#maybe you need to eat or drink something… you’ll feel less hateful when you’re not hungry or thirsty I promise!

[shinylights]

when you get hate anons do you ever wonder if it’s someone you follow, a mutual (why idk i just assume everyone actually hates me) or someone you’ve seen on your dash…. or if it’s just a random creep who has nothing better to do than care what some unknown person says about something on the hell site tumblr dot com?

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Plant Monsters

There’s something so sinister about Plant Monsters. Whether it’s those of the carnivorous variety or more of the spiritual protector kind–plant monsters are meant to be feared, and respected. As the most sentient of Mother Nature’s creations, they are nothing to scoff at whether you’re a mere villager or a royal knight set to travel through their territory. Even more so when they have no intentions on harming a hair on your head.

Somehow it’s just expected that the Dryad is going to be troublesome. Maybe in the beginning they were set to kill you but something about you has them holding back their violent instinct to protect the forest. These types are weirdly enough pretty disconnected from the forest. Not that they don’t feel the very seasons within their roots kind of disconnected. The kind of disconnected that allows them to easily abandon their place in the ecosystem–allowed them to become the predator or prey they’d like to be. 

It’s a compelling role for Dryads. Meaning, that Flower Type Dryads are free to leave the forest to follow you into the village. They’ll stand out sure but in the end, they’re free to follow you without restriction. They might annoy you into letting them in with their bright-colored petals and their soft small statures. They could get muscles to woo you but what would be the point when you’re already protecting them as your self-proclaimed fragile flower? You won’t refuse them when they offer to put their piston in your stamen and it doesn’t matter if you have a stamen or not they don’t care. All they care about is that you’ll always be right beside them so that you both can bloom together. Of course, there are plenty of predators that would try to stomp on the blossom of your love but you didn’t think the petals were just meant to look pretty, did you? Mother Nature is a strong believer in letting the most gorgeous of flowers have something to defend themselves with. Whether that’s a fruit they can make, a thorn they can unsheathe, or a small secretion meant to paralyze if consumed, Flower Type Dryads are demure and sweet and believe they deserve a life with you even if it means ending another’s if need be.

As cute and soft as the Flower Type may be, it’d be folly to forget the Carnivorous Type Dryads. Those who prefer not to leave the forest, choose the predator option within the forest. Luring their prey into their clutches to feast on the flesh and blood of whoever was foolish enough to fall into their trap. With their roots deeply into the ground, the carnivorous type isn’t usually one to move, which makes their desire for you all the more agonizing. Having to catch a glimpse of you through the foliage just out of their range is the closest they’ll get to you. There’s no guarantee for them that you’ll stay when they plea for help or that you’ll come to the sweet voice calling out to you. Just out of their range, you may be safe from the reaching vines and barbed arms they are dying to wrap around you. They have to rely on your compassion and wavering skepticism to get you like they want. Such great communicators they may very well be honest with you about not planning to eat you or perhaps they might prefer to threaten you with the lives of passersby on the path your family takes. There’s always a desperate sense of complete abandon to get you to drink their addictive nectar or to take their…seeds and be the perfect extension. There’s no question that without you transporting them in a giant pot they are forced to lure obstacles of their love…or they’ve begun to expand and evolve so that they can devour all who get in their way. Not including you of course! Don’t be scared. They’d hate to have to stick you with their own paralyzing agent. 

