#he has his head on the pillow and everything | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

runariya · 1 day ago

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Crash Course in Love • 3

pairing: snowboard instructor!Jungkook x ex-gf!reader (feat. platonic OT6) genre: rom-com, Exes 2 Lovers, slow-burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: strong language, slow burn, angst, tension, bad communication skills, heartbreak, hangover, doubts, emotional rollercoaster, fight against nature, being stranded, crying, verbal fighting and screaming, explicit sexual content, bit of dry humping, fingering, scissoring, unprotected sex, breast play, hickeys, scratch marks, love bites, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 15.3k

a/n: i'm absolutely knackered now, completely worn out. BUT it was sooooo worth it lol hope y'all enjoy it to the fullest bc next update probably won't be until the new year...sooooo...have funnnn!

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

Day 4

“Fuck.”

You think you’ve woken up in hell—it must be—because, oh god, you feel like death. Your eyes are crusted shut, and you can’t feel your legs. But as you rub the sleep out of your eyes and prop yourself up on your elbows, you realise it’s just Namjoon lying across them, snoring away.

You try to take in the room, piecing together the hazy puzzle of last night. The party, the song, you running off only to drown yourself with Yoongi and Namjoon in alcohol, throwing your own little after-party. You remember crying, remember singing your heart out to sad love songs blaring through Dionysus. What a fucking mess you’ve become…

But after all that chaos, there’s only blackness. And seeing Yoongi and Namjoon still here with you in the suite, all of you fully dressed and reeking of alcohol, tells you enough. And as you groan, not just from the bottomless pit of stupidity, but from the pounding in your head, you let yourself collapse back onto your pillow.

You fight back another wave of tears, wishing the last 24 hours could just be erased, wishing you were back at home. You fumble blindly for your phone, finding it on the nightstand nearby.

2:56 p.m.

Just brilliant. Though, at least you’re spared from spending the whole day on the slopes. Not that you’d be able to walk straight with how you’re feeling, but a win’s a win.

You need to get up, though, so you start stirring both men awake. Yoongi’s not blocking you, but if you’re up, he has to be as well. Much to your surprise, both of them wake without protest, getting themselves into a sitting position on the bed, looking like zombies straight out of The Walking Dead. You reckon you look about the same.

“Sorry,” Namjoon mumbles as you begin massaging some blood back into your legs, which feel like they’re fighting for dear life.

“S’alright,” you croak out, unable to manage much more.

“Painkillers.” Yoongi just sits there, staring at his blanket, the rise and fall of his chest the only proof he’s still alive, though barely.

You and Namjoon both nod, but no one actually moves until, eventually, Namjoon rises—slowly, hands leaving the mattress only at the last second before he somehow straightens up and makes his way to the door, though it’s anything but a straight line.

You’re the second to get up, staggering into the bathroom to wash off everything clinging to you. You’re not sure if it’s just dried sweat or a bit of alcohol still on your skin, though you have a vague memory of Tae pouring something over your back. Either way, you’re in desperate need of a full shower to feel human again.

The only upside to this hangover is that your mind has finally shut up. Every bit of energy is focused on basic bodily functions, like breathing without throwing up and blinking your bloodshot eyes now and then. You’re not even fazed when Yoongi stumbles in, taking a piss that seems to go on forever; he clearly couldn’t give a fuck, and neither can you.

When you’ve finished rinsing your hair and are wrapped in a towel that’s too soft to absorb any actual moisture, you quietly switch places with Yoongi, both of you unintentionally making a point not to make eye contact.

You’re not entirely sure why you’re still here—not just in this town but on this entire trip. There’s no real drive left in you to give Jungkook closure, no fight in you at all, and definitely no desire to ever see him again.

So, you decide to get the hell out of here. Not right this second, no, your blood alcohol is likely still sky-high and will take a nosedive soon, taking you down with it, but tomorrow, you’re leaving. It’s the healthiest thing you could do, because frankly, you lost Jungkook years ago, and that realisation sobers you up more than anything else could.

It doesn’t stir the same emotions it once did as you pull Jungkook’s old hoodie out of your luggage—or maybe you’re just too tired to care—as you tug the oversized black fabric over your head, the only comfortable thing you’d brought on this trip. Some leggings on, with your phone stuffed into the front pocket of the hoodie, you make your way to the main area, letting your eyes roam to maybe spot your missing phone case.

Jungkook’s already lounging in a single armchair, poking absently at the fire with an iron stick, his gaze tracking you as you move around the room. But you ignore him. It’s not like you’re being petty this time, and he can probably tell from your posture that you’re just not in the mood to interact at all.

You’re especially glad he doesn’t mention your—or rather, his—hoodie, and when you give up the search, realising the case isn’t lying around here either, you shuffle over to the sofa, collapsing onto it and immediately pulling out your phone. Scrolling through YouTube, you pull the hoodie’s hood down a bit further to block out Jungkook entirely, settling on a spa video promising a very satisfying blackhead extraction.

If your life’s this miserable, you’re at least going to give yourself this kind of satisfaction, even if it’s short-lived. And anyway, there are millions of similar videos waiting for you and your lonely ass.

Namjoon emerges midway through your video, nudging your legs to make space for him. You shift, but only to let your legs settle in his lap as soon as he sits down.

“Here,” he offers, handing you two painkillers, which you take like they’re sweets, chewing them up so they might kick in faster. He pulls a disgusted face, but it quickly fades—probably can’t be bothered to waste any energy as well.

“Jimin brought food,” Jungkook breaks the silence, still poking at the fire. “Should I get you some?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or Namjoon, but you answer anyway. “I’m good, thanks.”

Maybe he expected a different answer, as his stick pauses for a moment, but you couldn’t care less. The chance to talk things out has passed, along with your will. It’s on him now. You’ve seen and heard enough.

“Why did you leave the party so early?” he tries again.

“It was because of me, I just—”

You cut Namjoon off; he really doesn’t need to do this for you. “Stop lying, I wanted to leave, and Namjoon and Yoongi didn’t want me to be alone.”

“Why?”

You pause your video, turning to meet Jungkook’s eyes. He’s bouncing his leg and chewing on his lip ring again, but it’s not your problem if he’s anxious or whatever. “None of your business.”

Namjoon gives your knee a slight squeeze, and while Jungkook turns his attention back to the flames like you’re the one who’s hurt him, he can go fuck himself. You’re not dealing with him right now. Not when he’s got Hara pregnant and sings love songs for her.

Yoongi enters at that moment, settling into the armchair beside Jungkook and just managing to catch the two painkillers Namjoon tosses his way.

Silence returns, and you restart your video, losing yourself in the meditative extractions.

“Can I get a haaaawyeah?!” Tae bursts into the hostel, bringing Hope and Hara with him. Three of the four present groan in agony at the sudden noise, and you’re one of them. Still, you shift to sit up, making room for them to join.

You’re not sure why Hara chooses to sit next to you, quietly handing over a takeaway box of food with that warm, familiar smile of hers—you know it’s got to be from Jin’s.

“I’m not hungry,” you mumble, the bite you had a few minutes ago already feeling like it never had been there to begin with.

“Please, eat something. Your body needs it.”

She’s right, but you can’t bring yourself to even lift the lid, staring blankly at it as if it’ll somehow reveal yet another surprise you’re not ready for. You know it’s not Hara’s fault you’re feeling like this, or that Jungkook chose her, but right now, all you can feel is bitterness, and her kindness only multiplies it.

Almost unconsciously, you glance up and find Jungkook’s eyes fixed on you, his leg still bouncing lightly, clearly tuned out from the lively conversation between the other guys.

You’ve kept this empty space in your heart reserved for him for so long, never realising he’d never fill it again. You just don’t have the energy for this anymore, the will to keep playing his game where he pulls you back into his world only to remind you you’re no longer really part of it. Not properly.

You wonder if Jungkook even realises what he’s doing, if he has any clue about how his actions come across. Or maybe he’s just as stuck as you, caught up in his patterns and too blind to see beyond them. The care and worry in his eyes when he looks at you, when he notices you making poor choices for your health—maybe, you reason, it’s just because he doesn’t know how to be any other way and nothing more.

But that’s the thing about Jungkook: he genuinely cares. And that’s why he’s going to be the best dad on this earth—just not to your children.

“I’m really not hungry.” You think you see Jungkook’s jaw tick just a bit, but he again chooses to say nothing, his gaze, though, never wavering from you.

“I didn’t mean to, but damn, that woman was something else,” Tae bursts, sprawled on the floor in front of you, accidentally nudging your knee as he laughs with the others.

“Who?” you ask, trying to tune into the conversation just to get away from the other.

“That woman who was sitting by the bar all night. Tae pulled her,” Hope bursts out laughing, especially at your disgusted, shocked face.

“Was she any good?” Namjoon inquires, like it’s the most normal thing to ask about a one-night stand.

“What can I say? She taught me things I didn’t even know existed.”

Yep, that info’s enough to make you gag for real, and judging by Yoongi and Jungkook’s expressions, they’re feeling the same.

“Want some?” you offer Yoongi the box, hoping to steer the conversation away from…whatever this is. But he just shakes his head, clearly not ready to risk upsetting his stomach as well.

He’s pale as it is, and you can see the colour drain from his already bloodshot eyes at the sight of food. Poor man.

“Jungkook, you hungry?” Hara offers softly, and you can’t help but glance at him again.

His bouncing leg stills the instant she speaks to him. And even though it’s true—Jungkook can eat like a bottomless pit, never saying no to food—you don’t really want to interact with him right now. But, some things haven’t changed at all it seems, like you not being able to say no when it comes to him.

Jungkook looks at you with those big, hopeful eyes, as if to say just eat it yourself—he’d never, like all those years ago, take food from you when it’s clear you’re barely eating yourself. But you just can’t, and with that, you get up, lean over the small coffee table separating you both, and offer him the box with both hands, a small, shaky smile on your face.

Jungkook stands up too, reaching for the food between you. You think he’ll just take it, but his hands cover yours, brushing over them until they settle on the container, and then, finally, he takes it. It catches you off guard, not just because he touched you first and not the box, but because it was absolutely deliberate.

Why he did it, you don’t know, but all you can think about is getting away fast before all your bottled-up emotions explode in your face.

“Can…uh…can someone drive me to the nearest petrol station?” you ask, standing there rooted to the spot, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment as everyone looks up at you.

Jungkook’s half a mind to put the box back on the table and get up again, but Hope springs up from his spot beside Taehyung, fishing his keys from his pocket. “I’ve got you.”

“Thanks, I’ll just get ready.” You cast him a quick, grateful look and head to your room, eyes down.

Hope just saved you there, because if Jungkook had offered to drive, you don’t know what you’d have done. Sure, you want him to be happy—you’re not some heartless person who wishes bad things on people, especially those who are…were…close to you.

But what about your happiness? Don’t you deserve to find peace too? To protect yourself? So yes, you’ll take every bit of help you can get, even if it’s just a lift to the petrol station.

You didn’t mean to startle so violently when you turned to close the suite door, but honestly, you hadn’t even heard Hara following you, moving soundlessly like a ghost.

“C…can I help you?” You’re gripping the door until your knuckles turn white under your sweater paws, the door not even fully open anymore.

“Can I come in?”

It’s like something out of a nightmare, knowing you can’t turn her away just because Hara’s never done anything to hurt you. You have to remind yourself again and again that she’s not the villain here, chanting it silently in your head, trying to drown out the hurt that won’t go away whenever you look at her.

So, you nod, opening the door a bit wider, then turn around to let her in and busy yourself with “looking” for your phone case, just so you don’t have to face her.

“Are you okay?”

Her words break through the sound of the bedding as you give it a shake, hoping your case might fall out, but of course it doesn’t. Just like the right answer isn’t coming to you now, not to her question.

Maybe you’re okay, as okay as you can be. Maybe you’re not. Either way, you’re definitely not making her your therapist—not when she’s involved in all this stupid mess.

“Yeah, sure. Are you?”

“Yeah, the sickness finally went away. I just hope I start to show soon—it’s getting weird at this point.”

You move around the room, checking every corner, stopping only when you spot an edge of your phone case outside on the porch, half-buried in the snow beside the jacuzzi.

“How far along are you?”

“Seventeenth week…we’ll find out the gender soon.” There’s a subtle cheer in her voice that makes your heart soften for a moment.

It must be incredible to be expecting, especially to finally know the baby’s gender and go a bit mad with shopping. You’re sure you’d be the same, and Hara likely will be, too.

You glance her way, offering a small, warm smile before opening the door to the porch. “Got a feeling what it’ll be?”

Hara comes closer to the door as you step outside, staying in the warmth while leaning against the frame. “Yes? No? Maybe?” She laughs. “Some days I swear it’s a boy, and then others I’m convinced it’s a girl. Tomorrow’s the appointment, so…I hope mini-me reveals its gender and isn’t shy.”

You giggle, fishing the icy case out of the snow and brushing off the clinging flakes. As you come back inside, Hara moves aside, settling herself on the edge of the bed while you grab a discarded shirt of Yoongi’s to dry the case off.

“Hey…uh…I don’t quite know how to start this, but…I know you’re not doing alright.”

The glance you throw her way is wary rather than hostile, but still, you don’t want a pep talk from her.

“Please, just talk to each other.”

Biting your lip, you really don’t want to say anything. Yes, you probably should talk to Jungkook, but then again, maybe you shouldn’t. He’s had countless chances to say something, to open up if he had any thoughts at all—and he’s used none of them. Not even when you broke up with him. He stayed silent, like he is now.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk, not really, and you’re done waiting and being the one to start things.

“There’s nothing left to talk about. But I appreciate your concern.”

Hara just nods, staring down at the floor, rubbing her hands together between her knees while you pull on your coat and tuck your phone safely into its case.

“It’s a nice case. Did you paint it yourself?”

You glance at your phone, rubbing your thumb over the faded paint that was once so bright. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of it after the breakup, even though it reminds you of everything good about your time with Jungkook. Maybe there’s some masochistic streak in you that wants to punish yourself for everything you did and didn’t do. Maybe it’s time to let go of all the memories that keep pulling you back to a time that’s long gone.

“No.” You sigh, tucking it away in your coat pocket with your purse and heading to the door. You pause with your hand on the handle, checking to see if Hara’s following, which she is. She’s right behind you again, and this time, you just let out a startled scream internally, hoping you don’t flinch too visibly.

Opening the door, you let her pass first, just to keep her in your sight this time, but as soon as you’re near the entrance to the main area, she stops, raising a hand. You give her a puzzled look, but she only points to one of her ears, so you lean in, trying to make out what’s being said.

First, you catch the voices of Taehyung and Namjoon, Taehyung’s voice too loud and distinct not to notice. But when you listen a bit harder, you pick up Hope and Jungkook having a different conversation, probably a little further from the others.

“I know! I know you’re a good driver. Just…”

“Just? C’mon, what’s going on with you, C?”

“Just… take care of her, okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re acting like I’m some boy who’s just got his licence and can’t be trusted—”

The rustling of your coat drowns out the rest of their conversation as you step into the room, deciding not to eavesdrop any longer. You glance around briefly, and of course, Jungkook’s eyes find yours again, but you quickly turn towards Yoongi, resting your hands on his shoulders from behind where he’s still slouched on the one-seater. He wraps his hand around your wrist, his thumb gently brushing over your pulse.

“Why was my case out in the snow?” you murmur into his ear, which earns a lazy laugh from him. He peeks over his shoulder at you, his voice still raspy from his hangover as he murmurs back.

“You thought you could yeet it away and be done with it.”

Your cheeks go warm again; drunk-you is really ridiculous in every possible way. You’re just grateful it was only Namjoon and Yoongi who saw your breakdown, and no one else.

“Right.”

“Stay safe, yeah?”

He gives your wrist a gentle squeeze, and when your eyes meet again, even though his are still glassy from last night’s antics, there’s that quiet care in them only real family can have.

“I will. Thanks for being there for me, Yoongs.” You press a quick kiss to his head and give him a brief squeeze around his shoulders, only for him to dramatically fake his own demise.

Straightening up, you meet Hope’s eyes, give him a quick nod, and head towards the door. Jungkook moves with the two of you, holding the door open without taking his eyes off you. His gaze is so intense that you can’t keep eye contact, mumbling a quiet, hurried “thanks” and “bye” as you follow Hope to his car.

You wouldn’t have thought Hope would drive a brand-new car, especially a vibrant red one. You wonder if an equipment rental shop really makes that much of a profit or if everyone in this town is just batshit rich. At least you’ll be safe—much safer than you’d be with Tony.

“So, how long’s the drive?” you ask, taking in the car’s interior while buckling up in the passenger seat. You notice the soft leather under your bum and the chrome trim around the touchscreen on the console.

“Maybe twenty or thirty minutes, depends on whether the roads are clear or still covered in snow.”

You hum in acknowledgment, tucking your hands under your thighs—not only because they’re still cold from the short walk outside, but also to avoid the urge to touch anything and risk breaking something you’d never be able to replace.

The car’s rolling down the steep hill you came from a few days ago in no time, and Hope’s both hands are steady on the wheel, which helps you relax in your seat. He’s definitely a good driver, like Yoongi, Jungkook, or your dad—the kind you can actually relax around without fearing for your life.

“So…would you be a kind soul and tell me what you’re all talking about in that group chat, especially about me?”

Of course you had to ask—why wouldn’t you, now that you’re alone with someone who’s clearly in on the whole scheme?

“Sure, why wouldn’t I?”

“Dunno…maybe because of Namjoon.”

“Oh, I’m not scared of him.” Hope laughs heartily, but his eyes don’t stray from the dark, snow-covered road ahead.

“Sooo…?”

“So, you should just talk to C. That’s what we’re all talking about.”

“Wow, wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“So why’re you asking if that’s not the answer you wanted?”

You fall silent.

“Listen. You and C are both hurting. And the only way forward is for you both to learn how to communicate properly, aka talk to each other.”

“There’s really nothing left to talk about.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s clearly moved on, no?”

Like, duh.

“Has he now?”

Duh?…

“Yeah, with Hara…and the baby on its way.”

Were you wrong all this time? It can’t be.

“Oh, boy…”

“Don’t ‘oh boy’ me.”

“Why do you think he’s with Hara?”

You’re trying not to show how hard it is to think clearly in your state, but the time it takes you to respond says it all. “It’s obvious.”

“Is it? Because it sounds like you’re seeing things how you want to, not how they actually are.”

“Rude.”

“It’s true.”

“You’re really forward for someone I barely know.”

“We’re not strangers, __.” Hope side-eyes you pointedly, making you scoot a tiny bit deeper into your seat.

“Basically, we are.”

“No, we’re not friends yet, but we’re not strangers either.”

So what does this mean for you and Jungkook? He’s not exactly a friend anymore, but he’s not a stranger either. Or…maybe he is. God, your brain feels like it’s about to explode any minute now.

“People change, Hope. Jungkook’s changed.”

Hope lets a short silence settle between you, his fingers tapping softly against the leather wheel as if he’s thinking about what to say next. Only now do you realise there’s no sound from the engine, and you clock that he’s driving an electric car—even though he lives in the mountains, in the cold.

“Have you?”

You’re half-tempted to just say yes, but is that really true? You’re not sure. Maybe you’ve matured a bit, but not enough to feel like a different person. What you do know for sure is that any growth you might have had stopped the moment you left Jungkook. You’ve been so caught up in trying to heal and be someone you’re not that you haven’t really evolved into the person you could have been.

Anything really—maybe a better person, but somehow still the same you. So, what have you become in the last few years? Are you the same? Or not quite?

“Not sure.”

Hope just nods, not as if he’s simply acknowledging what you said, but as if he already knew your answer. It’s uncanny how much talking to him reminds you of Yoongi, both of them having that same no-bullshit approach.

“Listen, I’m not here to play mediator,” yep, definitely like Yoongi, “nor are the others. You need to talk to him, get things sorted before it’s too late.”

“What if it’s already too late?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re so positive.” You whine pathetically.

“And you’re a chronic pessimist.” He mimics you.

“I’m just cautious.” You pull your hands from under your thighs and throw them in the air, more to get your point across than anything.

“No, you’re scared of what might never happen.”

Ouch. But he’s not…not right.

“I’m not. I’m doing snowboarding now, aren’t I?”

“So why are we heading to the nearest petrol station if you’re meant to be snowboarding all week?”

You shut your mouth and slide your hands back under your thighs, as if that might help you disappear. Maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought, and not only Hope but everyone else—including Jungkook—has seen right through you. Is that why Hara wanted to talk to you earlier? Urging you to finally talk to Jungkook?

“Gotcha,” Hope giggles slightly, though when he sees your sad pout, he reaches over to give your knee a quick squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel.

“Alright, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.” Okay, maybe not exactly like Yoongi. “But from what I’ve seen and heard, you liked snowboarding. And I’d say you probably enjoyed everything else you’ve done before, too.” He glances over at you. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

You just give a noncommittal shrug.

“You need to trust yourself and your capabilities a bit more. Start having faith in the positive outcomes, not just the negative ones, yeah? You’ll never be able to live without fear if you overthink everything…especially things with Jungkook.”

Your pout deepens, a light sheen of tears coating your lashes, which you tell yourself are just from the hangover crashing down on you now, not from facing the uncomfortable truth of your very persona.

“I know it’s hard, ___. But sometimes thinking the worst makes it real, even though the outcome could’ve been different if you’d just had a bit more faith.”

“Are you talking about snowboarding or Jungkook?”

“Both.” He giggles again, and you can’t help but join in, sniffing your nose a little.

When just then another small town and the petrol station come into view, you straighten up in your seat, realising you’d been slouching more and more throughout the drive.

Even though you’re not looking forward to stepping outside into the cold, you’re glad for a bit of a cooldown, just to ease your exhaustion.

Hope parks his car right next to the petrol pump, and as soon as he turns it off, you both get out and head to the boot where two big empty canisters are waiting.

“Here, I’ll go to the one right behind this one.” He offers you one of the canisters, and while you take it, you’re still confused.

“I only need one, though.”

He’s already unscrewed his, pumping petrol as he leans to the side to look at you.

“Yeah, this one’s for me.”

You’re still confused, but you start filling your canister anyway.

“Isn’t your car electric?”

“Yeah, but I need emergency petrol for the generator in case there’s an outage and the baby’s coming.”

You freeze. Is Hope…? Oh god, you were so wrong all this time. Relief floods through you, so intense that tears spring to your eyes. Jungkook’s not the baby daddy.

“You’re Hara’s baby daddy?” you squeak.

“Gosh, no!”

And now you think you might throw up, the tears shifting back to the heartbreak of yesterday.

“Areum, my wife, she’s seven months pregnant. You missed her yesterday with your epic escape.”

“Oh. Uh, congratulations.”

But you only hear a snort from behind the pump.

Not wanting to fill the canister completely, you settle on half, afraid you might not have enough left in your bank account. You’re not exactly broke, but you’re worried your employer hasn’t transferred your pay on time. Again.

“I’m off to pay,” you mumble as you pass Hope and head into the small, warm station, where a young teenager plagued with acne stands behind the counter, his eyes barely lifting from his phone throughout your whole exchange.

“Your card’s declined, miss.”

The remaining colour drains from your face at his words. This really can’t be happening.

“Could you…could you try again, please?”

The teenager just rolls his eyes, and if you weren’t so mortified, you’d probably give him some shit for being so rude. But again, the familiar sound of your card being declined fills the little station, and when he hands your card back, you just mumble, “Just a second, please,” before stepping to the far corner by the cooling systems and getting your phone out.

And sure enough, your banking app shows you’re completely drained. Fuck. So there’s only one option left, then.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

“Yo,” Yoongi grumbles, and you’re pretty sure you can hear Jungkook’s panicked voice in the background, asking what’s happened.

“I need your help,” you whisper, glancing over at the teenager to check if he can hear, but he’s already engrossed in his phone again.

“What do you need?”

“I’m short on cash. I can’t pay—”

“Why?”

Yoongi’s tone isn’t accusatory in the slightest, just genuinely surprised. Hope comes into the station now too, cocking a brow at you, which you try to ease with a shaky smile.

“My employer’s late with my pay. Again. And the trip and, uh…it all just…”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says, flat, almost monotone, but you know he feels awful now, realising you’re actually struggling, not just joking around. It’s not his fault though; you never talk about money, and maybe he’s apologising not just because he let you pay for everything, but because you haven’t had these conversations before.

“S’alright. Can you just transfer some money quickly so I can—”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

You hear him sigh—one that says, Don’t make this a thing now. Hope’s already paid for his, waiting by the door with his hands in his pockets, scanning some nearby magazines.

Knowing not to waste any more time, you hang up, open your banking app again, and refresh it every few seconds until there it is: a transfer of ten fucking thousand dollars from Yoongi, with the note, Should’ve told me sooner.

You make a mental note to give him a piece of your mind regarding the sum later as you pay for the petrol, and dash out of the station, dragging Hope with you to escape the embarrassment as soon as possible.

“Slow down, will you?”

You let go of his arm once you’re by his car, rubbing your hands over your face in frustration as you mumble, “Sorry. God, I’m such a mess.”

“Come on, we’ll talk in the car. I just wanna get home.”

And you do, silently, closing your eyes as the car winds through the woods back the way you came.

You know Hope doesn’t want to pressure you, but you want to talk about it, just because bottling it up any longer would fry your brain.

“My employer still hasn’t transferred my pay,” you mumble. “I had to call Yoongi to borrow money.”

Hope lets out a long breath through his nose, shaking his head slowly as he listens.

“Again, as in this isn’t the first time?”

“Yeah, as in he owes me several thousand dollars by now.”

“Thousands?”

You tap your knuckle against the window, doing a quick mental tally of how much has piled up since you started working for this guy. “About fifty. Maybe a bit more.”

“No. Fucking. Way.” Hope glances over at you with each word, then back to the road. “___, that’s insane. Fifty thousand?! Why haven’t you sued him? Or quit?”

“I…” Yeah, good question. “I actually don’t know.”

It’s not like it’s a brilliant job worth hanging on to, but working from home has its perks, and finding another role in your field? That’s practically impossible without connections, which you definitely don’t have, seeing as you work from home and have done for years.

“You’re an accountant, yeah?”

“How do you know?” you ask, stopping your gentle tapping against the window to look over at his profile.

“Oh, who d’you think told me?” He gives you a side-eye, looking slightly annoyed, and you just nod. “Areum’s an accountant too. She works for PwC, all remote. They’re looking for someone to cover her on maternity leave, and she gets to pick who fills in for her, soooo…”

“Sooo…?”

“Woman, I’m not spelling it out for you. You’re not that thick.”

Ouch. “Hey! Stop being so rude to me.”

“Then stop acting daft when you’re not.”

God, you want to strangle him. No wonder he gets along so well with Yoongi. You thought he was just this little ray of sunshine with that stupid bright laugh, but he’s feisty as hell.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble, knowing decisions like this aren’t made right now, especially as the painkillers wear off and your mind’s about to shut down along with your eyelids.

Eventually, sleep takes over, and if you’re honest, you don’t bother fighting it.

“___, wake up.” Hope’s voice and the gentle push of his hand against your shoulder rouse you not long after. And even though sleeping, even just a bit, should have done you some good, you feel worse after a fifteen-minute nap.

Reluctantly, you straighten in your seat, trying to wake up properly, and smack your lips to get the awful taste off your tongue, but it’s no use. You’ll need to brush your teeth as soon as you’re in the suite—there’s no way around it.

“Thanks for driving me,” you rasp, glancing out of the windscreen to see Jungkook hopping from one foot to the other in the cold, his breath rising in small clouds in front of him. “What’s he doing outside?”

“He’s waiting for you.”

“Oh.”

It’s a mystery why Jungkook would do that, seeing as you’re clearly not on good terms. You’ve been trading jabs and whatnot with every interaction, so the fact that he’s not fed up by now is really baffling.

“I’m heading straight home if that’s okay.”

“Oh. Sure, yes, of course, sorry.” You unbuckle your seatbelt, knowing you shouldn’t overstay your welcome, especially as Hope is snickering again. “Thanks again and goodnight.”

“Goodnight. And…talk to him.”

Well, you don’t really have a choice now. Especially when, after closing the passenger door, you walk to the boot to get your half-empty canister, only to find Jungkook already beside you.

“Here, let me help.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes this time, which feels strange after he spent all afternoon staring at you.

“I’ve got this.”

You heft the canister out of the boot and start walking straight to Tony to fill him up, letting the canister rest by your legs, you wave Hope off as he drives away, then clear the side of Tony of snow.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook stands beside you, arms crossed, chest puffed out. He looks intimidating—hotly so—but you’re still pissed and very much not in the mood for a chat.

“What does it look like?”

He just shrugs with a smirk, and as you finish clearing the snow, you realise you’ve done the wrong side of Tony.

How embarrassing.

“Don’t say anything.”

And he doesn’t, aside from a quiet snicker as he follows you to the other side, where you finally start clearing the right bit of snow. This time, you find the cap and pull out your car keys to open it.

Ignoring your wishes, Jungkook picks up the canister and starts pouring the petrol into the car, biting his lip piercings again.

“Talk,” you snap, wanting to get this over with—whatever it is that’s bothering him so much he’s biting his lip bloody.

