptiness inside his body when he watches his daughter retreat away from him; a living embodiment of all his failures to you, and yet, as he sees her long, black hair whip out behind her, he realizes something else — she was your promise delivered; a combination of everything good between the two of you, in itself a miracle. He might not be in her life, but he was also partly responsible for creating something so beautiful, so ethereal.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if he was ever fortunate enough to be granted a second, it would be a miracle; a holy gift.

A blessing that would accompany the beauty of dawn.

[moipale]

2021 Holiday Truce

Hello @arisu-artnfics! I’m your truce gifter this year! It was a pleasure to work with your prompts, and I tried to incorporate all of them (gifts, green and red, ugly sweaters, christmas decorations, christmas), since they work so well together. I hope very much that you enjoy the fic I wrote!

“Are you hiding?”

Danny barely avoids starting at the sound of Jazz’s voice, and looks over his shoulder up to where she’s standing behind him.

“Ha-ha. Who wouldn’t be?” He gestures down at the living room below them. He’s sitting at the top of the stairs, his legs dangling between poles of the railing, staring down at the whirlwind that is his parents, in full holiday swing. There are boxes of decorations strewn about the living room, the tree is tilting in its stand, half-wrapped presents which he and Jazz politely pretend not to see are shoved behind the couch—the December usual. Things haven’t devolved into their annual argument, following last year’s resolution, but Danny still finds himself on edge for it—still, this year, with their tentative agreement that Santa is a ghost, it feels a little bit easier.

“Punk,” Jazz says affectionately, and sits down beside him, plonking a Santa hat on his head as she does. He scowls at her and receives a faux-innocent smile in return. When she takes a closer look at him, Jazz blinks in surprise. “You’re wearing the sweater!”

Aunt Alicia—who will be coming down to visit for Christmas Day, a veritable Christmas miracle, considering how little she leaves her neck of the woods—had knitted the whole family personalized ugly holiday sweaters. It had surprised them all, and she won the unofficial annual gift-giving competition in short order; no one expected her to go for something so personal, and so delightfully awful to look at.

“Yeah, well, I risk Ghost Writer kicking my ass if I don’t,” Danny replies, ducking his head. Jazz sees through him.

“We’ll make a Christmas lover out of you yet, little brother,” she teases, knocking her shoulder against his. He grumbles, but notably doesn’t protest.

Together, they watch the chaos. Sometimes it’s nice that their parents are so oblivious, and so it is now, that they can sit together on the landing and look down unnoticed into the din, people-watching as a party of two. Danny has never liked Christmas, but he might understand now why everyone emphasizes family during the holidays: he loves his parents, their sweet bumbling and all. Downstairs, they work together in tandem, building the holiday; even through their scientific fervor, they make time to decorate and wrap gifts, and despite himself, he loves them for it.

“Aw, look at you.” Jazz is smiling at him. “It’s nice to see you so relaxed at this time of year.”

The old instinct to pull away is there, but Danny doesn’t let it rear its head. Instead, he smiles back. “Feels nice, too.”

 “What’s this?”

This time, Jazz does manage to make him jump, and he turns around sharply, mind already scattered with stress. “Huh?”

She gestures at large to the mess surrounding him: tissue paper and wrapping and flat gift bags, receipts, conspicuous boxes. A smile plays on her lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were wrapping Christmas gifts.”

He scowls, without as much indignance as he intends. “Get out of here before you start guessing which one’s yours.”

“You got a gift for me?” The glee in her voice is almost enough to wash away his embarrassment. Almost. Baby steps, Danny, baby steps.

“Yes, now shoo! I need to finish this and I’m already tearing my hair out.”

“Want help?”

The offer surprises him, and he stops short, the nervous energy surrounding him calming just a bit. He’s never known Jazz to make offers in jest, but he studies her expression for a moment anyway; as always, she is genuine. She’s a good sister.

“Yeah, okay. But shut your eyes for a second! I need to hide your thing—!"

 It’s at Jazz’s gentle urging that he delivers his gifts in person, and on the Eve, one by one, he drops them off with their recipients. Mom and Dad and Jazz herself don’t count, thankfully, so he leaves those neatly beneath the decidedly less neat tree, still leaning in its stand. From there, he has only three stops—all human, since the Truce isn’t on Christmas this year, and he’s refusing to worry about Truce gifts until he has to—and Phantom heads off into the night to make them.

He goes to Sam first, since she’ll give him less shit about his newfound Christmas spirit. She accepts the gift gracefully—he and Tucker had long ago cleared it with her, whether she wants them to get her Hannukah or Christmas gifts or both—and with minimal teasing, and keeps him for an hour or so to chat quietly in her dark room, lit only by his own glow. He’s always enjoyed being around Sam most this time of year; she’s always been gentle with him, commiserating when he bitterly complained and now allowing him room to give the holiday another chance, separating it from the context he’d hated it for.

“Who else have you gotten something for, besides me and Tucker?” she asks, eyeing the third gift bag Danny carries. He’s finally pulled himself from their conversation, wary of the late hour and eager to get back home before too long.

“Valerie,” he reveals, toying with the tag on the bag. “Should I not have?”

Sam pauses. Her feelings about Valerie have always been complicated, but in the past year, through a million dangers, they’ve all found it easier to see people’s separate layers. “No, I think it’s sweet. She’ll appreciate it.”

“Yeah?” He perks up.

She smiles at him. Ready for bed, Sam isn’t wearing any make-up, and Danny enjoys seeing her plain face, knowing that she trusts him with it. “Yeah,” she assures him.

He stops in on Tucker next, crashing intangibly into his room purely to make Tucker yelp. He gets the desired reaction and then some—the expected teasing, and eventual sappy thank-yous and Merry-Christmases—and regrets to cut it short, but it’s already eleven and at this point he has no idea how late Valerie stays up.

“Good luck, hotshot!” Tucker shoots him a wink as he leaves, and Danny rolls his eyes, catching the implication. He’s not sure if he’s going for anything here, giving this gift—he liked Valerie, definitely, but it’s been months since they were together. Mostly, he misses her friendship.

 When he, human, knocks on the door to Valerie’s apartment—an address he should not know, and which he prays no one questions him on—it’s her dad that answers the door. It takes Damon a moment to recognize him, but then his expression clears, and he says, “Danny! Merry Christmas. What brings you here?”

“I have a gift for Valerie. Is she here?”

Damon casts a briefly frustrated glance inward, though he hides it admirably. “No, she’s gone out. I can take it for her.” He reaches to receive it, but Danny pulls back, the movement slightly sharper than he intended.

“Ah—I really wanted to give it to her in person. It’s been a while since we’ve talked, so I wanted to… yeah.” He trails off, embarrassed. At that, Damon’s gaze softens.

“I gotcha. Feel free to stop by tomorrow morning if you have time, or I’m sure you’ll have the chance to hand it off when you’re both back at school.” He pats a kind hand on Danny’s shoulder. “She’ll be glad you thought of her. She misses you too, you know.”

A happy blush colors Danny’s cheeks. Thankfully, they’re already red from the cold, so it doesn’t give much away. “Thanks, Mr. Gray. Merry Christmas.”

It’s both disappointing and relieving to fly out of Elmerton, gift still in hand. He really wants to start moving toward friendship with Valerie again, but too its kind of terrifying; he doesn’t need much persuasion to put it off a bit longer.

Thus, it’s to his surprise when halfway home, he sees her: the Red Huntress, not quite Valerie, but it is her regardless.

Danny stills in the air. Valerie’s back is to him; she’s sitting on the edge of a billboard platform, looking out over the city, spinning her hoverboard around one dangling foot. Her helmet is retracted; her hair flies free in the chilly December air. It hasn’t snowed yet this year, but Danny can imagine how pretty a picture it would be: her, glowing red against the frost.

Maybe he still likes her a little bit.

He can’t approach her as Fenton like this, he knows; he can’t give his gift in the way he originally intended to. But it’s Christmas Eve—Christmas Day, by now, actually—and he’s trying. And New Year’s is right around the corner, and perhaps this can be his resolution: a different kind of trying.

Danny Phantom tears the tag that says “from D.F.” off the gift bag, and flies forward.

Her suit must alert her to his approach, but Valerie doesn’t move until he’s settled beside her, and even still that motion is only a slowly-drawn ectogun pointed loosely at his face. He can spot a hundred ways to disarm her, a hundred more to dodge, but she doesn’t shoot, and so he doesn’t move.

Against the dark swath of the billboard, between advertisements, blank and unlit, they each glow green and red: Christmas lights in their own.

“Hi, Valerie,” Phantom says.

“Come to ruin the holiday?” she bites.

A hundred ways to respond, and last year, he would have. But Ghost Writer made him stop and stare and listen, last year, and since then he’s been doing a lot of looking, a lot of listening. He misses Valerie. He misses the early joy of the holiday, when he’d been young enough his parents’ argument had passed him by. He’s a year and change into his afterlife, and he’s just remembering how to be optimistic, how to hope. He thinks often of how wonderful it would be, how easy, if the Red Huntress and Phantom worked together.

“No,” he says instead, offering her a smile. “I got you a gift.”

[baronessblixen]

Ficmas Day 21 ~ wrapping paper (from this list)

Season 9 AU, Mulder never left. Wc: 861. Tagging @today-in-fic

The Best Christmas Gift

“Will, buddy, do you have any idea what I should get your mommy for Christmas?” Mulder asks his son, who’s sitting next to him on the floor, babbling about and having way more fun than his father wrapping Christmas presents.

“Ba-ba-ba!” His son emphasizes his words by slapping his tiny hands on the carpet.

“That’s a good idea,” Mulder says, nodding at the baby, who squeals with glee. Making Will laugh is everything he never knew he wanted – or needed. Right from the beginning, he wondered if he could do this. When Scully asked him to be the other half in the equation, his first instinct was to say no. Only Scully’s hopeful tears made him reconsider at the last moment. Oh, what he would have missed had he said no.

But it hasn’t been easy. Returning from the dead – a story he can’t wait to tell Will once he’s old enough – was hard enough. Finding out he was going to be a father only complicated it. But he couldn’t stay away. Neither from Scully nor from the large bump she carried with her. Their child. He fell in love with the unborn miracle, talking its ear off while Scully dozed on his couch, stroking her stomach and making up for lost time.

Now their baby is here and will be celebrating his first Christmas in a couple of days. Funny how life works sometimes. Sitting on the floor with his son, wrapping presents for various family members and friends does not even come close to how he imagined things to be. Yet, here he is and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

But this is his last week of unemployment. Come January, he will return to work after months of being a stay-at-home dad. He and Scully will alternate their days, both of them at Quantico teaching the young folks how it’s done. As much as he’s looking forward to this new chapter of his life, he will miss spending so much time with William.

“You know,” he says, finishing up another present and writing the name Linda on it without even knowing who that is. “I do have an idea what to get her. Can you keep a secret?”

“Gah!”

“Thought so. What would you say if…” he leans closer to his son, tickling his stomach and making him giggle. “If we made things official, hm? Do you think your mommy would say yes if I asked her to marry me?”

“Ohh-uh.” William stuffs his fist into his mouth. A clear sign he’d rather eat lunch than listen to his dad drone on about his love life.

“Right, right. I’m gonna mash us some food. That sound better?”

“Da-da-da-da.”

He picks William up and is surprised to not only be holding a baby but a large sheet of wrapping paper that’s sticking to the boy’s behind.

“Huh. Were you sitting on this all this time? Let me take it off you.” As soon as he tries, William’s face contorts into a dramatic grimace, quivering bottom lip and all. His chubby fingers reach for the paper and Mulder gives it back, knowing he won’t be able to use it anymore anyway.

“Just promise me not to eat it,” he says.

He puts William, who’s holding on tight to his sheet of wrapping paper, in his chair and prepares the boy’s lunch, consisting of mashed potatoes and carrots. He’s almost done mashing the food when he hears a key in the door.

“Pa-pa-pa-pa!” William says excitedly, kicking his little feet. He knows exactly what that sound means: his mommy is home.

“Hey honey.” Mulder greets her with a quick kiss and a soft smile. “How was your last day of work for the year?”

“Good. I’m not sure who was happier when it was over, me or the students. How was everything here? Mulder, why does our son have wrapping paper on his head?” They both look at the boy who’s giving them a gummy grin, the sheet of wrapping paper no longer in his hands but on his head.

“Well,” Mulder says, “we were discussing gift ideas and I think Will has decided that he’s the gift this year.”

“He is,” Scully says with a chuckle, picking up the wiggling baby, kissing his temple and holding him close. Mulder watches them, so full of love for these two people that his throat constricts with emotions, making words impossible.

“You’re the sweetest and most beautiful gift I could have ever asked for,” Scully says and William coos at her, smiling his biggest smile. “I love you, Will.”

“What about me?” Mulder asks playfully, hugging Scully from behind and making funny faces at William who is so amused that he spews spit bubbles.

“Love you, too.” Scully leans against him. “But I don’t see any wrapping paper on you so how do I know you’re a gift for me?”

“Don’t give me any ideas, Scully,” he says with a kiss to the crown of her hair.

“Hmm, all I’m saying is that I wouldn’t mind unwrapping you on Christmas.”

Maybe finding a gift for Scully will be easier than he thought.

[laddieseddiemunster]

Would you be open to writing a poly! Lost boys smut fic where the reader had a rough day so they just go down on the reader for hours to make her feel good? I love you’re writing btw!❤️

Yes, I would be open to :)

Thank you very much! Hope you enjoy!

Rough Day (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

warning(s): lots of nsfw, minors don’t read.

You’ve had days like these before, but this one was a train wreck. Everything that could’ve gone wrong, went wrong. For starters, you overslept and was almost late for work. Rushing in the early morning isn’t a good start to anyone’s day. The second you got to work you had a headache from rushing, and your co-worker had taken a sick day, which only meant more work for you. Customers were rude like always, and there were huge lines at all the fast food places, which meant you literally had to inhale your lunch when you got it. You felt so stressed, and the only thing you could look forward to was seeing the boys after your shift.

The second your shift was over, you got in your car and drove to the cave. There was still daylight out, so the boys were still asleep. You didn’t feel like waiting for them to come to your house. Seeing them as soon as possible was the only thing that could brighten your dark and stressful day. If anyone could cheer you up it’d be them.

When you arrived at the cave, the boys were still asleep. So, you went over to the couch and collapsed almost immediately. You wrapped yourself up in one of Paul’s jackets he let you keep borrow. They’d definitely be awake once the sun had gone down, and they were the only ones you’d be happy to wake up to.

You hadn’t been sleeping for very long when you felt someone launch themselves on you making you wake up. You groaned at first, but then you started to giggle when you felt the person start to plant kisses all over your face.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Paul said before planting one more kiss on your lips.

Marko shoved Paul out of the way to give you a kiss on the jaw. “You couldn’t wait for us to wake up, huh, baby?” He said and gave you a long kiss on your lips.

“I had a rough day at work,” you groaned while running your fingers in Marko’s hair as he placed more kisses along your jaw.

Dwayne bent down to place a kiss on your temple. “What happened, sweetheart?”

“Everything,” you mumbled while stretching your arms out. David had been sitting in his wheelchair letting the boys shower you with attention, but now it’s his turn. He called you over to him and let you sit on his lap.

“How bad was it?” He asked referring to your day at work.

“Horrible,” you said nuzzling up in his chest.

David grabbed your chin making your eyes dart to his. “The day’s not over yet, kitten.” He attached his lips onto yours while gripping onto your hip with one hand. His other hand was on your jaw. He pulled away slowly and gently lifted you off of his lap. Without saying a word, he walked away from you and into the bedroom in the cave that you occasionally used. You had a feeling what was coming, and you weren’t about to refuse. So, you followed David into the bedroom.

David sat on the bed and grabbed your wrist to pull you down on the bed. He then, grabbed your hips and got on top of you with his knees resting on the bed.

“Bad day, huh?” David asked with his face directly above yours. You nodded. David smirked before attaching his lips onto yours. His tongue snuck in between yours lips, and the two of you started to battle for dominance. David’s hand snuck down to your shirt and he started to unbutton it starting from bottom to top. Once all the buttons were unbuttoned, David’s hands pushed sleeves behind your shoulders and slowly pulled them down your arms, leaving you in a bra.

David pulled away from your lips with a smirk on his face. His hands reached behind your back to unclip your bra. He pulled the straps down your arms to reveal your breasts to the world. He tossed the bra to hell knows where, and he kissed so roughly that it took your breath away. With both of his hands massaging your breasts, he nibbled on your bottom lip before lowering down to your bottoms. He unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down so quickly it was a miracle that they didn’t rip. Your panties were the only thing left on your body, and David looked at them like they were a meal. Instead of using his hands to remove them, David decided to take in the moment. He lowered his head towards your body, and let the tip of his nose slide down your chest to take in your scent. Once his reached down to your panties, he grabbed the top of them with his teeth, and started to drag them down. He lifted your thighs up so they’d come off faster. He let them go when they were down to your ankles, and he let you kick them off yourself.

Now that you were completely undressed, David didn’t want to waste any time. He knew that the other boys were outside the room probably getting pretty impatient, but he’d be damned if he let them interrupt. David grabbed your thighs and rested them on his shoulders. He pulled your hips up towards him, and he gave you a quick smirk before moving his head downwards. Before you knew it, you felt David’s tongue start to tease your wet clit. You felt your back arch at the feeling with a moan escaping your lips. David let his tongue do the work by pumping it in and out of you. His hands gripped your hips as he kept pulled you up towards him.

Both of you knew that your orgasm was on its way, so David stopped giving you oral and unzipped his pants. He entered you quite quick, but pulled back so it was only the tip of his cock that was in you.

“David, please,” you whimpered. Your orgasm was almost there, and his teasing didn’t help.

“What is it, kitten,” David asked knowing exactly what you wanted.

“Fuck me, David! Please! I’m gonna come!” You begged him. David chuckled, but that was enough for him. He grabbed the sides of your hips and pulled you down to push the rest of himself inside of you. David moaned softly feeling the tightness of your pussy against his cock. But, this time, it wasn’t about him, it was about him giving you a pleasant experience on this horrible day of yours.

David started to pick up the pace. He let his hips smack against yours as he felt his orgasm coming. Your moans started to increase, until you let out a scream as you came all over David’s cock. His orgasm came quickly after. Right when he knew he was about to come, he pulled his dick out of you, and he came all over your chest. He massaged your breasts that were now covered in his come, and he gave you some long passionate kisses before putting his pants back on.

“The day has only started, kitten,” David said before leaving the room. He walked back to the where the boys were waiting impatiently. The boys looked at him, and then back at each other. David sat on his wheelchair and pulled a cigarette out of his jacket, and he started to smoke it as if nothing had happened.

Marko and Paul started to argue on who was going to go next. “I’m going next!” “No! I’m going next!” they yelled as they started to rumble. Dwayne knew that he wasn’t going to be able to go next. He rolled his eyes as he watched Marko push Paul into the broken fountain. Since Paul was now distracted, Marko took his chance and ran into the bedroom with Paul yelling some curses behind him.

Marko launched himself onto the bed and admired your nude body. He pushed some of your hair away from your face before massaging your jaw with his thumb. “Did you miss me, baby?” he asked with a smirk.

Instead of letting you respond, Marko slammed his lips onto yours letting his tongue explore the inside of your mouth. Since you were already undressed, Marko gripped onto one of your breasts, and poked at your nipple. Marko wants you to have an orgasm before he fucks you, so he makes sure his foreplay is magnificent.

Marko slowly stopped making out with you until he was giving you some small pecks on your lips. He removed his jacket, and started to kiss down your body until he reached your breasts. Once he reached one of your breasts he gave you a mischievous grin before starting to suck on your exposed nipple. He’d suck and lick it almost like a baby with it’s moms tit. After sucking on your breast, Marko moved up a little bit to give you one big purple hickey right above your nipple. He gave one of your tits a hickey, so he can’t leave the other one empty handed.

While sucking on your other tit, you were caught by surprise when you felt two fingers start to enter your clit. You gasped and moaned as you felt the two fingers curl up inside of you. Marko attached his lips onto yours, so he could swallow all of your moans. Two fingers turned into three, and three turned into four, and your moans only got louder against Marko’s lips. He started to pump his fingers in and out of you to make your moans so loud that not even his lips could hide them. Every time he pumped them back in he’d curl them and then pull them back out. Marko knew you were close, so he took advantage of it. He pumped his fingers in and out so quickly that your orgasm was there before you knew it. You screamed out Marko’s name as you came all over his fingers. He smiled and licked off all of your come off of his fingers, then he started to remove his pants.

Once Marko’s pants and boxers were off, he was spreading your legs and entering your pussy. You let out a yelp as you felt Marko’s hip slap against yours. He held both of your thighs spread completely on the bed as he drove his dick deep into you. Marko started to go slower and slower, and he threw his head back to let out a groan of satisfaction. He grabbed onto one of your thighs, and went in deeper which made you arch your back. You started to feel another orgasm coming. Marko knew that, but he wanted you to beg him.

“Marko, I’m close,” you said along with a moan.

“I love it when you same my name,” Marko grinned as he started to pick up the pace just a little bit.

“Please, Marko, harder!” You screamed out the last word as you started to feel Marko really pick up the pace. His hips smacked against yours hard enough to leave bruises. He bent his body down so he was directly above you. As he kept the pace quick, you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in the crook of his neck. Both of you were close, close as close could be. Marko’s orgasm came first. He let a loud moan as he came inside of your pussy. You came pretty much right after he did. You came all over Marko’s dick, and he slowed down once you were finished. Once he pulled himself out of your pussy that was dripping with your come and his, Marko gave you a kiss on the neck before putting his pants back on and then leaving the room.

Once Paul saw Marko leave the room, he was up and running. He doesn’t have a patient bone in his body, and if he had to wait one more minute he probably would’ve came into the room himself and told Marko to hurry up.

Paul practically flew onto the bed startling the crap outta you. Paul was already horny as hell when he saw your completely nude body laying right in front of him. He could smell your excitement in the air (it could’ve been the past come he was smelling but that’s besides the point). Paul’s hands gripped the edge of your breasts and he grinned. “How’s your day now, sugar?” he asked already knowing the answer.

You rolled your eyes and pulled him into a kiss, but he pulled away and grabbed both of you wrists and brought them above your head. “Whoa, pushy, aren’t you?” Paul smirked and snuck his lips next to your ear. “You’re hungry for my cock aren’t you?” he whispered into your ear making you shiver. “Yeah, I bet you are, you little slut. You’re just dying for me to fuck your brains out, aren’t you?” you whimpered as he nibbled on your ear.