Speaking of sticking, the Plant Monsters that are less easy to spot because they are small or almost as human-like as you are the Faes and Fairies. Faes are only as different as they want you to see; masters of illusion and trickery all they need is your name before they can truly have all of you. They get close to you, hinging on the allure of the forest and fauna to be a mysterious traveler bound to be more. They don’t mind if you’re steadfast about not sharing your name they’re just happy to lend their magic to make you smile. To make you swoon because they’re conveniently everything you can hope for in a person of interest. Agreeing with all the topics you spoke about in confidence to your animal companion, they’re just so perfect! They don’t even mind that you won’t tell them your name they’re more than happy to keep calling you  Celtic nicknames of endearment. And they figure if you won’t give them your name they’ll give you theirs so that your souls are bound together for all eternity. They are ancient beings full of wisdom, and sage thoughts that will allow them to chain you to them lovingly aid you in whatever you hope to do in life. Not to forget the centuries devoted to weaponry and building immunity to various medical ailments, which will come in handy when they have to defend their dearest love! The Fae, though madly in love with you, is far beyond your comprehension and somehow is intertwined with the forest. You will never fully grasp how deep their connection is even when you are bound to their side for the rest of your newly immortal life.

Another with a mystifying connection to the forest is Fairies. Similar to their cousins they are known for their love for mischief and trickery. But instead of goading you for your name they’ll invite you into a fairy circle. Mythically crafted dimension full of partying and endless fun; all you have to do is eat the food and the deed is done. Everyone can never tell exactly what happens after you’ve eaten their delicacies. Some say you become a hypnotized servant, others claim you’ll be trapped within their circle for the rest of your days. Even if you befriend the flittering fiend, they’d never tell! Giggling behind their little hands and their round cheeks as they enjoy your puzzled expression. If you are wise enough not to fall into the circle a fairy won’t be deterred, more than willing to deploy an arsenal of different tactics to get your affections. Whether they rely on their charisma or the destitute life you live—a devoted fairy will not give up. Shrinking, tripping, cursing, inflicting all sorts of harrowing spells to leave you weak in the knees and perfect for the taking. Unlike their human-disguising cousins, they won’t bother to lie about their actions, proudly puffing their chest as you cry over a forward companion. The Fairy isn’t afraid to laugh as your words slur after eating a treat they’d made for you. They don’t even think for once that there’s such a thing as right or wrong, considering this is their nature. It’s right because they're doing it and it’s useless to protest with a silly notion of logic.

While Fairies may be devoid of logic the Druid is not. Likely a human or elf or even a misplaced ogre. They are truly the connection between humans and Mother Nature it’s a beautiful bond, a sacred pact that outshines everything in their life. Everything except you that is. They may worry that your presence would compromise this relationship with Nature because you consumed them. Eating away at the sanity they had left to think only of you. Even more frightening they’ve already used their power to strangle someone that dared to compliment you. It’s getting worse. The Druid knows it’s madness–their need to protect overreaching inexplicably past normal boundaries. They can’t see parallels in the mating lives of animals, no (pure) example crafted by Mother Nature does what they do. But they reason that Mother Nature in some roundabout way must approve, for they replay how you regarded them with such affection when they first met you. Not when they first joined your troupe at the guild but when they transformed into a helpless feline that was hesitant of your touch. Suddenly they are leaning into the marvelous sensation of your compassionate pets. The Druid, despite being the liaison of Nature and intelligence are helpless in the wake of their feelings for you. 

I guess the most sinister thing about Yandere Plant-Related Creatures is that there’s something inherently right in whatever they decide to do. After all for as long as humanity has existed and even long before that nature and animals have thrived following only the bare instincts they’re born with. And what part of that doesn’t include doing whatever it takes to get what they want?

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 4

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, maybe. I don't think anything else. Sorry if there are typos.

Words: 1874

The One I Want Masterlist

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“Are you excited?” Jake asks as he hands you a cup of coffee. 

You take a sip and let the liquid run down your throat, then pull the cup away from your face to examine it. Your eyes dart from the caramel-colored drink to your roommate and back. He keeps getting it right, and you don’t know how. It’s as if you wrote the exact measurements of the contents of your usual coffee order on a sticky note and slapped it on the fridge so he had no choice but to memorize it. 