Jungkook glances briefly at you, and while you’ve seen that sad expression on him countless times, it still stings.

“Why did you leave?”

You sigh, glance towards the hostel, and look back at him. “When? When I broke up with you? On the slope yesterday? From the party? Or to the petrol station?”

Alright, it sounded cooler in your head, but you’re now realising you might have a bit of a tendency to run off. Oops.

“All of them, I guess.” He muses, shutting the cap and screwing the canister lid back on as he turns to you fully.

“Jungkook, that’s a conversation I’m not having with you right now.”

“And when would be the best time for it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe not outside, not in the middle of the night, not when I’m batshit hungover, and especially not when you’ve built a new life for yourself.”

That last bit wasn’t really what you wanted to say, but it slipped out anyway, the perfect proof that it’s indeed not the best time.

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair for you to treat me like this, Jungkook. I’m not doing this anymore.”

You turn while watching him run a hand through his hair, then stomp through the deep snow towards the hostel to stop yourself freezing out here.

“Stop running away!”

“I’m not running away. I’m going to bed. You should too.”

Jungkook catches the door at the last second and steps into Dionysus right behind you.

“You are running away.”

You turn to face him sharply, causing him to nearly bulldoze into you, but he catches himself in time, stepping back a bit with his hands on his hips, still clutching the canister in his reddened hand.

“Why did you need petrol for Tony, who’s been out of it for days? Why now?”

You purse your lips, mirroring his stance instinctively, staring each other down. You’re stubborn, but so is he, and you’re not backing down. He wants to start a fight? See who breaks first? See if you’re really running away from him? Well, you’ll prove him wrong.

“Safety. Caution. Responsibility. Take your pick.”

There’s a familiar glint in his eyes—the one that says he knows you’re bullshitting him. God, you’ve missed this. Missed him.

“So, not fleeing the scene, hm?”

“Not fleeing the scene.”

And you’re not. Change of plans: you’re staying. You’ll stay, and you’ll whoop his ass by becoming the best snowboarder on the planet.

Jungkook just nods, and you nod back.

Usually, this would be the moment he’d tackle you and fuck the truth out of you in no time. And though you can vividly picture it, you need to keep your distance. So before the tension builds too much, before Jungkook becomes too much, you stop nodding and let your arms drop to your sides.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.”

He mirrors your stance, and though his eyes dim with that usual sadness, you refuse to see it as longing. Because why would he?

“Goodnight, ___.”

You nod, and while you can’t quite tear yourself away from his gaze, you eventually turn and head up to your suite, finding Yoongi already silently and fast asleep, you can’t help but to leave a tiny gap in the door, just enough to watch as Jungkook disappears into his own room.

Day 5

You feel good.

No, scratch that—you feel absolutely pumped, energised, and oh-so-ready for the day. There’s a wild fire blazing through your veins, just waiting to be unleashed, and you’re absolutely down for it.

Sitting alone in the dining room after that little talk with Yoongi about the sum he transferred to your bank account, only to be met with an eye roll in response, you’re busy preparing the most protein-packed breakfast Namjoon’s buffet has on offer. You’ll definitely need it—not just because your body’s craving nutrients, but because your brain needs to be at its best so you can finally beat Jungkook at his own game.

No, not with his petty remarks and actions, but by getting your answers with carefully placed, strategically even, questions so he doesn’t even realise you’re grilling him. You’re brilliant, so of course you can pull this off. The sulky victim era of ___ is over—here comes the new, improved you.

Though, if you’re honest, you know there’s a pretty decent chance that Jungkook might catch on to your plan. He’s always been good at that, always been just as brilliant as you. But his competitive side usually has you beat by the end of the day. But not today. Today, you’re determined to win.

Especially when the man himself strolls in, looking sinfully good. His hair’s damp, falling messily over his forehead and eyes, while his thin white shirt hangs loosely off his shoulders, clinging slightly to his skin where he didn’t dry off properly.

“Morning, Kook,” you chirp, practically singing it, intentionally calling him by the nickname you lovingly gave him all those years ago.

Jungkook slows his steps, one eyebrow raised and lips pursed. The confusion’s painted all across his face exactly as you’d hoped. Excellent.

“Morning.” He stops at your table, glancing at the empty chairs next to you and opposite you, and when he takes the one right beside you, you’re doing a little celebratory dance on the inside.

“Did you sleep well, Kook?” He eyes you as he gets his plate ready, and while he answers, you take a small bite of your food, your overly cheerful grin firmly in place.

“Uh, yeah, did you?”

“Of course! Snuggly kept me company all night.”

The confusion in Jungkook’s eyes deepens, and you’d give anything to know what’s running through his head right now. You keep your face just as innocent and cheerful as possible, though it’s getting harder by the second.

“So, what’ve you been up to these past five months?” If your math’s right, Hara’s now a little over four months along. So, if Jungkook was around back then, you’ve got your answer.

“Five months?” He raises an eyebrow again, biting into the sandwich he’s just thrown together. There’s far more ham than bread—probably more to keep his hands clean than for actual taste.

“Yeah, where’ve you all been, then?”

“Uh,” Jungkook chews, blinking at you. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure you out. “I’ve been to Bangkok, Hawaii, and, uh… before that, I was here for a few months.”

No. Fucking. Way. So all those mixed signals, not only from Jungkook but all his friends too, weren’t so mixed after all.

“This town’s pretty small. Is there anything exciting to do off-season?”

“Well, Hara had a huge birthday celebration. So there was that.”

“Hara’s birthday’s in August?”

“Yeah, why?”

So he gave her a baby for her birthday. How pathetic it makes you feel, realising you’ve been too busy being still his to fall for someone new all this time. But you don’t let the heartbreak show this time. You swallow it down because shutting down won’t help you now.

“Just asking.”

Jungkook just nods again, still contemplating your words, trying to read your motives like he always does, though you’re as blank as can be beneath your smile. It’s not that you’ve lost your determination to get through snowboarding—no, you’re way too competitive and stubborn to back down now. Still, you kind of wish you were as drunk as you’d been two days ago.

The upside of being fully sober again is that you feel fantastic. Physically, anyway. The downside is that your brain won’t shut up.

You vividly remember the night you ended things, the exhaustion, the desperation in your every word as you tried to explain yourself to him. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him; you did and you still do, maybe even more than you should. But back then, you’d grown tired of always feeling like you weren’t enough, of feeling like you were someone he didn’t really need.

You’d always been the one to soothe your doubts on your own, to make excuses for him and his choices, to tell yourself it was just a phase, that he’d eventually grow out of it—that he’d grow out of it for you. Not that he’d never do anything risky again, but just enough for him to see that some things are too dangerous to try.

Losing him was completely your fault, you know that, and even though he’s going to be a dad—even if it’s not your child—you’d crawl back to him in a heartbeat if there were any chance. Not that you’d ever be a homewrecker; that’s something you’d never do, and you’ll respect any relationship on earth as it is. But if he’s only going to be a father, if he’s only co-parenting with Hara and they’re not together, you’d try to make it work somehow.

Or maybe you’re just delusional, thinking you’d be okay with him having a kid that’s not yours. Because deep down, the thought of him being with someone else after you—even if you weren’t together anymore—makes you want to throw up. Not just because picturing it is one of your worst nightmares, but because all the love declarations he made, and will probably make again in that scenario, would be empty in their truest form. At least in your eyes.

There’s nothing you can do about it; it’s not like you’re some grandma who thinks virginity before marriage is a must. But if he was with you and says he’d want to be with you again, there’s no chance if he had someone else in between.

Jungkook sniffs beside you, and you’re not exactly proud that, since learning he’s staying here at the hostel too, you’ve kept spare napkins nearby, just like the good old days, and you’re not proud as you hand him one with a small smile, still chewing, knowing his rhinitis is worst in the morning.

“Thanks,” he’s smiling, though there’s still that look of doubt in his eyes, as if he’s still trying to work out what you’re up to. “So, how about you?”

You’ve half a mind to exaggerate again, but you know you’ll need to save your energy today, especially since you’re spending the whole day with Jungkook. So you stick to the truth. “Nothing really. Mostly work, and a few activities I’ve tried.”

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“You doing all that stuff.”

Jungkook doesn’t look as accusatory as he did the first day; this time, he actually looks…sad.

“Didn’t you want me that way?” You keep your tone light, friendly even, but deep down, that old pettiness rises to the surface.

“No.” The word slips from his lips without a moment’s hesitation, his sad eyes fixed on yours, and suddenly, you can’t breathe. It just doesn’t make sense.

“I…why?”

He slowly swallows his last bite and reaches for his coffee, just to toy with the rim of the mug. Then he lifts his gaze to meet yours, boring into your irises as if to tell you more than he’s actually saying. “That’s not you.”

You just stare at him, trying to understand why he’d want you to change all those years ago, only to now tell you, indirectly, he doesn’t like the person he’d pushed you to become. No words form in your brain, again too overwhelmed by it all, so you just nod, because quite honestly, he’s right. It’s not who you are, even if some of the less riskier activities, like snowboarding, turned out to be more fun than you’d expected.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to handle the silence well as you quietly finish your meal, as his leg starts bouncing under the table again, occasionally brushing against yours. You’re sure he doesn’t even notice it, but you do and while you think about shifting your leg slightly away, that faint touch of his somehow soothes the intense longing you have for him.

How many times you’ve thought about calling him, only to remind yourself he was the one who let you go without a word, is beyond counting now. Trying to count would be like trying to reach infinity without breaking down as the despair catches up to you and you simply can’t do either.

You need, with all your might, to pull your mind out of this endless void and focus on the good. You’re able to have a normal conversation with Jungkook. He’s fine. You’re fine. And if you can make it through these next two weeks, you tell yourself that you’ll be fine too, even if it’s without him. Because that countdown in your head has shifted—from thinking you’ve got time to work things out, to savouring these last moments with him as much as possible, hoping to make memories you can hold onto as fondly as the ones you made all those years ago.

“So, today’s blue slope day?”

Jungkook nods with a smirk, eyes still on his cup, clearly lost in thought. “Yeah. You ready?”

“Sure. I was born ready.”

The snort that escapes him mirrors your own, letting the sadness fade into that playful light in his eyes you’ve always adored when he finally looks back up to you.

“Then let’s head out, shall we?”

“Yes, sir!” You salute playfully, downing the rest of your or rather his iced Americano—sneakily poured into a regular mug—in one go and standing as soon as Jungkook does.

It doesn’t take long for you both to get fully geared up and leave the hostel, Jungkook closing the usual distance between you by walking much closer than he has on any of the previous days, though you welcome it this time.

“Give me your board.” Jungkook stretches out his free hand towards you when you’re just a few feet away from Dionysos.

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can. But you don’t have to.”

Wondering whether you’re about to be stubborn again, you decide to let him help you. It’s a nice gesture, and knowing his strength—which has clearly grown over the last few years—it’s no bother for him to carry your snowboard too. So you hand it to him, mumbling a small, grateful “thanks” and fall into step with him, the rustling of your gear and the dull thud of your boots the only sounds breaking the otherwise silent streets.

“It’s such a lovely day.” You marvel at the first rays of sunlight shining down, making the snow-covered streets steam ever so slightly, looking straight out of a fantasy.

The town’s not fully awake yet; a few people are setting up their displays outside, greeting you both with warm smiles and friendly faces. It’s easy being here, so welcoming when you ignore the chaos that’s crashed down on you since you arrived.

You’d like to imagine living here, spending the rest of your life in this place with Jungkook, befriending his friends too, all in some alternate universe. You daydream about a winter wedding, teaching your kids how to build a snowman, and everything else.

It would be nice, it would be perfect. Because in that universe, you’d still be with Jungkook, and you’d be not only happy but fulfilled.

“It is, the slopes should be perfect too.”

A small group of kindergarteners crosses your path just before the slopes, and as your gaze drifts from them to the shop windows behind, you catch the reflection of you and Jungkook side by side. He’s looking at the kids, full of adoration, with that same endearing smile you fell in love with all those years ago.

His hair’s just as shiny and healthy, his eyes sparkling in that familiar way. You’ve always known how much Jungkook wants a family—he always has, just as you always did. It’s one of the reasons you connected so quickly. His values and hopes for the future aligned so perfectly with yours that falling for him and picturing a life together was almost inevitable.

You knew back then that having different hobbies wasn’t the most important thing in a relationship, that differences in those areas wouldn’t decide its downfall. But somehow, you both let those differences take centre stage.

It wasn’t just poor communication that damaged things; you lost sight of what truly mattered, letting the good become tainted with doubt, trust begin to crack, and your hearts bleed in ways they never should have.

Standing there now, side by side, you realise that everything that happened, the way you both handled things, was so unnecessarily foolish. You wish you’d made different choices. You look perfect together, like one of those couples you see and just know they’re meant to be, like they’re soulmates, like they’re fated.

Jungkook’s eyes lift up, catching yours in the window, and his smile grows just a bit wider. There’s still that adoration there—or is it just nostalgia? Or maybe it’s the inner peace he feels, knowing he’ll soon have a child of his own? You’re not sure, and you’re afraid to let yourself think too deeply about it. Because, honestly, if it’s anything but adoration, you’d spiral so much, so irrevocably, that you might just break all over again.

Switching your board to his other hand, where he’s already holding his own, he lifts his now free arm and wraps it over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. Your head doesn’t even reach his eyes, and your shoulder aligns perfectly with his arm, like you’re a puzzle piece fitting into him. You can’t help the broad smile that breaks over your face when he says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

You turn away from the window, tilting your head up to look into his beautiful brown eyes, taking in this small, pure moment that you’ll lock away in the deepest parts of your heart and cherish for the rest of your life. “Me too.”

Simple moments like these with Jungkook have always been so beautiful. It’s always been like this, just the two of you in a bubble where nothing else matters. The ache in your heart should ease in moments like this, but instead, it grows, the longing building until it’s nearly unbearable.

How perfect it would feel to kiss him now, how your heart and soul would sing if he kissed you back. The realisation—the overwhelming certainty—that he truly was the one for you hits you like an avalanche, burying you so deeply you’ll never find a way out.

Still, you turn your face away, and he lets you go.

“Let’s get it.” Jungkook cheers, and you echo his words, because you don’t know what else to say, walking side by side to the lift. Thankfully, this time without any annoying interruptions from his fangirls.

The first ride up in the ski gondola is equal parts terrifying and beautiful. The trees below look like miniature toys, and the mountain peaks seem too stunning to be real, like a picture painted by an artist. The gondola is empty except for the two of you, Jungkook sitting across from you, both of you gazing outside. But every now and then, you can’t help glancing at his reflection.

Jungkook talks the entire way up, going over everything you should know about snowboarding by now. His calm voice, his solid presence right in front of you, and his patient review of the basics settle the last of your nerves, along with Hope’s words, still ringing loudly in your mind.

Fear is faith in the negative.

And you don’t want to live like that again—not now, and not when it’s just snowboarding. You trust your own abilities, and you trust Jungkook to keep you safe, like he always has. Well, aside from that one camping incident—but you’ll turn a blind eye to that for now. You have to, because one lapse in his judgement all those years ago shouldn’t undo everything else he’s proven to you.

The morning is spent making descent after descent, each one becoming easier and more fun, especially with Jungkook staying close. You manage to fall less and less, and when you do, he’s always right there, reaching out to help you back on your feet.

And while you’re laughing and joking like old times, it feels as if no time has passed at all.

Just before lunch, you both find yourselves back at the gondola, though this time it’s a different one.

“There’s this restaurant way up there.” Jungkook points into the distance, and you squint, trying to follow his finger, but the sun is too bright to make out exactly where he’s pointing. “The food’s amazing, and we’ll be able to take a way longer run down. It’ll build your stamina and get you ready for the harder slopes tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” You smile at him, excited not only for the food but also for the chance to push yourself a bit more.

When you step into the gondola with a few others, it’s so packed that you have to squeeze in beside Jungkook, pressing against his side. With his broad shoulders and your thick coat, there’s not much room and after a few minutes, Jungkook shifts and lifts his arm, draping it over your shoulder to give you both a bit more space.

You frown. Even though it’s more comfortable this way, you don’t like it at all. If he’s with Hara, this is crossing boundaries left and right. You know that if you were still together and he did this with another woman, it’d be a dealbreaker.

The gesture sours your mood instantly, letting your thoughts spiral in a way that has you dangerously close to snapping at him. But you hold back. You won’t start a scene now, not here; you’ll wait until you’re at the restaurant and talk things through.

When you reach the top and leave the gondola, heading toward the small restaurant by the lift, Jungkook keeps his hand resting lightly on your back.

It’s ironic, really. You left because you wanted him to find happiness, to be with someone who wouldn’t bring conflict, someone he wouldn’t feel the need to change. And here he is, supposedly happy, yet acting like you’re still his, clinging to old habits like they’re the only things he has left with you.

Maybe that’s the saddest part of all. He’s got everything he once told you he wanted, yet he’s still holding onto pieces of the past, unable to let them go. And maybe he’ll never fully move on, just like you haven’t, even if he thinks he has. But that’s not something you can fix. You tried—more than once—to help him keep his distance, to let go of whatever still kept him wounded. Even if it wasn’t the perfect approach, pretending to be with Yoongi, you thought it might help him move on. But he has to handle that himself now; you’re done being the one to guide him there.

You deserve peace, too. You deserve to be able to look back on your time together without feeling unresolved tension. If that means keeping your distance, letting him live his life with Hara without stepping in, then so be it. You’re done making excuses for him, done justifying his behaviour to yourself. He’s made his choices, back then and now too, and now it’s time for you to make yours.

You take a deep breath, letting it all settle within you as you step into the restaurant. The hurt, the sadness, the longing—sure, it’s all still there, and maybe it always will be. But now, it’s just that: memories. Moments you once cherished, now filed away in a part of your heart that no longer needs to cling so tightly. Or at least, that’s what you hope.

As you sit down across from him, letting go bit by bit, you realise that maybe this is what closure should feel like. Hurtful, and not freeing at all.

“You’re kinda touchy.”

Jungkook looks up from his menu, running the tip of his tongue over his lip piercing. “I always am.”

Your lips press into a firm line, shoulders tensing even more. Jungkook’s eyes dart over you, and he realises too late that your mood has shifted. As he catches on, his nervous habits start to surface in an instant. He fumbles with his menu, his leg bouncing so hard that the tablecloth shifts slightly with each movement.

“Doesn’t it feel wrong to you?” You ask, your tone so accusatory it even startles you.

Jungkook gulps, actually gulps, and you feel the urge to laugh or maybe storm off altogether.

“No?” He sounds uncertain, though there’s a strange conviction in his voice, even with his nerves. “Does it bother you?”

“Yes.”

You stare each other down, Jungkook nodding but tilting his head slightly, eyebrows drawn. “Is it because of Yoongi?”

Should you come clean and tell him you’re not dating Yoongi, that he’s just your cousin? But you can’t see the point. It wouldn’t change anything now, you’re sure of that. Though you’re not sure if the snort and shake of your head is more because of how absurd it all is, or if it’s meant to answer his question. Either way, it fits. And as Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching in a steady rhythm, you don’t say anything more.

The tension between you feels like it’s growing and the silence between you both is almost suffocating you. You try to distract yourself by looking at the scenery outside the window, but it’s no use.

“I never wanted to do all those things,” you mumble, as if you can somehow lift a bit of the weight off your chest. “But I felt so…so unworthy…so empty. I needed to do it, even if I hated most of it.”

The waiter sets down your plates and drinks, wishing you a pleasant meal. Still, you don’t look up at Jungkook, maybe out of embarrassment, maybe because you just can’t. Instead, you stare at your food, forcing yourself to eat, even if it’s only a little.

“You shouldn’t have.” His voice is gentle, and you feel his gaze burning onto your face, though you try to ignore it. “Not for someone else, at least.”

Is he talking about himself? Or does he think you did it all for Yoongi? Either way, he’s right, though those words would have made more difference if he’d said them years ago.

“Maybe you’re right.”

It’s unusual to see Jungkook eating so slowly, and it’s not like you to keep so quiet, either. It’s not that you can’t handle silence, but sharing a meal like this without any connection feels so pointless.

“Was it easy?” Jungkook eventually asks, and your eyes involuntarily snap up to him.

“What was?”

“Moving on so fast…”

Sometimes, looking at Jungkook like you do now, you marvel at how much he’s matured. His features have lost that softness, his smooth skin now showing faint lines from laughter and time you weren’t there to share.

You’d always imagined growing old with him, and even though it hasn’t been that long, your heart aches for all the time lost.

The faint, bluish shadows under his eyes, something he didn’t even have during his finals, make him look not just tired, but drained off life. You can only hope it’s not because of you.

“I never did, so I can’t say.”

You both go back to eating, letting silence settle again as you try to process it all. Maybe you need a whiteboard, or even a list, something to help you make sense of it all, thinking you’ll definitely do that later, once you’re back at the hostel tonight.

More than half your plate is still full, but you can’t seem to eat any more. As you set your cutlery down and tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you notice Jungkook’s already finished his meal.

“You should eat more.”

“I’m full. I’ll just take it to go.”

And after Jungkook sighs and nods, you do just that, quickly insisting you’ll pay for your own meal, refusing to let him cover it for you.

Finally back outside, the sky has shifted, like your mood, from sunny and clear to dark, with low-hanging, heavy clouds.

“That’s odd,” Jungkook mutters, fishing his phone out and typing quickly. “Forecast didn’t mention a downpour.”

“What should we do?” Your nerves flare, body tingling and palms starting to sweat as that familiar panic creeps in, the kind that takes over any time things veer off-plan.

Jungkook’s eyes dart over his screen, only adding to your unease.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath and puts his phone away. “So, uh, there’s a thunder cell that’s come up out of nowhere, and there’s a warning for a severe snowstorm. But it’s all good. We still have time.”

Just then, the first big snowflakes start falling from the clouds, and the wind picks up. As you look up at the sky, your voice trembles, “Jungkook?”

“Alright, okay, maybe we don’t have as much time as I thought. We’re going to head down this way quickly, but safely.” He points toward a fork in the path where you can see a sign with a blue dot in one direction and a black one in the other—the black meaning it’s the most difficult and dangerous run there is.

“Okay.” You don’t sound entirely convinced, partly because, while you believe in your skills, you know that in these weather conditions, even the best skills won’t count for much.

“Strap on your board. We need to go.”

And you follow his instructions because, at this point, there’s no other option. The wind has picked up dramatically by the time you straighten up again, and you have to strain every muscle to stay upright against its force.

You’re terrified, and Jungkook’s focused, hurried pace isn’t doing much to settle your nerves.

“You’re leading, so I can keep my eyes on you.”

You nod, shifting your weight forward to start descending, but keeping control of the board proves not just difficult, but almost impossible. Your vision blurs with the flurry of snowflakes, even through your goggles, you can barely make out the slope or see the fork ahead.

“To the right!” you hear Jungkook shout from behind, his voice frantic to its core. But as you pick up speed, the wind shoves you beyond the limit of what you can handle, pushing you towards the left, dangerously close to the black run.

“To the right, ___!”

You try, you really do, but you can’t seem to manage it. Like a leaf in a gale, you’re pulled in the direction you don’t want to go, helpless to stop it. Lungs burning with each short breath, you think you scream the moment you realise it’s too late, skidding down the steep, black slope.

You try to brake, just like Jungkook taught you, but your knees are weak, your muscles not trained enough to regain control.

Jungkook rushes up beside you, and even though you’re in full survival mode, his presence brings you a tiny sliver of reassurance, even if it’s just for a while.

“You’re doing good, keep going!”

And you do, tears streaming down under your scarf. The storm keeps pushing you off course, pulling you again and again in directions you don’t want to go. But Jungkook’s right there, sticking close beside you, trying to block out some of the wind’s blasts and guiding you as best as he can.

It feels like an eternity—fighting against nature, fighting to stay upright, fighting the fear building stronger and stronger in your chest. Somehow, even though you left the marked slope ages ago, heading somewhere unknown and unsure if it’ll lead you to safety, you spot a small, abandoned-looking hut in the distance.

“Try to stop!” Jungkook yells, his voice barely reaching you through the howling wind.

“Now?”

“Now!”

You manage to stop, though clumsily, falling hard onto your bum, every muscle aching so painfully you’re barely able to move. Jungkook ditches his board in seconds, crawling over to help you with yours as the frozen clips stubbornly resist coming loose.

“You good?” He glances briefly at your face, breath visible in short puffs matching yours, his lips chapped and slightly split.

You nod, though you’re still trembling, trying to steady yourself as adrenaline surges through you without much mercy.

Jungkook gets up with your board in hand, offering his free hand to you in a heartbeat and pulling you up effortlessly. After he picks up his own board, jointing yours, he clasps your hand with his free one and bolts towards the hut, dragging you along with him.

Thankfully, or rather miraculously, the hut’s indeed abandoned and open. And while Jungkook pushes you inside first, letting the boards clatter onto the wooden floor as he leans against the door, both of you are panting and gasping for air, needing this break more than anything.

The hut’s not really windproof, small gaps in the wooden walls still letting the cold wind whistle inside.

“Seriously? What the hell were you thinking?!” He rips his helmet off and throws it to the boards on the ground.

You try to straighten yourself, though the ache’s nearly too much. “I… I tried. I… it…”

“You just never listen, do you? I told you to turn right back there, but of course, you went your own way. Always have, always will.”

The storm outside’s picked up even more now, and the cold has seeped into your bones, though you still fold your arms, doing your best to keep your voice steady despite the burn in your lungs. “Oh, please, Jungkook. Don’t act like I’m the only one who doesn’t listen. You’ve got selective hearing when it suits you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a gloved hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Selective hearing? I spent years trying to tell you things, but you were always too stubborn to actually listen.”

“Right, yeah, I’m the stubborn one,” you snap right back. “You still can’t even talk to me unless it’s about some bullshit like snowboarding.”

“Oh, as if you’re any better.”

“I am! You didn’t even say one word before I left!” you explode, ripping off your helmet too, followed by your gloves, yeeting them across the hut.

“Oh, fuck off, ___! I wanted to, but clearly, you couldn’t wait to fuck Yoongi as soon as you got rid off me!”

“Yoongi’s my cousin, Jungkook. Family. But I wouldn’t expect you to know that, since you barely know anything about my life anymore.”

Jungkook’s face falls at that, and you can clearly see how his whole world view crumbles in his eyes, leaving nothing behind but a hollow sadness you’ve never seen before. Though you’re sad too, you’re hollow too, and so you continue, “Don’t pin this on me when I never moved on, when you were the one fucking Hara and giving her a baby.”

His unfocused eyes snap to you, lips still parted as he breathes, “I never slept with her. She’s Jin’s wife.”

You feel like you’re falling, falling so hard and fast you can’t stop. The tears that coat your eyes are nothing compared to the agonising realisation ripping you open. All those years, even all this hurt you’ve been experiencing these last few days, were unfounded.

If you weren’t this close to Jungkook, you’d think his red nose was just from the cold, but the silver lining his eyes carry shows just how broken you both are, what you did to yourselves without even realising it in the first place.

“You moved on,” you press out, fighting the sob that threatens to spill.

“I haven’t.”

How foolish all the assumptions were, how foolish of him to assume just as much. How utterly foolish that you both lost the ability to talk to each other long before your relationship ended.

But maybe it had to come to this for you to learn what it’s like to be separated, to learn how to communicate… but have you really? You reckon you haven’t, not given how things went down. Maybe it’s too late, just as Hope warned you, though a small, fragile part in you clings to the delusion that things might still turn out right.

“Let’s… let’s call for help.” You turn, unable to keep looking at Jungkook, and you’re sure he needs time to process the bomb that’s just dropped.

“Yeah,” he’s taking out his phone again, though the breath he lets out is nothing short of concerning. “My phone’s dead. How about yours?”

By now you’ve sat down on the small, bare bed, as standing any longer would have had you fainting by this point. While you rummage through your inner coat pocket to pull out your old beaten-up phone, Jungkook stomps over with his snow-covered boots and sits down beside you, leaving enough space between you that it feels like miles.

Lighting up the screen, you see your phone’s battery miraculously still well over 90%, but there’s absolutely no signal. “Nope, no signal. We’re stranded.”

Just as you’re about to put your phone back, Jungkook stops you with his voice. “You still got the case?”

You pause, looking over at him, only to meet hopeful eyes you can’t quite place.

“Uh, yeah. You clearly got rid of yours though.”

You hate sounding so bitter, but it is what it is. Years of feeling the way you did can’t be undone with one revelation.

“I lost it… my phone, too, when I was in the Caribbean shortly after we…”

You hum and nod because what else is there to do?

“Why did you keep it?”

Your eyes stray from your phone, where you’re running your thumb over one of Jungkook’s doodles on the case like it always does, to him, though he’s not looking at you this time, just fiddling with his gloves in his lap.

“I can’t get rid of memories. You should know that.”

“Even if they’re bad?” He turns his head to you, though his eyes are fixed on your phone. The way he’s slouching is so unlike him, and it hurts to see what you’ve done to him.

“They aren’t bad.”

Jungkook nods a few times, as if he’s trying to cement your words in his mind, rewriting everything he thought was real but never was.