Paul gave you a couple kisses behind your ear before saying, “I guess I shouldn’t keep you waiting, huh, baby?” Paul decided to be a little dick. If you wanted him to fuck you, you were gonna have to beg him.

With both of your arms pinned above your head, Paul start to suck on your neck. He placed red and purple hickeys all over your neck. There was so many that you looked like you had just gotten beaten up. But, Paul knew you wanted more, and he wasn’t about to give it to you just yet.

He took both of your wrists in one hand, and his other hand found its way to your breasts. Paul poked and pulled at your nipple before massaging it in his hand. You were aroused for sure, but Paul had an idea that would make you break. Suddenly, you felt two fingers poking at your clit, but they didn’t enter it. Paul dragged his fingers over your clit making you whimper.

“Stop teasing me, Paul,” you squeaked out as you felt his fingers almost enter you, but instead they kept dragging over your clit.

“Tell me what you want, sugar,” Paul said though he obviously knew damn well what you wanted him to do.

“Paul, fuck me!” you begged him. That was enough for Paul to hear. He took his pants off and in a matter of seconds, he went from having his clothes on to his dick entering your pussy. You let your head rock back as Paul was rocking his hips into you. You moaned loud enough to startle Marko’s pigeons, but neither of you cared. As far as Paul was concerned, he didn’t give a damn if the whole world heard the two of you fucking.

Paul let go of your wrists so he could grab onto both of your thighs. He pulled them up towards him, so he could rock in deeper inside of you. The deeper he got, the louder you moaned, and the closer you felt. Paul started to pick up the pace, and it really started to pick up. His hips slapped against yours, and he didn’t slow down. Your moans were now louder than ever, and your orgasms couldn’t come soon enough. Paul threw his head back as he felt himself getting close along with you.

Your orgasm came before his did. You screamed out Paul’s name with tears running down your face as you came all over his cock. Just hearing his name made Paul’s orgasm arrive, and he came inside of your pussy. Paul pulled himself out with the two of you out of breath from moaning so loud. You swore you were lucky to have a voice the next day. Paul pouted knowing that he couldn’t do a round two yet. After he put his clothes back on he came over to you and gave you a couple long kisses on your lips before leaving you. “Until next time,” he said and left the room.

Once Dwayne saw Paul walk out of the room you were in, he knew that it was finally his turn. He had waited patiently for this, and he wasn’t about to mess it up.

When he entered the room and saw your nude body before him, he remembered how lucky he was to have such a goddess. He also noticed the amount of hickeys Paul left on you. Jesus, looks like Paul couldn’t control himself. Again.

Dwayne walked over to the bed and gave you a quick kiss on your lips. Then he started to undress himself. He thought that if you were nude then he should be too. Once he was completely undressed, he carefully got on top of you and admired his girl that he was lucky to have. “Finally,” he grumbled under his breath before giving you some long passionate kisses.

“Is your day better now?” Dwayne asked with a slight smirk on his face. You pushed his shoulder playfully before pulling him into a kiss like you did with Paul. But, Dwayne didn’t pull away like Paul did. In fact, he kept the kiss going. Dwayne loved the feeling of your lips against his. It was definitely worth the wait.

Dwayne’s hands snuck down to your legs and he pulled them up so you could wrap them around his waist. Your kiss with him was put on pause when you felt Dwayne’s cock enter your pussy. You gasped against his lips, but your gasp slowly turned into a moan. Dwayne was so good at fucking you nice and slow to the point where you’d be in tears. Dwayne pumped his cock inside of you so slowly that it made you want to beg him to go faster. Dwayne must have read your mind, because he slowly started to pick up the pace. His lips never left yours, and he could practically feels your moans against his lips.

You parted your lips from his for a moment to say, “Dwayne, faster please,” you managed to whisper out the words without stuttering. Dwayne obeyed, and the pace started to go faster and faster by the second. He grabbed both of your hands with both of his and pulled them above your head. Not because he was trying to pin you to the bed, but because Dwayne always likes to hold your hands during sex. As Dwayne started to feel his dick drive deeper inside of you, he couldn’t help but moan along with you. You two ended up parting lips because it was kind of hard to kiss someone while moaning.

Dwayne looked directly into your eyes as you both felt yourselves getting closer and closer. He slowed down the pace ever so slightly trying to enjoy the moment for as long as he could. He started to feel more close than he could ever feel and he let go of your hands to grip onto your hips. Dwayne started to drive his dick deeper inside of you making you moan like crazy. You grabbed onto his shoulders and let your nails scratch down his back whenever he’d start pumping faster. You scratched him hard enough to leave marks, and that only make him pick up the pace even more. Dwayne let his nails dig into your hips as he felt his orgasm arriving. Your orgasm came before his did. You let out a scream while digging your nails down his back as you came all over his cock. Dwayne’s orgasm came directly after you, and he moaned loud enough to wake up the dead.

When you were both finished, Dwayne cupped your jaw and gave you some long kisses while murmuring that you were beautiful. Dwayne was a little sad that he had to wait a bit for a round two, but he’d wait an eternity if it meant he could be with you. Once Dwayne was all dressed he gave you a quick kiss on your nose before leaving the room.

You day was definitely a lot better now, but it wasn’t over yet. Right after Dwayne left the room, David had walked in for a round two. The other boys followed. You couldn’t even remember why your morning had been so terrible. All you could remember was that your boys made you feel a lot better. Let’s just say, none of you went to the boardwalk that day.

[jjungkookislife]

Quarterly Fic Recs 2021 #2

Hello! I’m back with another rec list! Here are fics I’ve read, loved and thoroughly enjoyed in the second quarter of 2021! They are all very wonderful fics! Each story has its own genre, warnings (and are mostly 18+), so please take that into consideration before reading. If any authors would like me to untag them, please let me know. Enjoy!

Yoongi

before i leave you @hollyhomburg

summary: Yoongi Disappears- leaving behind a shattered pack. 8 months later, Jimin finds Yoongi in an H-mart of all places.

Hoseok

heart-on @junghelioseok

summary: my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick

Jungkook

charmolypi @njssi

summary: Work and pleasure should never be combined — or so the saying goes. But you were never really one to follow the rules in their entirety and neither were the ones around you. Love, lust, interest. Five people. In the workplace. What could go wrong? Everyone just wants to get something, after all.

when you least expect it @johobi

summary: You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

wherever there is you @jeonstudios

summary: you’ve been drinking, haven’t you?

instant gratification @dovechim

fuckboi@jungkook x cheerleader!reader

haze @yyooni

summary: So you’ve fucked the biggest fuck boy on campus. It’s a one and done. One night stand. A wham bam thank you ma’am. So why does it happen again?

OT7/Multiple Members

because i’m yours @minniepetals

summary: you should have known they’d never let you go after gathering the courage to ask for a kiss

blazed @ironicarmy

summary: Your friends try to cheer you up during Christmastime, but things go south once Hoseok appears with a mysterious brown bag.

Seokjin

one step @cutechim

summary:  attending an ex’s wedding is never easy, but you might just have the perfect remedy—if you can pluck up the courage to take it.

platonic @joheunsaram

summary: Finding a new method for stress relief, you rope in your bestfriend/fwb to try it out with you.

show me yours and i’ll show you mine @ktheist

summary: you’re a horny bunny yet kim seokjin always seems to manage to slide out of your grasps like a fox every time.

Yoongi

before i leave you pt. 7 @/hollyhomburg

summary: Pack omega kim Seokjin knows how to handle things when they go south (or alternatively you get triggered, Yoongi has a panic attack, and it’s a good thing the pack is there to help)

Hoseok

risky business @yoonjinkooked

summary: The person who invented smart glass office walls knew what they were doing. Your secretary fucks you stupid in the office.

snapshot @xjoonchildx

summary: after a day at the beach, hoseok has some surprises in store for his longtime love

keep me warm @ppersonna

summary: camping is always a great time when you’re with your friends, but even better with your boyfriend, hoseok.

it’s you @jinpanman

summary: An accidental confession throws your years-long friendship with Hoseok into disarray.

Namjoon

love bytes @stutterfly

summary: It’s been a year since you first met Kim Namjoon, the passionate, talented English professor at the local campus. He’s always been clumsy and aloof, but he’s on a whole new level in terms of “technologically incapable.” One call to IT was all it took to pull you into his life, and with it a whole string of friendships full of flirtatious banter and undying support.

Your dating situation has been drier than the Sahara for years now, and you’ve wasted too many lonely nights drinking alone, so you try your hand at Tinder. But you’re not getting any bites. When the group finds out, they are more than willing to help–even Namjoon, though he finds it increasingly difficult to deny that he’s hopelessly smitten. You consider their opinions on potential Tinder dates while fighting off feelings you never knew were brewing for the caring soul who becomes the home you never had.

out of my league @/ppersona

summary: Kim Namjoon was never supposed to find out about your years-long hopeless crush on him. And he most definitely was not supposed to find out about it in front of all your coworkers in a company-wide meeting.

so this is love @jinpanman

summary: “So this is the miracle that I’ve been dreaming of. So this is love.”

problem solved @sugasbabiie

summary: Namjoon helps you with more than math problems tonight.

love is @hxseok-honee

summary: they say that love is supposed to transcend time and space and that it knows no limits. but putting an ocean and thousands of miles between two people won’t make things any easier, will it? 

Jimin

potent pink @dntaewithluv

summary: The first time you see Park Jimin you’re instantly entranced by him. And it turns out he lives in the apartment next to the one you’re moving into, so even better he’s your hot neighbor. When the previous tenant confesses to you that he was the best hook up she ever had, you’re that much more intrigued. The first time you meet him, however, you’re deciding immediately that you hate him and want to stay as far away from him as possible. Jimin is determined to be a constant in your life though, and he definitely is that. Both a constant flirt and a constant pain in your ass. Is a ruined second impression enough to prevent you from ever giving him a second chance?

Taehyung

hush, yeah? @kithtaehyung

summary: the innocent accident that started it all

unfinished business @/dntaewithluv

summary: Besides wanting to catch up with some old friends, there’s only one reason you found yourself agreeing to attend your 10 year high school reunion. The boy you were in love with back then is going to be there, and you’re determined to finally make your move. Except, unfortunately, it turns out that Kim Seokjin is very much happily married. Kim Taehyung, however, is very much single and feels like he has something to prove to you after you turned him down all those years ago. One night is all it takes to make you realize you made the biggest mistake of your life.

under the covers @jessikahathaway

spy!au

darling @bloomsuga

summary: “go to sleep, darling.”

as endless as the stars ^

summary: he waited 160 years to meet you again, and now that he has, he’s not letting go. or: “i love you as deep as the ocean and as endless as the stars”

dirty dishes @jaysdimples

summary: when your boyfriend can’t seem to keep his hands to himself so he stirs up a little trouble in the kitchen while everyone else is a few feet away in the next room

devotion @/sweetbunnykook

summary: You and Taehyung were inseparable once. When you come back to your hometown after three years, fate pulls you back to him. And this time, Taehyung won’t ever keep his eyes off of you.

Jungkook

commercial break; twelve @1kook

summary: Anyway, if it was up to Jungkook, Kim Doyeon would not be a member of the Engagement Ring Committee.

tease @adonis-koo

summary:You came with the intentions of your best friend landing a job as a stripper. You never meant to catch the eyes of the king stripper of the establishment- Jeon Jungkook, yourself. With what was supposed to be a harmless way of paying off college debt faster you find yourself falling into a very odd and passionate relationship with your new mentor. Between infidelity, passion and jealousy there’s never a dull moment at Cherry Bomb.

jock!jk @angelguk

summary: going raw with jock jk

evolution of a lover’s heart @jeonstudios

summary: the rules are simple: first one to take the virginity wins.

euphoria @btssavedmylifeblr

summary: At the end of your life, you are given one day to live again with the man you loved. A lifetime’s love story told in a single day.

idealizations concerning real life relations @venusiangguk

summary: jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.

relax @itsbuffsanta

summary: jk is antsy after the concert, so you help him relax.

employee of the month @/dntaewithluv

summary: Sometimes it truly amazes you how much of an idiot your boyfriend can be. But you also find it impossible to say no to him. Even when it involves letting him fuck you at his work on the same day that he gets awarded employee of the month…

ego 08 @suga-kookiemonster

summary: what’s a girl to do when her sweet, innocent baby lab partner isn’t quite so sweet and innocent? well, he’s a grown-ass man, and you’re about to learn that the hard way.

only you 10 @sweetbunnykook 

summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.  

lunchbox lovers @jiminrings

stem major!koo x cold senior!y/n

crunchyroll & rail @/1kook

summary: Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket.

only for you @jikookiekosmos

summary: It’s the night before your wedding and you should be happy…but a fight with your fiancé leaves you second guessing everything. A visit from the blue-haired boy of your dreams is just what you need to make it right.

lillies @dewykth

summary: “… white lines, pretty baby, tattoos, don’t know what they mean, they’re special just for you…”

bluekooberry @kimtaehyunq

summary: Your adoring boyfriend, Jungkook, surprises you with a brand new hairstyle before your trip to visit him for the weekend. He’s excited to see you, feed you, and give you exactly what you want.

bad reputation @noteguk

summary: in which you have to deal with some strange emotions for the first time.

not yet @bratkook

summary: jungkook feels the pang of guilt in his gut when you spot your recent ex out with his new girl, and what better way to make the jerk hurt than to have him believe you were now dating him, the neighbor he had been insecure about your whole relationship

incoming: elite chatboy @kookingtae

summary: welcome to Elite Chatroom, a sex chat company with a wide variety of services such as text messaging, phone call, and video chat. you signed up online for the most basic text service plan not knowing what to expect, but you certainly didn’t think you’d end up actually liking the man behind the screen.

ineffable @euphoria-vmin7

summary: your best friend Jeon Jeongguk has always been amazing and deserved the best, so you’ve hid your love for him. But unbeknowsnt to you, there may be feelings that could change everything between you two…

touch @gardentulips

summary: when you tease and please one another

Multiple Members

friendly fire @kpopfanfictrash

summary: The dynamic: Hoseok; your friend and previous fuck buddy. Jungkook; Hoseok’s roommate and subject of your massive crush. The scene: determined not to drunk-gush about your crush any more (to his face), you decide to seclude yourself from all campus parties. Until, of course, Hoseok guilts you into a favor. Things spiral from there.

the boys are back in town @/dntaewithluv

summary: Getting stood up by your date definitely hadn’t been on your agenda for the evening. Also definitely not on your agenda: bumping into Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook. Together. On the same exact night. It’s been a while since you’ve seen your two best friends, as well as lovers on multiple occasions, from your high school and college days. A chance meeting, some drinks, and a trip down memory lane is all it takes to reignite the attraction between the three of you. Old habits die hard, but these two? They just might be the death of you.

ruin you @taegularities

summary: “His eyes hold unfathomable darkness that lures you in, captures your very soul, steals any air you are trying to draw. And you know without a doubt that you’re on the path to utter and irrevocable ruination.”

ruin you (once more) ^

summary: Taehyung and Jungkook can’t keep their hands off you. Not even in the elevator.

Seokjin

kairos @luffles424

summary: When your financial aid falls through for your last year of school, you fear you’ll have to drop out and postpone your degree. Until Taehyung gives you a suggestion to make a lot of money, quick. His idea can’t possibly end well, can it?

appetence @luffles424

summary: appetence (n.) - an eager desire, an instinctive inclination; an attraction or a natural bondIt’s time for Seokjin’s rut. Are either of you prepared for this step?

tiny lights, tiny lies @ggukcangetit

summary: you aren’t sure when exactly your best friend’s brother went from being an oddly annoying set of broad shoulders to the shoulders you frequently fell asleep against.

Yoongi

the little things @kimtaehyunq

summary: When the present isn’t exactly enough for you right now, Yoongi is here for you through it all. He makes sure you know you aren’t alone and that it’s ok to feel alone.

cyberslut @kimnjss

summary:  he has no idea who you are… up front, you’re sweet and innocent - but in reality you’re the exact opposite. running your own nsfw account, where your favorite topic is his hands.

yoongi drabble @joonsgalore

life guard au

Hoseok

benefits @cutechim

summary: you and hoseok have taken the ‘friends’ out of friends with benefits, but exclusivity has its own perks.

Namjoon

namjoon drabble @lovetrivia

summary: You’re a hot girl on Twitch and Namjoon is an absolute simp.

Jimin

baby fever @writtenwhalien

summary: Jimin wants another baby, and much to your delight, he’s determined to give you one.

jimin drabble @/1kook

best friend au

small hands jimin drabble @lavishedinjimin

established relationship au

silk and lace @sunshyngal

summary: Min Nara is the newly dumped fiance to the Crown prince of Korea, Park Jimin. She’s not overtly upset , because at least now she can live her life without the pressure of the monarchy hanging over her head. Besides , Nara has a very dirty little secret. While she spends the day as the perfect high society girl with an impeccable pedigree , her nights are filled with lacy lingerie and webcams.  Ignored by the man she’s meant to marry, she revels in the greedy lust of strangers on the internet. It’s her way of saying ‘fuck you’ to a system that sees her as nothing but a toy, molded for the future King. Park Jimin doesn’t know the first thing about his supposed fiancee. And he has no intention of learning either. He knows just what debutante girls are like and he has no patience for the kind. Besides, his girlfriend of three years, the elegant and independent Irene is everything he would ever want in a wife . Or is she?Because in the secrecy of his office , after the day’s work is done , Park Jimin has a very scintillating vice that he likes to indulge in : the beautiful camgirl who calls herself the Temptress. Jimin can’t get enough of the girl’s lush thighs wrapped in silk, the pretty pink of her nipples in see through bralettes and the glittering temptation of the jeweled plugs she likes to stuff herself full with.Jimin thinks she embodies  everything he can never allow himself to have as a Prince : filth, sin and decadence , all wrapped up in Silk and Lace.

Taehyung

nip it in the bud @opaljm

summary: You’re not sure how you ended up here, but maybe a shitty ex and a horrible breakup had a hand in what placed you in front of the tattoo parlor. It was already a nerve-wracking experience, but what you never expected was seeing that the owner and artist giving you nipple piercings was your older brother’s best friend you hadn’t seen in ages. to make things even worse, he got fucking hotter.

taehyung drabble @joonsgalore

sugar daddy au

peanut @jungxk

summary: the making of peanut.

Jungkook

pretty kitty @venusiangguk

summary: you’re jk’s baby, his toy, and now his pretty little pet.

heavy metal @hisunshiine

summary: You come home from a trip to find your fuckbuddy has a… hole-y surprise.

devour @bloomsuga

summary: my sweet angel… i am going to devour you

grain of sand @jungkookiebus

summary: Blind since the age of 18 from a genetic disorder, Jungkook walked through life as if he never lost it, but on one fateful day seven years ago he literally almost runs into you. He fell in love nearly immediately. Fast forward to the present and it’s just another day in your quiet life with him by your side.

under the oak tree @mingoyeob

summary: as the eldest daughter of a duke, it’s your duty to marry at your father’s will. yet you didn’t expect to be marrying jeon jungkook, a knight of low status, especially when he departs for an expedition without another word after your first night. when he comes back three years later, this time as a renowned hero, how will you be able to face him and how will things change between you and your new husband?

jungkook drabble @1kook

dilf!jk

commercial break: thirteen ^

summary: Because for as much shit as you let him get away with, Jungkook is certain you’ll draw the line today.

sh. @wwilloww

summary: How could you say no to a month away in the mountains with your friends after six months of grueling quarantine?

jungkook drabble @lavishedinjimin

daddy!jk

OT7/Multiple Members

the end @jimlingss

summary: It’s been a habit of yours to vent in the form of love letters. There’s six in total. They’re kept secret, hidden in your closet. But on your 30th birthday, what you least expect is for each letter to become reality. All done by the whacky ghost of Christmas future trying to grant your birthday wish.

[hotchseyebrows]

good for her

a gotchgan and temily fic

the first @qvid-pro-qvo and @hotchseyebrows collab

a/n: my dearest darling qvo and i have a penchant for saying "yes, and" until the cows come home and well. here we are. also somehow this is the very first gotchgan fic on ao3 to my knowledge? it sure is exhausting being trailblazers but alas! the sacred duty falls to us

rating: explicit! very explicit- penelope likes her details, what can i say. minors dni, thank you kindly (threesome, teasing, cunnilingus, blow jobs, p in v sex, multiple orgasms, creampie)

read it here on ao3!

The ongoings and intricacies of the Garcia-Morgan-Hotchner household, told from Penelope Garcia herself to a very curious pair of BAU agents. Girls' night will never be the same again.

(In other words, Penelope gets absolutely spoiled by her two partners, and Tara and Emily get every single detail.)

word count: 4287

The energy is a low thrum in the crowd’s chest, most of them gathered near the edges and along the counter space. There’s too many points of focus - the final call for a bachelorette party about to make their way to another venue, the steady thumps of glasses being placed back on the wood countertops, people filtering in and out of bathrooms with too few stalls - but Emily can’t take her eyes off of the couple in the center. 

Derek and Penelope. Morgan and Garcia. On the dance floor, her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands on her hips as they rest their foreheads together and sway back and forth. Nothing else seems to matter to them when they’re together, except them. Him and her, their focus on each other just like Emily’s is. 

The songs are slow, but the rhythm beneath them is what is felt in Emily’s chest, as she hears the bartender announce her and Tara’s next choice for drink. She looks up, settles the tab, and then pulls away to walk back along the side of the place. The lights are low but perfect to give Tara another once over (tenth of the night, if she’s giving a conservative estimate). Looking up at her girlfriend’s smile and slowly working her way down her body. 

She’s not subtle, that’s for sure. 

“Looking for something?” Tara asks. Her voice has a little laugh in it, their own inside joke.  

Emily slides the drink into Tara’s hand. She sidles up to her partner, brushing a hand along her lower back. “Somehow I am still surprised that heels make you this tall.”

Tara laughs before taking a sip of her drink and leaving a grateful kiss on Emily’s temple. “6’3” easy, baby.” She sits down on her stool and grabs Emily’s hand with a smile. “Not that it’s not exhausting being this beautiful. That’s why I have you to fetch the drinks.” Emily laughs too, leaning in to kiss Tara.

After a moment, Emily pulls back and looks around. She wraps an arm around Tara’s waist. “Look at the lovebirds?” Tara laughs into her drink, looking towards the dance floor. Well, what’s left of the dance floor. It’s late, and the place isn’t known for its vibrant dance experience anyway, so the dance floor currently consists of a DJ playing slow jams (on request) and Derek and Penelope lost in their own world.

