#feel free to reblog and add any outfits I’ve missed

[applysome]

Miles Kane and Fashion:

(calm down but could work) edition 💅

Credit: 1-4 Instagram via @nicoscheer

5-10 Pinterest

[sillyguy-supreme]

i’ve noticed an influx of new fans, so i thought i’d put together a list of resources on fandom racism and racism within the writing of kotlc, as well as accounts who talk about it regularly :)

from @cogaytes:

fandom woobification of tam song

the song twins & keepblr characterization

tam song’s outfits and stereotypes

from @soryasongsaa:

on tam song in fandom and the submissive/effeminate asian stereotype

on linh song and the china doll/fragile asian girl stereotype

tam song, gender, and western bias

the weird stereotypes of the song twins (this is technically a joint post with @cogaytes but i wanted to get both of their reblogs on this matter)

an analysis on the official art of the song family

other users:

fandom treatment of characters of color (from @toxtt-kotlc)

why do people headcanon white characters as poc? (from @bookwyrminspiration) (note: while this does reference old discourse from 2023, it’s also the best explanation i could find.)

@shangri-la-rights has compiled a lot of excellent posts on racism within the writing of the series itself, although xe hasn’t been active in quite some time.

these resources are meant to educate new users, so if i missed any posts or accounts, feel free to add on in the notes :)

[big-coyote]

hi!! this may be a weird thing to ask about but ive decided to make one of my longtime ocs a coyote therian (they were connected to coyotes since the beginning) and i wanted to ask if theres stuff i should avoid when talking abt them or doing character design?

ive done some research on my own looking thru tumblr blogs ran by therians mostly, but i mightve missed some stuff!

for now they show their theriantophy as either wearing a coyote looking onesie (which is the first outfit they ever had) or when wearing other clothes they have a tail keychain on their trousers, so i also wanted to ask if you know of any other things they could have to connect with their theriotype?

again im sorry if this is a weird question! <3

(1/2) Hello! Not a weird question at all, I’m actually very honored and happy you’ve asked! I have quite a number of OCs myself that are also therians or otherkin adjacent lol. Also if anyone else has any ideas they’d like to add/advice feel free to comment or reblog!

As for things you should ovoid I’d recommend straying away from the idea of therianthropy being inherently because of mental illness. While it’s totally okay for your Oc to struggle with mental health problems or other serious topics. I often see the stigma online where people assume being nonhuman or having a alterhuman identity means the person in question must have Schizophrenia, Dissociative Identity Disorder, psychosis, a delusional disorder, etc. And again while I know plenty of nonhumans who have those disorders (I have some of them) and that may effect their identities as a whole, it shouldn’t be the end all be all of their identity you know? Ovoid adding more stigma to both.

Another thing I’d stray away from is the idea of a character being a therian because of spirit animals or any mythology related to closed practices/groups. I’ve seen many indigenous people online speak about their discomfort with the word ‘spirit animal’ and how it’s been adopted into pop culture. Being alterhuman is much more then “I feel connected to this thing/this thing is just like me”, it runs much deeper then that and it is as much as a real identity as something like gender, sexuality, religion, etc. It should be taken with as much care and seriousness as those other identities because it is huge and important part to a lot of our lives.

Lastly I’d recommend avoiding making the character the butt end of the jokes. While the Oc themselves can be funny, have funny things happen to them or have funny experiences as a coyote Therian I’d ovoid making them the punching bag to other OCs. Online it’s not uncommon to see many people misunderstanding and mischaracterizing being nonhuman for a quick laugh. It be very disheartening if an OCs entire existence in a story is just “haha they think they’re a dog, that’s stupid”. Again it’s important to take any identity like being a Therian seriously instead of just being the punch line for a joke or gag.

As for the clothing I think the onesie would be incredibly cute and good to wear as well as the tail! Many therians wear tails, both real and faux fur ones, to feel connected to their identity and feel more comfortable. I’ve also known many therians who were things like jewelry with their theriotype on it, fake animal ears, t-shirts, rings, fur coats, earrings, pins/buttons, etc. Some also like collecting plushies or posters with their theriotype as well, or having stickers on their books or drawing them. Or if you’d prefer a more casual character design you could have a character who doesn’t wear any outward Therian gear and prefers to keep it low key. Both options are very valid and would be interesting to see!

But no matter what I’m sure your Oc is going to be amazing and I can’t wait to see them! Please tag me if you make any art or stories about them, or if you have any other questions feel free to ask again or DM me!

[christ0pher-evans]

Variety’s Actors on Actors

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader  Warnings: Slight Angst / Implied Smut Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: This is my first time writing a Chris Evans fanfiction. It it loosely based off of Variety’s Actors on Actors interviews with Chris Evans and Paul Rudd / Chris Evans and Scarlett Johansson. It is pure fluff, hope you guys like it!!! Please reblog and like🖤

 ♡

When Variety had approached you to be involved in the ‘Actors on Actors’ style interviews, you knew that it could be really fun, a great opportunity and you felt immediate excitement for who they might pair you with. 

It was only a day later when they had told you that they wanted you to do the interview with Chris Evans. Normally, any time that you got to spend with Chris, physically or virtually, was fun; however you had no idea how you could possibly interview the man when you knew all there was to know about his life and career, I mean you’d only know him 16 years, and been together for the past 6 years, leading to your past first year of blissful marriage. 

You had spent the last month away from Chris due to the filming of your latest movie, and was missing him so much that your heart hurt. The thought of getting to spend a full 45 minutes doing this interview with him was making you jump for joy, because usually neither of you have enough free time simultaneously to be able to spend this length of time together. It’s often a fleeting text of “I miss you”, or a 5 minute phone call between scenes. 

You had spent the past week since finding out about this interview trying to come up with interesting enough questions that the fans would want answers to. You were also thankful for Variety as they had sent you a pre-made list of questions in case you got stuck.

It was finally an hour before the interview, and you hadn’t seen Chris’ face for the past two weeks so you decided to make a bit of extra effort to look nice for him. 

You were sat in front of your dressing table in your apartment that had be rented out for you whilst you were filming. Make-up was spread all over the table and you could see the reflection, several outfits littered all over your bed where you had yet to make your mind up on what to wear. 

45 minutes later and you had a light brown and glittery smokey eye, a subtle winged liner with a gloss over your lips and had given yourself a bouncy blow-dry. After looking through all your outfits, you had decided on one of Chris’ oversized jumpers that you stole before you left and some jeans - even though you wanted to look really nice for him, you knew how much he would appreciate seeing you in his clothes more. 

You had made yourself a coffee and set yourself up at the breakfast bar for the interview. Checking everything was set up and ready for the interview, you waited patiently with butterflies in your stomach for it to start. You were bought out of your excited daze by the noise of your phone, a message from Chris popped up.. ‘Can’t wait to see your beautiful face’ Boy, did he still make you swoon after so long together. 

Not long had passed before the sound of a video call was coming through on your laptop, and as you answered, a member of the Variety team was on your screen. “Hi Y/N, it’s so lovely to speak to you and thank you so much for partaking in this interview. In a couple of minutes, we will connect you straight through to Chris and you can just start chatting and asking your questions. We will record everything from our end and then edit it together to be posted online.” “That all sounds perfect to me. Thank you so much for having me and letting me do this with my husband.” You couldn’t help but grin, it never got old getting to call Chris your husband. You absentmindedly twirled your engagement and wedding rings round your finger.  “Okay, we will connect you now. Have fun!” 

And then there he was, bright eyed and grinning at you through the screen.

“Hi Sweetheart.” His voice made your heart flutter and your stomach do flips.  "Hi Chris, how are you?” you reply sweetly.

You made some small talk for the sake of the interview, before starting to ask each other questions. “So I have a confession to make..” you paused briefly, “I could not think of any questions to ask you that I didn’t already know the answer to, so I thought I would ask questions that I think fans would want to know the answer to.” 

You grin, proud of yourself and proud of the big laugh you got out of Chris because you had come up with such a good idea. “My first question is when you first got into acting, how did you navigate the work/life balance?”

Chris took a swig of beer, pondering his answer before starting. “Well when I actually booked my first bigger film that had a busy schedule, was on the film we worked on together, so previous to that I didn’t have much of a social life” he chuckled, “But when you’re filming for maybe 12 hours a day, 6 days a week, you have to quickly find a routine that works for you where you can still show up to work every day and give 110%. I also remember we used to take naps on set in between our takes all the time.” You couldn’t help but smile as you fondly remembered the first time working with Chris. “No but seriously, when you find a script that you are passionate about, and get to work with people that are truly amazing at what they do, you are happy to dedicate as much time as you need to to get that perfect take, to eventually make that perfect film.” 

“Okay, well let’s talk about Defending Jacob, which for you, was a completely different style of character for you to become. How did you prepare for that role?” 

“Yeah, it was definitely a new type of role to encompass, especially off the back of playing Captain America for almost a decade, even though he was considered a serious character, it’s a completely different league to enter. I remember doing a lot of work with real life district attorneys to understand the pressure and seriousness of the job role and I remember going through lines with you every damn day.” 

You zone out as Chris carries on talking about Defending Jacob as you remember the nights fondly. 

————————

You had just finished clearing up dinner as Chris comes bounding back into the kitchen with his script for Defending Jacob. Placing it down on the dining room table, he turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.  “Sweetheart, pretty please can we run my lines again? I’ve been thinking about how I can add more passion into my character to really emphasise his emotions in those tough scenes.” 

You absolutely couldn’t say no to him. You was so proud of how much work he was putting into this show and how perfect he wanted it to be, but you also couldn’t say no to those gorgeous blue puppy eyes. 

It had been 45 minutes since you started running lines, you were now sitting on the dining room table swinging your legs back and forth and you couldn’t take your eyes off Chris pacing round the table, the anger and passion in his voice as he recalled his lines. You could feel the heat pooling towards the bottom of your stomach as he ran his hand through his hair, his chest flexing as he shouted his lines, the gruff tone of his voice only making your panties wetter. You were biting your lip gently as Chris pulled you out of your daydream. 

“Y/N are you alright, are you getting bored?” You shook your head quickly. 

“God no, course not babe. You’re doing great, I’m just slightly distracted.” 

Just like always, Chris could read your mind and knew exactly what you were thinking. He sauntered closer to you, placing himself in front of you and sliding your legs open so he could stand between them. Placing his script down, he used one finger to tilt your chin up to look him in the eyes. 

“Is there something you like baby?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he called you baby and ran his finger across your bottom lip before ghosting a kiss on them. He leaned down towards you, one hand running down towards your panties as he kissed along your neck and up to your ear, before mumbling..”I think we can take a break”. 

————————

You chuckled to yourself, remembering so vividly on how you both broke the dining room table that night. 

“Oh, is something funny sweetheart?” Chris bought you out of your daydream. Clearing your throat, you mumbled an apology before changing the subject straight back to the interview. 

“Okay, let me ask you a question now Y/N. I want to know how it feels to be like a superwoman as you managed to film and promote your latest movie whilst we were planning our wedding?” 

You giggle lightly and smile broadly, remembering the chaos that was your life the six months leading up to your wedding. 

“Honestly, Chris, that feels like a blur these days. Planning our wedding was much more work than filming and doing press tours, but somehow we made it work. Don’t make it sound like I did it so elegantly though, I was an absolute bridezilla those six months and I don’t know how you put up with me.” You smile at each other through the screen, remembering the fond memories of your engagement. “But in all honesty, it was just quite a strict schedule with minimal sleep. I loved filming and the press tour for my film was so much fun, as was planning our wedding so even though at the time, it felt like an impossible task, looking back and seeing how well the film did and how perfect our wedding day was, it makes the hard work worth every second.” 