Eventually, Jungkook stands up and walks over to a small closet, pulling open the doors to see what’s inside.

“No way.” He breathes out a laugh, and you crane your neck to look past his broad shoulders, though it’s no use.

When he turns, arms full of vacuum bags stuffed with blankets and pillows, you feel like you might scream in delight. Especially when Jungkook rips them open beside you and a waft of freshly washed fabric hits you.

“That’s like hitting the jackpot.” You look up at him, your grin as wide as his as he just laughs. “Can you light the fireplace too?”

Jungkook furrows his brows as he looks around the hut, likely because he hadn’t spotted it until now. But as soon as he clocks it, along with the stack of dried wood beside it, he’s off in a flash, inspecting the chimney and everything else.

Meanwhile, you gather all the bedding and spread it out on the bed, purposefully ignoring the fact that there’s only this one bed in the hut and not even a couch. It shouldn’t be a big deal—you’ve done more than sleep in the same bed as Jungkook before, and you’re both clearly single, so there’s nothing your conscience can protest about.

Still, time has passed, and you’ve clearly drifted apart more than you would’ve liked. It’s an unusual situation you’re in, an emergency really, and you’ll have to adjust to it without reading too much into it.

“Got a lighter on you?”

You pull it out of your pocket, leaving Yoongi’s cigarettes in your pocket that you nicked this morning alongside before leaving, and toss the lighter his way which he catches effortlessly with one hand, lighting up the kindling he’s set, framed by a few larger sticks of wood.

Jungkook watches the fire intently, and soon enough the hut’s heating up, allowing you to take off your coat. Not wanting to keep your boots on any longer—by now, they’ve cut off all circulation in your feet—you pull them off as well, then crawl onto the bed, settling against the headboard under the layers of blankets.

You’re absolutely knackered at this point, and as you check the time on your phone, you realise it’s already past dinnertime.

“You can join me, you know?” you smile as Jungkook turns around, muttering an “okay” and starting to peel off his gear too, though you don’t miss the flush creeping up to his ears.

How endearing he can still be.

The bed’s clearly not meant for two—especially not when Jungkook’s become this buff. He’d probably struggle to fit on his own, let alone with someone else. And though you’re fairly petite next to him, you’re both squished together, personal space nonexistent. Still, it’s better than freezing to death outside.

“I’m so tired,” you yawn.

“I’m so hungry.”

The pout on Jungkook’s face makes you giggle; it’s just so him. Without thinking, you lean over him to fetch the food from your coat. Only when you settle back beside him do you notice how stiff he’s gone.

You don’t comment on it, just hand him the leftovers, which he reluctantly takes, though this time he doesn’t engulf your hands like he did yesterday. Not that you’d admit it, but you’re a bit sad he didn’t do it again.

“You hungry too? It’s your food.”

“I’m good, Jungkook, please just eat.”

You’re starting to read him again, just a bit less hazy than it was the last few days. So before he can start arguing with you, those sad boba eyes pleading for you to eat when you’re genuinely not hungry, you lay your hand over his arm, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m not hungry, promise.”

With that, Jungkook starts to eat and you lean back, slumping more into the blankets as he eats in silence, your eyes growing heavy with each passing minute.

“You can sleep if you want.” Jungkook gently pulls the blanket higher over your shoulder as you lie down fully, your head nearly resting against his hip.

“I’m still cold,” you mumble sleepily, though there’s no chance you’ll really fall asleep while you’re still shivering like this. The storm’s really taken it out of you.

Jungkook shifts, and when you open your eyes, you realise he’s finished eating and is lying down facing you. “Turn around.”

Lying beside him like this, faces just inches apart, is something you never thought would happen again. And while it’s hard to look away from him—the slope of his nose, the Cupid’s bow of his lips making them almost too inviting—you fight against the blankets draped over you both and turn around. Jungkook slips an arm around your waist without much care, pulling you fully against him until there’s no space left between you.

Heart racing like a hummingbird’s wings, you try to relax into his hold, but the thin layer of fabric separating you makes it feel as though you’re bare. You’d seen the contours of his body when he stripped off his gear, the black thermal shirt and pants clinging to his muscles like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. But feeling his solid body against yours like this, after so long, leaves your head spinning in circles you can’t seem to stop.

You haven’t noticed how your hips press back against his crotch, haven’t noticed the way your body instinctively moves against his until Jungkook’s breath hits your ear.

“Sorry,” you breathe, but somehow, you can’t bring yourself to stop. His large hand, which had been resting on the mattress beside you, slides up along your stomach, stopping just before cupping your breast from below, and you know you’ve stepped through a door that should’ve been left closed.

Heat rises within you, making you shiver with something far more pleasant than the cold. You need more of him, more of his touch, and your hand slips from beneath the blankets, reaching back to tangle in the hair at the back of his head, willing yourself to just feel and nothing more.

His quick breaths ghost across the part of your neck that’s bare, just enough to spark more want not only in your heart but your cunt too. You tug gently at his hair, urging him down, igniting a fire you know won’t be put out easily.

Before his hand fully cups your breast, he pulls you even tighter against him, hot lips kissing and sucking at your skin as you press yourself back, trying to ease the ache between your legs against his growing cock.

The low moans slipping from Jungkook’s throat are music to your ears, and the realisation that he likely sang that song not for Hara, but for you, sends another wave of arousal out of your cunt.

“Jungkook…” you rasp, basking in his touch, but as soon as his name leaves your lips, he pulls back.

Thinking you’ve done something wrong, you turn your head, only to see him tugging off the last of his clothes. Relieved and more turned on than you’ve ever been, you strip off your own gear, leaving the blanket draped over you. It’s been years, your body’s changed, and while you know it shouldn’t matter, you still hope he doesn’t notice.

In a blink, he’s back, resuming where he left off, though now it’s his warm, smooth skin against yours. The ridges of his abdomen press along your back, and the feel of his cock—hard and oh so hot—against the cheeks of your ass is pure bliss.

You turn your head, trying to catch his gaze, maybe even hoping for a kiss, but when you catch sight of the familiar chain around his neck, it stops you in your tracks.

Jungkook pauses too, his eyes questioning, but as soon as he realises what you’re looking at, he gives you a lazy smirk, his hand cupping your face to turn you towards him and with it your whole body.

You expect him to kiss you now, hungrily like he always did, but instead, he brushes his lips along your cheek, your neck, shifting to settle between your legs while the cool metal of the chain’s grazing your tits with every shift of his body.

“I don’t have a condom. I could…eat you out.”

His thigh pressing against you doesn’t lessen the ache, but you remember the one scare you had together, that time you thought you might be pregnant not long after you’d started dating. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t have wanted it, but you’d both been so young. Even now, the thought makes your heart skip, but not as violently as it used to. You’d be ready and willing to take the risk, though, would he?

“I’m clean, on the pill.”

Jungkook lets out a low groan against your neck as you press your thigh gently against his cock, needing to give something back.

“I haven’t been with anyone since you. So clean.”

Is he serious? The thought hits you hard, and though you know he never lied to you before, you still can’t help but pull back, needing to see his face.

“You haven’t?”

“No.” His voice is barely a whisper, and the same love you remember shines in his eyes, making you tear up.

“Me too.”

“Fuck.” He returns to your neck, his fingers tracing your lines until they find your weeping cunt, slipping between your lips to spread your juices in gentle, familiar strokes as he preps you, every touch an echo of the love that maybe never faded.

The first stretch of his middle finger inside you is nothing short of insane, drawing you higher with a single stroke than any toy has managed in years. The way your cunt clenches around him seems to drive Jungkook on even more as he pumps with precise motions, soon adding his ring finger, bringing you dangerously close to euphoria.

Jungkook’s free hand roams from your neck to your tits, back and forth, squeezing, mapping you out like he forgot how you felt like, though finally resting on your jaw as he nestles his head between your shoulder and neck, leaving soft love bites in his wake.

It’s when he picks up the pace, the base of his palm hitting your clit relentlessly with each thrust, that you come undone, your orgasm flooding over his hand as he continues, determined to not stop just yet.

A muffled whine of your name slips from his lips, softer than you’ve ever heard, and while you long to hear him call your pet name like he used to, it only amplifies the fullness in your heart for him.

Jungkook keeps his fingers inside you, now scissoring them to stretch you further as you cling to his back, not caring if you leave angry marks.

“Think you can take it?”

“Yes,” you mewl, not caring if you couldn’t. You’ll take him, you need him, need to feel as if none of those years apart ever happened.

Once again, you think he might finally kiss you, but instead, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your damp forehead. You momentarily frown, but it’s forgotten the second his cock aligns with your still sobbing cunt, dragging up and down to coat his entire length and even his tight balls.

The sight of Jungkook when he finally pushes in is nothing short of mesmerising. He’s so perfectly sculpted, every muscle cord defined, and with his piercings and tattoo sleeve, he looks like a fantasy you never dared dreaming of.

You’ve always had a weak spot for tattoos, but seeing them inked across Jungkook’s skin? That’s your ultimate downfall. A glorious downfall, as the burn of his thick length pushing deep inside you sends you reeling, until he’s so far in that you can’t tell where he starts and you end.

“Oh my god,” you choke out, overwhelmed by everything Jungkook is—and everything he’s become.

He’s unusually silent, though you barely notice, not when he begins to rock his hips, leisurely sliding his massive cock in and out, low grunts and moans escaping him as his gaze locks onto yours and not dares to stray.

Jungkook leans back, increasing the intensity of his thrusts, sweat forming in small beads along the ridges of his chest and abs, dripping down despite the cold. His nipples are hard, and your mouth waters with the urge to suck on them. But seeing his own mouth slightly parted, breaths quickening in time with the rhythm of his hips, you’re sure he’s thinking the same, drawn to your own nipples, standing proud on the jiggling flesh of your chest.

And while you wish you were the flicker of firelight dancing across his skin, you’re not far behind, as his hands find their way from your hips to your tits, caressing them like he always did, giving you everything and far more. You need something to ground yourself, a way to keep from shattering under the emotions running wild in your mind, intensified with every thrust Jungkook drives into your core. So, you grip his wrists, not to stop him, but to urge him on—to make him pinch harder.

Maybe you need the bite of it, maybe you want him to not just take away the ache, but be the reason you remember this night years from now.

“Jungkook, I’m so close, oh my god.”

The grunt that escapes him reverberates through you, nearly pushing you over the edge on its own, but he slows, setting a gentler pace as he shifts so his mouth can worship you from your breasts to your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys across your delicate skin.

You know the two of you will be marked by the end of the night, and right now, that’s all you want. You want to leave yourself etched into his skin, to reclaim your place not only in his heart but in every part of him.

In this moment, it’s like you’re finally whole—not just because Jungkook fills you completely, but because he completes you. He always has, and while you’ve both been damned by what happened before, it feels like redemption might be close.

“You’re…” Jungkook murmurs against your skin, his warm breath searing into you, though you need him to finish his sentence, need to hear it.

But as you cradle his head in your hands and he lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes are hooded, yet glistening, and your throat tightens at the sight too.

Face to face, you share the same breath, as if you share one heart, your small hands gripping his face as if you never want to let go, his hands cradling your small head with the tenderness that once meant everything. It’s as though you feel what he’s trying to say—but somehow, you don’t.

There’s still a wall between you, still something unsaid screaming in the silence that just can’t seem to go away, and you’re sure he feels it too. He feels it as your orgasm builds, feels it in the desperation of his own thrusts, in the matching, agonising, wordless ache in both your eyes, feels it when you both shatter together in a burst of all colours and stars in existence.

And then, all that’s left is pain.

He hasn’t kissed you, and you didn’t kiss him either.

And as he pulls his now-softening length from your still-pulsing cunt and reaches for a tissue from his trousers off the floor to help you clean up, he silently gets dressed.

Dresses as if he’s ashamed, dressed as if he regrets it, dressed as if you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

So you do the same, slipping into your clothes before lying back down, shifting as close to the wall as possible, facing away from him to give him some peace where none is found.

The tears falling silently onto the pillow should only be from the shivering that’s returned, a byproduct of the cold that momentarily disappeared but is now back as if you were never meant to feel warm again.

Finally, exhaustion sweeps over you. Physically. Mentally. And everything in between.

And as Jungkook lies down too, once more pulling you close and wrapping you in the warmth you crave more than you can bear to admit, your eyes fall shut almost effortlessly.

Maybe sleeping it all away will make it better, forgotten as a dream that never was.

Forgotten, like everything good that once was but now isn’t anymore.

Forgotten, like the tear you feel slide down the back of your neck, disappearing into the fabric of your shirt where all your sins and failures lie buried.

01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀 If you liked what you read, pls consider buying me a ☕️ Ko-fi.com/runariya 💕

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

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sleepyparalysisdmon · 1 day ago

Text

SVT when you can't sleep

Requested? No! (But they are still open!)

Genre: Comfort

A/N: This is entirely self-indulgent because I woke up at 3:45am and couldn’t go back to sleep. For this reason, please forgive any typos or mistakes.

Seungcheol

Deeply disturbed when he finds that you are not next to him in bed. Gives it a few minutes, thinking you might have just gotten up to go to the bathroom or get some water, but when the time ticks by, he gets up to find you on the couch, watching TV. “Baby, what are you doing up?” He’ll ask concerned, glancing at the clock. When you say you woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, he’s plopping onto the couch with you, making you curl into him. You feel bad because he needs his sleep, but he’ll brush you off, saying he’ll stay up with you any night. You do eventually doze off in his warmth while reruns of some sitcom play on the TV and he’ll carefully carry you back to bed.

Jeonghan

He feels you tossing and turning for what feels like hours. He’s tired and maybe even a little bit irritable when he touches your back, asking why you’re still up. He immediately feels bad for his irritability when you say you’re sorry, but that you had a nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep. He’s tugging you into his side, patting your head in a ‘there, there’ sort of motion, asking you to tell him all about it. It becomes clear that you’re not going back to sleep anytime soon, but that’s okay, because he’ll just lie there next to you and talk, no matter how drowsy he is.

Joshua

Seems to have a sixth sense about when you get out of bed. You’ve barely got your slippers on before he’s asking where you’re going. When you say you just can’t sleep, he looks at the time, which is somewhere around 4am. He shrugs, getting out of bed as well, despite your insistence that he needs his sleep. He starts the coffee pot and gets a skillet out to make breakfast and you’re resigned to the fact that you both are now up for the day. He doesn’t have any complaints, not even when you both are dozing on the couch by 2pm.

Jun

When he realizes that you never actually got to sleep and are just laying in bed scrolling at nearly 1am, Jun simply takes the phone out of your hands and puts it back on the charger. “Play a game with me. Eye spy with my little eye…” You have to laugh because, well, it’s totally dark in the room now. But you play along because everything in your bedroom is familiar to you, even in the dark. You’re kind of touched at how aware of the little things in your room he is, even if he doesn’t live here (yet). Like he knows that you left a blue sweatshirt on the back of your vanity chair, or that there is little green detailing on your jewelry box. You doze off by about the tenth round and Jun keeps quiet after that.

Hoshi

He comes home late from practice and finds that you’re still awake, tossing and turning, and he’s concerned. When you say you just haven’t been able to settle down, he thinks for a split second and says, “Well, I was about to shower. Come with me, maybe the warmth will help.” There’s absolutely nothing suggestive about the idea. He even washes your hair for you, letting you relax as he scratches your scalp for way longer than was probably necessary. You’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow. Now showering before bed, especially with him, is a regular occurrence to wind down.

Wonwoo

When he rolls over in the middle of the night to find that your beside lamp is still on and you’re still reading, he glances at the clock and then raises an eyebrow. “Must be a good book,” he mumbles. When you hum and tell him that it’s actually not, but you just can’t sleep, he’s sitting up next to you, leaning against the headboard. “Just how bad could it be?” He doesn’t acknowledge the ‘can’t sleep’ comment out loud, plucking the book from you and reading to you. He has to admit, the book does kind of suck, but he’s relieved to see that you’ve dozed off to the sound of his voice within a couple chapters.

Woozi

He knows your sleeping habits and also notices some of the things that don’t help it. But he’s hesitant to correct you, so he tries correcting these bad habits by correcting them in himself. Say you’re hanging out late with him while he works. The first thing he’ll do is turn down the caffeine at a certain point, saying he wants to actually get some sleep tonight. The second thing is that he’ll subtly rush to wrap things up quickly for the night so both of you can get home at a decent time. This technique won’t work every night because sometimes you don’t follow his lead or it’ll just be an exceptionally late night for him, but both of you tend to get better sleep when you keep a routine and cut the caffeine.

Didn’t you see this coming? The moment you say you can’t sleep, he’s serenading you. Sometimes it’s sweet and soft with the intent of soothing you, and sometimes it’s goofy and animated with the intent on making you lighten up when you’re particularly frustrated by your bad sleeping habits. Sometimes you scold him to rest his voice, but he Will. Not. Be. Stopped. He’ll sing entire albums for you until you’re sleepy again, so don’t test him.

Mingyu

Prepare to be cocooned the moment you say you can’t sleep. He’s so sweet and he also doesn’t work out for no reason. He’ll literally wrap you in the blanket and hold you tight against his chest, talking sweetly about what might be bothering you. Even if nothing in particular is bothering you and you just can’t sleep, that’s fine too. He’ll stroke your hair and keep you warm until you’re ready to sleep.

Minghao

He absolutely thinks it’s stress. He notices the pattern - when you have a lot going on a work or in your family life, you’re extremely restless. Like Woozi, he might make it seem like it’s for him when he says he wants to try out a new bedtime routine. He likes meditating and decides to do it before bed, asking you to join. Then, when you both are done, he pushes you towards the bedroom, following you with two cups of tea. It doesn’t work right away, but the longer he keeps up this little routine with you, the more he notices that your shoulders are more relaxed and you fall asleep faster.

Seungkwan

One night, you’re exceptionally restless and he asks what’s wrong. You complain that the street lights coming through the windows and all the city noise have been bothering you lately. He lets you be for the night - if you want to toss and turn for a while, if you want to get up, if you want to cuddle, whatever is fine with him. But the next night before bed, he hands you two small boxes, one with a brand new sleep mask and one with small noise cancelling earbuds, encouraging you to try them out. These two things will constantly be replaced and upgraded as needed as long as they seem to help.

Vernon

Might be a little dead to the world when he sleeps, but if you happen to nudge him in the middle of the night saying that you can’t sleep and you seem upset by it, he’s automatically offering to take a walk, no matter how groggy he is. Throws on some clothes and splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom so he can get with the program for you. Walks for hours if you need it - talking or in total silence, headphones or no headphones, holding hands or no physical contact at all. Absolutely does not matter to him. He’ll get back to sleep when you do.

Chan

Another one that makes it seem like it’s for him. He’s noticed your sleeping habits and how run down you seem by it, but doesn’t address it directly. Instead, he says he read an article that described how bad blue light was for sleep and he thinks he wants to try an electronic cleanse a couple hours before bed to see if it helps him. “Are you okay with that?” He’ll ask hopefully. Of course you agree, because it’s for him! He’ll resist the urge to giggle to himself when you pass out almost immediately when your head hits the pillow on the first night of this so-called electronic cleanse. He did not expect it his little plan to be successful so quickly.

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therandompagesblog · 2 days ago

Text

SKZ Mate Chapter 23

Warnings: None

Two long stressful weeks had gone by and they still had not heard from the council. Two long weeks of complete utter distress for the wolves. Waiting around for an answer was nerve-wracking for them. None of them had any energy to focus or be happy. Minho had tried to push for an outcome but his friends told him they could not push anymore as the investigation went on. There were certain things they could not rush if they wanted to get it right, but if Minho or Jeongin had any more evidence that would help, the council would need it. This led to Minho having to bring Y/N to meet the council to give her statement on Ateez and her treatment. It was an uncomfortable conversation that needed to happen but the council were brutal as they probed for different invasive facts. She had to go through it twice on the same day with two separate council members. Y/N knew it was necessary but it was still traumatic for her. Even Hyunjin had to give an account on the same day. Still, all of these events happened two weeks ago and no outcome was made. It was upsetting even for Chan who spent countless nights going through different werewolf lore books, search engines, and paperwork to find a way of taking him down.

As the days went on the more uncertain the wolves felt. Changbin hadn't even gone to the gym for a week in fear that something would happen if he wasn't there. Minho didn't have the energy to cook properly and the wolves didn't have the energy to eat either. Jeongin also wasn't himself either. He too spent nights awake as he went through Y/N's notes trying to find another way if all else fails. He was getting highly stressed but he didn't want to keep asking Y/N questions in case she became worried, but it was too late. Y/N already knew. Y/N could feel it deep in the bottom of her stomach as she hugged her pillow, sniffing to herself in her bedroom all alone. Y/N knew they were not going to win. They were smarter and they were always ten steps ahead. Ateez knew everything about Chan, whether it was true or false they could make it true. Y/N hated this. Y/N needed to know the reality of it and the only one who was going to tell her was Hyunjin. He lived there with her and before her. He could provide a much better insight.

Y/N sighed and wiped her tears before heading to Hyunjin's room. She knew it was the middle of the night but she wanted to speak to him. She needed to so she made her way to his bedroom to knock on his door, but he had already opened it to allow her to walk into his room. He was sitting on his bed cross-legged waiting for her to come to him. "Come here little wolf. It's alright." Hyunjin called, beckoning her to sit on his bed so she did. She sat on his bed and fell into his arms crying. She didn't know why but she felt safe and familiar with him. She felt at home with him, despite her lack of memories, she felt loved. "I'm sorry," Y/N muttered as she wiped her tears, taking notice of his room. It was so modest but artistic. It didn't match their home at all. His room was a luxury contemporary room. Simple, yet it was him. "Hyunjin," Y/N whispered as she sat up, looking at the red-haired wolf. "What does Hongjoong have on Chan." "His uncle, his brother that died, his destruction of packs for an omega. He has a lot." Hyunjin whispered as he wiped her tears gently. He hated seeing her cry and it wasn't because she was an ugly crier, it was the fact she cried when she felt helpless. "It's not going to work is it?" Y/N whimpered. "I don't think so. In hindsight they're both as bad as each other, neither were nice to people at the beginning. Morally Chan is better. He cares about his wolves but his previous actions do not show that. Hongjoong only cares for power and doesn't care about his wolves, only Seonghwa. He loves Seonghwa." Hyunjin admitted as he stroked her hair lovingly. "What do we do? We have to win somehow!" Y/N stressed as she held his hand, playing with his veiny long fingers that wore a certain ring on his finger. "Did I give you this?" Y/N asked as she looked into his brown muddy eyes. "Hmm, you did." Hyunjin hummed as he brought his hands up to her face, brushing his thumb over his cheek. "We need to be patient. There is still time but we won't win with the council that is a fact, but we need to disarm them." "We remove the fucking circle," Y/N growled her eyes glowing blue. "Still a challenge. We would need a witch and that goes against Chan's morals. He likes to keep the peace between them. There might be a way to use his own weapon against him without using a witch but that means meddling with dark aura." Hyunjin explained causing Y/N to huff as she rested her head against his chest, breathing in his scent. This appeared to be more complicated than she thought. Hyunjin softly stroked her back, kissing her head gently before he leaned his head against hers, holding her close to him. Hyunjin was scared of letting her go, he hadn't held her in over four years and he wasn't prepared for her to leave him. Y/N lifted her head up presenting him with a small smile before she kissed him. It was an innocent kiss. One that was needed. It held so much love and care. It was a perfect kiss. "I should go check on Chan," Y/N murmured. "Yeah. You should." Hyunjin whispered as he kissed her once more before she headed to Chan who was still staring at his computer.

Chan had become fixated on protecting his pack with Jeongin. What Y/N hadn't expected was for Jeongin and Minho to be in Chan's office with a pile of books. "What is going on? Why are you all awake?" It was more of a rhetorical question but she still wanted an answer. "Channie, what has happened," Y/N asked as she pulled his hands away from his head so she could sit on his lap. Y/N pressed her forehead against his before she connected their lips. Chan kissed her back before he held her hands worriedly. "I'm sorry baby." Chan apologised, "I'm sorry because I might have to do something you're not going to like and I need you to be okay with it. I need you to know it's because I love you and there might not be another way." "What is going on?" Y/N asked, getting up slowly as she looked at the two wolves on the sofa. "Minho? Jeongin?" "The council find Chan more guilty than Hongjoong. Chan had broke several laws because he raided four werewolf packs and attacked several omegas. Who didn't die, but were harmed. Not only that Chan has two werewolves who have been cursed with dark aura." Minho spoke, his voice cold as he stared at the empty glass. "So?" Y/N asked. "If we continue this case. The council will disarm us and destroy us. Chan could be banished." Jeongin explained coldly. "Hyunjin is our liability that poses a problem. Apparently, he coerced you and brainwashed you into completing a ritual against Hongjoong, so in the eye of the council you are more in danger here than with Ateez." "That's bullshit." Y/N shoured. "Y/N." Minho warned, silencing her. "Y/N. Come here." Chan called but she wouldn't move. "Next week I am going to meet with a friend of mine of how we can take Ateez down or at least remove them. If it comes down to it, I might need to take Hongjoong out. I need you to be okay with that." "Why don't you ask Hyunjin to help you? He knows more. So do I. We don't need any more people involved." Y/N stressed. "Y/N." Minho warned again causing her to glare at him. "Be careful of your tone. We're doing our best so listen to Chan." "You don't even trust Hyunjin to help. You're keeping it from him." Y/N snarled. "Y/N!" "Fuck off, Minho, your not even an alpha," Y/N shouted. "Y/N." Chan shouted, hitting the table, and making her jump slightly. "Do not speak to him like that. He is your beta. He is an elder and knows much more than you. You are only an omega. No your place." Y/N stood there and scoffed. Only an omega, huh? That's low. She couldn't believe he said that. "Only an omega." Y/N laughed, "I know more about Hongjoong than you, but go ahead. Fuck it all up. He will KILL YOU!" Y/N left the room, slamming the door before walking into Chan's room to throw his paperwork all over the floor before stomping on it. Fucking idiots.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

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mimisempai · 2 days ago

Text

Just a little longer

Summary

For once, it's Aziraphale who wants to stay in bed longer. The problem is that they're expecting visitors, and Crowley has to use a lot of persuasion to get the angel to get up.

Notes

I love a needy angel (and Crowley too)

On Ao3

Rating G - 524 words

"Angel... we really need to get up..."

Crowley tried unsuccessfully to free himself from the grip of Aziraphale's arms around his waist and chuckled before saying, "I can't believe I'm the one telling you this."

Aziraphale grunted and buried his face further into Crowley's neck.

The demon chuckled again.

"If I wasn't sure I was in my own body, I'd think we'd swapped bodies again."

He felt the angel's lips quiver against his skin as the angel smiled.

Crowley almost felt bad for being the voice of reason when Aziraphale, for once, indulged in a lie-in and enjoyed the moment.

Still, he tried to pull away from the angel's embrace, but Aziraphale held on even tighter.

"Angel, you're going to break my ribs!"

The angel grumbled against him, "I don't want you to get up."

"But we both have to get up, since half of Whickber Street is coming to visit."

"Maggie, Nina and Muriel aren't half the street."

"Considering the number of words they speak per minute, they might as well be."

Aziraphale finally loosened his embrace and, pulling back a little, replied sulkily, "I'll only agree to get up if you give me a kiss to cheer me on."

A needy angel was, of course, something Crowley could not resist, so he replied softly, "How could I refuse such a prayer?"

He took the angel's face between his hands and pressed his lips to his own, letting the kiss linger a bit before withdrawing gently. That didn't stop Aziraphale from whimpering as Crowley moved away.

Crowley coaxed him gently, "Come on, Angel, knowing you, you'll want everything to be perfect for their arrival, so it's best to have time to get everything ready.

He gently released Aziraphale's hands from around his waist, but then the angel wrapped them around his neck before pulling him closer and stealing a kiss faster than the demon could react.

Aziraphale took his time, and only when they were both out of breath did he agree to let Crowley pull away. Between gasps, he said, licking his lips, "Now we can get up."

Crowley shook his head in amusement, leaned forward and planted a light kiss on Aziraphale's forehead, then, letting his hand linger on the angel's cheek, said softly, "Stay a little while as I prepare breakfast."

He planted one last light kiss on Aziraphale's lips and rose before the angel could protest.

The last vision Crowley had before closing the door was of Aziraphale gently touching the lips he had just kissed, cheeks slightly flushed and eyes shining.

As for Aziraphale, he watched Crowley leave and sighed as the bedroom door closed behind him.

The sun was already high in the sky.

He knew Crowley was right and he needed to get up, but he let himself fall back onto his pillow before coming around and pulling the demon's pillow towards him, burying his face in it with pleasure.

After all, Crowley had told him he still had some time.

Inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of the demon in the pillow, the angel giggled slightly.

At worst, there was nothing a little miracle couldn't fix.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

South Downs cottage series : here

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #South Downs Cottage #Domestic fluff

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moonstruckme · 2 hours ago

Note

Hellooooo my favorite catlover/writer

I got another pop up idea this morning (happens way too often)

But first of all ! Don’t wear yourself out ! You write a lot and it’s amazing ! But prioritize yourself first. Don’t let requests put a pression on you ❤️

I know how it feels

Anyways

I’m not a morning person like most of the population except SOCIOPATHS.