“Thank you,” you say. “And, yea…I guess so. It’ll be nice to have a reason to get out every day, but I have a feeling I'll be bored sitting around.” Which you’re perfectly fine with. A job is a job in your mind, and stumbling upon the gift shop across from the beach was convenient for both hirer and hiree. But Jake doesn’t need to know just how unfeeling you are toward your new job. You wouldn’t put it past him to try to unnecessarily cheer you up.

He’s done it a lot. At any hint of distress, you find him beside you. And as someone who finds themself lost in thoughts that allow anxiety or stress or pain to seep onto their face, it means Jake Seresin is often close. Which also means you are constantly at war with what your mind is willing to accept. 

There’s the suspicious part consuming most of your mind, telling you that people—men like Jake, especially—don’t go out of their way. Not for someone like you. But another itty bitty piece of your mind wants to believe Jake truly is this nice and caring. You wouldn’t hate to have that kindness in your life be a permanent fixture. 

Since you moved in you can’t deny that you rise each morning a little less worried about what the day will hit you with. And you know it’s Jake who has fueled that—indirectly, even. He has yet to comment on you or your body or your clothes or what you eat. Neither positively nor negatively. Though you do catch him staring from time to time, whatever he is thinking doesn’t leave his mouth, which is far more restraint than others have shown in the past. 

Jake shoves his hands into his sweatpants pockets and shrugs. “We usually take an hour for lunch. I could always stop by.”

“And do what?” You can’t hold back your snort, nor can you conceal the upturned tick of your lips. Your first smile of the day, light as it is, and Jake’s eyes fix on your mouth until you say, “Are you overdue for a new keychain or cheap beach snow globe?”

“I might be. Those snow globes are great,” he says with a grin, endearingly crooked. “You know, you shake ‘em around; snow goes all over the place.”

“Yes, I’m aware of how they work.”

“Well then you understand why I might want a new one,” he sasses, all but sticking his tongue out like a child.

You hum to hold back your laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you’ve started to find him funny in the last few weeks. Something tells you his ego doesn’t need it. Then, with your hand extended you pass him the mug and make your way toward the door to grab your purse off the nearby hook. “I’ll try to remember that. Thanks for the coffee.”

You are almost out the door, out of his sight and so close to gaining the distance you’ve decided you need from him, when he calls out to you.  “Hey, do you want me to pick you up at the end of your shift?”

The smile you’d finally let free from his earlier joke falls, and you swallow hard, suddenly wishing you’d had the money to keep the rental car you used to get yourself from one state to the next. Though you’ll have hours away from him for the day, and the days to come, Jake coming to get you when you’re likely drained from boredom will instantly ruin the mental fortitude you’re trying to regain. 

You’d never speak it into existence, but your new job benefits you in more ways than one. After coming up short on last month's rent, you’ll finally be able to put a dent in the money you owe him—because you are paying him even though he doesn’t ask for it—but you were also banking on the separation giving you the chance to get your thoughts and pulse under control. 

Anticipation has wormed its way into your daily routine lately. You wake. Wash face. Brush teeth. Dress. Think of Jake. Scold yourself for thinking of Jake. Itch to see him, for reasons you’d rather not focus on. Get pissed for the rapid beating of your heart. 

You don’t need it. Not the unexpected thoughts, not the chaos of your pulse, not the disappointment in yourself for failing to learn from previous experiences. Thinking of him too often will fuck things up and leave you worrying about much more than just Jake or his friends or the odd stranger paralyzing you from a sudden comment or snide remark on how you look. Before you know it, you’ll be digging into the front pocket of your suitcase for the final two notecards and tossing a coin. 

“It’s only a mile-long walk,” you say, praying the unsteadiness of your voice isn’t detectable through the wall segmenting hallway from kitchen.

“So?”

You sigh. Definitely not the answer you wanted. You don’t know how to respond. There’s no excuse on the tip of your tongue, so you settle on, “Have a good day, Jake. Go save the country or something.”