Your smile falters slightly at the thought of some of the more stressful times during that stretch, but quickly returns at the look of love in Chris’ eyes as he hangs onto your every word.

————————

You had spent the day at home trying to organise the seating plan for your wedding which was quickly approaching in 3 months, whilst Chris had been out all day filming. 

Unfortunately before Chris came home, you had pulled your heels on, ready to walk out the door to your awaiting car to take you to your latest movie press panel. A sad sigh was all you managed before you hauled yourself out the door for the 2 hour interview with your cast mates. 

The panel had finished at 9pm and you had jumped straight back in the car, so the driver could take you home to Chris, silently hoping you could catch him for a bit before he went to bed. You knew he would be calling it a night quite early as you had woken up to his side of the bed empty and cold that morning, meaning he had left the house before sunrise. You felt a sudden pang of sadness about how little time you’d spent with your fiancé over the past 3 months. It was no ones fault, you were both busy but it felt like you were actively avoiding one another. You shook your head as a few tears fell. 

As a welcome distraction on the way home, you had opted to start looking at flower arrangements for the bridesmaids bouquets, but you could feel yourself drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling so tired and drained from months of final filming and wedding planning. 

It was just after 10:15pm as you stepped out the car, thanking the driver before heading up the path to your house. You could see the lights were off, bar the hallway light that Chris had left on for your arrival home. You sighed sadly as you stepped in the door to the quiet abyss. You removed your heels, not wanting to make any unnecessary noise, knowing that Chris was up just as early tomorrow.

Walking through to the kitchen, you could see Chris had left you some pizza takeout on the side but you didn’t have the energy to eat, just wanting to curl up in bed. 

Heading straight into the ensuite to your bedroom, you quietly took off your make-up and cleansed your face to hide your tear-stained cheeks. Creeping back into the bedroom, you stood looking in the mirror of your dresser as you put on one of Chris’ t-shirts; you looked defeated and utterly glum. As you stood there for a moment longer, trying to collect your emotions and bottle them away, you heard Chris stir. 

“Babe, come to bed.” 

You felt your shoulders relax at the rough sound of his sleepy voice. Quickly wiping under your eyes once more, you turned round to see him holding the duvet up so you could crawl under and into his waiting arms. 

Immediately relaxing into the mattress, goosebumps arose on your skin as Chris trailed his fingers up your side to pull you into him. You let yet another tear fall from your eye at the fact that this was the first time you’d actually seen him today, frustrated that work and wedding planning was taking up all your time. This didn’t go unnoticed by Chris as he caught the lone tear with his finger, wiping it away. 

“I just want our wedding to be perfect and my movie to do well without having to sacrifice all my time with you” you whimpered, hiding your face in Chris’ chest.

“Sweetheart, I’m marrying you, it will all be perfect. Get some sleep, I love you.” Chris gave you a kiss on your forehead before falling straight to sleep, you dozing off straight after him, with heart full of love. 

————————

The interview was coming to an end and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with happiness of getting to spend so much time talking to Chris but also dread of not knowing when you would get to see his face again before you finally got to go back home in a months time.

“Okay sweetheart, I have one last question and it is one that Variety suggested for both of us to answer. What is the best part about being married to someone in the same profession as you?” You smile at Chris through the screen, trying to think of only one thing to pick. 

“Well, it is difficult to pick one, because there are so many great reasons but also it is really hard being married to someone in the same profession as you. I always try to be honest with our fans and in interviews, so I don’t want to sugarcoat it. We have to go long periods of time not getting to see each other and always having such high pressured schedules doesn’t allow a lot of time for married life.” You sigh at the look of sadness that has washed over both your faces. “However I count my lucky stars every day for having such a supportive and understanding husband like you.” You notice Chris blush at your answer before nodding along with you, agreeing with what you’ve said. 

“I have to agree with you sweetheart. There is definitely some poetic justice in the fact that we met on set, both doing the job we love so fondly and here we are, 16 years later, married and getting to celebrate our achievements every single day together.” 

You have to told back the tears as the interview finishes and Chris disappears from your screen. Even though you have demanding jobs, you could not feel luckier to be married to a man like Chris and you couldn’t wait to go back home to him. 

[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.”

[just-another-fangirl-94]

Daddy Henry

Got randomly inspired by a gif set of Henry Cavill I saw and reblogged yesterday and decided to write this. It’s been a hot minute since I wrote anything. I’ve been working nonstop working on the front lines during this very scary time in our lives. I truly hope that you are all safe and well. Thank you to all you essential employees that are working through this. Not just medical staff, but grocery store employees, service industry workers, every single one of you that is forced to go into this scary mess everyday. And for those of you struggling with no job, or you’re alone during this, I know this is incredibly hard for you as well. This story was my temporary escape, and I hope it can be that for you as well. I love all of you. Stay safe. 

Xoxo, Liv

CEO Sugar Daddy Henry/ Female reader

Warnings: This is just pure filthy smut. ddlg, choking, spanking, orgasm denial

The sun felt good on your skin as you laid out by the pool. You felt completely relaxed after the morning you had. First thing on your agenda was a mani/pedi at your favorite salon, followed by a ninety-minute shiatsu massage. The pampering helped your mood drastically. For some reason you were very tired and tense the past week. However, any residual tension you had in your body was fading away as you soaked up the sun. You were about to drift off when you heard a text come through on your phone.

 Message from Daddy$$: Princess I need you to come to my office in 30 minutes.

 You: Why daddy? I thought you were coming home soon?

 Daddy$$: I’m sorry Princess I have to work for a few more hours.

 You: fine...

 Daddy$$: don’t get bratty with me princess. Get your ass down here in 30 minutes or your ass is going to be so red you’re not going to be able to sit for a week.

 You: Okay daddy

   You sigh as you get up and head to the bedroom to get changed. Quickly, you throw on a short skirt with a matching top, but decide to skip the panties and bra to tease Henry a little. After you check your makeup in the mirror, you jump into your Range Rover that Henry got for your birthday last year and head to his office.

 Once you reach his floor, his assistant leads you in.

 Henry is still on the phone when he turns around to face you. He glares at your outfit and his eyes turn dark.

 “That sounds good. We can finish the details in the morning.” Henry hangs up the phone and sits back in his chair.

 “You’re pushing it, princess. I said to be here in 30 minutes.”

 “There was traffic and you gave me short notice daddy.” You pout” What did you want me to do, fly here?”

 “I’ve just about had it with your mouth.” He scolds. “And after all of the pampering I paid for you to have today this is how you thank me?”

 You stay silent, look down, and mumble. “Sorry daddy.”

 He unzips his pants and pulls out his thick cock. “Put your mouth to better use before I spank you into next week.

 “Yes daddy.” You say as you slowly make your way over to him. Once you’re in front of him you sink down to your knees and wrap both of your hands around him.

 “Good girl baby, you know what to do.”

 You start by licking his tip slowly. Your tongue barely touching his skin.

 He yanks your hair and pulls your head back. “I’m not in the mood for fucking games kitten. Now deep throat my cock right now.”

 The warmth between your legs spread quickly as you obeyed his orders and swallowed his cock. You loved when he was rough like this with you. It turned you on so much.

 Henry grunts as he holds your head down. “That’s it baby. Take that cock.”

 You moan and gag as you bob your head up and down, drool dripping out of your mouth making a mess on his lap.

 After a few minutes he pulls your head back up and wipes the drool and lipstick off your cheeks. “Princess. Did you wear any undergarments today?”

 “I didn’t want to wear them daddy.” You pant.

 “Why is that princess?”

 “I did it for you daddy.”

 He hums in approval. “Well then. Everything off baby. Let daddy see.”

 You smirk as you drop your skirt down and peeled your shirt off, leaving you only in your heels.

 “Oh kitten. You’re so stunning.” He sighs as he stands up. “I see you got a little tan today.”

 You giggle. “I was laying by the pool when you texted me daddy.”

 “Good. My princess deserves to relax and be pampered. However, you did piss me off a little today baby. So I’m not going to be gentle on you at all.” He turns you around and bends you over his desk. His hand spanks your ass a few times as well as your clit. You cry out at the sensation and the tingling going through your body. “Already soaked for daddy.” He grunts as he pushes his cock into you in one quick thrust. You feel the air leave your lungs as you try to quickly adjust to his size.

 “Fuck.” You whimper.

 He slams into you again and wraps his hand around your throat. He starts to keep a steady pace as he squeezes your throat tightly. “Oh fuck you feel so good kitten. So tight for daddy.”

 “Please.” You choke out. “More daddy.”

 He releases your throat and pushes your whole upper body onto his desk as he thrusts harder into you. You cry out as you feel yourself getting close. Henry senses this and pulls out. He grabs his cock and jacks off until he finishes all over your back.

 “Daddy.” You whine. “Please I’m so close.”

 “You should have thought about that before you mouthed off to me kitten.” He says as he pulls his pants up. “Only good girls get to cum.”

 “But that’s not fair.” You grumble.

 He sits back in his chair and starts typing away at his computer. “Life’s not fair kitten. Maybe if you’re a good girl you’ll get rewarded later. Get dressed, I have a lot of work to finish.”

 You let out a frustrated sigh as you start to get dressed again. You’re about to turn to leave but he stops you.

 “Princess. Aren’t you going to give daddy a kiss goodbye?”

 You decide it’s best not to piss him off anymore. Especially if you wanted an orgasm anytime soon. Slowly, you make your way back over to him and sit on his lap. You put both hands on his face and pull him into a slow, passionate kiss. “Bye daddy.”

 He grins and pulls his wallet out from his desk. “Here baby. Go buy that pretty purse you showed me last week. I promise I won’t be home too late.”

 “Thank you daddy!” You squeal excitedly as you grab his card and make your way out the door.

 When you get home, you decide to eat a light dinner and take a bubble bath. As you soak in the tub, you picture the events of his office from earlier. The anticipation was killing you. All you wanted was that sweet release he denied you.  It took all of the strength you had not to slide your fingers down your pussy. Your thoughts were interrupted when Henry walked into the bathroom.

 “There you are kitten.”

 “Hey you. Thought you were going to be gone a couple more hours.” You smile.

 He walks over to you and sits at the edge of the tub. “Just couldn’t wait that long to see you.”

 You giggle as you sit up and pull him in for a kiss, which he happily returns.

 “How about you wrap this bath up, dry off, and wait for daddy on the bed. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

 “Yes daddy.”

 “Good girl.”

 You grab your towel and dry off quickly. Quickly you run into the bedroom and jump on the bed, not bothering to put anything on to cover you up.

 “Now there is a view daddy will never get tired of.” Henry says as he starts to pull his tie loose. “Did you miss daddy?”

 “Of course. I always do.”

 “And did you learn your lesson today?”

 You nod your head. “No more mouthing off to daddy.”

 “That’s my good girl. Lay down princess. Knees up, legs spread apart.”

 You do as he says and expose your soaked pussy to him.

 He starts to unbutton his shirt as he walks towards you. The bulge in his pants was straining, begging to break free.

 “Please daddy.”

 “Alright kitten. Daddy will take care of you.” He pulls your legs to the edge of the bed and wraps his mouth around your clit.

 “Ahhh. Daddy!”

 He slurps against your cunt as you grind into his face.