And I imagined what it would feel like having the emt!marauders watching you up since they have to go to work early. You know like kisses, shoulders massages, soothing words as they try to calm your rise and everything…

If you don’t like it that’s ok! Don’t write it.

Love you, rest well. (Drink water)

Thanks for your request babe! Hope you're resting well and drinking water too <3

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 654 words

You stir when you feel Remus shifting underneath you. He reaches over to shut off his alarm, hand coming back to rest over your head placatingly. The appeasement doesn’t last long; when he goes to move out from under you, you make a soft whining sound.

“Dove.” His voice is husky with sleep, but there’s fondness to it. It makes you want him to stay even more.

The mattress creaks at the other end of the bed as James gets up. Sirius grumbles, scooting closer to you and shoving his face into your neck in rebellion.

“Don’t let them take me,” he mumbles pitifully.

“Baby.” Remus sounds more exasperated and also more amused now that both you and Sirius are half atop him. You’re not sure which one of you he’s talking to, but it hardly matters. “Come on.” His lips touch down on your head. “You can sleep, but we have to get ready.”

The bathroom light turns on. Both you and Sirius moan tormentedly.

James’ laugh is too loud for the early hour; you’ll never understand how he wakes so quickly. “Need some help, love?”

“Please,” Remus replies.

Sirius makes a half-asleep sound of protest as he’s dragged away from you, James speaking to him in a low, amused voice.

“Alright,” Remus murmurs, kissing your head again, “my turn.”

He eases your head off of his chest, setting it gently on the pillow before getting out of bed. You mourn the warmth of his spot next to you.

James is ready the fastest, back to press kisses to your pouty lips and soothe his big hands over your shoulders. “Do you want me to make you something for breakfast, lovie? If you get up now I’ll whip you up a fancy coffee.”

“James,” Remus chides from the bathroom, “let her sleep.”

James sighs but bends to mush loving kisses into your neck, murmuring nonsense at you all the while.

“I know you don’t like the bathroom light on, but if you think about it, we’re the ones who have to endure it. Sirius is in there halfway to a temper tantrum because his hair won’t behave, and you’re here all warm and cozy in bed. You look terribly cute like this, do you know? It’s really cruel of you, it ought to be illegal, and if Sirius were awake enough to form a thought he’d agree with me.” His kisses turn ticklish, and James chuckles when you wriggle. “Really! I mean it, you don’t know how lucky you are getting to stay here in bed and looking so adorable. Remus is about to drive us to work, and Sirius is going to insist on laying down in the backseat and moaning about how much he misses you all the while, it’s terrible. I ought to take a picture of you to console him.”

“Don’t,” you mumble. You find one of James’ hands with your own, dragging it underneath your pillow for safekeeping.

James laughs again, and another chuckle joins him as Sirius comes out of the bathroom.

“What’re you doing to her, you relentless pest? At least one of us should be allowed to sleep.”

James makes a soft grunting sound as the bed dips. You don’t have to open your eyes to know Sirius has draped himself over his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous, I’ll get him away from you,” Sirius promises. “Jamie, I require one of your fancy coffees.”

“Me too,” says Remus from the bathroom.

James succumbs to the weight of peer pressure and goes, and a short while later the bathroom light shuts off. Remus crouches by the bed, kissing you softly.

“Sleep well,” he says, brushing some hair away from your face. “We’ll see you after our shift, dovey, okay?”

You mumble out a response, already falling asleep again in the returned darkness of the bedroom.

Remus’ thumb skims fondly over your cheek. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

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eraserpuppy · 2 days ago

Text

Why’s he making me do this

⏰: probably with a mural, honestly. I can’t paint, but it’s the first thing that popped into my head. Maybe I could learn how to paint for him, or something.

🆘: squeeze his hand, or just shoot him a text that says some shit like “hey loser”

🧸: Felix has a few plushies, but they don’t live on the bed. We have 2 pillows, but he usually just uses me instead ffs. I like staying warm, but he doesn’t, so we have to crank the A/C before he’s willing to let me cuddle him

👾: we sometimes do little crafty things together, and he’s much better at them. I like to watch him work, though. He’s tried to teach me a few times, but my crafts always come out wonky. He says he loves them anyway. 🎃: I’m not, but he is. He makes me all sorts of random shit. Once, he gifted me a little clay penis for “good luck”, and another time he made me a paper fortune teller, where all of the options led to “you will become a penguin”. I’ve kept all of them, though. 😍: black, definitely.

☀️: grey sweatpants, and a blank tank top. he always catches me staring, and I always say “what? It looked at me first…”

🌾: 1. how cuddly and soft he is. 2. His curiousity, and his desire to learn everything he can. 3. His talent, and how focused he gets on things. 4. How beautiful he is. 5. How much he values communication

🚮: I’ve been told I’m intimidating, so I usually don’t even have to get physical. Felix either just says “oh by the way this is my boyfriend”, or I just show up, and they usually back off.

💐: any kind of merch for his favorite things, or something that reminds me of him. He also really likes hello kitty stuff, so something like that.

🦋: too many to count. Every moment with him is special (besides that one time I had to take care of him after a hangover, that was NOT special)

F/O Takeover Ask Game:

These questions are for your (F/O)s to answer about you!

⏰: If you had to very publicly profess your love for (S/I), how would you do it?

🆘: How do you let (S/I) know that they’re on your mind when you’re someplace crowded?

🧸: What does your bed look like? Is it just you and (S/I)? Are there stuffed animals? How many blankets and pillows do you have? Do you prefer the bed to be hot or cold?

👾: What are your favorite things to do with (S/I)? Who’s better at them?

🎃: Are you or (S/I) artsy at all? Do you ever hand-make things for each other?

😍: What color do you think looks the best on (S/I)?

☀️: Does (S/I) have an outfit that you think they look most attractive in? If so, what outfit is it?

🌾: Name five of your favorite things about (S/I). (Feel free to be as descriptive as you want!)

🚮: How do you deal with someone bothering (S/I)?

💐: If you saw this thing in the store, you would instantly buy it for (S/I)! What is the thing?

🦋: What’s the most special moment that you and (S/I) have ever shared?

#f/o ask game #self ship #f/o takeover

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aisiedaisie · 3 days ago

Note

hi <3 this is super self-indulgent haha…but would you be willing to write a poly!wolfstar with a reader who still has their like raggedy lovey stuffed animal from when they were a baby that maybe they were hiding from the boys and how they react to finding out? xx

Hello hello~! This is absolutely adorable! I’m definitely guilty of holding onto childhood plushies too, so this is a bit self-indulgent for me as well. I really hope you enjoy!!!

Poly!Wolfstar x Fem!Reader WC: 1.1k

You flop down onto the fresh, unfamiliar bed, surrounded by boxes and bags, the remnants of your old flat strewn across the floor. Today was all about hauling practically everything from your last place into your boyfriend's house—your new home.

You’re grateful for this room of your own. It’s small, but that was your one non-negotiable condition. You love them both fiercely, but there’s something about having a sanctuary to retreat to, a space that’s just yours.

Their bed may be huge, but you know yourself: the thought of sharing it every night feels a bit too close for comfort, especially with everyone's mismatched schedules.

Plus, you’ve learned the hard way about Sirius’s habit of kicking in his sleep. He’d boot you clear off the bed at four in the morning if you gave him the chance. And Remus? He’s a snuggler—a heavy, unyielding snuggler. When he wraps an arm around you, it’s like being pinned by a warm, affectionate weight. Charming, absolutely, but not so convenient when you really have to pee in the morning.

So here you are, content but completely drained, with the three of you spending most of the day heaving boxes into the car and scrubbing down your old flat.

“Oh, it feels good to just lie down,” you groan, the ache of a long day catching up with you.

“I told you to wear comfortable shoes, dove,” Remus says softly, leaning against the doorframe and watching you with a fond smile.

You turn your head, flashing him a tired grin. “In my defense, I thought these were comfortable.”

“And is our princess now resting in her royal quarters?” Sirius quips, appearing just behind Remus, fresh from hauling a load of flattened boxes down to the bin.

“Absolutely,” you tease, shaking your head at his playful tone. “Thanks for helping me out. I’m sorry Marls had to back out last minute.” You sigh, thinking of how your best friend had called that morning with the news: her girlfriend had been in a minor accident at work and had to be rushed to the hospital. You could hardly blame her for canceling; if either of your boys were in the hospital, you’d drop everything to be there, too.

“Anytime, darling,” Sirius murmurs as he strolls into the room. With a dramatic flop, he lands on his back on the far side of the bed, letting out a soft “oof.” It’s an endearing sound that makes you laugh, even as you feel the day’s exhaustion settling in.

“Well?” You turn to Remus, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Planning to join us?” The question comes out with a flirtatious smile, hinting at just how much you’d love him to join you and Sirius.

Remus rolls his eyes, but there’s a softness there, too, as he lets out a gentle sigh. Shaking his head with a small, amused smile, he pads over to the foot of the bed and settles down, reaching for both of you. His hands find their way into your hair and Sirius’s, brushing through in a familiar, calming rhythm, almost like he’s petting two contented cats.

Sirius stretches his arms, accidentally knocking one of the many decorative pillows off the bed. With a groan, he slides down to his knees to retrieve it, grabbing the plush white pillow and tossing it haphazardly back onto the bed. But as he does, something else catches his eye—a faded mint-green fabric peeking out from an open duffel bag beside the bed.

“Siri?” Remus calls out, noticing that Sirius hasn’t returned to join them.

Curious, you sit up, wondering why he’s so distracted. Army-crawling to the edge of the bed, you spot his gaze fixed on the bag, and your heart skips a beat as you realize what he’s staring at.

Panicking, you scramble off the bed and slide down beside him, nearly losing your balance in the rush. Remus’s concerned voice cuts in as he leans over, “Dove, you alright?” But you’re already reaching for the item that has Sirius’s full attention, fumbling slightly in an attempt to tuck it out of sight.

Sirius’s brows lift with curiosity. “What are you hiding?” he asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he tries to gently wrestle the object from you.

“Nothing!” you whine, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

Remus raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That doesn’t look like ‘nothing,’” he says with a smirk. “Especially if you’re going to all this trouble to hide it.”

You squeal, feeling a mix of embarrassment and nervousness as you pull the plush tightly to your chest.

Sirius’s hands stop their playful struggle, but he keeps them on your back, rubbing soothing circles as he softens his tone. “Baby?”

You groan, sitting up and holding the well-loved, slightly worn mint-colored bunny in your arms. The little plush flops over as you look down at it, feeling a bit sheepish.

"My mom got her for me when I was a baby," you explain, your voice quiet but steady. "I know it's childish to still sleep with plushies at my age, but... she's just always been there for me. Through everything—moving around, tough nights, even all the times I was scared or stressed. It’s like… having a little piece of home with me."

Sirius's expression softens, a warm smile tugging at his lips. "That’s not childish at all, Love," he says, rubbing a gentle hand over your back. "Everyone needs something that makes them feel safe."

Remus nods in agreement, reaching out to touch the bunny's worn little ear. "And besides," he says with a grin, "if anyone gives you trouble about it, just remember who they’re talking to. You’ve got two knights here who’d defend a bunny’s honor, no questions asked."

You laugh, feeling a rush of relief. Hugging the bunny a bit tighter, you feel their arms wrap around you, holding you just as close.

"I love you both so much—" your voice comes out soft, but the warmth in it is unmistakable. You don’t even get a chance to finish before Sirius practically pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms tighter around you with a grin that practically lights up the room.

"Good," he says, squeezing you reassuringly. "Because we're not going anywhere."

Remus leans in on your other side, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with that gentle smile of his. "We love you too," he murmurs. "And that bunny? She’s part of the family now."

You can’t help but laugh, your heart feeling lighter than it has in ages as you sit there, held in the arms of the two people who mean everything to you, with your cherished bunny nestled close. In that moment, you know for certain that home isn’t just a place—it’s right here, with them.

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dalamjisung · 21 hours ago

Text

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 7: The end of beginnings

genre: angst, fluff, a lot of introspection

word count: 9743 (MY GOD IT'S A LONGER CHAPTER)

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you and spencer finally give into the tension that's been growing between you, but what happens now?

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

This chapter I'm dedicating to @chicaconfundidaycuriosa who makes my day with her hypothesis in the comments <3 thank you all for your support throughout this series!

“You do it.”

“No!” You gasp, shaking your head so fast you feel like your brain is shaking too. “You do it!”

“Your entire job is about people, you do it.” He insists, gently nudging you forward, but you don’t bulge. “Y/N, come on, it’s not that scary!”

“I’m not scared, I just hate talking on the phone! You wouldn’t know what’s that like, since you barely use yours.”

“And now you’re diverging,” He giggles, pushing the phone over the counter to you once again.

It has been almost thirty minutes of this and that is not really how you imagine spending your morning after all that had happened last night. For a moment there, Spencer’s voice fades to the background and all you can focus on are those beautiful, pink lips. Now that you know how they feel– the perfect balance of chapped roughness and natural softness; not now that you know how he tastes, something so naturally Spencer and minty toothpaste; not now that you know how he sounds when he whispers for more, more more. Not now, not ever.

Took you both some time to come down from the absolute high of acting like teenagers. What had started like a sweet, slow kiss, quickly turned into what teenagers would refer to ‘making out’, and suddenly you two were a little hurricane of hands, lips, and tangles bodies trying to make it to the room. The feeling of his hands on your waist, tugging you closer, pushing you down– “Y/N?”

Your cheeks explode in a fiery red shade when you realise he’s caught you daydreaming.

Again.

“Yeah?” Shaking your head slightly, look down at the phone being pushed between you two.

“Are you going to call her?”

To be fair, you haven’t really explained everything to him considering how… distracted… you were last night. And then this morning. And even now, mind going not so far away from the kitchen to the room, where absolutely nothing had happened last night. Absolutely. Nothing. Frustration settled after a while, a thrumming hum in the back of your head that never really let you fall asleep. It was only natural that after so long craving this, you had been excited at the thought of finally letting it happen, of allowing yourself to enjoy a moment that had meant as much in your dreams as it did in real life… but then you two made it to the bed. And you laid down. And suddenly, the underlying need behind every push and pull of his perfect lips against yours started to fade, and his hands that explored your body oh so eagerly started to slow down, and before you could say anything, he was backtracking to forehead kisses and getting up to brush his teeth.

Like it had been just another day.

Just another kiss.

“I don’t want to,” You whisper back, eyes wide in a vulnerable state that has nothing to do with Abigail or the fact that you are about to hire her to take care of your store.

This is not even about last night.

This is about this morning.

This is about the fact that when you woke up, he wasn’t there. His side of the bed was tussled, and the pillows were thrown around, but Spencer was missing. For a moment, your heart sinks. You scramble around the bed, feeling out his side, searching for something, anything, that would give into your dwindling hope of last night not having been a dream, because god knows how many dreams you’ve had of him. But then you hear it, the sound of the shower running and the light humming of a man who has not a single musical bone in his body, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

Then it downs on you. It wasn’t a dream. Spencer kissed you last night, that’s a fact. And now he’s about to come out of the bathroom and you refuse to let the first thing he sees, on such a special morning, be this messy hair, panicked face version of yourself. The way you roll out of bed, rushed to the point of tripping on the blankets and falling on your knees with a hiss, is enough to have you laughing at yourself. Your cheeks blush when you think of facing him so early in the day and despite the excitement of it all, you are nervous. What will he say? What will he do?

Making breakfast seems like a great way to ease your overthinking mind of any incoming anxieties, and it’s a simple matter of action and reaction.

Action, breaking the eggs over the hot pan. Reaction, frying some eggs. Action, putting the bread in the toaster. Reaction, getting some toast to eat with your eggs. Action–

“Good morning.” Action, Spencer comes out of the shower.

“Good morning,” You call back, looking down at the pan with such an obsessions you barely notice him stopping behind you.

You do notice his hands landing on your waist, though, and when he turns you around, you can smell the fresh scent of his minty soap he loves so much. His smile calms you a little, and he leans forward, coming down, down, down… until his lips touch your forehead. “Slept well?” He mumbles, reaching behind you for a toast and then walking away to grab his bag from wherever he hid it. Blinking, you can’t even answer his question. Is he fucking teasing you or is he serious?

Safe to say, you don’t really speak up then nor later, and that’s how you two end up where you are, sitting in front of each other in a stupid battle over who calls who.

“Why don’t you want to call her?”

Eyes cast down, almost in shame, you shrug. “I…” How do you explain it to him without sounding crazy? “I don’t know, Spence. She makes me feel… weird. Like she knows something I don’t.”

“Oh sweetheart,” His nice words can’t hide the smile on his face. “It’s just change. And you’re human, Y/N, which means you naturally don’t like change. But it’s okay, I promise. You already asked Garcia to dig as deep as she could and nothing came up as suspicious. You also refuse to entertain the idea of hiring your second choice because you said, and I quote, ‘he grabbed a book with greasy hands.’ So, this is pretty much the only option you have.”

Great. Instead of a kiss that you crave, you get the dose of reality check you deserve. “Thank you, Spencer,” You grumble, the irony of your words not missing the spot when his smile falters. You grab the phone to dealing the number you’ve been avoiding for so long, but you stop before pressing call. “Fuck.”

“Y/N–“ The magic of last night is gone when his phone rings and you know he has to go.

“Go,” You whisper, patting his shoulder with dejection. At this point, the morning is ruined and, to be very honest, he is partially at fault.

A kiss is not something you would consider casual. You know a lot of people do, and that’s okay; you don’t mind about how other people live their lives. You do, however, care about what Spencer thinks and does, and in your books, kissing you and then ignoring it the next day is simply not acceptable. But then you sit with it for a while, and your brain starts whirring up. Usually, when you open your eyes, the sun is barely up and Spencer’s breathing is regular enough to keep your head going up and down, up and down, up and down. The more you two cuddle, the more you realise you love the sound of his heartbeat– you were yet to see him hurt, but you’ve heard enough stories from past cases that now, whenever you got that little extra confirmation that he is okay, you feel a sense of relief that you can’t really explain. Yet, that morning, when you finally make sense of what the fuck was happening without the your usual warm body next to you, you don’t feel relief. You don’t feel anything, to be very honest, because for a moment, your blood turns cold at the idea that Spencer might have woken up and regretted it all.

“I feel like I shouldn’t,” He frown, cocking his head to the side in that way that makes you think he’s about to tell you something about yourself that you’ve never asked. “Y/N–“ “Go to work, Spencer,” You repeat yourself before pressing ‘call’. The phone in your ear is enough to keep him from trying to chase you. “Abigail? Hi! This is Y/N, from the bookstore… Yes. Yes, and from the uh, from the building. I’m calling with good news– you seem like the perfect person for the position. You– oh, no, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to bring me anything, it’s fine!”

This is the last thing you need– Abigail and her nosy nature. “What’s going on?” Spencer I next to you and his mouth is so close to your ear you shiver a little when he speaks.

“Abigail, please, I’m about to go out and– oh, no, my… Spence is going to work. Thank you for offering to bake a cake but I’ll just se you at work, okay? Alright. Yeah, okay, thank you! I’ll be sending you a follow up email with all the information for next steps. Thank you! Have a good day! Bye!”

“Y/N, did Abigail do something to make you uncomfortable?” His hands on your shoulder that hold you at arms length are starting to annoy you. Now he didn’t even want you close? There is more to it and you know it. Above all, you’re not completely illogical, but your brain is working overtime and your heart is hurting, and now every little thing Spencer does will be an issue.

Fed up with it all, you stomp your feet and walk away. “Go to work, Doctor Reid!” The impetuous way you huff as you turn around and slam the door of his room shut has him gasping, and you can hear if from where you stand, embarrassed by yourself and your ridiculous, childish behaviour. Still, you refuse to go back out there until you’re sure you’ve heard the door closing behind him.

“Fuck me,” You mutter after you sit there in your own silence. The apartment doesn’t feel the same as it used to anymore. It’s not a matter of coming in and watering his plants anymore. You don’t just walk around looking for clues from the scattered books in his apartment anymore. You actually know things now. You know parts of his life that he had to tell you, parts that you didn’t have to guess, and it actually felt good— he was opening up out of his own volition and now you’ve ruined everything. Maybe you got greedy. Maybe you got greedy for his welcoming arms and whispered pet names. Maybe it all felt too good, and, just like Icarus, you might have flown too close to the sun, and now you are falling, wings melted and ruined.

Before you know it, you’re already dialling your mom’s number.

“Mom?” You are sitting on the floor, legs pulled to your chest with a ridiculous pout on your lips, and from the way she laughs on the other side of the line, you think she can hear it.

“Well, look who it is,” She teases. It’s easy to picture her face when she says that. You two have made a dance out of it, this whole loving sarcasm thing, and she always go first. Naturally, you just follow her lead. “My daughter who forgot I exist.”

“Aw,” You smile, shaking your head in amusement. “Is this my mother? The one who knows how pick up the phone and dial my number if she wants to talk to me?”

You two laugh for a while before she speaks again. “I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen your face in a while and… and your dad misses you too, you know?” The slight sniffle on the other side of the line breaks your heart a little.

“I miss him too,” You whisper, voice a bit too soft for her not to notice.

“Y/N, is something wrong? Did something happen?” It’s no surprise your mom panics quickly when it comes to you, specially after everything that happened in New York. “Is it Josh? Did he find you?”

God, how it hurts that she even has to worry about that. “No, no, it’s not Josh, it’s…” You are yet to tell her about Spencer. And not in the context of this entire situation with Cat, but about Spencer as the wonderful human he is. About his quirks and his love for books and his chess addiction and… and the fact that he has your heart in the palm of his hands and you’re scared. You’re so scared. “I met someone.”

Her gasp has your eyes shutting– it’s so nostalgic, that noise of motherly surprise, that you can’t help but bask in it. Growing up, you had always been very close to your mother, enjoying days out together on Sundays and always trusting her to keep your secrets safe from the world. She was your biggest fan, too; supported you on everything you did, cheered from you from the sidelines of every game you wanted to try, helped you convince your dad to let you go to parties you never enjoyed. Never had she unfairly punished you, never had she betrayed your trust, never had she treated you with anything but love and pride. Hiding things from her is hard, possibly one of the hardest things you have ever done, and you hate how easy it’s becoming to deflect her questions and ignore her comments, because truly, all you want to do on days like this, where your heart hurts and your spirits dwindle, is to go to her and cry. Is that too much to ask?

“Tell me about this person,” She immediately shuffles around and you picture her in the same living room you’ve grown up reading book after book. If you have to guess, she has her usual coffee mug next to her, an addiction you blame her for passing onto you, and she’ll throw the old knitted blanket she’s so proud of making over her legs.

“Well, his name is Spencer–“

“Spencer is a good name!” She whispers to herself and you smile.

“It is,” You agree, stretching your legs in front of you and wiggling your toes, glad to be distracted by anything and everything that gets your mind off of last night. “He is a good guy. My favourite customer, actually. That’s uh, that’s how we met.”

“At the store? That is adorable!”

“Yeah, he reads… a lot,” That is the understatement of the century. “He was my first client when I opened up, and we kind of became friends and gotten closer. Then I kind of, uh, started apartment sitting for him, whenever he was away at work and we just–“

“Oh, what’s the apartment like?”

“It’s… beautiful,” You mumble, looking around with a small smile playing on your lips. “The walls are this pretty shade of green and it’s really cozy? Books all around. I like it here.”

“Here?” Oh no. “Wait, are you at his house right now?”

“Yeah,” You mumble, picking the lose threads on the socks you borrowed, one blue and the other purple with polkadots. For the life of you, you couldn’t find matching pairs in his sock drawer. “I’ve been here a lot, lately.”

“Is he out of town?”

“No.” The silence that follows speaks volume, and for the first time ever, you realise that your mom might not be just worried. She scared, too; for the daughter she saw so happy one day and then moving cities the next. “Mom?”

“I– I’m happy for you, sweetie,” Her words are kind, but the edge of hesitation is there. “And you’re not going too fast, right? You said you’ve known him since you opened the store, so that’s a year and something, and–“

The assumption that you are repeating the same mistake you’ve make with Josh annoys you. You’re not the same person you used to be, you’re not like that anymore– needy and blinded by love and all the shinny things it brought you. You’ve come a long way since then, and you know your mother recognises that, you do but… but you’re still embarrassed. Embarrassed about who you were. About who you loved. It’s a bit ridiculous, how whenever one of your parents bring him up, you immediately raise your defences, walls coming up so high you can’t even see over the green field of life that awaits you on the other side.

“Mom,” You wince when your voice comes out a bit too harsh. “Sorry. Mom, I’m fine. We’re… nothing. I’m here because… because a pipe burst in my apartment and he was kind enough to let me stay at his place.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry sweetie, I didn’t mean to– I mean, I’m glad you have someone to help you out when we’re so far away.”

“I wish you guys were here,” You whisper, slowly getting up to move to the living room. You immediately sit down in the armchair, grabbing your blanket and covering yourself. If you couldn’t hug your mom, this would have to do. “You’d love him.”

“Yeah? Is he handsome?”

“So handsome,” You giggle, and it’s an instinct, looking to the side table in search of that familiar frame of Spence and his team at a fancy dinner. You love his smile when he’s happy, so wide and taut that it almost looks like he has too much emotion in proportion to his body. “And he’s so kind, mom. He’s kind, and gentle, and oh so smart. A genius, really.”

“Of course he has to be a genius to keep up with you and the hundreds of books you read in a year,” Her reply is comical when you think about it. The idea of Spencer having trouble keeping up with you, and not the other way around, makes you laugh. “So why do you sound so sad, if he’s such a great guy? He’s treating you good, right?”

“He treats me amazingly, it’s just that… we kissed last night.”

“And it was bad?” Her teasing makes your shoulder relax enough until you are melting onto the chair. “That’s why you’re sad?”

“Mom! No!” Cringing, you hug the throw pillow closer. “It was great. Amazing, even! It’s just that it was our first kiss and then this morning he just… didn’t do it again.”

“Oooohhh, I see what’s going on,” She chuckles. “You expected him to talk about this and he didn’t, did he?”

“How do you know?”

“Because you dad was the same way–“

“Oh gross, no, no, no!” You refuse to fall onto this freudian trap. “I’m not dating my dad!”

“Wait, so you guys are dating? Is this you telling me you have a boyfriend?!”

“No!” Groaning, you know you’re between a rock and a hard place. There is no escape anymore, and you have to come clean. “I don’t know! We kissed, but then he didn’t talk about it this morning and he just left like nothing happened, and and– and yesterday, he didn’t even say he likes me! I’m too old to be on this whole will-they-won’t-they thing, mom! I need verbal confirmation!”

“Well, have you asked him? Or told him how you feel? Or tried to start a conversation?”

Squinting at the phone, you huff, incredulous at her insinuation. Her correct insinuation. “Mother! Whose side are you on?”

“Always yours,” Your mother laughs. “Which is why I’m saying talk to him. If he won’t start the conversation, do it yourself. I raised an independent young woman, and this is the perfect time to prove it.”

You wait a second before sighing. “I’m scared.”

“Of what, sweetie?”

“Of everything. Of what happened before. Of it happening again.”

“Y/N,” Your mother say and suddenly you think you’re about to get scolded through the phone. “You can’t be afraid of your future because of one mistake you made in the past, sweetheart. I– I’m sorry we didn’t notice. I’m your mother, I should’ve noticed, I should’ve said something, and I’m never going to make that mistake ever again. So I’m saying something now. You haven’t sounded this excited about pretty much anything in a while. You… You sound like how you used to be. But better.”

“Mom,” There is no one to witness the way your lower lip trembles at her words. Back then, you thought you were doing a good job keeping your parents safe from it all– you thought you were good at hiding the tiredness with makeup and the miserable tone of your voice with sweet high pitched laughter. None of your parents ever talked about what was happening, either. They didn’t ask questions like how your mom does now; they didn’t see past the beautiful necklaces, the pretty dresses, and the important parties. They were blinded, much like you were, with the fake promises of a happiness that never came. And now here you are, scared out of your mind to jump into this again, and yet, everything fades away when your mom guarantees you she’ll never let this happen again. As grown as you are, nothing reassures you more than your mom– your biggest fan and your biggest protector.

“I’m scared too,” She whispers, like she’s telling you her biggest secret. “I’m scared my baby will hurt again and I won’t be there to help. I’m scared I’ll never be able to visit. I’m scared about a lot of things when it comes to you, sweetie. But I prefer to focus on the silver linings.”

Ah. So that’s where you get if from. “And what are the silver linings here?”

“You being you,” It’s as simple as that for her. “And that’s all I really want.”

For about an hour, you two stay on the phone, chitchatting about the randomise things. It’s no secret that you miss New York– the bustle of people, the endless lights, the pollution and its grey hue in the air. God, you miss it a lot, but what you miss the most is the ease of everything. Moving around is quick, whatever you need you just need to turn the corner and a deli will surely have it, and, above all, whenever you want to see your mom and dad, all you have to do is take the express from the Upper east side down to Midtown and you’re there. You’re at the same small apartment you grew up in, the same brick walls, the same loud neighbours, hell, even your room still looked the same as you left it! But that’s not what you need right now, even though you would love to see your old room with such new eyes… what you need is that feeling of warmth spreading through your chest when it dawns on you that you are home.