It almost feels like an invasion of privacy watching them dance now, Pen’s lips near Derek’s ear, the way he’s smiling gently yet with some hidden meaning surely behind it Emily’s too far out of the loop to ascertain. She can take a guess, though, as the two of them laugh and somehow get even closer - a miracle, truly. Penelope nudges their noses together before pulling him into a kiss. It makes Emily smile to see it.

That’s when Hotch arrives. 

“Emily,” he says, voice warm, if not a little worn for the late hour, “and Tara. Good to see you.” 

“You, too, Hotch,” Tara says, lifting her drink to him. 

After he and Derek retired, Emily was uncertain how they’d keep up with each other. It was Penelope who was that connection once they left, keeping the rest of the team up to date, with... well, both of them. It didn’t take long for Emily to deduce that it was more than one former agent who she was going home to, especially when girls’ nights ended with one or the other getting her home.

Nevertheless, even after five years for Hotch and a meager two for Derek, it’s still a shock to see him out of a suit and tie, though the polo isn’t too far of a cry from professional. 

They make some kind of small talk as Emily and Tara work on their drinks, finishing them while the song finishes as well. Aaron fills them in on the judicial consulting he does, and Emily can’t help but spill a couple of case details while the two on the floor start to drift back towards the table. Tara nudges Emily's side with a knowing smile, drawing her attention to the way Derek is spinning Penelope around with one hand and making her giggle as they maneuver closer.

That’s when Penelope turns her head just a little, sees Hotch, and lights up, making a beeline towards him, arms throwing around his neck and giving him a firm kiss on the cheek. 

“Aar-Bear!” she yells, and the music isn’t loud enough to drain out the endearment completely. Derek isn’t far behind her, hand on her lower back, rubbing along a seam of the dress she’s wearing. 

“Hey, Hotch,” Derek says, and his eyes are shining just as bright as Pen’s, even if his touch is restrained just to her. “Missed you.” 

His voice is still warm, however, and his eyes are soft. Emily dips her gaze briefly for her drink, sure to lift her eyes again to see the way he hugs her. “Hey, Pen, Derek. You ready to go?” 

It seems to crush her - her eyes go wide and sorrowful, and even as Derek wraps around her from behind she can’t hide her pout. “We have to leave? But, my darlings -” 

“We’ll see you soon, Penny,” Emily promises, Tara nodding next to her, arm wrapping around her waist. A united front against the force that is Penelope Garcia. “We’ll have another girls’ night, get you good and proper wasted.” 

Penelope lets out a dreamy sigh. “There’s that London in you - okay, okay, okay, I guess I am being… swept away by one of my knights in shining armor.” Her hands lift in a show of surrender, and Derek smiles at Hotch as he passes him towards the exit of the bar. Emily doesn’t miss the squeeze of their hands in the passing, or the way that Hotch lingers back to watch Derek and Penelope stumble forward through the entrance and out into the parking lot where his car is. Derek can only manage a wave as Penelope leans on him, and quickly ensures her safety into the front seat before getting into the back himself. 

“Thanks for looking after them,” Hotch says, turning back to Emily and Tara with a smile that they would have never seen on a case. “I owe you both.” 

“You don’t, but if you’re offering to pay for our Uber…” 

There’s a little laugh shared among the three of them, and Hotch opens his mouth to answer. Unfortunately, confirmation is lost as Penelope sticks her head out of the window without a thought in the world, blonde curls falling in front of her face as she yells out to Aaron. “Aaron Hotchner, my sweet love, if you don’t get in this car and take me home to rail me right now, I will scream.” 

Tara and Emily can’t help the way they stop, heads whipping around to look at Penelope. Her smile is bright, and they have just enough time to look back at their old unit chief. Aaron has gone a bright, deep red, and Penelope has not budged from her position out of the window of their SUV. 

“Well?” the FBI analyst calls out again, and Emily has to keep her hand over her mouth to hide the way she’s about to break at the look on Aaron’s face. 

“S-Sorry, I’ll - I’ll see you both,” he manages, starting to move towards the car he has to now drive. 

“Wonder what that looks like at the… Garcia-Morgan-Hotchner home,” Emily whispers to Tara, hand still over her mouth.

Tara does laugh, though - Hotch looks like he’s struggling to maintain any semblance of composure as he makes his way to the car, and she can see Derek’s face on Penelope’s neck as she waves wildly at them when the vehicle drives off. “It is… intriguing,” she admits, and Emily can’t hold in her laugh any longer as the two of them find their own way home. 

-

It lingers. Penelope’s words, Hotch’s face, Derek’s laugh sounding off from the backseat. It sticks with Tara and Emily on the way home, and Emily is the one who eventually breaks. 

It’s an innocuous enough text. The response, however, required a bit more context. 

-

Emily: so did he rail you?

Pen: 🥴😵‍💫🥳🤩☄️🍑🍆🍌🍽

Emily: …… not the dinner plate.

Pen: what!!! he had to clean up the mess somehow ;)

Pen: do you want… details? because i can give you details…

-

Tara and Emily have to pause. Take a moment, look at each other, trying to decide if details are what they want at this moment. On the one hand, that would be more information than they ever thought they would get about two of their closest friends (they know far too much about Penelope for much to be a surprise - they think.) but on the other, it’s been incredibly… intriguing, this glimpse into the Garcia-Morgan-Hotchner household. They weigh the options, and curiosity wins out in the end.

They do in fact want all the details. 

Go for it, Pen, Tara responds, and they are not nearly prepared enough for the deluge of texts they get next. 

-

Pen: at every red light i was grabbing his thigh and ghosting my hand along his, you know, and turning back to grin at derek who was just watching me tease aar

and derek wouldn’t be left behind and so he was leaning forward and kissing aaron on the ear and the neck and me, and by the time we’re about to turn in and we park he’s kissing me before we even get into the house, as SOON as we’re in the driveway

aar just gets so pretty when he's flustered!!! can you blame us for wanting to rile him up?? plus. hes SUCH a good kisser, my goodness

Pretty. That word sticks out to Emily, but before she can linger on it too long, Tara is jabbing her with her elbow. There’s no time for wondering, because Penelope is typing with experienced fingers and the two of them are enraptured. 

Pen: his cheeks just get so pink and flushed and he stammers when he’s all nervous but he’s still aaron, you know? so he’s all bossy and telling me to get inside and derek is laughing and pushing him forward and everything

and he's so HANDSY, like i dont think anyone would be surprised that derek cant keep his hands off either of us, but aaron... he's so. yea

-

Already they’ve learned so much about their former boss. It’s enough to make Emily’s eyes widen just a little bit, leaning back from the screen to think. It hasn’t gotten too explicit yet, but at the speed Penelope is going it’s only a matter of time. 

“She’s still going,” Tara warns her, her own eyes wide. She moves to set her phone back on the table, but Emily’s hand reaches out to stop her, lifting it back up to eye level. “We could stop, now. Delete from here.” 

Emily takes a breath. But she knows what she wants. “We asked for this,” she reminds her, and the two of them dive back in. “And… we have to know.” 

With Tara’s nod, they keep going. 

(The string of texts they get afterward are forever cemented into Tara and Emily’s memories. Not only that, but the both of them are eternally grateful that any consulting work Hotch or Morgan do is resigned to phone calls and emails, as they are uncertain they’ll ever be able to look either of them in the eye again.)

-

he keeps stopping me on the way to the bedroom to press me against the wall and slip his tongue in my mouth or to press me in between him and derek and trace his tongue down between my cleavage, so im already all worked up before we even get close to our room

and honestly. thank the universe that jack has been at a friend's this weekend because oh boy!! i have no desire to scar my beloved jack attack with his fathers'.... Behavior

ANYWAY and he doesn’t hesitate to pull my dress down, which, a) MEN, there’s a zipper, just tug a little, and b) SO hot when he just has to get right there as quick as possible, mouth on boob as soon as possible. not to mention derek is lifting my skirt and working on my tights, which, thank god, it was time to take those bad boys off after all day at a desk

so now derek is palming my ass and biting at my neck and aaron can't decide which nipple to suck on, so he's switching between them and groaning against my skin, and im just already so drenched

and then before i can blink, aaron, AARON, the only one without a singular drink tonight, looks up at me, and is on his knees. just drops. and i look down and he is under my skirt and before i can breathe his tongue is on my clit and he’s eating me out like he is dying of thirst ladies

and derek has to hold me up because we arent even in the bed and my knees buckle because oh my GOD he's not holding back at ALL, tongue flicking at my clit and then slipping inside of me and groaning against me again, and derek gives my tits some attention with a free hand as he murmurs in my ear and nibbles at my earlobe

and at that point im jello, im shaky, barely standing, i’ve got two gorgeous men determined to make me come, then then aaron is pulling one of my legs up over his shoulder, and he seems to remember, in that moment, my direct request and he works up to using three fingers to fuck me, stretch me open until im coming all over his against derek and unable to think let alone speak and say something coherent. but are we done? NO - not railed, ladies

and im just slumped on them both- which in reflection is such a marker of our love and how safe i feel with them because i was not supporting my own weight at all, and it didn't even occur to me- and aaron is kissing my thighs and smirking while derek nuzzles my cheek for a few moments before im unabashedly whining for more

and when aaron smirks, when he SMIRKS, you know he is not done. and derek does not hesitate, he is sucking marks into my neck and he is asking if im a good girl and deserve more (yes) before he and aaron almost fully lift me to get me to bed. i am now in bed. i have two gorgeous men standing over me, one of them with me all over his face and then i realize. im basically undressed and they have not BUDGED.

and that simply will NOT do, because i want to see my loves in all of their glory (i mean time and place- sometimes it really makes all three of us go crazy if they are fully clothed while im totally naked), but there's nothing i wont get if i break out the 🥺 look especially with my tits out and my legs spread open just right

so i break out the look, im 🥺🥺🥺 with the best of them, and derek and aaron look down at me and they’re so soft and gentle, all ‘what’s wrong, baby girl?’ and ‘what d’you need, pen?’ and it’s like, i need my boys, that’s what i need, and when i say glory i mean glory, i mean that you haven’t seen GOD until you’ve seen derek morgan and aaron hotchner strip off their clothes for you, all so they can make you come a Second time

and i dont even ask for it, but derek tugs hotch in for a kiss before either of them push off their boxers and that makes my heart melt cause any reminder i have won the cosmic lottery in terms of triadic love will do that to a person (and also my puss THROB cause they are just playing up the tongue so much and im so sure aaron still tastes like me, you know? so ridiculously outrageously hot) and then finally i watch them both slowly reveal themselves to me, which like is nothing new but still makes me feel crazy because jesus!!!!!! i can't even begin to explain how big they are

and so in my field of view are two perfect huge dicks, two perfect awesome men, and me on the bed whining for both of them!!! and i must get some full words out because derek is chuckling and kissing me and saying how i requested someone in particular first, and then aaron is lifting my leg and pushing his fingers back in me and then derek is asking if he can fuck my mouth which do i even have to say yes??? (obviously i do, good communication always, but it comes out as yesyesyesyesyes because OBVIOUSLY DEREK 🙄)

so then the both of them help me get on my hands and knees so my beautiful baby can curl his fingers against my gspot all slow and doing these tiny kitten licks against my clit while using his free (big, huge, STRONG) hand to grab at my hip so tight i still have the marks, while derek kisses me a few more times before maneuvering himself to get his gorgeous and divine cock brushing against my lips, but not fucking into my mouth even when i whine and stick out my tongue

i am trembling at this point, okay? i am on the brink — AGAIN — and i know he’s holding back for a reason because i have a great mouth and im VERY good at using it. but then i realize he’s looking up at aaron, too, GRINNING, says “ready, baby?” and before i can think he’s got his hand on my jaw and he’s telling me to open up, and then i feel aaron start to push into me as derek is feeding me his cock and im - im gone, im in heaven, im levitating okay, because i am stuffed full of cock at both ends and im in my happy place

cause ladies, i really dont think i can properly express just how fucking HUGE these two are, like my brain turns to mush with just one of them inside of me but both of them like that? oh my god, my brain was leaking out of my ears barely able to stay up on all fours- and they don't even move at first just this slow slow push in as deep as they can on that first thrust and then just waiting while i twitch and tremble in between

and don’t even talk to me about the sounds they’re making — derek goes all tight and tensed and “yea baby girl” so earnestly but aaron goes all slack-jawed and noises that don’t sound like anything other than him, and then when i look up, tears in my eyes from, well, these inches of cock im taking, derek, sweet incredible huge derek, asks me if im ready for more, and when i blink up, nodding, and he can tell im not tapping out that’s when they both FINALLY start moving

and they are so well practiced at moving in rhythm together, at first they are both thrusting in and out at the same pace, making me so full and then so empty all at once, and then slowly they start working towards a rhythm where im never empty which is precisely what i need and aaron is groaning and telling derek that im dripping and leaking all over his cock and derek thumbs at my cheek and tells me im "such a good girl, taking two big cocks and loving it, needing more" and aar is gripping at my thighs so perfectly

i know there’s gonna be marks there, later, and that when we’re all done he’s gonna kiss them all sweet and gentle and make sure im okay, but right now all i can think is nothing but oh my god and yes and more. and then i hear aaron say, “i know she wants more, she wants our cum, derek” and that’s it, he’s so smart, hits the nail on the head, and he can tell because im clenching around his cock and desperately swallowing around derek’s, and there’s no time for patience because he said it and that’s what i NEED in that moment, i need them to come inside me and on me and all of it

and they both GROAN and then aaron chuckles because i just proved him so right and he starts thrusting harder and faster. derek does too a little but he also worries about hurting my throat by being reckless, and it makes my head spin to feel how he loves me like that, but then my brain is mush again because aar is rubbing my clit and bemusedly wondering how much more im gonna come before they fill me up properly

and i know he wants me to come again but i want him to come inside of me and make it messy, and so what happens is im moaning around derek’s cock, who’s groaning and trying not to fuck my face too hard but he watching me and aaron who’s fucking into me and who now has both my legs spread so wide im just on full display, and each time he fucks into me im moaning again, and it’s just a cycle and they’re heaping on praise and before i can think im coming again around aaron because he has not let up on my clit, and then he’s pushing a finger inside along side his cock too and i don’t know how he hasn’t come yet but i know he’s close, and i know derek’s close, and i know they want a third orgasm out of me because they’re incredible and insane

and tears are on my cheeks and drool all over my chin at this point because it's just so much incredible and wonderful sensation and im so stretched around aaron anyway, but then he slips that finger in? god. it reminds me of the few times we've had the time and energy to, well have them both inside of me like that and im just trembling and whimpering around derek's cock and i thank my lucky stars i don’t have a cold so that derek doesn't have to take his cock out of my mouth at all at this, just fucking my throat and watching me get a little lightheaded from only breathing through my nose and how good im being fucked

and when derek starts biting his lip i know he’s close, and i know i am too, and then i feel the way aaron grabs at my thigh and shifts forward and then he’s fucking into me, and can twist that finger, and can hit my gspot until im seeing stars, and god bless his stamina but i finally feel his rhythm falter and for one blissful moment derek pulls out completely, and aaron is out of me too, and i just know what’s coming as i can take a full breath before i feel der fuck into my mouth, and then he’s coming, babes, he’s coming and i get to swallow it all, and aaron gets to watch the way i whine with it and he loses himself and then HE’S coming from being inside me and watching some of derek’s cum drip from my lips, and as he fucks his cum into that’s when the third orgasm hits and im just — im gone. i am GONE, ladies. i can’t believe im alive. standing. able to speak.

-

Tara’s eyes go wide. She hasn’t been able to breathe, let alone think for about twenty minutes. She turns to look at Emily, who, while getting these texts herself, has trouble breathing or thinking as she watches Tara type out some kind of response.

Her fingers start. Stop. Start again. Emily feels her pain, isn’t sure she’d even be able to respond after all of that. Her collar feels tight. “Good god, Pen.” 

When Tara sends it, Emily’s phone alerts her of the notification. She lifts it up to glance at it.

Tara: “holy… shit….” 

Pen: "but anyway :) i am so sore today in the best way and have used that leverage to be utterly pampered all day long :) i love my boys so much"

“I’ll say,” Tara laughs, and it’s a little hysterical, leaning back on the couch next to Emily, pushing fingers against her temple as she reaches for the wine in front of her. 

There’s silence in their house, save for Sergio’s lone meow as he bats at one of his toys in the other room. A needle could drop and it’d deafen the both of them, especially as Emily moves to lean against Tara and sigh. 

“She seems… happy,” she eventually settles with, hand moving down to gently rest on Tara’s thigh. "And she definitely knows how to tell a story, my lord."

“One word for it,” Tara concurs, taking a sip of her red. “Good for her.” 

And with one last glance to her phone, Emily lifts it, locks it, and reaches forward to set it down on the coffee table. “Good for her,” she repeats, with a solemn and a careful lift of her own glass. 

And when she raises it, Tara doesn’t hesitate, the gentle clink bringing Sergio running to curl up in a lap of his choosing.

[baepsaetan]

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Jungkook

Summary: You miss him so much, but it seems like getting to spend time with Jungkook is going to take a Christmas miracle.

Ao3 Link: here 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, side Namgi

Length: 17.6k

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Warnings: Suspicions of cheating, misunderstandings, panic attack, suggestive content, swearing

A/N: Oooof I am finally done my Secret Santa fic for @thebtswritersclub​ and only - *checks calendar* - too late. So sorry this is so late @jjeongukkie​! It got so much longer than I had planned, and while I had a lot of fun writing it, I did not plan it quite well enough to finish in a timely fashion. Still, I hope you’re able to enjoy a last blast of Christmas vibes and fluff and angst as you slide into 2021! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you have an awesome new year! 

I always appreciate all likes, reblogs and comments! If you enjoy reading this, send me an ask! Happy belated New Year to everyone! 

---

“You’re not coming home now?”

Even as you say it, you’re vaguely surprised you manage to get the words out. Your lips are numb with shock and disappointment, and Jungkook’s wince on the screen of your phone just makes the feeling even more jarring. More painful.

“I’m sorry,” he says, half pleading and half desperate. “It’s just, this project is so important, and we need to have it ready for rollout…”

Throat tight, the fingers of your free hand pushing into your thigh, you adjust the phone with your other before saying thickly, “You said it would be a few hours in the morning, Jungkook. It’s – it’s Christmas."

"I know, I know, I just..."

He’s still speaking, quick and anxious words about necessity and pressure, and while you’re listening, you’re thinking about the cute lingerie sitting next to you on the bed. You'd been planning a little gift for him when he got home, and when he'd surprised you with a Facetime request, you'd pulled them out of the drawer, thinking it might be a fun little tease to give him a flash of the red and black set. Now, though...

"Hey, Y/N, I'm sorry. Really." Biting at his lip, Jungkook somehow manages to look a bit pitiful, even with the dress shirt he's wearing, ironed to sharp definition. The collar of the black shirt is open, sans a tie – he’d mentioned this morning no one cared about perfect business attire while working over Christmas – and the bare curve of his collarbone just adds to the disjointed clash of his clean outfit compared to his dejected expression.

The look has your throat closing even more, and you try to force a smile. You're well aware of how stressful the new position has been for your long time boyfriend, seen the casualties of the job; late night arrivals at the apartment, distracted eyes while making and eating dinner, forehead creased with frustration every time his phone vibrates, fatigue that throws him into sleep before you and he have really even had any time to talk together. He's also been hitting the gym almost religiously lately, another outlet for stress, and while you love Jungkook's enthusiasm for staying active, two sessions a day, every day, is excessive for him. It also eats into what little opportunity is left for you two to spend time with each other.

But he's doing his best. You know that. You're sure of it. And he promised it would get better, soon.

Soon. So, you swallow the disappointment, and the thing that’s more dangerous, simmering below it and too perilously close to anger. You hitch on a smile, and hope it doesn't look quite as forced as it feels. "I get it, Kookie. I'm just sorry you have to work for so long. Will you be back in time for dinner?"

He hesitates, teeth still sawing into his lower lip as he jiggles his head indecisively and the camera frame shifts a bit. "I'm not sure but – probably?" Your expression must sink just as much as your stomach does, despite your best efforts, because Jungkook immediately grimaces, his hands making desperate little waves of abortive denial. "I mean, I will. For sure. I'll be home, okay?"

When he flashes a thumbs up, deliberately and extravagantly enthusiastic, you can't help but smile, just a tentative lift of your lips. "Just – I love you, Kookie. I hope we get to spend some of Christmas together."

"We will! Promise." Both hands are up now, clenched into eager fists under his chin, and he really couldn't look more earnest if he tried.

The smile comes a bit easier now, and you nod, feeling some of that enthusiasm reaching through the screen. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, you try to redirect the conversation, too painfully aware that sulking isn't going to help at all. "Have you eaten lunch yet? Don't miss it just for your stupid boss!"

His grin is a small, toothy thing. "Nah, I haven't. I –"

"Jungkook!"

"I was saving room for when I got home!"

"Hah! You think there's going to be food on the table for you?" This bickering is so much easier than anything else that you might say, and you fall into it with something like relief.

His eyebrows fall, nose scrunching dramatically. "On the table? Y/N, that's so unsanitary."

"So unsanitary...?"

At your puzzled look, the grossed out expression whirls away, replaced with a smirk that's so abruptly suggestive that you find your breath catching. The way his voice drops, becoming a low hum, just concentrates the effect. "I was saving room for you, of course. But I'm not gonna eat you out on the table, baby."

You huff in scornful incredulity, but it can't take back the fact that you almost choked a second ago. It also doesn't really hide the way your cheeks have heated up into a patchy red, and besides, Jungkook knows you too well. If anything, his smirk just gets even sharper, and he adds playfully, "Unless you have it on your wish list. Then I might consider it."

Fucking around with Jungkook on any surface is absolutely on your wish list, but you're too proud and currently too annoyed to tell him that. "With my luck, it would break trying to hold up your inflated ego."

"My inflated muscles, you mean," he says, and flexes. Which is just so obnoxious, and also the long sleeve hides his arms too well to be truly impressive.

"Do that again when you get home," you order imperiously, and immediately he bows his head.

"You got it, boss," he agrees, and it's that easy, sudden switch, that flexibility, that's at least part of the reason you love him so much. Jungkook is what you need him to be; he's always been comfortable with that role, and your flighty ass needs him in so many different ways. He's never failed you in that respect. Well – not much. You need him with you right now, after all.

Want, you remind yourself sternly. You want him, that's all.

Abruptly he stiffens, turns slightly. You hear someone speaking off camera, high and strained, and Jungkook replies in a confident voice, talking about something you don't have enough information on to fully understand. They have a short conversation before Jungkook says, "I'll be over in a moment, okay?"

Then he's turning back to you, the by now familiar crease back between his eyes. "I've got to go now, Y/N. I'll get out of here as quickly as I can, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, Kookie. And try to eat something."