 “Oh god yes daddy! Please. Please. Don’t stop.”

 He pulls his mouth away and sinks his thick middle finger into your core. “My good girl. You make the prettiest sounds for daddy.”

 You pant and moan as he adds another finger and massages your clit with his thumb. “Feels so good. Please daddy. Can I come? Please say yes. I promise I’m a good girl. I’ll be good daddy.”

 “Go ahead princess. Daddy gives you permission. Come on daddy’s fingers now baby.” He encourages.

 Just like that you exploded. Squirting your juices all over him, crying out loudly as your ride that wave.

 “Good girl. So beautiful. So perfect when you come.” He whispers as you come down.

 “Oh fuck daddy.” You breathe out. “That was...Perfect.”

 “I’ll give you a few minutes to rest princess. You’re going to be in for a long night with daddy.”

 “Hmm I can’t imagine a better way to spend my evening.”

 He smiles and leans in to kiss you. “I love you Princess.”

 “I love you too, daddy.”

Taglist: @iloveyouyen @beyond-antares @sestrasasylum @letterstomyself21

[oceanmotioned]

Harry Potter Games

About The Games

With current events being what they are, we are all in need of some serious distraction. In the interest of something to do, I’ve come up with some weekly headcanon challenges that people can participate in as actively or casually as they please.

The dates themselves are more like guidelines than rules - this is not meant to add pressure or stress to anyone’s day but provide a fun exercise to keep the dash busy and alive throughout the course of a tough time.

There are no rules to how many challenges you need to complete per week and nothing stopping you from completing week one during week four or, if you’re just not feeling a week’s theme, doing another week entirely. It’s all up to you to have fun at your pace!

Please reblog this challenge so that others can see it and participate in it, or link to it somewhere in your headcanon. The more this spreads ( especially in smaller communities ) the more activity it will hopefully inspire!

Due to how --- unintentionally long this turned out to be, I am using a read more to spare everyone a mile long adventure!

Week 1

[ April 07  -  April 18 ]

This week will be longer than the others in order to compensate for time spent spreading this around and for the fact the idea didn’t come to me on a Sunday. The theme for this week is origins & first experiences. 

April 07 - What was your character’s first sign of magic according to their parents? What’s the first act of magic they personally remember - is it the same one, or was there another signal or outburst that stands out to them?

April 08 - When they first received their school letter, what excited them most about the shopping list? The prospect of a wand or cauldron? The books or maybe new clothes? Why was this the thing that leaped out as the most exciting? ( Leave pets for tomorrow! ) 

April 09 - Upon starting school students may bring if they wish a cat, rat, owl or toad. What did your character most want as their school pet? Were they able to get what they wanted or did they have to compromise? If they compromised, did they get what they wanted at another time? If they got exactly what they wanted, did it work out the way that they hoped? Feel free to share some pet anecdotes and shenanigans while you’re at it!  

April 10 - Sorting time! Did your character have any expectation on them for what house they should be in? Family legacies or personal preferences? Did those pressures influence your character’s ceremony in any way? Or did they go in blind and hope for the best? 

April 11 - First ghostly encounter! Was your character prepared - did they know ghosts were real, had they ever met one before? Did they have particular expectations about ghosts? How were they met or disproved? 

April 12 - Upon receiving their time table, what class most excited your character? Did they feel the same after attending it for the first time? Did any classes take them by surprise - either to seem more or less interesting than expected? 

April 13 - First Quidditch match of the season! Did your character attend? Who did they root for - were they familiar with Quidditch at all or was it a whole new experience? What were their thoughts after watching a live match? Did they have aspirations to play themselves? What position did they like most?

April 14 - Your character has gone through their very first magical midterm and gotten their results. Do these scores reflect the trajectory they take through to their O.W.L.’s or did they fare better / worse in certain subjects and consequently decline / improve over time? Did they have a lot of pressure from home or was their expectations set entirely by their own metric? [ Don’t worry about O.W.L.’s and N.E.W.T.’s - they’re coming. ]

April 15 - First magical creature encounters! Share the most memorable encounters your character had with magical creatures during their educational period. Be it by taking a COMC course, having creatures introduced in other classes ( I, personally, would count a mandrake as a creature feature ) or something unprecedented and unique to your character’s school experience! 

April 16 - It’s time for O.W.L.’s - and by this point, your character likely has a firm idea of where they are strong and where they are struggling when it comes to course work. Career counseling directly references what scores are needed in various subjects for particular paths upon graduation - how did this affect changes to your character’s focus in classes? Did grades raise in areas where they had been left to float, were they on the right track, did they have to challenge themselves? In the end, what did all their efforts achieve? What were your character’s O.W.L. scores?

April 17 & 18 - First school dance! This is a worldbuilding opportunity as well as a headcanon one, so feel free to ignore it or go as big as you like by making a post detailing your character’s school’s take on dances and another detailing your character’s own first dance. Alternatively, just a post answering the questions is great too! In the event that school dances are an annual thing for older students, had your character been looking forward to theirs or done any planning? Were they excited, nervous or indifferent about the prospect of a party? Did they know who they wanted to go with - and were they able to go with that person?  Specifically for those who attended the Yule Ball, how excited was your character? Did they order a special outfit, or were they already prepared with their dress robes? Were they happy to attend or did they try to beg out of it?   Alternatively, Did your character know of dances being traditional events in other institutions? Did they like the fact their school experience didn’t include them? When was your character’s first experience with a big party event as a result of not having one at school? Did your character ever have a liking for parties? How did they discover that inclination or disinterest?  

Worldbuilding Notes!

Although canonly we only hear of one ball, school dances are something of a teenage right of passage in certain cultures, so it is entirely possible that there’s one every year for the older students attending certain schools. Hogwarts is in Scotland, so it is entirely possible that a school formal would be held in June for the elder classes which would be in keeping with their Muggle counterparts who host one for the S6 students ( Ages 17 - 18 ) Ilvermorny is in America, which means they may have en entire formal season between April - June and they may host dances for 15 - 16 and another for 17 - 18, or simply for the latter crowd. American traditions make end of year socials more like debutante balls, so it would be safe to assume Ilvermorny goes out with a bang every year and that it is a very exciting or stressful time for those who have seen it coming for years and now it’s here. Contrary to both of these however, is Beauxbatons. France doesn’t celebrate prom and has more of a focus on the Baccalauréat, a final exam that marks the end of one’s high school career. It has significantly more value in French society than American SAT’s have across the pond, so it is likely Beauxbatons keeps with that tradition and focuses more on a magical equivalent of that. Then again, it is a magical school with a giantess for a Headmistress so who knows!   It’s up to you to decide if your character’s school does dances, and how or when they do them. If you ultimately decide to avoid the party entirely, ( or your character is from a school unlikely to host dances ) there are questions above to cover that so please do not feel obligated to go on a party building journey! 

Week 2

[ April 19  -  April 25 ]

This week’s theme is seemingly insignificant details that other characters might pick up on and maybe use in threads as a way of demonstrating how well they know your character!  

April 19 - Your character likely has some preferences when it comes to drinking sociably. Do they go for butterbeer, firewhiskey, gigglewater, or a muggle vintage? Alternatively, how do they take their tea and coffee? 

April 20 - If someone were to have your character in mind when brewing or smelling Amortentia, what scents would most likely associate to them? 

April 21 - When your character dresses in the morning, do they have any signature items that might be notable? Always a wand holster on the left side, forever finding a way to incorporate house colors into an ensemble, notoriously missing the top button on their shirt, a family ring? If there isn’t a specific thing, what about your character’s style is memorable - how would you describe what they wear? Are they always formal, buttoned up and prim, or do they prefer a casual, even rumpled look? If someone were to see a Certain Profile on the street to immediately think of your muse, what would the profile be?

April 22 - Does your character have tattoos? Are they magical or muggle? The stillness of a muggle tattoo would be notable in a magical world! Are they a mix of both - a seemingly still tattoo that appears as one thing to certain people, and another to those who bear a similar signature? Body art world building - @ me directly because I would love to see it!

April 23 - What are your character’s top three most used  /  signature spells? These should be the spells your character has on default setting - they don’t think about them anymore, it’s all but conditioned response now. If someone thought about your character and how they cast spells, how would they detail those default spells? Are they cast lazily? Distractedly? In perfect form? With no form, yet perfect results due to consistent use?  

April 24 - When it comes to being magical, there is always something that stands out above the rest. If someone were to think of your character, what would be the first magical element they would think of? Transfiguration, Flying, or Charms? Potions or Herbology? Is your character famed for that element or just known to be good at it within their private circle? Why is that their area of expertise and association? 

April 25 - Now for some abstract thinking. If a character’s happiest memory involved your muse, and your muse directly influenced what that character’s patronus would be --- what is their patronus and why? What about that animal reflects your character? This can be as symbolic or abstract as you like, but if you’re struggling to think of animals and how they might correlate to your character’s personality or how someone might perceive your character’s personality, here are some resources that might help with the creative flow! A good idea is to look at multiple sources for the animal that jumps out at you, and build off that as one culture may look at that same animal very differently. Animals in Celtic Mythology | Native American Symbolism | Animals In Art

Week 3

[ April 26  -  May 02 ]

For this week, lets explore the psychological profile of your character by digging into all the things that really make them tick. Going forward, questions are going to be a little less detail oriented and more open ended! 

April 26 - What is your character’s boggart and why?

April 27 - What is your character’s stances on blood purity? Think about your character’s own blood status and upbringing, and how those factors would impact their worldview.

April 28 -  What is your character’s stance on the fact wizards have determined what species can be counted as intelligent? What are their stances on werewolf rights, vampire rights, or the rights of other creatures deemed to be intelligent?

April 29 - How would your character cope in the world if they were not able to use magic?   

April 30 - If a dementor were nearby or feeding on them, what are the three memories that would cause the most significant damage? 

May 01 - Your character has been threatened with Veritaserum. What three things do they most fear revealing?   

May 02 - They are standing before the Mirror of Erised. What do they see?

Week 4

[ May 03  -  May 09 ]

Jumping into lighter topics, for this week we’re going to look at happy memories to remind ourselves that no matter what hell canon ( or lets face it, we writers! ) has put our character through, they have had good times too! 

May 03 - What memory would they use to cast a patronus, if they were capable of one?

May 04 - Describe a time when your character was feeling down, and someone lifted them up - what did they do and why did it work? 

May 05 - Talk about the best prank they ever took part in, or remember observing.

May 06 - What is your character’s happiest memory involving a magical creature? Or an owl, or their pet - or someone else’s pet!

May 07 - Describe your character’s happiest memory involving flying - it doesn’t have to be on brooms, or related to Quidditch, or even of them flying. Just the best memory that in some way, involves flight. 

May 08 - Their happiest memory involving the news - be it delight at a ridiculous headline, vindication in a particular result or even just excitement for someone else’s success. 

May 09 - If someone else were to think of your character at their happiest, how old was your character and why was that time so joyful?

Week 5

[ May 10  -  May 16 ]

Bouncing off our happy memory high, characters who may be more withdrawn, depressed, grumpy or just plain unsociable might be feeling confident enough to give us a look into their accomplishments, goals, and insecurities - so let’s dig in while they’re still malleable!

May 10 - What would your character claim as their greatest accomplishment in the magical world? Would others agree, or say something different?

May 11 - What is one thing they would change about wizarding society if they could? Are they taking any active measures to bring this change about themselves? Why is it important to them? 

