#it's not entirely a selfish wish to get better. he's carrying so much hope on his shoulders; not only carrying his own passions

[datastate]

do you realize how seen i felt with this.

necessary reading before you act weird abt him in my inbox: 1, 2, 3

[moodymisty]

I seen Gillamen and Vulkan with their pregnant so but what about other Primarch?

Like Lion El Johnson, Corvus, and Horus around their pregnant partner who is near time to give birth to their child?

[ ����𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: I saw Corvus, I write Corvus. It's kind of short but I hope you like it.

Relationships: Corvus Corax/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Tokophobia, pregnancy, Not much else really

Corvus was far from pleased about being so far from Deliverance. Terra was a planet that didn’t bring him much joy or fondness, beyond it being the heart of the Imperium, and the place of his creation.

But he grits his teeth and bears it, because he has to.

He has to for you. You’re heavily pregnant now, and the growth rate and pain of carrying the child of a primarch has begun to take its toll. Beyond what Deliverance can assist you with. Terra has the best that is available, and so he bears it.

He doesn’t have to carry around a being you weren’t meant to carry, so he does it in silence.

“I would’ve done the same, if I was in your position.”

Sanguinus’ face has softened expression slightly after Corvus’ surprise declaration. He had vaguely known he had someone at Corvus' side, but the idea of them actually being able to have biological children was much more of a surprise.

Food for thought, Sanguinus kept to himself.

“Baal is my home, but I can’t deny that what Terra has created far outweighs what my smaller planet could provide. I don’t blame you for bringing her here.” Corvus doesn’t find much usefulness in the statement, but he somewhat appreciates the attempt at sympathy. His hands shift on the massive ornate railing that overlooks more of the palace.

Corvus nods at him, but it doesn't take a keen eye to notice that he isn't much in the mood for more conversation. Sanguinius decides to keep it brief and let him return to his ailing beloved.

“Tell her I say hello and I wish her good health, yes?" The angel clears his throat in an attempt not to laugh. "But avoid telling Guilliman about this until he's in a better mood, he’ll pop a vein in his forehead.” Corvus rolls his eyes not at Sanguinus himself, but the fact that what he said isn’t out of the realm of reality. He leans up off the railing, and nods to the other primarch.

“I will.”

Corvus with a slow gait enters the room, only to see you standing and reaching your hands towards the massive, vaulted ceiling.

“You should be in bed.” He says, and you sigh. Not even a moment before he's already reprimanding you.

“I know. I just wanted to stretch a bit.”

Corvus turns his gaze from you and to the bed, where your raven, caws softly and hops around on the blankets; Eagerly awaiting your return to it. As he gifted the bird to you young, it’s more of a pet than anything. It has served it's purpose as being your gift, his way of asking for you at his side. If you want it to just be a companion, then that's your prerogative.

You slip back into bed moments later, and Corvus comes to your side. The raven knows to behave better around him, and decides to plop itself close to your hip and fluff it's feathers with a contented warble.

“How are they?” He asks, though from experience you know he’s referring to you as well as your child.

“The same. I think they’re asleep now, I haven’t felt them move.” Corvus puts a hand to your belly, and indeed doesn’t feel anything until you move, and the baby kicks his palm. He catches your wince. he doesn't say anything, though you end up doing it for him.

“Corvus,” You say, looking at him. “I’ve never felt this bad in my entire life. I still have a bit left, I don’t know if I can keep up at this rate.” He sighs.

“I know.” He looks away from you for a moment, though his hand still stays firmly on your stomach.

Perhaps this is the punishment he gets for daring to be selfish, he thinks to himself. To see the one person he loves in pain because of him. Though he thinks of a recent happening and softens expression a bit, and you call him on it, a curious smile on your face.

“What?”

Your raven picks at your hair in an attempt for your attention, and you scratch his wing before he hobbles away.

“My men have asked about you, since we left Deliverance. They seemed worried you were close to death.” The ones who stayed back haven't been updated on anything since he's left, and while there are many Raven Guard on Terra, it's much harder to communicate with his men that are now so far away. You laugh, rolling to your side and facing him to take the pressure of your back.

“Well, I feel like it.” Corvus, his hand still on your belly the entire time, leans in and kisses your forehead. He wonders how you can be so morbid yet cheerful at the same time.

“Rest some more. Then I might have you speak to my sons so they know you’re still in good health.”

They’ve become more attached to you as time has gone by, and while some hesitate to trust or welcome you, many have begun to open up and allow you in. Perhaps they've realized that you offer more than you impede; Or they've simply acquiesced to Corvus' desperate desire to feel human.

You grip Corvus’ larger hand softly, squeezing his fingers before speaking.

“Let me at least eat first. I’m starving.” Another curious aspect about this whole thing; Your hunger is near never ending. Corvus dares to crack the slightest smile.

“Fine. I’ll have the serfs bring you something.”

He sees your satisfied smile, and leans in once more to gently kiss your lips. Once he pulls away he gives your raven a scratch on the head, before leaving.

[jasntodds]

Petrichor [1]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)

Words: 9,133

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, talks of drug addiction

Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work. Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞

Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.

A/N: It’s finally here!! I promise this book will be more fun than previous one and it stays mostly canon besides a few things, so have fun lol I really hope you guys like this!! If you want context from book 1, let me know and I’ll tell you!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary​ and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Being back in Gotham is almost surreal. When you were uprooted over a year ago, you weren’t sure if you’d ever make it back. Hell, you didn’t think you’d ever make it out of that basement, let alone back home. But, here you are. You’re back in Gotham and there’s a weight that is lifted from your shoulders.

You knew you missed it but you didn’t realize how much until now, standing outside of Wayne Manor. This isn’t even your home, the Manor, but it is a staple in Gotham. You thought maybe you would miss San Francisco and want to go back after a week or so, but right now, you’re positive that won’t be the case. This is home.

And then there’s Jason who’s standing confidently with a content smile pulling at his face. You have Jason here. You swears you’re happier around him, no matter where you are. He makes the world better, your world. You’ve only known each other a few months now but it feels like you’ve been friends your entire lives and you wouldn’t trade him for anything. You are so happy to be here with him.

“Want the tour?” Jason asks, carrying your bag for you and he’s got this sly grin, the one you’ve missed more than you thought possible.

“Of Wayne Manor, hell yeah, lead the way.” Your smile is so bright and Jason missed you, too.

This is his home. A part of him still isn’t exactly used to it. He’s not sure if he ever will be entirely, it’s not exactly him but it’s his home. And he’s welcoming you right into it because, despite his inhabitations and the paranoia that leaks into the brightest parts of his mind, he knows he can trust you with his home. With those parts of himself and he is just so happy to have you here with him. Just him.

Jason gestures an arm out forward, ushering you forward and the two of you walk inside. Jason leads you to your room first to set your bag down. He opens the door for you and allows you inside while he leans against the doorframe, sticking his hands in his front pockets. You walk in, looking around and taking the room in. He’s missed you.

It’s only been a month but it’s felt like the longest month of his life. Jason knew he missed you, that was undeniable. But, he didn’t realize just how much until he picked you up from Titans Tower. He saw you and the smile that split his face was uncontrollable. He remembers that day he left with Rose, how you wanted to convince him to stay but you didn’t because you didn’t want to be selfish. He gets it now because he wanted to ask you if you’d come back with him sooner, when he left with Bruce. That’s not fair to Gar and he knows that and he’d never ask you to pick between the two of them. But he wishes he would have anyway because a month away from you feels like an eternity.

“What do ya think?” Jason asks, his voice has this warmth to it that you’ve never heard before. You wonder if the warmth is because this is home and Titans Tower always felt like a hotel.

“It’s big.” You laugh. “Of course it is. And it’s dark and moody, very on brand for fucking Batman.” You roll your eyes, putting your bag down on the bed.

“Yeah, it’s his thing.” Jason chortles. “I’m right down the hall.” Jason jerks his head to the left.

“You’re always right down the hall. Can’t stand to be that far away from me, huh?” You give him a smirk with the wiggle of your brows.

Jason feels the blush creep across his face. “You came here with me, babe.” Jason quips and he’s missed this, too. You don’t play the game over text.

You rolls your eyes but your smile is starting to hurt your cheeks. “You gave me no choice, shithead.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Yeah, okay.” You look down to your shoes and back to Jason before walking up to him. “Tour?”

“Come on.” Jason pushes himself off the doorframe and the two of you start the tour.

Jason leads you around the manor, showing you the living rooms and kitchens because of course, there’s more than one of both. He shows you the several bathrooms and an in-home gym and training room. Jason ends the tour though, with his favorite room of the house, the library. He opens the doors with confidence, walking right inside to allow you to follow him.

You look around, seeing large library shelves holding tons of books. There are windows against the wall facing you and a couch up against it with a small coffee table right in front of the window. The couch is the same as the ones in all the living rooms. Bruce definitely has a theme. Dark and moody. Jason’s smile is soft as he looks at you.

“You would end the tour here.” You state softly.

“You surprised?”

“Not even a little bit.” You smile softly at him because he didn’t need to show the room to you. You don’t like to read but he did anyway, because it’s his thing. “Favorite room?”

Jason nods. “Yeah, spend a lot of time in here or training.” Jason’s eyes look up with the last word.

“Of course.” You laugh softly. “It’s cool.”

Jason shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, it is.”

He looks content, comfortable. There’s an easiness about him here. Back at the tower, he seemed on edge a lot, even before Deathstroke. He always had this wall that, everyone would argue wasn’t worth the effort to knock down, but you never had any issues. It was a wall though, a sturdy brick wall that was completely unmovable. But, here, right now, he looks so content and comfortable. No one would ever know the horrors he’s experienced by looking at him right now.

You walk up to him. “How are you?” You point a finger to your head. “Ya know?”

“I’m fine.” Jason shrugs the question off. He doesn’t wanna go there today. “How’re you?”

“You sure?” You ask and you’re just checking on him. “Happy to be back.” You answer so simply that Jason’s heart explodes in warmth.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jason urges, the smile splits his face. “You look happy.” Jason chuckles softly.

It feels different. Getting on the plane and you telling him about some of the Titans stuff he's missed. It feels different but in a good way. It’s like with the tower, there was all this added pressure for the both of you. Expectations to be something more than what you both were dealt. And there were the feelings you had for Gar that Jason tried his best to tip-toe around. But right now, you get to exist together outside of those expectations. He is Robin and he gets to be Robin like he has been. You get to just exist in a home. It is comfortable, already and you have each other. It feels different but in a way Jason’s never quite felt before.

“Wanna get some food?” Jason asks.

“You hitting me on, Jay?” The corner of your mouth twitches into a teasing smirk.

It’s the game the two of you love so much. This time though, there isn’t anything standing in your way to actually play the game how Jason wants to. A little more contact, make the game a little more thrilling.

“Got a problem with it?” Jason smirks back, taking a step forward, closing the short distance between you.

You narrow your eyes and you’re surprised by the comment but you would never have a problem with it. “Well, if I’m gonna get good out of it, I guess not.”

Jason laughs. “Oh, so you’re using me for food, huh?”

“I do like food, Jay.”

“Wow.” Jason nods his head dramatically. “Didn’t think you’d use me. I’m so hurt.”

“Shut up.” You groan, rolling your eyes. “Where we going?”

“I’ll make burgers.” Jason holds a prideful grin.

“You can cook?” You quip.

“Hell yeah, I can cook.” Jason gestures his hands towards himself as if you should have always know. You’ve never seen him cook anything more than a breakfast sandwich and an omelet.

“Well, make me food!” You fake whine at him.

“Well, since you asked so fucking nicely.” Jason scoffs but his grin holds steady.

The two of you head to the kitchen that leads out into the back courtyard. That’s another thing you’re somehow surprised by. Of course, there’s a courtyard, but it’s shocking nonetheless. It’s so weird being here and being able to live here. You wonder how Jason ever adjusted because you’re not sure you can. But, you don’t say anything to Jason, instead, you watch him grab burgers from the fridge which were very clearly previously prepared and you think it’s sweet. Jason already had food prepped and there’s something so incredibly kind and thoughtful about it, it’s almost surprising. But, you still say nothing and instead just watch him fire up the grill once you both get outside.

“So,” You ask from your spot at the outdoor table. “How’s Gotham been?”

“Bruce is letting me be Robin some more.” Jason boasts, flipping one of the burgers.

“Really? That’s awesome, Jay. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, it’s been great.” Jason’s smile is warm and tender. “Went on Patrol last night.”

Jason wasn’t really sure if Bruce would let him after the whole Deathstroke fiasco. He thought maybe Bruce would want him to take some more time off and learn his lesson about going off on his own. But, Bruce let him right back out with him.

“How’d it go?”

“Great,” Jason holds his head with pride and he neglects to tell you it hasn’t been going that well every other night. “Took down some of Penguin’s men.”

“Oh, he’s still doing his Penguin thing?”

“Yeah.” Jason chortles. “Still making everyone else do the dirty work so his hands stay clean.”

“Gotta give it to him, smart.” You let out a laugh. 

Jason looks over with a scrunched nose. “Siding with a bad guy now? You alright?” Jason can’t help but laugh because he agrees with you. It’s Penguin, sure he does some fucked up shit sometimes, but usually, he’s the least of their problems.

“No, I’m just saying. If more of the fucks did what Penguin does, they wouldn’t get caught.”

“We still catch Penguin.” Jason points the spatula at you.

“Yeah, but not nearly as often as guys like Mr. Freeze or even Scarecrow. Scarecrow got people to do his shit, too sure, but the whole Fear Gas really pinned him.” You point a finger at him to mock him but Jason’s brows furrow as he looks at you with confusion. “What?”

“Don’t like Batman but you sure know a lot of the bad guys, huh?” Jason teases.

“Fuck Batman.” You let out a laugh and you decide to throw him a bone, just to see him get all flustered. “I like Robin though.”

Jason feels the heat creep onto his cheeks again and he turns away in hopes you don’t notice. You do though and your stomach swarms. He’s cute when he’s flustered.

“Suit do it for ya?” Jason manages to get out as he flips the burgers.

“It’s the eye shadow and the cape.” 

“Shut up!” Jason groans through a laugh, tilting his head back.

“Look at you, being a batboy again though.” You tease with the scrunch of your nose and maybe that’s why he seems like he’s in such a good mood. Robin means everything to him. 

“Alright.” Jason shakes his head and you drive him crazy in the best way possible. “How was being a Titan?” He looks over at you.

“Pretty good.” You shrug. “We took down part of some illegal gun trading ring.”

“Yeah?” Jason perks up with the comment.

“Mhm, pretty cool. We didn’t get all of them, Dick was figuring out a plan to get all of them when I left but yeah, it was pretty cool.” You offer him a soft smile.

It was definitely cool being a Titan. You felt useful. You were going something good and helping people with your friends. It didn’t feel like you were wasting away anymore. It was as if you had some sort of purpose even if it also felt draining. Fighting and taking down these guys is fun, thrilling, and empowering. But, you aren’t sure that’s the best thing for you right now. The paranoia is still in the front of your mind, worried about it backfiring one day. You know it’s not best to be a Titan or a vigilante at all for right now. You want to feel normal for at least a little bit before getting back into it. You’re so certain you will be getting back into it, just after a little time.

“Use your powers?” Jason asks, plucking one of the burgers from the grill and putting it on a plate.

“Knives and fists, actually.” You hold your head up high.

“Why don’t you use your powers? You have them.” Jason continues to place the rest of the burgers onto the plate.

You shrug. “I dunno.” You let out a sigh. “I don’t like the acid.” You watch as Jason walks over to the table, placing the plate right in the middle amongst the condiments and buns. Jason hands you a plate. “Thanks.”

“Is it because of Jerry?” Jason asks, grabbing you a bun and handing it to you.

“Yeah, like…using it means he still won, ya know?” You use a pair of tongs to put a burger onto your bun while Jason gets his plate ready.

“He didn’t though, you beat the shit out of him and he’s locked up. You won.” Jason takes a seat with his food, right next to you rather than across the table.

“Yeah, I know but…” You pause, grabbing one of the condiments. “Using them just reminds me of everything he did to me and that it’s his fault. With the clairvoyance, I can’t help it. So, that’s fine and that protects me but the acid…I don’t have to use it.” You clear your throat. “There’s also that whole thing about getting kidnapped, ya know? Bit worried that might happen again if someone knows.”

The only people you know with powers are the Titans. But, it seems they’re the ones getting kidnapped for having powers. Rachel was basically being hunted for sport, Gar did get kidnapped, and Conner was made in a test tube then kidnapped because of it. You’re pretty content not using your powers if that’s the risk you’re taking. You do not want to be locked in another basement. Over your dead body. Then, there is Jerry. He won if you use them. He gave them to you against your will. He doesn’t get to win. You escaped him and nearly killed him. He gets to lose.

“Yeah,” Jason sucks in a breath. “Kidnapping shit is a good point.” Jason lets out a scoff.

You’ve been held captive twice in under two years. You have a point and Jason can’t say he blames you. And you witnessed that be the reason for Gar being kidnapped and tortured, and brainwashed. Jason knows enough about what Jerry did to you to understand your resistance and hesitance with using your powers. He does, however, wish you weren’t scared because they could protect you. But, he keeps that to himself because he can’t dispute your fear and that’s not his place to do so. He is, however, certain he’d go to the ends of the Earth to find you if ever happened again.

“Fuck that piece of shit though. If you ever want to use your powers, you should out of spite.” Jason states. “It’s like a fuck you to him. He gave you powers so he could have them and now he gets to rot the fuck away in prison.”

“Thank you, Jay.” You let out a soft laugh. “You’ve got a point.” You do like the idea of spite. There is no better fuel than spite sometimes.

“I always have a point.” Jason chuckles, adding mustard to his burger while you take a bite of your burger.

“Okay.” You swallow. “Why is this the best burger I’ve ever had?” Of all things Jason Todd can do, cooking seems to be the weirdest. Theater nerd, bookworm, chef?

“I told you I can cook.” Jason holds a triumphant smile.

“Seriously? How? How do you know how to cook?!”

There’s a sad smile that crosses his lips as he takes his own bite. “My mom.” Jason swallows. “I used to cook for us. She was always high out of her fucking mind so it was I cook or we both starve.” Jason shrugs his shoulders. “You get creative when you don’t have more than a handful of shit that’s actually edible.”

“You took care of her?” You ask, your voice gentle.

You never asked about his mom. It didn’t seem like a topic he’d ever want to discuss. You never want to talk about your dad. But, you’ve been through so much shit together, you don’t think any question could possibly be off limits between the two of you. And Jason taking care of his mom actually makes perfect sense. That explains a lot about him.

Jason nods softly. “Yeah,” He shrugs a shoulder. “She was my mom.”

“I kind of thought you hated her.” You state honestly, you hate your dad so you always figured Jason hated his mom. But it was different. While Jason’s mom was an addict, she at least didn’t abandon him.

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “I’m mad because fucking drugs, right? Why the fuck wasn’t I good enough for her? To quit, get help, or some shit. But, I don’t hate her. I always took care of her.”

No one really gets that part of him. To have no hatred for his mom, of all people. Every day, she’d pick drugs over him. She’d date her dealers who were always terrible people. A lot of them abused Jason and his mom either did not care because she got a discount on whatever her drug of choice was at the time or she was so far gone, she didn’t even notice. But, it was the two of them a lot and it was his job to take care of her, even if it never should have been. She was his mom.

“That’s nice of you and honestly, good for you. It never should have been your responsibility.”

“Yeah, but it was.” Jason scoffs. “How about you?” Jason jerks his head up towards you in a quick motion. His mom is still sore spot for him, though. “Like, do you ever…wish you knew your dad?”

Jason never asked about your dad because he does, hate his dad. Jason lived with his mom because his dad was down and out. A part of Jason didn’t blame him. Addicts aren’t easy to be with but Jason was a kid. He never should have been left alone to take care of his mom. And when he did see his dad, sometimes he’s get mad because Jason’s always had a smart mouth, always been a troublemaker, and his dad would snap sometimes. Jason doesn’t have a grudge against him, but he doesn’t like him either. So, he never asked.

Your brows furrow as you continue to eat your burger. “I don’t know. Not really. I only saw him once, he came to yell at my mom. It was something about her not letting him see me or something. He shoved her and he was high as fuck. Never showed up again. Like, I wish I knew him but he also picked drugs over me and I don’t want someone who’s gonna pick drugs over me in my life. Even if it’s to tell him to go fuck himself.” You shrug. “I think I just want to know why but not enough to look for him or even hear him out if he shows up. Not worth my time.”

Jason lets out a soft chuckle and that’s something he gets. He wanted to know why his dad was the way he was but it wasn’t worth it to ask. It wouldn’t have made the situation better. It wouldn’t have changed anything. It probably would have made things worse.