He nods, curter now, already turning away from the camera. "See you soon."

And you're left with a call ended screen and no reciprocal "love you". The flicker of warmth that had been blooming in your stomach wilts until there's nothing but a cold tightness left. For a few minutes you scroll aimlessly through your apps and messages, fingers restless for something the phone can't give. There are too many Merry Christmas posts, too many pics of friends and family having a good time together with gifts and food, and it grows the hurt in your gut. You and Jungkook had decided not to travel to any of your families' gatherings, to save some money this year after a big and expensive move, but that had been with the assumption that you would be able to take comfort in each other. Now...

Before too long, you give up, toss the phone aside. It lands next to the lingerie, and for the time being you leave them both alone, suddenly anxious to get away from the remote device and the painful reminder both. Your apartment isn't large, and it only takes you a few steps to leave the bedroom and head to the kitchen. You spend several moments milling around there, but you've already prepped everything for dinner tonight; the only thing left to do is the dishes from this morning's simple breakfast, eaten long after Jungkook had already bolted his and left. You clean them with desultory effort, trying not to remember that you and your boyfriend had planned to make something fancy together. The restless feeling doesn't leave with the dishes done, and you check, doublecheck and triplecheck everything before you're even halfway to feeling like this part of the apartment might not need anything else.

The living room, attached to the kitchen, has been decorated with reckless abandon. You've got at least an ounce of beauty aesthetic in your bones, and so does Jungkook, but for some reason when put together it equals a pound of ugly. The tinsel – red, gold, silver, and green – is flung about the room over pretty much any surface that will support it, along with red and green lights. The Christmas decorations are a hideous mash up of whatever you and Kookie have scrounged together from your families or garage sales or cheap outlet malls, plus a few modest clay additions of your own making. Several of the larger succulents and other plants are bowed morosely under the weight of ambitious ornaments, and the cactus on the windowsill looks positively garish with a star perched jauntily on its crown.

And you love it all so much.

Remembering the absolutely wild hour or so that you and Jungkook spent together decorating the apartment – such a rare and precious moment, since you moved here – makes your eyes start prickling with unbidden tears. Jungkook's staggering workload hadn't been so bad, while you were working; acting as a long distance design consultant for a large collection of homegrown companies tended to keep you busy, and you hadn't noticed his absence in a way that demanded you address it. Now, though, with Christmas an enforced break, since none of your suppliers or other contacts will reply to emails, your loneliness curls itself up in your chest, all barbs and agitation. You’re beginning to suspect that maybe the long absences have hurt you more than you thought.

One of your projects is on the coffee table, the spread of files and print outs of possible designs covering the worn surface. You've always preferred working with physical copies for the initial stages, moving to a tablet for more detailed work. You fling yourself onto the couch, telling yourself you might as well do something productive and hoping it might provide a distraction. That lasts for about half an hour, but it's a constant fight to keep your thoughts on the papers in front of you. The unhappiness is curdling your concentration, and more and more you're aware of a simmering resentment, sharp and insistent under your sadness.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. There'd been so little conflict about moving when Jungkook got the job offer. You were already working remotely, and while the pay increase at Jungkook's new company wasn't that much, it was the promise of what could come that made it nearly impossible to turn down. Saying goodbye to your family hadn't been an issue; you were already living in a different city than them, settled there after university. It had been harder for your boyfriend, but not impossible, and despite both of you leaving friends behind, you'd left with excitement. Hope. The future opening up before you two, together.

With a sigh, you shove the papers away. Leave the living room and take shelter on your bed. Send and reply to some Christmas messages. Make a face at the snap Jin sends you, a little blurry, his flushed cheeks matching the red reindeer antler headband he's wearing. He's holding the gifts you sent several weeks ago, an adorable pair of windup salt and pepper shakers shaped like teddy bears that can walk across the table, along with a few duck-shaped strainers. The caption makes you snort. I'm bearly making it without you, sis. I'm like a duck out of water. The next snap is clearer, of him and his two roommates, Jimin and Hoseok, all making heart signs. Thanks for the gifts! Hope you have a Merry Christmas!

He's in the same city as your parents, and you know he spent yesterday with them. Looks like he's having a great time with his roommates, too. Before the affection can sour, you save the photo and put your phone down again.

Kitchen, living room, bedroom. A discontented circuit you don't know how to break yourself out of. It feels so dumb to be making yourself even more miserable like this. You should phone one of the few friends who aren't with their families, or maybe your parents – hell, you could even phone Jin, he and his roommates would be sure to talk with you for an hour or two. But the thought of admitting you're alone, Jungkook having chosen work over spending the holiday with you, has your shame rising to scalding levels. The mere prospect of hearing and seeing everyone happy while you’re alone is another hurt, one that makes you curl up more tightly on the bed, clutching his pillow to your chest like it could fill up the hollowness settled in your lungs. Just like all of the sheets, it has his scent, light and flowery and soft, and it inspires an aching, cloying feeling that isn't really close enough to comfort, but you hold it tighter anyways.

The day drags on like that, swamps of self-pity drained by bursts of frantic activity. You clean up a bit more, work on a project, watch some TV. And then the rush of drowning loneliness fills up your lungs again and you're reduced to more aimless pining.

By three, with no texts from Jungkook and the need to start cooking soon looming large on the horizon, you send him a message. Hey. Gonna be home soon?

About half an hour later, you add a ? that still gets no immediate reply, and agitated tension has you wondering if you should call him. But what if you interrupt something? Get him in trouble? Worrying the thoughts ragged in your head, you resolve to give it just a little more time. Hell, for all you know, maybe he’s on his way home now.

At around four, your phone starts vibrating. Not a Facetime request, this time, but the name that pops up is welcome all the same. You answer almost breathlessly. "Hey Kookie!"

"Hey Y/N."

Right away you know this isn't the kind of phone call you were hoping for. Jungkook's voice is gravelly and tired, more like a bruise than a sound. Your shoulders slump, and you can't find it in yourself to say anything.

Your boyfriend tentatively breaks the silence a moment later. "Y/N, I'm sorry. Things are spilling over and I'm not going to be able to leave for awhile longer."

"..."

"Y/N? Are you -"

"How much longer?"

You can practically hear the wince. "I'm not sure yet."

"Jungkook..." But once again, the words catch in your throat, trapped by just how ungrateful and immature you feel.

"Look, Y/N, I was thinking. Maybe, if I come home too late, we can move dinner to tomorrow? I'm definitely going to be home all day, so we can have a nice breakfast and dinner and maybe open our presents and..." There's nothing in the quiet between you two. Certainly not your agreement. "I know I messed up and that this isn't fair to you, Y/N, and I'm sorry. Maybe – couldn't we just... reset? Start Christmas for real tomorrow?"

"Reset?" you repeat. "Like – what, like one of your video games?" The swampy depression is bubbling now, surging with the outrage that's been building all day.

"No, that's not -"

"We can't just reset, Jungkook. This isn't a level you get to just do over!"

"I know that, that isn't what I meant, you're -"

"I've been waiting here all day, Jungkook! By myself! Just waiting here for you! Do you get how bad that makes me feel?"

Jungkook sounds choked when he replies, though it's hard to tell if it's from guilt or anger. "I know I've made you wait, and I'm sorry. But the project -"

"I don't care about the fucking project! You should have told them to fuck off when they asked you to work!" You're full on shouting now, eyes stinging with tears, the sound tearing from your throat. "This has been the worst Christmas I've ever had, and you just want me to forget about it?"

His voice doesn't get louder. If anything, it gets quieter, smaller, coiling in on itself into a tight mass. "Do you think I'm having a good time? I've been working since 8:00 on Christmas day! It's not like I asked to come in, and they barely gave me a choice! I'm the junior here, do you think they would have been okay with me shrugging today off?"

"Today? Today?" Your laugh sounds too cruel, even to your own ears. "It hasn't just been today, Jungkook! This is just – more of the same! More ditching me – ditching us – for work. For some stupid reason I thought that you might consider Christmas an important enough day to knock it off for just one fucking second. But I guess not."

"I'm doing this for us! For – I told you how much work it was going to be! I thought you'd be okay with it!"

"And I thought there might be a tiny little exception made for Christmas. I guess we were both wrong!" you spit furiously.

There's a pause, heavy with the sound of both of your staggered breathing. You're too angry to regret what you've said – or at least, to acknowledge how much you regret it – and the bewildered hurt is travelling straight to your head, leaving you dazed and disconnected. Could Jungkook really have thought you were okay with what's been happening? Okay with being left alone for what feels like months now? How can you be listening to his tense exhales and still not understand the person on the other end of this call?

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Too polite, too gentle by far. Where the hell did he get off sounding like that? You know that's Jungkook – that he's far more likely to shutdown during an argument, to close off – but it leaves you clashing against air. No opposing force to clamp down on your own anger.

Heaving in a sharp exhale, shaking your head even though he can't see it, you say, "Do what you want, Jungkook. I'm not making the dinner if you're not leaving right now."

"Y/N..."

"Merry Christmas." You hang up.

It feels horrible. The phone is a dead weight in your hand, the anger an even heavier weight in your heart. You make a fractured noise, a frustrated scream that quickly trails into a barely checked sob. If you felt bad before talking to Jungkook, it's nothing compared to the mix of self-recriminations and resentment assaulting you now. He was just - why did he have to - why couldn't he -

Why did I have to say that to him?

You know Jungkook. How hard working he is, how dedicated, how keenly he wants to do well in front of and for others. He isn't working late because he doesn't want to see you; you're sure of that. It's just an inability to say no to his superiors. And... and you really haven't told him how unhappy you are with how often he's away.

But still. Couldn't he figure it out? Did you need to spell out your misery for him to get it? Is that really what your relationship amounts to?

Another aggravated exhale parts your lips, and you start pacing faster, needing the release. The next few hours stretch in front of you with wretched promise. What do you do now? Just wait by yourself until he gets home? Have to see his ashamed, hurt, averted eyes, the way he would creep into the apartment with a shield set between you and him? And then what? Go to bed with that block between you two, wake up and somehow try to pretend it doesn't exist tomorrow?

The tears flow down your cheeks despite your hands’ furious attempts to press them away and there's no way to stop them once they've begun. You cry, the way people often cry when they’re lonely, like silence is their only companion and they're afraid of scaring even that friend away. Quietly, then, no longer trying to hold the tears back but unable to give voice to the magnitude of your pain, either. The wet, soft sobbing quickly sends you back to bed, where you curl up once again, struggling for some kind of self-control.

God, you just miss him so much. Not today, not now, not – it's a void of the little things. The snicker when you berate him for being messy. His warm, gentle hands on your neck after a day hunched over a project, massaging out the pain. A little giggle as you watch a Ghibli film together. The shoving matches when you're out shopping and competing for who can get the most stuff on the list. The quick kisses and the slow kisses and the deep, hungry kisses that always lead to you waking up in his arms the next day, far later into the morning than usual.

You miss him so much, and you just pushed him away even more.

With a muffled sob you push your face further into the pillow, hating how pitiful this is, how much you're struggling to get your emotions under control. This is so – it's ridiculous, that's what it is. Childish. It's not as if you've lost Jungkook forever, and you haven't lost all of the things you love about him, either. It's not like you never goof off anymore, or cuddle, or talk. It's just – it's just that everything has been so much more frantic, hurried, and stressful since the move. It seems like there's never a moment where you can just sit together and love each other and think of nothing else.

The anger, remorse and dejection feed off each other, first growing and prolonging the wrenching feeling choking your throat, and you cry until time doesn’t mean much anymore. The grief is so horribly thick it’s like you can’t even breathe through it, let alone do anything but lie in bed. It goes on and on and – and then exhaustion overtakes your convulsive crying. Eventually, without ever actually being filled, the hollow ache contracts into a hard pit, the tears all forced out. Nothing else, though. The guilt and resentment and sadness are still there, dulled to a grey, insubstantial mass.

But at least you can think a bit. Listlessly, with all the colours drained out of it, but you can do more than sob. Wiping at your clogged nose and tear-streaked face, you find you can actually breathe, something of an improvement. You sit up, gently set the pillow back on Jungkook's side of the bed, giving the soft material one last swipe, trying to rid it of the wet evidence of your meltdown. No luck there, but it'll probably be dry before your boyfriend gets home.

If he gets home.

The bitterness of that thought is too tired to summon more tears from the hole in your heart or your head. You shake it away, more because you're just too drained to cling to the heavy emotion than because of some angelic impulse to forgive.

You know you have to do something. Anything. Literally anything will be better than just sitting here, waiting for Jungkook to come in, getting pricklier with each passing minute. With the Christmas dinner off the table, you suppose you could just pick up something to eat. Fast-food or something... have it ready for him to heat up when he was done work... like you're some trophy girlfriend.

Once again you need to stop yourself, biting back the wave of resentment. God, this isn't doing you any good, and it's so, so unfair to Jungkook. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have agreed to work on Christmas. Maybe he should have been more sensitive to how far you've been drifting apart because of his long work hours. But at the same time, yelling at him over the phone wasn't the answer, either. He's probably having as bad of a time as you are, and with no private room to cry in, either. He'll be totally repressing the argument now, shoving it into a locker and subconsciously telling himself he's to blame, that he's a horrible boyfriend. Trying to listen to his coworkers and do his work with those harsh criticisms running low and dark through his head. That's how Jungkook is. He takes everything onto himself, especially if you give it to him.

Running your hands through your hair at the thought, pity clenching your chest, you abruptly get up. You and Jungkook definitely need to talk, and soon. But – but there's no reason to close out this shitty day with an even more horrible evening of strained silence and brittle rebuttals. Neither of you are particularly good at apologizing, even though you're both great at feeling guilty. You just don't have the words for it. So, unless you do something – make some gesture – this is just going to stretch into an awful, prolonged fight that isn't a fight at all, both of you retreating from each other.

It's unbearable. You can't stand it. So… you're going to do something about it.

Resolved, as resolved as you can be, you change out of your PJs. The weather's been quite warm, with no snow to speak of, so it's not like you need to bundle up much. After a moment of hesitation, you choose to snag the ugly Christmas sweater. It's got a comically drawn pink bunny on the front, absurdly muscular, with a red Santa hat settled firmly between its ears, and a myriad of red and green patterns crammed into the background. It was the rabbit's expression and the accompanying phrase that had got Jungkook to laughing until he was doubled over when he'd seen it at the mall last year. A challenging, almost intimidating grin is plastered on the rabbit's face, with the words This Bun Don't Want None in cheerfully bedazzled white underneath. Your boyfriend had quite literally begged to get two and wear them to the upcoming Christmas party, and he'd been too imploring for you to say no.

Slipping it on, with the accompanying memory of his hysterical amusement, crinkled nose, and bunny grin every time he caught a glimpse of you at the party, is the closest you've felt to peace in the last few hours.

You throw on some dark jeans and apply your makeup with a thoroughness that's a little much, given that you're not going anywhere for long. You don't care; it feels good to dim the red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks your breakdown has gifted you, to cover it over with something prettier. Finishing with the last of the mascara, you grab your transit pass and head out, closing the door behind you with a finality that could almost be a goodbye.

The air outside is cool, a relief compared to the stuffy apartment, at least for now. You inhale deeply, the mild cold burning your sinuses and clearing your clogged head a bit. In a while, you might regret not having a warmer layer on, but for now it’s a relief to begin to walk, to stretch both your legs and your mind from the cramped defensiveness the apartment had been inspiring. This is – this is a good idea. You’re positive about it now, and can feel your shoulders loosening, steps becoming brisker.

If Jungkook can’t come to you – well, you’ll just go to him. At least for now.

Your building isn't too far from Jungkook's work; you only have a short train ride and a shorter bus ahead of you, according to your phone. You’ve been to his work three times before, but always in your shared car, and you walk with eyes fixed on your screen, calculating the time schedules. Part of you wants to text him, send a little olive branch to smooth the way and let him know you’re coming, but a larger part longs for something romantic and cute to happen today. Fast-food might not quite cut it, but surely a surprise visit might? You won’t stay long, won’t interrupt his work, but just to see his face, confused and then quietly grateful and loudly gleeful when he realizes why you’ve come –

It seems like that shouldn’t be too much to ask.

The trip flies by; you're too anxious in your own head to notice much outside of it, and besides, there aren't many people out and about today. Probably busy celebrating with their families.

You bite your lip at the thought, and violently yank your attention away.

At this rate, you should sign up for a game of Olympic tag. Surely nothing can run as agilely as you've been doing, avoiding every uncomfortable idea.

Jungkook's work is downtown, and there are tons of fast-food options nearby. You pick a smaller chain, KTown Fried Chicken, that both you and Jungkook enjoy. It's hard to convince yourself the cashier isn't judging you at least a little bit for your weird presence on Christmas night. Or maybe she's just eyeing the sweater. That’s another possibility.

With only one other person in line, the food comes quickly, and then you're on your way. Somewhere between stepping off the bus and smiling awkwardly at the girl behind the counter, it occurred to you that you didn't know when Jungkook was actually leaving work. He obviously didn't pack up right away after your argument – he would have made it home before you left – but that doesn't mean he isn't going to be heading home some time soon.

What if you show up and he's not there? What if he shows up and you're not there? What would he think? It is entirely too much to ask your wrung out brain to decide if it would be hilarious, infuriating, or some kind of karmic justice, but you do know that you'd rather just catch him at work with this peace offering. Much simpler that way, so you hurry your steps, snugging your sweater a little tighter around your frame as you do so.

You make it to the imposing office building of Projeck at around six, which is, as it happens, when two of Jungkook’s coworkers are leaving the building. Jungkook talks about them quite a bit – actually, gushes might be a better word – and you’d met them at the office Christmas party a couple of weeks ago. Namjoon, a tall, elegant man with blonde hair currently dressed in a black turtleneck, is one of the lead game designers, and he holds the door open for Yoongi, an audio engineer. The older of the two, in an oversized, comfy hoodie markedly at odds with his companion’s attire, slouches through with a tired smile of thanks.

Both had made a good impression on you at the party (it helped that they were obviously fond of Jungkook and appreciative of his talents) and you’re a little relieved to see them. Solved the awkwardness of trying to get into the building without letting Jungkook know you were here. Both pause at the sight of you, confusion creasing their features, before a grin flashes across Namjoon’s face.

“Hey, Y/N! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” offers Yoongi as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he’s wearing. His eyes are on your chest, a little furrow across his brow, and it takes you a second to realize it’s the bunny again. After a moment his lips quirk, quiet amusement in the expression, and it makes it easier for you to reply brightly.

“Hey Namjoon, Yoongi. Merry Christmas! Are you heading home?” The prospect makes you a little excited. If they’re leaving, surely Jungkook won’t be far behind?

“Yup,” Namjoon agrees easily. His head tilts a little, scouring over you quizzically, before his gaze finds the bag in your hand. “Are you bringing something for Kookie?”

“Yeah… He, uh, was working so late I thought it might be nice to surprise him with some food.” You say it more like a confession, shoulders tight with the knowledge that this is making you sound way better than you actually are.

Namjoon whistles, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s really nice of you.”

“I mean, I haven’t done much today so –”

“He’s not here.” Yoongi states it so bluntly that it takes you a second to process what he said.

“…not here?” you ask, dismayed.

“Nah.” As your stunned eyes fall on him, giving him your full attention, he shrugs uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. He left like… twenty minutes ago?”

“He did?” Namjoon demands, and Yoongi just shrugs again.

Clutching at the paper bag that suddenly feels pathetic and cheap, a stupid idea, you say weakly, “Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, and both of the men’s expressions are soft with a sympathy that doesn’t make you feel any less stupid. “I guess… I’ll go home, then.”

Shifting again, a movement that has him brushing briefly against Namjoon, Yoongi trails a hand up to his ear. “Uh, I don’t think he was going home? Or at least, not right away?”

"What do you mean?" Maybe he'd mentioned he was stopping to pick up dinner, too? Maybe the fast-food you're lugging around is even more useless than you'd thought? Why hadn't you texted him? Why hadn't you -

"He was asking me about the fastest way to get to, uh, the Golden Closet Gallery. I think he was dropping by there first."

"Did - did he say why?"

"Meeting someone? Maybe? I dunno, he's been quiet almost all day, and he rushed away pretty quick."

You stare at him, tired and confused and more than a little guilty at the mention of Jungkook’s withdrawn state. What are you supposed to make of all this? You know about the Golden Closet Gallery – of course you do. You and he went a couple times, early on after your move here, both of you taking a lot of enjoyment from the art displays. But – it couldn't be open now, could it? And even if it were, why would he be going? Who could he possibly be meeting? Was he trying to take a late tour to calm down? Something else entirely? And – it didn't even matter. It wasn't as though you could reach him in a timely manner.

You were just going to have to go back home, and – you weren’t sure. Certainly not eat. The thought of trying to swallow any food right now, with your stomach tearing itself into pieces of shivering disappointment, is too much. Maybe Jungkook would already be at the apartment by the time you got there. Maybe you two could just – sit together. Just be together.

You’re not sure what’s sadder; how much happiness that simple picture gives you, or how sad you are that it makes you happy.

Trying to straighten your crumpled expression, you smile. "Well – thank you for letting me know. Guess I get all of this for myself." Your laugh as you heft the fast-food bag is a small and lost thing. "Sorry to keep you guys. I hope you have a good night!"

You've just begun to turn away, aching to end the conversation before you start bawling in front of these two men, when Namjoon clears his throat, his gaze shifting to Yoongi for a moment. The other man jerks a shoulder, bobs his head, and Namjoon looks back at you. You shuffle a little, desperate to be away but not wanting to be rude to two of the few people at this company who actually seem to be lessening Jungkook's stress.

"Did you take the bus to get here? We could give you a ride if you wanted."

Your throat tightens, and you're already shaking your head before you've even thoroughly processed the offer. "No, thanks, I don't want to take you out of your way."

"Well, if you wanted to drop by the Gallery and see if Kookie is there, it wouldn't be out of our way at all. We live pretty close by." Yoongi nods in agreement, his round face scrunching reassuringly with something that's not – quite – a smile.

When you waver, Namjoon says with studied nonchalance, "Even if he's not there, Yoongi and I don't have any plans for tonight. We don't mind dropping you off."

Still, the thought of inconveniencing them because of your stupid planning – not to mention that you don't know them that well – makes awkward turmoil roil in your stomach. Reading your reluctant expression and apparently hesitant to press you, Namjoon relents. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“Y/N. Come on. We’ll save you a lot of time, and I’m sure Jungkookie would be mad if we didn’t give you the ride. He already throws stuff at me when he thinks I’m not looking; I don’t want him to start chucking shit that actually hurts.” Yoongi’s eyebrow is lifted, an inviting gesture accompanied by a smile with just a hint of gums, and you can’t help but respond, a rueful chuckle that slips out at the picture his comment puts in your head.