May 12 - Do they have any idols or heroes that they look up to and aspire to be like? Do they wish to emulate their house traits in their efforts to be their best selves? What does their best self look like to them?

May 13 - What is their biggest obstacle in achieving their goals?

May 14 - Everyone has weaker subjects - does your character experience ridicule for their struggles, internally or externally? What areas do they struggle most in? Wand work or theory? Incantations or brewing? 

May 15 - If your character were to invent a potion or spell, what need would it fill either for themselves, a friend, or the community as a whole? Why would that be their choice? Are they capable of it or working on it, or is it just a pipe dream? 

May 16 - Detail a time your character was undermined and how that impacted them. Do they no longer try, or do they just try harder?

Week 6

[ May 17  -  May 23 ]

For this week, we’re going to take a look at the relationships that impacted and molded our character into who they are today!

May 17 - Discuss someone who changed, influenced, or significantly impacted your character’s view on blood purity. 

May 18 - If your character could use a time turner to go back and say something different to someone, who would they go back to talk to and what moment would they be correcting? 

May 19 - Does your character have a rival? Who are they, and what caused the tension? 

May 20 - Who comes to mind first when your character is asked who is most important to them? Why does that person stand out so much?

May 21 - Discuss the mentors that challenged your character the most, the people they feel took the most interest in building them up, and how they feel about those people now versus how they felt of them then.

May 22 - If your character was told they could walk through the Veil at the Ministry and bring someone back from the dead, who would they restore and why? 

May 23 - Who are the people they most want to impress in life? 

Week 7

[ May 24  -  May 31 ]

An extra day to finish out the month and end the games with a bang! This week’s theme is wishes and dreams, which is an opportunity for muns to stick bait on a hook and fling it onto the dash for some more fun interactions! 

May 24 - A character you would most like to have yours interact with, and three ideas for start up interactions. 

May 25 - If your character was trapped and forced to work with (1) other person in order to get out, who do you think would be the most challenging and entertaining for your character to be stuck with? 

May 26 - Earlier on we discussed school dances - who would your character spend the most time with / want to go with? Or for adults / the more politically inclined, we discussed something your character would like to change in wizarding society - who would they recruit to the cause? 

May 27 - Due to a series of unfortunate events, your character is now the caretaker of a magical creature. Who do they rope in to help them care for it?

May 28 - 3 to 5 obscure / rare characters you would like to see and maybe a bit on why you think they would be interesting - a little blurb that might inspire another to pick them up! 

May 29 - 3 to 5 songs that you would love to build a thread around in some way, be it inspired by the vibes or the lyrics. 

May 30 - Make a list of 5 - 10 sentences guaranteed to get a visceral response from your character and invite your followers to send them in.  

May 31 - Tag 5 people --- I’m kidding. Take today off for self care, or post how your character self cares and pat yourself on the back for even reading this far! And absolutely treat yourself if you did even one of these <3 I hope this was at least a little fun for folks! 

[buddysfishnpizza]

Ghosts reference images 3/?: Julian Fawcett!

Click to see them in full! Some are better than others & tumblr killed the quality. (& click on them on PC for the episodes they’re from!)

(Some other good refs under the cut, along with a list of things to note about his outfit, although it’s pretty short because, y’know. He’s only half dressed. Feel free to add on anything I’ve missed!)

To clarify, I might accidentally have deleted the original version of this instead of my self reblog so if you’re wondering why this one is almost the same but not. that’s why.

Things to note:

His tie is a red paisley brocade. (Thanks to the folks in the ghosts discord who pointed that one out.)

His shrit is light blue with vertical white stripes (although they’re horizontal for his sleeves? what’s up with that)

Flat gold cufflinks!

He has a gold (wedding?) ring on his left ring finger and a flat signet ring on his right little finger.

He wears a watch!!

His jacket & sock garters are very dark blue, not black.

His socks are dark red, and his shoes are an even darker reddish brown colour. (And they have black soles.)

During filming, Simon Farnaby wears black briefs, although it’s safe to assume that Julian doesn’t wear any underwear. (Alison calls him “the one with no pants on” in ep 2.)

His pockets are completely invisible on the inside. (I’m not sure if that’s because it’s just a posh jacket or if he actually doesn’t have pockets, but y’know. Just a little thing.)

Extra images:

[bucky-smiles]

Female Indian Clothing: An Intro

so like I’ve been making a lot of posts about Indian clothes so to help with all of my friends (and others) who don’t understand a single thing I’m saying, here you go. 

Feel free to reblog! Indian culture is so common absolutely everywhere but not many non Indian people understand it so I’m happy to raise awareness :D 

Note: I’m North Indian from the state of Punjab. I can very easily say that each state of India has different terminology for the different clothes so this is me talking from the Punjabi POV.. If any other people from other regions wish to add on their terms, feel free. These terms are also applicable to Pakistani, Bangla, and Nepali people :D if there are different terms for yall, please feel free to contribute. 

Salwar (Sul-wahr): 

Image from this link

These are essentially poofy pants that can look just like this or have intricate designs on them. These specific ones are called patiala salwars (Pa-tee-ah-lah Sul-wahr) and are tied right above the hip. Normally it is done very tightly because the waistline is absolutely huge to make it closer to one size fits all.

Salwars can also look like this: 

Image from this link

They’re mostly always paired with a top called a..

Kameez (Cum-ease) (awful pronunciation breakdown but that’s literally how to say it):

The literal Hindi translation for it is shirt :D 

They can be plain and be worn with normal leggings (often times what many girls do for Indian dance classes or just casual house wear) 

Image from this link

Or they can be super fancy like this 

Image from this link

These outfits are more common in Northern India in regions like Punjab and Uttar Pradesh. 

The scarf you see with the outfits is called a..

Dupatta (Dew-puh-tah) or Chunni (Chu-nee) or Ghoongat (Gho-ngut): 

These are one of the most common things in Indian clothing. They’re essentially scarfs to either modify outfits or contribute in covering up the chest. 

Image from this link

Moving onto fancier clothes often seen at parties and weddings

Anarkali (Uh-nahr-kuh-lee):

Image from this link

These beauties are full piece dresses with a huge skirt length (like when you spin it fans out a l o t). They’re paired with either normal leggings or the legging style pants the dress comes with. 

Lengha Choli (Layn-gah Cho-lee) / Ghagra Choli (Ghah-ga-duh) / Channiya Choli (Chuh-nee-yah)

There are so many different ways to say this outfit I’m sorry if I missed out on any. 

Image from this link

These are about as fancy as things get tbh.. The top can be just about any kind of Indian style top. They can be tank top, full sleeve, short sleeve, 3/4th sleeve.. As long as you want: Showing lots of midriff, a couple of inches of midriff, no midriff whatsoever. The skirts are just skirts really.. Sometimes they can have a huge fans (which are the most satisfying in my opinion) or barely any and be more form fitting. Mostly these are worn at the specialest of occasions. 

Sari and Half-Sari (Sah-ree) (also spelled as saree):

Image from this link

These are three piece outfits, the skirt, the top (which shows a lot of midriff), and a realllllyyyy long dupatta that you have to fold, tie, and pin to look this good. Tying a sari is an art in itself. After working as a teacher and having to wear a sari everyday in India, my mom still has trouble tying them properly. 

Similar to lenghas, the tops can be many different styles. Although the picture shows the most common one. They can also be plainly styled and worn casually like salwars. However saris are more often seen in work and business atmospheres and if they’re fancy, in the party/wedding atmosphere. 

Half saris are like lenghas but with the dupatta tied with them. They’re more commonly worn by younger girls. 

Image from this link

Both of those show off a significant amount of midriff however the dupatta normally covers it up (if the wearer wants it to be that way). 

I hope this was beneficial for you guys! If I missed something feel free to add on and I hope yall appreciate this information!

[h-styles-babes]

No Control | Twenty-Nine

Summary: 

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Please feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

TWENTY-NINE

I sleep in the guest room in Harry’s home that night. It’s a bit of a strange feeling, considering the last time I was here, I was sleeping in his bed, intimately tangled with him, and having copious amounts of sex with him, any of those times which resulted in the conception of the child that now resides in my womb. Which is a weird thing to think about, because our lives could not be any different than back in August. 

Thankfully, Little Bean seems to have calmed down in time for me to go to sleep, which means I fall asleep faster and stay asleep longer than I had the night before. And while I feel more rested when I wake up in the morning, I’ve still got a weird feeling in my chest that things are not as they should be. I suppose my memories of the previous time that I’ve been in this home are making it a little difficult for me to reconcile the capacity in which I’m here now. It probably doesn’t help that my feelings for Harry haven’t really changed since the last time I was here. I can’t exactly act on those feelings anymore, though. 

So, I tiptoe around Harry as he makes some tea for the both of us and tells me that Grimmy wants to see us today. I’m a little surprised that Grimmy knows I’m here, too, considering he hadn’t told his family that I was coming yesterday, but then again, Nick is a little less affected by the pregnancy than his family. I briefly wonder if he’s told his old bandmates about what’s happening, but I figure that if he hasn’t told his manager yet, he’s keeping the information on a need-to-know basis for the time being. I know everyone’s going to be privy to this information eventually, but I’m quite enjoying the quietness of the whole thing so far. I know I have to brace myself for the time when the whole world knows, but I’ll take the peace while I can get it for now. 

As Harry gets some sort of breakfast ready, I head back up to the guest room to change out of my pyjamas. I pull on black leggings that fit comfortably over the bump and a red jumper that is cozy and warm and actually still fits me. I’ve been extremely reluctant to buy maternity clothes, just because I know it’s all going to be over soon enough. I’ve used the hair tie through the button hole trick as much as I can, and I’ve taken to wearing stretchy materials or baggier shirts in order to get through this without buying something new. I’ve also taken a new liking to dresses, since they all fit as long as the waistline isn’t too low and they don’t require me to wear bottoms. I have bought one pair of maternity shorts however, and that was only because the weight I gained in my hips made it impossible for me to wear the pairs that I already own. 

I have a grey poncho thing to go with the outfit if it’s necessary, but I leave it laid out on the bed for now, since it’s warm enough in Harry’s home to go without it. There’s a chime that sounds throughout the house, indicating that there’s someone requesting entry at the gate. Harry opens some app on his phone that allows him to view out onto the camera that’s at the gate, and a little smile quirks on his lips as he taps some button.

“Nick’s here,” he announces. He’s already dressed, as well, and I can smell something good in the kitchen. The griddle out on the stove top and the syrup on the counter tells me that he’s made pancakes, and my mouth waters a little.  

“Have you told him?” I ask as I grab a stack of plates out of the cupboard. I’m a little shocked by my own comfort in getting the dishes in his home, but I brush it off quickly. It may have been a while since the last time I was here, but we had spent a lot of time here, so I knew the lay out of the kitchen pretty well. I didn’t want to think too much into it.

“No, he just knows you’re here. Figured I’d tell him in person, otherwise he’d be yelling my ear off over the phone.”

“So you rather him yell your ear off in person? Where I now have to deal with him, too?” I ask over a chuckle. “At least you can hand up on him over the phone. Can’t do that when he’s in your house.”

Harry pauses as he hears his front door open. “You’re right. I didn’t think this through.”

I laugh as the door closes again, and the house is suddenly filled with Nick’s distinctive voice.

“Is that the lovely Micky I hear? Now that’s a laugh I’ve missed. Harry’s is so annoying. Your’s is like a delicate little chime. So beautiful.”

“Hey!” Harry protests, pouting at Nick as he rounds the corner into the kitchen space. “Made you breakfast and the first thing you do is insult my laugh. Not very nice. Don’t think you deserve pancakes, mate.”