“Dads, right?” Jason lets out a scoff.

“Yeah.” You scoff and for a second, you think that at least he has Bruce. Bruce might not be the best by a long shot, but he at least cares about him. “Anyway,” You sigh. “This is seriously really good.” You smile at him. “I think you should cook for me all the time.” You beam.

“Oh, now you want me to be your personal chef?” Jason quips.

“You’re so good at it, Jay.” You lean in closer to him, batting your eyelashes and Jason’s heart stops in his chest. Maybe he misses that feeling, too.

“Kissing my ass?” Jason’s brows wave at you.

“Is it working?” Your smile turns cheeky.

“You could keep going.”

You let out a booming laugh, sitting back up in your chair. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“Yeah, I missed you, too.” Jason chuckles softly.

You make him feel so at ease with everything. He’s haunted and damaged and a little bit of a mess, but he doesn’t feel any of those things with you. He just feels like Jason Todd. And that is refreshing. And he misses your laugh and the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you smiles at him. He missed the way his heart likes to do summersaults around you and the taunting smirks you give him. He missed the easiness you provide.

“Alright, how’re things, really?” Jason asks, sitting back in his chair, nudging your knee with his.

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Nightmares, training.” Jason answers as smoothly as he can.

Maybe he’s been asking about you. You don’t lie to him but you omit information and Jason’s not mad about it. He never could be. He does it, too but with him not being at the tower, maybe he’s asked Gar and Dick a few times how you've been. They tell him point blank. At the end of the day, Gar and Dick know the two of you are the only ones who could ever get through to each other. So, when Jason asks, they tell him.

You pause, looking at him and how does he know that? Jason shows he cares in different ways than most people. Like, for example, he doesn’t tell them. That’s too much, too real. Instead, he does things for them. But this, for him to know that, he’d have to be asking about you. Of course, he could have figured it out. If anyone knows you the best, it would be him but the way he said it, you’re positive that’s not it.

“You asking about me?”

Jason shrugs. “And what if I am?”

You want to combust. You both tiptoe around the inevitable conversation. It’s bound to happen one way or another. But it’s day one in Gotham and neither of you want to go there yet. So, you dodge the game, just for that question.

“Yeah, I, uh, I don’t know.” You shrug. “Most nights I wake up from a nightmare. I don’t really like to sleep anymore.” You chew the inside of your cheek.

Jason looks at you and he hates that for you. But he doesn’t really sleep either. Deathstroke has permanently destroyed parts of him and that includes the ability to get any real sleep. “You gotta find a way to sleep.”

“Yeah,” You scoff. “But then I can’t sleep anyway so I train instead. But clearly, you knew that.” You widen your eyes at him. “Clears my head. Sometimes I can sleep a little after.”

“Same nightmares as before?”

“With the added attack of the tower, Gar dying. Lots of me dying, lots of me being the one who kills you and Gar. I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry.” Jason apologizes and he wants to do something that’ll help but he doesn’t know what. Not anything outside the routine you had fallen into at the tower. “Hey, uh, as long as you try to fucking sleep, you can always come into my room when you have a nightmare. I can read to you like before.” Jason offers, going back to his food to intentionally avoid looking at you.

You adore him with every piece of you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear the sun revolved around him. “Thanks, Jay. Might have to take you up on it.” You laugh softly. “How’re yours?”

“Who said I’m having nightmares?”

You shrug. “Just have a feeling.” You’ve had texts from him at all hours of the day and night. If he weren’t having nightmares, he’d be sleeping at some point.

Jason sucks in a breath. “Same shit. Deathstroke. Someone chasing me around the manor with a gun. They shoot me and I wake up before I die, I guess. Shit's fucked.” Jason lets out a scoff.

“I’m sorry.” You nudge his leg with her knee and a sense of worry comes over you. That’s a new nightmare and you wonder if it’s getting worse instead of better. “My room will always be open for you, too.” You offer a soft smile.

“Thanks.” Jason chuckles softly.

“You and me.” You go back to your food and Jason swears he only ever wants it to be him and you.

“You and me.” Jason repeats.

As you and Jason finish your conversation, Bruce comes home. He greets you with a kind smile and a hello. He asked how the flight was. You explain that it was good and you’re very thankful and appreciative that he is allowing you to stay at the Manor. You’re still pretty sure it’s just a favor to Jason and not just out of the kindness of his heart. But, you’ll definitely take what you can get. Gotham is home and this is allowing you to be home, with your best friend.

The rest of the day goes by and you find yourself exploring the Manor with Jason until Bruce Bruce needed Jason for something Batman-related. So, you got to occupy yourself for some of the day. You did text Gar and let him know you landed and everything was good. You promised you’d keep in touch. This is nice though. There’s something that feels so good about it and you actually feel a little more at ease. You felt at home enough in San Francisco, at the tower with everyone, but not like this. This feels like it will be home again in such a specific way. It makes you so happy.

Later that night, Jason finds you in the living room, scrolling through your phone. He’s just gotten back from patrol with Bruce and it didn’t go too well. And the only thing he wants to do is sit down with you, forget about it entirely. And you’re completely oblivious to him standing in the doorway. But, he has a soft smile daunting his face. He’s so happy to have you here. The world doesn’t feel so heavy with you here now.

“Hey.” Jason greets you, plopping down right beside you, nearly sitting on you.

“Excuse the fuck outta you.” You snap your head in his direction, but you don’t move away. You get a look at a purple bruise hugging his jaw and blues circling his right eye, kissing the skin.

“What’re you doing?” Jason questions, looking over at your phone.

You jerk your phone away, furrowing your brows at him. He’s so nosy. “Well, I was scrolling through Instagram until you sat on me.”

“I didn’t sit on you, I sat next to you.” Jason smirks at you.

“Your big ass thigh is literally on my leg.” You point to him barely on you. You poke his leg, hard, and he doesn’t move, just laughs. His leg is strong against yours, it nearly hurts your finger with the poke.

“Are you complaining?” His eyes darken and he’s giving you that troubled smirk of his that sets your entire body on fire.

“You’re heavy, yes.” You shove him with a laugh and Jason barely even moves.

“Seriously, you have got to do better than that, babe.”

“Fine.” You yank your leg from him with very little effort and swing both of your legs over him, leaning your back against the arm of the couch.

“That did so much.” Jason chortles. He rests his hands on your shins, tapping with his thumbs and you shake your head.

Jason’s been…touchy today. The two of you have always joked and played chicken with each other. You’re always the chicken. But, today, he’s very touchy.  When walking around the Manor, he'd reach for your hand or put his hand on the small of your back to guide you through the courtyard. And you don’t mind but you’re wondering why that is. What changed in the month you’ve been a part that Jason is suddenly touchy? And Jason knows he’s doing it. A part of him is doing it because it’s just you. He doesn’t have to worry about overstepping his best friend anymore. You can play this game the way Jason likes to play. A little more contact, make the game of chicken a little more thrilling. And the other part of him, wants to see where it’ll actually go. For real this time, despite everything.

“But I have won because this is comfortable.” You give him a large toothy grin and Jason does that crooked smile, where he’s almost biting his bottom lip, like he’s thinking something mischievous. And you swear he’s the prettiest person you've ever met.

Jason leans forward, plucking the book off the coffee table in front of the two of you. You watch him carefully over your phone. Jason lifts his legs up, yours still on top of his, and rests his feet on the coffee table before opening the book where he has a piece of paper as a book mark. The bruise on his jaw shines against the low light, moving with his jaw as he swallows. You find yourself thinking you like the way the bruises always look on his skin. He looks perfect even with the blacks and blues and purples and reds. But, the other part of you, hates that he’s covered in bruises. He never should be.

You sit all the way up and move closer to him, placing your fingers on his jaw. Jason’s heart stutters in his chest but he lets you finish. You turn his face so you can get a look at the bruises that hug his jaw and paint his opposite eye. Your touch is so gentle and tender, Jason isn’t sure if he’d ever get used to it. It’s been so long since he’s felt this, he almost wants to jump right out of his skin. But, he doesn’t dare move because despite his better judgement, he likes when you’re like this. It’s a side of you no one else ever really get to see and it makes him feel wanted.

“What happened?” You ask softly.

Jason is like a graphite drawing, small details in colored pencil. Messy and decorated with shades of blues and purples. But beautiful and soft. Despite the messy smudges and the accidental hard edges and hand prints, he’s so beautiful. He is this beautiful graphite masterpiece that you think should be on display everywhere. There is an effortless about him and ease about him. He pays those purple and blue splotches no mind as the corner of his mouth quirks into his signature grin. He’s so unbothered and pretty. The graphite isn’t damaged or too messy, the smudges make him…him.

“Dickweed got a few lucky hits in.” Jason scoffs and there’s a tiny bit of arrogance that flashes across his eyes. “Got ‘em back though.” Jason wiggles his brows and you brush your thumb over the bruise on his jaw line before shaking your head.

“Of course you did.” You laugh softly, pulling your hand away and Jason just almost grabs your hand back.

You knew you missed him. That was obvious every single day. A coldness came over like the first cold front of the winter. Expected but disappointing anyway. You didn’t know you missed this much. You had no idea you gave him this part of yourself and he took it back to Gotham with him. You think of the Iron Giant, how when he blew up and parts of himself went everywhere, his parts echoed, finding home. You think that’s how your heart is with him. He has a part of it, maybe without even knowing, and your heart beats and aches until you’re with him. You never realized that’s what the pain was until now, now that’s it gone.

You, instead of going back to his face, wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you. The hug catches him off guard, you hug him but there’s usually some bigger reason behind it. Deathstroke, almost dying twice, leaving, meeting again. There’s usually something bigger there but Jason doesn’t get the sense that’s what this hug is for. So, he reaches up and hugs you back.

You scare him. Jason Todd is not supposed to be scared of anything and lately fear has been taking over his life. And he’s scared of you, but not in that petrifying and paralyzing way that’ll get him killed one day. He’s scared because you’ve been here before and he backed out. He pushed and ran and then you ran. You’re runners and pushers, it’s embedded so tightly through your DNA, Jason doesn’t think anything would ever stop either of you. And he’s so scared to let himself exist with you in the way he so desperately wants to. He could never handle you leaving him and he couldn’t handle hurting you. So, he pulls away, not too far, but enough to look at you.

“What’s up?” Jason asks, his eyes darting over your face and his expression is careful, desperate not to give away the ache of his chest.

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Can’t hug you?”

“Always got a reason.” The corner of his mouth twitches up but it’s sad. If someone hugs him, even you, there’s usually a reason.

”I just missed you.” You shrug your shoulders with ease.

Jason can feel the heat creeping onto his face. “You’ve said like six fucking times today.” Jason lets out this laugh that you swear is better than any sound you’ve ever heard before. “I knew you wanted me, but fuck.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You let out a groan but you can’t get the smile to fall from your face. “Want you.” You scoff. “You’re the one who wants me.”

The smirk dances across Jason’s face. “Babe, if I wanted you, I’d have you.”

“Yeah, okay.” You roll your eyes. “Like to see you fucking try, Jay.” You taunt and there’s nothing hold you back from it now. You aren’t a Titan right now. There’s no Gar or Rose. It’s literally just the two of you for the first time since you’ve known each other. And you see Jason pause and you’ve won. “Mhm, exactly. I win.” You hum triumphantly, leaning back against the arm of the couch and Jason doesn’t take losing gently.

If this is game you want to play, he’ll play ball. No one else is here anyway. Jason gets this darkness that crosses his eyes and you do is smile to yourself proudly, going back to looking at your phone. You’re positive, for once, he doesn’t have a come back. But, Jason sticks his finger in his book and stretches his right arm out, grabbing the collar of your hoodie and pulling you forward, bringing you an inch from his face.

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, your breath catches in the very back of your throat. You swear you can taste your heartbeat in your mouth. Your stomach flips upside down, your bones feel like they’re turning to jell-o. How the fuck does he do that? His eyes are forest green in the low light of the living room and you swears it’s your favorite color now. That specific shade of green that should be named after Jason, himself.

Jason’s eyes dart between your eyes and your lips, he’s doing it on purpose. Jason does everything with intention. Impulsive? Yes. But, he has a purpose for everything that he does. He’s careful even when he’s impulsive.

“Mhm, exactly.” Jason’s voice is low, mocking you.

You finally let out a breath and look to his lips. For a split second, just a fraction of a second, you knows that if you close that distance, he loses. You’re picking up this game of chicken as if no time has passed and it feels like no time has passed. It feels like it did before Gar, before Rose, before Deathstroke. It feels like it did before shit hit the fan. And you know if you do something about it now, you’ll win. And you want to do it so badly, but you aren’t sure you want to be the one to do it this time. And, you like the cocky and arrogant smirk he gets when he wins.

“Fuck you.” You finally get the bitter words out of your mouth and Jason’s grin switches to cockiness, a triumphant win he doesn’t realize was handed to him.

Jason lets go of the collar of your hoodie, you falling back against the arm of the couch. “I win.”

“You’re so obnoxious.” You let out a whine and Jason sees the genuine smile pulling at the right side of your mouth.

“Just the way you like me.” Jason chortles, leaning back in his seat.

You almost tell him. But, you don’t think you actually have to. The both of you know. Neither of you are that obvious. You both already know there’s more here. Jason saw the way you were with Gar compared to how you are with him and he’s not so oblivious to not realize why even if it’s hard to believe. And you saw how he was with Rose, he’s different with you and Jason doesn’t let just anyone in. But you both do nothing about it because of fear and this is easier. The game you play, knowing something will happen sooner or later. This is easier than the conversations of risking the other breaking each other’s hearts. Taking those pieces of each other and the other tossing them into the river to drown. The risk is just a little too much for both of you right now and you don’t need the talk to know.

Jason looks down at his book before looking back to you. “Wanna watch something?”

Your brows furrow as you shake your head, as if to be doing a double-take of his words. “You? Wanna watch a movie?” You look up at him.

“Haven’t watched anything in a while.” Jason offers the softest of shrugs, trying to brush it off. He wants to watch something because that’s your thing.

“I always want to watch something.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “What’d ya have in mind?”

“You pick.” Jason chuckles, putting the piece of paperback in the book before tossing it onto the coffee table.

“I have suddenly forgotten every movie I have ever watched in my entire life.” You blink at him and Jason can’t help but laugh.

“Well, scroll.” Jason leans over you to grab the remote from the table beside the armrest.

He’s leaning over you, a little too close and your heart thunders. You can smell his soap on him and a hint of what you swear his in cologne he’d wear at the tower. A smile pulls at your lips, thinking that is a weird thing to put on after a shower at three in the morning. It’s such a Jason thing to do and you really do just adore him. Jason grabs the remote, hovering just above you with a wild grin and he did it on purpose.

“Here.” Jason states with ease, seeing the gentle expression of fluster across your face.

“Getting pretty close there, Jay.” You whisper, blinking at him and you take a page out of his book, actively glancing between his eyes and lips.

“You were in the way.” Jason doesn’t move and he can feel his stomach twist and turn.

“Right, could have asked me to grab the remote.” You put your hand on his, intentionally stalling as you grab the remote, keeping your eyes on him.

“Could have.” Jason shrugs a shoulder and he almost rests his forehead against yours because he can see your eyes darting across his face. But, it's you who do it first.

You can't help it. He gets close and it's the only thing you ever want, to keep him as close to you as long as possible. You feel warm when he's this close and the second he backs away, you’re cold again and you hate being cold. And Jason's entire brain is short-circuiting. Half of him is screaming 'do it' over and over again. It's screaming and banging at the inner walls of his mind, suffocating nearly every other reasonable thought he could possibly have. Then, there's the other part that thinks it's too soon even if he so desperately wants to cave to the voices in his head. And he is almost terrified of what would happen if he were the one to actually do it this time.

“Did you put on cologne?” You question him because one of you has to say something eventually and you decide, you'll do something if he has one of his usual quips. You pull away just enough to look at him and his eyes shoot wide open.

“No.” He scoffs, heat creeping up his neck as he finally back away. He didn’t think you’d notice.

You chuckle softly as you start to feel the cold creep over your bones. You were hoping he'd have a quip. “Okay, sure.” You shrug, looking at the TV and you can still feel your heart in your throat. “Smells good.” Jason gains a soft smile with your words as he watches you look at the TV.

You start scrolling through the home page, just in case anything sparks your interest. You look up in the corner to see if it says which profile it is. The picture is a picture of Jason, not smiling at the camera and the photo is simple but you think it’s cute. So, you scroll comfortably and naturally see one of the Saw movies recommended followed by Human Centipede and you cringe with the sight of the movie. The Walking Dead is under Jason’s continue watching, he’s on season 2 and you smile. Jason doesn’t watch TV but he’s watching one of your shows.

“Oh! Here.” You click a movie and look at Jason excitedly.

“Yeah…?” Jason chuckles softly and adoration bubbles in his stomach because he loves when you go on little movie rants.

“Happy Death Day.”

“Happy Death Day?” Jason nods. “Am I supposed to know what the fuck that is?”

“One of the best movies ever!” You yell excitedly and Jason loves when you get excited over movies. There’s an innocence about it. You’re anything but innocent so when you’re like this, Jason really likes it. “Groundhog Day?”

Jason shakes his head, looking at you with more confusion. “Which is?”

“Groundhog Day is a movie where the character repeats the same day over and over again.”

“Ugh.” Jason groans, tossing his head back against the back of the couch. “You like those movies?!”

“No! I don’t like Groundhog Day, that’s not my point. I like this movie.” You laugh. “She has to repeat the same day over and over until she finds her killer.”

“Oh, she just gets do-overs.”

“Yep, because Tree is a final girl and she’s a fun one, too.” You grin up at him. “Have I ever steered you wrong?” You offer him a pitiful pout and Jason nearly rolls his eyes into oblivion.

“No, you fucking haven’t.” Jason groans. You’re usually right but then he remembers something you did have him do once. “Actually, no that’s a lie. Remember that time you told me it was a good idea to use one of those smoke canons things on Dick while he made his coffee.” Jason reminds you and you nearly laugh yourself into a fit of tears.

“It was a good idea! He was pissed, he spilled coffee everywhere! There was blue dust covering the entire kitchen! He was blue for days! It was worth it.”

It was about three weeks after Dick had brought you back to the tower. Jason wanted to get Dick back for something stupid that happened in training. He had the bright idea to use one of the smoke canons they use for parties that are supposed to be non-toxic. He went to you, asking if it was a good idea or if he should think of something even better. You did not take long to tell him it was a great idea. You pictured Dick covered in blue smoke that would probably stain and he’d look like the guy from Big Fat Liar. That was enough for you to think it was a great idea.

Dick did not think so. Jason snuck into the kitchen, behind Dick and hid behind the counters before popping out and shooting one of the canons at Dick. Dick’s coffee mug hit the ground, shattering while coffee spilled everywhere. And he was covered in blue smoke. You were in the living, laughing so hard you started choking. Jason’s laugh bounced off of every wall and Dick wanted to yell because what the fuck? It was five in the morning. And this what he’s dealing with. Dick wasn’t actually mad though, not at first because it took a little bit of dedication for Jason to pull it off and for you to be awake at five in the morning. He stood there, completely silent as if to be questioning every life choice he’s made that lead him to that exact moment before finally muttering “I’m not cleaning this” and Jason immediately said he would through his fit of laughter.

It was after the shower that Dick was not happy. You were right, it did stain and he did look like the guy from Big Fat Liar. He still wasn’t that mad but he was going to dish out something because now he’s blue. Jason swore up and down it was worth it. And Gar and Rachel got a good laugh out of it, too. Rachel didn’t even want to think it was funny but Dick was in the training room trying to be so serious about something but none of you could take him seriously with a face as blue as Blue from Blue’s Clues.

“I got double chores for a week!” Jason yells.

“Well, it was a good idea for me. I got a good fucking laugh out of it and you had to pick up some my chores. So, I did not steer you wrong. I steered you exactly where I wanted you.”

All Jason can do is blink at you, he wants to laugh. You’re just as conniving as he is. You do it differently and he’ll definitely be getting you back for that.

“Yeah, don’t think you thought that far ahead.”

“Oh, didn’t I?” You wiggle your brows at him.

“No.” Jason states but his word is slightly unsure.

“Guess you’ll never know.” You shrug cheekily, looking back to the TV and you change the subject before Jason can dispute the discussion “Hey, Jay.”

“No, fuck you.” Jason scoffs, the corners of his mouth perking up.

“You should get me a blanket.” You offer a toothy, pleading smile.

“Do I look like a fucking maid to you?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.” You snicker to yourself and it takes everything in Jason not to start laughing and immediately get up to get you a blanket.

“Fuck you, no!” Jason huffs, you’ll be the death of him, he swears it.