Jungkook had mentioned there were a few people he liked to mess around with at work, but somehow it hadn’t crossed your mind that the quiet and slightly intimidating man would be one of his targets.

It decides you.

With a sharp dip of your head, you assent. "Okay, okay. Yeah, sure, and thank you guys. It means a lot to me, and, umm, if you need gas money or something..."

Namjoon throws back his head and utters a loud, barking laugh while Yoongi chuckles. "The company doesn't pay us enough, sure, but I think we can afford to cover this trip, Y/N. Besides, Jungkook's been working overtime so often, I feel like we practically owe you for stealing him so much."

That leaves a sour taste in your mouth that you're quick to swallow. Grinning weakly, you follow the two to their car, a compact grey Honda that's seen better days. Namjoon tries to insist you take shotgun next to Yoongi, but you're far too flustered at the thought of taking his spot and practically dive into the backseat. The first few minutes are a little strained, the fast-food bag on your lap rustling every time you move. Namjoon shuffles through a bunch of Christmas songs on his phone and Yoongi hums to them under his breath, seemingly unperturbed every time his companion switches mid-note.

Eventually, though, Namjoon finds a song he likes enough to leave on, and you find yourself drawn into a relaxed talk with them. Yoongi throws in a comment here and there, and together the two of them are so – easy. They add teasing remarks about each other without pausing for breath, Yoongi praises an arching plotline Namjoon had finished storyboarding today, and when a particularly loud Christmas jangle comes on, Namjoon's already changing it before Yoongi has time to huff in displeasure. You know they're roommates – more than that Jungkook hasn't said – and there's something uplifting about listening to their comfortable conversation.

They don't leave you out of it, either. You talk about your home city. You talk about how you met Jungkook in university, when you both arrived late to a morning Intro to Computer Animation course and were locked out of the classroom as a result. (You'd whispered furiously at each other about who should knock first until another hectic student had come charging up, bleary with sleep, and literally ran into the door when it failed to open. That had pretty much dissolved the tension between you two.) On a wave of laughter from that story, you tentatively ask how the job has been for Jungkook so far.

He's always so keen to hide his stress, so anxious not to talk about it and burden you. It seems like these two coworkers might be a good way to get a better picture, rather than the stitched together portrait you've gotten from the late nights and short, hesitant answers he gives you. At the thought, you pull out your phone to see if he’s sent you anything, but you have no texts.

The laughter dwindles, and you hear Yoongi rattling the spit in his mouth loudly enough to be heard over the music as he makes a lane change. In the other seat, Namjoon runs a hand through his blonde hair. Their silence immediately winds you up, and your hand, holding the phone, falls to the side. Had Jungkook not been telling you something? Was it worse than the late hours? Was –

"This isn't a great company," Yoongi states flatly, when it becomes obvious Namjoon is still groping for something more tactful to say. "They make you feel like you owe them your finger bones just because they pay a bit above average, and if those aren't showing from hitting the keyboards enough, you're some kind of failure."

"Yeah..." Namjoon sighs. "They tried that with me, but Yoongi's been there for several years, he's the best they've got in the audio department, and he made it clear that if I left, he would too. So they pulled back a little. Jungkook, though..."

"He doesn't say no. I've told him to – told him I'll throw in for him – but he's really afraid he's gonna get tossed. Can't blame him. People get fired too easily at Projeck." His voice is disinterested, but Yoongi makes another lane change, too abruptly this time, and that, plus his tight grip on the steering wheel, is a hint that he’s not quite as untouched as he sounds.

You press your back into the seat, trying to give yourself a semblance of a spine as your whole body threatens to fold. You'd had an inkling that Jungkook was maybe conceding too easily to upper management, but it sounds like he's having way more than a little pressure to work late put on him. This – actually this sounds toxic. Crippling. And Jungkook hadn't said anything about it.

And you barely asked.

Gnawing on your cheek, you lapse into silence, struggling for something to say.

Namjoon looks back, brows pulling together at whatever he sees on your face. "He's trying to get ahead of his workload, Y/N," he says gently. "I know after today he doesn't plan on going in until after New Years. He said he really wants to spend time with you."

"He was literally moping all over the office today," Yoongi adds. "Was surprised he didn't break his computer screen, he was sighing on it so much."

They're trying to make you feel better, reassure you that Jungkook had missed you and hated being separated on today of all days. They are accomplishing the exact opposite of what they intend, but that's not their fault. After all, they don't know what you'd said to Jungkook over the phone. Part of you wonders if they'd even have been willing to give you a ride if they did know. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have been if you were them.

You might also have tried to run yourself over on the way out of the parking lot, if you were them.

Before you can pull anything resembling words from the mire of rabid guilt curdling in your throat, the car pulls into the Gallery's small parking lot. It's almost surprising to find that there are two other vehicles already parked, and with the way the night is going, it's even more surprising that you recognize one of them as Jungkook's.

"He's here!" you cry out, relief and something heavier saturating your voice.

With a pleased exclamation, Namjoon gestures excitedly, smashing his hand into the roof of the car with a loud thud in the process.

"If you fucking dent my car..." Yoongi begins, but their mild bickering slips by you.

Your eyes are straining for some sign of Jungkook. The parking lot is empty of people, and the big sign above the building isn't lit up. However, it looks like there are some lights on in the Gallery, spilling out into the dimly lit lot, and as you fix your anxious gaze on the interior through the wide glass windows, you think you see the dim form of at least one person moving inside.

He’s here. You’re literally lightheaded with the joy of that certainty. This day has stretched out with excruciating discord, but now, everything is drawing tighter, shorter, focusing into a promise of reprieve. Finally, finally, something’s going right. The blissful expectation of getting to see Jungkook is almost enough for you to forget about everything else. For this moment, you think you’d forego everything Christmas – the gifts, the dinner, the decorations, everything – just to press your face against his chest and feel him holding you.

Hand on the door handle, you keep yourself from leaping out and dashing to the building only with difficulty. “Thank you so much for driving me. I almost can’t believe we caught him.”

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies. “Escaping from Projeck before eight was our miracle – looks like this gets to be yours.”

The three of you chuckle at that, and then you’re opening the door. “I’ll let Jungkook know you helped me. Maybe he’ll stop throwing things.”

“And maybe Santa exists,” Yoongi grumbles, but there’s no annoyance in his rasping voice. “’Sides, that’s not what I want from him. Tell him to think about what we’ve said, ‘kay?”

Assuming he means saying no to the boss more, you nod, emotional with how lucky both you and Jungkook are to have run into such kind people. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t really cover the gratitude their thoughtfulness has inspired in you, and on top of everything else you’ve been through today, it’s almost enough to set you to crying again.

Namjoon seems to sense you’re at a loss for words; at any rate, he fills in the space. “If things change for the better in the new year, we’ll see more of you, Y/N. In the meantime, take care! I hope you and Jungkook have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!”

Your voice comes out husky with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. I – Hope you both have a Merry Christmas, too! And a Happy New Year!”

Then you’re out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind you, your jaw tight to keep back the ridiculous tears. Yoongi and Namjoon wave, you wave back, and then Yoongi pulls away, leaving you standing and waving in the parking lot until the car turns and is gone. You take a couple of deep breaths, a smile easing the urge to cry. The excitement hasn’t dimmed at all, and, clutching the fast-food bag tightly, you pivot towards the Gallery, little shivers of anticipation darting under your skin.    

You practically run to the doors, and nearly commit the same mistake that student had, years ago, when they don’t open at your touch. The thought of smacking into them and announcing your presence to Jungkook that way has a low laugh bubbling in your throat. Yanking yourself to a halt, you try pulling and pushing on the doors, to no avail; they’re locked. You give them one last jerk, just to be sure, but they remain stubbornly shut. It’s not enough of a deterrent to dampen your spirits, though you find yourself bouncing impatiently on the soles of your feet, unable to get rid of the fizzy energy coursing through your veins.

You’re okay to wait outside until Jungkook comes out – it’s still not that cold out, and how much longer could he really be? – but nonetheless you start heading to the right, circling around the building, peering into the windows on the off-chance you can catch sight of your boyfriend and get his attention. The lights are off in some of the areas, but a few are flooded in a soft glow, and you skim your eyes over all that you can see. The more you look, the more confused you are about why Jungkook would be here. There are no other customers that you can see, so clearly, it’s not some sort of special Christmas showing. You literally can’t think of another reason he might be here. And hadn’t Yoongi said he was meeting someone?

It’s a mystery you can’t solve yourself, and you keep up your roaming examination. Most of the building has glass walls, except for an area near the back, and you can see inside fairly easily, where the lights are on. The Gallery is pretty typical, all open spaces and white, dismantlable walls, the better to more starkly exhibit the art pieces scattered across the wooden floors. There are paintings and sculptures, a few more abstract works, little plaques beside most of them –

But no Jungkook.

Lips pursued, you make your way further around, until you’re on the other side of the building, ears keen for any sound of a door opening. Wouldn’t that just be typical? While you’re wandering around out here, he comes out and leaves…

You should text him. A surprise visit is one thing, but at this point you being outside is going to be surprise enough. With that thought in mind, you begin fumbling in your pockets, awkwardly cradling the fast-food in one hand as you search for your phone. Not in your back jean pockets. A horrified panic starts building, and by the time you’ve clawed all the lint out of your sweater’s pockets, you’re certain. You don’t have it.

A memory, stilted and strained, of your hand falling to your side when you’d been talking about Jungkook’s stress in Yoongi’s car. In your anguish, it suddenly becomes clear to you; you’d dropped it. Forgotten to pick it up again. It was in the car!

For a second, you think that’s going to be the breaking point. The straw on the camel’s back. Your frustration peaks, eyes stinging, hands balled into fists as your excitement is drowned in self-reproach and an overwhelming sense of despair. Why were you so stupid? Fighting with Jungkook, sulking around the apartment, this dumb idea to get fast-food that’s definitely cold by now, and now – now this. You start walking again, barely looking, just planning to get to the front of the building and maybe collapse on the pavement. The crushing unhappiness doesn’t let up. Were you cursed? Was the world out to get you? Had you kicked a puppy in a past life? Why did you end up –

Your raging internal soliloquy is interrupted by movement within the Gallery. Someone is moving inside. Someone tall and muscular, with his black shirt rolled up to the elbows, long, shaggy black hair tucked behind his ears as he lounges against one of the white walls. He’s partially turned; you can only see half of his face, and even that not perfectly because of the narrow angle, but the sharp definition of his jaw is obvious, even from here. There’s something rectangular leaning against the wall next to him, wrapped in brown packaging paper, but you barely notice it. He’s talking to someone equally as tall, their back turned to you, but you barely register them.

Jungkook. It’s Jungkook!

It is not an exaggeration to say that for a second you doubt your eyes. Everything has just been so, so shitty today that you’d almost believe he’s a hologram or a figment of your imagination before buying that your flesh and blood boyfriend is standing some twenty feet away and that all it will take to end this horrible experience will be to catch his attention.

The person he’s talking to must say something funny, because his nose crinkles, lips rising as he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s just a giggle, quickly stifled, but it’s also a needle; the second you see that laugh, your bubble of disbelief pops with a force that’s almost audible. You can’t hear him, but at the same time, you can, fully aware of the way his snicker of amusement started out low and then pitched higher in tandem with his head being thrown back. The sound that isn’t a sound but a memory and a gift and a promise altogether gives rise to something hot and aching in your chest.

“Jungkook,” you say, barely aware of the name slipping between your tingling lips. There’s a rushing sensation in your ears, through your veins, like your blood has just remembered that it’s alive and is eager to prove it. The misery of moments and minutes and hours ago doesn’t disappear, but the sight of your boyfriend is enough to lift you out of it, to buoy you above the churning waves and set you, heart alight, in the clouds.    

“Jungkook!” you call, a shout this time, and start waving. He doesn’t hear or notice you, attention fixed on the man he’s with. You still don’t recognize whoever it is, but then again, with his back to you all you can see is the vibrantly patterned orange shirt stretching over his shoulders and a fluffy bit of brown hair. However, whatever he’s saying has sobered Jungkook; from what you can see of his face, his lips have tightened, and he shakes his head now and again.  

Who the hell is that, anyways? More vigorous gestures still don’t pull Jungkook’s gaze away from the other person. You know that any second now he’s going to look over and see you, break into a silly, bemused grin, rush over to the window, if only you could just– You’re about to tap on the glass when whoever it is abruptly steps closer to Jungkook. From what you can see, the guy’s large hands are moving passionately, persuasively, and a moment later he grabs Jungkook’s wrist, other hand rising up towards his face. You can’t quite tell what’s happening, except that Jungkook doesn’t shake him off or push him away. Doesn’t push him away, even when he leans closer, their faces inches apart, and the way they’re standing, you still don’t know who it is.  

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind that his personal space is being invaded. There’s an attempt at a scowl on his lips, but you can tell it’s fake, a laugh on the verge of breaking through. You realize your hand is still raised to knock on the window, and let it fall. Brows pulling together, you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. The other man leans in even more, and when their lips are about to touch you wrench your eyes away.

For a long moment you stare at the pavement at your feet, mouth moving silently, like you’re searching for a word that fits what you just saw happen. It couldn’t be what you thought. Any second now, a reasonable explanation is going to come to mind. You’re going to find some frame of reference that makes this understandable. There’s going to be something that changes your point of view, makes reality into fiction. Because this can’t be true. This can’t be happening.

Jungkook could not have just kissed someone else in an empty art gallery while he thought you were waiting for him at home.  

Except that’s exactly what happened. You feel yourself change. You’re not a person anymore, not a human; you’re a wound, red and open and weeping. With a strangled sob, you suddenly find your feet moving to match your reeling thoughts, and you stagger away from the warmly lit building. The disbelief is like novocaine, numbing the screaming pain of the betrayal, but it’s not strong enough to force your gaze back through the window. Back to your boyfriend and whoever he’s with. Who knows what they’re doing now?  

Stopping yourself from crumpling to your knees and curling into a ball takes almost all of your strength, and you can’t keep yourself from doubling over slightly, one hand across your middle as you stumble blindly down the sidewalk and away from the Gallery. You press on your eyes to keep back the tears, cover your mouth to stifle the high, anguished gasps you’re making, but it does little to fool anyone, least of all yourself. Each sob rips from somewhere deep inside you, opens up the injury even further, until it feels like you might very well be tearing your chest apart.

He couldn’t have. He just– he couldn’t have. You can’t reconcile what you saw with what you know, but how can they be two different things? How can your boyfriend – loving, loyal, protective – exist in the same place as that man who hadn’t mentioned he was meeting anyone, who snuck around on Christmas day to see someone else? How can Jungkook be a cheater? How? How?

How could I not have known?

Bewildered, you scrabble through your memories like they’re a pack of spilled cards, struggling to piece them together, to pick them up and put them in order after they’ve fluttered to the ground in a chaos of white and black and red. At first you can’t find a hint. Can’t find a reason. There’s warmth and laughter and closeness in your memories together, with only spots of friction and hurt. What could the memory of you throwing tinsel around Jungkook’s neck and him parading around the living room teach you about this moment? What could the recollection of Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your shaking form when you’d received news of your grandmother’s passing tell you that you should have already known? What could the shadow of his quiet admiration as you showed him your most recent design reveal to your befuddled mind?

Was the staying late the only clue? The only ace card that trumped every other moment together? Or had there been others? Did you confuse his withdrawal from you as stress when it was really guilt? Had the silence been resentment? Boredom? Was he really going to the gym? Or into someone else’s arms? Did you do something wrong? Say something wrong?

Is this your fault?

You don’t know what to do, and as your steps slow, tears still going strong, you realize you barely know where you are. It’s fully dark now, and people are passing infrequently, with the streetlights only vaguely reassuring as they spill over faces. You haven’t taken any side streets, just followed this main road passed gas stations and boutiques, offices and fast-food joints, so you’re not lost, exactly. But you don’t have your phone. How are you supposed to get home?

Home. Suddenly the ache is more real. Present. Demanding. How are you supposed to go home when you thought home was Jungkook?

What do you say to him? What can you say? The thought of facing him has you trembling with something approaching nausea. Or maybe it’s the cold. It’s late enough now that the temperature is dropping, your heaving breath misting from your mouth, and you hadn’t planned to be out so late. The sweater is doing nothing to keep you warm. The sweater…

“Oh, God…” you mumble, your fingers digging into the tacky material, creasing the bunny that had made Jungkook so happy. “What do I do?”

What do I do?

---

With a grunt, Jungkook shoves Taehyung away using a hand against his stomach, the other man’s breath spilling across his face as he huffs in surprise. The push is strong enough to send Taehyung staggering back several paces, and he nearly trips and falls. Even as he catches himself, Jungkook is regretting the violence of the motion. It’s just – he’s feeling so vulnerable right now, so strained, and his friend acting like a clown doesn’t help matters.

Rubbing at his stomach, the other man complains reproachfully, “I was just trying to show you what to do!”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing at his face. “I don’t remember saying I needed help with how to make out,” he points out.

Taehyung throws up his hands. “You’ve missed the point!” he exclaims in disgust. “Didn’t you see the concern in my eyes? The tenderness? Dude, I was stroking your face. That’s how it’s done!”  

He snorts but the irritation is already fading, replaced by the amusement he’d had when Tae first started his shenanigans. Jungkook shakes his head, clearing his hair from his eyes, and relents a little. “Do you really think I should do it like that?” A beat. “Well, I mean, not like that. Better.”

With a grand gesture at their surroundings, Taehyung ignores the insult (or misses it, it’s hard to tell with Tae sometimes) and tells him, “You’re already doing better. You’ve got her a painting from an artist she loves.” He stops, points to himself. “Courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood art dealer, who sacrificed his Christmas night and drove all this way to make sure you got it. Plus, there’s the big news – she’s going to lose her mind when you tell her. Anyways, yeah, Koo, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna forgive you, even if you don’t use my sweet moves.”

“But I still don’t know what to say.” Jungkook hates how whiny his voice sounds, how uncertain. At the same time, it feels… good, to admit how he hasn’t got a clue how to make up with you. Or– That isn’t quite right. He does know, somewhere in his gut, in the palms of his hands, in the way his lips ache to skim along your skin. It’s just turning that feeling into words that’s struck him dumb.

“Dude, say what’s in your heart.” There is no one in the world but Taehyung who could say that earnestly and not sound like a weirdo, yet there the other man is, mouth set solemnly, somehow almost making sense. “You love her, you’re sorry for what’s happened, you want to hear her opinion, you’re working to make it better… Koo, you’ve told me all of that in the last half an hour. Now you just need to say it to her.”

“But what if…” He can’t even put it into words, the fear and uncertainty and guilt. Is he asking too much of you? Does he even deserve to ask anything? And what if… what if…

Reading him like a book, Taehyung smiles, simple and brilliant. “She’s going to forgive you. You’ve already forgiven her, so what else is there? Just the getting it done.” Still Jungkook hesitates, and his childhood friend says, a little more gently, “You’re a good person, Koo. I know that, and she does too. Talk to her. You won’t regret it.”

He hangs his head, slowly running his fingers against each other, exploring their lines like they might lead him to the courage he’s searching for. The call with you this afternoon had – shaken him. Although Jungkook had been aware – painfully so – that the two of you weren’t spending enough time together, he hadn’t realized how much it was harming you, and your anger had been both shocking and hurtful. Work had just sucked, so much, and to have you yelling at him…

But after the initial defensive reaction, he couldn’t get the thought of you sitting alone out of his head. It was never his intention to leave you for the whole day, but when he broached the subject of leaving with the boss, the look he got on his face, the way he said, “Well, of course, since I assume you’re done everything you were assigned,” had just been…

You still shouldn’t have left her. Jungkook knows that, knows equally that he didn’t have all that much of a choice if he didn’t want to get fired. It was the balancing act between those understandings that had his shoulders hunched, his cheek fair game to be chewed on. He was working on changing the situation – Namjoon and Yoongi were helping – but what if you thought it wasn’t fast enough? What if you decided you had enough? How can he bear to face you with that possibility on the horizon?

Taehyung gives him space, just hums under his breath and wanders a little, examining the various pieces on display. The Golden Closet Gallery isn’t one of his usual haunts – he tends to deal with artists further up north – but he’d come at Jungkook’s hesitant request, with an alacrity that still has Jungkook wondering what he’d done to deserve such a friend.  

He’d had his eye on your favourite local artist’s website, and when the painting went on sale, he’d known he had to get it. However, Projeck employees didn’t get paid until the 20th, and by the time he had enough money to comfortably purchase it, the artist wasn’t available on short notice and wouldn’t have been around to give it to him until after New Year’s Eve. Taehyung is well known in the community, though, and the painter had had no qualms letting him deal with establishing the price and then handing the piece over. It was practically a miracle, even if Tae had only been able to slip away from his family on Christmas afternoon.

Eventually, with Taehyung’s deep baritone hum a soothing presence, Jungkook tamps his fear down. Gets it to a manageable level. At the end of the day – Taehyung is right. He loves you, more than anything, more than he thought he could love anyone. That’s enough. It has to be enough.

He looks up, clears his throat. “Thanks, TaeTae,” Jungkook says quietly. “I really couldn’t have done this without you.”

His friend beams. “Nah, you couldn’t have. But what else are friends for, right?”

“I’ll get you an early release copy of Urban Anonymous. I think you’ll like it,” he promises. “But in the meantime… I think I’ve got someone to, uh, speak my heart to.” For half a second Jungkook thinks he’s about to die from the sheer cringe of saying that, a blush flooding across his cheeks, but at the same time – it feels kinda good to say. Goofily so, and very embarrassing, but still.

If anything, Taehyung’s beam intensifies. “Then my job here is done! I should hit the road anyways, I wanna get back home. I promised my parents I’d make them something nice for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Sure you don’t wanna stay over?” Glancing out the window, taking in how dark it is, Jungkook feels bad to be sending Taehyung out on the road at this time.

The other man snickers. “And get in the way of a beautiful thing? Nah. Besides, you know I like driving at night, and it’s only a little over three hours. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so…” Jungkook snags the painting off of the floor, and together they walk through the Gallery, to the doors Taehyung had locked behind them when they entered. He unlocks them now, and they leave the aesthetically pleasing space, spilling out into the chilly night air. As Taehyung locks up, Jungkook glances around, breathing in deeply. Now that he’s resolved himself, he actually feels – a little better. Steadier, as though his world isn’t about to jerk out from underneath his feet.