“I’m just kidding, young Harold. Your laugh is adorable. Especially your little cackle,” Nick appeases, patting Harry’s cheek as he walks by. 

I giggle as I place two pancakes on my plate. Nick is approaching me fast for a greeting, and I’m somehow calm about him finding out about the pregnancy. There’s no pressure with him finding out, I suppose. With Gemma and Anne there’d been the anxiety about how they were going to react because they were directly affected by the news. They’re the baby’s aunt and gran, after all. Nick is just the equivalent of a goofy uncle that’s not actually related to anyone, though, so the pressure of telling him is minimal. I know he’s going to take it in stride, maybe rib Harry a little bit, and then go on about how the baby is going to be the most spoiled little thing with Harry as a dad and all his famous friends. Nick is easy, and it’s a relief after how yesterday went.

“Oh, Micky, how I’ve missed your pretty face,” Nick sighs. I’m partly hidden behind the counter, so he’s still grinning as he gets closer. “Look at you, all glowing and tan. What do they put in the water in California? I need me some of it if it makes you look this good.”

“What water?” I ask with a scoff, referencing the current drought the state is in. 

“Ooh, yeah, forgot about that,” he grimaces. “Sun is doing you good, though. Not that you’re not beautiful when you’re pale from dreary old England, but a tan is making you all golden. You tan even better than Styles does.”

“Thanks. Took me awhile to build up to this without burning right away,” I admit.  

“Well, you look amazing,” he decides. “Come give me a hug. Haven’t seen you in forever, babe.”

I see Harry behind Nick, his stance a little stiff at the request. For once, I’m not worried, though, so I round the corner of the island and smile at Grimmy, who’s mouth drops open when he looks me over. 

A startled laugh bursts from his mouth, and his hands automatically shoot up to clamp over it, stifling the sound. I can’t help but laugh at him and his reaction. “Fuck me,” he laughs, dropping his hands to lay them on my shoulders. “Holy shit. Look at you. Gonna be a mumma soon.” He pulls me into a hug, careful not to squish the tummy too much. “You did this, I’m assuming.” he asks, turning to peer over his shoulder at Harry. 

“You say that like I did it on purpose.”

“You shagged her on purpose, right?”

Harry scoffs. “Well, yeah, that wasn’t an accident.”

“Sex makes babies, Harold.”

Nick sounds like a mum, and I am living for it.

“I understand that, Nicholas,” Harry sighs like he’s exasperated, even though there’s a small smile pulling at his lips. No matter how much Nick teases him, I think the ribbing is making him feel a little better.

“This is why it’s easier to be gay. No unplanned pregnancies.” 

“Gay sex!” I exclaim like it’s just dawned on me. “Should’ve considered that sooner. Would have kept me out of trouble.”

“You enjoy cock too much to have gay sex,” Harry argues before realizing what it is he’s said. As soon as he processes the words, his hand slaps over his mouth and his eyes widen as he looks between me and Nick guiltily.

Nick bursts out laughing, leaning into my side. I can’t help but chuckle at Harry’s outburst too, not having expected it from him ever. The only time I have ever heard him utter the word ‘cock’ is in reference to his own and said cock was doing very pleasurable things to my body. Hearing it so casually fall from his mouth is quite humourous, even if he was taking the mick out on my sexuality. 

“You’re not wrong,” I admit with a shrug once Nick’s laughter has calmed to short little chortles. “I was quite partial to yours, as well.” That just sets Nick off on another cackling fit.

“I am so sorry,” Harry urges. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“You’re sexually frustrated, mate,” Nick insists. “Haven’t gotten laid in forever, now Mick’s here in your house, looking all fit and carrying your child. Don’t know if you two are fucking again, but you should be. Can’t imagine your hormones aren’t begging for it, too,” he adds, looking at me.

While he’s not wrong—my hormones have me constantly fired up and begging for some sort of sexual contact—I’m not about to tell Nick that in front of Harry. We may have had sex—amazing sex, at that—together once upon a time, but we’re not in that space anymore. Being pregnant and by myself was bad enough, but now being around the extremely attractive father of my unborn child regularly has made it even worse. The shower head at my flat has gotten a lot of work recently, and I’ve already gone through a new change of batteries on the vibrator I keep in my bedside drawer since Harry re-entered my life. 

“We are not having this conversation.” Harry shakes his head.

“He gets pissy when he’s horny,” Nick stage whispers to me, looking very pointedly at Harry.

Harry flushes a pink tinge as he huffs. “I do not get pissy,” he objects. “I just don’t think discussing our sex lives is great breakfast conversation.”

“It’s only not good breakfast conversation because you’re not getting laid,” Nick protests.

“Yeah, well neither are you!”

Nick opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off, desperately needing the back and forth to end. My stomach is growling with hunger and I really just want the pancakes and to enjoy my last day in London before flying back to LA. 

“Alright, alright. None of us are getting laid, which sucks, but such is life when you’re an international pop star, a gay man, and a pregnant woman. Now, can we please eat? The little girl is getting hungry, and when the little girl is hungry, mummy is hungry.”

Nick’s face softens as he peers down at me. “It’s a little girl?” he coos. I nod. “Aw, Harry, you’re gonna have a little girl to spoil! Gonna have daddy wrapped around your little finger, aren’t ya?” Nick cradles my stomach as he continues to coo in conversation to our unborn child.

When I look to Harry over Nick’s head, he’s grinning softly, a sort of awed expression on his face as his eyes graze over my stomach. I know how scared he’s been since finding out that he’s going to be a father, but in that moment I see the excitement and love he already has for his daughter, and my heart flutters a little at the thought.

His eyes flick up to mine and his smile widens. I smile back, bottom lip tucked between my teeth. No matter how tough navigating all this may be, I have a good feeling that we’ll be okay.

Nick somehow convinces us to go out and enjoy the relatively nice day in London. He assures both Harry and me that you can’t see my belly when I put on the poncho and keep it relatively closed in the front. So, with that little bit of persuasion, Harry drives us out to the center of the city where Nick wants to do some shopping, and even though Harry says he’s not going to buy anything, I already know he can’t pass up the opportunity if we’re in a Gucci store.

As soon as we’re out of the car and strolling down the street, a small group of girls and what appears to be their mum approach Harry and Grimmy, asking for photos. I offer to take the photo like I’m used to doing at this point, but the mum shrugs me off politely and takes it herself. I stand on the sidelines and watch as Harry and Nick talk to the girls and pose for photos, all smiles, peace signs and thumbs up. I see the girls eyes flick to me every once in a while, and I’m sure the news of Harry and I hanging out together in London will be on Twitter as soon as they walk away. 

We get to the Gucci store without anymore stops, and I have a good time watching Nick and Harry bicker back and forth about what items look good and what’s going to be big this summer, like they’re actually knowledgable and don’t just throw on whatever they think looks good. Nick teases Harry about some of the shirts he picks out, even though he then proceeds to grab ones that look shockingly similar. When I chuckle, they both throw playful glares at me, and I just shrug.

When we finally leave Gucci—Harry having bought five shirts after he very explicitly said he wasn’t going to buy anything—Nick spies a store front and quickly darts across the street.

“Where are you going?” Harry calls.

“Store!” he calls back. “You two stay over there! Go into Coach or something. Micky could use a new purse.”

“Hey!” I protest, looking at the purse hanging from my elbow. “This is Burberry. Trev bought it for me.”

“Fine, no purse! Just go do something!” He disappears into the store, and when I look up at the name of the shoppe, I realize why he doesn’t want Harry and I coming after him. It’s very obviously a baby store, one that is designer, I’m assuming.

Harry shakes his head and wraps an arm around my shoulder to usher me into a cafe. “Want some tea or something?” he asks.

“What tea doesn’t have caffeine in it?” I ask.

“Forgot that you’re not supposed to have caffeine,” he mutters. “Herbal teas. Chamomile and such.”

I nod. “Chamomile sounds good. Better get Grimmy something, too.”

“True. Such a damn drama queen,” he gripes with a fond smile. I go to grab a table while Harry orders, and when he comes to join me Nick walks through the door, an obscenely large green bag hanging on his arm with his just as large Gucci bag, a triumphant smile on his face.

“What have you done?” I ask as soon as he takes one of the vacant seats at the table.

“Figured since I probably won’t see you until after the baby is born, I’d be a proper uncle now,” he nodded once. 

“Buying the whole bloody store was necessary?” I ask, peering at how the bag is pretty much overflowing.

“Well, I had to get things in different sizes, Micky. Babies grow, ya know?”

“You’re ridiculous,” I mutter as Harry comes back to the table with our drinks. 

“What have you done?” he asks as he sees the large bag by Nick’s side.

Once Nick gives the same explanation that I received, we fall into comfortable conversation about what’s been happening lately. I ask Nick how everything’s going with BBC. I obviously don’t get the station in America, and the time difference is too big for me to stay up and live stream it when it airs. I get snippets of it from YouTube videos and on Twitter, but other than that, I’m pretty much out of the loop. 

He regales me with stories of different interviews and ridiculous things he’s seen over the last few months, and both Harry and I are laughing so hard we’re crying at one point. Nick is an amazing story-teller and makes everything ten times funnier just by his own reactions to things. I always knew he had an amazing personality, just from listening to the Breakfast Show and being a fan of Harry’s, but actually speaking to him and getting to know him is so much better than I could’ve imagined. 

I’m wiping away the last of my tears, still slightly giggling, when I look out the shoppe windows, and my laughter immediately stalls.

“Harry,” I mutter. 

He’s still chuckling slightly when he looks at me, a question in his eyes. I nod my head toward the window, urging him to look. When he sees the small crowd of paps waiting on the sidewalk, his face automatically drops into a scowl. “Fucking hell.”

Nick looks over his shoulder to where Harry and I are looking, and, in typical Nick fashion, comes back with a joke. “Jesus. Don’t know why they swarm places like this. I’m not even that famous. Need to get off my dick.”

I choke out a laugh, and Harry flashes a bit of a smile before pursing his lips. “Let me ask the owner if there’s a back way out.”

“There’s only a few of them, Haz,” Nick reasons. “Plus, it’s not like they can’t see you disappear into the back. Whole storefront is pieces of glass.”

“I just don’t want Micky to have to deal with this,” Harry sighs.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure. “Done it before, yeah?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t six months pregnant, then,” he grumbles. Nick gives him a withering look, and Harry groans. “Fine. But stay next to me. We’ll get to the car as fast as possible.”

“Try not to make headlines this time, yeah?” Nick suggests teasingly, referring to the last time Harry and I got caught in a crowd of paps. Harry yelling at the photographer after one had touched me while we were exiting Nick’s party back in August made news in just about every major gossip rag, and I even saw it on TMZ when I got back to the states. The media had let it go pretty quickly, but I wasn’t blind to the comments from fans about how they were freaking out that Harry had called me his girl and I had been spotted with him several times, both in London and in New York. I stopped paying attention, so I don’t know how long all that lasted, but it was sure to pick back up again now that Harry and I were being seen together again.

“Fuck off,” Harry bit out, a smirk softening his words. Nick just cackled a little as he grabbed his bags and helped me out of my chair.

“Stay between Harold and me, yeah? Try to keep you hidden a bit, babe.”