“Please.” You lean forward, pouting your bottom lip. “It’s chilly.”

“It’s fucking July.” Jason’s voice booms as he finally lets the laugh slip.

“And three in the morning.” You bat your eyes at him.

“You’re so annoying.” Jason scoffs, moving your legs off him before he gets up.

“Maybe so, but you think it’s cute.”

“Do I?” Jason quips, you can see his canines through his fake scowl. He’s cute when he pretends to be mad. And Jason always thinks you’re cute, even when you’re not trying to be.

“Of course you do.” You hold your head up. “I think you’re cute.”

“Alright, shut up, pause the damn movie. What blanket you want?”

“Doesn’t matter, your pick.” Your smile turns soft and Jason nods his head slowly before turning around and heading down the hallway.

They say home is where the heart is. Jason thought that was a load of shit. His heart has belonged to several people, several places. His home, the library, his mom, his uncle, Bruce. He swore if home were a place, it would not just be the thing he loves. It would be a place he felt safe and comfortable, where he didn’t always have to look over his shoulder. It would be a place where he didn’t feel like he needed to hide a tire iron under his pillow or a baseball bat under his bed. He wouldn’t feel like he needs to hide food around the house, just to make sure he always has a stash, just in case. It would be a place of comfort and safety and peace. But, he’s walking to his room to grab a blanket for you and he thinks he feels more at home now than he ever has before. Jason pretends like he doesn’t know why that is, even if it’s chewing and biting and tugging the very center of his chest.

“Here’s your damn blanket.” Jason comes back, tossing it over your head.

“Hey!” You yell, pulling the blanket away. Jason lets out a soft laugh as he plops down beside you once more. “Rude.”

“I got the blanket.” Jason quips back. “You gonna share?”

“It’s JuLy.” You mock him while you swing your legs back over his. You spread the blanket over your legs, covering Jason, too.

Jason gains a grin looking back at you and you play the movie. The movie plays for a few minutes, before you break the silence and you think maybe Jason’s rubbed off on you because now you can’t shut up. You ignore the feeling that maybe it’s because you haven’t talked like this in a month. You ignore that maybe it’s just you missing him.

“You seem comfortable here.” You state, looking over him.

“Yeah,” Jason nods his head. “Gotham is fucking shitshow, but like you said, it’s home.” He shrugs a shoulder, a fond smile on his lips.

“Yeah.” You agree with him.

“You seem comfortable here, too. It’s your first day but you seem like you’ve been living here as long as I have.”

You offer him a kind smile. “Yeah…it feels nice. I like it here.” You think maybe you could feel comfortable anywhere as long as Jason is there.

He always offers a different type of comfort than Gar ever did. Gar offered comfort, it’s just different with Jason. He offers it with quips rather than tender words and kind touches. He offers it with sarcasm and fire in his bones. Gar offered it with softness and gentle words. Jason offers comfort in a way that makes you feel understood.

Jason moves his legs from under you and slide his on the couch, maneuvering himself to lean against the back of the couch, partially on you so he can lie down with his elbow holding his head up. The exhaustion of lack of sleep and patrol is finally catching up with him. He’s not sure if he could hold his head up much longer just sitting up. And you smile at him, a soft and loving smile.

“Tired?” You ask.

“I’m fine.” Jason answers and you think maybe it’s a reflex, to always say he’s fine. You hope he breaks the habit and chooses honesty one day.

“Mhm.” You roll your eyes. “Just lay down, I’m not gonna fucking bite you.”

“You do give biter vibes.” Jason huffs and you tap the top of his head. “Hey!” Jason lets out a laugh, looking up at you.

“I don’t bite people!” You glare at him before a flash of teasing comes across your eyes. “Well…not like this.”

Jason smirks. “Oh, that’s what you’re into? Yeah, that tracks.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Jay?”

Jason laughs loudly. “Nothing.” Jason continues to snicker.

“Maybe I will bite you.” You mutter.

“You can bite me in that context all you fuckin want, babe.”

Your words jumble in your mouth like they’re all rushing out once and caused a traffic jam. How does he always do that?

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You quip and the response catches Jason off guard. He’s surprised you had a comeback.

“Wouldn’t be a threat.” Jason fires back.

“Lay down.” You roll your eyes and and stretch out your arms, welcoming him to lay with you. You think your smile might be stuck on your face like glue.

Jason smiles softly to himself and he does as told, scotting up closer to you, resting his head between your chest and stomach. You’re the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough to lay like this with.

A kind warmth fills your stomach with the butterflies swarming around. He’s so soft. He’s so soft and he’s so good. He deserves everything good to happen to him. Jason being rough around the edges but soft around you. It makes you want to melt right into the floor. He’s fucking cute. And you lift your hand, tangling your fingers in his hair, spinning his curls around her finger. Jason hums and he doesn’t remember the last time someone played with his hair but it’s nice. It’s relaxing and you just keeps doing it while the movie plays, absentmindedly enjoying the closeness. The both of you could easily get used to this.

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[kyouka-supremacy]

Ask game can you do kyouka

Yay Kyouka!!!

Favorite thing about them: HER EXISTING. The fact that she's one (1) fleshed out female character and for one I will love her for that. I also generally really like the trope of little girls facing unimaginable horrors and defeating them, it gives me hope. The fact that she was able to get out of an abusive environment by her own forces is very inspiring, too. More Kyouka love words here.

Least favorite thing about them: I feel I'm cheating at this with always mentioning things that are really not about the character but rather about the way they fit in the story but... I'm very disappointed when the author flat out forgets about her. 55 Minutes and the whole airport arc. I've said it before but I really wish she would have intervened during the Atsushi / Akutagawa airport fight because what were she and Yosano and Lucy doing the entire time. In general, I wish we'd see her more outside of her relationship with Atsushi which I LOVE but that is starting to feel quite limiting of her right now.

Favorite line:

Eheh. It's been this blog title since day one. It's just that crepes is one of my favourite desserts too but most of all I really appreciate the feeling of carrying on living even if it's just for the small nice things in life. I may be worthless, and with no right to breathe; but crepes still make life worth living. I appreciate the sentiment. Ss/kk should learn from her it'd spare them a lot of trouble lol

brOTP: I LOVE LOVE LOVE HER RELATIONSHIP WITH ATSUSHI. It's really one of my favourite things. I think Kyouka is about the only person Atsushi truly cares about beyond his own selfishness and it's really heartwarming. They make each other's lives better every day and comfort each other that they're good people capable of doing good. I also think Kyouka really helps Atsushi in the way she's so blunt and straightforward, she helps him overcome his insecurities and second-guessing everything; she's a reassuring presence for him because he knows she wouldn't lie to him. And Atsushi allows her to be a child, and it's so sweet!!! They need each other in a lot of ways and they're so perfect for each other. Platonic soulmates fr. I also really like her relationship with Kenji, that too is so wholesome, I'm happy she has someone her same age she can do 14 y/os things with!!! Oh and I LOVE her relationship with Lucy, they're so much fun in their low-key animosity but I like to think they truly care about each other and that Lucy fully took Kyouka on as her annoying little sister she wouldn't hesitate to die for. AND the potential of Kyouka and Yosano, AND Fukuzawa. AND Akutagawa and Kouyou (more as like, relationships to explore rather than think they'd actually get along). I think about Kyouka's relationships with other characters a lot lol.

OTP: You know I'm fully convinced I would have been a full flagged Kyouka/Kenji supporter if only they were a little older, but the way I can really only think of them as children kinda makes it hard for me to say I ship them just because personally I don't really like to imagine them in a romantic picture in general (个_个) It's a shame because again I know what I like and this kind of sun/moon coded het ship is something I would have been really into ;;

nOTP: Likely Kyouka and Kenji for the reasons mentioned above :// It's just something I noticed I'm not very into when it's brought up in ss/kk fics. That said, it's not like I have any strong feeling against it either.

Random headcanon: About that, I really like to think she and Kenji are going to be partners when they're older.

Unpopular opinion: Not sure this goes here but right now I can't think of anything else– I do think that in the early chapters of the manga there was some level of writing Kyouka like she was Atsushi's love interest. Overall I think the manga verges way less in the “siblings” direction than the “eventually couple to-be living together” direction than the fandom makes it to be (I don't think they were ever directly associated to siblings in the manga, like, ever? I don't remember Atsushi ever saying he sees Kyouka as a little sister or something in those lines). Which I personally do not like, but in my reading interpretation that's the direction the manga was going for. That's why the chapter 15 opening is extremely distasteful to me, it really feels like pushing forward the stereotype of little dainty young house wife waking up early to prepare breackfast for her husband... And the way we know she's so young makes it downright disturbing. (But again, that's only as far as my understanding of the manga goes, feel free to disagree with me on this).

Song i associate with them: Shinkai Shoujo by Yuuyu-P!!!! It's just so her, both in the girly j-pop vibes and lyrics. It literally talks about a girl sinking in the darkness but managing to find the light in the end :')

Favorite picture of them:

Favourite panel from the manga:

Favourite illustration:

Favourite illustration in the anime art style:

Favourite Mayoi card:

Send me a character?

[spiced-wine-fic]

Thank you so much @virgulesmith :)

2. Where do you get your fic ideas? 

I wish I knew :) I think ideas come from everything we observe, watch, read and are interested in but the best ones for me (as in ideas that I develop and aren’t just ‘there as part of the fic’s fanon’)  seem to be waiting silently in my forebrain and suddenly jump into the story. 

6. What’s the last line you wrote?

There was a different feel here, a deeper darkness, the edges seemed sharper.

 69. What are your favourite fics at the moment?

I’m reading (and re-reading) the wonderful @naryaflame’s The Way through the Dark. Selfish on my part as it’s part of our Summerland ‘verse but I so love her OC’s in St Andrews, ‘The Quartet’ (Harrison, Theo, Rosie and Luc)  and how she writes my OC David. When I was writing him, his future was to go to university, a thing he should have done before his life went into a very dark place.

I couldn’t have written that as I never went to uni and while you can research, to have the authentic feeling that will carry through an entire story rather a brief mention, I think it’s better to have experienced it. So Narya now writes David at St. Andrews and is developing him more. I couldn't be more thrilled. Like the amazing Mary Stewart, Narya has such a feeling for ‘place’ that it puts a reader right ‘there.’

@naryaflame The Way Through the Dark.

I was also thrilled to see that @thepinksiamese is writing a sequel to her completely awe-inspiring ‘A Dawn of Many Colours.’ 

Pink’s writing is so completely outstanding that I often just look up from the screen and think ‘How on Earth does she do it?’ (I’m a Fan with a capital F) And intimidated!

I began reading ‘Dawn’ in 07 and when Pink finished, I never thought she would write any more in the ‘verse (or the fandom) as she was doing other things. However, there’s often a little spark of hope that won’t be quenched. 

The Pink Siamese’s Her and the Sea

Then there’s Ziggy’s latest story in her The Sons of Thunder arc. Again Ziggy is a fantastic storyteller and I’ve followed her stories since the 2007-10 LOTRFF.com archive. If I love the way an author writes I’ll attach myself to their writing like a particularly loyal hound, 😂 . I’m always looking for fics that read like excellent published work and have a little of everything in them. 

Ziggy’s Seven Stars and Seven Stones

And there are more, of course!

These are my bookmarks which are all recs.

[equizona]

Hello! May i request the obey me demon brothers reactions with a tanjiro!mc? like, their family was slaughtered by a demon but they never hold a grudge?? Really understanding and kind??

Please do delete/ignore if uncomfy, and cab i be 🌼anon? :D

❝Notes❞ → I love requests like this lmao, absolutely. Here you go, hope you enjoy. <3 ALSO I'M SO SORRY YES, WELCOME TO MY BLOG 🌼 ANON!! Gosh, I love emoji anons. I'm so happy you like my writing enough for that! Welcome! <3 (My cat liked this ask, lol.)

→ Asmo has a sort of short one compared to the others, but it's short and sweet and I'm happy with it.

❝Fandoms❞ → Obey Me!

❝Characters❞ → Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor

❝Scenario❞ → MC who's family was murdered by a demon, but doesn't hold a grudge.

❝Trivia❞ → Gender neutral reader (They/Them)

→ Lucifer

He knows better than anyone how you never seem to hold a grudge, since he and majority of his other brothers have tried to murder you before and you aren't upset at all..

But when he finds out?

He doesn't understand. Not at all. He holds a deep hatred for his father since he killed Lilith, and you're..

Just fine? Being around the very creatures who murdered everyone you loved? Your parents, your siblings?

He doesn't get it. A part of him wants you to hate his kind, because it would make you seem more..

He isn't sure. He doesn't get it, but it's admirable. He wishes his father had been as kind as you were, Lilith might have been alive if he was.

Lucifer makes the decision that he and his brothers will be your new family they ready were and nothing will happen to them or you,

That way you always have someone to turn to.

→ Mammon

Mammon knows you're really sweet. Out of everyone, he was the first one who truly got to know you.

He didn't know it went this far though.

Personally, Mammon doesn't bear the hatred Lucifer has for their father. Of course, Mammon isn't exactly happy with the man either, but..

Nothing? At all?

Mammon feels uncomfortable when it comes to angels. He's cool with the young angels, but the older ones like Simeon makes him sort of awkward.

Even if they didn't actually fight against Lilith or Lucifer.

He doesn't get how you're totally fine being around demons constantly. Not when they killed your family.

His family is all he has. He imagines he would be much like Belphie if he ever lost all of them, loathing everyone he could place even a slimmer of guilt on.

Mammon tells you he'll always be there, and nothing will happen to him.

Whenever he sees you sad, or staring nongingly at something with a sense of nostalgia around you, he'll gather whoever is available of his brothers and do something together with you.

You're not alone anymore.

→ Leviathan

Leviathan isn't entirely sure how he should react to something like that..

He was never the best with people, let alone comforting them. How is he supposed to react when he finds out you've gone through something so horrible..?

He can't help but realize that it happened not too long ago, and that you're seemingly doing alright.

He does what he wished someone did for him when he fell and had to deal with the grief of Lilith and believing none of his brothers wanted him alive.

He brings you into a hug, turns on something that one doesn't require brain effort to listen to and tells you that you can do whatever you want, he'll listen. Whether you want to be silent, talk about it or just cry. He's there.

→ Satan

Satan has always been a little confused about his brothers. Unlike them, he doesn't know the feeling of losing a loved one. But at the same time, he does?

He carries a small part of Lucifer's grief over Lilith with him, and he doesn't quite understand it, since he never knew Lilith.

He can't relate to you. Not in the way his brothers can, he never lost anyone important to him.

As selfish as he thinks it must be, he prays he'll never have to go through the type of pain his brothers and you have gone through.

He doesn't know how to comfort you. He doesn't think you seem like you need comfort either.

He just.. hands you some cups and plates, tells you that you can throw them at a wall and break them. It might make you feel better.

He offers you to throw them at him. A demon killed your family, so you must want to make demons suffer, right?

...No?

Satan, as unsure as he is, finds he wants to be as strong as you are.

He doesn't know how to help, but he tells you if you know how he can help he'll do it in a heartbeat.

He hopes it's enough for now.

→ Asmodeus

Asmodeus is understanding about the whole situation. He's one of the only two of them that understand emotions to any degree.

He asks you if you hate demons and want to go home.

You answer no, to both of them. You tell him it feels like home here with him and the others.

For a second Asmodeus understands what pure, unconditional love is, and decides he'll return that type of love to you.

→ Beelzebub

Beelsebub is yet another one who doesn't quite know how he should react. He ends up just bringing you into a hug.

He was never the best with words.

Beelzebub admires you, he always has, but he does so even more now. He watched Belphie develop a hatred for one of his previous favorite things,

And he's happy you didn't become like that. He's also really happy you don't hate him.

He'll help you hunt down whoever killed your family if you want him to.

He offers you food whenever he sees you're sad, and is always the first to join in when Mammon wants to do activities together to cheer you up.

You're his family, he hopes he can be yours too.

→ Belphegor

Out of everyone, Belphegor is the one who understands you the least.

After Lilith got killed, Belphegor blamed everyone who could hold even a glimmer of guilt in her death. He projected his hate towards humans a lot especially.

It was how he coped with his feelings.

He doesn't understand you at all.

He doesn't understand how you don't hate the Devildom, the Celestial realm, the human realm, angels, demons,

Him.

A part of him truly wants you to hate him and demons. Because maybe then you would make a little more sense to him.

He wonders if you were happy he killed you. He wonders if you wished you had stayed dead so you could be with your friends.

He wondered if you blamed yourself too.

[thequeenofsastiel]

Not Me Episode 11 Review

I liked this episode a lot. I will have to rewatch it because I think I'll like it even more when I'm not on tenterhooks waiting for the reveal, but I still liked it.

It looks like Todd and Black were friends, not faen, but, given how meaningful my own friendships are, I don't think that diminishes their connection. I very much enjoyed Black saying that power corrupts, though I wish that when he invoked MLK's name(which took me aback like whoa), he'd have mentioned that MLK once said: "A riot is the language of the unheard." I feel like that would have fit his character a lot more than talking about peaceful protest and civil disobedience. Then again, most Americans aren't even familiar with that quote, so it doesn't astonish me that Black probably doesn't know it either.

I find it interesting that Todd's plan appears to involve pushing Tawi out of power to take his place. That explains why Todd didn't do anything to stop White and the gang from carrying out their plans. I'm still not clear on why Todd had Black beaten up, but hopefully we'll find that out eventually.

Sidenote, I feel like Black should be too smart to drink what Todd gave him, but whatever.

Well, it's confirmed that Dan is the one who shot Sean's father, which pretty much everyone called, but I'm nonetheless disappointed by. This show has felt very real so far, and throwing in that soap opera esque interconnection between the characters diminished that. I did like that Yok didn't get angry at Dan about it, despite his initial shock. I especially like that Yok told Dan not to tell Sean, though I wish he'd told Dan that telling Sean would be a selfish act to make himself feel better, rather than making it easier for Sean. It might have stopped Dan from telling Sean next episode.

Yok handled Dan's bullet wound about as well as one could hope in that situation. They're both very lucky that the bullet didn't shatter.

The entire time White and Sean were talking in the abandoned building I was practically pulling my hair out and chanting "Tell him, tell him, tell him for fuck's sake!"

I like that it took everyone aback that Black was acting like he'd never seen Dan before, though I think it made Sean the most suspicious.

I LOVED that Sean used the trust fall as a way to ascertain whether he was talking to White or Black. I'm still not sure how long Sean has suspected, and I do hope we find out. Their whole interaction was very enjoyable to watch. I loved these parts especially:

I really love that even though Sean says he knows, he still has this moment of shock at hearing it confirmed:

But then. Then, the tiniest of smiles briefly crosses his lips:

And, almost instantly:

It was all so deeply satisfying. I'm so glad that Sean has no intention of giving up on White despite the fact that White lied to him.

I also loved the way Sean and Black looked at each other after the truth was fully revealed:

This is the first time that we actually got to see Sean and Black look at each other while they both knew who the other was. Their real emotions towards each other shone through, and it was excellently done. Honestly I don't think I'm going to be able to wax poetic enough about Off and Gun's acting skills in this show. Especially Gun. Jfc give this man ALL the awards.

9/10. Really good by and large but the Dan reveal was a disappointment.

[lamentingwclf]

He would not seek legitimate medical attention. He was content with the patch job Wanda had done on him, and reliant upon his bodies own regenerative properties. There was nothing a hospital could do now for him, and quite frankly, he didn't trust hospitals. He didn't trust any facility with the capability to take and bottle his blood. He didn't trust human nature. Did not trust their selfish tendencies. Did not trust the temptation such a thing would offer if they knew the price tag.

It did mean he was comfortable with what they were walking away from, just that he had to hope nature would take its course and either the ground would absorb it, or rain would wash it away.

In his book, if he could stand, he was fine. But his eyes were steel as they cut to hers at the idea of her carrying him.

He does not pretend to know how much energy she'd expended. He wasn't entirely sure how her stamina worked, but he could see the fatigue etched in her features. Had been vaguely monitoring it through the duration of the battle every time his eyes sought her out to make sure she was still standing. When his fingers itched to correct her stances, or raised a dropped guard. It was a natural inclination to protect, but he'd promised her not to rush in to her aid. To let her stand her ground, to fight. He did her more good having her back and vice versa.

Bucky could see the masking of her own aches as she settled with him. They both reeked of sweat, blood, dirt, and fear. "Just - another minute." He asks, when his eyes roll shut at the feel of her hand trailing the sleeve of his jacket until it meets his hand. Feels the warmth of her finger tips against his own - and for a moment, he does not move. He is afraid to move. Afraid that she will draw back, but surprises him by taking it. It is strange, at first, this soft showing of intimacy. He's fascinated by it - the feeling of their laced fingers and how much strength he feels radiating there.