Their cars are parked together, and once there Taehyung flings himself at Jungkook – scrupulously avoiding hitting into the painting, of course – and they hug, Jungkook staggering under the weight of his friend. The fond affection is a fluffy, sleepy thing, and, with one hand wrapped around Taehyung’s shoulders, Jungkook repeats, “Thank you, TaeTae.” It’s not eloquent, but with Taehyung, it’s enough.

They break apart, and Taehyung is grinning, a wide, boxy affair that has the nostalgia and warmth growing. “I’ve missed you, Koo. I’m glad we got to meet up. Tell Y/N that I miss her too, okay? And that I wish her a Merry Christmas.”

“We’ll have to get together again soon; Y/N will be disappointed she missed you. Although I know she loved your blue hair, so she’ll probably be sad you changed it.” It had even surprised Jungkook a bit when Tae had first ducked out of his car. The blue had just been so… riveting, and compared to that, the darker tone really changes how he looks. Not to mention that Tae went with a curlier style this time around.

Taehyung runs a hand through his fluffy brown locks before shrugging. “I got bored. Besides, I haven’t had brown in, what? Five years? It was a nice change.”

“It’s a good look. Almost as good as mine,” Jungkook teases, and Taehyung laughs in his deep, rolling way. “Okay. Merry Christmas, TaeTae. And have a Happy New Year! Don’t drive into a ditch, but if you do, call me.”

“I’ll get you to drag the car out by yourself,” Taehyung agrees amiably. “You look like you could manage it these days, and it’d save me the cost of the tow-truck.”

He gives Jungkook’s upper arm a cheerful poke, whistles in exaggerated admiration and then dodges Jungkook’s swipe at him. “See you soon, Koo! I’ll send you a text when I get home. Hopefully you’ll be too busy to read it until tomorrow.” And with a wicked little giggle, he gets into his car.

“Bye, Tae! See you! Thank you!” Jungkook waves until the other man has pulled away, blasting an R&B version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and then he gets into his own car. Being with Tae is like inhaling a warmer version of helium, all uplift and expansion. It suddenly occurs to Jungkook, with a little jolt, that he’s excited to get home.

No matter how scared he is, scared of the future and scared of the conversation ahead, picturing you, thinking of walking into the apartment and seeing your face, is enough to drive a sharp spike of joy through his trepidation. You are the best thing in his life, and even with this fight, even with the hurt still nestled against his ribs, he wouldn’t have drawn it any other way.

It’s as he’s starting the car that he realizes he got a text from Namjoon and didn’t notice. Hey Jungkookie. Can you let Y/N know we have her phone? She left it in the car.

He stares at the words, waiting for the moment when they’ll make sense. When sense is not forthcoming despite scrambling his brains for what it could mean, Jungkook types out a reply, his fingers sweaty with sudden anxiety.  

what car? you saw Y/N today?

…Yeah? We dropped her off at the Gallery. Did she not mention it?

at the gallery?? when?

His heart is in his throat, the unease ricocheting to unprecedented levels, and Jungkook shoves open the car door, begins looking desperately around like you two could have possibly missed each other in the empty lot. When his phone vibrates thirty seconds later, he almost drops it in his haste to unlock it.

Thirty minutes ago. Around there. Is she not there? Is everything okay?

Jungkook rips his eyes from the screen to the empty parking lot and back to the screen, a bewildered trek that gives him no hints, and he doesn’t know the answer.

---

When you finally get back to the apartment, your hurt has become a cramped, flattened pressure at the back of your throat, and every breath scrapes painfully on the way out. It’s taken you close to two hours to get back. The first person you’d asked for directions had given you the wrong bus number, and while you’d realized it eventually, you’d been going the wrong way for a significant period of time.

Usually, you and Jungkook laugh at how bad your sense of direction is, but this is just more humiliation to stoke an already raging fire of shame. Your steps literally drag – you almost trip on your way up the stairs – and your fingers are tingling, almost numb. It’s gotten progressively colder as the night wore on, and by now the icy feeling has sunk deep into your bones, passed the hard exterior until its wrapped around the marrow.

You’d thought about checking into a hotel. You at least hadn’t forgotten or lost your credit card. There was something tempting about postponing the moment when you had to see Jungkook. But at the same time… If you didn’t answer your phone and didn’t come back, he might worry (would he worry?) and worse, he might get other people involved. What if he talked to Namjoon and Yoongi? Or phoned your parents or brother? You can’t stand the thought of having to explain to them what happened without any preparation – without even knowing what happened yourself.

So here you are, facing the door, empty-handed. You’d thrown out the fast-food at the first trashcan you’d come to after deciding to return. Would Jungkook be home by now? Had he finished with – was he done? Or was he still out there, still… You have to say it eventually, you try to tell yourself firmly, but your whole being cringes from making that acknowledgement, from putting it into syllables that might somehow trap it in reality. It’s not something you can manage tonight. You really don’t know what will be worse, him being inside or not, but you can’t just stand outside forever.

Forcing the key to the lock is no harder than flinging yourself off a cliff, and you approach it with the same amount of dry-mouth apprehension. Your hands are shaking so bad it’s hard to get them to align, but when you finally do, the click of the key sliding in is too loud, like its announcing that you’ve slunk back in shame to all of the apartment building inhabitants. A ridiculous notion, but you flinch anyways, heart seizing as your stiff fingers fumble with the little jiggle required to get the door to open. It takes you three attempts, your anxiety growing, and when you finally manage it, you’re so strung out with tension that you don’t hesitate. You just fling the door open and stumble through.

Straight into Jungkook.

For just a second, it feels like the magnetism you learned about in school. For just a second you fall into him like there’s nothing else in the world more natural than falling, and for just a second you press against his chest and feel dizzy with the light, clean scent that surrounds you. For just a second, as he catches your weight and closes his arms around you, calling your name with a voice of choked relief, you let yourself forget.

For just a second.

And then reality floods back in, a tainted torrent of regret and grief, strewn with rage and humiliation that drifts just below the surface. Though you’re so unsteady you can barely see, your lungs blocked and battling to heave in enough air just to keep breathing, you struggle to get away from him.

“Let go of me,” you say, dry and curt, and when his arms only tighten – more, you suspect, to keep you from pitching over than in denial of your demand – your efforts become harsher, more violent. Without room you can’t get any momentum to really push away from him, but your motions are frantic with the desire to do just that. There’s a panicked, screaming need to get away from him, to get enough space, like he’s the reason your lungs are crumpling in on themselves. “Let go, Jungkook!” you cry, your voice spiking up into shrillness, shattering the syllables of his name.

Like he’s been electrified, Jungkook jerks, his arms flying open. Instantly, let loose, you scramble away, down the entrance hallway. Just as off balance as he’d feared, you nearly trip over something long and cumbersome leaning against the wall that you’re too distraught to look at, and you have to windmill to catch your balance. A moment later you slam your shoulder into the corner of the wall as you try to take the turn too sharply. “Y/N, please, stop!” you hear, and wish you hadn’t. Barely registering the sharp throb in your shoulder, you catch yourself and keep going. Seconds later you’re in the bedroom, and you slam the door shut.

It doesn’t have a lock. Putting your back to the door, your air rattling hollowly out of your mouth – too fast, too shallow, but you can’t seem to calm down – you slide down the solid surface. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your forehead against them, eyes tightly closed, still gasping. Your eyes are aching, but you can’t cry against the immense pressure of overwhelming panic. There’s just a stinging sensation and a pulsing rigidity in your face, like each and every muscle there has chosen to stage a personal rebellion at the exact same time.

I can’t, I can’t, oh God, please, I can’t do this I can’t look at him I can’t I –

“Y/N?” Jungkook sounds like he’s directly on the other side of the door, but he makes no attempt to open it. “Baby, please, are you okay?”

His voice is so raw with worry that it’s red. The colour blooms across your closed eyelids, swathes of crimson and scarlet, and you imagine that it’s blood, trickling from the wound inside of you. You can barely tell where your back ends and the door begins, like any moment you might slide through it, or maybe through the floor, or through the ground, or maybe you’re already there, floating in nothing, and the red breaks into jagged pieces of black and orange and you still can’t breathe.

“Y/N? Can you talk to me? Just – say something, okay? Just so I know you’re okay.”

You can’t even manage that. Even if you wanted to. Even if he deserved to know. Throat moving convulsively, you choke out a sob but nothing else comes after. Just wheezing breaths, and you think you’re shaking but you’re somewhere outside of your skin so it’s hard to tell.

“Okay, okay. I’m – I’m gonna be here, okay? Right here. If you need me, I’m here.” Even through the hazy distortion swamping you, Jungkook’s clear, resonant voice comes through. Maybe it’s the concern, too heavy to be swept away by the raging panic. Maybe it’s the compassion, too anchored in you to be broken away by the tremendous pressure.

Or maybe you just know Jungkook’s voice so well that even your disassociation can’t make it unfamiliar to you.

“You’re doing good, Y/N. I’m still here. Just on the other side of this door.” A pause, a deep chasm of silence, and then he continues. “I think it’s a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”  

Later, you will be both annoyed and touched that Jungkook realized you were having a panic attack before you did. You’ve had a few throughout university, but none within the past year or two, and in the moment, you’d been too overwhelmed to identify what’s going on. The insight is helpful though, something to cling to and repeat to yourself. A grounding. It’s a panic attack. You’re going to be okay.  

Jungkook keeps talking, slow and steady. Nothing serious. Just words. You lean on his voice just as hard as you’re leaning on the door, and, slowly but surely, in a stretch of time that doesn’t mean anything to you, the constrictive bands across your chest loosen. You sink back into yourself. The tips of your fingers make sense again.

And you start crying.

“Y/N? How’re you feeling?”

Funny. Now, with your throat something other than a fist and pain, you still struggle to say anything. This is a softer kind of crying, not quite quiet, with little, hiccupping gasps as the tears run down your face. Possible to speak through. You just don’t know what to say to the man who just talked you, with kindness and compassion, through a panic attack. Who cheated on you. Your fingertips might make sense, but nothing else does.

“I – Y/N, baby, I get that you’re upset, but I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” So anguished. Why did he have to sound like that? What right did he have?

You don’t know if it’s outrage or bewilderment or grief or pity that has you answering. Is it possible to have all of them in your mouth, gritty across your tongue? At any rate, your tone is as washed out as you feel, fatigued and grey. “I saw, Jungkook,” you whisper to your knees.

There’s silence on the other side of the door. Denial? Guilt? His reply is sluggish, thick with confusion. “You saw what?”

That makes you laugh – or not really, though the tortured sound was supposed to be one. “I was there. At the Golden Closet Gallery.” Will he really keep pretending after he knows you were there? Could he really be that brazen? The Jungkook you know couldn’t. There’s no way he could carry a lie like that, holding it effortlessly in the face of the truth. The Jungkook you know would blush, shuffle, collapse like a house of cards. He’s really not good at lying.

The answer isn’t a lie, but it confuses you all the same. “I know you were. Namjoon texted me to say he’d dropped you off, but – Where did you go? I – I drove around for like an hour trying to find you, and I couldn’t and when I got home you weren’t here…” The stream of words dies out like Jungkook can’t quite find any more to say, or maybe he’s embarrassed to say them.

When your reply isn’t forthcoming, confusion churning up anything you might spit out, he continues, more subdued. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you after what you just went through, I just– Are– How are you feeling? Was it – did something happen while you were getting here? Is that what took so long?” Another pause that you can’t fill, that stretches on and on as you try to understand what he’s talking about. How he can apologize for that and not the actual offense.  

Abruptly his voice bursts out. “Why won’t you talk to me!?” Tighter and more uncertain than you’ve heard tonight. Maybe more afraid than you’ve ever heard him.

It rips at your heart, and you realize in a swell of furious sorrow that you can’t stand to hear him sound like that. With a sudden, unstable surge, you get to your feet. Immediately your vision falters a bit, and you stagger, but catch yourself before you fall, clinging to the doorknob. You take a deep breath, fighting away the residual nausea and light-headedness. It clears within a few seconds, and your hand tightens on the knob as you take a deep breath. You can’t just leave him standing out there. You can’t just leave this incomprehensible thing hanging in the frame between your two lives.

You open the door. Slowly. Reluctantly. But you open it.

His long black hair is a wild mess, pushed back from his forehead, strands sticking up here and there. Even as you inch the door open, he runs his hand through it, ruffling it even further. His shirt is wrinkled, only partially tucked in, one sleeve rolled to bare his forearm, the other slipped down almost all the way. With his jaw so tense it’s a wonder he’s not cracking his teeth, Jungkook stares at you, lips set and pale. He doesn’t look like someone who committed a betrayal only hours before; if anything, the anguished panes of his face speak to a betrayal committed against him.

You’re so, so tired. Too tired to grasp at the outrage that wisps at the edge of your consciousness. Sniffling to clear your throat, you wipe at your face, trying make yourself a little less pitiful. “I was at the Gallery, Jungkook. I saw you,” you repeat because it’s still so hard to think of anything to say. When his expression doesn’t change – unless his eyebrows furrow, just a little, in innocent perplexity – you exhale. “I saw you with that guy. I saw you…”

“That guy? Who do you–” Jungkook breaks off, examines you more closely, like you’ve given him something to be concerned about. “Are you talking about Taehyung?”

The name is startling in its sheer unexpectedness. What the hell did Jungkook’s best friend have to do with any of this? “Taehyung? No, I’m not talking about Taehyung. I’m talking about that guy you were with tonight, in the Gallery. The guy you–” The words catch, but only for a second. You push them through with a surge of vehement exasperation for the blank expression he’s wearing. “The guy you kissed!”

In another place, the nonplused spasm across his face would have been hilarious. As it is, it just heightens your frustration, and the way he starts sputtering does absolutely nothing to reduce it. Even when he finally gets himself together and manages to talk, your aggravation is here to stay.

Right next to your mortification, as it happens.

“I didn’t– Y/N, that guy at the Gallery was Tae! Could you not tell it was him? I know he has brown hair now, but…” Jungkook shakes his head, flipping his own hair back. The tension seems to have slipped from his jaw, at least a little, and it might very well have crept into yours. “Is that– Is that what this whole thing has been about? You thought I did something with some random guy?” His lips twitch, and it doesn’t seem like he can decide if he wants to smile or scowl, and you feel the beginning of a flush heating up your face.

“It was Taehyung! And I didn’t kiss him. I mean, he tried to kiss me but it was just to–” Abruptly there’s a wash of faint scarlet crawling up his cheeks – cheeks that are rounder than they were a second ago, as he looks down and away, gaze slipping from you for the first time since you opened the door.

“Just to what?” you demand, the challenge extra belligerent to make up for the belated shock of suspended relief that hangs like smoke over your head. Too intangible for you to catch with your hands right now, though present enough to burn your throat with its sooty possibility.

He’s still looking at the ground, the blush becoming more prominent, and he begins to shift, the rustle of his dress pants loud in the fraught silence. “Um,” Jungkook begins awkwardly, head ticking to the side the way it always does when he regrets saying something or doubts his ability to do something. “It’s just, uh… he was helping me.”

“Helping you.”

Jungkook winces at your deadpan echo. “Yeah. I, um, asked him to…” Hands drumming on his thighs, drawing your attention for a second before you snap back to his flushed face, Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet. “Uh… This is totally not how I planned this,” he mumbles, before hauling his gaze up to meet your own. “Hold on for a sec, okay? I just want to grab something.” For all that he’s definitely lightened a bit, the request is tinged with urgent appeal, his eyes scouring your face hesitantly like he’s afraid you’re going to retreat back to the room the moment he loses sight of you.

You’re not entirely sure that isn’t going to happen, but there have been so many emotional upheavals today you’ve just about exhausted your ability to feel more defensiveness. The more Jungkook speaks – the longer you’re in his presence – the more the sheer impossibility of what you’d believed is sinking in. He’s just – he’s Jungkook. Such a focal point of light and energy, such a reserve of easily offered comfort in a form so much more substantial than words. Somehow – maybe because of his prolonged absences, maybe because of your staggeringly challenging day – you’d managed to forget just what he is, but it’s in front of you now, demanding to be seen and acknowledged against the backdrop of what you’d thought. What had seemed so possible, even an hour ago, suddenly seems ridiculous when set next to the quiet solidity of him, of everything he is.

Wiping again at eyes that haven’t ceased watering yet, you nod.

He hurries away, down the short hallway and back towards the front entrance. You hear a thump, a muttered curse, a short dragging noise, and then Jungkook rounds the corner, hefting a rectangular object covered in brown paper. When you examine it more closely, you’re pretty sure it’s what you almost fell over when you ran inside. By the time he’s standing in front of you, the unwieldy item put on the ground and balanced against his knee, you’re pretty sure you know what it is by the shape and packaging alone.

And somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re beginning to make connections. About Taehyung and the art gallery and the thing on the ground in front of you.

Jungkook just speeds up the process. “I was gonna wrap it in something nicer,” he offers apologetically, “but I was… Baby, I was so scared when Namjoon said you should have been at the gallery and I couldn’t find you and you weren’t at home. I thought – hell, I didn’t know what to think. That you got kidnapped or something.” He laughs, that shaky sound of amusement reserved for disasters that are absurd to imagine until they actually happen, and you shift, the heat crowding your face growing.

With a slight roll of his shoulders, he nudges the brown-wrapped object. “Anyways… Tae was helping me get this. For, um, you. Because I thought you might like it.” When you make no move to grab it, his eyebrows knit together. “Y/N? I swear, I didn’t do anything with anyone else. I wouldn’t do anything with–”

“I know.” You cut him off, unable to bear the imploring tone. It’s impossible to meet his beseeching gaze with the burden of your stupidity weighing on you, and you keep your eyes on your fingers. “I know you didn’t. Jungkook, I’m…” The winded feeling is still lingering, a hollowness in your lungs, and you have to inhale deeply just to remind yourself you can. Your anger at being abandoned by Jungkook for work died out so long ago it might as well be a relic, and with the betrayed grief swept so thoroughly out of your stomach, you’re left feeling strangely empty of anything but guilt.

“I’m so sorry. I – God, I’m so stupid. I saw you two and I thought – I assumed…” All of the logic that had founded your incorrect assumption is trickling through your grasping fingers, and you don’t know how to explain in a way that makes sense. In a way that justifies how you’d leapt to conclusions.

“I’m sorry,” you continue unevenly. “I just…”

“It’s okay.” When you keep staring down, Jungkook moves closer, reaches out, tentatively puts his arm around you. Light enough that you could break away if you wanted to. You don’t. You absolutely don’t.

The contact feels like an anchor, pulling you ever closer to reality. Making the trembling relief that much more real. The embarrassment, too. “Really Y/N, it’s – I know today has been…” After a moment he sighs, faint and low, shaking his head. “Today has sucked so bad, and Christmas isn’t supposed to be like this. I get why you thought what you did. After everything that’s been happening, after I’ve – I haven’t been around.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” is your whispered protest, still unable to look at him. “I should have just talked to you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would have saved us both a bit of panic. But Y/N…” He waits, waits longer, until you’re forced to bring your eyes up. Meeting the dark softness of his gaze summons up more guilt, more regret – but also a clear, undeniable relief. Light at the end of a pitch black tunnel. You’re not out of the darkness, but with those sympathetic eyes on you, you have a sense of striving. Like taking a step, and then another, is possible. And might just be worth it.

“Y/N, baby, it’s not all your fault. It’s on me too.” His arms are resting lightly on your shoulders, fingers gently rubbing across the nape of your neck. “I haven’t talked with you enough. Kept just pushing it off, pretending it’s okay.” When he laughs softly, his breath tickles your face. “Not quite okay, hey?”

Your strained giggle isn’t heartfelt, and it fades quickly. “In the car, when Namjoon and Yoongi gave me a ride, they said – It seems like work has really, really sucked. More than I thought it did.” You lean back, just a bit, his arms a steady support against your back, and search his face. He’s biting his cheek, little lines skittering across his forehead. This close, the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, his skin sallower than it should be. He looks tired, but he doesn’t look away from you.

“Jungkook,” you say quietly. “How bad is it?”

Something flickers behind his eyes, a shadow of his normal reserve. You can feel the tightness in his body, the slight tremor that suggests he’s about to move away. The protective distance he clings to when he doesn’t want to worry you rears up – and you kill it with your hand, trembling only slightly as you tenderly trace your fingers along his temple, down his cheekbone, to cup the strong lines of his jaw. “Please, Jungkook. Tell me.”

The admission comes, fast and breathless, like he needs to get the words out before his teeth clench over them. “Bad. It’s bad. I hate it there.”

“Oh. I–” This is a different kind of pain from most of what you’ve been feeling today. More selfless, an anguish that extends and expands outward instead of curling up. “I’m so sorry. Kookie, I didn’t know. I should have but–”

“I didn’t tell you. How could you know?”

“I should have,” you insist.

His mouth quirks, a flash of teeth showing in mild amusement. “You can’t expect me to know you’re upset, but you should know when I am? I don’t think it works that way, babe.” When your mouth opens to object, Jungkook pulls you to his chest, cutting off your protest. You sink into his embrace, boneless and aching and grateful for the support, and if the gift’s hard frame weren’t digging into your leg, it would almost be perfect.

Perfect enough.

Pressing your face against his shirt, you feel him kiss the top of your head, arms still wrapped firmly around your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispers.

“I’m glad you told me about work,” you mumble into his chest, reluctant to draw away. “If I told you to quit today, would you?” You’re not really joking, even though you know what the immediate answer has to be. You don’t have enough savings for one of you to quit without any other prospects lined up.

“Actually…” There’s something restrained in his voice, teetering on the edge of anxiety, or maybe excitement.

Shock has you looking up, resisting the comforting pull of his warmth for a moment. “You did!?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Jungkook says hurriedly, biting at his lower lip. Far from pleasure, the reassurance has disappointment funneling into your heart, funds be damned. To say that Jungkook’s job was the mother of all evils would probably be both unfair and exaggerated, but if it’s making him (and you) as miserable as he says...

“It sounds really bad, Jungkook. Killing yourself trying to please a bunch of jerks isn’t worth it.”

“You’re right.” He’s smiling now, smiling completely, showing off his teeth. “I don’t know if I can keep working for them for much longer, but… Ah, I was so scared to talk about this, and here you are, making it easy!” In his excitement, he’s playing with your hair, hands restless as they dance around. For once, the mystery isn’t extended. “Namjoon wants to break off. Start a new company, one that’s not an absolute dumpster fire to work for. He’s got several other people lined up who are happy to go, and Yoongi, obviously, and he asked me if I would join, too!”

“Is that why they gave me a ride?” Even as you demand it, you can feel yourself picking up on Jungkook’s energy. Not too much – the exhaustion sucking at your bones won’t allow it – but still, the lightness in your chest is a far cry from the sodden despair that’s taken up space there for most of the day.