So, as we headed out, Harry walked out first, my hand clutched in his as Nick walked out behind me, hands on my shoulders to keep the paps away from us. They all shouted Harry’s and Nick’s names as we walked by, making comments to Harry about the band’s hiatus and asking who I was. I kept a hand clutched to the poncho I was wearing, keeping the front closed to keep the bump concealed, praying that they didn't get any photos where it was obvious that I was pregnant. I knew it would come out at some point, but I wanted there to be just a little more time before then.

The paparazzi presence isn’t as crazy in England as it is in America, which is one thing that I’m grateful for. There are only a handful of people wielding cameras outside the cafe, and Harry appeases them by asking how their days are and wishing them good ones when we get through them. When someone shouts to ask who I am, he very coldly remarks, “Don’t worry about it, mate,” not even turning to look at who asked. 

When we finally round a corner and get rid of the small swarm, Harry pulls me into his side, arm around my waist. Nick saddles up to my other side, seeming to still protect me even after we made it out of the mess. 

“You alright?” he asks, checking me over with his eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m alright, Harry,” I confirm. “That was nothing compared to how they were in New York.”

My mention of the constant attention and harassment I was getting when I returned to New York after my time in England with Harry last time has him pursing his lips. I’m sure he saw how bad it was online and through videos I know got uploaded to YouTube and Twitter and the like. Not to mention, we’d talk about it back when we were still talking, and he had been particularly furious about it then, so I’m sure his feelings about it hadn’t changed. Like I said, paps in America are a lot more bold than they are in the UK.

“Come, on, let’s get home. We’ve got a flight in a few hours.”

THIRTY

[cheesybaconflatbread]

Thanks so much for the tag! I love these types of things

1. I mainly like this hairstyle because I can’t do it in real life. I think this outfit is gorgeous too.

2. Probably the turquoise.

3. Bobby because he’s the only route I’ve completed other than Noah’s. Honestly I’ve considered trying over routes and even started to but usually Bobby pulls MC for a chat and admits he has a crush on her and I’m always like “samesies” and I just end up coupling you with him again.

4. I do but I can’t remember what one it is. I know it’s a Bobby one - and that’s it. It might be an after Casa Amor one. I’ll try and track it down in my likes later.

5. The heart rate challenge except how they do it in the show because I feel like we missed out hugely on our MC being the one to get Noah’s heart racing the fastest. But other than that:

The Snog, Marry, Pie challenge - easily would have pied Lurik after Casa Amor but didn’t get that opportunity.

Anything similar to License to Swill - the Islander reads something that was said about them behind their back and has to throw a drink over who they think said it.

6. In season one I was super picky and didn’t like any of them to begin with, but then I fell in love with Tim. Rohan was the first guy I liked, but again not a LI. I ended up winning with Levi so I guess it would have to be him. In season two, I immediately went for Bobby without knowing anything about him or the fandom on here.

7. I finished the show with Levi but hated him, basically I settled because I couldn’t have Tim or Rohan. Jake never really grew on me as a LI, but I guess it would have been him because he was actually decent? I never coupled up with him at the end though. I just took the money from Levi instead.

8. I think (and hope) before Casa Amor, you’ll be coupled up with who you want but when you return they will have recoupled. When it happens in S2, I don’t really care if it’s Lurik because it’s unlikely that I’m coupled up with them before the disaster recoupling. Now, think about this - you’re with this guy from day one, or you two have at least gone through a couple of recouplings and chosen each other. You go to Casa Amor, stay loyal to the guy because you’ve been good together this entire time - you come back, he’s recoupled. Oh and I’m pretty sure the guy that I’ll love the most won’t be a LI or his route will be snakey.

9. Better Casa Amor boys - like if they could be less persistent, that would be great. More offers for friendship couples that stay friendship couples. More female LIs. More opportunities in challenges like dares or the Casa Amor challenge to, for example, kiss one of the girls if you don’t want to kiss a Casa Amor boy or if you’re staying loyal. Ways for MC to exclude herself from drama she doesn’t need to be involved in. I’d like some more job opportunities - I really like the charity worker option in S2, and I think more conversation about the job would be interesting. I would like MC to be the surprise islander a bit like Priya too and I want one girl to tell me not to pick her guy - then I’ll pick him.

10. I feel like I didn’t do enough routes to properly judge this. I’ve played S1 once and it was Levi. As for S2, I’ve only finish Bobby’s and Noah’s and some parts of other characters (mainly Gary, Rocco, Lucas and Henrik).

11. Okay so here’s the thing, I do have a favourite and I’ve liked and reblogged it but I can’t find it right now. If I find it later I will add it to this list. There’s actually a lot of them I love though, everyone is unbelievably talented and I appreciate their work so much.

12. Season 2 is my favourite but think season 3 will grow on me. I really like the look of the S3 girls.

13. Easily Chelsea. I have this HC that MC actually moves in with Chelsea after the show instead of her LI.

14. I don’t know who has or hasn’t been tagged and I’m really bad at remembering usernames - if you haven’t been tagged and see this on your feed, feel free to take part!

LITG Random Question Tag #4

this is gonna be the last random question tag till season 3 drops because i’m out of questions ideas.

Favourite outfit/hairstyle?

what’s your favourite colour of lotties hair?

who’s your favourite season 2 LI and why?

do you have a favourite fic?

what challenge would you like to see from the show in season 3?

who were you originally drawn to from each season?

favourite season 1 LI and why?

Do you have any season 3 predictions?

Season 3 bucket list?

rank every LI from season 1-2 from best to worst

favourite art done by anyone in the fandom

season 1, season 2 or season 3 art work?

who was your mc’s closest friend?

tag a few people to take part:

i’m really sorry for the lack of creativity with the questions i lost a lot of inspiration for this, i was running out of question ideas but i wanted make this to appogise for spamming everyone’s dashboard all week (that doesn’t include the black lives matter posts i will never apologise for talking about the blm movement : https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/)

-

i’ll tag people and i’ll answer the questions soon i’m gonna dip for abit cause i’m working on a secret project 😏: @batgirlassociationofgothamcity @kingkassam @bubblelaureno @bobbyboops @bobbyscupcake @thebobbyfish @garyandhisnan @ravena-dottir @nuggobby @love-islanding @dxncingthroughlife @iamgaryrennells @spicysriracha @richhdesire @clown4noah @loveislandthaagame @venueska @ariendiel

[sevensity]

Hello again :3 I was wondering the RFA (+ Minor Trio) would react to the MC being a professional competitive horse rider (dressage, jumping, cross country, eventing, pas de deux, etc...)? Thank you and hope that wasn't too much :3

Ahhh so when I first read your ask I was like ?????? I don’t know what any of these words mean??? So I’m sorry if I get terminology wrong, I’m not a horse-riding expert even though I did do some research >.

on a side note thank you for the reblogs with the commentary lmao I really do read all of them, and I could write a V soulmate au like someone said but it’s gotta be a proper request heuheu

Update: @makosharkies actually drew a thing for me so if you wanna see some Saeran vs horse art go check it out

YOOᔕᑌᑎG:

Oh jeez this kid was so happy to find out about you being an equestrian

Not only is horse-riding hella cool, but also

just horses in general????

because horses are great?????

Insists he come watch your practice that day, and you let him even though you had a feeling Yoosung was gonna go all horse biology on you

Sure enough, when you get to the area where all the horses are kept, Yoosung is just shaking he’s so thrilled

him: casually pulls out his vet notes

you: casually puts them back in his bag

Yoosung I’ve been with horses since forever I think I can name their body parts myself thanks

Yoosung loves watching you ride, wow MC looks so cool like medieval movie people 

lmao medieval movie people good going Yoosung

But also he gets to watch how a horse’s body moves in real time

So it’s a really good study session for him too, though the first thing he says to you afterwards is 

“I never knew a horse’s muscles looked so powerful under their sleek pelt!” (help me out here is it a pelt or skin or w h a t?)

Yoosung what about me

“You looked beautiful too!”

‘Too’????

Anyways, he tells you that next time he’d like to see things from up close

Yoosung I sincerely hope that you don’t become obsessed with my horse

ᘔEᑎ:

LMAO THIS GUY

We all know how much of a romanticist he is

MC has horses???? Like real horses???

Well I am an equestrian so yes

MC pleasecanIrideahorseIwanttobeyourprinceandrideoffintothesunset

When he sees you at a jumping competition, you make it look so easy

If MC can do it, so can I!

Reluctantly, you try to give him a little lesson on riding, but Zen keeps distracting himself by trying to always look good

“Okay, so before you actually get on, there are some basics you need to know-”

“If the horse runs really fast, I bet my hair’s gonna look a-m-a-z-i-n-g in the wind.”

“Zen, are you even listen-”

“We gotta get the timing right though, the sun has to be in front of me, so that I can have a perfect silhouette.”

“Zen you-”

“Is it okay if I let go of the reins? I’m gonna have to take a selfie…what kind of pose should I make? Oh I kn-”

“ZEN FOR FUCK’S SAKE DON’T STAND DIRECTLY BEHIND THE HORSE IF SHE KICKS YOU YOU’LL GET SERIOUSLY HURT.”

In the end, Zen doesn’t learn how to ride by himself, let alone be able to do basic jumps

But because of his pouting, you gave in and allowed him to ride with you

more like you two were just chilling on the horse while the sun set in front of you

You’re holding a portable electric fan in your hand so that Zen can get his desired wind effect

Of course you spend hours there while he takes thousands of selfies

Jaehee’s the only one who believes him when he tells the RFA that he now knows how to ride a horse

ᒍᗩEᕼEE:

when you tell  her that you have to take a day off work for a competition, she insists she come along and watch

Jaehee is blown away by your concentration, and the teamwork you and your horse possess

Wants to use it as a reference for working standards at the cafe lolol

When you bring her closer to your horse, she straightens her back, then gives him a deep bow

“Hello, my name is Jaehee Kang, am I am MC’s girlfriend. It truly is a pleasure to meet you,” she says, before standing upright again. 

Your horse simply  nibbles at the carrot you offer him, because it’s a horse and horses like carrots better than formal introductions I guess

*gasp* does that mean I’m a horse too? wow the more you know…

But honestly Jaehee you’re so cute what am I supposed to do with you???

Oh I know

Over the next couple of weeks, you give Jaehee a few lessons about horseback riding, and of course being the intelligent and hardworking person she is, Jaehee picks up on them right away

And one day, you have her dress up in a pretty outfit, and bring her over to the yard

Jaehee sits sattleback as you guide the horse around the track, wanting to show the world how beautiful your girlfriend is, and how proud you are to be able to call her that

Jaehee’s a blushing mess

You decide to to it again soon

ᒍ���ᗰIᑎ:

The first time Jumin saw your dressage performance, he was floored

There are other animals as sophisticated as Elizabeth 3rd???

Your horse’s trot just captures his heart, and that night he watches more dressage videos with Elly

Lowkey tries to teach her how to do the fancy horse walk

lolololol could you imagine a cat doing that

makin’ my way downtown

He’s gonna build a private establishment just for you, one that’s really close to his office so that he can come visit you during his breaks

It calms him down after a stressful day at work, watching you practice so diligently 

He makes sure you have the best coaches, best facilities

But he knows not to suggest getting ‘better’ horses,since he would promptly arrest anybody who suggested getting a ‘better’ cat (not that that even existed in Jumin Han’s mind)

The guy thought he was a cat whisperer

He’s actually a horse whisperer

You’ll walk in on his brushing your horse, singing her a lullaby in a foreign language

you swear the horse is singing it right back at him

But Jumin promises to sing it to you too

ᔕᗩEYOᑌᑎG:

Oh he knew

He even attended your pas de deux competition when you just joined the RFA

He was that one dude who kept screaming every 5 seconds and had to be escorted out

When you officially introduce him to your horse/s, Saeyoung looks like a kid who just met their superhero

“It’s a HORSE!?!?!?”