It makes him feel brave, but unprepared for how difficult the first step is. It feels like he's waist deep in mud trying to pull himself free. It's a shuffle, barely able to lift his foot from the ground and when he takes the second step his body radiates pain from his side out. A mix between a groan and a curse escapes as he simultaneously squeezes her hand and raises his free one to clasp where it hurts. He knows he's sweating again with the exertion, but he does not falter. His legs do not buckle, and he does not fall. "It's fine, I'm fine." He says equally to himself and to assure her.

The next few steps are not easier, but his body adjusts and compartmentalizes the pain. "No one is ever prepared for this." Bucky says, jumping on the conversation to distract himself. "And it doesn't get easier, there's never a threshold for it. Fighting is never normal, war is never normal, despite how many we fight. It just doesn't scare me anymore." He admits, much to his own surprise at the truth behind it. "It did, once, when I first joined the army. I was terrified. I remember thinking how much of a man I felt, but in reality, I didn't know shit." A pause to shake his head, and he's not meeting her eye either. It's easier to remember things from the past when he's not focused on someone's expression. When he can't see self projected judgement.

" At first, I was afraid because I watched what it had done to my father, the man it made him when he came home. He was drunk, and cruel, and he took it out on us." He knows now that it was PTSD, but it didn't stop or excuse the abuse. It didn't take away the faint scars he wore from blows taken to protect his sisters. "and then because I actually got there and saw the devastation. I saw the battlefields strewn with bodies, and was with the prisoners of war wasting away as we manufactured weapons that would then be used to kill our brethren. So I wish I could say it gets better, or easier, but it would be a lie. I don't want to lie to you."

And he had been worried too, nothing reassured you of your own mortality quite like bleeding out.

His lips tilt, a smirk, and this time he does look at her. For once, there's nothing guarded in his expression. "Wanda, it's not about the dirt. I want to get out of here with you." It's suggestive, but open. He lets her draw her own conclusions from it. Not that he was going to leave her, but damnit he used to be better at this. "Get to the road, find a car, there's a safehouse not far from here - it'll have supplies and hot water. What more could you want?"

It was gratifying to hear his confidence, whether purely for show or not. And did it matter if he truly believed she could? That he would try and boost her (and his own) spirits and confidence was enough. Wanda wanted to believe, though healing an injury such as this was far from a certainty. But she could do this - and she was relieved to find the injury did heal. Not completely, no. But hopefully enough.

She was startled as he pushed himself up (and away from her, the absence noticeable immediately), as though there was a desperate need to move. Maybe there was. Where there was one person willing to fight there was usually plenty more and perhaps it was better not to stay in one place - but they surely had another minute or two. His swaying from merely sitting up earlier had worried her, to start moving about was too much. But Wanda didn’t need to guess how stubborn she was, she knew it. What an ass. Admittedly, it was with a sense of RELIEF that she saw him at least able to stand, even if he still looked pale as a ghost and though he might go down again. A few minutes before and— well, maybe she ought to take what she could get.

And there was no time to argue, he was reaching out and she took his offer of help. His hold and his pull showed tiredness? weakness? but he was still capable of bringing her in close. Not that she resisted. It felt good and warm, despite everything, to move in close to him once again. She’d felt his absence when he moved away, to stand in so close as this (pressed up like this) wasn’t something she would fight against. Wanda wouldn’t admit this aloud, but she had enjoyed his touch, even in this situation. Her hands moved, one resting lightly on his chest as if steadying herself.

His words got a soft laugh - well maybe it was more of a snort, a quick exhale of air - but she accepted the thanks without fighting it or looking for more praise. Truthfully, Wanda didn’t know how good a job she’d done and there was still worry and concern gnawing away at her. He needed actual medical attention, surely, not just her rush job. But his words and that he had listened earlier, plus his touch, did relieve some of the pressure and ice around her heart.

Head tilting up, the smile on her face almost held most of the charm of her usual smirk. “Please, this is the scent and grime of carrying you through today.” A pause, Wanda wrinkling her nose, scrunching it up the tiniest bit, before acquiescing, “Though I do feel like I need one. Just to freshen up.” Her smile came relaxed now - but it did falter for a second as she glanced at him.

She was fairly certain she could walk. But for how long she couldn’t tell. And she wouldn’t be able to go quickly. She was DRAINED. And Bucky? Bucky seemed to be fighting through it and surely even just bringing himself up right had to be costing him a great deal of energy. She bit her bottom lip, eyes scanning his but all she found was what she already knew - stubbornness. Determination. Pain. Other things. Her head tilted forwards, briefly resting against his chest as she exhaled once again, though without the hint of laughter.

Then she nodded, looking at him with a small smile.“I’m not carrying you, just so you know,” she stated, the fingers of one hand lightly trailing down his arm to his own hand. Her fingers ran over his but didn’t quite grasp his hand in her own, but after that brief moment her hand slid through his she moved in to take it. As much for her own sake as anything else. If Wanda sat back down or stopped again, she wasn’t sure she’d really get going. Even if they could just move away from this spot (where her eyes could just flicker down and see the darkened and stained spot that held his blood), would be better.

So she gave a soft tug, moving away. First step unsteady, second step unsteady, will power making her third step resemble something a little closer to a normal walk. “Let’s go,” she said softly, barely above a whisper. “Let’s just go now.” But her hand tightened on his briefly, a glance to him with a flash of a smile just for him, before she saw glanced back at that SPOT. The darkened patch on the ground.

“I was worried,” she admitted, voice still soft - and almost pointedly not looking his way as she stubbornly kept walking. “That injury—“ Well, it was his injury, she hardly need describe it. “I keep thinking I’m used to this. Fighting, running, defending myself. I am used to it. I’m learning. That’s just how it goes now. …I wasn’t prepared for seeing you fall like that.” Her tone was almost thoughtful, for Wanda WAS trying to think. He was important to her (again, she’d already admitted enough to him, and like wanting his touch she’d keep this to herself). But when did he become important? When did she find herself searching for him - just as she had the second the fight had ended, just in time to see him fall.

[winter-soldier-vibes]

Hey darling ❤️ love your writing 3000 :) can u do one with Bucky x reader (they’re together) where he overhears the reader on the phone with her parents that are emotionally & verbally abusive towards her (they always have been) and the reader has to explain it all to him afterwards even tho she’s having a panic attack (bc she’s afraid bucky will leave her since she has no one else to go to ??) and bucky comforts her and reassures her that he’s gonna be there for her and like comfort fluff? I live in an emotionally abusive and manipulative household rn and I tell you your fics are like an escape for me. Even if u don’t do this thank you from the bottom of my heart :)

Hey there, I love you 3000 ❤ I am so so sorry to hear about your situation, and while I'm glad to hear that my writing is an escape for you, I want you to know that I'm here for you. No one should have to go through what you described. I hope that this can bring you some comfort but please, I encourage you to reach out to someone who can help you. My DM's are open as well, you shouldn't face this alone. I'm here for you!!!

You owe them nothing

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3200 (ish)

Warnings: emotional abuse/gaslighting, manipulation, parent issues, tears, angst, breakdown, fluff.

---------

You really tried to keep it hidden. It wasn’t something that everyone needed to know about.

Your parents loved you, at least that’s what they had said. But it was one of those things where you felt like it was for show - the kindness that they showed when you were around others faded away once you were alone with them.

You remember once they had said “of course I love you, I’m your parent!”

But that made you wonder how they would treat you if you weren’t theirs.

They were horrible to you for as long as you could remember. Gaslighting you and making you feel like you owed them something even though they were the ones who should have taken care of you.

They were around but never…there. They would be there for family dinners but they were always riddled with criticisms of grades and who you were talking to and how you dressed. All of your hobbies were seen as a waste of time, something you should only do when you had nothing else to do. School came first, naturally, but there was always something they told you you had to do before you could do anything for yourself.

Yet when you would complain about being depressed, they told you to get a hobby because you never do anything.

Tired meant lazy, energetic and passionate meant loud and annoying. When you were quiet they thought you had nothing to say, yet when you expressed your opinions you were told to shut up.

You couldn’t win.

You could never make them happy, there was always something you were doing wrong.

They thought it was their right to monitor who you talked to and saw, what you did outside of school, what sports you could join. When you would say no to the school dances or parties you would make up an excuse about not wanting to go or having work to do. Your friends would call you a buzz kill. Little did they know you would give anything to go.

Whenever you would do something wrong (or anything, period,), your parents would yell at you. They would curse you out, make you cry, only to yell at you for crying like a little bitch.

The older you got, the worse it was.

You thought when you moved out it would be better. But you had all these years of being told you were worthless and having them be your providers. When you got your own place you didn’t really have any friends, nor did you really know how to make friends. You had a job to help you get by, you could support yourself. That wasn’t the issue. You could support yourself, you always had to.

It was that you were so lonely.

You wanted friends but you were so afraid of the criticism you would get. You were afraid to make yourself known, because you were always taught that being told what to do and taught what to think was much more appealing than having your opinion.

But this was an opinionated world.

You were good at what you did, so good that you had gotten a job at S.H.I.E.L.D. You thought that would make you happy, more importantly that it would make your parents happy, but no such luck.

“I got a really great job, guys.”

“Fantastic. I guess you’re just doing so great without us,” they had snapped.

“What? I mean… this is what you wanted right? For me to get a good job?” you had said, confused.

You heard a loud sigh on the other end of the line. “Of course we do, what are you crazy about? Of course we wanted you to get a good job but you just deserted us like we were trash. Have we done nothing for you?”

You felt your heart sink in your stomach. ‘Of course you guys have, I love -”

“Don’t say what you don’t mean. If you really cared about us you’d be helping us out. You got a great job and probably have a huge paycheck that you hoard and you left us here to struggle to make ends meet.”

You took the phone away from your face temporarily to take a shaky breath. Of course they would go there with the salary, why wouldn’t they? All of your paychecks had gone to them, since it was their house and they were feeding you, leaving you with barely enough money for your car and gas and phone bills, only for them to suggest longer hours when you complained.

“I can help you guys out if you need,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

You heard an exasperated sigh on the other line again. “You really should be more grateful, you know? We raised you your entire life and then you leave us alone? You never even call us? You’re so fucking selfish.”

Then the line went dead.

You shook your head and felt tears in your eyes as you spoke to yourself. “Well maybe I would call you if it didn’t always yell at me.”

Of course, you would never say that.

See, it wasn’t so bad. You never said anything because they were only ever mean to you, which would make you uncomfortable. There were people out there that would get hit or who would have to raise themselves from a young age. Once you grew thick skin it wasn’t so bad, you were just being dramatic.

Right?

Your new job was fairly successful, you were fantastic at what you did. You did a lot of behind the scenes work, weapon repair and plans of action with missions. Not that they needed much help with that. Still, they took you in as their friends.

Well, as close as you would let them get to as friends.

It took a while before you warmed up to them. Everyone tended to keep to themselves, but not as much as you. You kept the parts of you hidden away - you were there for a job, you did it, and you did it well. You knew how to do your job but interacting with the team, making friends - you didn’t want to get emotionally attached.

Not like you knew how to make friends to begin with.

Naturally you were drawn to the quieter side of the team, once you were able to open up. They were all nice but sometimes the parties and the jokes were a bit much. You just didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing that would make you the punchline.

No one needed to know about you, or how you would spend your free time being yelled at through a phone with you trying to make it better. That wasn’t part of the job, so you shouldn’t bring it up.

It wasn’t like anyone would want to help. You were just a nuisance to everyone around you.

Right?

No one talked about their life before the team much. Not many people on the team had a great life before the Avengers first came together. Natasha or Wanda had once spoken about how this team was a family. And as much as you wanted to believe it, you helped the team. You weren’t a part of the team. So even if that were true, it didn’t include you.

At least, that was your point of view.

The team viewed you as a part of the team as much as any of them. You didn’t fight with them but you made sure everything would go as smoothly. You were kind and great at what you did, but they wished you would open up more. Of course, being a team of people who had trouble opening up, they understood.

Bucky was one of the ones who took a liking to you, mostly because he saw a lot of himself in you. He could tell there was something that you were trying to get past but weren’t quite able to yet. That there was something bothering but you wouldn’t dare say it for fear of bothering someone. You threw yourself into projects and distractions and from the way you carried yourself, he guessed you were avoiding something that you weren’t ready to work through. At least, not yet.

He knew that feeling too well.

The ex-assassin was one of the easiest for you to open up to because he didn’t expect much from interactions. Both of you were quiet and kept to yourselves that there wasn’t much pressure to share anything or say anything. You knew his past but would never bring it up unless he wanted to. Which eventually, he did. You could tell he felt pressure to be who he was before HYDRA took him, and while Steve was surprised he opened up to you first, you weren’t. Steve knew Bucky before everything, and you didn’t have that bias. He was whoever he was today regardless of who he was yesterday.

And Bucky found comfort in that.

You think you would’ve too, if you thought you deserved it enough to do the same.

See, you were worried that you were making everything worse than it really was. You worried that maybe you were being too sensitive or that what you had grown up with was normal. With everything that everyone on the team went through, a few insults from your parents was hardly anything. You were being dramatic.

There was nothing to be sad or angry about. You just had to get over yourself.

Right?

You were getting by until one night when your parents called, as they did on occasion. You were in the middle of working, so you ignored it. The phone went to voicemail before it started ringing again, and you ignored it, again. The third time you sighed and picked up your phone, turning away from your work.

You took a deep breath before you answered. “Hello?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

You closed your eyes and brought a hand to rub your head. “Well I’m doing fine, thank you, how are you?”

“Don’t give me that attitude. What the fuck are you doing? You’ve been ignoring our calls.”

You stood up to pace the floor slightly, dreading the conversation that was coming. Is it the ‘family is most important’ or the ‘where’s my money?’ speech today? “I’ve been working.”

“What, so work is more important than family now? Is that what this is? You don’t care about us?”

Family speech it is.

“Dad -”

“What if one of us was dying? Huh? Would that be important?”

“Stop it. No one is dying, and I was working. And I have more work to do, so I really have to go.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, I’m your father.”

Gaining confidence you gritted your teeth and snapped, “You know what? I’m an adult now so you can’t tell me what to do.”

There was silence on the other end of the line and you could practically hear the steam coming out of your father’s ears.

At some point Bucky had come down to your working space to check on you, seeing as it was nearly morning. He stopped in the doorway, and seeing you were busy on the phone he thought he would stop by later to give you some privacy. But he stopped when he heard you snap.

You never snap.

“Who do you think you’re talking to you ungrateful little bitch?”

“I’m talking to the people who treated me like shit my entire life and ask me for money when you wouldn’t give me the time of day for 18 fucking years.”

Even you couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. But god did it feel good to say them.

“Are you fucking serious right now? We did nothing for you? What do you think we’ve been doing your whole life? We’ve done everything we did to help you be the best person you could be. You have that job now because of us and you have no right to speak to me that way.”

You chuckled darkly as you looked up at the ceiling, unaware of Bucky’s presence behind you. “My entire life all I’ve ever wanted to do was make you guys proud of me. But you know what? I’m fucking done. You hated me, gaslighted me, and made me hate myself almost as much if not more than you seemed to hate me.”

“I did no such thing you ungrateful -”

“You were supposed to love me and care for me, and all you did was take advantage of me. I’m not your child, I’m a paycheck. I don’t owe you anything because you gave me nothing. So you know what? FUCK. YOU.”

You hung up the phone and tossed it across the room, adrenaline taking over your body as you tried to stop shaking. Because a small part of you felt bad.

But fuck did that feel amazing.

You heard a throat clear behind you and you turned around to see Bucky, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“You okay?”

You nodded nervously, rubbing the sides of your arms. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, unconvincingly. “How much, uh...how much did you -

“Enough,” he said, pushing himself off of the door frame as he crossed over to you. “Who was that?”

“Bucky, don’t, it’s really fine. I just got a little worked up.”

“Y/n,” he started, looking at you with concern. “Who were you talking to?”

“No one.”

“You don’t get upset like that at no one,” he took your hands in his. “Y/n, you're shaking.”

It was then that you realized your hands were still shaking, trying to keep the anxiety of what happened at bay.

It’s going to be so much worse now.

I can never talk to them again.

Is that a good thing? Didn’t I want that?

Bucky could sense you getting lost in your head. “Sweetheart, tell me what happened, please. I want to help you.”

You pulled your hands away from his and crossed your arms. “You can’t help me because there’s nothing wrong, okay? I handled it, it’s over. Done. nothing to worry about.”

“Y/n -”

“No really, there’s nothing you can do, okay?”

“Will you at least let me try?”

You looked at him, adrenaline starting to drain from your system. This was Bucky, your Bucky, who had never done anything but love and support you. He had never done anything to hurt you.

But what if he left you too?

You took in a sharp breath and curled in on yourself, a scared look on your face. Bucky crossed back over to you, seeing a scared look on your face.

“Hey, hey, y/n? Can you look at me?”

You brought your eyes up to meet his, feeling your chest constricting as you tried to keep your breathing even. It wasn’t working.

“I - I’m sorry, you shouldn’t… I’m fine really I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”

“Hey, it’s alright, it’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for,” he pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head. “Let’s go sit down, okay?’

He led you over to your bed and you leaned forward, hands on your knees and head in your hands. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening, this - I’m sorry, it’s so stupid, I’m so stupid.”

Bucky rubbed a hand up and down your back, hushing you. “It’s not stupid. If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid.” Bucky took a small breath. “Do you remember all of those times after nightmares and all those panic attacks you would walk me through? How I thought I was being stupid?”

“You weren’t being stupid”

“And neither are you.”

You took some more shaky breaths as tears kept falling down your face. “You’re okay. It’s alright, I’m right here.”

Bucky let you calm down, knowing you would talk about it if you wanted to. He wanted you to talk about it so he could help you (and hurt whoever upset you) but he wouldn’t force you into telling him anything you didn’t want to.

The two of you sat in the silence, Bucky looking at you with soft eyes as you kept your face hidden.

“I haven’t told you a goddamn thing about me. You ever wonder why?”

You looked over at Bucky, eyebrows creased with slight confusion.

“They said blood was supposed to be thicker than water. That family comes first, right? I spent my whole life listening to them and following them and being the perfect kid. I made myself into everything they wanted me to be. And it still wasn’t enough for them.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly. He hadn’t known his parents much before they died but he had always wanted to have more time. But he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that not everyone had good parents.

“You know, I remember thinking that once I made it they would be happy. That if I worked hard enough or went onto do great things that they would be proud of me. That’s all I ever wanted, you know?” you said, voice wavering as you let out a bitter laugh. “But it’s not, you know? Never is, never was, never will be. All they do is take and take and no matter how good I am they’re always gonna hate me because I can’t be perfect.”

“No one’s perfect, y/n.”

“Well that’s what they want me to be. I know I can’t be perfect so I know they’ll never be happy. That they’ll call me ungrateful and selfish for succeeding and for leaving them when they never wanted me to be there to begin with.” You felt tears spill over as you wiped them away. “And I’m ust so fucking done with being a disappointment to them and to everyone else.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I don’t know,” you said softly, not really wanting to be more vulnerable.

Bucky, sensing this was a time he could push you, challenged you. “I think you do.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want anyone to see me the way they did. I thought what they said wasn’t true but...I just thought that maybe I was overreacting. Other people have it worse you know - some people have no parents or some have it so much worse. Mine just yell at me you know? Tell me everything’s my fault and that they wish they’d never had me. That I’m ungrateful for not being with them and that I owe them. I just...I heard that for the first 18 years of my life. I didn’t need any more of it.”

“y/n, that’s…” he swallowed, trying to contain his anger. “That’s not normal. No one should have to go through that. You can’t possibly think you're a bad person.”

Your shrug was enough to tell him that you did.

“Y/n, I don’t know who your parents think they are but you don’t owe them a damn thing. You may be related to them but you have no obligation to love your parents if they treat you like that. You have every right to be angry or to hate them. It doesn’t make you a bad person to be angry with someone who hurt you.”

“But they’re my family.”

“Well they didn’t treat you like it. You have us now, you don’t need them anymore. We’re your family. And we’re not gonna leave you.”

“They didn’t leave me Bucky, I left them.”

“You can’t leave someone who was never there for you.”

----------

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[moved2usagiiboo]

Chapter 16

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Warning, this chapter does contain talk about self hate and insinuate depression. Along with vomit and weight loss.

Shit, shit, shit. Profanities flooded out mind as you stared at the screen looking at the not so decent photo of you. How could you have been so stupid, you’ve allowed yourself to get carried away again and now look what happened. You rushed back home ignoring how Ran watched you with darken eyes.