Your boyfriend jiggles his head back and forth. “I dunno. Maybe. But I think mostly they did it because they’re pretty nice people.” He sounds a bit awed as he continues. “We can’t start for a couple more months – Namjoon said something about getting funding from some rich guy, Bang Sihyuk – but I still can’t believe they want me to come along. I mean, some of the people are, like, the best there are, Y/N.” You can almost see stars shining in his eyes.

Your response is firm, albeit playful. “So, it makes perfect sense that they’re having you join! Kookie, you’re gonna fit in so well, because you’re one of the best, too.” And honestly, you’re not even just shovelling empty praise; Jungkook is a truly talented artist in his medium.

His smile grows, eyes thinning with happiness. “And – you’re okay with it? There aren’t any guarantees that it will work out, with it being a new company.”

The trials of the day – mostly made from your own mind, though no less difficult for all of that – pass through your head. The loneliness and anger and sadness. All of it dimmed if not gone entirely, simply because here you are in his arms, speaking to each other instead of covering your hurt up. “Jungkook, one of the few guarantees I have of anything is that I love you, and you love me. If you’ll be happy working with Namjoon, with moving companies, then that’s all I need to hear.”

With a low hum, Jungkook sweeps you into another hug, and you’re glad to give up what space is between you two. Enfolded in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, is about the securest place you can imagine being. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with the truth of what he’s saying.

“I love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”

“I haven’t even given you your presents yet. Here –” And you’re breaking apart again – although not really, because you can still feel the connection as a thin warmth snuggled beneath your ribs – and Jungkook bends down, picks up the item sandwiched between you two. “Feel up to opening it?”

“The mystery gift that almost broke our relationship? Yeah, I’m up to it.”

Nose scrunching, he hands it over, and in your haste to see what’s inside, you make short work of the brown packaging. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised with the first glimpse of the mahogany frame – you expected a painting – but as more of the brown rips away, you feel shivery awe cascading down your spine. Once the painting is completely uncovered, you clutch it with sweaty palms, well aware of how precious a gift you’ve been given. You’d recognize the style anywhere.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, “oh my God, Jungkook, this is one of Ayeong’s, isn’t it? You – you actually got one of her paintings!?”

The quality is unmistakable. It’s a detailed piece, zoomed in on a small, dilapidated house. Almost everything about the house is bleak; the colours are all dull greys, blacks and browns, the porch is crumbling, and the shutters over the windows are chipped and cracked in places. However, right in the center of the house, taking up a good portion of the painting, is a door flung wide open, and the inside is flooded with warm colours and details in stark contrast with the exterior. There are people inside, crowded around the entrance, laughing and vibrant, and they dominate the doorway with their collective presence. One person, the only one who is looking outward, has her hand raised in greeting, as though inviting the viewers in.

“It’s called Homecoming.”

Soft and reverent, the name feels like an echo, a reverberation of your hopes and fears, and against a suddenly blurry vision, you smile. “It’s beautiful! It’s so, so beautiful. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Do you feel like opening the rest of our presents? Or should we wait until tomorrow? We can grab your phone in the morning, too.”

Your fatigue drags at you, overwhelming even your hunger, but you try to rally, lifting your chin up. “What do you want to do? Do you want to open a present?”

His head tilts as he looks you over, a quick assessment. “I don’t have to. It’ll be nice to look forward to it later.” You’re absolutely positive he’s saying that for your sake, and it makes you just that closer to crying in gratitude for what’s in front of you.

Swallowing hard, you suggest, “How about tomorrow, then? We can…” You pause, scrambling for the memory, and then grin tiredly. “We can reset. Start over tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s laugh washes over you in cozy tides of amusement. “Now there’s a great idea. Whoever thought of it is a genius.”

With a chuckle, you carefully set the painting to the side, planning on figuring out where to put it tomorrow. As soon as it leaves your hands, Jungkook is there again, claiming the free territory. His grip firm and warm, he asks you, “Do you wanna eat? Or maybe nap for a bit?”

Your panic attacks always leave you drained, and the fact that Jungkook remembers is just another fond ache to add to the collection in your chest. “Nap,” you reply gratefully. “But… do you wanna lie down with me? Just for a bit?”

He couldn’t have looked any more solemn, or any more beautiful, if he’d tried. Squeezing your hand, he says, “I’d lie with you forever, if I could get away with it.” A second later the somber façade breaks apart, leaving a blush and a squirming, quietly giggly Jungkook.

With a snort, you pull him along with you, into the bedroom, a tightness across your chest that has everything to do with just how much you love the man next to you. “Now I know you were with Taehyung.” That makes you remember, and as you both walk to the bed, you glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Taehyung almost kissing you had to do with helping you out?”

As expected, his blush grows, painting his cheeks with a pale pink, but he surprises you by pulling you closer. With a hand under your chin, the other arm wrapped around your waist, he tilts your head up. Meeting your eyes with a tenderness that floods you with reassurance, he brushes a thumb along your lips, leaving a tingling trail. When it comes, his voice is hoarser than before, firmer. “He was trying to teach me something I already know.”

And then his mouth is on yours, steady and certain. Your lips soften against him, and time becomes languid, moving by the count of each breath that flutters against your lips. Jungkook isn’t demanding, not tonight; he kisses you sweetly, gently, conveying everything that he hasn’t managed to put into words. His body has a gravitational pull all its own, drawing you closer, and you skim your hands against his back, relishing the powerful certainty of his shoulders and the intimate confidence of his mouth on yours.

A second later, he sweeps you off your feet, and you gasp in surprise, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook places you on the bed, stands looking down at you with unmasked adoration. You open your arms, a wordless invitation that unwittingly bares the front of your top. His eyes fix on it, and if anything, they soften.

“I like your sweater,” he comments quietly, and as you laugh, he climbs onto the bed with you.

You take off the sweater in question, and your jeans and bra, easy and unhesitant in his presence. He follows suit, and then grabs your pajamas, placed as they always are at the foot of the bed. You wiggle into them, and for his part, Jungkook just throws on a pair of loose pants. The feeling of familiarity sinks into your system like a sigh of contentment, and when he pulls you against his chest, you snuggle into the embrace.

Wrapped in his arms, the smooth warmth of his skin pressed against your cheek, you let the drowsy bliss sweep over your body, and you relax, sinking against the sheets even as you curl closer to him.

Jungkook’s voice ripples against your mind, a soothing undercurrent taking you closer to sleep. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas,” you mumble. With one last faltering effort, you say, “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?” You feel the inquiring murmur just as much as you hear it, a smooth hum on your cheek.    

“Thank you for coming home.”

[theboredwritertm]

"Oh, darling, everybody sees how you look at him" fic request with Din/reader! (Please and thank you :3)

Everyone Knows

A/N: Another request done and dusted. I’ve been getting some new prompt lists ready for when I open requests back up again (not sure what tumblr etiquette is for compiling a masterlist using other people’s prompt-lists, but I’m considering doing something like that), but I still have about 4 or 5 fics to finish off before then!

Rating: PG?

Pairing: Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, a bit of alcohol, that’s about it. 

Word Count:  4500 (Me, failing to keep a story under 2k words? It’s more likely than you think)

Summary: After taking on the krayt dragon together, you’re forced to confront your feelings for Din (with a little help from everyone’s favorite marshal).   

***

The monster was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

There’d been times aboard the Crest, when there were still thousands of miles to go between stops, that you’d sit by Din, giving him your rapt attention as he’d recount one of his many stories about a particularly terrifying beast he’d encountered. Not that he would ever call them terrifying – the man had a will of steel when it came to facing these kinds of things. And on this occasion, in the middle of the Tatooine desert, things would prove no different. 

Only this time he had you.

You were still coming into your abilities, not really sure what they meant or the true extent of what you were capable of, and amazingly enough you found you were learning a lot from watching the Child. For instance, before he came along, you had never known you could heal people. A simple experiment with Din had proven this to be true enough – the man was prone to injury in his line of work – and though it had taken a lot of concentration, enough that you were sweating by the end, it got you wondering just what other miracles your hands could perform.

Now, standing beside Din and the man who had introduced himself to you both as Cobb Vanth, you stared down into the dragon’s lair and found yourself hoping those powers might come in handy.

“So, how’re we drawin’ this thing out?” Cobb asks.

You glance back at the dozens of townsfolk and Tuskens around you, sensing their uneasiness as they shuffle from foot to foot and cast occasional apprehensive glances in the direction of the danger and you’re surprised to see a couple of the Raiders step forward. Considering how well their peoples’ last attempt to draw out the beast had gone, you hadn’t expected any of them to be so willing to approach the pit again. 

Cobb glances over at them and cocks his head in immediate acceptance. Given his past troubles with their people, he can’t say he’s overly concerned over the prospect of losing a few more of them.

But you’ve never been one to stand by and watch people get hurt.

“No, wait.” The words leave your mouth automatically. Up until this point, you’d been feeling completely useless. Din had been keeping an even closer watch on you than usual since a stunt you had pulled back on Nevarro; one that had involved your unpredictable powers and the dozens of stormtroopers who’d had him cornered. Though he had come out of the situation a lot worse for wear than you had, he’d been hovering over you, keeping you a safe distance from any action ever since. You were starting to get sick of being kept on the sidelines. “I can do it,” you say. 

The Tuskens turn to look back at you, not able to understand what you’ve said, but sensing a potential change of plans, then their attention is drawn to the Mandalorian beside you as he quickly dashes their hopes. 

“No,” comes Din’s clear, expected response.

You turn to him. “I can handle this.”

“No. You’re staying where you are.”

You gaze at him for just a moment, anger starting to bubble in the pit of your stomach, before turning around and striding down the tall dune, towards the gaping mouth of the empty saarlac pit. You know better than to argue – you don’t have the time right now, but every time you did, he managed to use it as a way to distract you. You wouldn’t give him that opportunity now. You’d already made up your mind.

You feel the air stir as his hand shoots out to grab you, but you’re too quick; one of the things that’s managed to keep you alive this long, but now maybe the very thing that’s going to get you killed. 

“Dank Farrik!”

Cobb glances between the man beside him and your retreating form, attempting to hold back a smirk. In the short couple of days that he’s known you both, he’s already witnessed at least three separate arguments, none of which seemed to get either of you anywhere. He didn’t see this one going the big guy’s way, either.  

The modulator seems to amplify the frustration in Din’s voice, but you ignore it. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself, as you had proven to him numerous times now, and whatever problem he had with that was his own – you weren’t about to let his fears hold you back. Yet, as you draw closer to the yawning darkness, your heart begins to thud in your chest. For the first time, you feel the enormity of this creature, and you’ve never felt so small in your life. 

You sense him approach before you hear him. That was one advantage you’d always had over Din; he could never sneak up on you.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of watching everyone else do everything,” you say, finally coming to a stop, your gaze still trained forward, “I want to play my part. I need to play my part.”

“No, you need to stay safe.” His words sound threatening despite their context, but you ignore him once more. This time he does grab you, catching you around the forearm as you raise your hands in the direction of the cave. “Stop!”You’re tempted to use your powers to throw him off, but you can feel how much he means it and you’re struck with a sudden guilt. He cares. That’s all there is to it. 

“Please, let me do this.” You stare up into his helmet and feel him gazing back, considering things. His fingers loosen from your wrist. 

“Fine. But I’m staying with you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you reply, not bothering to hide your bitterness at the constant babysitting – though, if you’re being honest, you do feel better with him by your side.

You raise your hands again and close your eyes, focusing on the low hum of energy around you. You don’t feel it at first, but then its as if you’ve suddenly locked onto a connection – plugged yourself into an electric charge – and everything suddenly feels heightened. Everything feels more. You draw on from that, concentrating on the pit of darkness before you, then you push forward with your mind, reaching out. In the darkness, something stirs.

“What is it?” Din asks, as if he’s sensed the sudden change.

“I feel it,” you reply, eyes still closed, your brow now marked with a frown. 

He stares down at you and you finally open your eyes to meet his gaze (as much as you can through the helmet) but before either of you can say anything, a low rumbling begins to emit from the ground.

It had worked. 

And it was heading right for you. 

You’ll admit that, as much you’d wanted to play your part in this, you hadn’t really considered what came next once you did manage to draw the thing out. So now, as you watch the sand shift and begin to rise a hundred or so feet in front of you, you find yourself rooted to the spot. 

It’s Din who moves first.

Your hands had come up again, all you can think to do to hold the beast off, then suddenly a strong arm is wrapping around your waist and you’re being propelled into the air. You glance down just in time to see the enormous mouth erupt from the ground where you had just been standing.

This time, you don’t argue. You clutch onto him, air whipping through your hair, thankful that he’s just as stubborn as you are.

When you finally land, he sets you on your feet and quickly glances down to make sure you’re alright. You give him a quick nod, sensing the question in his gaze, and then he takes off again to rejoin the action. It takes you a moment to regain your balance, and you still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, but when you glance back you find that he’s set you down by the landspeeder, with the Child. He’s put you back at the kids’ table. 

You give a frustrated growl and the baby blinks curiously at you, eyes full of wonder. He’s just happy to be here, close to someone he likes. You offer a reassuring stroke over his little head, then turn to stalk back down the dunes; back towards the rest of the group whose lives apparently don’t mean as much to Din, since he’s more them happy for them to join in despite them having little-to-no fighting experience. You’re not about to sit back and watch them all die. 

As the dragon bursts out of the sand once more, the Tuskens and townsfolk begin firing harpoons into its side – a desperate attempt to keep it in place – and you watch as it wrenches itself free with a simple shake of its body. There’s no way this plan is going to work.

When you arrive back by Din’s side, he simply looks at you, not even bothering to admonish you, knowing it’s not going to get him anywhere at this point anyway. But as you look at him, a silent warning to not push you aside again, he sees you’ve got that same look in your eyes now as you had back on Nevarro. And it worries him. 

You move off together as a unit as the dragon begins its assault, firing with everything you’ve got to get its attention – in your case, your trusty blaster pistol – stopping only when it opens its jaws wide and proceeds to spit boiling acid down onto anyone within its reach. You watch in horror as people are disintegrated before your eyes.

A massive explosion beneath it distracts it long enough for any survivors to get clear of its path, and the creature suddenly dives.

You wait, watching for any sign that it’s coming back up, but the smoking landscape is silent and still. Yet, something doesn’t feel right.

“I don’t think it’s dead,” Cobb says, voicing your concern, and you exchange worried glances.

“Me neither,” Din replies. His grip tightens on his blaster, waiting.

Then suddenly, up on the mountain, the creature bursts forth once more. It opens its mouth wide and you glance down at the people in its path about to be annihilated. You can’t watch this happen again. Moving as fast as your feet can carry you, you rush down towards them, shoving them aside with a powerful force-push seconds before the acid hits the sand, clearing them of its path just in time – leaving you in a tricky predicament. You’ve caught its attention now – and you have nowhere to go.

You catch the sound of jetpacks as Cobb and Din land either side of you, weapons raised and ready to come to your defense.

“Get back!” Din barks at you, and you find you have no choice but to listen to him. Failing to do so now, even just to prove a point, and you’re certain you’d be the dragon’s next meal. You’d pick your hill to die on one day, but this just wasn’t it. 

Din and Cobb take off into the air again, firing their weapons to draw the dragon’s attention away and give you time to escape. It works. The dragon, furious from the sudden new assault, turns and comes after them, spraying up sand as it whips its massive body in the new direction.  

As you watch them draw it further away, you can’t help but wonder what the plan is, since the original one has long fallen apart. They can’t keep drawing it away forever. Now that you have minute to breath, you look around for a way to help, and spot the explosives-laden bantha that had been led down as bait. It looks like it would rather be anywhere else and, hell, you don’t blame it, but glancing between it and the massive monster that currently has its sights set on the one man who never failed to put himself in the path of danger for you, you think maybe it was time to return the favor and finish this once and for all.

So, you grab the bellowing, hairy animal by its halter and do something stupid.

You start yelling. And waving your arms. And when that fails to grab the dragon’s attention, you start firing your weapon. Taking your odd behavior as some kind of cue, the townsfolk closest to you begin firing, too, and finally the dragon turns to face this latest assault, drawn to the movement of your waving arms and the scent wafting from the bantha. 

You spot the two armored men, now free of the dragon’s attention, flying up from the mountain before one in particular makes a sudden beeline in your direction. You can practically feel Din’s wrath radiating off of him before he even gets close, and it’s like the bantha can, too, as it begins to protest and pull against its rope. Or maybe it’s the giant monster coming to swallow it whole that has it so skittish.  Either way, you feel like an ass as you try to calm it down, knowing the only reason you’re doing so is to keep it in place long enough to be eaten.

You’re grateful to have the marshal land behind you first as Din drops down in front, poised to lose his absolute mind at you for your reckless behavior, but finding the situation momentarily put on-hold as Cobb asks to no one in particular, “Now what?”

Din’s staring at you, gaze heavy, burning, and humiliating all in one, but he doesn’t have time to berate you as the dragon breaks from a nearby dune. “I have an idea,” he says, and before either you or Cobb can ask what that is, he shoves you into the marshal’s arms and sets off the man’s jetpack, sending you both careening up and away from the dragon’s path – and leaving him right in the middle of it. 

You had come to suspect that you were in pretty deep with Din Djarin, ever since he had first rescued you many years ago, but watching him disappear into the enormous jaws of the krayt dragon was a lesson you had never asked for in how you really felt about him. Even as everyone around you falls into a stunned silence, your ears begin to buzz and you have to fight to keep your footing, absently leaning against Cobb for support as the energy drains from your legs. Cobb reaches for you but misses as you collapse down onto the sand by his feet. Your throat starts to tighten. Everything feels hazy. 

This can’t be it. This can’t be the way it happens. 

Then the beast erupts from the sand once more and you spot a familiar shape fly out of its roaring mouth. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. Suddenly, you can breathe again. Then you’re back on your feet and racing towards him.

The huge blast that follows knocks you back and you hold an arm across your eyes to protect them from the cloud of sand billowing from the site of the explosion, but even that’s not enough to stop you as you keep your sights trained on the metal armor glistening in the hot sun. 

When you finally reach Din, you stand for a moment looking at him, then a sound escapes you halfway between a sob and shout, and you shove him – hard. He stumbles backwards but remains on his feet.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You don’t think you’ve ever been this angry in your life. Fury radiates from every cell in your body, and still Din just stares at you. Then you hug him. Neither of you are expecting it, and his body stiffens immediately in surprise, but when you feel him relax and one of his arms comes up to wrap around you in return, everything suddenly feels right again. You couldn’t care less that he’s covered in gross dragon goo and that it’s probably getting all over your clothes, or that there’s a crowd of onlookers witnessing this moment between you – all you care about is the fact that he’s here, that he’s still alive. 

A cheer erupts behind you as you part, and it’s not for you and Din, but for the smoking remains of the dragon nearby, and it’s soon joined by the howls of the Tuskens as they raise their weapons in victory. 

It’s over. It’s done. And as you look up at Din, you can think of many things worth celebrating.

***

And celebrate, you do. 

As much as he had wanted to make a quiet exit once he had collected his promised armor from Cobb, you had managed to convince Din to stay in Mos Pelgo just a little longer for the revelries. It had been a long time since you’d stayed anywhere close to civilization, let alone had a good reason to celebrate; and though you’d grown used to the comfortable silence of the Razor Crest, there’s some comfort in being surrounded by happy, chattering people for once, instead of the lonely vacuum of space.

Cobb had asked you back personally for a couple of drinks at the bar, and though the invitation had been extended to both of you, Din had failed to take it that way. In hindsight, you suppose your initial run-in with Cobb is to blame for this sudden standoffish behavior, since your contribution to convincing the man to hand over the beskar had involved you telling him that the helmet was ‘a waste on a face like his’. You guess that comment hadn’t sat too well with Din, but it had just sort of slipped out. What could you say? The guy was a looker. Yet even now, as Cobb glances over at your table from the bar, offering a warm, friendly smile in your direction, you find yourself distracted. 

You look around and finally spot Din. He’d been radiating quiet irritation since arriving back, and stands now in the furthest corner of the room, watching the festivities with what you imagined was a sulky expression beneath the helmet. The Child sits by his feet, on the sandy floor, playing with something round and shiny, completely absorbed in his own little world.

“I take it Mandalorian’s aren’t much for parties,” Cobb comments as he finally reaches your side with drinks, breaking you from you trance. He sits down beside you and slides one of the glasses of bright-blue liquid your way.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He nods over towards Din whose gaze is currently burning into you, and you shift uncomfortably trying to find somewhere else to direct your attention, unsure why you don’t just look at Cobb. You realize why when your eyes shift back to him and the feeling of being watched intensifies. 

“Him?” you reply, trying to sound casual, now hyperaware that Din is currently reading every detail of this interaction, “Oh, he usually just prefers the quiet, you know? Not really the social type. He’s only here because I asked.”

“Just watching over his girl, huh?” Cobb teases, taking a swig of his spotchka.

“His gir—What are talking about?”

He frowns before giving you a knowing look, then risks a quick, pointed glance towards Din, who he’s noticed hasn’t turned his gaze away from you for longer than a few seconds the entire evening. 

“We’re just friends,” you tell him, even if that label doesn’t feel quite right to you. “It’s not like that.” You take a mouthful of drink just to give yourself something to do, and wince at the unexpected bitterness. When you glance back over at Din, your cheeks heat up a little when you realize he’s still looking back. You finally drop your gaze away, reassuring yourself that the weird feeling you’ve suddenly gotten in your stomach is just the alcohol taking affect, but when you look back at Cobb you catch him smirking at you. 

“We’re friends,” you repeat, wondering who you’re trying to convince now, since Cobb seems pretty damn decided on the matter. “Colleagues, you know. We’ve just been through a lot together.” You frown as he chuckles. “What?”

“I did not just spend two days listening to the two of you bicker like an old married couple, to hear you say that you two are ‘just friends’.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I just don’t look at him that way.”

“Oh, darlin’, everybody sees how you look at him.”

You think back to the desert, to your arms wrapping around him like he might disappear again at any moment; to the arm that had pulled you closer and squeezed you in return. 

You take another gulp of spotchka to calm the fluttering feeling in your belly, and shoot a quick glance over to see if he’s still looking at you.

But he’s gone.

Panic floods over you.

You look around the room, hoping you don’t look as desperate as you suddenly feel, when Cobb nudges you. You look back at him and he nods to the door, where you just manage to catch a flash of cape and armor and Din disappears through it into the night.

Cobb smiles. “Go on. Go talk to the guy. I’ll still be here if you want another drink. If not, I hope we meet again someday.” He tips his glass towards you and you nod, managing a brief smile of appreciation as you stand. 