—

You were spot on with that boredom prediction. Hours have passed and you’ve been forced to fill the time with menial tasks that might just be shrinking a few brain cells. Examining every item in the shop, counting every item in the shop, recounting the little squishy sea critter toys after a group of preteen girls lingered too long in that aisle. As someone so used to being on the move, each minute is slowly eating away you. 

With limited options, there are opportunities to let your mind wander and, eventually, you drift into your memories. When the urge to stop them arises, you’re shocked that you kick it back. And before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re grabbing a pocket-sized navy-colored notebook and a pen with a plastic seashell for a cap. 

A self-help book you’d skimmed a year prior suggested writing things down to process trauma and grief. The author-slash-therapist didn’t ask for well-detailed memories and feelings, but instead, a quick scribbling of the first things that come to mind. Despite how simple the task seemed, you hadn’t considered it. It seemed silly to relive the pain, to rip open wounds. Even poorly stitched wounds, you won’t deny, that left ragged and raised scars. You’d just been content with no longer bleeding. 

But recently, you’ve neglected a pulling; a string threaded and knotted into your heart with a force trying to tug it free from the confines of your chest. Though you know that would only serve one unenticing purpose, to demand you examine the organ and assess the damage time has worn into it, you don’t reconsider flipping open the cover of the notebook. 

With a free mind, you write down names, places, and towns. You write down words that were thrown at you. You write down the first time someone attacked your most vulnerable parts. And the things said and done that drove you out of one location and onto the next. You write until pages of white are filled with what could only be compared to an insane person's pastime. You write until another customer comes in just as the sun begins to fade. 

You feel her presence before you look up from the notebook in your lap, and when you finally do, you internally flinch at the sight. 

The pin-straight yellow strands of her hair reach a few inches below her shoulders, her lips are coated in bright red, and her eyes are enhanced with heavy dark shadow tones. She is tits shoved together, pushing cleavage out the low V of her camisole, and tight ass filling out tighter, dangerously short, shorts, and tiny waist a man could wrap his hands around and touch fingertips. She’s everything you avoid, and she pays you no mind as she makes her way to the mugs at the back corner of the store before heading for the t-shirts.

It’s obvious she entered with a mission when you find her not one minute later standing in front of you and setting the items on the counter. As you scan and wrap the mug and place it in the bag with the shirt, you don’t miss the similar words written across both cheap gifts. My Boyfriend is a Naval Aviator flows in cursive script over the chest of the shirt. My Girlfriend F*cks a Naval Aviator curves with the rounded shape of the mug.

You wonder if that boyfriend is one of Jake’s friends. Rooster does have a girlfriend and you have no way of knowing if this woman is his type. You kind of hope she isn’t. 

“It’s sixteen dollars even,” you mutter. 

She reaches into her cami and pulls out a twenty, slamming it down on the glass countertop that doubles as a display case for the slightly more expensive, yet still cheap, merchandise. The leftover four dollars are then shoved back between her push-up bra and breast. The bag is ripped from your hand and she promptly exits. 

That’s one way to end a first day, you think. At least it was one more thing to do with your time. Annoying kids, a notebook you’re not going to dare touch for a few days, and a woman with underlying anger issues who reminds you too much of your past. You deflate as you realize tomorrow is not likely to end up nearly as eventful.

Closing the shop is, thankfully, a quick process, because you’d like to make it back to the apartment before the moon and stars become your main light source. Walking home in the dark doesn’t suit you but you weren’t about to accept Jake’s offer knowing it likely wouldn’t stop there. First he’ll be picking you up, then it’ll develop into him dropping you off, then you’ll be hanging out with him and his friends every weekend. And then what? What good will any of that do you?

As it turns out, though, you don’t have a choice. 

Once the building door is shut and locked, you turn to find a black truck pulling up beside you. Your heart misses its next beat as fear grips you, but then you recognize the vehicle. The passenger window rolls down to reveal sandy blond hair, then green eyes, then sharp nose, then wide grin.