Yes, yes it is.

bOI S TOP WITH THE MY LITTLE PONY REFERENCES

IT’S SERIOUSLY GETTING OUT OF HAND

You never knew he was a closeted brony

Names your horse after his favourite character

“Seven please he’s called Shadowfax not Rainbow Dash!”

For some unknown reason, Saeyoung knows how to ride horses??

And he’s actually pretty good at it????

Except he still lacks common sense????

“Look at me!” he exclaims, ‘Rainbow Dash’ prancing around the arena with Seven on his back,”No hands! No hands! No– gah!” 

He’s is flung from your horse and lands in a bush

His glasses askew, bramble stuck in his hair, he declares that he immediately wants to do it again

In the end, you guys make a pas de deux routine together, and it’s a beautiful thing to witness

somehow the horses dab at the end

ᐯ:

He’s happy when you tell him about you being an equestrian, but his thoughts are tinged with sadness because he can’t see what you’re doing

Still, V says that he wishes to be there when you practice, so you bring him along and sit him somewhere nearby (you don’t want him to wander off while you aren’t looking istg even if he’s blind he just doesn’t know how to stay put)

He hears everything, the sound of the horse’s hooves, the soft words you give your horse in between rides, and he even begins to think that he can hear the sound of the wind as you gallop around the arena

His fingers are aching to take a picture, but all he can do is imagine with eyes that can no longer see, what a sight to behold you must be

I did a Seuss thing

Not three days pass before he confronts you with his desire to get surgery

When he goes back to watch you, he brings along his camera

You were more incredible to watch than he ever thought possible

He wants to capture every moment of you looking free and cherish them forever

ᔕᗩEᖇᗩᑎ:

Actually really afraid of horses but definitely won’t admit it

So when you tell him about being an equestrian, he sorta just freezes for a moment 

He clears his throat, “Ah…oh, cool,” he growls, trying to appear disinterested

You you tell him you want to bring him to a cross-country event, but he just gives you A Look™

“Will there be…you now…horses there?”

Saeran p l s 

But he can’t lose face in front of you, and forces himself to go

He waits with the crowd while you do your thing, but he can’t hype himself up for you because he’s too afraid for your safety

Basically, since he’s scared of horses, he’s also afraid of seeing you on a horse

horsesareevilIdontunderstandthemwhatiftheyhaveahiddenagenda

That’s pretty much all he can think about 

When you’re done, he all but snatches you off of your horse, glaring at it as if it were his love rival

“Um Saeran did - did something happen between the two of you?”

“You never know what a horse is plotting,” he mutters to himself.

“What?”

Saeran pouts and looks away, and you tell him you have to go see your coach but you’ll be right back

So he’s left standing awkwardly beside your horse

He keeps giving it suspicious glances, half-expecting it to morph into some strange monstrous creature

“Who the fuck are you?” he finally hisses, staring the horse down. “Are you an impostor? Professional cosplayer? Well, whatever you are, you better watch out, because I’ve got my eyes on you…all three of them,” he adds, tapping his arm.

*does the I’m watching you thing with his hands while slowly slinking out of the frame*

Horse: who the fuck are you?

ᐯᗩᑎᗪEᖇᗯOOᗪ:

He’s totally with Saeran in the ‘horses are plotting world domination’ club

You want him to come watch you? Nuh-uh

No matter how much you beg, Miss Vanderwood will not go

So you think to yourself

If he will not go to the horse, then the horse will go to him

“MC!!!! MC!!!!!” you hear Vanderwood screeching that afternoon. 

“Yeah?”

“Why…WHY IS THERE A GODDAMNED HORSE IN THE LIVING ROOM??”

“I thought some bonding time would be nice.”

Vanderwood runs around the house, screaming for hours

When he finally calms down, you find him seated in a corner of the living room, whispering things to himself

You think, good, he seems to have come to terms with your horse, and you approach him with a small hopeful smile, 

“Hey, Van-”

You pause

He’s clutching a tattered book to his chest as if his life depended on it

What’s this? you think, stepping in some sort of thick liquid

There, on the floor, a strange rune-looking symbol had been painted, with your horse standing in the middle, munching on some oats

“VandeRWOOD WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

“I MUST SUMMON SATAN TO GET RID OF HIS SPAWN! SO I’M SACRIFICING THE HORSE!!”

“NO DON’T YOU DARE SACRIFICE THE HORSE!”

“Fucking waTCH ME!  DIES IRAE, DIES ILLA, SOLVET SAECLU-”

The horse vanishes only to reappear in the bathroom

Vanderwood loses his voice for a week, and still has nightmares regarding the whole incident

You never speak of that day again

[mmdc-is-cancelled]

Y'know what, I'm gonna say it

I don’t care that you broke your elbow //shot

Real talk, I don’t like the concept of “Rinko”. So I’m gonna talk about it!

This isn’t an attack on anybody, this is a personal opinion. Get that clear in your head first, then we can continue. I’ll put this under a read more. If you choose to read this, it absolutely has to be read thoroughly, scanning it for keywords will lead to misunderstandings. Remember this is not a callout, this is a critique.

Rinko is supposed to be “trans girl Rinto”, while Rinto is basically genderbent Rin. Some people refer to Rinto and Lenka as Rin and Len’s older siblings, I don’t pay a lot of attention to their stories because I don’t care about those characters, it’s whatever. In the most basic form, Rinto is just genderbent Rin regardless of whatever relationship they’re written with.

That begs the question, if Rinto is just genderbent Rin, then isn’t Rin also genderbent Rinto? Don’t they just go back and forth? In my head, yes. In the heads of people I’ve talked to about this, yes. Rin and Rinto are the same, the only difference being their gender (and whatever design changes you want, I guess.)

Now back to Rinko and why I feel she’s completely unnecessary and then some. If Rinto is genderbent Rin, people could identify Rinto as basically trans boy Rin, as well as Rin being trans girl Rinto (although the latter isn’t used commonly as Rinto is Rin’s derivative and Rin is the original.) Because Rinto and Rin can basically go back and forth, what’s the point in Rinko? Female Rinto is Rin. Male Rin is Rinto. Why is a third identity necessary?

In my own opinion, I feel as thought Rinko is an example of transgender fetishization in a way. This belief comes from the way I see Rinto and Rin, and also because I, myself, am trans. I feel like the only reason Rinko exists is to be transgender. Rinko and Rinto are pretty much the same character aside from their gender and whatever design choices are given. But Rinto and Rin are the same character aside from their gender. Therefore Rinko and Rin are the same character? But they aren’t apparently.

According to the person that writes Rinko (I’m not including their name because this isn’t a callout or an attack directed at them) Rinko started off as a joke. That’s all fine and good, whatever. Rinko later evolved into her own character, but as far as I’ve found I’ve not seen much other information about her aside from she’s a “mother/older sister” type according to this journal I’m reading as I type this. It’s honestly pretty vague, and doesn’t set her far apart from Rinto when plenty of people associate Rinto and being the older brother type.

The sequence of events, according to this journal, is Joke > Troll/Tsundere > Trans girl Rinto from the future that travels to the past (with no reason mentioned, she’s just here I guess?)

Rinko is established as an older sibling figure, and that’s what’s meant to set her apart from Rinto, even though Rinto is often portrayed as an older sibling as well like I mentioned earlier. When you look at it like this, that doesn’t really set her apart at all. If anything, it just sort of makes her seem exactly like Rinto. I could totally be missing more of this writing, I’m not familiar with this person or their profile so I don’t know where I’m supposed to look. This is really all I’m seeing and this journal seems like the best thing I could quickly find to go off of. Feel free to direct me to any additional writing for this character.

Alright, so I don’t see how she’s different, but fetishization is kind of a big accusation, right? It is, so I don’t like to throw it around casually, but from art I’ve seen of Rinko that’s exactly what I’m interpreting. In a majority of the legitimate art I’m currently looking at of Rinko, she looks incredibly sexualized. She’s given a large bust, a huge ass, small waist, and either skin-tight, short, or revealing outfits. If you showed me this character out of any sort of context and I didn’t already know of her I would’ve figured she’s some hentai character.

“She’s hot, so what?” You’ll have to pardon my skepticism but am I meant to believe she’s not suddenly super hot because of HRT and surgery? That’s an unbelievably common idea in regards to trans women, that HRT and surgery is supposed to make them absolutely smoking. I’ll compare this to pornography of trans women, they’re generally dolled up and sexualized because hello? It’s porn. People that watch said porn assign this idea in real life that HRT and surgery will make any trans women incredibly sexy and, pardon my french, FUCKING THICC AS SHIT. This is a belief I’ve seen personally through friends, acquaintances, and even total strangers that have approached me online mistaking me saying “trans man” for meaning I’m a trans woman (that’s a whole different can of worms for a different blog entirely.) I assign this common belief with what I’m seeing here in front of me, especially because when I look that the entire gallery, the most sexualized character here is Rinko. I find it difficult to believe that Rinko being one of the only super-sexualized characters has nothing to do with her being trans, especially when I can recall this user, at one point, admitting to drawing pornography at least semi-regularly. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence really at all.

Don’t get me wrong. I love big booty bitches. Who doesn’t? But when I see what I see and I believe what I believe, it just feels pretty gross when I’m putting two and two together. If this character’s direction were up to me, I’d change her story entirely. It’s possible to write a Kagamine that isn’t a derivative but honestly, she’d be better off not being a Kagamine at all. She could be written as her own entity entirely. From what I have seen for myself, actual writing for her is lacking and I think that’s why she just seems like a walking fetish to me. It’s perfectly fine to write trans women porn stars as well, and I don't want to send the message that it isn't, what I want to get across is that writing and detailed information is important, even if it's introduced only piece by piece. If Rinko had more publicly available information (or at least, if I could find any) then it's possible I could change my mind completely. The way I see it now, she seems under-developed, lacking real information, and that leaves a lot of room open to interpretation by the audience and this is my interpretation.

I’ve been writing for so long I’m drawing a blank, but I think I mentioned every point I had in mind. If I didn’t I’ll add to this post in reblogs. You’re welcome to feel however you want to about this, whether you agree or you disagree or you’re offended and you think I’m lashing out at this user, that’s all you. I kept this as civil and clear as I’m really capable of being because this is not a callout. This is a critique.

[southerndreamz]

WWE - The Collection

So, I’ve decided that it’s a waste to have so many one shots hanging around that no one has ever seen. I’ll occasionally be posting non-sense and sexy stories for your reading enjoyment. Please feel free to share and reblog - just remember to say where ya found it. And if you want to be tagged for the next submission, let me know!

For all the Lone Wolf, Baron Corbin, lovers out there, I give you Chapter One:

* * * *

“That skirt supposed to be so short?”

The deep voice was practically in my ear. There was no reason for me to turn around. I would know that voice anywhere. Baron Corbin brushed against me as he wedged himself into the narrow space between myself and a voluptuous, platinum blonde.  I didn't spare him a glance as I waited for the bartender to finish mixing my drink. My blunt nails drummed softly against the brass bar rail as I waited.