It’s been two days, you tried your hardest to pay no mind to the text. You haven’t left bed, you could feel your mind fall into an dark void full of nothing but self-deprecating thoughts. Blaming yourself for everything that happened, even blaming yourself for things in the past. It became a spiral of self shame and hate as you laid in bed. Pillow soaked in your own tears from when you cried yourself to sleep. Your mother has tried to get you up a couple of times but the only thing you could do was curl up in a ball, squeezing your blanket as you wrapped it around your shoulders telling her you didn’t feel well. This is day two, the rest of the week has been worse. You could feel your mental health sinking as you listened to nothing but your own thoughts. For a week you listened to how much you hated yourself, how much you’ve blamed yourself. You got up once, to use the bathroom. You remember feeling nothing but disgust for yourself, you hated everything about you. You wish you weren’t, you. The rest is a blur, hunched over the toilet as you vomited the little food you had in your system. Tears slipping out as if you haven’t cried all week. You remember your throat burning as your mother tried to soothe you, rubbing circles on your back as your brother watched from the doorway. His eyes turning red by the second, as if he was in pain watching you. You felt weak— You allowed Ran to sweep you up by your feet, make you feel special, you knew what and who he was. You did this to yourself.

It’s your fault.

Week two you lost weight, and a lot of it. Your face looked like a corpse, all color, hope and dreams were removed from your eyes as you looked like a zombie. You wore the same outfit, only changing once because you had vomit on it. Your mother tried her best to make you feel better, cooking your favorite meals, offering to teach you to paint, or take you places. You just refused. You haven’t studied and you are sure your grades suffered a lot, at this point you just don’t care.

Only good thing about this is your brother hasn’t been all that much of a jerk— He’s been sweet. Whenever he gets the chance he brings you back snacks and vitamins to help you feel better, he watches movies with you if you can bare to leave your room, he forces you to brush your teeth with him and at least wipe your body down with a towel. You at least have to eat one thing, and he watches to make sure you do. It’s a surprise to see him so caring towards you, it seemed as if he hated you for a while.

Week three you felt better, for the first time you opened your window and took a shower. You felt refreshed, clean. You looked in the mirror and still hated who you saw but you felt as if you could grow to love her. You finally ate an entire meal and dessert, you and your brother watched a comedy and you laughed. For the first time in a long time.

It was a painful experience but the best part is, your relationship with your brother grew and you are growing too, as a person.

That’s why you feel confident enough to finally text this person back, whoever they were wanted Ran to themselves. Selfish bastards, he’s not an object. Why are you defending him? After what he said, you should be furious. You just can’t shake the it though, you don’t want to hate him but he obviously showed how he truly felt about you. Some girl to pass the time.

Now you were angry again. The similar feeling of how you felt when this whole ordeal first happened came rising inside you. A replay of what happened and what he said has you agreeing to the terms of the person behind the screen. It’s not like you want to see him again, even if you did— which you don’t. It’s not safe for you anymore, you know this. Feeling overwhelmed by all of this you find yourself itching for comfort. Yes— Hanging out with your brother helped but you never got to speak about what happened. You could go to your family but they would only make it worse, causing more pain and suffering. Adding salt to the wound. You had no friends or people you could trust, the only person you had was Ran.

Well, you do have one person. A person who's been kind enough to text you constantly even though you've been ignoring him, you should at least reply.

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Did someone say Sanzu Arc?

Again, rushed, my dumbass keeps sleeping past schedule

Y'all ever been in love and that shit just don't work out? That's the most painful shit ever 😔🚶

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she��s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[ofdollz]

her body aches, and she's tired...so, so tired both physically and just overall. she had to deal with the thought of never seeing him again, convinced it was all for the best. but if the best decisions hurt as bad as this one why did they do it? why did good people always have to be selfless in a galaxy filled with pain and war and the things that make you happy deserved to be cherished.

she just wants him to hold her and tell her it would l be okay, that this was all just some bad dream and he never truly left her, she wanted to feel his kiss again and know that nothing could ever come between them, not even death. "i never meant to scare you, I'm sorry for that." she really was because she knew better than anyone the pain of wondering if your loved one was okay when they were quiet literally worlds away from you. "and I know you want me and I want you too cal but I also know that I can't be the most important thing in your life if it puts you at risk." love was the most selfish emotion one could carry, especially for two people like them who never had room to be selfish before. she had her planet and her people while he had the entire galaxy to look out for.

she was emotional, feeling like she would never find happiness again without him. she shakes her head at his words, blue eyes swollen in sadness as he drops his hands, his selfhatred coming out. "that's not what I meant cal..." she slowly, sits up a little more despite the way it hurt, reaching out for him this time as fingers grab his hand "there isn't a planet in this galaxy that is safe from the empire, with or without you they will find us all eventually and when that happens we can take care of ourselves, we've been preparing for it since the war." she notes, so many planets had been taken and destroyed by the empire, cal couldn't change that even if he tried. "but I can't afford to have you walk in and out of my life. it was hard enough doing it when we were together but I can't handle your fears of something that might happen being stronger than how much you love me, that's what isn't fair cal." she tried to respect his wishes, the fact he couldn't lose her, the fact he didn't want the blood to be on his hands but now he's back and he's allowing her heart to hold on, she can't have it broken again, she'd rather die than feel this awful feeling again.

"I don't know all that happened in your past but I hope you're ready to tell me about all of it." ---"what I do know is that I want a future with you cal. where the order doesn't care who you love and the empire has fallen...one where we can get married and maybe start a family? or travel together, I've always wanted to see kashyyyk." she smiles a bit sadly. "I don't want our story to end like the stories I've heard."

she slides her hand up, fingertips wrapping around his wrist as she shakes her head again. "I forgot how to live without cal, nothing could be more painful than that." being so in love with someone that you lose yourself when you lose them...was suffering worse than death, she couldn't go through that again. "I need you."

how is he supposed to let her go when she's the best person he's ever known? he doesn't have much and she's one of the only parts of his life that's for him only... just for his happiness. he knows it's selfish, putting any part of his happiness first when he has duties he's sworn to. the people around him deserve better than that, even her. but he can't let go of her face, thumbs caressing her cheeks gently, catching her tears and wiping them away.

he just wants to kiss her again. he wants to taste her and hold her close, because he loves her more than anyone. they'd all be in so much trouble if anyone knew about it, but that almost makes it more special, in a way. that they want each other enough that they'd succumbed to those tender moments, kissing because they couldn't bear not being as close as possible.

"i want you too and i know you know that," he responds softly, touch settling tenderly at her jaw. "you were who and what i wanted, for myself. not for the order, or the good of the galaxy... just for me. when i heard you were hurt, i was so scared..." he was, despite cere's reassurance that it didn't sound too bad. "i know i shouldn't feel this way. we're not supposed to love. it leads to people getting hurt and emotions getting in the way." he pauses, cradling her small face, thumb stroking her cheek.

"but this is hard. this is almost impossible... i can't just erase that i'm in love with you. and maybe there has to be a risk, because if something happened to you i think i would break. what good am i to the galaxy then?" the small voice in the back of his head tries to tell him that this is all an elaborate excuse-- that even now he's trying to wriggle out of his responsibilities and become distracted, just like what cost him his master's life.

his hands finally drop, deflating. "b-but i mean, i don't want to put your people in danger. i don't want to put your family in danger. you said it's not fair to you and i should respect that..." even though it feels like his chest is ripping in two and it's the worst pain he's ever felt besides watching his loved ones die. at least if he wasn't here, she'd still be alive and have a chance at leading her planet and being happy. it makes him want to be sick, picturing her with someone else who's politically suited for her.

her lip quivers and he wants to kiss her again and make it okay. he wants to get lost in her, because picturing his life without her the past few days has made him feel like he's slowly dying. "i don't know, bee. and i really am sorry, but i had to make sure you were okay. would that be less painful? if i wasn't here?" it hurts him to even say it, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

[the-modernmary]

chess, not checkers || a. hotchner x f!reader

Summary: Cross-examining Agent Hotchner should have been a lot more simple than it had been. But when the questioning slips out of your control, you find yourself being profiled right there in the middle of the courtroom. Amazing how one stranger can know you better than anybody you've ever met.

Contains: SMUT! 18+ only, minors DNI. Fingering, (light) choking, semi-public sex, adultery, anger sex, enemies to lovers, edging, lawyer hotch <3

Word Count: 8k+

Comments: This is so heavily inspired by “charcoal grey” because we all know how hot he was in that scene. Thank you to @angelfxllcm for being an absolute godsend as I wrote this and being the most supportive friend ever. (If you haven’t read her work, you absolutely should!)

“Fucking FBI and their selfish ass schedules,” you grumbled as you hurried through the hallway of the courthouse, your intern Robin on on your heels. “Court gets pushed back for a week because Agent Hotchner just had to leave with them on a case instead of working remotely, and then expects us to drop everything to go to court the second he gets back to D.C. As if we don’t have jobs too. As if I don’t have six other cases sitting on my desk that now have to be pushed back because of him.”

 Robin scrambled behind you, nodding along to every word that left your mouth. “Does this happen with the, uh…”

  “BAU,” you supplied.

  “—BAU, right. Do court cases usually get pushed back for them?”

  You shook your head as you checked your watch. A glint caught the corner of your eye. Shit, your ring. You hadn’t expected to go to court, and completely forgot to leave it at home. You pulled it off and slipped it into the outside pocket of your bag, hoping nobody noticed.

“No. Most cases from the BAU never go to court,” you explained. “There’s enough evidence against the people they arrest that it’s almost always a plea.”

  The Bankers Box in Robin’s hands almost slipped as you placed another file precariously on top of it. “Then why is this case going to court?”

  Your step faltered as you processed her question, and you couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. “You did read the brief for this case, right?” you asked, unsure if you really wanted the answer, except her embarrassed blush and averted gaze gave you enough of one. “Seriously? Okay, well, first of all, because of that, you won’t be sitting at the attorney’s table with us. Instead you’ll be in the public seating. I won’t weaken my case because you decided to be unprepared. If this happens again, you won’t be welcome to join me in court at all, am I clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Deciding to take pity on the poor intern, you sighed as you started your explanation. “Our client claims that his arrest was unlawful and therefore none of the evidence they found should be usable. I’m inclined to agree with him, so we’re fighting all of the charges that were made with evidence found after the arrest.”

  “So you don’t think he’s guilty?”

  “I don’t ask that question. I’m not God and I’m not his priest, I don’t need to hear his confession. I just need to get him out of unjust and illegal charges.”

  Robin’s eyebrows furrowed. “So he’s going to walk free? Even after everything he did? How do you sleep at night?”

  Fucking Christ, how did this girl even get into law school? You rolled your eyes, suddenly regretting your decision to take on an intern. “No, he’s not going to walk free. He’s going to get a lesser charge, because everything else was obtained illegally. And I sleep very well, actually, because my job isn’t some episode of Law & Order. Less than 10% of my cases ever go to trial. I’m not here to suddenly convince juries that the evidence is wrong. My job is making sure that everybody is given their constitutional rights, that the police are doing their jobs correctly, and that the State isn’t over-punishing. Any cop knows that, and if you ever come across one that doesn’t, you know that you should look into those cases even further. You have to realize, criminal defense lawyers—”

  “— are the last line of protection against a corrupt system.” You turned to see your assistant, Marcus, making his way towards you, briefcase and your spare blazer that you keep in the office in hand. “I see you’re giving her your famous anti-prosecutor lecture.”

  Marcus helped you slip on your blazer over your satin button up, his hands lingering on your skin for just a little too long to be considered professional, and it made you shiver in anticipation. “God knows she needs it. Thank you, Marcus, for bringing these so quickly. Were you able to get the physical copies of Agent Hotchner’s files?”

  Marcus held up his briefcase. “All right here. Although I have to say, I’m a little lost as to why you need his service records.”

  The three of you turned the corner to enter the courtroom, your heels clicking on the tiled floor. Robin obediently took her seat in the public viewing area while you and Marcus pushed through the swinging door to settle at your table. “I’ve heard stories of Agent Hotchner’s testimonies. He used to be a prosecutor, so he’s not easily tricked, but he is prideful and will defend his work. I’m going to use that to my advantage. It’s like I always say, practicing law means always playing chess, never checkers.”

  Marcus took the seat next to you, making sure to sit close enough that his knee brushed yours the whole time. “You know, I was thinking, this case is complicated,” he whispered, “And we haven’t combed through everything yet… It could take more time than we planned.”

  You smirked, knowing exactly what he was insinuating. “Agreed. I’ll tell Tony I have to stay late at the office tonight.”

  Before Marcus could continue his flirting, you were distracted by the door to the judge’s chamber opening, revealing the back of a man in a black suit. “Thank you again, your honor, for the continuance,” came the deep timbre of the man, and oh. You certainly weren’t expecting that. “A young girl was able to be reunited with her family this week because of it.”

  The man in the doorway turned, and your breath caught in your throat. He was tall and buff and expensive-looking and absolutely gorgeous. His suit was tailored to fit him perfectly, the sleeves of his blazer straining against his biceps. He carried himself with an aura of confidence, like he belonged in the courtroom, and he was making his way directly towards you. Unconsciously, you separated from Marcus, putting as much distance between you and your assistant as possible without raising suspicion.

  The man said something to the prosecution before turning to you, hand outstretched. He said your name as a greeting, and your name had never sounded so good. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

  When you stood up to shake his hand, you tried to ignore the way his eyes raked down your body, or the way the two of you held on just a moment too long to be considered proper. It felt as if he was looking right through you, learning all of your secrets as though they were written on your body. No, you knew that look. He was studying you. “Agent Hotchner, it’s a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, Counselor. Please, call me Aaron.”

  You raised your eyebrows in Aaron’s direction, still shaking his hand, and it made your skin burn. You dropped his hand. “I’m just glad we’re able to get this case done and over with. Hopefully with no more delays.”

  His eyebrows quirked upwards in what could only be described as shock. “I see your reputation precedes you,” was his only reply before going to his respective seat, and if he noticed you watching his every move, he made no indication of it. That being said, you definitely felt his gaze on the back of your head as the judge entered the room and the session began.

  As the proceedings dragged on, you and Marcus continued to talk strategy, his hand finding its way to your thigh ever so often. You also continued negotiating with the prosecutor, both of you flashing Post-It notes of potential plea deals that you would be willing to accept, always careful to keep it out of the eyes of the judge and jury. By the time Aaron had been called to the stand, the offer given to you still wasn’t low enough. Fine, if the prosecution wanted to make a fool of themselves, so be it.

  You listened to Aaron’s testimony with the prosecution, completely enraptured. There was something about the way he spoke, so full of authority and confidence, that made the entire room drawn to him. He was incredibly intelligent, that much was clear, and despite the many years since he had actually practiced law, that prosecutor candor hadn’t left him. Staying focused on the case had proven to be more difficult than previously expected. You found yourself staring at his lips, and it didn’t take long for your mind to conjure up some obscene and explicit situations starring the man in front of you. 

  Eventually, his eyes caught yours, and he watched you, his lips — god, those lips — quirked up in a smirk. Aaron watched you expectantly, and in the light of the courtroom, his eyes were almost the color of whiskey, and you wanted nothing more than to drink it all in.

  A sharp “Counselor” broke you out of your trance. In the corner of your eye, you could see Marcus looking at you in concern, but he was the furthest thing from your mind now, especially as Aaron let out an amused huff of air.

  “Counselor, does the prosecution wish to cross-examine the witness?” the judge asked with barely hidden annoyance, making you think that it probably wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

  You stood up quickly, smoothing down your pencil skirt as you did. “Yes, your honor. Thank you,” you said, trying your best to keep your voice steady as you noticed Aaron’s eyes trailing down your bare legs.

  The cross-examination started normally, and Aaron answered all of your questions with careful precision that only a lawyer could pull off. He seemed to know exactly where you were trying to go with your questions, and easily sidestepped any unflattering implication you were trying to make. Long, biased questions were met with short, clipped answers, not giving you anything to work with. Whatever move you made, Aaron was right there, two steps ahead with you. Never in your life had you met somebody who could follow you so easily or could match your wit without so much breaking a sweat.

  It was exhilarating.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you started, hands clasped behind your back. “Could you please explain to the court how profiles are used when finding and apprehending suspects?”

  Aaron sat up a little taller in the witness box. “Using behavioral research and past case studies, we’re able to construct what we call a profile of the perpetrator, or unsub. Anything they do can give us insights as to who they are — their victims, what weapons they use, even how they dispose of the bodies. Once we have a profile of who we believe is committing these crimes, we have our technical analyst run the parameters through her system. From there, narrowing down our search is easy.”

  You nodded slowly, pretending to mull over what he was saying. “For clarification’s sake, in layman’s terms, you build your profile off of assumed psychology, and not concrete evidence, is that correct?”

  The muscles in Aaron’s jaw flexed, a sure sign he was gritting his teeth. “Behavior analysis is a tool, just like any other—”

  “It’s a yes or no question, Agent,” you interrupted, and oh, he was not happy about that.

  His tongue darted out from between his lips. “The research we use for behavior is—”

  “Yes. Or no.”

  Aaron hesitated, his frustration building up to palpable tension that settled in the courtroom like a thick fog. You weren’t giving him a chance to explain or show off anymore, didn’t allow him to be seen as the smartest person in the room anymore, and that was getting to him.

  “Yes,” he conceded, grimacing as if admitting that was physically painful for him.

  “Thank you,” you replied, and he caught the unspoken that wasn’t so hard now, was it? even if the rest of the room did not. You walked back over to your table, snatching up a piece of paper and holding it in the air. “Your honor, the defense would like to submit Exhibit Seven into evidence.”

  Once the judge gave her express permission, you placed the form in front of Aaron with your left hand, perfectly manicured fingers splayed out in front of his eyes. You almost missed the way his head tilted ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed, like he was staring at a puzzle half complete. “Agent, could you please tell us what’s laying in front of you now.”

  He leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the paper before meeting back with yours. “This is a part of our official report of the case. Specifically, it has the profile that was used to lead us to the apprehension of Mr. Mckenna.”

  “Does it say on that paper who had the final sign off on the profile before it was circulated?”

  “Yes, that would be me. As Unit Chief, my job is to sign and finalize any reports.”

  “And could you please read the profile, verbatim, as written on that report?”

  Aaron’s face remained neutral, with the exception of his eyebrows scrunching together. Slowly, he had started to piece together your strategy, and he didn’t like it. “The unsub is a white male, between 32 and 40 years old. He’ll most likely be unemployed and driving a van or truck — anything that would let him easily transport his equipment and victims. We believe that he’s also had run-ins with the law before, likely as a juvenile. He’ll come across as friendly, if not a little shy. We believe that this comes from a failed relationship in his past, one where he believes that he was manipulated and wronged, and now he’s going after surrogates for that woman. Killing these women is the only thing that gives him any sort of power. If we can figure out who this past relationship was, it will lead us directly to the killer.”

  You paced back and forth in front of the witness stand, your skirt tightening around your legs with every step you took. “Between 32 and 40 years old, unemployed, and killing surrogates… Except Mr. Mckenna is 22 and works part time as a bartender. How do you justify arresting my client with those inconsistencies?”

  “As I mentioned before,” Aaron started, his voice dangerously low, “A profile is just one tool we use of many. Not every single part of the profile will fit every single time. Which is why we also rely on outside evidence to ensure that we have the best chance at catching the unknown subject as quickly as possible.”

  “Except you had no concrete evidence, which you admit in your own report!” You took two steps closer to him, getting as in his face as possible without risking being held in contempt. With every word that left your mouth, your voice got more and more forceful, and you got more and more under Aaron’s skin.

  “All of it was circumstantial at best. You had a hunch, an inherent bias against my client due to his previous conviction record, and you were frustrated at your own inability to get a good lead. But you can’t arrest somebody on a hunch, or because you’re angry. You had no evidence and the man you arrested didn’t even match the profile that you came up with!”

  Your eyes locked with Aaron, his gaze heavy, and neither of you dared look away first. “Objection!” came from the prosecutor behind you. Exactly what you wanted. “Argumentative and foundation.” You flashed Aaron a predatory grin.

  Two moves to checkmate.

  “Sustained,” said the judge.

  “Withdrawn.” You tapped the witness bench, hoping to convey an air of aloofness and calm. Aaron scowled. “Agent Hotchner, before joining the FBI, you were a prosecutor, is that true?”

  Confusion flashed across his face for the briefest of moments, and it gave you a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that you had the upper hand. You knew the answer to every question you were about to ask, and he knew that. He just couldn’t figure out where you were going with this line of questioning, or what the relevance even was. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  You made a soft hum of approval. “Could you please walk us through your higher education?”

  “I attended George Washington University for both my undergraduate and law degree.”

  “What did you major in for your undergrad?”

  Aaron hesitated. “Political Science.”