“You didn’t actually say no,” Jake says. 

Fuck. 

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you step closer, wrap your fingers around the car door handle, and pull. 

---

A/N: ended up having to do something tonight, so this part came a little early. I hope you liked it :)

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 11

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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As has become a habit of recent, the first thing I do when I open my eyes – despite the headache pounding behind them – is check my phone. I smile at the sweet good night text that must have come through mere seconds after I’d fallen asleep and then text back.

Mornin’ Remind me to stay away from eggnog…Or at least not mix it with wine…

I sit up slowly and take a sip out of the water bottle that I’d somehow had the presence of mind to prepare in advance and reach into my bag for some pain killers. I take a couple of pills before laying back down. After a few minutes my phone buzzes.

Awe, Darlin’ That sounds like a lethal mix You ok?

Yeah, my head hurts

I bet You’re gonna hate what I have to say but... Water, pills, breakfast, exercise also helps

Check, Check, I don’t even want to think about food and not a chance

Fair enough Go back to sleep then I’ll be here when you wake up

I gotta get up Work later

Today?

People need their coffee…I’m closing

Please at least eat something first then Even if you don’t want to

I won’t be allowed to leave here without eating first So don’t worry

Good

This is the only thing I miss about London You know they get the day off after Christmas It’s called Boxing Day Though they mainly watch soccer But it’s a nationwide holiday

First you tell me you’re from Texas and now you’re saying you lived in London? Another long story, I’m guessing?

Yeah…I lived there for almost a year with my boyfriend after high school

Wow I thought my move to LA was ambitious and scary You actually went overseas

Yep…At the time I thought I was in love Anyway, you know the rest of that tragic story I really do have to get up now I’ll talk to you after work

Alright Darlin Hope your head feels better

I smile at his sweet message as I shut off my phone, get up, change into fresh jeans and a hoodie and pack all my things back into my bag. I leave the box from Jensen separate. Without all the extras from the cafe, I could easily manage my bag and the box, but I also know that Nick didn’t drink nearly as much as Stella or I, always wanting to be the responsible one and ready to look after her. So, I know he’ll insist on driving me home. With everything organised, I go to the bathroom to freshen up and then downstairs to indulge in whatever my stomach can handle.

In the kitchen, Nick takes one look at me and sighs. “You girls and your wine…”

“What about your eggnog?”

“I was deliberately light on the alcohol, if it wasn’t for the wine, you’d both be fine. How many times do I have to tell you both how much worse wine-hangover are?”

“Maybe a few hundred more. It’s fun at the time…”

“Yeah, and now you’re both a mess.” He hands me a plate with one of Stewie’s croissants heated up. “You’re gonna have to eat on the run. Stella has to go into the office, I’ll drop you off at the same time. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to make sure she’s getting ready.” 

I sit at the island bench and pick at the croissant while I wait for Nick and Stella to come back downstairs.

“Some manager you are…” I playfully tease Stella from the backseat as she uses the tiny mirror to fix up her make-up, attempting to make herself look more alive and less hungover.

She meets my eyes in the mirror, “Like you’re any better?”

I shrug, “At least my customers will be just as hungover as me.”

Nick cuts us both off as he parks in front of her office building, “You’re both as bad as each other. I really wish you would stop doing this.” He leans over to peck Stella’s cheek, “I love you, go kick some ass.”

“I love you too, both of you,” she says with a glance over the backseat at me before slipping out of the car. 

Nick waits until she disappears into the large, tinted glass doors before driving off. He sighs as he glances in the rearview mirror to meet my eyes briefly. “None of this funny business at the wedding, remember?” I nod. “You know she’s so close to another massive promotion, she’s in the middle of the pitch of her career. I get that you’re her best friend and that your life's a mess and you’re lonely but please don’t bring her down with you. The wedding is enough of a distraction. She wants this so bad, she won’t tell you because she loves you, but she can’t afford anymore distractions right now.”