“Mom, I have to go,” You finally say. “But let’s talk more often, okay? I miss you and dad a lot.”

“We miss you too, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Hanging up the phone is harder than you expected it to be, but you don’t have a lot of time to suffer in silence.

Spencer is a man who naturally avoids all forms of technology. He is not the biggest fan of computers and cellphones, and whenever he texts you or calls you, you feel like you’re winning in life. You’re the exception to his firm, firm rule. But for work purposes, he had explained, he had to be reachable at all hours, meaning Spencer has something you haven’t see in ages– a landline phone. When it starts ringing, that nostalgic loud, shriek of a ring that never fails to make you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.

Instinctually, you reach for it as if you are the one expecting a call. It would be so easy to just pick up the phone and say Dr. Reid’s residence, how may I help you? Yet, you don’t. You stop yourself just as the tips of your fingers touch the phone and you pull back. This is exactly what happened last time– a box for him and the consequences ending up being yours to face. Since then, you’d like to think you’ve grown smarter, and so you let it go to voicemail.

“Hello, Dr. Reid, this is Nurse Kenny from Bennington Sanitarium. I’m calling about your mother.”

Somehow, this still feels like facing the consequences for something you didn’t do.

—————————————

In your defence, you did try calling Penelope before panicking. You called her, you called Spencer, you even called the BAU hotline in a feverish desperation to reach your boy wonder. All the hurt from that morning, all the pain and the insecurities immediately fly out the window as soon as the nurse hangs up with a final call me when you can.

“Fucking hell,” You push your way through the crowd trying to make out of the subway station, everyone rushing through the steps to finally be set free in the loud streets of Washington, and if it was any other day, you might have taken the time to enjoy it. The sun is high, the air is cold, and the smell of coffee reaches you almost instantly.

But there is not time to be happy when all you can think about is Spencer– his face crumpling up in that way it does whenever it goes uncharacteristically serious, his brows furrowed in worry, his hands frozen in place like the rest of his body. It kills you being the deliverer of bad news. It’s something you have always tried to avoid, ever since you were a tiny little girl and you had to tell your friends that no, you didn’t like My Little Ponies and then later on that also no, you didn’t want to go to that party. The disappointment in their faces always makes you crumble, give in, give up, anything to see them smile again.

This time around, you can’t do that. You can’t give up, or tell him something he wants to listen to instead. This has to do with his family, and you don’t know anything about his family– so you know they mean a lot to him. Oddly enough, it’s one of his little weird habits that you find the most endearing; for someone that talks a lot, when it comes to the people he loves, Spencer doesn’t talk at all. Maybe this is the price to pay to work at the BAU… when the most despicable and inhumane people in the world know his name, he has to do everything in his power to not let them find out any other.

“Ma’am, where do you think you are going?!” The security guard approaching you is, to say the least, terrifying. You forget that you have to sign up, so uses to walking in with Officer Kaper and his badge, except this time around, you didn’t have time to call him. You did everything Spencer told you not to do, and he will lecture you on it later, you just know he will, though you don’t really care about it, as long as he talks to you after this, you don’t care about what words come out of his mouth.

Because sure, it was an accident– listening to the nurse’s message was an accident– but you still did it. There is no hiding it, you did it and my god, you feel terrible about it. Feels like something akin to looking through his phone while he is in the shower, close to searching through his letters at home, similar to reading through the annotations in his books. This is private. It wasn’t enough to be living at his apartment? Sleeping in his bed, stealing his clothes? You also had to go ahead and listen to his private messages? “I’m here to see Dr. Spencer Reid,” You say, lower lip trembling at the thought of a possible confrontation with this man. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but it’s urgent, I need to see him, I need to talk to Spence, he’s not picking up his phone and–“

“Do you have a form of identification? You have to sign in,” When he takes a step closer, you immediately shrink back, shoulders hunching forward in a tense attempt to cover yourself from his eyes.

“Of course, yes, I’ll… sign in, but can you– I’m so sorry, but can you call Penelope Garcia? She is the BAU’s tech analyst, I think. She has a lot of computers and–“

“Get in line.”

It’s an order more than a request, and you consider telling him to fuck off. Your nerves are high and you feel a sense of urgency that you have only felt one time before in your entire life– and that was when you moved to D.C. The thing no one tells you about signing in into the FBI is that is practically impossible. People like to think that all you need is a government issued ID, and technically, they are right– there is nothing else you can provide them other than you driver’s license, but the hoops they have to go through to grant you access add another ten minutes or so onto the wait that is already killing you.

Until the clerk says, “Here you go, ma’am,” And gives you your visitor’s pass like it’s nothing.

Like it doesn’t hold the weight of the world for you then, as you shove it into that stupid guard’s face and runs to the far left end of the hallway. At this point, you’ve been at the building enough times to know how to get upstairs, but despite the faint familiarity of it all, you continue to feel displaced and singled out whenever those beige walls surround you. Your oversized cream sweater is like a beacon of light in such a dim office, but it serves its purpose to keep you warm against the powerful air conditioner in there. How Spencer gets anything done under those circumstances, you don’t know, but the shivers travelling up and down your arms are enough to keep you alert and on the look out for the most likely presence to see– your favourite bright pink, bleached blonde geek.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” He’s wearing a suit, much like the ones Agent Hotchner wears and you have to hold back tears. It’s all very intimidating, knowing that at any point one of these people could find you suspicious and start asking you questions.

“Uh, y-yeah, I guess you can,” Clearing your throat, your hand squeeze the shoulder of your bag tighter, and when his eyes move to look at the slight movement, you know he’s a part of the BAU. You know he’s reading you like Spence does. “I need to find Dr. Spencer Reid,” Saying his full name still feels odd to you. “Could you maybe tell me where he is?”

“Oh? Reid?” This expression you know– surprise. “Are you his girlfriend or something?”

“His girlfr– I uh– I mean, I–“ It takes a moment for you to realise that if you say no, then you have to explain to this stranger what you really are to Dr. Reid, and that is a can of worms you rather not open right now, so instead of being honest like you always try to be, you blush and nod. “I uh, yeah. I am.”

“Oh wow!” His genuine shock to the news ticks you off a little. It’s not all that crazy that Spencer would have a girlfriend, considering his charming awkwardness and his bright, beautiful smile. “He never mentioned a girlfriend before, I didn’t–“

“Is he here or not?!” You kind of shriek, widening your eyes in hopes to make him pity you enough to move on with this a bit faster.

“No, he isn’t. I think his team just left for the tarmac, they got a case in this morning and–“

His voice fades to the background easily, your anxiety peaking through with that annoying ringing in your ear. Spencer left to another state and didn’t call you. Logically, you know that his job and his feelings for you, however good or bad they might be, are not connected. Logically, it is easy to make that distinction. However, you are not a logical person all the time. You are not a genius like he is, and sometimes, you let your heart lead; you let your emotions take over like a tsunami inside of you, crashing and crashing and crashing, until you are nothing but a crumble of what you once was.

You are ready, too. Ready to give up and delay the inevitable until the nurse can reach him directly, until you’re not the one having to panic, until he can deal with this personally. Consider it an addictive habit of a you of many moons ago, a Y/N who let things go to protect herself and avoid unnecessary confrontation. Confronting Josh was never the best option, so you had to come up with strategies. Plans, schemes, lies. You hate that you’ve become good at those, hate that all the work you’ve done to leave those behind is now at risk, but something deep inside of you can’t let this go.

Something that you know very well is the need to make Spencer proud. The need to be there for him after all the times he was there for you. It’s your time to be the hero.

“Call Hotchner.”

There is a harshness in your voice that is very much planted there. The same goes for the twitch of your brows, the bite to the inside of your cheek, the averting gaze to the floor. It’s time to tell the story the profiler wants to read, and you double down when you let out an exasperated sigh, pushing your disheveled hair back. “I need you to call Hotchner and get Spencer back here right now.”

You shouldn’t want to laugh with how he fumbles with his phone, quickly dealing the boss’ number, but all amusement is gone when he mumbles something about an Spencer’s girlfriend and passes the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Oh god… hello?” You say, voice wobbling a little.

“Miss Y/L/N?” In the background, you can hear some chatter and nothing else. Are they in the jet already? Have you failed? “Is everything alright? Why are you in the office?”

“I am truly sorry, sir,” You gulp down, glancing at the man in a silent request for some privacy. “But I need to speak to Spencer. He is not answering his phone and it’s an emergency. Penelope wasn’t answering either, so I thought I could come find her, but SSA Greenberg asked me if I needed help and–“

“Is that why you told him you were Spencer’s girlfriend?”

“Family emergency trumps everything,” You explain, the heavy weight of you guilt settling in. For some reason, you think you got Spencer in trouble.

“Miss Y/L/N, is this about your case? We explained that we would have cases alongside–“

“Sir, it’s his mother. I don’t know the details, but there was a call and they asked him to call them back as soon as possible.”

The eery silence that follows has you holding your breath. You are not sure how much his team knows about the intricacies of his personal life, but they surely know more than you do, considering the immediate rustle you hear on the other side of the line.

“We’ve just arrived at the tarmac. I’m sending send Reid and Garcia back to help us from there,” Agent Hotchner says, voice dripping with authority. “Wait for him there. Tell Officer Kaper he will be relived as soon as Reid arrives.”

“Office Kaper is… not here.”

“…We will discuss this later. They should be arriving in twenty.”

“Okay. Okay, good,” You breathe out loudly. “Thank you, sir.”

Once the call ends, once you give SSA Greenberg his phone back and evade all the questions he has about you and Spencer, once you push down the wave of relief that almost makes you fall to the ground… you make your way to Penelope’s office. You need credentials to walk into her lair, it’s not as simple as just opening a door– she is the gatekeeper of all things confidential, and you know not all people are authorised to walk in. The fact that this is the same woman who has invited you over for wine night and got so drunk she couldn’t stop talking about the one time she walked in on Morgan showering is actually insane. The Penelope you know can’t keep a secret for her life, but then again, this is not Penelope’s office. This is Garcia’s lair, and you need to remember that these are fundamentally two different people. Just like Spence and Dr. Reid. JJ and Jennifer. Prentiss and Emily. All of them had managed a level of separation that seemed practically impossible to you, leaving work outside of their homes in a perfectly packed box by the door. It makes you wonder, though, if when he walks out the door to go to the office, he leaves you behind in a box inside.

Compartmentalising is not something you did well. You tried, back when you first arrived in Washington, at the recommendation of your therapist, but you seemed to struggle more than normal. At your core, you believe in honesty, in transparency, and despite everything you’ve been through, you never gave up on yourself, on your core self, not the self you’ve created to appease Josh. Though you did forget about her, for a while. Distracted by your new life, you missed your old self like you miss old high school friends; remembering the good old times but still doing nothing to reach out.

Just like you told your mom, you’re scared it will happen again. That you’ll lose yourself in the beautiful world of Spencer Reid and lose sight of what matters– yourself. You might have learned this way later in life than you should have, but a relationship is a two way road and now you know that. Now, you want to know that, you want Spencer to show you that. There is a kind of romance in how he leaves books for you to read next to the armchair, a certain indication that he knows what you like. A type of care in how he buys the shampoo and conditioner you mentioned you liked one time almost eight months ago. This is where you are trying to meet him at, ordering the rare books he’s so desperate after through your unique contacts. Making him breakfast before work. Unfolding the corners of his books. Even though you express yourself better with words than actions, you don’t miss the way his eyes sparkle a little extra whenever he sees his coffee mug filled up for him first thing in the morning or how he always pretends to be caught off guard when you bring him a surprise book from the store. Spencer can read you like he has been born to do so, and yet, he still played along. For you, he’d always play along.

Which is why, when they found you sitting on the floor next to Garcia’s office, he plays along. “Are you more comfortable there than sitting on my desk?”

His casual tone shocks you a little bit. Scrambling to your feet, you meet him and Penelope halfway. “Spence!” You gasp, hands stretching out to touch him, feel him, ground him, anything. You just need to make sure he is paying attention, the hands on his biceps squeezing it slightly. “Spence, you need to call your mom! Something happened, and I tried calling you guys but you weren’t picking up, so I came here to tell you that you need to call her, you–“

“Y/N,” Spence whispers in that way that makes your heart speeds up. His eyes are stuck to yours, shinning with something you’ve seen before, something you’ve seen last night. “Y/N, my mom is okay. Hotch told me to call her as soon as he sent us back, she’s okay, everything’s been handled. Are you okay? Sweetheart, you’re sweating…”

Garcia’s gasp falls onto deaf ears as you and Spencer lose yourself in each other. “I was nervous,” You mumble, trying to pull away and dab at your forehead, but he’s on it. His hands catch you by the elbow and gently bring you closer into what slowly turns into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Spence, I didn’t mean to listen to the message, I swear I didn’t, I was just there and the machine–“

“I know,” He nods his head distractedly and gently wipes you clammy skin with the wrist of his sweater. “I know, Y/N, you don’t have to apologise. Thank you for coming all the way here to look for me just to tell me to call my mom. I truly appreciate it.”

“Of course I would,” There is something building between you two, a tension very familiar to you now that you’ve been watching it pile on for the past couple of weeks.

For Penelope, though, it is certainly news.

“OH MY GOD!”

Snapped out of the trance of those honeyed eyes, you turn to look at your blonde friend with a pale complexion. “Pen, no–“

“OH MY GOD, YOU TWO BONED!”

“What?! No! Absolutely not!” Spencer takes a step back from you like he’s suddenly troubled by thought of being that close to you, and you can’t really hide how your heart breaks a little at that.

“Yeah… apparently absolutely not,” You repeat, coming back down to your harsh reality since the bubble burst.

“What– What just happened?” She utters, but you don’t really give her a chance to develop her line of thought, grabbing the access card from her hand and swiping it through the reader to unlock her door. “Wait, wait, what–“

“I’ll stay here with Pen,” You say without looking back at Spencer. Your job here is done and until Officer Kaper can come pick you up, you know they won’t let you leave the building. “I’ll call Mike for a ride, so don’t worry about me going back alone. I–“

“He’s not here?” Spencer asks, looking around with that adorable confused frown of his. “Wait, Y/N, did you come here by yourself?! Didn’t we talk about–“

“No Spencer, we didn’t! We didn’t talk about a lot of fucking things, and then you left off this morning like you didn’t want to talk about it and, and, and I was panicking, okay?! You didn’t pick up the phone and I’m a big enough girl to take the subway alone!” Your voice certainly raises enough to have people looking at you two, and your cheeks fire up in embarrassment. You are causing a scene at his workplace, and in your opinion, that is unacceptable. Gulping, you look down, tugging Penelope into her sacred space and closing the door behind you. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’m really sorry.”

“Y/N, wait–“ But the door closes midway through his sentence and despite him having access to enter, he knows better than to press on a sore spot.

The worst part is that you kind of want him to. And you hate that part of yourself that wants such a reactive behaviour from this peaceful man. Spencer does plenty to show you he cares, even if he does it in his own quiet, subtle way, and that is enough for you. Fuck, that should be enough for you. Yet somehow, nothing seems to shut up that voice in your head telling you that yes, he is enough… but you aren’t. In your overthinking mind, you know that you are too average for Spencer. You’d never be able to keep up with him, with his spectacular brain and his humble attitude. At best, all you offer him are books, some observations here and there, and a warm body to hug at night. At worst, you’re a burden to a man who already carries the entire world on his shoulder.

“You two?!” Penelope’s dramatic gasp is enough to put a pause on your pity party. “Boy genius and you?!” Scoffing, you sit down on the chair she pulled for you. “I know… sounds ridiculous, right? I mean, the man is a genius and I’m… well-read at best.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, we’re not going there,” Barely does she know you’re already there, that you’ve been there this entire morning. “What happened? Last time we talked, it was a crush and nothing else! And now you and boy wonder are ‘sweetheart’ing each other and the forehead kiss was just so adorable and–“

“We kissed.”

The way it comes out to her, unlike how it did with your mom, is a confession rather than a posing issue. It makes your heart race and your sad face lifts for a second, enough to let a giggle escape. This is what friends are for, and you are happy to be living through this again.

“YOU WHAT?”

“Pen, don’t shout!” You whisper, looking at the door like it’s about to slam open at any second. “What if someone hears?” “Would that matter?” She laughed. “You basically told the biggest gossip in the FBI that you are Spencer’s girlfriend.”

“Oh my god,” You groan. Slowly getting comfortable in your chair, you pull your legs up to your chest and let your head fall on your knee dramatically. “He’s going to hate me.”

“Now why on Earth do you think that? I’m pretty sure Spencer has had wet dreams of you calling him your boyfriend.”

“Penelope!” It’s suddenly way too hot in her office, your entire body flushing instead of just your cheeks. “You are wrong, by the way… He had a whole dinner planned, you know? He was turning his apartment into the perfect date when I got back home, and he was cooking and he looked so good, Pen, so, so, so good and we just– I mean, it just happened! And then…”

Penelope is holding onto your every word, perfectly painted lips biting on her fluffy pink pen. “And then…?” Her wiggly brows are a dead giveaway of where her dirty, dirty mind is going.

“And then, just as we get to the room…” You repeat, leaning forward as if you’re about to tell her the biggest secret of your life, only to deflate right after. “He pulls away, kisses me on the forehead, and goes to sleep.”

“No!”

“Oh yeah,” You sigh, body crumbling in a defeated lump of limbs. “And then this morning? Nothing. Nada. Not even a peck on the lips as a ‘good morning’.”

“Oh wow,” She says after a moment. You find some comfort in how she seems as wordless as you were early today. “Oh wow, that’s… wow. It’s impressive, but it’s not shocking. Still, it’s… wow.”

“Not shocking?” You shriek. “It’s very shocking!”

“Oh, sweet pumpkin,” There is so much comfort in the clicks and clacks of her heels when she gets up and comes to give you a hug. Admittedly, Penelope’s hugs are much like one of a mother; warm, caring, and all encompassing. It’s enough to heal wounds you didn’t even know you had, like she is searching your soul the same way she searches the web for evidence– with expertise. “I sometime forget you’ve never known little boy genius when he was, well, little. Our pretty boy over there is not… the best with people.”

“That’s mean, Pen,” You sigh, frowning a little. He might not say much about his feelings, and sure, sometimes Spencer is quite reserved to his own mind in a way that makes you think he assumes people won’t really understand what’s going on up there, but never has Spencer made you feel uncomfortable or bad about yourself. Saying he is ‘not the best with people’ actually upset you because despite a couple of hiccups here and there, Spencer is great with you. He remembers everything you say you like or dislike, he cares about your opinions even though sometimes you feel like you’re just saying the obvious, he is gentle with his touches and hugs. “Spencer is amazing, he’s always so careful with everything and everyone, and he’s so kind, and gentle, and considerate. He’s just too in his head sometimes, but that’s okay! So am I, so is everyone, you know?”

“It’s so cute how you’re quick to jump to his defence,” She teased, shaking you a little by the shoulders. “I know he’s all of that, trust me. I would die for Spencer– no, that’s too easy. I would kill for Spencer, and I actually almost did once! And–“

“Wait, what?!”

“And what I’m trying to say is not that he is a bad person, but that he can get a bit awkward. Try to think from his perspective, Y/N, the kid went to college when he was 14. All those crazy life experiences we had in college, he didn’t. And then he joined the FBI, and time just… got away.”

“Are you trying to tell me Spencer Reid is a virgin?” You gasp, mouth hung open in surprise, because from the little action you two had going last night, you would not have betted on that.

“God, no… or at least I don’t think so, but what I am trying to tell you, my cute bookworm, is that his experience is… limited to a couple of people. Very different people. One of his exes was a famous actress kind of people. They did long distance every single time kind of people.”

Little by little, the engines in your brain start turning, and things start making sense. “He never… had a proper relationship?” Somehow, this makes it feel like all that weight that is sitting on your chest, the pressure of figuring everything out by yourself, the racing thoughts that can’t leave you alone… it’s all gone. All easing up in a lighter mist of confusion and sadness.

Her curls bounce around her face when she shakes her head. “Not that we’ve known. So just… god, please give him a chance. He’s a good egg, a perfect egg, even! Just a bit confused with his own brain and, and, and he’s probably wondering what’s the proper procedure from here on out! He’s probably confused and wondering what to do and– and he’s so happy, Y/N. This morning, he couldn’t stop smiling. He didn’t tell

Morgan to shut up when he made sex jokes. He didn’t hog the coffee machine. It was like he was in his own little world and it was so cute to see him finally acting like the boy he should have been all along. I don’t want to see that go away.”

Penelope Garcia has a tell that you are pretty sure she doesn’t know about. It usually peek through her desperate rambles that you love so much, squeezing her voice out of her until she’s barely speaking. You know she’s self-conscious about her rambles, the amount of times she has apologised to you enough proof of it, but when she starts feeling guilty, like she’s staying something she shouldn’t have been, Penelope’s voice dies down, to the point that her mouth is moving but no sound is coming out.

“Pen…”

“I know you like him,” The intensity of her eyes behind her glasses is enough to have you looking away. “I know you do, you like him so much that you broke your security protocol and ran to the FBI to tell him that he needed to call his mom. Please don’t give up on him.”

“I’m not,” You whisper back, shaking your head so fast your neck hurts a little. “Pen, I’m not giving up on him, I don’t think I ever could. I’m just… insecure. I understand Spence’s experience is unique to him, but mine is unique to me, and I think we’re both in the learning process. I just wish he would’ve talked to me, you know? Spencer kissed me like there was no tomorrow yesterday and this morning he didn’t even acknowledge it. What if he doesn’t want to do it anymore? What if he changed his mind? You know, his brain works too fast and he could’ve thought about all the future scenarios in which this goes wrong and–“

“You know, sometimes you two sound so much alike that it’s scary. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him, get your head out of your ass, it’s not a hat.”

“Hey!”

“Your intrusive thoughts are shitty!”

“That is a really weird way to put it–“

“What are you two talking about?” Turning to look at Spencer, you’re surprised to see him all packed up with his satchel hanging by his side. You deflate a little at how ready he is to leave, thinking he’s going back to the tarmac to meet up with the team wherever they are, but he beats you to the punch. “Y/N, ready to go home?”

“Oh,” You scramble to get up, grabbing your bag and your visitor’s pass and then nodding. “Yeah, I guess. Are you coming with?”

“Yeah, I told Hotch I’d be working from home in case my mom’s nurse called again,” He gives you that tight-lipped smile you love so much and you kind of swoon.

“Alright,” You give Penelope a hug goodbye and from then on, you find yourself in the longest stretch of silence you’ve ever been before.

The tension is there, taut enough that you feel like your stomach is being pulled out of your body every time he sucks in a breath a bit too hard or opens his mouth just to close it again. Every time, you think he’s going to initiate the chat, and, every time, he doesn’t. It disappointment after disappointment, and by the time you two make it back to his place, yo can’t keep it in anymore. “Spence,” You call softly, letting him open the door the the building without rush and following him inside. As per usual, he’s quick to let you lead, gesturing politely for you to go up first. “Spence, we need to talk about last ni– Abigail, what are you doing here?”

You’re not even at the top of the stairs when you see her, all sweaters and ponytails standing by your door. “Oh, hi boss!” Her joke makes you cringe a little, but you smile nonetheless. You must’ve done something to alert Spencer of how uncomfortable you actually are, his hand sneaking to grab yours as he squeezes past you to stand one step above, body almost covering yours completely. “Oh. Hi.”

Her tone change is obvious even to your layman ears, and you squeeze Spencer’s hand in nervousness. “Abigail, right?” He asks, a small smile playing on his lips as if he’s trying to be nice, though the squint in his eyes tells a whole other story. “Good to see you again. Did you move in okay?”

“Yeah,” The way she moves her head to the side, trying to get a glimpse of you, has red flags raised all up in your head. “All moved in and ready to start work on Monday!”

“I’m happy to hear you’re excited, Abigail!” You reply with a forced chuckle, climbing the extra step to stand side by side with Spence. Your hands are intertwined behind his back, his fingers playing with yours, and if it’s to keep you calm or himself, you don’t know. “I’m excited for you to start at the store, too. Is there anything you need, though? I know I said I’d send you a starter email and a draft of a schedule, but I just haven’t had the time today. I’ll work on it as soon as I can!”

“Oh, no, no, no hurry!” Once she can see you, it’s like her whole persona changes. She’s bubblier when she’s talking to you, shoulders less tense and voice less tense. “I was just coming here to bring you this. It got delivered to my apartment by accident, but it has your name on it.”

From behind her back, she pulls a brown package. It’s small and thin, and it doesn’t seem so have any logo on it. “Y/N, are you expecting something?” Spencer whispers, eyes not leaving Abigail’s hand and for a second you let yourself panic enough to believe she’s carrying a bomb. It felt like she was carrying a bomb. Like it was going to blow up and your entire life, your entire re-construed life with Spencer by your side, and everything would soon come crumbling down.

“N-No,” You stutter back and your body goes frigid cold when Abigail takes a step forward to you two, arms stretched out to give you the package. “Oh my god, no, no, no one knows I’m–“

Quickly grabbing the box, Spencer wastes no time in getting you inside the apartment. “Thank you so much for bringing this, Abigail, but we really have to get home. As promised, you’ll hear from Y/N soon on that starter email. Have a great rest of your day!”

“Wait, I wanted to talk to Y/N about–“ The loud slamming of the door drowns her words out.

Before even looking your way, Spencer is on the phone. “Hotch,” He breathed out, eyes wide in that crazed way that you’ve only see once before, in your shop when he had his gun out. “She found Y/N.”

You know you can’t call this an ending, not when you two never even had a begging…

“We have to relocate her.”

But it surely feels like one.

---------------------------------------

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anamelessfool · 2 days ago

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Papa's Metamorphosis

An interactive Adventure (hashtag #papas metamorphosis)

Dedicated to @cowbell-ghuleh and @ryuzatodraws-archive for their bold contributions to Ghost Plush Lore

One morning, as Papa Emeritus IV wakes from anxious dreams, he discovers that in bed he had been changed into a tiny, evil little doll.

It takes him a few moments of bleariness before the full realization; at first his assessment of the ceiling’s height hinted at the possibility that he had fallen to the floor in the night. He is a rough and restless sleeper, even before all the wine last night. He had been celebrating his recent elevation to Frater Imperator with his ghouls and several eager and very flexible Siblings of Sin, and at the time he admitted he is no spring chicken. Right now he feels stiff, out of place. There’s a certain numbness in his limbs that would normally launch him into a panicked web search of symptoms. The blankets have an odd heaviness to them that he struggles with as he attempts to reach for his phone. As he frees himself from the prison of blankets, his hand passes across his face and a cold feeling of terror darts across his body.

He doesn’t have a hand. Well, whatever hand he has now is a stubby stick arm of felt devoid of any grasping mechanism. He swears out loud but his voice doesn’t fill the room the way it used to. It’s small, far away, emitted by minuscule lungs. He tests out the arm again— yes, it is his, and he can flex the end like a mitten. He had never considered mittens to be terrifying before. But there’s a first time for everything.

He sits up and realizes the giant, soft wall behind him is actually his pillow. Somehow he has shrunk down in the night and at once he starts to sweat. Through past 3 AM anxiety web searching he learned that aging came with a small amount of height loss, but not like this. Overnight he’s become smaller than a ghoul chew toy.

He sits up, patting himself. What he’s experiencing has transcended any sort of logic and so he can’t even form a proper string of panicked thoughts. His whole body is soft, ominously squishy and apparently made of cheap black and orange felt. He reaches up to touch the top of his head and someone has left a tiny Santa-like felt hat on his head, as if to mock his predicament. Elf on a shelf? More like dead on this fucking bed. “Porca troia!” Papa swears and flails his stick arms. “What a fiasco!”

He drags himself from his bed and reveals equally stubby felt legs. Papa slept mostly in the nude, but now his delightfully furry body is transmuted into itchy felt and stuffing. His socks must have come off in the night, left under the covers as this curse took its toll on him as he slept. He pats himself again as if this time he would feel actual human flesh but no. His skin is now some sort of polyester suit that suggests clothing but raises a lot of existential questions he didn’t have yesterday.

He’s going to carry on. Maybe right here, right now he’s fucked but hey— he is an optimist when push comes to shove. He runs a magical Satanic Church. Sometimes one has to take the bad with the good. The random evil curses alongside the debauchery. Papa has a lot of friends…but he can’t forget his enemies.

He starts to pace, unnerved by how his new stick legs swing out and land on the mattress. His bed is now a vast mesa of red silk that needs to be crossed. What was he doing last night? There was the party, and the Siblings, and the Ghouls…Sister’s ghost looking annoyed while Papa Nihil snored way too loudly for an incorporeal entity. There was food, lots of juice and wine and juice and wine… but what else? In the back of his mind he has a memory of this rattling, this pounding sound…from where? From who?

Papa reaches the ledge of his bed and looks down at the floor below, shaking his head. He’s looking down into a canyon floor of marble and Oriental rugs. If anyone was going to figure this out, it had to be him. This entire situation is a nightmare at worst, an embarrassment at best. He squishes his body again, and it springs back in a way that bones and muscle don’t. He jumps off the side of the bed, hedging his bets on his entire body being made of stuffing and felt. Maybe it will work. Or maybe he’ll break every bone in his body and shuffle off this mortal coil. He hopes at the very least if this is how he goes, his ghost form won’t be a cursed little doll.