  Check. “So all together, you’ve had about seven years in higher education. In that time, how many psychology classes did you take?”

  It was almost sadistic, the way you relished in the slight twitch of his face — the realization that he had been backed into a corner. The silence was deafening as Aaron’s scowl met your smug grin.

  “None,” Aaron said finally.

  “None,” you repeated, performative shock dripping from your words. “Do you have any academic background in psychology or human behavior, then?”

  Aaron’s jaw clenched, and as you made your way closer to the witness stand, you saw his thumb frantically moving back and forth over his fingertips. Clearly, you had struck a nerve. “The FBI has rigorous coursework in order to become a profiler, along with multiple exams and continued training as more research becomes available to us. The profiling classes are no easy feat and are written by experts in the field. Creating profiles has a long and respected history in detective work, and these profilers have caught some of the most prolific serial killers of all time.”

  You placed a hand over your chest in faux modesty. “My apologies, Agent Hotchner, I believe I wasn’t very clear. I’m not calling into question the validity and effectiveness of profiles. I’m calling into question the validity and effectiveness of you as a profiler.”

  You could practically see the cartoon fire spewing out of Aaron’s ears. He was so close to being in your trap, something he had to have known, too, yet he continued to toe dangerously close to that line.

  “A lack of formal education in profiling,” you continued, keeping your voice light, “and the blatant disregard for basic police and legal procedure as shown in this case with my client… I mean, how many other mistakes were made in your past cases? It’s hard to believe that you can read anybody, much less the hardened criminal that you have painted my client to be.”

  Checkmate.

  “Objection!” cried the prosecutor again. “Your Honor, this is —”

  He was cut off by the judge raising her hand. “Sustained. Counselor, I would advise you to tread lightly from here on out.”

  You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Withdrawn.” You turned around to make your way back to your table, ignoring Marcus’s look of complete disbelief. Baiting Aaron had been easy, and now all you had to do was wait.

  The courtroom was uncomfortably silent for one beat… two beats…

  “Not only can I read Mr. Mckenna,” echoed Aaron’s voice, “But I can also read you.”

  Once you got back to your desk, you turned around, hands resting on the cool wood of the table top, but you never sat down. Instead, you leaned forward, and arched your eyebrows in a silent challenge — one he was all too eager to pursue.

  “The red Harvard Law tag on your briefcase is a perfect match to your lipstick, and you wear the same one every time you go to court. Not because you’re superstitious the way most lawyers are, but because it’s your way of maintaining control in the courtroom, something you’re desperate to keep in every aspect of your life, personal and professional. I would guess that this need goes back to late high school, early college. But you’ve been worried about appearances and how you’re perceived for even longer than that.”

  You fought the urge to roll your eyes. So he thought you were Type A? Anybody could have guessed that by your anything. All they would have to do is look at your color coded case files or your daily schedule, planned down to the minute. You had only been trying to sway the jury when you insinuated that he wasn’t a good profiler, but maybe you were actually starting to believe it yourself.

  Except Aaron got a dangerous glint in his eye, causing your stomach to bubble with anxiety. Clearly, he was playing chess, too, and by the looks of it, he believed he was winning. 

  “In fact, you’re so worried about losing control, that despite your busy schedule, you refuse to hire a planner for your upcoming wedding.”

  That got your attention. The objection that you were about to call died on your lips, and all you could do was stare with poorly hidden shock. Next to you, Marcus turned pale as a ghost.

  Aaron, cocky bastard, continued his profile of you, with no clear signs of stopping anytime soon. “You have a tan where your ring usually is, and I know you’ve been wearing it recently as you subconsciously fiddle with where it would be whenever things in court aren’t going your way. Just like you’re doing now. You still have your maiden name, which you plan on giving up when you do get married because not taking his last name would arouse too many questions that you want to avoid. Just another way your concern of appearances is manifested. So you’re engaged.

  “I would say congratulations, but it’s not a happy relationship, not on your side, anyway. Younger female professionals will take their rings off in fear of not being taken seriously, but you’re an established and respected lawyer. You needn't worry about that. So if it’s not about you, it’s about the fiance. You don’t want to be associated with him.”

  You gripped the edge of the table, too angry to form words. Your nails dug into the varnish, and you were sure that your heavy breathing could be heard from across the room. This dick. This absolute, garbage, piece of shit dick. The worst part was how casual he sounded as he aired all of your dirty laundry for everybody to hear.

  “He’s holding you back, in all aspects of life, but mostly intellectually. He doesn’t have a sliver of your capabilities. The two of you are probably high school sweethearts, prom king and queen type, but while you grew up and matured, he never did. He can’t keep up with you. Still acts the same way he did in high school, only now with more access to alcohol and money. Career wise, he doesn’t have much going for him, probably some sports related pipe dream. But you stay with him because you know how to control him and how to use him to your advantage.”

  Aaron’s eyes zeroed in on Marcus, and all of the color drained from your face. The voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to object, to get the judge involved, anything, before Aaron did any more damage, but you were frozen in your spot. For the first time in your life, you were completely and utterly speechless and spiraling out of control.

  “That need for control is also why you’re sleeping with your assistant. It’s casual for you, but not for him anymore. You should break that off. That’s nothing new for you, though. In fact, I would bet that if we looked back at all of your affairs since your engagement, we’d find a long string of men and women, all of whom are your subordinates or of lower status than you. It’s a win-win situation — they’re more than eager to have a chance with you, and you get to stay in control. Oh, you’ll stop when you actually get married, but you continue to push that date back, as well. So…”

  He leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling good about himself, and God, you could kill him. You could reach over the witness box and wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until his whiskey colored eyes popped out of his smug, beautiful face.

  Aaron lifted his chin, eyebrows raised in your direction. “Do you believe in my abilities as a profiler now, Counselor?”

  That snapped you back into action. You cleared your throat and unnecessarily smoothed down your skirt in an attempt to regroup your thoughts. “Well, Agent Hotchner, thank you for that little show and tell. It’s clear that you are very passionate about your career. However, just like your profile of my client, you have no evidence for any of your unsubstantiated accusations.”

  It was a pathetic attempt at saving face, and Aaron knew it, but it had to be enough for you. You turned your back towards Aaron so that you could face the judge, who, to her credit, had a perfect poker face the whole time. “Your Honor, I move to strike Agent Hotchner’s outburst” — not an outburst, Aaron was too composed to ever have one of those, but he grimaced at the word all the same — “from the record, as no question stands before the witness at this time.”

  The judge looked at you dubiously, clearly debating her ruling. There shouldn’t have been any reason to worry, you were legally in the right, but there was always the chance that she wouldn’t be on your side. You noticed yourself fiddling with where your engagement ring would usually be, and you cursed yourself under your breath. How could Aaron have possibly known all of that?

  “Sustained,” she said finally, “I direct the jury to disregard the witness’s, uh, example when considering the evidence.”

  You let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t much of a win — everybody still heard what had happened, it was still in the back of their minds, like the ring of a bell echoing — but at least in regards to the case, you had the legal upper hand.

  The judge turned back to you. “Defense, the witness is still yours, if you have any further questions.”

  If you were a little more in your right mind, you would have cut your losses, but between your oath to defend your client to the best of your ability and that stupid self assured grin on Aaron’s face, you knew that you really had no choice.

  Deep breath in… Slow breath out… You’re at a stalemate now.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you said, causing him to perk him up in interest. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting you to continue. “Wouldn’t an ex-lawyer and an FBI agent be familiar with the rules of decorum in a courtroom?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Counselor.”

  “Let me rephrase, then. Would you say that you have a history of emotional outbursts and rule breaking in your line of work? And I’ll remind you that you are still under oath.”

  Aaron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, I wouldn’t. Integrity is one of our core values, and we take that very seriously.”

  With shaking hands, Marcus handed you one of the files you’d had him print out on Aaron. “If that’s so, can you explain why, since your promotion to Unit Chief in 2005, you and your team have had seven disciplinary hearings, one of which being an internal investigation into the excessive force used by one of your agents, and another being a congressional hearing?”

  A sick sense of satisfaction passed over you when you saw him get visibly shocked, his poker face breaking for the first time that day. If he wanted to go for blood, you could fight back twice as hard. “I’m not at liberty to discuss either of those cases.”

  You shrugged nonchalantly. “Very well, Agent. So between the discrepancies in the profile, your inability to control your temper, and your history of breaking procedure, coupled with the fact that you arrested my client without any warrant by kicking in the door to an innocent civilian’s house, do you really believe that your arrest and the subsequent evidence that came from that arrest was obtained legally? Or do you just not care either way, as long as you’re able to prove that you’re right?”

  Right as he opened his mouth to speak, you turned your back on him and started to walk back to your table. Aaron wasn’t even able to get a peep out before you cut him off with a sharp “Question withdrawn. At this time, the defense rests.”

  “Our arrest was made on the grounds of—” Aaron tried, and you smirked to yourself. He must have been desperate if he was trying that move twice. You whipped around, gaze steeled.

  “I have no further questions, Agent Hotchner,” you repeated, only letting out the slightest hint of amusement. “But thank you for your cooperation with Lady Justice today.”

  Aaron’s eyes met yours, and a weight settled in the pit of your stomach. You should have hated him, but something about him had you completely and utterly entranced by him. Maybe it was the novelty of the case. Maybe it was the matching intellects and the fact that he was the only other person who could give you a challenge.

  Maybe you just liked the way you got to lose control with him.

  As he passed you, his arm brushed yours, and your whole body burned.

  “Very cute, Counselor,” he whispered, voice dripping with condescension. “How long did it take you to come up with that little switch up?”

  “Don’t patronize me,” you snapped. “I was playing chess, you were playing checkers, and that’s why you lost.”

  The rest of the session went on normally, if not a little tense. To your surprise, Aaron hadn’t left immediately after his testimony, and instead took a seat in the section for the public. Good. As soon as courtroom decorum wasn’t a factor, you were sure to give him a piece of your mind.

  Court adjourned for the day, and you couldn’t get out of there fast enough. You told Marcus to continue to push for a better plea option as you grabbed your briefcase and stormed out, pushing through the throngs of people until you could see the back of Aaron’s head.

  You sped up your steps until you were right behind him, and you grabbed his wrist to stop him in his tracks. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

  You pulled Aaron into an empty conference room, hoping to get some privacy before you completely blew your lid. You already had one public humiliation because of him, and you did not need another.

  “What is your problem?” you hissed, locking the door behind you. “You had no right to put my personal life on blast like that.”

  Aaron placed his hands on his hips, swooping the sides of his suit jacket back, and you had to make a very conscious effort to not stare. “You questioned my profiling abilities, and I proved them.”

  “You didn’t prove shit,” you argued, folding your arms across your chest. “Except for the fact that you’re an insufferable bastard.”

  “Are you saying that my profile was off? Because if you didn’t want to be caught committing adultery, then you shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”

  You gritted your teeth and took a step towards him in a futile attempt to come across as intimidating. Even in your heels, he still seemed to be towering over you. You’d have to level the playing field somehow. You gripped his tie and used it to pull him down so that he was closer to eye level with you. “I don’t need your judgment, Aaron.”

  Aaron moved closer to you, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His Adam's apple bobbed and it captivated you. “I couldn’t care less about what you do,” he said flippantly. “Matter of fact, I don’t think this fit of anger is even inherently about your little secret coming out. Do you want to know what I think it is?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I think,” he continued, completely ignoring your protest, “You’re angry because as much as you can dish it out, you can’t take it.”

  Your grip on his tie tightened at his words. “Trust me, I can take anything,” you said, voice low and breathy.

  Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips — those kissable, red stained lips of yours. You hadn’t had to reapply your lipstick once throughout the day, and he idly wondered just exactly what it would take to muss up that perfect, pouty red lip. 

  “I also think that for the first time in a very long time, you didn’t have control, and you liked it.” He bent down a little bit more so that his lips brushed against your ear with every word and you could feel his breath run down your spine. “Aren’t you bored of sleeping with boys who are so far beneath you?”

  You’re not sure who initiated it, but the next thing you knew, your lips crashed against his, the two of you making out like it was the last kiss either of you were ever going to get. His hands felt impossibly everywhere all at once — gripping your hips, tugging at your hair, and even snaking under your work blouse to palm at your breast. His teeth nipped at the fibres of your lips. With every movement of his hands, little gasps escaped you, and you could feel the curve of his lips curling up into a smirk.

  His fingers trailed up the side of your body, past the curve of your neck, and tangled themselves in your hair before yanking it back, exposing the column of your throat. Immediately he attached his lips to your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

  “Aaron,” you whined, trying to regain the breath he stole from your lungs. You practically melted in his arms, going completely weak at the knees, especially as his tongue trailed across the underside of your jaw. You let his tie fall from your grip, instead bringing your hands up to cup his face to pull him in for another kiss. 

  His lips set a bruising pace, and it caused a fire to burn in the pit of your stomach. You had never once been kissed like this, never once felt so all-consumed by a person. Aaron’s cologne surrounded you, making your head spin. Bruises were sure to form from how harshly he was gripping your hips, but you didn’t care. He was addicting, and you wanted more.

  Hotch walked you backwards until you were pressed up against the wall, his thigh shoved in between your legs, forcing your skirt to ride up. The position made his arousal obvious as he pressed against you. The way he held you was possessive, primal even, Unconsciously, you ground down on his thigh, hoping for anything to help relieve the ache between your legs. 

  Unfortunately for you, Aaron caught on to what you were trying to do, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling away just far enough to speak. “Look at you,” he whispered, and the raspiness of his voice only served to turn you on even more. He hooked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him, and his thumb traced your bottom lip, tugging at it ever so slightly. His other hand slowly trailed its way up your thigh, nails scratching at your skin. “Skirt hiked up around your waist, desperate to get off. Your little boyfriends aren’t doing it for you anymore?”

  He pressed his thigh further into you, ripping an involuntary moan from your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your hips still moving back and forth against him, not caring how needy it made you seem. “I need… I…”

  “What? Big, bad lawyer doesn’t have any more smart ass comments?” he cooed sarcastically, pushing your skirt up even higher. He replaced his thigh with his hand, and his fingers ghosted over your covered pussy, teasing you, not giving you nearly enough contact. “Fuck, you’re so wet already. Go ahead, needy girl, if you’re that desperate.” Aaron yanked down your panties in one fell swoop, and you blindly kicked them off to the side. “Be a good girl and show me how much you want this.”

  Without any more of a warning, one of his fingers entered you, and you let out a breathy moan that Aaron was sure to have on repeat in his mind for days to come. When the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your brain completely short circuited. You threw your head back as far as you could despite being pressed against the wall as his name clumsily tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

  “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, pressing you further against the wall. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

  Electricity coursed through your veins as he added a second finger, easily finding that spot in you that made you see stars. You rocked your hips back and forth against his hand, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. His lips trailed from your jawline, down your neck, and to your collarbone. 

  “Look at me,” Aaron ordered, tightening his grip on your chin, and your eyes shot right back open. Instead of the whiskey colored irises you had gotten used to, Aaron’s pupils were so blown that they made his eyes completely black. “I want to see you lose control all over me. Gonna make sure you come harder for me than you have for any of your boy toys.”

  That wouldn’t be very difficult. Nobody had ever made you feel the way you did then, Aaron’s fingers buried deep in your cunt and lips exploring every inch of skin he could access. No part of this was for his pleasure — from the curl of his fingers to the slow circles on your clit, it was all expertly calculated to bring you to the edge with as much intensity as possible, and it was all devastatingly effective.

  “I’m so close,” you whimpered, and if it weren’t for the wall behind you, you would have completely lost your balance. “More, fuck, please.”

  “More?” he mumbled against the column of your throat. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

  Coherent sentences were not an option for you at the moment, not when you were so deliciously overwhelmed with pleasure and with Aaron. Besides, how could you tell him that you wanted him to completely and utterly ruin you? That you wanted him to bend you over the conference table and pound into you until you could barely speak. You wanted Aaron to mark you and send you home to your fiance with reminders of every little thing he did to you for the days to come. You wanted raw and untamed passion. You wanted to be consumed, for him to settle in your lungs like smoke, and haunt your dreams for the rest of your life. 

  You didn’t want nice and calculated the way every other man you’d been with had acted — you wanted Aaron Hotchner to take control.

  You couldn't say any of that, so instead, you grabbed his wrist, the one that was holding your chin in place and, without breaking eye contact with him, you guided his hand down until it rested on your throat. “More,” you choked out, giving him an animalistic grin.

  That was all it took. Using his grip on your neck, he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and desperate and swallowing all of your incoherent moans as his fingers moved harder, faster.

  You clung to him like a lifeline as you felt your whole body tense up, your orgasm fast approaching. You were so fucking close and he felt so fucking good and, God, if this is what losing control felt like, then you and Aaron could do this forever and —

  His fingers were gone from you, and you clenched around nothing. You cried out in protest, which only seemed to amuse him.

  “Oh? Prom queen isn’t used to not getting what she wants?” Keeping his hand on your throat and you pinned against the wall, he made slow, teasing work of his belt buckle.

  Your chest rose and fell in a desperate attempt to catch your breath. “What happened to watching me come undone all over you?” you shot, trying to even out your voice as much as possible. It didn’t work very well. “Did you lose your nerve?”

   A dark, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t worry, Princess, that’s still the plan. I just never said where. I want to make sure you’re nice and wet and ready for me to turn you into a moaning mess on my cock.”

  In an attempt to regain some control of the situation, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah? And how do you expect to do that?”

  He smirked and released your throat. Wordlessly, he grabbed your wrist, and guided your hand down your body, further and further until you reached your throbbing pussy. He used his hands to press your fingers to your clit, and you whimpered softly. God, you were dripping, and the extra stimulation didn’t help your shaking legs.

  “By making you so needy and whiny that by the end of this, you're begging for me,” he hissed, lips brushing the shell of your ear with every word. He moved your fingers so that you were rubbing small, slow circles around your clit, although it wasn’t nearly enough to give any real relief. “Begging for me to come and fuck you over and over and over again. Because you know that your pathetic fiance and your string of affairs have never made you feel like this before.”

  Aaron yanked your hand away from your clit and you could sob. You wanted to cum so badly that you could barely put it into words. Still holding your wrist, Aaron brought your hand up to his face. He took a brief moment to admire the way your fingers glistened, covered in your arousal, before bringing them to his lips and sucking.

  Eyes wide, you made a choked noise as you committed the view of Aaron to memory. “Please, Aaron, fuck, I need you,” you whined, the start of a long string of incoherent begging. You needed him then and there, damn the consequences.

  He pulled your fingers out of his mouth slowly, and you moaned at the obscene wet noise it made. “So desperate,” he murmured as he began to unbutton his slacks. “All for me. All because I edged you once.”

  Aaron pulled down his pants just enough to pull out his dick, and you licked your lips involuntarily when you saw it, big and thick and leaking precum. Clearly, it gave Aaron a bit of an ego boost, because as he ran the head up and down your sensitive folds, he reminded you, “You did say you could take anything, Princess.”

  Your breathing came out shaking as you shivered, waiting for him to do something — anything. You were so empty and you needed him so badly. If you didn’t get his dick in you soon, you were pretty sure you would lose your mind completely.

  “Fuck me, Aaron,” you moaned, arching your back to press into him more.

  He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips in an almost intimate gesture. “Patience is a virtue,” he chastised.

  In your haze of arousal, you barely noticed him grabbing your briefcase and digging through the small pocket in the front. You especially didn’t notice his pause when his finger touched something small, round, and metal in the bottom of the bag. The only thing you cared about was him coming back to you, holding up a condom packet with a smirk.

  “I knew I’d find one somewhere in your briefcase.” You let the comment slide, the excitement at the prospect of sex with Aaron Hotchner outweighing any jackass comment he could make. Aaron made quick work of putting on the condom. The second he was done, one of his hands ran up your thigh, getting a good grip on it before pulling it up and around his waist.

  “Do you feel how wet you are for me? How willing you were to give up control? All for me? That—” Lips pressed to your ear, he pushed his cock into you, bottoming out with one thrust. You threw your head back in pleasure. “—Is playing chess, sweetheart.”

  Aaron dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck as he began pounding into you at a desperate pace. He had held off on his own pleasure for long enough, and now he was chasing his orgasm with a ruthless determination. One hand stayed gripping your thigh, the other one braced against the wall next to your head. Aaron nipped at your neck in between moans of praise for you.

  “I — oh, fuck — knew it,” he groaned, digging his fingers deeper into your thigh. “You wanted somebody to take control. Somebody who knows how to please you.”

  You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You were an incoherent mess at this point, his name tumbling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew how to say. At that moment, it probably was. 