Natty's invitation to join them for Girl's Night Out caught me by surprise. Normally, they didn't invite me to join the tightly knit group of Divas. I was too new to the roster. I was trying to prove that I am worthy of their time and attention. On a whim, I decided to wear the ultra short black leather skirt and sapphire blue halter top. I completed the outfit with a pair of strappy heels and a sort of haphazard updo. My arrival in the hotel lobby had been met with approval and a round of good- natured teasing.

But, as I stood at the bar, a fresh whiskey sour in hand, I had a moment of uncertainty. Maybe my revealing outfit had been a bad idea. Maybe I should have gone with a burlap sack and saved myself from the unsolicited attention of the big man beside me.

Gathering my courage, I attempted to turn away from the bar. Before I could move, his warm fingers wrapped around my wrist. I glanced up at him, his dark eyes were unreadable in the low light. I pulled slightly, attempting to release myself from his grasp.

We studied each other for a long moment. Baron made no move to disentangle himself from me. My gaze dropped to the point where his long fingers held my slender wrist. I arched a brow.

“Do you mind?”

I felt the deep breath he released move across my cheek.

“Why are you playing hard to get?” Baron asked as he leaned closer.

The scent of his woodsy aftershave drifted across my senses. I hated the fact that he smelled good enough to eat. His grip remained firm even as he leaned a elbow against the shiny bar top.

I snorted in disbelief as I shook my head. Me? Play hard to get? The thought was absurd. Baron had been given ample opportunity to pursue me. Hell, I had practically thrown myself at him. His reaction had been a smirk and a quick turn on his heel. I stood there, in the back hallway of the Civic Center, looking like a fool as everyone snickered at my unceremonious rejection. Now, all of sudden, the Lone Wolf was looking for a little action? Too bad for him.

“You had your chance, Corbin.”

I patted his hand before lightly gripping the back of his hand. I carefully pulled away each finger until I was finally free.

Not put off by my escape, Baron shifted. He blocked my retreat by slipping slightly behind me. I could feel his heat pressing into me from shoulder to thigh. In a panic, my eyes met his in the mirror behind the bar. The expression on his face was serious. His full mouth was pulled into a thin line. His dark eyes were wide. He watched me with the same intensity that made him lethal in the ring. It was obvious that he was calculating his next move.

He leaned closer, pressing his hips against mine for a fleeting moment. His fingers drifted up the length of my bare arm and over my shoulder. He stopped once his fingers came to rest against the fluttering pulse at my throat.

His voice was husky against my ear, “I was a fucking idiot to turn you down.”

His gaze never wavered from mine. I knew I should look away. The intensity in those whiskey colored depths was too much. However, something in his expression made me unable to do so.

Baron leaned down until his nose was buried in my hair. He made a low sound in his chest. The growl brought goose bumps to my skin.

“I won't make that mistake again. Come on, doll, give me a chance.”

I drew in a shaky breath. My instinct was to tell him to fuck off. He'd mortified me in front of everyone we knew. The sting of his rejection was still strong. But as I looked into his eyes, I found it almost impossible to deny him.

Baron's nose trailed from my hair, down to my ear. He nuzzled me for a moment before moving lower. He placed a hot kiss against my throat. His lips were heavenly soft on my skin. My knees weakened. I gripped the bar rail tightly and prayed for strength.

“Five minutes is all I need.” Baron whispered as his lips changed direction and skated upward.

The challenge was evident in those heated words. My body agreed whole-heartedly. In fact, it would give anything to find out exactly what he would accomplish in those five minutes. My thighs moved restlessly, desperate to ease the intense ache that settled low in my body. A whimper escaped as Baron's free hand lightly gripped my hip. He pulled me into the cradle of his thighs. His cock was throbbing and hard as it rested against the crease of my ass.

“Just say yes.” Baron encouraged as he rested his chin against my bare shoulder.

My gaze dropped from his as I considered the possibilities. Denying him would send me into a hellish nightmare of unsated desire. Giving in would open Pandora's box. Baron sensed my indecision. His wide palm moved from my hip to rest against my lower belly. His fingers rested a hair's breadth away from my mound. All I had to do was wiggle just a fraction of an inch and his touch would be exactly where I needed it most.

“Come on, baby, let me show you how good it can be.” Baron's deep voice was a husky whisper.

The instant those words left his supple lips, the decision was made. I was helpless to deny him. My answer was a single bob of my head. Had he not been watching so intently, he would have missed the subtle response. A savage curse left him as his grip tightened. He pulled me tightly to him. His free hand dug into his jeans pocket. After slamming down a hundred dollar bill, he pulled me away from the bar.

The flash of disco lights were a blur as his long strides brought us to the exit. He pulled me into the alley that ran between the bar and quaint bookstore next door. As the heavy metal door slammed shut, I realized what was about to happen. The very thought of Baron fucking me in the dark alley brought an undeniable wash of pleasure. I leaned against the building's facade as Baron's dark eyes swept the area. Once he was assured we were indeed alone, he stepped toward me.

He didn't give me a chance to so much as breathe before his mouth captured mine. A second later, his bulky frame settled against me. The rough brick exterior bit into my tender flesh as Baron's hips pushed into mine. His cock was hot and insistent as it pressed at the juncture of my thighs.

He continued kissing me, plundering my mouth with his tongue. He explored every inch of me, tracing over my teeth and gliding along the plumpness of my lower lip. I melted into his kiss, my arms  wrapping around his waist. I held him close as he devoured me.

A startled gasp left me as his fingers skirted up my side. His gentle touch surprised me as he followed the curve of my rib cage. The instant his long fingers grasped my breast, my knees weakened. He kneaded the pliant flesh before his fingers found the puckered tip. A groan left Baron as he plucked at my nipple.

The electricity of his touch was unbearable. I gasped into his kiss, silently begging for more. He put an inch of space between us, allowing him to grasp the hem of my skirt. He pulled the material upward, exposing my over heated flesh to the night breeze. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the cool sensation.

Baron's muttered curse brought me back to my senses. He glanced between us, taking in the barely there lace panties I'd impulsively chosen. He watched the scene unfold as his fingers drew along the seam of my thighs. As if pulled by a magic string, they opened for his exploration. He sucked in a ragged breath as his index finger stoked the damp material.

“You're so fucking wet, kitten.” Baron's low voice was full of praise.

I watched as his tongue darted out. He licked his lips as he pressed his fingers against my lace covered clit. He held the pressure until it was more than I could take.

My back arched, silently asking for more. Baron was quick to oblige. He pushed aside the thin material separating us. He slid a thick finger between my slick folds. He gave no warning before sinking inside. My eyes squeezed shut as he worked me, his thumb sweeping tight circles over my clit.

“Do you like that, baby?” He purred as he leaned down.

He burrowed into the crook of my shoulder, his sharp teeth finding the tender spot there.

My cry of pleasure echoed in the sudden stillness. Baron took it as encouragement to add a second finger. I felt stretched to the breaking point. The only relief was the exquisite pleasure he wrought. Each pass of his thumb against my clit drove me closer to the edge. A desperate whimper left me.

Unable to resist any longer, my hands snaked between us. I fumbled with the heavy belt buckle. Once it parted, I made quick work of freeing the copper button and zipper. The instant my fingers found his cock, he growled in approval. The plum shaped knob rested against the hard ridge of his stomach. The tip was dewy with beads of desire. My thumb swept over the broad head, gathering the slick essence. I brought my thumb to my lips and sucked it clean. Baron's earthy flavor exploded on my tongue. He tasted of every mysterious, forbidden desire I'd ever had. He was salty and sweet and I instantly wanted more.

Shoving the heavy denim down his thighs gave me full access to his thick cock. He was unbelievably long and as thick as my wrist. The heavy length jutted out at me, the twin weights below were drawn tight. Following the network of veins, I traced him from base to tip and back again. Baron groaned softly, his hips thrusting into my exploring hands.

“Please, Baron.” The words left me in a heated rush.

Baron growled something I couldn't make out. His fingers slipped from my slick with a soft pop. Instantly, the emptiness overwhelmed me. I wanted him fiercely. I stared up at him, my breasts heaving in his grasp.

“Come here.” Baron took a step back, his eyes never leaving my face. He quickly turned us, his back now against the rough brick.

He held my gaze as he pushed his jeans further down his heavy thighs. His right hand slid down to wrap around cock. He gripped the throbbing length and stroked. I watched in fascination as the wide head disappeared into his hand. When it reappeared, a drop of cream beaded onto the tip.

Pushing at his hand, I leaned down to capture the weeping head between my lips. I groaned as once again, his flavor exploded. Baron's palm cupped the back of my head, guiding my movements. I took him as deeply as possible, my tongue laving the underside. Baron swore softly as I picked up a quick rhythm, my head bobbing over his shaft.

Baron thrust upward, meeting my movements. His soft grunts were music to my ears. I felt so feminine and powerful as I took his cock deeper. He allowed me to continue a moment longer. Then, his fingers threaded into my hair. He applied enough pressure to separate my lips from him. As he drew me upward, he kissed me fiercely. My senses swam. I didn't know if up was down or where I was. All I knew was the soul consuming passion burning through my veins.

Grabbing my hips, Baron spun me away from him again. The sound of lace rendering was lost in the darkness. All I could concentrate on was the feel of my ass connecting with Baron's thighs. His warm palm wrapped around the back of my neck. He held me firmly as he bent me at the waist. For a moment, I felt more exposed than ever. My weeping pussy was bared to his hungry gaze. I knew I presented the perfect picture of wanton lust.

I heard the soft rustle of foil a second before a torn, gold packet landed on the worn concrete between my feet. I heard a rumble from Baron as he rolled the condom on. An instant later, his hands grabbed my hips. Without warning, he buried in to the hilt. My lusty scream echoed off the walls. It mixed with Baron's shout, blending into a symphony of perfection.

He thrust forward at the same time he pulled my hips downward. The friction he created was perfect. My pussy wept as he quickly pushed forward and withdrew. The pace was almost brutal yet exactly what I wanted. I didn't want gentle. I wanted Baron in all of his wildness. I wanted him unbridled and untamed. And that was exactly what he gave.

His rough fingers dove between my legs. He found my clit with his middle finger and began rubbing tight, hard circles. The pressure grew to unbelievable proportions. Incoherent words fell from my lips as I begged Baron to end the torture.

Baron's hand found my breast. He gripped the tender flesh as his movements intensified. He pulled at my nipple then rolled the hard tip between his calloused fingers. On the third pass, I could no longer bear it. Stars exploded in my vision. My pussy clamped tightly down on his cock. He was barely able to continue his frantic fucking as I came. His name fell from my lips as I rocked back against him. I came until my pussy ached.

Baron's orgasm started just as mine ended. He shouted as his cock swelled in my depths. The fingers clutching my nipple tightened. Quick, sharp jabs carried him through the waves of pleasure. He didn't stop until his balls were empty. He shifted abruptly, pulling me flush against him. Our ragged breaths mingling as I fought to regain my senses.

I didn't realize I was crying until Baron's soft lips traced the salty trails down to my chin. He whispered to me, soothing away the last tendrils of tension. The words were intelligible but the tone was infinitely soothing. As the last spasms of pleasure faded from my limbs, Baron slowly withdrew from my scalding depths. He held me close, not allowing so much as an inch of space between us.

He cradled me tenderly, his warm palms sliding over my exposed skin. With his hands on my hips, he slowly turned me to face him.

“You're mine now, baby.” He whispered before claiming my lips.

While his kiss was tender, it was no less passionate than before. As Baron continued his gentle onslaught, I knew I could not possibly argue with him. I'd been fighting the inevitable all long. The Lone Wolf finally claimed his mate.