Papa bounces off the floor, gasping in wild panic but unharmed. He rights himself, replacing the stupid hat on his head for some unconscious reason. Maybe to remind himself of how much of a fucking fool he feels like right now. By the door to his bedroom (which is thankfully half open due to his fear of the dark) his rats shuffle and squeak in their cage, hungry for their breakfast. But he can’t reach much, being what he is now. They’ll have to wait while he figures this out.

He needs help, and thankfully there’s a few options.

Your vote contributes to how this story goes. As for the "Other" option I have a right to pick and chose what works for me personally. This story is PG-13.

The polls are 24 hours but I may not post every day.

Please reblog for maximum impact! Let's have fun here.

#papas metamorphosis #papa emeritus iv #crack fic #ghost band fanfic #shitghosting

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minkieater · 3 days ago

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one dream, one city, two boys, endless possibilities ✮

TWO ➺ the boyfriend as a junior at NYU, you just landed your dream internship. you didn't think a shot at your career would come with secrets, mistakes, and drama... at what age do you really start to grow up?

if you've read luck or carousel... this one's for you.

w. smut mdni 18+ ! alcohol consumption wc. 9.7k

it’s been two weeks.

two weeks of constant pondering, paranoia, tension, anxiety… name it, you’re feeling it. all your personal projects have taken a hiatus, you can barely get into a creative mindset to work on your assignments. you’ve sat brainlessly in class, biting on the cap of your pens, fidgeting with anything you had around you. you’ve laid in bed, tried to watch tv, tried to get your mind off of mingi. you’ve barely slept, tossing and turning almost every night whether jeongin was next to you or not.

not once has the feeling of guilt shown itself, not once has regret been in anxiety’s passenger seat in a drive by. you can only think of him, the strength he used to lift you onto his lap, the regretful look on his face while he apologized, the coolness of his rings on your cheeks. you wanted to do it again.

you’d never done something like this in your life, it felt like two halves of you were ripped apart with no one to sew them back together. with your friendships you’ve always been painfully loyal, willing to put someone in the ground for them if need be. with your romantic relationships you’d been the same, you couldn’t place why you’d do something like this now, this far into your relationship. it was unfair to jeongin, unfair to your friends who still look at you with love and innocence, unfair to yourself who has the love of their life in their hands yet pining after another.

it was an accident, but if you could go back in time, you wouldn’t change a thing.

your friends haven’t noticed any difference in your behavior, even riley, who was too wrapped up in a dilemma of her own to notice what you’re going through. you couldn’t talk about it with her anyhow, you couldn’t talk about it with anyone. today is the first day you’ve started to feel like you’re okay, maybe it’ll work out, maybe you got away with it.

you see yourself differently: sneaky, deceiver, cheater. if that’s what you had become…

you laid on the couch in the studio, the same studio you’re always in, trying to rip your thoughts from your head and cook up something creative. your legs were bent up with your head on the pillow, one arm laid over your forehead and the other tapping against your stomach, hearing the beat in your head.

you sighed and stood, moving over towards the desk, figuring you might as well pour everything you’re feeling into a song. or at least try to, if your brain will allow you to create a melody.

you put your headphones and start fucking around before something clicks. an hour goes by without you even noticing… then it’s two… then three… and you’ve created a song the fastest you ever have in your life.

an r&b song, a haunting piece with an ambient, moody vibe, a subtle bass line and very minimalistic beats compared to your other work. for the first time, you listen to your own music and can imagine the vocals over the melody. you pull out the notes app in your phone, already flooded with different entries of lyrics you’ve never been able to place. you create a blank page and get to writing, letting your fingers pour all of your thoughts out.

words about confidence and manipulation occupy the screen, a storyline of going back to an ex because they can offer more than the singer’s current partner. there’s an ambiguity to the lyrics, an uncertainty you’re left with at the end, wondering if going back would be a better idea than staying in the current relationship.

it’s not exact to your situation but it’s close enough, the story you created is less incriminating than what your situation really is. you smile at your screen, wondering how you’re going to get this recorded without another person helping you.

an idea pops into your brain, one you shut down as fast as it popped up. he hasn’t shown back up in the studio since that night, and you want it to stay that way. mainly because you don’t know how you’ll face him again without jumping his bones.

you feel lighter after getting your words out, like you got your feelings off your chest without having to say them to anyone.

a knock is heard at the door, and instead of the heat that usually fills you with the knowing of who it could be, your body freezes. a chill slithers up your spine and you squeeze your eyes in hope that it’s not who’s usually behind that door.

“hey, baby,” you hear your boyfriend’s voice and whip around in surprise, plastering a smile on your face. he leans down and kisses you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed. it’s rare that he comes to the studio, he’s usually working on assignments or his own projects. you’re notorious for coming to the same studio room every time, no one else usually comes to this one due to the equipment being a little older. it works for you and it’s always empty, it might as well be yours.

“i was walking through wash on my way back from class, i assumed you’d be here. missed you,” he smiles, giving your head a small scratch and then brings his attention to the monitor, “watcha working on?”

“just a melody i’ve been playing with for the past few hours,” you remain nonchalant, shrugging your shoulders.

“can i hear it?” he asks sweetly, bending at his knees so only his eyes peer over the desk.

“there’s a chair right over there, innie,” you pat his head. thank god you didn’t record any vocals yet.

he lets out an oh! and pulls it over, the smile that permanently sat on his face is bright, eager to listen to your work. you press play, patiently waiting for his reaction.

jeongin will listen to your music from time to time, usually only when you ask him for his opinion, not that he’s knowledgeable enough to give any real feedback. supportive he is, though, so when you need to hear ‘it’s so good!’ or ‘i love it!’ you know who to ask.

as the song ends, he sits with an eyebrow raised, “this is a different vibe than usual, yeah?”

you nod, “i’m in a mood, this is what came out of it.”

“i like it, sounds like music to fuck to. what mood are you in?” his smile turns mischievous, eyebrows wiggling, and your skin crawls.

you play it off with a laugh, “not that mood.” you guess it could be a sexy song, but the emotions behind it aren’t remotely close to having sex with your boyfriend. a sour feeling sits in your stomach.

“are you gonna stay for a while or can i steal you? it’s monday and i have class all day tomorrow, i want to get my ki time in before it gets too late,” he leans his head back against the chair, staring down at you.

“your place or mine?” you needed out of this building. you take your hard drive out of the system as he stares at you in surprise, he was not expecting that to actually work.

“mine?” disbelief is clear in his voice, and you want to laugh. if he only knew why you’d agreed so quickly, why you needed quality time with him. after spending hours driving yourself insane, creating art dedicated to a man you shouldn’t pay any attention to, you needed to replace the thoughts with jeongin. you just wish you felt a little remorse about it.

you pack up your backpack and sling it over your shoulders, ripping the door open with jeongin following closely behind. he links your fingers together, picking up his speed to walk alongside you. you make it halfway down the hall before you hear two pairs of footsteps get closer from around the corner, down one of the side hallways.

it feels like slow motion as you walk past the opening in the hallway, yours and jeongin’s heads turning to look at the same time, just for the pair of people to nearly intercept you at the turning point. they come to a halt to let you pass, and jeongin’s hand tugs at yours to bring you to a stop.

almost a full fourteen days without seeing his beautiful face and perfect body. tall and lean but muscular, a true sleeper build, with perfectly messy hair and a face chiseled by aphrodite herself. as your eyes drift and you take notice of the tiny blonde number by his side, you immediately feel sick to your stomach. you would involuntarily throw up from both anxiety and this random girl standing so close to him if you had ingested anything today.

you do your best to keep your cool. your voice does not waver as you say hello to him with a smile, jeongin doing the same. the men make small talk and your ears ring so loudly you couldn’t make out a single word of what they were saying. the blonde is smiling at you and you can’t bring yourself to smile back at her, fighting to keep all of your emotions below the surface.

it doesn’t make sense as to why this would remotely bother you. for starters, you have a boyfriend, but even if you didn’t, you two have only kissed once. flashbacks of your extensive conversation fill your mind, suddenly regretting your vulnerability. talking about your childhood, life back home versus in the city, why you got into music, your dreams for the future. why would you share such special thoughts with someone whom you have no space for in your life? somehow it made it worse that he shared those same things with you, if not more.

looking at the small, blonde and blue eyed, model-esque girl beside him, you wish you felt bad. you wish you could smile at her, get her name, maybe even make a new friend. she doesn’t deserve the cold glint in your eyes, you have no right to be wearing that look in the first place. all you could feel was the harsh pang of jealousy that was beginning to consume you, beckoning to show itself.

as you say goodbye his eyes meet yours, and for a split second you swear you can see the same depth of jealousy you wore beneath them. another thing the two of you have in common, you suppose. you faked the same smile as before and gave a small wave, turning on your heel to walk away. you didn’t know when yours and jeongin’s hands unlinked but you searched for it again, sliding your fingers between his.

“you okay?” he sweetly asks from beside you, and you pull your lips together in yet another fake smile. you nod quickly, squeezing his hand a bit tighter.

the fifteen minute walk back to his apartment was quick, you just listened as he rambled about his day, telling you all about his classes. you usually take everything in, ask him questions, learn more about his studies. you can relate a little bit sometimes, he was getting his masters in musical theatre writing. it didn’t overlap too much but you could learn anything from anywhere, so you typically listened actively. today, you were short circuiting, like you’ve been for the past two weeks.

when you finally got inside, the couches were filled with his three roommates and an extra few lounging as well. riley was seated next to chan with felix on the end of one couch, on the other was seungmin, han and minho. changbin was cozied up on the recliner, hyunjin sitting on the floor between his legs. you mentally prepared yourself for the hours to come, especially with riley there.

never in your over two years of friendship have you ever deliberately kept something from her, not that you ever possibly could until now. she’s been so wrapped up in whatever she has going on you weren’t up to date on her situation, you haven’t had the mental capacity to listen to her troubles let alone help her try to solve them. by the looks of it she seemed just fine cozied up next to chan, and that was enough for now.

“everyone’s favorite married couple! they’re home,” felix sings out into the spacious room, falsetto bouncing off the walls. you put on your best smile, waving to everyone.

“i can’t believe you’re here before 9 pm ki, i was starting to get nervous that our innie was your dirty little secret,” seungmin called from the couch, one side of his lips lifting into a smirk.

“i’d say 6 is too early for a situationship, dontcha think? don’t those usually happen later at night?” you ask, setting your backpack down on the kitchen table and your eyes shoot to riley, hoping chan doesn’t catch it. a small smile forms on her face in response and the smile alone puts you at ease.

“wouldn’t you love to know?” he asks rhetorically and you roll your eyes, you’d be panicking that he knew something if this wasn’t seungmin’s usual attitude. feisty, snarky, cocky, rich boy rude, every term in a thesaurus under ‘irritating’ would fit just fine.

“i’d say around one in the morning if you were looking to come over later, keeks,” hyunjin peeks his head around changbin’s knee, sending you a shit eating grin. this makes your smile genuine, and you can’t help but giggle.

“make sure you leave the door unlocked for me,” you wink at him as you make your way over to the living room.

“hey now,” jeongin calls as he follows behind you, “if ki’s going, i’m going, too.”

“the more the merrier, baby,” hyunjin shoots your boyfriend a classic smile, licking his lower lip. jeongin scowls, even though he should’ve expected that response from your friend with the most active sex life, despite being single.

“what are you guys up to?” you ask, looking around the room. you catch riley’s eye again, her head leaned back on chan’s shoulder. you both share a warm smile and you can feel the excitement shedding off of her, but something feels off about it. you make a mental note to make time for her.

“we were watching hairspray,” han answers, holding up the remote with a smile.

han, your favorite one out of the group other than hyunjin, the only one you’ve actually shared a couple classes with. he’s getting his bachelors in songwriting, maybe staying for a masters in music theory and composition, you weren’t sure. you don’t even think he was sure.

“5 pm on a monday and you’re watching hairspray? none of you bitches have class?” you lift an eyebrow, scanning the room. everyone but changbin shakes their head no, amusement clear on every single face in the room.

changbin doesn’t attend school in the first place, him and hyunjin live a couple streets down in their shared apartment. the pair work at an upscale hotel bar around the corner from their place, both have been working their asses off since they graduated high school. changbin dj’s as well at various different bars and clubs, a fun hobby turned side hustle. hyunjin is still in school, a senior with an art degree, his lifelong hobby became his career. at least once he graduates it will be.

“well press play, they’re about to do new girl in town!” you sit on the floor in front of seungmin and han, jeongin taking the space right beside you. you stretch your legs over his lap and he immediately starts running his fingers over the tattoos on your shins, knowing them by heart.

the rest of the movie was spent singing along, han or changbin cracking jokes, or riley, felix and chan either praising or picking apart some part of the performance. with the three drama majors in the room, all of you as a group could never watch a movie in silence or in peace, especially a musical. it didn’t matter to you though, you loved it, you welcomed it. you loved this group of people, so many different personalities that worked scarily well together, blended into one big group. as much as you wanted to bask in this feeling of appreciating them, that tiny voice in the back of your head reminded you that you’d lose everything if they found out what you did.

“wanna watch another one? we could watch grease,” felix offers with his eyebrows raised, eyes shining with excitement. you involuntarily yawned, leaning your head back onto han’s leg.

“we have work soon, we should head out,” changbin says from the recliner, using his hands to brace himself as he gets up, careful not to bump hyunjin with his knees.

“boo,” minho calls from behind you, and like a domino effect, everyone joins in with disapproval.

they both smile, hyunjin swiftly standing up from the floor, “i’m sorry! money calls and i answer.”

this only makes the rest of you jeer louder, now even putting some thumbs down in the air. they give you guys waves and goodbyes as they leave, leaving the recliner seat open. you and jeongin quickly look to one another before smiling, knowing you both thought the same thing at the same time. he hops up to sit on the cozy chair, spreading his legs so you could sit comfortably on his lap. you pulled the blanket hyunjin had on the floor over the two of you, bringing your feet up to lay across jeongin’s legs as he reclined the chair back.

“ki, did you apply for an internship? jeongin was telling us something like that,” chan asks, and you notice that riley’s legs that were once in front of her are now swung over chan’s thigh.

“yeah! i decided to apply a little earlier than usual, but last week i met with the internship supervisor and applied to atlantic, republic, epic, and RCA,” you counted on your fingers, making sure you didn’t forget any.

“oh shit, you applied to atlantic? that’s huge, dude,” han smiles wide, “i hope you get it!”

“they’re the number one record label in the city, aren’t they?” seungmin asks, an eyebrow raised.

“yeah, they have insane artists signed. cardi b, lizzo, don toliver, charlie puth, bruno mars, i could go on for awhile,” you sigh, “i’m shooting for republic, but the chances of getting into republic are even more slim than atlantic. don’t get your hopes up.”

“don’t be pessimistic you ass, you could very easily get accepted. don’t those two douchebags from the party a couple weeks ago intern at republic? if they got in you totally can,” minho declares while readjusting himself on the couch cushion, letting his hand rest on han’s thigh.

minho is one of the quietest ones in the group, yet when he has something to say, he says it with his chest. he is opinionated and funny about it, but one of the kindest and gentlest people you’ve met at NYU.

the diss on mingi makes the urge to defend him sit at the tip of your tongue, instead you lay your hands out on the blanket and let out a small chuckle, “republic has the weeknd, ariana grande, daniel caesar, post malone, lil wayne, greta van fleet… you can see the appeal and why it’s so prestigious.”

“you’re so talented i don’t see how you wouldn’t get it,” jeongin says from under you and you giggle, kissing the side of his head.

“thank you, but it’s a fight, y’know? hundreds, probably thousands of people are trying to get employed there, let alone intern,” you shrug.

“yeah, but we go to NYU,” riley adds, and the entire room agrees, shrugging and nodding in a ‘she has a point’ kind of way. you nod with a small smile, choosing not to explain further, they just didn’t get it.

you guys did end up watching grease, singing your hearts out and reflecting on how musicals and films in general have changed from the 80s until now. when you put a bunch of creative students in a room, especially when their studies mostly revolve around music, dance and theatre, this topic of conversation is common. it’s comforting, being in a room full of people who understand your mind for the most part, even if the only person in the room with your major is yourself.

way past the time you had all eaten dinner and watched a few episodes of whatever seungmin had on the tv, you and jeongin had decided to wash up and go to sleep. he did have classes all day tomorrow when you only had 1, you didn’t want to keep him up any later than he needed to be. you didn’t know if you’d even be able to sleep.

riley headed home hours ago, han and minho went back to their shared apartment right before dinner. without everyone here, the place felt entirely too big, quiet, and empty. seungmin and felix were both quiet around when they moved about the apartment, which always made you nervous when you first started to stay the night here, especially when jeongin told you chan has insomnia. the place is huge, making sounds echo through the whole apartment, but that’s something you care less and less about as time goes on. two years later and they feel just as much as your roommates as they are jeongin’s.

your shared shower was quick and innocent for the most part, as they usually are, washing each other’s hair and shared kisses and small, intimate touches all over. you pulled one of jeongin’s tees over your body, the size of it swallowing you, and continued to squeeze the water out of your hair with a towel. jeongin sat on the bed facing you, shirtless, with a pair of baggy pajama pants covering his lower half.

“you know i love you, right?” he asks, looking up at you, wet hair laying flat from the weight of the water, framing his face. he scrunched out most of the moisture, his copper locks curling up more as it starts to dry.

you paused your movements, looking at him, seeing his vulnerable truth laid out across his face. “of course i do, baby, and i love you too.” you dropped the towel, moving to stand in front of him, putting your hands in his hair.

you massaged his scalp and his eyes fluttered shut, leaning his forehead against your stomach, “no, ki, like i really love you. ‘m always thinking about you, dreaming of our life together after we graduate.”

you shuddered, taking in a breath, feeling a tightness in your chest. tears welled up in your eyes and you looked to the ceiling, praying they wouldn’t fall.

“i don’t wanna freak you out or anything, i won’t say anything else, just want you to know that. can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

with that, the tears fall, you couldn’t help it at that point. for the first time in two weeks, guilt has shown itself, and it’s choosing to stick to you. you quickly wipe your eyes, looking down to him, and he peeks up at you, resting his chin on your stomach instead.

“no, baby, why are you crying?” he asks as his arms move to the backs of your thighs, pulling you towards his lap. you crawl onto his lap, straddling him, and lay your head on his shoulder.

“i love you too jeong, i’m sorry i’m so busy and so tired all the time. you don’t deserve it, i’m so sorry,” you’re apologizing for the wrong thing and you know it, but you can’t bear to say the truth. the tears kept falling and you break into a sob, uncontrollably gushing onto his shoulder.

“ki, baby, i didn’t mean to make you cry, i’m sorry,” he lifts your head, wiping your tears, “i just wanted to remind you how much i love you, that’s all, please don’t cry.”

he leans forward and attaches your lips to stifle your cries, hands cupping your cheeks. your sobs halt after a few minutes, you could taste the saltiness of your tears sliding into the kiss as you melt into him, into this familiar feeling he gives you. the feeling of being home, the same feeling the starless sky of new york gives you, that nostalgic comfort that is so different yet so inviting. it’s been so long since you’ve paid attention to this peace within jeongin, since you’ve allowed yourself to let him remind you why you fell in love in the first place.

you couldn’t believe yourself, couldn’t comprehend why you did what you did when you have this perfect, beautiful man under you. the man you want to live in a penthouse with in the middle of the city, the one you want to put a ring around your finger. in that exact moment, you took all of your thoughts and feelings about mingi and locked them in a box, pushing them to the deepest pit in your brain possible and then pushed farther. you’d never look at him, think of him, dream of him, acknowledge his existence again if that meant you could make the man under you happy for the rest of your lives.

with that thought your kisses turned eager, filled with the motive of desperation, wanting to prove to him that your thoughts rang true. you wanted him to feel your love, feel your rekindled desire for him through your touch. and like always, he understood you immediately, without knowing the real reason why. your tongues danced, exploring each other’s mouths like this was the first time they’d ever been introduced. he pushed his hands into your hair, pulling it slightly, making a gasp slip past your lips. his legs spread ever so slightly, making you sink a bit further into his lap, feeling him pressed up against your unclothed core.

you ground your hips against his, eliciting a deep groan from the back of his throat right into your mouth. you swallowed it, taking your time moving your hands from his shoulders down to his chest to his abdomen, feeling every bump and curve of muscle like you’d never touched him before today. you pushed him back, down onto the bed and lifted yourself off of his lap, needing to taste him, needing him to feel as important as he made you feel all the time. you dropped to your knees on the floor and he sat up on his elbows to watch you. his usual happy, bright pupils were blown, clouded over with lust. he needed this just as much as you did.

marked fingers slipped inside the waistband of his pants, mouth watering before he was even exposed. as his pants made it to his ankles you wasted no time, licking a stripe up his shaft and spitting directly onto the tip of him. your hands made quick work, pumping him, and the sounds that left his lips were lethal.

“fuck,” a long and languid groan escaped his lips, only pushing you to elicit more out of him. you wrapped your lips around him, your hands and mouth working as one, using more than enough spit. just how he likes it, and you know he likes it messy.

he sat up more, his hand finding your hair, fingers burying themselves in your roots with fervor. you could see his core tense up, muscles more chiseled than they were when he sat relaxed, and his head rocked back. you were choking on it now, your gag reflex had clocked in, throat constricting around the length of him. “just like that baby, fuck you look so pretty wrapped around me.”

you loved it when he treated you like that, used you instead of having a care in the world for your comfort. you wanted it to be all about him, you wanted him to do as he pleased, not to worry about how you felt. you didn’t deserve it. as your nose touched his pelvis, his hips bucked into your throat and he whined. he sounded so beautiful, so angelic yet so dirty. with the last jerk of his hips he’d twitched in your mouth, emptying himself directly down your throat. you popped off of him with a gasp, catching your breath, smiling up at him and licking your lips.

“c’mere,” he mumbled as he picked you up off the floor, strong arms flipping you onto your back on his navy blue comforter. he cages you beneath him, kissing you even messier than before, his tongue no doubt tasting himself all over yours. his hand made its way between your legs, spreading your slick before slipping two fingers in. your back arched, pushing you up into his chest, strangled moans leaving your lips.

“need you,” you mumbled between kisses, hand finding it’s way between his legs again, making him hiss in overstimulation.

“not yet, wan’ taste you first,” he mumbled back and you wanted to complain until you were pushed up the bed. before you could process, his tongue was already licking a stripe up your center, any complaint you could’ve came up with was long gone. you immediately twitched, your hips bucking into him, making him smile into your core. he always ate like a man starved and he always finished his meals, two habits that didn’t waiver especially when it came to you.

his fingers slipped back inside, curling up to hit that one spot that always had you seeing stars. you begged him, chants of right there and don’t stop between other mumbles of things that didn’t make sense. it didn’t take long for you to finish around his fingers. he stayed rhythmic, lips wrapped around your clit in constant suction until you rode out your high, too much pleasure forcing you to arch your back to shift your hips away from him.

“please, jeongin,” was all you could get out, you needed him inside. you needed the closeness, the connection, the skin on skin contact. he pulled his shirt over your head, mouth immediately attaching to a peaked nipple, making you arch into him again to feel his bare body pressed against yours. a dramatic whine leaves your throat, you were far gone, miles past impatient.

he pushes you up by the backs of your knees, finally slipping inside, making the two of you moan in unison.

“fuck, i love you so much,” he groans, pausing at the hilt to let you adjust. the raw emotion bleeding from his skin into yours, the two of you moving perfectly in sync, you’d never had sex like this before. in your two years of being together, it’d never been so powerful, so passionate. you couldn’t help the tears that began to slip out again, they came without a warning and they wouldn’t stop. he kissed them away, cradling your head in his hands as he pushed into you steadily.

“i love you,” you choked out between thrusts, repeating it like a spell, hands reaching for anything they could grab. his broad shoulders, solid biceps, chiseled jaw, perfect curls… you wanted to feel all of him.

his speed picked up, hands moving to lift up your hips to bully that special spot again, the volume of the both of you growing louder. “god, you’re so perfect, made f’me,” his words are instinctive, staring down at where the two of you joined. there wasn’t a single thought behind his stare, just a primal gleam to his dark, rich, fox like eyes.

you grabbed his face, making him look at you, craving the intimacy of eye contact as tears poured down your cheeks and that familiar feeling in your stomach tightened, “inside, jeongin, please baby. inside, want it inside.”

you yelp as the coil snaps, no doubt heard throughout the whole apartment as you finish around him, core pulsing as his thrusts become erratic. “needed this, need you, love you so fucking much,” his words are still detached, mindless as he buries himself inside you, letting out the most pornographic moan, unloading himself inside. you felt warm, full, entirely complete as he catches his breath, leaning the full weight of himself on top of you.

your hands go to his hair, scratching his scalp with your nails, making him shudder. you can feel him still pulsing inside, eliciting small noises out of you. “wanna stay like this,” you mumble, voice low. his face, buried in your neck, leaves small kisses along the side.

“can’t,” he’s barely audible between kisses, “that was so good. so perfect.”

you hum in agreement, feeling your tears pool at the base of your neck, moving your hand to lightly scratch his back, “love you, innie.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you were sitting in the middle of prince, yunho and wooyoung beside you when you received the email. with a mouth full of beer, you couldn’t believe what was displayed across your screen, beer nearly shooting out from between your lips. you swallowed with a loud cough, dropping your phone onto the table, covering your mouth as your cough progressed into a fit of several. as you loudly choked on your beer, wooyoung lifted up your phone, reading the screen.

mumbling, he read, “we are happy to inform you that after careful consideration,” his voice gradually got louder and clearer, “we have selected you to join republic records as an A&R intern for the spring term?!”

he looked at you, eyes wide with disbelief, “shut the actual fuck up!”

yunho quickly stands and wraps his arms around you, wooyoung following suit, both jumping up and down, congratulating you a hundred times in the time span of 30 seconds.

“holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, dude, i can’t believe you got in! this is fucking awesome!” wooyoung is yelling, clapping his hands in excitement.

“i’m so proud of you ki, this is such an achievement. this is perfect,” yunho’s smile is warm, his voice a lot calmer than wooyoung’s, “we should celebrate.”

you sat there, jaw still on the floor, staring at the both of them in utter shock as they stood before you expectantly. you quickly picked up your phone, running a hand through your hair, reading the email again.

“what the fuck is A&R?” you mumble, then look up two your 2 friends, “what the fuck is A&R?!”

“girl, how the fuck should we know? read the email!” wooyoung yells, bringing his beer to his lips again, taking his seat back on the stool.

you scroll down, “it stands for artists and repertoire. your role will involve assisting the team in scouting new talent, attending live shows, reviewing demo submissions,” you take a deep breath, pausing to to look up at the two who are staring back at you with focused faces, “you may also assist in coordinating recording sessions and compiling reports on industry trends.”

yunho gasps, “holy shit, keeks, that’s a huge responsibility.”

your hand slaps over your mouth, not knowing how to answer. your eyes go back down to the email, skimming the words on the screen, “i’m supposed to start in january, but they’re letting me start in november.”

“that’s good! that’s soon!” wooyoung’s hands go up, that wide smile still on his face.

“do you think you’ll be in the studio at all? i feel like nothing on that list puts you behind the desk,” yunho lifts a brow, and you want to kiss him for thinking of your best interest. “mingi’s in the studio almost every time he’s there, but he’s more like an assistant to the producer he’s with that day. he told me hongjoong is closer to a producer than an intern.”

the mention of mingi makes you cringe, but you’re at the point where even your internal reaction is significantly less than it would’ve been weeks ago. you’re almost at the point where it feels like nothing happened.

you shrug, “they know what i’m studying, maybe where they put me is the position they need assistance with right now. a foot in the door is a foot in the door.”

“and that’s exactly the attitude you should have,” wooyoung nods proudly, “my ki, my sweet, innocent angel from bumblefuck nowhere, working at republic records. you should call your mom.”

you make a face, upper lip twitching in discomfort, that is on the bottom of the list of things you want to do right now. you want to call jeongin, tell your whole group of friends, throw a party and dance away the adrenaline that's shooting through your veins.

the thought of seeing mingi at republic crosses your mind, making your heart beat a bit faster against your chest. republic records is a huge building, if you’re lucky, you won’t have to see him at all. your lives will be entirely separate and you can continue doing what you’ve been doing, pretending he’s an acquaintance whom you know nothing about.

“we really should celebrate, though,” yunho interrupts your thoughts, “what are you guys doing tomorrow night? i heard there’s a really fun club in brooklyn.”

your and wooyoungs’ necks both snap at that, looking at yunho in disbelief. for him to want to go anywhere other than prince is unexpected, he loves it here, this has been his spot since he discovered it.

“you? a club?” wooyoung raises an eyebrow, “since when do you and clubs get along?”