  “Finally, that bratty mouth of yours is good for something. You sound so pretty, moaning out my name. Say it again.” A particularly deep thrust caused you to tug at his hair. “Louder.”

  Never before had you met somebody like Aaron Hotchner, and you weren’t sure if you ever would again, so you screwed your eyes shut and let yourself get lost in the absolute pleasure he was providing. You memorized everything you could — the way the calluses on his hands felt against your skin, the way he moaned out your name, how deliciously full you felt, and how for the first time in your life you felt truly seen — so that you could suspend the moment in amber to preserve in the back of your mind.

  “Please,” you begged, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails. “I’m so close. Fuck, Aaron, you feel so good, please.”

  Aaron tore his lips from your throat, choosing instead to press his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours with every word he spoke, so close that you were practically kissing him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. Be a good girl and come. All over my dick.”

  When you came, it was with a cry of his name as your whole body shuddered. You clung to him as he continued to fuck you. His thrusts began to stutter, and he took the opportunity to capture your lips in one last, scorching kiss, and you were all too happy to oblige.

  You think he moaned something as he came, but you couldn’t hear it over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. He fucked you through his orgasm, making sure that you felt every single inch of him. As if you could ever forget it. 

  The two of you stayed where you were for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of being full a little longer. Your walls fluttered around Aaron, which caused him to muffle his whimpers into your throat.

  “Aaron…” you whispered, not wanting to disturb the moment. “That was so—”

  “I know.”

  “We shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I know.” He pulled back just enough to leave a lingering kiss on your lips, and your whole body burned. “But I don’t regret it. Do you?”

  You shook your head. “Not at all.” The confession lingered in the hair for a tense second because both of you seemed to remember where you were.

  Aaron slowly pulled out of you, an act that looked almost painful for him when you let out an involuntary moan at the feeling. He could have spent all day in you, if given the chance.

  The two of you adjusted yourselves in silence, both of you hoping to be able to leave the room with some semblance of professionalism. At the very least, the goal was to not look like you had just had sex in a courthouse conference room. Shame and embarrassment flooded you — what had you been thinking?

  Once you felt that you were presentable enough, you grabbed your briefcase and tried to ignore Aaron burning a hole in the back of your head with his gaze.

  “Well, Aaron, this was fun.” You cleared your throat. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around at some point.”

  You were two steps away from the door when you heard his smug, courthouse voice come back in full swing.

  “Forgetting something?”

  You turned around in a huff, ready to go right back to arguing with him, but what you saw made your whole body heat up in embarrassment. There was Aaron with a self-satisfied grin and dangling off his finger was your panties.

  “These are cute,” he mused. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to fully appreciate them.”

  You rushed over there, fully prepared to snatch them out of his hand. “And you never will,” you shot, but even as you said it, you didn’t make much of an effort to take them out of his hands. You just stared at him and his swollen lips and mussed hair, all your doing.

  Ever the gentleman, Aaron started to hand your underwear back to you, but instead of taking it back like you knew you should have done, you covered his hand with yours, closing it in a fist around your panties.

  “Who says you can’t?” you whispered, guiding his pantie-filled hand down to his pockets. “This way… You can keep it as collateral. To make sure I’ll come and see you again.”

  His breath hitched in his throat as you guided him to put your panties into his suit pocket, and you were glad to be the one surprising him this time.

  “I don’t care about your fiance,” Aaron started, and you braced yourself for the worse. “But I’m not interested in being the ‘other man’ to your affairs with your assistants, too.”

  “Consider it ended,” you promised, not caring how desperate or easy it made you look. You wanted to keep Aaron around for a long, long time.

  Just until the wedding, you corrected yourself.

  You slung your briefcase over your shoulder, wincing as it dug into a bruise that Aaron had left. It would be there for a while — you’d have to find a way to hide it from Tony until it faded. The thought made you stupidly giddy. “I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

  He nodded in goodbye, and you slipped out of the conference room on shaking legs. As soon as the door closed behind you, you reached into your bag, and reluctantly slipped on your engagement ring.

[zv5x]

idea i have for yan!senpai. him but with a hikikomori s/o whos very shy

Okay, I have no idea what took me so long to get to this but I absolutely love this idea. Having a character as extroverted and as charismatic as Sen with an s/o who you could consider hikikonori is an interesting idea enough, so I'm definitely gonna enjoy adding the yandere trope into it teehee. Thank you for your request, Anon! Feel free to request anything else you want me to do any time! Hope you enjoy this!

(Might do a part two to this later, idk😌)

( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

You were quite the anomaly, weren't you?

To the rest of the school you were, at least.

You were the cutest thing, really, but agonizingly shy. Your voice was so soft and beautiful to listen to, but to bad he barely ever got to hear it. The girls, his followers, they picked on you. They saw your shyness as a sign of weakness that they jumped at the opportunity to exploit it, and it made him sick to his stomach.

Everyday he tried lecturing them about the basics, right as they gathered towards him at the beginning of the day : bullying is bad, it's okay to be shy, and not hanging onto his backpack every second of the day doesn't make someone a subhuman. You know, the usual things teachers would tell younger students at painfully long assemblies and lectures. But they never seemed to listen.

They always had those excuses that made Sen want to grip them up by their throats, face almost blue with rage and a desire for revenge. But he never did. It wouldn't be very Senpai-like to do that in the public eye now would it?

Speaking of "not very Senpai-like" actions, it was about lunchtime, which meant it was time for his favorite part of the day. His legs wobbled in anticipation as he carried himself to his destination, the air feeling cleaner than it usually did. Maybe that was a sign, he wasn't sure. What he was sure of however, is that you would be sitting in your usual spot for lunch period, like you did every other day. It's not like anyone else accompanied you to lunch, so he understands why you're all alone. Sometimes it's better to just accept isolation than to force yourself to into the presence of people who could never appreciate you. It's nothing to feel bad about. If Sen himself were in your position, he wouldn't do anything but the same.

Seeing you sitting under that same cherry tree made his heart flutter. The falling petals perfectly complemented every part of you, it was as if this was some scene in a cheesy romance visual novel. Humming to himself, he fixed his loose tie and called out to you by your name. You instantly looked up, a cute look of surprise on your face, and your eyes instantly widened upon seeing who was calling to you.

"S-Senpai?" Your voice quivered, and he only giggled to himself as he made his way to your seat.

"May I sit here?" He asked in a soft tone, smiling. It was a sweet smile, an alluring one, and you felt as if you had no choice than to nod your head.

In all honesty, Senpai was just about the last person you would expect to be sitting next to you right now. Pretty, popular, extroverted, adored. He had every last trait you felt would make up a person that would spit on your image without a shread of hesitation. You were intimidated by him, especially considering every single person who seemed to want to bother you was one of his hopelessly devoted followers. He didn't have a reason to be sitting next to you right now. Did he pity you? Was he bored? You didn't know for sure, and you couldn't tell if that intrigued you or scared you even further.

"So, (Y/N), I was thinking..." Sen twirled a strand of his hair around on his finger, drawing out the sound of his words cutely. You popped right back to the moment, looking at him and awaiting his next words. "How about you come to my house after school?" He looked at you and smiled, tilting his head. You froze. Senpai's house? After school? Today? It just didn't make any sense to you.

However, your shoulders dropped as you realized you wouldn't be able to take the opportunity. You had plans with a close friend, an extremely close one, and you didn't want to let them down. After all, you were sure they hated Senpai. They'd be especially angry if you ditched them for him.

"I'm sorry, Senpai, I can't..." You sighed, and looked away just as Senpai's face dropped and his eyes widened. In the future, Sen would be decently proud you missed that.

"Can't...can't come? W-why?"

Senpai felt his heart shatter right in his chest. This couldn't be. You couldn't come? Why not? It doesn't make any sense to him! He had everything planned out perfectly. This day was supposed to be perfect! He takes you home, he confesses to you, you tell him you love him too, you kiss and hold each other and spend the rest of the day together, he had everything planned! Why were you trying to ruin that for him? How could you be so selfish? He had to know your reason, though. Perhaps it was important, perhaps it would be something he could wrap his pretty head around, and then everything would go right back on track after the two of you settled on a reschedule date.

"Well, why not, if I may ask?" Senpai questioned, pulling himself together enough to sound sophisticated once more. You smiled at him weakly.

"A good friend already made plans with me after school...." You tapped your chin with your finger, as Senpai felt his entire body go numb. Someone...else? A friend? No. That couldn't be right. You were a liar. Sen watched you intensively for the past few months. He didn't see anyone close enough to you on school grounds to be able to make a plan with you.

"W-well, it will only be for a bit! Please, I assure you I won't take up too much of your time!" Senpai pleaded, finding himself placing both of his hands onto a single one of your own, his throat beginning to tighten from his agonizing feeling of helplessness. You looked up at him, saw the desperateness that shone in his eyes, and sighed.

Maybe an hour with him wouldn't hurt.

"Alright Sen, I-I think I can make out some time with you. Just, meet me at the gate, alright?" Senpai after you finished your instructions nodded quickly, happy to have convinced you.

Soon, the sound of the end of period bell rang, and the two of you got up, Senpai doing so a little bit quicker than anyone usually would. He smiled at you one more time, patting you on the head and bidding you farewell, and he left before you could give him a response back.

Senpai was glad he was able to convince you, and he was even gladder that he was so quick to figure out a plan for your meeting.

The sedative was packed nicely in his pocket, the syringe he was planning on using was wrapped neatly in the other. He was planning on only using those if completely warrented. For example, if you demanded him to let you leave. But, now he sees that the scum of the world are already kicking down your door and demanding your time. He's not the only one who wants you anymore, and that fact alone makes Senpai's blood boil. You're his. You belong to him. He thought the shyness you had was a plus, but now he sees you're falling victim to bleeding-heart worms who only wish to be with you for pity reasons. It made him sick.

You deserve better.

And by the time this day is done, he's going to finally be able to give you better.

[down-in-devildom]

Hello! I saw that your request is open. Can I request for some hcs for the brothers with a very giving mc, but when they try to do something nice for them they get defensive/guilty like "who are you why are you nice to me I'M the nice one here, don't do nice things for me I feel bad?!?" And tries not to burden them in any way. Thank you! I love the way you write uwu

Thank you for the request! Also, I hope people will let others do nice things for them without thinking they don't deserve it or something. You are worth being treated well!!!😤 I also had a hard time naming this request...

Brothers react to MC not accepting returned favors 

cw: guilt tripping(?)

Lucifer

Lucifer was enjoying a date with MC after completing a sizable portion of his work early thanks to them lending a hand. They were dining at the Ristorante Six when he noticed MC scanning the menu very intensely

The grimace the MC did every so often raises some concerns for him. When the MC says that they want to order a small soup of the day, Lucifer looks at them with a raised brow

He could have sworn MC would be famished after having their lunch stolen from them by Beelzebub around noon. MC could not have possibly have had the time to eat a snack, what with all the paperwork and organizing they did for him after classes to try to lighten his workload

When Lucifer asked if that would be enough, MC's stomach let out a mighty roar in response. Lucifer was now suspicious that MC was holding back for some reason so he decides to order the food for the both of them. He signals for a waiter and makes sure to order MC's soup of the day as well as a dish or two he believes would be to their taste

When MC starts to protest about not wanting to be a burden and have him pay a fortune, Lucifer waves off the concerns and assures them they needn't worry about that. Besides, he wants nothing more than for MC to enjoy themselves after helping him earlier

"I don't want to burden you and make you pay for my meal. I am always happy to help but I don't want you to feel obligated to do something in return."

Lucifer is taken aback before he sighs and gives MC a serious and pointed look. "I am a demon that takes pride in my ability to deal out suitable punishments and rewards as I see fit. It will do you well not to question my generosity"

Mammon

Mammon felt like he was in debt to MC for helping him study and pass his latest exam. He could not afford to fail his fourth semester in a row without Lucifer finding out and skinning him alive! He doesn’t normally feel the need to do anything to actually pay people back, but he felt like he really owed MC for this one

When Mammon and MC were visiting the flea market to find some cool trinkets that can probably be resold for a profit on Akuzon, he noticed the MC’s gaze lingering on a small golden ring with intricate engravings. He makes a bit of a show of paying for the ring before losing some of his bravado and shoving his hand in the MC’s face and demanding they take it

MC looks a bit confused before thinking it was something that Mammon thought would resell well and tried to put it in the basket they carried to hold the rest of their haul

“No, ya got it all wrong. I got it for ya to- ya know- thank ya for helpin’ me the other day. I woulda been a goner without you...or something” he mumbles while trying not to look directly at them

“That’s funny and all but what’s the catch? I’m pretty sure you don’t normally give away things or do anything without expecting anything in return”

Although MC does not appear to mean any harm from the comment, it kind of stung a little for Mammon. They can’t seem to grasp that they were special and he WANTED to give them things.

Mammon becomes a bit more sullen about the ordeal and may not give anything directly to the MC from then on. He will opt instead to leave little trinkets in their room or claim he found some trash he needed to get rid of (even though it would clearly be something of value). He does not really know how to show his thanks in any other way so he is kind of stuck in a cycle of trying to backhandedly show his gratitude without his motives being questioned

Satan

Satan’s room was an absolute mess, more so than usual, when MC was kind enough to lend a hand in helping him organize his massive collection of books into something a little less chaotic

He found an ancient tome full of old runes and herbal medicines that he thought he saw MC flipping through while taking a quick break from organizing his things, and assumed it would be a nice token of his gratitude. It was inlaid with gold leaf and the engraved relief on the cover was done with a clearly skilled hand, making the old book really stand out

“Please, take this tome as payment for your time. I would have lost my mind, surely, if you did not help me in my time of need, like you did”

MC’s eyes widened with surprise before seeming to nod and say they would return the book to him later, after they take down some notes for their next hex exam. When he clarifies that he wishes for them to keep the book, MC looked taken aback

“I couldn’t possibly take one of your books! I don’t expect anything for helping you out and you shouldn’t feel the need to pay me back for something I was more than willing to do anyway. It is kind of weird for you to want to give away your books like this when you closely monitor anybody else that takes them”

Satan’s eyebrow twitches just the slightest and he has to keep his smile in place to try to not alarm MC when his irritation spikes slightly. They don’t seem to understand that him thanking them with a gift versus him guarding his collection from Mammon are two different things entirely

He leans a bit into the MC’s space with his smile still plastered on and looks them dead in the eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that the tome is not to your liking?” MC kind of feels forced to take the book and thanks Satan before making a hasty retreat to their own room. Satan takes the newfound space to clear his mind and start thinking of other ways that he can possibly approach the matter in the future without pressuring MC into accepting his generosity

Asmodeus

Asmo’s life and reputation was saved when MC responded to his emergency text asking for a very specific shirt to be brought to his photoshoot. One of the assistant demons did NOT get the memo when he said that he was more of a skull-scream peach kind of guy then a wailing-melon toned guy and the outfit assembly was not doing his beautiful complexion any favors

When Asmo got out from his shoot, he felt like he absolutely had to repay MC for going out of the way for him. He went straight to Majolish and picked out a new outfit for them that he was sure they would look absolutely fantastic in and then hurried home to wrap it up nicely 

Asmo presents the gift with flourish before asking for the MC to open it so he can watch their reaction. Asmo was not disappointed by the stunned look on their face and the silent ‘o’ their mouth made, but got a little put out when they said they could not possibly accept it. Didn’t they like it? Surely he did not pick something that wasn’t to their taste

“I can’t accept this, Asmo, it is way too sweet and generous of a gift! I had to go in the direction of your shoot today anyway so it wasn’t a burden to drop off your shirt. Please don’t reward me for something like that!”

Asmo has met a variety of demons and people over the millenia and can tell that there was something about the gift itself that was making them uncomfortable. He still is firm with them and insists that if he spent the grimm on them, they should take the gift, but starts thinking of other ways to maybe show his thanks in the future

Do words of praise and gratitude make them squirm? How about physical affection? Would a kiss count as a thanks they are willing to accept? He sure hopes so but he wants to show he appreciates them and will try to show it in any way possible until they accept it

Beelzebub

Beelzebub was starving! More so than usual and that is not a pretty sight. He was at RAD during one of the classes when he noticed that his snack bag had mysteriously gone missing when he tried to reach in to pull out a protein bar. His stomach loudly protested and he was starting to eye up some of his classmates as if they were on the menu. MC saved the day when they came rushing in with the aforementioned missing snack bag, that they found in the hallway

Beel was able to happily munch away for the rest of the lesson and it seemed like the whole class let out a collective sigh of relief. Beel was very grateful for the MC taking the time to deliver him his snack bag and decided to treat them to Hell’s Kitchen after school 

MC agreed to go willingly and ordered their food while Beel asked for well over half the menu. After they ate, Beel reached for the tab but found slight resistance when he finally looked at the bill and saw MC’s hand was also on it. When Beel stated that it was his treat for them saving him early, he was met with some pushback

“Please do not feel like you have to pay for me. Giving you the snack bag was for everybody’s benefit, so it actually came from a place of selfishness, really. I do not deserve you paying for me.”

Beel’s heart pinged a little at that. Did MC mean he was so close to losing control that they only helped him out of pity? Out of fear? He knew he was a big and his hunger knew no end, but it kind of hurt to be seen as a threat that needed to be controlled with readymade snack bags like that

Beel kind of shakes it off quickly enough and starts to think that maybe they just didn’t like the meal as much as him and was trying to spare him from paying for something they didn’t really want. He takes the time to watch MC over the next few days to see if there are other foods that they may like better. That was the problem, right? Maybe something from Madam Screams was more their style? How about that crepes stand in the park that was super delicious?

Belphegor

Belphegor was not having a great day. For one, he was awake and for two, he was tasked with doing laundry for HoL this week and he was super behind on his assigned chore. If Asmo pestered him one more time about properly separating out the colors and Lucifer lectured him about how to properly fold fitted sheets, he may just have to be imprisoned in the attic again. Luckily for him, MC took some time out of their schedule to help him finish quicker

Belphie was thankful enough that he figured he could allow them to nap with him as an award. Do not mind the fact that MC always takes naps with him but this time can be a little bit special. He nicked a projector from RAD the following day and set it up in the attic so that it would project constellations on the walls and ceilings. He also made a really comfortable pillow fort for them to share. This took a lot of work on Belphie’s part so it was a privilege for MC to join him

When the MC finally arrived at the attic after Bephie texted them to meet him up there, they were not expecting the space to be turned into such a nice and cozy room. Belphie explained that it was as a thank you for the help the other day after they kept just standing in the doorway. He then demanded they came and laid down with him

“You didn’t have to put all this work into making this space for me! It was just folding laundry. It wasn’t that big of a deal, I promise”

Belphie turns his back on them and kind of pouts into his pillow. If they don’t appreciate him sacrificing sleep to make them happy and feel appreciated, then who cares. He can nap just fine by himself and he is hard press to prove the point

After the MC stands there for a little bit and then finally decides to join him in the pillow fort, Belphie ignores them for a bit. Neither of them move from their spots until Belphie sighs and rolls over to use their chest as a pillow. If all this work really was for nothing, he might as well enjoy his well-earned nap better with a warm body pillow

-------

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm....I gave up on proof reading this part way so I hope it is okie dokie

-Leo

[carrotmakar]

here’s to us

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies To Lovers (with a twist)

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You hate Harry more than you’ve ever hated anyone else, and he feels the same (or does he?). The people around you see the interactions that the two of you have and believe that you’re a match made in heaven, but you can’t see it, and you doubt he can either. When he’s the last option to help you with a project that you’re working on, things are either going to go very well, or they're going to crash and burn.

Warning(s): alcohol, cursing, kink talk, angst, sadness, innuendos, tension, a set of lovers trying to convince two people that they’re meant for one another, fluff

A/N: this was originally a piece written for a writing challenge but that’s been cancelled (i love u liv take your time i will still participate in any and every wc you ever do bb) so this is now just another piece haha!! Thank you to @tbslenthusiast​ and @harrysclementines​ for letting me know that this piece wasn’t as bad as i thought it was (literally forever ago like.... i wrote this a long time ago lmao)!!! Also thank you to @kiwismoon​ for letting me send you parts of the fic and scream about how much i hate myself for writing things like i did!!!

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*

Relaxing.

That’s what you were supposed to be doing tonight. You’ve been stressed out about the article that was due in less than a week and you were in need of a night out with your friends. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find the inspiration to write the piece. Plus, you had been completely swamped with your school work. Even though you were still in college, you had gotten a job as a writer and chosen to take online classes. 

Sarah had suggested that you and her go out and have a few drinks. That had quickly developed into you, her, and Mitch. Then your ‘friend’ Michelle was added into the mix.

Now, you’re standing at the bar, waiting for your next shot of tequila and wondering how you let Sarah talk you into this. You hate bars. In all honesty, you only hate them because someone always seemed to mess up your nights when they were drunk. Luckily, that someone isn’t here tonight. You had made it abundantly clear to Sarah that if she were to invite anyone, it better not include him. 