Your legs feel heavy as you walk towards the exit. It’s dark outside – almost pitch black aside from a scattering of light coming through a few windows, and the few fires burning outside to keep people warm on the cold desert night – and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot Din still standing out on the road. It looks like the kid is giving him some trouble, his fussy cries reaching your ears easily in the quiet. He settles as soon as he sees you, though, and Din turns to see what has the ability to calm him so quickly. 

Of course, it’s you, he thinks. He should have known – you have the same effect on him.

“Hey,” you greet, still fighting back these unexplained nerves as you approach him. You’d known him for years, spent a lot of time in his company, and been through a lot together, but it’s the first time you feel nervous around him.

“Hey,” he replies simply, “I was just heading to take him back to the ship.” He pauses like he’s weighing up what he wants to say next, then adds, “When should I expect you back?”

“Back?”

“I can meet you there in the morning if that’s more suitable.” 

He’s acting weird, and though you know exactly why, you can’t help but frown at the bitterness in his tone. He’s trying to keep it cool and calm around the kid. You wonder what he’d be saying instead if it was just the two of you. 

“Why would you do that? Why would—” You hate what he’s implying, but you need him to say it, to admit why it’s a problem for him – to know if Cobb’s right. “Where am I supposed to be in all of this?”

You stare at him, the question written on your furrowed brow, wondering if he has the guts to admit the accusation outright. 

He looks back towards the bar and then back at you, cocking his helmet as if he’s expecting you to be the one to make the confession, even if there is a low rage bubbling away inside of him at the thought of it. He thinks back to the desert, to the feeling of your arms wrapped around him, to the way his own arm had come up instinctually to hold you closer, and he thinks of how much he wants that again.

“I’m coming back to the ship,” you tell him.

“Don’t do that on my account,” he replies, and you swear he says things like that just to piss you off. 

Before you can formulate a response, he turns away and starts walking towards his borrowed landspeeder. The Child looks back at you over his shoulder and stretches his little arms towards you with a cry, but Din ignores it.

You almost shout his name, forgetting for a moment where you are, and instead splutter out an awkward ‘Mando!’, which you haven’t called him in over a year; not since he entrusted you with his true name. He stops and slowly turns back. By now the kid is wriggling and fussing so much in his arms that he has to put him down, and the little one immediately heads towards you, reaching up to be held. You scoop him up and Din watches as the kid coos happily and buries his face in your hair. He’d thought they were leaving without you, Din realizes, and he can’t help but wonder if the kid’s picked up on his own emotions too – at his own distress at the thought of leaving you behind. 

He watches you for a moment as you soothe the Child, observing the tender way you fuss over him, and feels guilt start to creep over him.

“I am doing it on your account,” you tell him firmly, after a moment, finally looking back at him again, and his helmet tilts slightly as he stares back at you. You screw up your face like you hate the idea of having to say the next words out loud, but you do anyway for his sake. “I’m not interested in the marshal.”

He makes a non-committal noise like he either doesn’t believe you or he’s pretending it’s not a big deal, and you roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the kid. 

You wonder what you can say, how you’re going to make him understand what you’re feeling, because you can’t go back to the ship like this – things can’t just keep on going how they have been, with the arguments and all these unspoken words that are causing them. So, you step forward, closing the gap between the two of you as you rest a hand against his chest plate to get his attention. 

Din stares down at you, heart thumping as he tries to read your expression and figure out what you’re going to say before you say it, hoping he’ll be less caught off guard this way.

You reach up to the back of his helmet, guiding him down towards you, muttering, “Come here, you idiot.” Then you press your forehead to the cold beskar of his helmet and find a way to tell him.

“Where you go, I go.”

He seems to understand that well enough. 

[winterscaptain]

inherited.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this popped into my head fully formed. when i thought too hard about it, i cried. It’s sweet. enjoy! tell me what you think! this takes place in au!october 2022

words: 2k warnings: language, tooth-rotting fluff

summary: “i don’t have stepchildren, i have children who happened to be born before i met them.” – unknown

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You’re laid out flat on the bed, tooling around on your phone, when Jack comes in, gets a running start, and flops onto the bed beside you. His feet hang off the opposite side yours do, your heads close together. 

Elliot and the girls are napping the early afternoon away, Jack had an early-release day from school, Aaron’s taking a half-day, and Isaac’s still stuck on that 750-piece puzzle on your office floor. You left one of the baby monitors in the nursery and one with him, just in case. The faint, staticky sound of him talking to himself grumbles through the little speaker on Aaron’s bedside table.

Jack doesn’t say anything, but pulls his phone out and starts doing whatever newly-minted seventeen-year-olds do on his phone beside you. 

You, on the other hand, need to take care of an email from Aaron.

To: hotchner2@fbi.justice.gov From: hotchner@fbi.justice.gov

CC: prentiss@fbi.justice.gov

SSA Hotchner, 

See attached for your quarterly performance evaluation from your supervisor, BAU Unit Chief SSA Emily Prentiss, cc’d here. Please direct any questions or concerns to SSA Prentiss. 

Best, SSA Aaron Hotchner, J.D. Northeast Investigations and Operations Support Section Chief Quantico, VA

P.S. Leaving the office in 30. See you soon xx

You draft a quick reply and send it. 

To: hotchner@fbi.justice.gov From: hotchner2@fbi.justice.gov

Received. 

Thanks, Hotch. 

Best, SSA _______ Hotchner Behavioral Analysis Unit, Quantico, VA

P.S. Come in quietly thru the garage - C, S, E are still out.

With a roll of your eyes, you put your phone down and take a moment to look at Jack. 

He’s nearly a man, the baby fat falling from his jaw and cheekbones, getting taller by the day. Much to Aaron’s chagrin, they’re about the same height now. 

Jack’s eyes flicker from his phone and meet yours for a split second. “What?”

“Just lookin’ at you.”

A little puff of a laugh leaves his nose. “Why?”

One side of your mouth lifts. “I know you’re tired of hearing this, but if you ever have kids of your own, you’ll get it.” 

He hums, tossing his phone onto the pillow behind him. “Well, yeah. I got that, but why?”

You roll onto your side, curling your legs fully onto the bed. It’s a good question, and one for which you’re not sure you have an answer. Thinking for a moment, you sigh. “So, with you, for example. I can’t really put it into words, but you’re a bit of a miracle.” 

He squints (just like Aaron) and you continue. 

“I have the privilege of being your mom, which is a title that isn’t really mine.” You tuck the inside of your lip between your teeth, trying to figure out how to articulate it. 

It’s not that I don't want to be your mom but in the world where I’m not your mom, Haley is still here.

But there are some days I miss her so much I wish I didn’t have to be your mom. She was always going to be ‘mom.’

But then it’s the best thing in the world to be your mom and I wouldn’t want it any other way…

Fuck. 

You start slow. “It’s a bit of a bittersweet thing. I never expected to be ‘mom’ to you while Haley was alive. No matter what would have or could have happened between your dad and me, Haley is your mom. So, the knowledge that we’re here - you and I, in this house with your brothers and sisters and your dad, the way we are - is very much grounded in Haley’s absence.” 

You shake your head, realizing you’re getting off topic. “All this to say, it’s a bit of a miracle that I get to be your mom, and not just mom to those other little gremlins infesting this house.” 

You both smile. 

“And sometimes, I just need to stare at you, make sure you’re real, and sit in that kind of...feeling that I can’t quite articulate.” 

Jack’s been listening the whole time, his brown eyes soft and open. “I think I get that. It makes sense - even if you and Dad still got married and had more kids, Haley would be ‘Mom’ and you would be...something else.” 

You smile a little. “I guess you could say I inherited the title, in some ways.” 

“That’s a good way to put it.” His eyes wander up to the ceiling, pensive. 

“You know, I can’t remember a time when you weren’t around. Like, not every memory has you in it because you weren’t always there, but...there isn’t a single, like, phase of my life when you weren’t in it.” 

It's your turn to listen. 

“And I don’t remember my mother very well. You and Dad always made sure I knew who she was - I feel like I know everything about her, but like…” He trails off for a second before looking back at you. “She still feels like a stranger, a little bit.” 

You nod. “Someone distant, maybe?”

“Yeah. Like I feel connected to her and everything but you’re my mom. You’ve always been that person for as long as I can remember. I can’t imagine anything else.” He shakes his head a little. “It wouldn’t be right to call you anything else.”

A shaky breath leaves you through your mouth, unexpected tears springing into your eyes. Since you’re on the deep end of the conversation pool, you switch gears a little. “Is it ever weird? Having the little ones around? Your dad and I having more kids?” 

He immediately shakes his head. “Nah. I can really remember when it was just the two of us - me ‘n Dad - and then then three of us after that one Christmas. But I don’t really miss it? Like, sometimes it gets so fucking loud in this house -”

“Language,” you chastise. It’s weak, at best. 

He snorts, revising. “Sometimes, it gets really loud in this house and I have those moments of like, ‘oh my god why are they so loud why can’t it just be me and Mom and Dad again,’ but they never last long.” He laughs a little. “Like right now, they’re just in the other room napping and I miss them.” 

“You know when you laugh like that you look just like your mother?”

That sunshine smile breaks across his face again. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” You reach out to him, brushing the apple of his cheek with the side of your finger - just a second, just an affectionate little bit of contact. His smile gets wide enough that you’re treated to one dimple. “But those,” you poke the little indent by the corner of his mouth and he screws his face up. “Those are all your dad’s.”

Jack grows pensive again. “Dad said he’d tell me about the divorce if I wanted to ask.” 

Many of your conversations bounce around like this. Fifteen years of life together make up for seemingly contextless non-sequiturs. You know, just like you do with Aaron, he has more to say. 

You wait him out.

“If I asked, would you tell me?”

With a sigh, “I can tell you how it was for me as their friend, but I won’t speak for Dad or Haley.” 

Jack nods, understanding. “What was it like? Like, the...actual divorce? Did you get caught in the middle?”

“It sucked. It really sucked, but no, I never got caught up in it that way. Sure, they vented to me about each other after it was all over - which,” you add, “by the way, was its own form of comedy.” 

That gets a smile out of Jack.

“But they never asked me to tell them they were right or made me feel like I had to choose a side. I would have hated to become a carrier pigeon for their bullshit.” With a chuckle: That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Ah yeah, miscommunication as a plot device. We covered that in English last semester.” 

You laugh. “Exactly. Even then, though, they loved each other so much and they both tried their hardest to make it work, but couldn’t.” 

Jack’s thinking again, looking more and more pressed by the minute as he stares at the ceiling. 

“What?” You ask. 

“I just -” His mouth presses into a thin line, revealing a dimple, and you thank your lucky stars you love Aaron as much as you do because right now, you’re looking at his clone. “I just...I’m trying to think of something that could, like, break you and Dad up...but I literally can’t think of anything. You guys just work.” 

He’s thinking out loud, finding the question as he goes. You let him. “Even as mad as you get at each other sometimes, I’ve never been afraid. Even when you’re upset with each other you’re still...I dunno...like, two parts of the same person?” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, my love, it does. Your father and I…” 

You sigh, knowing you’re exposing yourself for the person you are, instead of hiding behind your role as a parent.

“...we need each other too much, perhaps to a fault. He’s my favorite person and my biggest weakness. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for him, and I know he’s the same way about me.” You pause. “We don’t really know how not to be a team.”

Jack’s seen that in them almost all his life. It doesn't surprise him. He’s not sure he believes in soulmates, but he’d imagine you and Aaron are pretty damn close. 

His mouth twists. “I’d imagine a lot of people feel that way until the shit hits the fan.” 

You nod, your head wavering from side to side. “Well...yeah. Not everyone feels that way about their spouse, though.”

“Sure,” he relents, looking a bit like a lawyer. “But if they do, how do you get to that place where you call it quits, you know? How do you decide you don’t need each other or love each other? And how do you know who’s wrong?”

Good question. 

“I mean, it’s less about who’s wrong, and more about who’s right that causes all the trouble, I think, at least from an outside perspective. With your parents, they were both right in a lot of ways.”

You think for a minute, changing directions a bit. “When there are two right answers that are mutually exclusive, there’s not much you can do. Nobody’s wrong - everyone just wants what they want, and there isn’t a clear compromise. Sometimes, the compromise is too much...So, you can still love each other but not be married, like your dad and Haley.” 

“Your mom left,” you continue, “because she reached a breaking point. Her needs and your dad’s needs were mutually exclusive - no compromise existed. And, again, in a lot of ways, they were both right.” 

You shrug, admitting, “They both made bad choices and mistakes in that process, but nobody was the bad guy. In some ways, that’s harder. You love them, but you can’t have them in your life in that way.”

His face clears up. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. Like, I’m thinking about friends and stuff - how some friends are really great outside of school but I would never want to do a group project with them - but for...you know, marriage.” 

You laugh. “Yeah, it’s a lot like that. And you were just about the only thing your parents could agree on at any given time.” 

“Really?”

“Yep. They love you, and always want what’s best for you.” Your eyes flicker to the photo on Aaron’s dresser - the one of you and Haley and Jack nearly fifteen years ago, sandwiching his cheeks in kisses. “When you’re a good parent with that kind of mindset, it’s easy to work as a team for your children.”

“Like you and Dad.” 

“Like me and Dad.” 

Jack quiets for a minute. “Can I tell you something?”

You turn toward him, reaching kind of up and away for his hand. Your clasped fingers end up between your faces. “Always, my love.”

“Sometimes...Sometimes, I wish I looked more like you.” 

Your brow pinches. “Why?” The question is soft, all curiosity. 

“I dunno? I think I just like, want to resemble you because you’re my mom, you know?”

You let out a laugh. “Jack you have no idea. You should ask your father how much you resemble me.”

He shakes his head, a confused little smile on his face. “I don’t get it.” 

“You have picked up eighty percent of my mannerisms and it drives your dad up the wall.” You sit up, releasing his hand and ruffling his soft dark hair as you pretzel-cross your legs. “So if we’re going by his book, you inherited plenty from me. In fact, more than enough.”

“Alright, see, now that makes sense.” Jack sits up across from you right as the door from the garage opens. 

You both wait, quiet, with little smiles on your faces, listening to his car keys hit the kitchen counter (and slide a little - he tossed them), the short walk to his office where he sets his briefcase down and removes his suit jacket (to be hung up later, if he remembers). You can hear him travel to your office, checking on Isaac and looking for you, before taking the stairs two at a time to the baby’s room. 

Jack looks over his shoulder and you follow his gaze, tuned into the baby monitor. There’s a shaky kind of sigh that crackles through the speaker, and you can almost see him reaching into the crib. 

“If he wakes that baby up,” you say, dead serious, “I’ll kill him.”

Jack sniffs, all business. “I’ll grab the shovel and trash bags and you drive, yeah?”

You offer your hand. Jack shakes on it before dissolving into a fit of conspiratorial giggles. He falls into you, turning so his back is against your chest and his head tipped back against your shoulder.

It’s moments like this where he feels five years old again. 

As big as he is and as much of a shit as he can be, he’s still the same boy.  

The pair of you are so caught up in your own private joke that you don’t hear Aaron as he crosses the house and leans on the door jamb. When you both catch sight of him, it only makes you laugh harder. You wrap your arms around Jack, trapping him close to you as you hook your chin over his shoulder. 

He’s examining you both, brow a little furrowed, mouth a little open in an almost-smile. He’s seen the Mom and Jack Show before - it’s a series that started about ten years ago with about a thousand episodes and no cancellation in sight. “What on earth are you two doing in here?”

Jack drops into a deadpan. “Hypothetically plotting your demise for the hypothetical instance that you hypothetically wake Elliot and hypothetically deprive Mom of her hypothetical peace and quiet.”

Aaron nods, as if deeply considering it. “I see. Well, luckily, we’ve narrowly avoided that hypothetical scenario.”

You smile at him. “So thus, you live another day. Congratulations.” 

Aaron breaks with a smile, his commitment to the bit evaporating in the presence of two of his favorite faces. He toes off his shoes and crosses to you both, still all wrapped up and letting little laughs escape. He kisses Jack on the head and you lightly on the lips before flopping down on his back with a satisfied sigh.

You share a devious glance with Jack. Aaron throws a pillow over his face, his voice muffled. 

“Yeah, alright, you two. That’s enough.” 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @cevanswhre @joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43

[thelarriefics]

HOLIDAY FIC REC, PART IV: Below you’ll find more fics that have to do with the holiday season. 

📖 (I'm Dreaming of a) One Night Inn by @lululawrence (54k)

When everything Louis had planned for his life falls through, and on his birthday no less, he's left with no other option but to regroup and start over again. The road of life isn't always straight and it certainly isn't always easy, but sometimes it's those twists and turns that find you your closest friends and—if you're really lucky—the love of your life.

Louis just happens to be very lucky.

A Holiday Inn AU.

📖 Baby, Won't You Look My Way? by @peachbootylouis (50k)

Louis tiptoed to the door and opened it, looking over his shoulder for a moment. Harry looked absolutely gorgeous, almost enough to make him strip back down and give it another go. But that wasn’t who Louis was. So he sighed and stepped outside, leaving back to his flat. And for the first time in years, he felt alive.

Or the where Louis’ routine centered life runs like clockwork until a chance hook up throws a wrench named Harry into it all. But as it may turn out a change in plans could be what Louis has needed all along.

📖 Ideal: An Advent Fic by @iamasphodelknox (40k)

All Louis wanted was some god-damned time to write his novel. He didn’t expect to move his and Liam’s entire production of a Christmas variety show to a small inn in Vermont just before the holidays. He didn’t expect to save Niall’s inn. He didn’t expect Liam to fall in love. He definitely didn’t expect to fall in love himself. And he certainly didn’t expect it all to feel so much like a Christmas movie.

Oh hell. There’s a lot of things Louis didn’t expect.

A White Christmas au, complete with drama, fluff, choreographed dance numbers, and idiotic boys falling in love. Just your typical Christmas fun.

📖 The Happiest Season by @sadaveniren (37k)

“You’re going to spend Christmas - and your birthday - with his homophobic WASP parents? That’s gonna be hell.”

Louis closed his eyes in frustration. “It was either that or be apart and I don’t think that’s gonna be good for either of us this year, you know?”

A fic loosely based on Happiest Season but make it ... different

📖 maybe this christmas by @nobodymoves (34k)

Harry lives next door to Louis and babysits his daughter. He might be hopelessly in love with Louis and desperate to be part of his little family, but he’s ignoring that in favour of trying to make Louis’s busy life as easy as possible. When he finds out Louis and his daughter don’t believe in Santa - someone who is universally considered a real person - he makes it his mission to convince them. Along the way he takes in a man who may or may not actually be Santa, and everyone’s Christmas wishes might come true.

A Miracle on 34th Street AU.

📖 Retiens la nuit by @teamlouis2020 (26k)

Everything is too much for Harry. His exboyfriend, his job, his whole life actually. Flying across the globe to find a quiet place for Christmas holidays is exactly what he needs. Among a warm cottage and snow-covered fields, he doesn't expect to come across Louis, the beautiful stranger that stumbled into his house one night. Love isn't supposed to find a way to his heart, but Christmas has its magic tricks, hasn't it?

📖 Neither Wine Nor Dine by @brightgolden (25k)

With Louis’ fringe taking up half of his forehead and eyes crinkling at the side with how wide he grins just by looking at their Christmas tree, he looked so much like the 19 year old boy Harry met in the living room of his shared two-bedroom apartment years ago.

It's too bad that Harry doesn't get to see it often.

OR

Where Harry is too busy travelling the world and Louis is home during Christmas.

📖 Baby, You're On My List by @chloehl10 (17k)

Harry takes his niece to see Father Christmas, but he doesn't count on meeting the cutest Christmas elf. Taken by the handsome stranger, Harry decides to recruit as many children as he can so he can see him again, and again, and again...

📖 The fic where Harry calls Louis an idiot for ten days straight because he is one. by @mercurial-madhouse (16k)

They’ve found the perfect get away from their busy lives as nationally-famous footie player and well-respected restaurant critic, escaping to the isolation of a cabin in the woods where they can simply be Louis and Harry.

If only both were actually here.

A gift forgotten in London, the untameable force of the weather, and the scent of burnt snickerdoodle biscuits find Harry and Clifford pitifully alone and Louis... Where is Louis?

📖 Unwrap My Heart by @larryficwriter (15k)

Harry is flabbergasted, that much is clear. He also looks emotional, understandably. A little excited shiver runs through Louis’ body because this is just the beginning.

“Harry,” Louis begins as soon as the song is over. “This begins 12 Days of presents that I have planned for you. Each day you’ll get another present from me that will hopefully show you that you mean the world to me.”

or, the 12 Days of Christmas: Larry Edition

📖 The Ideal Flatmate by @larryyouknow (12k)

Louis shares his flat with the ideal flatmate (or I-F as he often nicknames him). Harry is a bit younger and a bit taller than him. He’s polite and there is nothing to complain about. Harry rarely brings someone over, he isn’t loud, he eats at the table and when he uses the shared area for his crafting projects he always tidies after himself. Harry doesn’t bother Louis and he pays his share in time.

The ideal flatmate.

The only problem is: Harry hates Louis. This will be very lovely Christmas.

📖 Fine Lines by @harrystinysantashorts (11k)

The short story is there are two little, white sticks sitting on the bathroom counter with two little, pink lines on both of them. The long story is that that’s never happened before.

or, Harry gets the surprise of a lifetime and decides it’ll be the perfect Christmas present.

📖 Run to Me Through The White Night by @mizzhydes (8k)

A horrid last-minute shopping trip amidst a mass of teenage girls and their parents was not what Louis was hoping to get roped into two days before Christmas.

The day started out dreadfully, but fate had something different in store for Louis that day. A chance encounter between a famous pop star and an everyday lad, gave way to an evening that neither of them would ever forget.

📖 In Search of the Perfect Tree by @beanno28 (5k)

Harry and Louis work together at Home Depot and are also in a long term relationship. Harry is getting ready to get the store ready for the holiday season. When Louis decides he wants in on the action and their coworkers plan a tree off. Who wins and who loses? What happens when Harry has a secret up his sleeve?

📖 may your every wish come true by @cocoalou (4k)

“Harry, right? Harry Styles?”

Harry’s insides are screaming.

“Uh. Yes. Louis Tomlinson, yeah?” he replies, trying desperately to keep the manic smile off his face that he knows is already making an appearance because Louis remembers him (!!!!!), little ole Harry Styles; two years below, nerdy as all hell, and his friend’s dorky, younger brother.

Harry and Louis reconnect during the Holidays, it's kind of fate.