“ivy’s friend from work told her about it,” yunho blinks, “this is a huge deal, what better excuse to check it out? i’ll get us a table and everything.”

you shrug your shoulders, “i’m down, why the hell not?”

you pick up your phone again, rereading the email. with it already being early october, you only have a couple of weeks to get your life in order before you start. you try to find excuses for why you’d start early, you didn’t know if record labels had busy seasons, or if holiday season would be one of them.

the next night came quickly with you sleeping in for most of your saturday, the numerous celebratory shots bought for you last night doing nothing to make your morning somewhat productive. you needed to call your internship counselor, email the record label back, fill out paperwork, get yourself organized to actually start.

instead you woke up four hours before your friends were coming over for the pregame, jeongin shirtless and still sound asleep next to you. you pulled your comforter down and kissed up his spine, soft pecks to coerce him into opening his eyes.

he groaned when you got halfway up his back, a soft but deep sound transferring from his chest to the pillow under his head.

“we only have four hours,” you mumbled between kisses, “get coffee and breakfast with me.”

“four hours is more than enough,” he moaned, “stop kissing me or we’re gonna have no time.”

you chuckled at that and swung your leg over his, straddling the backs of his legs. you smacked his butt playfully and he made a noise of annoyance, “get off of me, breadwinner, i have to go cook and clean.”

you laughed louder, leaning over to lay on top of his back, forcing your arms under his chest. he made too many jokes last night about how you were getting into your career so fast while he’d still be in school for another 3 years, making you the primary earner in your relationship.

ever since that specific night you spent with jeongin a week ago, you’ve felt like you just started dating again. your relationship was rejuvenated, both of you feeling like you couldn’t get enough of one another. both of you noticed a difference but neither of you wanted to bring it up, scared it would stop the second wind of a honeymoon phase you were in.

“get up, we have to go,” you said into his hair after putting your head directly beside his on the pillow, “no time to waste, it’s literally 4 pm.”

“4?” he asked in disbelief, his voice a bit louder. he clearly didn’t process when you’d said it a minute earlier, brain still fogged over from sleep, “i haven’t slept this late since i was in high school.”

you climbed off of him and left your bedroom, riley crossing the hallway from the bathroom to her bedroom. she looked you up and down before a laugh escapes her, eyes focusing on your hair.

“did you just wake up?” she asked through her laugh, pausing in her steps. you nodded with your lips sealed tight. jeongin came up behind you, a yawn leaving his lips, and she laughed even harder.

“i think we spent our friday nights very differently,” she leaned against the doorway to the bathroom, “i’m sorry i can’t come tonight, chan really wants to take me to this pop up art exhibit in queens, he’s been talking about it for days.”

“no biggie, you were there last night. we’re going to a club anyways, neither of you would enjoy it,” you swung your hand in a don’t worry about it movement, leaning your back into jeongin’s chest. his arms secured themselves around your torso, sitting his head on top of yours.

“you guys are gross!” she yelled at the display of affection, turning around to go back to her room quicker than she was before. you rolled your eyes and went into the bathroom to shower, jeongin’s arms still tightly wrapped around you.

with only four hours to get ready, you stopped to get coffee and something to put in your stomach before heading back home. you hadn’t been to a club in awhile and the small part of your closet dedicated to clubbing outfits reflected that. you chose your shortest, skimpiest dress and a pair of boots, accessorized with all of your favorite jewelry. you wrapped your hair up in a quick updo, knowing even though there’s a slight chill to the city air at night, you’d be sweating in the club if you kept your hair down. your makeup was messy and dark, more sultry than you typically did it. you felt good, great even, you were ready to go out to celebrate yourself.

jeongin was the first to get to your apartment, only running home to change, and he looked delicious. you adored him in all black, it was your favorite color on him, especially when he had his arms visible. with a tank top on, silver chain and baggy jeans, you wanted to undress him in the small entryway. if someone else didn’t show up within minutes you weren’t sure if you’d make it to the club at all.

“we don’t have enough time, stop looking at me like that, pervert,” he pointed a finger at you, reading your mind.

“i’m here!” yunho entered right after, and you looked back to jeongin with a pout. he mouthed i told you and you ripped your focus from him to yunho, who walked into the entryway with ivy right behind him. “i brought don julio and sour mix!”

“you know me so well, jeong yunho.”

an hour later there were six of you in your cramped kitchen, you’d taken far too many shots for a pregame. you were feeling the liquor, tequila always made you talkative, in combination with the reason for going out you were nearly bouncing off the walls of your apartment. when wooyung entered your apartment with san beside him, you were grateful riley had left the apartment when she did. you’d told wooyoung that riley wasn’t going tonight, but you definitely didn’t take into consideration everyone meeting up here beforehand nor did you think of the state san would be in.

you’d never seen him so… miserable. bags under his eyes, a slouch in his posture, he looked utterly defeated. you’d heard riley arguing with him over the phone plenty of times the past couple of weeks, which you assumed was because she ended things with him. you still hadn’t talked to her about it, you put all the context clues together enough to make out your own version of the story. seeing him so sad only confirmed what you’ve been thinking, if riley was here you’re sure that’d only make him feel worse.

you all hopped in an uber together, heading to the club no earlier than 9:30. with almost an hour drive ahead of you, you made wooyoung connect his phone to the speakers, at least listening to good music on the way there to keep your energy up. by the time you got there your already buzzed mind had lessened a bit, which only left room for more shots.

yunho wasn’t lying when he said he’d set everything up. you got in with ease and an entire section was waiting for the six of you, the lights were dim save for the strobe lights covering every inch of the dance floor, leaving your table in the dark. a navy blue booth wrapped around the black table, which was covered with buckets of ice, bottles of liquor, and mixers that were brought over by bottle service. that was new to you, something you’d never experienced before, cheers surrounding your table with a huge sign that read ‘congratulations ki!’

as much as you were embarrassed from so much attention on you, you were overwhelmed with gratitude towards your friends for the gesture. tonight was already so good, so special, you wondered why you didn’t go clubbing more often.

“we didn’t get sour mix, how about a vodka soda?” jeongin asked from beside you, already holding the bottle of vodka in his left hand and the pitcher of club soda in his right. your face scrunched up but you nodded anyway, knowing the simple drink would get the job done.

bass pounded through your blood, the loud music heard in your entire body. you all began mixing drinks, pouring shots, dancing along to the music around the table. after an hour's drive you desperately had to pee, you excused yourself and immediately began your hunt for the restroom.

you passed the bar and yunho caught your eye, your eyebrow popped up in question as he leaned over the bar, face oddly close to the bartender. you recognized her, she was just at your table, delivering the drinks, and the gaze she kept on yunho the whole time was starting to make sense. you decided to leave it, putting the picture in your back pocket, and continued your search for the bathroom.

when you got back jeongin handed you the drink he mixed for you, and your face scrunched up in disgust. on top of it not being your favorite thing to drink, he made it entirely too strong.

“you will never be a bartender, ayen,” you stuck your tongue out, letting the first sip run its course through you. you felt the heat from the liquor run down your throat and sit in your stomach before it settled, allowing you to take another sip.

“i even tried it, i didn’t think it was that bad,” jeongin counters, shrugging.

“too strong?” san asked from the couch, “lemme try it.”

you handed your drink to him from across the table, and he took a sip through your straw. he let out a loud woo! that you knew meant it was too strong and you laughed, the bartender himself backing up your claim. he took a big swig of it and picked up the pitcher of cranberry juice, filling your glass back up to the top then handed it back to you. you gave it a good mix with your straw before trying it, the taste 10 times better than it was before.

“much better, feel like i should tip you for that,” you smiled and he let out a small chuckle, you wanted to pat yourself on the back for getting miserable san to smile. wooyoung was already somewhere on the dance floor and you let your gaze turn to the crowd in search of him, now feeling your buzz pick back up, you wanted to join him.

“gonna go find wooyoung, join me,” you leaned down to jeongin who was sitting on the end of the booth and pecked him quickly, grabbing his hand to pull him towards the dance floor.

you kept your hands linked as you began your search, pushing through the crowd, looking for the flopping mess of dark hair that was no doubt already dancing with someone. wooyoung was on the same level as you, if not more intoxicated, he took every shot with you before you had left the house.

you finally found him in the middle of the crowd, a girl with dark hair pressed to his front, a tall guy with blonde hair whose hands were glued to his hips behind him. you smiled, this was wooyoung in his element, a sight you always loved to see. wooyoung was the prime example you had of being yourself and doing as you pleased, fuck what anyone else thought. it’s why you kept him so close to you, he wasn’t just your biggest supporter but he pried you out of your small town shell with ease.

you yelled to him over the music to steal his attention and he grabbed your hand over the girl in front of him. jeongin kept himself close to you, his hands on your own hips mimicking those on wooyoung’s. his eyes were glazed over, already in his element, drunk and clearly horny. you laughed, dancing along to the music with the four surrounding you.

you switched partners a few times, jeongin did too, which took you by surprise. whenever he drank he always kept it to a minimum, never letting his walls fully come down, always cautious of what’s surrounding him. as you saw him dancing with the girl with the dark hair you knew he was feeling the liquor, going along with whatever was presented to him. unlike him, you did get jealous, keeping an eye on her arms that hung over his shoulders. there was space between their bodies, the opposite of how you were pressed between wooyoung and the blonde.

“hello?” wooyoung said in your ear in shock, which was his language for what the hell is going on? wooyoung was used to you being flirty with him when you drank, how sometimes you’d use it to your advantage to get on jeongin’s nerves. what he’d never seen before is jeongin do it to you.

you shrugged and finished off your drink, keeping your empty glass close to you as you kept dancing, turning every few minutes to face either wooyoung or the blonde. jeongin stayed in your peripherals, his dancing was still innocent, you could read the impish look on his face as he kept his focus on you, knowing exactly what was running through your mind.

his arm reached out for you and you grabbed it immediately, letting him pull you towards him, pressing his lips to yours harshly. he could feel the jealousy radiating through your body as his hands went to your lower back, your arms swung over his shoulders exactly how the girl’s were moments prior.

“is my baby jealous?” he pulled away from your lips, pressing his lips to your ear so you could hear him clearly. your bodies swayed, his leg in the middle of yours, grinding yourselves against one another to the beat of the song.

“not even a little bit,” you huffed out the lie, your voice labored with need as his knee pressed between your legs.

“not fun when it’s done to you, huh? thought you’d get me all worked up dancing with wooyoung?” his voice was deeper, sounding like velvet so close to your ear, “got you worked up instead.”

you grabbed his jaw and made him face you, kissing him instead. your bodies came to a still as the music pounded from his body into yours, just focused on each other and the taste of each other’s mouths. you didn’t care that you were in public, didn’t care that you were surrounded by so many people, you needed him now.

“come get a drink with me!” wooyoung yelled, pulling the two of you out of your bubble, “stop fucking on the dance floor, it’s gross.”

“you’re one to talk,” jeongin replies with a smirk, eyes glancing over to the blonde he was just kissing a moment ago.

“save me, he’s a bad kisser,” wooyoung said quieter so only you and jeongin could hear, a specific volume with the music still blasting in your ears.

you and jeongin both laughed, following him back through the crowd and over to the table. it was quieter at the table, your skin still vibrated with the rush from the dance floor, somehow you felt more drunk as the area felt calmer. you refilled your drink the way san had mixed it then made the same for jeongin who’s head was somewhere else, too.

“let’s take more shots,” wooyoung suggested, not giving anyone time to answer as he set up six shot glasses. san waved it off, not wanting one, and the rest of you stood around the table to take them.

“where’s riley? i totally thought she’d be here,” ivy asked you after she took the shot back, sitting back down on the cushioned booth. you sat on the end, jeongin stood next to the booth.

“she has a date with chan tonight,” you replied with a smirk, your words slurring, you picked up your glass to take a sip through the straw.

“chan? i didn’t know they were seeing each other,” ivy’s eyebrows furrow and excitement floods through you, remembering how long it took to actually get them together.

“finally, i’ve been trying to get them together for years! i’m so excited it’s finally happening,” you settled into the booth next to her, getting comfortable on the couch.

“years? why the hell did it take so long?” ivy moved her perfectly curled hair behind her ear to hear you better, zoned in on the conversation. as she batted her long eyelashes you couldn’t help but think how lucky yunho is to have her, she’s gorgeous.

you got into the story, telling ivy from start to finish how riley and chan finally got together, the alcohol helping you to not spare a single detail. jeongin interrupted you and you waved him off, too immersed in your conversation with ivy for whatever he had to say, he would have to wait.

“who?” you heard san’s voice and your blood ran cold, you totally forgot he was here. you could’ve been a little quieter, you didn’t have to air out riley’s business with her ex situationship right there. embarrassment floods through you, your cheeks heating up.

“san, i-”

“who are you talking about, ki? who’s been seeing chan for the past two weeks?” he was sitting straight up, shoulders back, and it made you slump. you wanted to crawl inside your skin and never come out. jeongin stood closer to you at hearing san’s tone and the chill within it, he didn’t like it one bit.

“i think you already know who, san,” you took a breath, “i didn’t realize you didn’t know?” your brain was doing somersaults, you’d been hearing them argue for the past two weeks but you assumed it was because she broke things off with him. the uneasiness that consumed him, the glint in his eyes told you he really didn’t know about anything you were talking about, he had no idea riley was seeing chan.

it’s not like riley and san dated, riley and chan weren’t dating either, you assumed. they were just seeing one another … which is more than what you thought riley and san were doing. at the end of the day, riley was still single, free to see whoever she wants.

wooyoung who was standing behind san bent down to his ear level with a hand on his shoulder, saying things you couldn’t hear. tension laid over the table like a blanket, and you felt microscopic. you were embarrassed, regretful, and fucking drunk.

as san took a swig from the bottle of whiskey, you could see his entire demeanor change. the misery he’d been sporting since he walked through your apartment door was replaced with darkness, some sort of menacing fire as his eyes tore through the crowd. ivy was shifting uncomfortably next to you, eyes glancing up to yunho, not knowing what to do in this situation either.

san stood, taking another swig of the bottle, and wooyoung had a satisfied smirk on his face, still stood behind the barrier of the booth. he patted him on the shoulder over the gap, then made his way over to the table, ushering san to join him. as they left for the dance floor you glanced up to jeongin, eyes wide.

“what the hell did i just do?” you asked him, still stiff in your seat.

jeongin shrugged, “he seems fine now. i’m sure you’ll find out from ri later, don’t let it get to you, let’s go dance.”

you stood, flattening out your dress, beckoning your buzz to return on a more positive note.

“i think we’re gonna head out,” yunho said from the booth, adorning an apologetic smile.

you pouted, “yunho! it's too early!”

“i can only take clubs for so long, you know that,” he waved his hand, “i already took care of the bill, my treat.”

you gasped, “yun-”

“don’t say a word, i love you, kid,” he stood, him and ivy ushering themselves out of the booth, “congratulations ki, you really deserve it.”

he envelops you in a hug, planting a kiss on your head and you physically melt into his hug, tears quickly coming to your lash line. you will them away as you look up to your tallest friend, “love you too, yun, thank you so much.”

you hug ivy and they both say goodbye to jeongin, leaving the two of you on your own. you glance at each other, both wearing blank expressions, before you crack smiles at the same time.

“should we take another shot?”

34 notes · View notes

vinjinssunglasses · 20 hours ago

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♯┆summary; With the mention of a rebellion against your lover and a third party mysteriously arising in the midst of a war, Haruto’s home life.. All piling upon themselves, worry after worry. The last thing you want is bloodshed.

♯┆ tags; established relationship, implied child abuse/neglect, canon divergence,

♯┆ w/c; 3.8k

♯┆ a/n; plot-heavy, somi park training arc 😭 help im so tired

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That night you rested in his loving arms, his hair draping over your body. No matter how gentle he were, singing you sweet lullabies when he realised you were still awake, your body simply refused all efforts to relax.

Stress has taken over your mind, and it’s as if your not the one in charge if your body. Has anything even changed? Everything you did seemed futile. Whats the point of even trying anymore?

Your turned your body more into his warm chest, and tried to forget everything. Clear all these useless thoughts, push them to the back of your head and finally let your mind relax. They crawled from the pit you banished them to and caused trouble as if to taunt you.

What did Shintaro mean that day? Rebellion. Shingen, pronounced dead? There’s a reason why he’s the leader, have they all forgotten? Deep down you know he will remain undefeated, yet the thought of him paralysed on the floor, crimson blood pouring out of his body gnaws at you. What would his last words be? Why, what, when, who — is it just impossible for you to rest easy?

Shouldn’t you tell Shingen? Sitting up, his hand draped from your waist to your thighs, and he wearily blinked awake.

“What’s the matter? Can’t sleep again?” Shingen muttered, half-asleep.

“Yeah. I’m going to go get some fresh air and a drink. You go back to sleep, alright baby?” You placed a kiss upon his forehead, and he rested against the pillow once more, taking your word.

The cold breeze of the night calmed you only a little as you walked towards the kitchen. Stars and moon alike, you watched as they formed detailed constellations upon the sky — one of a knife and a moon. That reminded you: Shingen would always call you his star, and you’d call him your moon. His favourite inanimate thing was the moon, shining brightly at night and disappearing by day. He’d say it’s represent him as youth, however not going to deeply into it. Shingen’s expression whenever it came up in conversation were.. unusually troubled. As if it haunted him and had to shut it out for years, just for it to reappear when he least expects it.

It made you wonder what happened, who made him this way? If anything, you wanted to seek revenge, and yet you couldn’t.

Rules must’ve stopped him from falling in love with you in the first place, just like how rules are stopping you now. If it wasn’t so frowned upon, you would’ve taken uo marital arts and higher education. Being born into this life stopped you from being you, stripping you from your talents to being in a uniform, dystopian society called impossible expectations that we name as the ideal life for women and those alike. Same with Gun, your only son, becoming a slave to this system.

Letting out a sigh you didn’t realise you were holding in, you carefully slided open the door, revealing the room you were so used to seeing. Leaning against the counter, taking steady small sips while sneakily opening a tablet of sleeping pills, you could only hold your head in your hand. You’d be damned if anyone realised you snuck in pills like these, yet you needed them. You hated the fact you needed them. Each time you swallowed it down your throat, it only reminded you how you were so dependent on this clan. Having your families reputation boosted this way was the only way to recover it in the first place, realising how much they’ve messed up everything.

You cursed under your breath, and a headache came upon you. It must be from all these unwanted thoughts reappearing.

“I see you’re up late.“ A familiar voice echoed in your ears and you turned to look at the tall figure, Shintaro. Worst timing. You were only wearing a small nightgown, you were dressed too informally to be met with someone of upmost authority. Undeserved authority. Rules were the only thing he cared about. Setting aside his own emotions and others morals, he made sure everyone fit into this idolised society. Its was as if it were our fault we were born and raised into this life. The way he re-enforced these problematic beliefs were like it were law, despite not abiding to the real law in the first place, resorting to violence when and whenever he pleased. His manipulative tactics made it seem as if he were a befitting leader for the clan, drawing everyone in with the whip of his fan and his smooth tone of voice. Shintaro’s undeniably astounding looks have him the upper hand, even the other ladies from other clans chattered amongst themselves when they found out weren’t married yet, flirting with him whenever the opportunity arises. As they say, ‘you should marry into power and wealth.’

It wouldn’t be wrong to say they gained and admired Shintaro more than Shingen’s leadership. Shingen may be blinded at times, yet he had the brain capacity to understand complex situations and arise new rules and regulations when change were necessary. He weighed the benefits for the people, always upholding them as first in his mind, as they were to live peacefully under his guidance. On the other hand, Shintaro twisted the rules to fit his own narrative, manipulating them as to seem Shingen made it this way, to seem as it were his fault the Yamazaki were so divided. You didn’t trust him and avoided all communication and conflict, as he’ll make them turn from you too. It was no use anyway — they already wanted your head on a pitchfork.

“Yes. My apologies for any disturbance I’ve caused, I’ll go back to my room—“

“Wait.” Shintaro started, taking slow steps towards, gazing down upon your avoidant one. The moonlight cast shadows over the room, completely still, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Every ounce of your being anticipates his next move, and your breathing stopped.

“Why won’t you rebel? Can’t you see we’re all unhappy under his rule?” His hand lifted to rest upon your shoulder, the force crushing your collarbone just enough not to break it. The knife was sitting there in its rack, and it felt as if it were staring at you, begging to picked up. If this were to go on, he may as well break your shoulder.

In one swift motion, you ripped the knife out of its rack, its sharp end reaching his lips, glistening in the moons radiance.

“Didn’t you hear me the first time? Unless you want your head splattered on this floor for me to clean up, I don’t want to hear another word.” Stern, serious and strict. Underneath this facade, you were shaking. Knife trembling in your fingers, you upheld your scrutinising gaze, watching as his hand fell to his sides. Shintaro didn’t want to admit that he saw Shingen in your eyes, the same look he gave him that day. The same strength that beat him once before was in you. It dawned upon him that you may have the ability to become as strong as Shingen one day, however that was only a meaningless hunch. Someone like you is simply just a joke.

“I could make you my wife, and give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Unlike him, who only disappoints this clan. Why would you want a leader like him? Talk to the people of this clan, wouldn’t you?” Grasping onto the knife, Shintaro pointed it towards the ground gently.

“Didn’t I say I didn’t want to hear another word from you?”

“One last chance. I’ll give you one, last chance.” He swerved in closer, breathe cold against your ear. Gripping onto his collar, you shivered, pulling him away.

“Get out of my sight, you hear me? Next time, I’ll delve this knife into your throat.” You growled, the thought of it all making your blood boil.

Shintaro sighed, accepting that boneless threat as an answer. “Fine, as you wish.” Yet you knew this wouldn’t be the last time he would do this. Having you in his side would make one less corpse to clean up, and an easier way to excuse the bloody murder he were scheming.

The two of you exchanged one last glance, and the tension eased as you were left alone to your own thoughts. All this time you avoided troublesome matters like this, and it finds you when you least want it. The knife rested in its holder once more, and you took a deep breath. Ignoring this won’t do you any good, yet telling your lover he may perish in cold blood doesn’t seem exactly appealing. In fact the opposite. It pains you to even think about it.

Again, you’re up until morning once more, resting in the sun’s golden rays. Taking a deep breath, you entangle your fingers in your lovers hair, eyes lingering over his facial features. He slowly winked awake and rested his hands over yours, mumbling a ‘good morning’ under his breath.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I just woke up early, that’s all.” You sighed, pressing a kiss on his cheek. Of course, you didn’t want him to worry, he must be too busy himself anyway. For years you’ve been independent, so it won’t be any different now.

“There’s no need to lie. If there’s something the matter, I promise I’ll make it right.” The gentleness in his eyes soothed you, yet not enough to let those damned words spill out of your mouth.

….,

Word has spread that Gun has taken up Aikido. That day you prepared his lunch, and decided to watch him train. The smile on his face when he saw you sitting in the side warmed you, as you enveloped him in an embrace.

“Mum, youre here.” He cheered, doing small punches in the air to show off what he’s learnt.

“Of course. I’ve just been a little busy lately. Look, I made you tteokbeokki.” You smiled. It was your favourite thing to watch him being happy, knowing it might not last long.

“My favourite!” Gun licked his lips, clasping onto your hands. “I’ll train extra hard today, okay? Watch me, watch me!” He hadn’t seen you in ages. As a young boy, he wouldn’t understand, and doesn’t need to even take notice of your situation.

“It’s time for training.” The Kojima brothers, also one of the many supporting Shintaro’s leadership. As if they’re his personal bodyguards, they spread his propaganda like major gossip. Perhaps the news about the rebellion is being tossed around as the second passes. Shigeaki passes a distasteful glare at you before diverting Gun’s attention to the task at hand.

Since Gun was only young, they decided to teach one of his nephews how to do Aikido as well. They couldn’t personally spar with him because of the height, age and experience difference, and an intelligent opponent like Haruto would be well-suited.

Similar in age, the only difference was their upbringing. Haruto was a secluded boy who was subjected to the cruel opinions that he were useless because of Gun’s existence. Instead, his mother offered reading. In her view, if he couldn’t be the best at fighting, why not intelligence?

It almost reminded you of Shingen’s and Shintaro’s situation. He was born to succeed, while the other was made to cover up after his mess. Since Shingen were the oldest, he were given privileges like fighting and only sometimes playing around. Shintaro, on the other hand, were interested in martial arts yet never got the opportunity to persue it like he did. The notion that he were to protect his brother — no, dedicate his life to him — eventually seeped through the cracks, and jealousy took over. Nobody cared what Shintaro did, whether he ran away or not, he was always in the shadows. Shintaro always presumed he never struggled, having everyone by his side supervising him, yet little did he know he did.

He didn’t know that Shingen didn’t like training for so long, knowing his only purpose being only to prosper and become the heir to the Yamazaki clan. They only praised him for his fighting abilities, nothing else. This clan only critizied his interest in artistry’s and such, To leave a peaceful life and play games with his brother were his goals, yet Shintaro only treated him with coldness. The awkward, suffocating air between them never subsided, and still persists until today.

For centuries it was like this, and old tradition that you plan to cease from existence.

Haruto used strategic methods to trick his opponent, Gun, to the floor. What the Kojima brothers didn’t know was that intelligence and usage of technique was also important in a battle. Jonggun was trained to use brute force, which was in fact also crucial, yet he didnt have the ability to predict his next moment, therefore his next attack was based off of quick thinking. The way he grabbed his arm and flipped him into the floor resonated with you, something inside made you want to learn that too.

Then again, it would be against the rules.

“Auntie, did you see that?” Haurto smiled, pulling you in to a hug. He’s just a young boy too, why can’t he also train to be the best? Why are we, as humans, so dependent on a genetic abnormality?

“I’ll beat you next round!” Gun pouted, sticking his tongue out, teasing the other. Haruto made a snarky remark back, and they quickly started getting ready to spar for another round of Aikido.

Haruto’s mother doesn’t deserve him. No, not at all. You’ve noticed how he always comes to you for his troubles, advice and support. On the outside, she seems like the perfect mother — sparing only kind words to her only son, caring for him — yet in private, what does she do? Those bruises speak for themselves; just what has he gone through? At the occasion his long sleeves that he always wears slips up, a new one appears, and he shakes it off like it’s normal, changing conversation or distracting you while he pulls it down. Guilt washes over you as you couldn’t bear to admit that his experiences would haunt him for the rest of his life. Nobody deserves that.

“Mum! Are you watching?” Gun’s voice, steady with his hands in starting position, bring you back to reality. You clap and cheer with a smile, and watch each and every step. Haruto wins once more, and Gun slumps over towards you, disappointed.

“How about you two teach me how to fight in Aikido style, and I’ll give you the tteokbokki I made. Fair trade, huh?”.

…..,

In Korea, Gapryong’s Fist Gang rests in the comfort of their calm surroundings, under the warm light of a chandelier in the midst of a cafe. Warm light crests a warm atmosphere, the coffees fumes diffusing into the warm breeze the windows let in. Idle chatter

Jinyoung’s mysteriously studying human anatomy, sneering while holding his pencil ever-so intimately. Gapryong peers over his shoulder, taking a quick peek of the monstrosities he’s been hiding recently. Strangely scientifically accurate art pieces of the human skeleton, limbs, organs and veins. His obsession with skulls were disturbing, graphically capturing every hollow, rounded and crisp surface of the cranium. Teeth. After beating his victims, he’d pull out their teeth, collecting them in jars to preserve them. Not just any tooth, the wisdom tooth were his favourite. If he could, he’d slice each finger — in fact the whole hand — and inspect each and every crevice. Teeth were easier to steal and nearly as satisfiying.

No matter how close these four men were, fighting all their battles together, none of them knew the twisted layer under his skin that were slowly taking over.

Jinyoung has suspiciously became quieter recently. Before he’d wear a smile on his face and kick up conversation like it was nothing, offering hand wrestling or the sort. Now? He’s preferably keep to himself, not saying much and focusing on that sketchbook. The scratching across the page, eyes peeled, breath becoming more dragged by the second. Insanity? He’d be the last one you’d suspect. Someone as outgoing as him would never, or so the other three members thought.

Do they even know eachother?

“So, about the Yamazaki Clan,” Gapryong starts, finger tapping against the table. “The police showed up last time, and we had to flee. What a bore.”

“That’s right. I’m sure they’re dwelling in Korea still.” Elite yawned, breaking eye contact with a grin that didn’t seem so frustrated.

“I’m sure we’ll get em next time, y’know?” Gapryong bites his bottom lip, leaning back in his chair.

Silence dawned over the atmosphere, as if someone was wanting to say something, yet left it to the next person. Elite took a sip of his tea, not lifting his eyes off of his cup while tapping his foot on the wooden floor. You could never tell what thoughts were running through his mind. Its was only obvious by his course of actions, what steps he took and what blood he shed. Actions and foreshadowed speech were the way to figuring out his intentions, it were no use to just ask him, being such the perfect liar he is. Precisely, this is the reason they didn’t predict his newest project, designed to leave thousands of corpses, particularly the three bodies he wanted. And he won’t stop until he gets what he wants. Call him greedy as you may, but a guy like him has no bounds to getting what he pleased.