As the bartender hands you your shot, you down it and place the glass down on the bar. You wait for him to retrieve it before turning to walk back to the table that Sarah, Mitch, and Michelle are occupying. Right before you sit down next to Sarah, you catch a glimpse of a very particular head of curls. Your stomach drops at the sight, and you immediately feel the urge to exit the building. There’s no way that you could mistake that for anyone else but Harry. He’s the only person that has curls as seemingly perfect as that. Plus, he’s the only broad shouldered, muscular, tattooed man that you’d ever seen around here with hair that’s grown out to the point where it passes his shoulders. 

Fighting the instinct to be as far away from him as possible, you sit down next to Sarah and do your best to ignore his presence.

That lasts all of three seconds. It’s as if something is pulling your focus towards him, and you can’t stand that, so you quickly tell Sarah that you’re going to head out. Grabbing your coat, you give her a story about suddenly having inspiration and not wanting to lose it before offering to take her almost empty cup back to the bar. She nods, wishing you a farewell.

As you’re making your way over to the bar, someone knocks into you and the small amount of liquid left in Sarah’s cup splashes onto your chest. You scoff, turning to tell whoever bumped into you to watch where they’re going. You’re met with a pair of piercing green eyes, and suddenly your words get caught in your throat. All you manage is a scoff and a quick “fuck you” before handing him the cup and walking out. 

You stand outside of the bar, leaning up against the brick wall of the building as you order an Uber for the ride home. The stench of alcohol is radiating from your shirt, and you almost gag at the smell. Beer has never been your favorite, and you have absolutely no clue how Sarah can drink it.

You place the order and go to stand on the sidewalk to wait for the car to pull up. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” The voice seems to carry through the entire street.

“What the fuck do you want, Harry?” you snap. The chuckle that he releases at your words makes your blood boil.

“Just wondering why you’re avoiding me, love.” You don’t have to turn to know that he has a smirk plastered on his face.

“Do you have a degradation kink or something?” Your words have their desired effect as he all but chokes on the air. 

“Um, no. Why? You trying to turn me on, darling?” You roll your eyes.

“Absolutely not.” How can he be so fucking annoying all the time? “I’m just wondering why you continuously pester me after I tell you how much of a dick you are and that I absolutely cannot fucking stand you.”

“Because normally when you do that, you find some way to compliment me. And I think it’s funny how flustered you get when you realize what you said.” You hear him walk closer to you, but you keep your eyes locked straight ahead of you.

“So you have a praise kink.”

When he speaks, his breath hits your ear. Fuck, you didn’t know he had gotten that close. You have to fight the shiver that’s threatening to run down your spine. You can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s having any kind of effect on you. “Do you want to test it out?”

You scoff, stepping away from him. “You fucking wish, Harry.”

He hums. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You finally turn to him. After seeing him, though, you begin to regret your decision. Seeing him like this, in a white t-shirt and black skinny jeans, hair forming his face in the most perfect way, isn’t doing you any good.

“I’m not going to be your temporary fix, Harry. Go find someone else to give you a good time.” He puts on an exaggerated pout. “I don’t even like you as a friend, so stop fucking around like that. It pisses me off.”

Before he can say anything else, your Uber arrives and you check the plates before getting in the backseat and shutting the door, effectively blocking him out.

What he would have said if your Uber hadn’t pulled up, though, is something that Harry decides you’ll never get to know. Because just when he was about to say, “I’d want you to be more than temporary,” you found a way to break his heart yet again.

*

The Uber driver has continuously given you looks since you got into the car. His nose scrunched up the moment that you closed the door, and honestly, you can’t blame him. You smell like cheap beer and probably look like an absolute mess. He’s most likely just checking to make sure that you don’t look like you’re about to throw up all over his backseat. 

You roll your eyes, trying your best to ignore him. It’s not even your fault that you’re like this right now, it’s Harry’s.

Harry, who you absolutely despise with every bit of your being. He’s been an arrogant, selfish dick since the very day that you met. He only cares about things when they include them,  constantly dropping comments about his success, and always finding a way to insert himself into any and every situation. You can’t seem to get away from him. He seems to be around no matter what you try (at first, you thought it was a coincidence, but now you’re convinced that he just does it to get on your nerves).

Harry, who’s so fucking annoying and unbearable but also so hot that he makes your mouth all but water. He can draw a reaction from you without even trying. Harry, who you’re so fucking attracted to despite hating him, and that fact makes you hate him even more.

It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be attracted to someone that makes your blood boil. 

I’m just drunk, you repeat to yourself as you push the thought of Harry as far out of your mind as you possibly can.

*

You groan as you walk out of the kitchen. 

“Y/N you know I’m right!” Sarah yells after you. “Stop trying to avoid it.”

Plopping down on Sarah’s black faux leather couch, you roll your eyes even though she can’t see it. “You’re delusional, Sarah!”

She doesn’t say anything until she comes into the living room and sits on the couch next to you. She has a bowl of chips in her hands. When you go to grab one, she pulls the bowl from your reach. 

“Admit it, you and Harry would be absolutely great together.” You could scream. She’s so adamant about the idea, but there’s no way that she could be right.

“Dude, we hate each other. What do you mean? What do you expect from us in a relationship if we can’t even be in the same room together for more than a few minutes without arguing.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“I know, I know! But Y/N, come on. The two of you are so compatible.” You laugh at her words. How could she possibly think that when she sees the way the two of you interact.

“How so?” you ask, just to entertain her theory and let her get her thoughts out.

“Okay, hear me out. You both like music, right? He sings, you write songs. That’s literally perfect right there, even if you were just friends.” You nod, not saying anything. “You’re always talking about how you want to do hair and nails and stuff for your friends and I know that he’d let you paint his nails and play with his hair.” You had in fact been telling her these things, but you weren’t aware that she would choose to use them to try and set you up with Harry. “You’re both really funny and smart. You guys talk about a lot of the same things, too. It’s just never when you’re around each other.”

“Alright, yeah, that makes some sense.” She perks up slightly but you hold a finger up, motioning for her to wait a moment before getting her hopes up. “It makes sense, but you’re forgetting a few things. I couldn’t write songs for, or even with, Harry. He’d find something wrong with him just like he does now. He’d nitpick them until there was nothing that I could find about the song that he didn’t hate.” You sigh, thinking back to what she had just said. “We’d have to be too close to each other for me to mess around with his hair or nails and you know that every time we get within a few feet of each other, there’s some kind of fight that always gets started,” you trail off, giving her a chance to speak.

“Are you going to give me a reason why the last example of why you’re perfect for each other is incorrect?” She groans when you nod.

“Yeah, actually. We may like the same things and be funny and smart or whatever, but there’s no way that we’d be able to talk to each other.” 

“Why?” 

“His communication issues.” She throws her head back and obnoxiously groans.

“He doesn’t have communication issues.”

You burst out laughing. “He’s an Aquarius. Of course he does, right on top of those commitment issues.”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever, Y/N. One of these days you’re going to understand that the two of you are quite literally a match made in Heaven.”

“Not likely,” you mumble before reaching for the remote and finding a movie to put on.

*

“Wait, what?” Mitch is looking at Harry like he’s grown a second head.

“You guys were right. Always have been, really, I just couldn’t say it before now.” Harry gulps, waiting for the ‘I told you so.’ It doesn’t come, though.

“Fuck, dude, I’m so sorry.” Harry shrugs it off.

“Not letting it get to me anymore. I’m tired of letting her break my heart.” He curses himself when tears begin to line his eyes.

“If I had known you really felt that way I would have backed off.” Harry nods at his words. “Sarah would’ve too.”

“It’s fine, Mitch, really. I just, I’m just tired, you know? It’s like there’s a magnetic force pulling me to her but every time I try to get close she shows me, yet again, that she can’t stand me.” He’s never been ashamed to show his feelings, and right now isn’t when he’s going to start. He lets his tears fall down his face as he leans back against the chair he’s sitting in.

“I really didn’t know, H. Normally I can tell when you like someone but it wasn’t like that this time.” Harry nods at him.

“You get pretty good at hiding your feelings when you’re hiding heartbreak after heartbreak.” He’s silent for a moment. “Should I cut off my hair?”

“If you want. But don’t do it just because you’re sad or you’ll regret it.” Harry closes his eyes as he debates the decision. A part of him wants to do it anyway, make the sadness go away for a moment as the exhilaration of a new haircut sinks in, but the rational part of him knows that Mitch is right.

As he sits there with tear stained cheeks, new droplets wetting his face every few seconds, he really wishes that he could hate you. He wishes that he could find anything to hate about you. But when he searches his brain for a reason to dislike you, he comes up empty. It’s frustrating, really. You seem to hate everything about him while he can’t hate a single thing when it comes to you.

He hears Mitch get up, presumably to go get something to eat, but he doesn’t open his eyes. There are a million memories with you flashing through his mind and it hurts him even more to know that every single one of them have been bad.

*

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Your voice is high pitched, some would even say a little whiny. “Sarah, you promised me that you’d sing the song for me.”

“I know, Y/N. But something urgent came up with Mitch’s family and I have to be there.” Even over the phone, you can hear how worried that she is, so you can’t really bring yourself to be upset with her.

“It’s fine, Sarah. Really, I understand.” You hear her sigh of relief and a small smile graces your face, glad that she now has one less thing to worry about. “I’ll just find someone else to do it.”

“Ask Harry.” She suggests.

“Why would I do that?” The way your mood changed was immediate and it’s almost sad, how fast he gets you worked up.

“Because, Y/N, this project is due in like two days and he’s available.” She says in her duh voice. “Plus, he can sing really well, so just ask him. The worst thing he can say is no.”

“That’s a lie. The worst thing he can say is yes.” Sarah laughs before wishing you good luck and hanging up.

You groan, thinking about what Sarah said. She’s right, honestly. There’s nobody else that you’re going to find on such short notice, especially not one that can sing as good as Harry can. Admitting to yourself that you need him (which is something you never thought you’d say), you pick up your phone and click on his contact.

“Y/N?” His voice sounds deeper than usual, a little raspier, too. Almost like he just got out of bed. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t have an effect on you, the way your name sounds coming out of his mouth when he sounds like that.

“I need your help.” You grimace at the words.

“Alright. What do you need.” Your mind races, trying to figure out why he didn’t have a sarcastic comment or a snarky remark to throw at you. You ignore it for now, though.

“I need you to sing a song that I wrote for a project.” He hums, and you can picture him pulling his bottom lip between his fingers and then running his hand through his curls.

“Okay, when do you need me?” 

“Does tomorrow work? Around noon?” You hold your breath as you hope for the best.

“Yeah, I’ll be at your place then.”

You thank him and hang up, letting your phone fall from your hand down onto the couch. Harry Styles, the man that you swear you hate, is coming to your house tomorrow. 

*

When he arrives the next day, you almost immediately hand him the song and let him read over it, not necessarily wanting to spend any more time with him than needed. When he says he has a few suggestions, you’re terrified that he’s going to tell you how awful he is, but he actually only has a few suggestions to help with the flow of things. Besides that, he promises that it’s a really good song. 

You go to grab your camera and set it up while he strums on the guitar that he brought. Once you’re ready to begin filming, he sets the paper with the lyrics on it to the side and nods.

He begins singing after the camera has started recording and you get entranced by him almost immediately. His eyes close as soon as the first word leaves him mouth and with them shut you feel much more comfortable while looking at him. His hair is flowing all around him and you have the intense urge to tuck the strands behind his ears. There’s a small crease between his brows, that of which she wants to smooth out with a kiss to his forehead. He seems so concentrated, and something about it pulls at her heartstrings.

You shake your head. He’s your enemy, remember? you think to yourself as you divert your eyes to somewhere else in the room. 

After you’ve looked away you find yourself wondering why. Why do you hate Harry so much, really? Yeah he can be arrogant and cocky and rude but who isn’t? Yeah he talks about his famous life and his awards and chart placements a lot, but you would do the same in his shoes.

Plus, he really is pretty funny now that you stop to really think about it. He’s all the things that Sarah had told you over the past few months, and you can’t believe that you didn’t realize until now. You don’t hate Harry, you’ve been convincing yourself that you do to hide the way that you really feel about him.

You’re broken from your thoughts when he clears his throat. Once you turn to him, there’s a smirk on his face. “Could feel you watching me, love.”

Your cheeks burn at the statement. Regardless of the truth in it, you’re still not very keen on admitting that you were ogling him only minutes prior. 

“It’s alright, I find myself looking at you sometimes, too.” You don’t say anything to that, and the room falls quiet. 

With that stupid smirk, that’s way too hot for it to natural and fair, he picks up his keys and his coat and walks to your front door. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You raise your hand in a pathetic half wave goodbye and try your best to smile. As he opens the door, cold air sweeps through the room and you can see the snowflakes falling outside. “Great, there’s a storm.” He groans, but still continues to walk out the door.

“Harry, wait!” He stops, turning to face you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Um… leaving?” He gestures towards his car that’s most likely covered in snow by now.

“Not in this weather you’re not.” Your voice grows hard as you glare at him. You know that he’d most likely rather not be around you, but there’s not a chance in hell that you’re going to allow him to risk his life by driving home.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t put up a fight, he just shuts the door and shrugs his coat back off. He hesitantly comes back over to take a seat on the couch. You stay silent, struggling to find the words to say.

“So, um, do you want to watch something?” He asks after a few minutes of nearly unbearable silence.

“Yeah, I’ve been watching Lucifer on Netflix, but if you don’t want to watch that, we can watch a movie or something.” You offer, looking over at him.

“Yeah, we can watch that.” You grab the remote from the table and walk over to sit next to him on the couch. 

Pulling up Netflix and starting Lucifer, you let your eyes wander to Harry for a split second before noticing that he’s already looking at you. You immediately divert your gaze. Your cheeks begin to heat up, but you try your best to ignore it.

*

After watching almost an entire season of��Lucifer, you’re just about ready to go to bed. You’ve gotten increasingly more comfortable beside Harry and you’ve even started to lean into him slightly. Not a single part of your body is touching yours, but you can tell that you’ve gotten closer.

You’re about to get up and brush your teeth when the lights go out. You groan, throwing your head back against the back of the couch. “Great, power’s out.”

He doesn’t say anything, just hums in response. 

“Stay where you are. I know where the candles and the flashlight is, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to get around.” You stand up, feeling your way through the living room towards the kitchen. Opening the cabinet closest to the wall, you pull out the three candles and the flashlight. Fuck, you forgot that there are only two candles. That’s not enough for there to be one in the hallway on the table, in the bathroom, and in the living room for Harry. And fuck, your extra blankets are in the washer.

You shake your head, lighting the candles and walking to the bathroom to place one down, and then through to the hallway to do the same. Making your way back to the kitchen, you pick up the flashlight and switch it on.

Once you reach the living room again, you clear your throat. “Okay, bad news. There were only two candles, and they need to be in the hallway and the bathroom.” You cough awkwardly. “Also, my extra blankets are dirty and I don’t want you to lay out here in the dark and freeze to death so,” your voice gets quieter, “do you maybe wanna come lay with me?”

He chokes on his spit and then clears his throat. “Um, yeah, yeah, sure. If that’s okay with you, of course. Remember, I can always go home.” You shake your head as his words.

“Nonsense, come on.”

Once the two of you are in your room, you climb into your bed and wait for Harry to do the same. Neither of you say a word as you get comfortable as you try to get to sleep. Without the heater working and there only being one blanket, though, it’s a little hard to stay warm and comfortable. “Um, Harry, I- can I- you- can we maybe… fuck I don’t know.”

You feel him turn towards you. “Are you cold, love?”

“Yeah.”

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, letting you lay your head on his chest and wrap yourself up in his embrace. His arms come to wrap around you and one hand finds its way to your hair as the other rests on your hip.

As you bask in his warmth, you try your best to not let yourself think about the way that you feel so perfectly comfortable in his arms. About how he smells so divine and he’s so warm that you’d be content with never leaving his embrace. About how, without even realizing it, you’ve been letting yourself believe that you hate Harry when really you’re in love with him. However, you’ll never tell him that. Not a chance. If there’s one thing that you absolutely will not do, it’s let Harry Styles break your heart.

*

When you open your eyes the next morning, you’re still in Harry’s arms. He isn’t awake yet, so you let yourself appreciate the way that his hair is tickling your face and the way that his arms are holding you tightly to his body. You let yourself enjoy the way that he’s got ahold of you like he can’t bear to lose you. 

You know that when he opens his eyes, everything is going to go back to normal. You’ll have to hate him again and he’ll pretend that none of this ever happened. That thought shouldn’t hurt you as much as it does.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by his voice. “Mornin’, love. Did you sleep well?”

You nod, all but entranced in the way that his voice is so much raspier when he first wakes up. “Sorry for being all over you, it was cold last night.” 

You go to move away from him, but he keeps you hugged to him. “Don’t apologize, like having you here, dove.” The words confuse you, but you don’t question them. Instead, you let yourself relax back into him.

Everything is silent for a few minutes, but the air is comfortable this time. “Do you wanna go get some coffee if the roads aren’t bad?” Harry whispers.

“Yeah, sure.”

The two of you climb out of bed and get ready for the day. You let him use an extra toothbrush and once you brush through your hair, you hand the tool to him. He gives a small “thanks” and gets to work on taming his hair as you walk out of the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he’s walking towards the living room with his keys and then he’s leading you out the door to his car.

The ride to the coffee shop is silent besides the hum of the radio, neither of you really knowing what to say.

Once the two of you slide into a booth at the little diner that he drove you to, you order a coffee and something as he does the same.

“So, tell me about yourself, Y/N. I don’t really know much about you.”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out what to tell him.

“I write. My job is to write articles for this company. But I’m still in school technically, so I’m taking online classes to finish getting my degree. I like songwriting. Um, I think that’s about it.” Your cheeks heat up as you tell him about yourself, although none of the things that you’re listing are embarrassing.

“Why haven’t you ever talked about your songwriting before?” He ponders, placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand.

“Um, you hate me. Or.. hated me? I don’t know. I don’t want you to tear it apart just because you’re some hotshot writer. Or because you hate me.”

He pulls back, looking down. “Never hated you.”

“What?” You had to have heard that wrong.

“Ever stop to think why I was only rude when you got rude first?”

Your jaw drops as you think it over. “No, um, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, well. I never hated you.”

“So, you’re telling me that I hated you and you just… never hated me?” He grimaces.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He offers you a soft smile. “It’s fine.”

Throughout the next few hours, you sit there with Harry and talk about any and everything that comes to your mind. He pays for the bill, although you insist on letting you help. As you’re walking out to his car and he’s about to drive you home, he stops. “Um, hey would you maybe want to hang out some more?”

The question takes you by surprise, but you agree nonetheless. “Yeah, I actually would really like that.”

He nods, climbing into the car as you smile to yourself.

*

It’s been six months since you made Harry stay over at your house because of that pesky snowstorm, and you’ve never been more thankful for the weather.

You’ve spent the majority of your time together, going out to eat when possible and staying over at your house most nights. His is too big, as you’ve always said, so for the simple sleepovers, you insisted that he came over to yours. You’ve grown closer and closer to him, and now you can confidently say that he’s your best friend.

Along with the growing friendship, your feelings have gotten deeper. There’s not a single part of you can deny that you’re absolutely, head over heels in love with Harry. And you don’t want to anymore. You still don’t want to tell him, but you’re no longer lying to yourself in the slightest.

Today is the only day thus far that you’ve even slightly regretted how close that you’ve become with Harry. And that’s because you’re currently standing at the airport, head buried into his chest as you try to find a way to say goodbye for the next six months. 

“Don’t want you to go.” You whine as you hold him as close as you possibly can.

He murmurs a “fuck it” before pulling away from you.

“Come with me.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “I know, it sounds crazy. Absolutely ridiculous. But listen, we’ll go home, back to your place and we’ll pack your bags and then we’ll go. I’ll reschedule my flight. I- I can’t do this without you, Y/N.” He reaches up and runs a hand through his curls (which you’d begged him to let you braid, but he said it was easier to have it down for flights). “Listen, you’re my rock. I- I feel like I can breathe when you’re around me. Fuck, Y/N, I’m in love with you.” 

You freeze, completely shocked by the words that fell from his mouth.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that. That was stupid. Forget I ever said anything.” He’s rambling because he thinks there’s no way that you can feel the same but you do.

“I’m in love with you, H. Have been for a long time.” Before he can respond, you surge forward and grab his face in your hands. Bringing his face closer, you slot your lips with his and allow the kiss to envelop you. After a few moments, you pull back. “Let’s go home and get my bags packed.”

*