Maybe it’s the trust between them all, why they didn’t suspect him. All these years must’ve meant something to all of them. To Gapryong, it was true friendship — who didn’t like someone to trust and keep company? To Tom, it meant loyalty, a group you could share anything to. Nowadays it felt like that idea has went astray. To Jinyoung, — well, the Jinyoung they used to know — it was exploring the world with the people you value most, laughing all night with a couple of drinks. To Elite… What was it to Elite?

He pulled up his glasses, scanning their troubled faces that avoided the other’s eyes.

Tom sighs, taking it upon himself. “You’ve all heard about that clan recently taking over…” Elite’s breath stopped, batting his eyes in disbelief. Jinyoung paused, letting out a sigh before continuing scribbling. Gapryong frowned, running his hands through his hair, swigging his chapstick out of his pocket.

“That’s right. It’s becoming worrying. I beat down some of the lapdog’s of the organisation, yet none of them will speak, no matter how much you torture them.” Jinyoung spoke softly, voice remaining neutral, yet his heart felt like it was the end of the Fist Gang. No, it can’t be over yet. Not before his plan takes place.

“Then we’ll have to talk their boss.” Gapryong spoke, stern, completely set on the idea. Whether it meant a simple polite introduction or a brutal brawl rid of mannerisms, his determination remained intact. Gapryong wasn’t the type to give up.

“Y’know what? Let’s drink tonight, I want to meet some lovely ladies before I do.” He smirks and passes a seductive wink over to the barista standing behind the till, watching her blush and rush to cover her reddened face. “Who’s with me?”

Tom agrees and Elite pauses for a second, eventually nodding. Jinyoung sits still, despite the wait for his reply. They all expected him to cheer and boost the atmosphere.. Yet nothing passed his lips.

“You’re not coming again, eh?” Tom breaks the silence once more, trying to look in his eyes for answers but to no avail, as his overgrown hair drapes over his face. Jinyoung shakes his head.

“Hey, you’ve been slouching all this time, shouldn’t you stretch? C’mon, it must be tiring. Loosen up a litle.” Tom tried to use the enthusiasm Jinyoung always used to and reach his hand over his shoulder. However before he knew it, his hand was squeezed with a strength he had never felt before. It felt as if his grip has restricted blood flowing into his hands, making them begin to numb.

Jinyoung’s gaze finally lifted over his sketchbook, and they finally got a glimpse of his face. His twitching eyes were an unusual shade of crimson red, each vein eeringly connecting from his sclera to the inside of his lower eyelid. Jinyoung always loved applying chapstick, loving the soft and glossy feeling upon his lips, except this time, they were chapped, with open, bleeding wounds and drool edging at the corner of his lips.

“I’m fine.” Jinyoung muttered, rubbing his tired, bloodshot eyes. No one muttered a word, staring with shock. What could they even say? Their friend — their once friend, as they could barely recognise the man he’s become — is now.. insane? Insane was the first word that came to mind to all of them. And all of them knew they weren’t far off.

….,

“Shingen. Haven’t you heard about that new clan has risen recently?” You ask, while raising your fork to your lips.

“Mmm. It seems so.” Shingen’s voice trails off, taking a sip of the transparent wine provided. “Perhaps it could be a problem. Especially since the Fist Gang and our clan are still under conflict… It is a relief we wasn’t arrested last time.”

“We’ve recovered well. Although a third party seems suspicious. Someone must be backing them, not every odd gang that shows up can be that strong and popular that quick.” You mention, and now that you think about it properly, hidden forces must at play here.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, huh? It won’t be a big deal. Like any other gang, they’ll fall to the hierarchy around here.” Shingen tries to reassure, using his authoritative tone to try and distract you from the concern written all over his face. He already knows they’re wiping out other small gangs and clan, then heading for the big prize. Nobody can be certain that they’re next, therefore it’s no prediction that they’re preparing their forces.

A third force making things complicated at a time like this cannot be a coincidence. At first, Shingen figured it must’ve been that cursed man’s Fist Gang, yet it’s unlikely they would. Someone’s pulling the strings behind the scenes, however there are no leads to show so. Only mere baseless intuition.

It makes you wonder — who? Each are loyal to their own side, especially during a tense time like this. They must’ve known a huge scale war between two major clans were going own, taking this into their advantage. Your eyes look down upon the food in front of you, then to your lover sitting opposite you.

Him, as a corpse? Dead, in front of you, his body cold. His pulse not throbbing anymore, breathe not passing his lips. Blood spilling under his body gallon by gallon, at an alarming rate. You could only cry as his eyes didn’t flutter open no more.

You’re overthinking again. Just another one of your tainted daydreams.

#lookism #shingen yamazaki #lookism x reader #lookism manhwa #yamazaki shingen x reader #lookism hcs #I hate series but I tried #lookism webtoon

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hey-august · 2 days ago

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Making Buggy detach all of his limbs and putting his arms and legs nice and safe in a chest with some sea stone. Using what remains of him as your personal little toy and watching him squirm on the bed, unable to do anything about it. Sitting cross legged with that writing torso on your lap, slowly stroking him, watching how he buckled under your touch and isn’t even able to wriggle away from you.

Easily being able to flip him around, either on his stomach so you can get a nice grab on his ass, or on his back, when you decided that you want to play with your favorite living Dildo and ride him. You sink down onto him and it’s so cute to see his shoulders move upwards, like he wants to grab you by the hips and help you sink down on him, but only being able to wiggle the stumps a bit, like they desperately want to touch you as well.

Or being real mean and lying all naked and ready in front of him. You know he’s been sooo good the entire night, it’s time for a reward, he can come over and fuck you now if he wants to. Come on! You know he can make it! Can’t he see how ready and horny you are for him? And then watching him struggle as he makes his way inch by inch over to you, struggling to even get to you at all, till he’s finally with his head on your pelvis but can’t seem to close the last few inches so he can line himself up with you. “Please. Pleasssse I’ve been so good. Please help me fuck you pleasepleaseplease.”

Taking pity on your poor, poor clown and hoisting him up by his waist a little, making him almost sob when he can finally slip inside you and fill you with uncoordinated, off balance thrusts. Pulling a few loose strands of hair from his face as he just keeps humping you in what feels like a shallow parody of his usually hard, precise movements, but this is for his pleasure right now, not yours.

You’ll get yours after he came, making him clean up his cum from between your legs before you give him back his missing limbs…. Or maybe you’ll keep him like this a bit longer, just so you can properly take care of him after and wipe the sweat of his body, having him melt into your arms utterly relaxed, not even having enough sass in him anymore to complain when you heap praise onto him while you rub his stumps. Maybe you’ll ask him if he wants to stay a little bit longer like this, content in having done a good job and knowing that you’re still here with him. Wonderful, generous, strong you, taking care of him in a state he wouldn’t let anyone else see, let alone enjoy so much if he was with anyone BUT you.

DAMN ANON. WOW.

Pulling a few loose strands of hair from his face as he just keeps humping you in what feels like a shallow parody of his usually hard, precise movements, but this is for his pleasure right now, not yours.

Thank you for this. I, uh, don't know how to follow this whole entire feast, but I'll try because you got the thoughts goingggg~

WC: ~500

Starting off, it's just fun to cuddle the clown without all those arms and legs getting in the way. Really. So Buggy indulges you and pops 'em off for some cozy snuggling.

And without his wandering hands…well, someone has to take that role. One thing leads to another, and it becomes a thing.

You need time for some personal relaxation, but with a little extra assistance? Arms and legs go in the box and you have your fun clown toy to play with how you want. To use how you want.

And when Buggy tentatively offered on his own for the first time? Well, wasn't that fun.. You made sure he had a damn good time. You tucked him tight between the pillows on the bed, perfectly propped up for everything you had planned.

The messy make-out sesh that he was whining through by the end. Biting your lips and blubbering for more - please! How you slowly undressed him. Well, exposing what you can. Tugging at his shirt collar while you kiss his neck and nibble his collarbone. Waiting until you see his nipples poking through the fabric. Pushing the hem of the shirt up, exposing his stomach and the blue hair trailing down… Undoing Buggy's pants while he's thrashing in place is fun. He can't move much because of the pillows, so it's more like awkward air humping.

Of course, once his dick is out, you ease back and undress yourself. Slowly. Buggy's erection is like a metronome, pulsing with each heartbeat.

This is when Buggy learns what pillows must feel like when they're being used for alternative purposes. If your hands aren't resting on his chest, your fingers are digging into his shoulders and practically moving his body underneath yours.

His world is literally shaking and he loves it. So much that he cums much faster than he wished. His back is arched, his limbs are thumping around in the box, and he is begging, pleading, crying for you not to stop. Keep going. Keep using him. Please, please.

Buggy was a different man in that moment. Someone new. Something was unlocked. He didn't really come to until you were nudging one of his arms back into place, trying to find the spot where it would reconnect like it should.

It works. For a second. The arm pops back off and Buggy's not sure if it's because he's so damn exhausted, or if he wants to go for another round. (He's tired. Really. He falls asleep moments later, snoring like a chainsaw. Limbs everywhere, like he was attacked by a chainsaw.)

Also, anon, I had to dig up this mini-Buggy thing that I wrote ages ago. Who know this guy would come back around lmao.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown smut #one piece smut #hey-august buggy headcanons #buggy smut #hey-august replies

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depravitycentral · 34 minutes ago

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yandere, 18+

I know I write about this kind of stuff a lot, but there’s just something about men humping inanimate objects that just really gets to me.

It’s the desperation that they can't control. It's the physical urge to move, to feel something underneath them, their body physically unable to stop itself from fucking something. It's the way their hips snap and buck and jolt all without them meaning it, their body betraying them on the most primal level because their subconscious is recognizing that they need something warm and soft and oh so pretty to sink into, to rut against until he's smearing pearls of white against soft, supple skin. It's the uncontrollable need to hump themselves against you, really.

Fucking their fist and mechanically bringing their wrist up and down again and again until cum oozes from the tip is fine and dandy, but they need more. They need the full immersion of the fantasy of fucking you, their brain needing the mental images and the physical motions of thrusting, pretending with every fiber of their being that its your warm, wet cunt sucking them in, the velvety feel of your walls leaving phantom touches against his skin.

(Some of them even go so far as to scratch at their own back, eyes rolling to the back of their head imagining that it’s you leaving your mark on him, that it’s your nails digging into his skin and digging into him, making him yours yours yours. They'll pinch at their own nipples, press fingertips hard against their biceps, even wrap a hand around his neck hard enough to leave the area red and irritated just to simulate the way that you'd touch him.)

Pillows, cushions, blankets, anything soft that could be a poor stand-in for your body is fine. Anything that he can clutch onto, that he can press his hips against tightly enough to be suffocating, something that can mold to the shape of him just as you would - all just to really feel like he’s got every single inch stuffed inside of you, giving everything he possibly can to you.

Even hard things will do in a pinch - perhaps the cover of a book you love and cherish, the texture of the binding leaving a slightly painful sting behind that blends into the pleasure and makes his eyes roll back. (Will you still smell the pages and sigh at that old-book smell, or will you perhaps notice the new presence of something slightly musky, slightly heavy, unexplainably male?) Your hairbrush - rutting against the handle he knows you’ve fucked your self with, alternating between rutting against it and bringing it up to his mouth to suck on, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to taste any traces of you.

The only rule is that it has to be something of yours, or something that connects to you in some way. Your pillow, a few wayward strands of your hair sitting against the plush, feeling like heaven and making him blush when he sees the way his sticky cum has left the hairs smeared again his skin, tacky and stuck to him. (The sight makes him suck in his breath, gulping harshly as he comes down from his high, a thumb coming out to carefully, nervously brush at the hair, unable to stop himself from feeling like the sight is somehow so very right.)

It’s better when things are stained - your underwear with discharge discoloration bleaching the fabric, your favorite skirt that you accidentally stained during your period, even a particular pair of socks that you once got dirt on. It’s been used and loved by you, and now he’ll use and love it, too, even leaving his very own stain behind.

There’s just something about it that makes everything feel better, more complete, more real. Of course nothing will ever compare to actually fucking you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And of course, the pinnacle, when he really gets desperate, is when he whips out one of the many, many photographs he's taken of you. (Or, photos he'd printed out from your social media accounts because he's too shy to actually photograph you - and this is less creepy, right? Right?) He's touching it with delicate fingers, barely pinching onto the corners, laying the image down on his bed and positioning himself to be right over it. He'll take his time to trace the outline of your face with the tip, sighing and biting his lip, before the urge takes over and soon he's groaning, hips rutting against the smooth surface of the photograph - your face, really.

(The cool feeling and the twinge of pain he gets when he angles wrong and catches the edge of the photograph only makes him grit his teeth, eyes squeezing shut harder because he has to do this - he has to keep fucking, to keep pushing himself because he needs to come for you, you deserve and he wants to give it to you so badly and oh oh oh - The photograph of you smiling is almost prettier with globs of his cum staining your pearly teeth and the apples of your cheeks.)

It's just so depraved, but they can't help it - they just want you so badly that they can't help it.

(In particular I'm thinking of the chronic humpers - Kageyama, who gets so, so whiny, his voice going high and pitchy and his face turning a bright pink color as his abs clench and flex, each drag of his hips making his arms shake even more, sweat beading at his temple leaving his dark hair matted to his forehead.

Or Sugawara, who tends to lay onto his back, humping at the pillow from underneath, pressing the cotton so hard against his pelvis that his biceps are taut, back arching and Adam's Apple bobbing as he chants yes yes yes under his breath, one hand even coming up to blindly grope and squeeze at the air where he imagines your bouncing tits to be.

Or Giyuu, who's thrusts start out slow, hesitant, embarrassed, as if he can't believe he's been reduced to his, worried to sully your good name. But then his hips get faster and he's burying his face into the crook of his elbow, whispering out a stuttered, broken p-please accompanied by your name as he cum seeps into the pillow material.

Or Tomura, who has all the fancy sex toys in the world that he's found on the deepest, most questionable parts of the internet, but finds that nothing is a good stand in aside from your pillow. He starts off animalistic, mounting the pillow and smacking at it, imagining the way your pretty ass would bounce back and ripple at the motion. But then his orgasm draws closer and the thrusts get deeper, more meaningful, like he's trying to reach as deeply inside of you as possible, and his grip is almost unbearably tight as his orgasm washes over him, hips quivering and twitching as he imagines the way you'd clutch onto him and thank him.

Or Feitan, who's biting into the pillow as he cock drags against it, teeth bared and practically snarling into the (stained) cotton, dark eyes squeezed shut as he tries so very hard to not whine your name.

Or even, on very, very specific occasions, Chrollo, whose sense of dignity flies out the window when you deny his romantic advances once again. You're just playing so very hard to get, and while he's invested into the game for the long run, he's still just a man - and the image of you spread out underneath him, wearing lacy, angelic lingerie and spreading those creamy, supple thighs of yours is enough to drive him mad.

It's just pathetic enough to be sweet, really, and although you aren't exactly flattered when you walk in on him heatedly grunting your name with the pillow tightly clutched between his thighs, just know he's doing it for you. Everything he does is for you.

#_lee rambles #_kny #_bnha #_hxh #_haikyuu #yandere kny #yandere bnha #yandere hxh #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu smut #kny smut #hxh smut #bnha smut

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siolixz · 20 hours ago

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ღ Of Love and Loyaltyღ

One-Shot

+18

Pairings: Oz "The Penguin" Cobb x Reader

Reader takes Victor's place in this story. She and Oz have developed a relationship of sorts and now she changed based on her circumstances and everything she has around her. Reader is a young girl infatuated with a man decades older than her- who is also very dangerous and powerful (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌 Oz's mom is actually dead in this story. I will write a third and final part to this after the last episode. Everyone in this story is 18+ and consenting 100%.

Enjoy, give some feedback if you want. (>‿◠)✌

Warnings: violence, age-gap relationship, smut(¬‿¬)

You finally made something of yourself. Sure it was all blood money, but you did- you did what you had to do to survive and not only that, to thrive.

Before leaving he told you to get in the car while he talked to Sofia outside, when you got back he was on his knees- a gun pointed at his face. You acted on impulse and drove the car into one of the guys there; best thing you could’ve done at the moment he told you.

You would think that planning to escape would distance you from him but it did the opposite- even after wrecking his car, that poor gorgeous car; you’ve never been in one as fancy before- let alone drive it.

“I’m so-sorry about your car.” you said as you stared at it in flames.

“Yeah- what're ya gonna do 'bout it- only the good die young.” he came closer to you and grabbed the back of your head- forcing you to look at him. “Don’t be sad about it- you’re worth a thousand more to me.”

He told you that you two were “really in it now”- and he couldn’t have been more right about that.

He got the Bliss operation back from the Maroni family by burning the mother and the heir apparent to their family- together. His brutality frightened you but If he wanted to rule the mob- he had to be brutal and unwavering in his choices, at least that’s what you told yourself to justify what he had done. Now not only Sofia Gigante was after you, but also Sal Maroni.

In the weeks following you had your own operation- underground, in a sewer system that connected you to all of Gotham, you became Oz’s eyes and ears above ground, traveling on your motorcycle- giving him news about the world above and delivering his money directly in his hands. He had given you your own gun—"just in case someone messes with you"—though you never ended up using it.

Oz trusted you, even after your attempt at an escape- he moved you two to an apartment on the East Side, one that reminded you of your old one; without electricity but it did its job. In the apartment you got very close to him, you got to know him much better and you changed too in the meantime, you were more confident- more sure of yourself next to him.

He was all you had, the one person who made you feel like you were the center of his world. One night- he came "home" late, as he often did. You were already in bed, curled up and trying to stay warm when you felt the familiar weight of his body sinking into the mattress. He slid under the covers and pulled you close, and you sighed, finally feeling the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

"The people in charge really don’t give a fuck about us," you murmured, exhaustion lacing your voice. It was a tired frustration—being cold at work and now being cold at home. Winter was coming, and your mind drifted to families with children who needed warmth.

He took a deep breath. The long days weighed heavily on him; managing his people and the constant stress left him drained. Most nights, he would grab a bite, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, cold or not, he’d fall into a deep sleep. You’d take advantage of those moments, cuddling close and pulling his heavy arm over you. Oswald slept like a rock.

"I’ll do something about it," he said, his deep voice vibrating through you. In the weeks you’d been together, you’d learned how to speak to him, how make him feel powerful—your man, your only one. He was the only man who had ever made you feel this way, and you couldn’t deny the rush you felt watching him command respect when he barked out orders to his men, a cigar perched between his lips. God, he was handsome. Your stomach would flutter every time you caught a glimpse of him, even if only for a second.

He was a towering presence, terrifying when he loomed over you, and seeing him angry was enough to scare you senseless. But it also sets your heart racing for other reasons too.

Before the club, his gaze never strayed from you; now, it was his hands that constantly sought you. He couldn't help himself when you were close, sometimes grabbing you in public like an eager kid in a candy shop. You learned that when he called you into his "office," it meant he was either seething with anger or burning with desire—either way, you knew he’d end up taking it out on you.

He’d told you more than once that he hadn’t felt this alive in years, and you could sense the shift in everything he did—from the way he spoke to the intensity in the way he fucked you. He had changed.

You told him about Squid- about how he came up to you today- asking you where you got your clothes- “what shit you got cooking” - Oz asked you if it was going to be a problem, you told him no; he could count on you- you won’t let him down.

“You know, I think you’re the only thing keeping me good, doll.” he traced circles on your arm. If you were keeping him good, what was Oz like when bad? The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt his hands traveling under the blanket and beneath the sweater and t-shirt you had on and you proceeded to hiss once they made contact with your skin “your hands are so cold” you said and he chuckled.

The next day, you made true to your promise and met up with Squid- you had a plan, of course you did, you would give him some money and hope he would leave you alone.

Of course the dumb bastard declined the money- of course he tried to intimidate you to “bring him to the big man” or else he was gonna go to the Maronis or Falcones- maybe they would help him; the fuck was he thinking? That a small-time asshole like him could make a deal with Oz?

So many thoughts were running through your head, what if you did bring him to Oz? You didn’t want to bother him, he had enough stuff he had to worry about- plus the things Oz would do to him were too graphic to think about. What if you ran? No, he would catch you- probably beat the shit out of you too. Shit.

“Ok, I’ll take you to him.” you said as you were going down the steps, him following. Fuck-fuck you had to shoot him, this motherfucker was going to ruin whatever you had going on.

You had to shoot him, no other time better than now- your pistol was in the front of your jeans. Do it now. You grabbed your gun from your pants and before you knew it, you turned around and pulled the trigger.

When you opened your eyes, Squid was gripping his throat- blood was coming out in buckets- he stared at you and your shocked face. Neither of you believing what you just did. Your breathing was becoming heavier and heavier- almost gasping for breath- you just shot someone- he was going to die.

Oh god, he was dying. You watched as the light drained from his eyes and you didn’t want to stick around to see him pass so you ran- you ran to your motorcycle and then you drove above the speed limit, probably breaking a few laws too until you got underground.

He was probably dead by now- you just killed him. You never realized that you were crying as well; you ran to his office and thanked the lord that no one was around to see you.

You opened the door and there he was, wearing a well tailored shirt and a vest- writing something down- money next to him. He quickly looked up as he heard you come in and then dropped his head down to continue what he was writting “Well look who decided to pay me a visit”, he muttered with a smirk; you tried to control your sobs and when he heard the shallow breath you took to steady yourself- he looked up again “The fuck happened?” he immediately got up and went towards you.

You told him what happened between sobs as he held you on his lap, seated in his chair. You told him everything; about Squid- how he threatened to go to the Falcones or the Maronis- how you knew you had no choice and while leaning back he told you that it will get easier, this isn’t the end of the world.

“You wanna know something?” He grabbed your face and made you look at him “You did what was right, you protected yourself, what you have. No one can take that from you- I’m proud of you.” Your sad demeanor was gone by now and replaced with the familiar warmth you had whenever he said something like this.

He kissed you and brought your body and embraced you “You’ve grown so much in these weeks, you’re no longer the kid that used to sneak around buildings-” you kissed him, bringing his lower lip between your lips. You wanted to forget- forget what happened and what you did- he always made you forget all your worries, you only ever thought about him when you were in his presence. He put his arm beneath both of your legs as you were sitting and you almost yelped when he got you on his desk.

“Oz-” Ok, maybe getting him started wasn’t the best idea, whenever you got him going he would forget about the windows in his office or the fact that someone might hear you.

You tried to bring one of your legs between the two of you, trying to stop him “-Oz, when we are home” you tried to reason with the man, even if getting fucked in his office would turn you on in the worst ways and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t getting wet already.

He loved the power he would hold over you- whenever he would manhandle you in any position he would like or whenever he would order you to do something- you couldn’t lie, you liked it too; sometimes he would have you suck his cock as he solved the men's pay, sometimes he would have you on all fours on his bed- Oz was a man that loved to be in control, to be number one- the best. You knew that.

He was already getting your jacket off, “Oz-” he grabbed the money from the table and placed it away from you two, before getting back to kissing and groping you.

He grabbed hold of your clothed pussy and from the feeling of his hand there- you raised your butt slightly up and pushed back into him.

This relationship that you two had, it made you feel like a woman- it was so different than the one you had with Robert, where it was just light touches on your face and small kisses- Oswald was a man, whenever he wanted you, he would have you and it made you feel as if you were wanted and desired- it made you feel alive.

He stopped and you knew someone was probably at the door. Shit- this is so embarrassing, you looked down and without making eye contact, went into the small room connecting to his office- he had a bed there, a small one; not big enough for two people to sleep comfortably but it was something. It was also way more warm in here than outside where everyone else was working.

You took your sweater off and sat on the bed, while listening to what he was saying to the guy that came in, something about the meeting he had and a surprise. You had to ask him about that, but after he was done with you.

Your heart was beating out of your ches- the door opened.

He looked at you and made small steps towards the bed, you were smiling while scooting back- with butterflies dancing in your stomach; wondering what he was gonna do next when he grabbed both of your legs and placed them on either side of him before joining you on the bed- on top of you.

One of his hands immediately went to your ass, giving him easier access to rubbing himself over you and the other one was supporting him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer as your lips met his. Despite the darkness and heaviness of the moment, he still radiated a magnetic presence—full of charisma as ever, his scent enveloping you in a way that made everything else fade. From the sharpness of his aftershave to the depth of his cologne, he had it all. He started pushing himself even harder against you, where it was almost painful; you moaned in his mouth and against his tongue.

He raised himself on his knees on the bed, casting a shadow over you and ordered you to take your jeans off and get on all fours while he was taking his vest off and unbuttoning his dress shirt. Your hands were shaking a little bit as you unbuttoned your pants and took them off.

After you obeyed him and raised your butt in the air, he grabbed hold of it- to angle you how he wanted; excitement so palpable you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, almost laughing. You felt him slowly enter you, giving you a few small moments to adjust to his size- you closed your eyes and moaned, you don’t think you’re ever gonna get enough of this man; all of him.

“Oh baby-” he was always so vocal during sex.

The feeling of him stretching you out and the feeling of him pushing himself in you in and out- whenever he would press himself back in, he brushed up against your g-spot- the sound of his body when it connected to yours was so loud- it made your cheeks burn- you were so wet and he didn’t even touch you all that much, like that night at the club. He had a gun under your chin and you were so wet, who even were you anymore?

You arched your back, consciously making yourself as pleasing as possible for him. The act itself sent a thrill through you, but it also made your cheeks flush with a mix of desire and shy uncertainty- the usual girlhood embarrassment that flushed your cheeks overtaking your body whenever he had you like this.

When he found his rhythm- while grabbing your waist and pushing you back into him, he’d shower you with praise. “You take me so well… you’re such a good girl—my good girl.” He knew exactly how to make your stomach flip with words like that—this old dog.

He pulled you back against him time and time again before you felt like it was almost painful, your moans of pleasure mixing with those of pain.

He pulled himself out and got on his back next to you, ”Come ‘ere” you giggled in excitement- he loved whenever you rode him.

You squatted over him- your legs on either side of his body and with one of your hands- you brought his cock between your legs and you watched closely as his stupid grin was wiped from his face when you lowered down on him, mouth open- you gave him a quick peck on his lips. Your legs were almost shaking and a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead.

From this position you could feel him so deep inside- you started to grind yourself on him- it felt so good; you almost started crying again.

Oz grabbed your tits from underneath your shirt and was slowly pushing himself deeper in you “You’re my girl- I’m so proud-” he groaned as he said that, this mountain of a man- beneath you, between your thighs; you felt like you held the power “-I’m so proud of you.”

From this position you could feel him brushing against your clit, the feeling only making you go faster, the thrill of reaching your peak on him taking over “easy…easy” he repeated- obviously, you didn't listen.

You shifted the tempo, lifting yourself up before sliding back down, causing him to grimace. Without missing a beat, he pulled your upper body down, pressing you flush against him- you pressed your face against his shoulder and he grabbed it- holding it there; the cold feeling of his rings compared to how hot your face was giving you goosebumps.

You felt him adjust his legs and from this position he started to fuck you how he wanted to. He thrived on being in charge, practically reveled in the power it gave him. God, your throat was dry- you were sure you would be sore down there after you two were done.

You knew anyone walking by could 100% hear you at this point, you tried to be quiet but to no avail with this man. Oz seemed to like whenever people would stare at the two of you and it excited him to think anyone would be listening in.

You brought your face up when he slowed down and kissed him, putting your tongue in his mouth. This felt so amazing but you knew he probably had places he had to be. “Do I make you feel good baby?” you nodded, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the right side of his face, right on the thick scar that ran from his mouth to his cheekbone.

He was a strikingly intimidating man, his features hardened by a life of danger. You slowly brought yourself down and up- trying to match his movements.

“You get so tight around me-” he placed his arm over you, bringing you as tight as he could on him.

One of your hands went under the pillow he had under his head and the other was gripping the side of the bed. His rhythm was becoming sloopy- switching between fucking you and kissing you, on your cheeks or on your mouth; he grabbed your ass in both of his hands, squeezing and pushing you down on him while he fucked you.

You looked in his eyes, the light from above casting a shadow over them that only added to his allure. “-I’m gonna cum” you nodded again- words escaping you “Tell me where-tell me” he closed his eyes- you knew he would start with that, the only way he finished was inside you.

Whether it was your mouth or your pussy. Oz loved when you would describe how he felt in you, how you loved when he would fuck you- how you wanted him to cum in you. It turned him on. It turned him on how embarrassed you would feel most of the time he made you say those things.

You told him you wanted it inside and It wasn’t long before he started his fast pace again and you closed your eyes, trying not to moan as loud as you would like- fuck he felt so good. It mustn't have been long before you felt him slow down and the familiar feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you. You had to drink some water- your throat was hurting. Oz hugged you close to him and while one of his hands was rubbing your back he kissed your forehead- “You feeling better?”.

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Author's note: Bro you just fucked him AGAIN?

Finished there the story because I KNEW i would start writing a lot and I wanna finish part 2 in time for the finale. I'm sososos excited for it and sad it will end ugh. Anyways hope you enjoyed and thank you to all the people that wrote nice things to me regarding my writing, I've been having some health problems lately and your messages made me feel so much better, truly. Have a nice day :))))))

#oz cobb #the penguin #the penguin tv #oswald cobb x reader #oz cobb x reader #the penguin hbo #oswald cobblepot #the penguin x reader #oz cobblepot

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