My jaw drops. He’s never been this candid or harsh with me before. I’m lost for words. Shocked and hurt, all I can do is bite my cheek to hold back my emotions and nod. The rest of the drive to my apartment passes in uncomfortable, tense silence. The second the car stops I swing the door open and jump out. I quietly thank Nick for driving me and then slip into my apartment building. 

I dump my stuff in the corner of the room and go shower. Feeling sick, hurt, sad, and like a woeful disappointment I scrub every inch of my body as I stand under the scalding water. I wash my hair, shave my legs and thoroughly exfoliate in an attempt to wash away all my feelings and make myself feel at least a little better about myself. By the time I shut off the water and step out of the cubicle I’ve made a list of resolutions that I’m not going to wait until New Years to enact. 

Only contact Stella for wedding related matters

Be the best Maid-of-Honor ever

Get my life back on track - Stop chasing pipe dreams

Get a good-paying, stable 9-5 job

Be realistic about Jensen

I get dressed in the same jeans and a clean long sleeve shirt and then as the first step of my new resolutions, I tape up the box and write ‘return to sender’ on the top. I tie up my hair in a messy bun, put on comfy work shoes, grab my designated work backpack and the box, but as I check the time I realise I won’t make the post office before my shift so I leave it by the door and make a mental note to take it first thing in the morning.

My shift passes by in a blur. I hand out order after order with practiced speed and a forced smile. After flicking the sign to ‘closed’ I scrub every surface until it shines and then lock up. As I walk home I briefly check my phone, I see a text from Jensen but don’t let myself read it. I stuff my phone back in my pocket and quicken my pace to get out of the miserable, cold December air. For a second I;m transported back to my time in London.

I walked down a quiet lane back towards my shared apartment. The bleak weather matched my emotions. The light drizzle matching the tears still falling down my cheeks. I had been sitting alone in a park all day avoiding the place and person I had called home for so long. I only got up once I knew he’d be at work, likely serving fancy cocktails to the pale, model-like brunette he brought back to our apartment. I’d only been gone one night, for an acting class in Paris. But when I got home, excited to surprise him, knowing he’d still be sleeping from working until 2am, I found he wasn’t alone; there was another naked woman laying on my pillow.  A chorus of car horns startles me out of the unpleasant memory and I finally slip back into my building. I have another scalding shower to wash away the sweat and unpleasant smell of mixed foods and beverages clinging to my clothes, skin and hair. When I sit down to eat a bland frozen lasagne I flick through the channels. Supernatural is on again but I force myself to flick past it before Jensen’s face appears. Settling on an animal documentary I open my laptop and search for jobs as I eat. My phone buzzes on the coffee table but I silence it. I feel a little guilty for ignoring him since Jensen has been nothing but nice to me, but then Nick’s words ring back through my head, “I get that you’re her best friend and that your life is a mess and you’re lonely but please don’t bring her down with you.”. And I know he’s right, my life is a mess and I am lonely, but until I sort it out, I’ll just bring anyone around me down with me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy

[90sbee]

i literally have no words... how does it feel to write a masterpiece... i am crying...sobbing even... this is so perfect so beautiful like holy shit op u deserve HEAVEN !!!!

Wordlessly, Leon turns to you and zips it up himself. Of course he does; that’s just Leon.

the way it is second nature to him to help reader... i am unwell :)))

When he looks up at you, he looks less like your partner and more like someone you’re meant to love. An ache resonates within you, a need to reach out a brush your fingers through his darkened hair.

why is ur writing so fucking beautiful like seriously.... THE FEELS THE FEELS !!!

You hate this; hate that he makes you feel this way, hate that he is so beautiful, hate that you can’t seem to shake this deep seated love you harbor for him. You miss him when he looks away and you remove your hand.

the yearning the pining.... so relatable i am going to scream KDDJFDKSF

His legs are angled toward you like he only plans on talking to you.

STOP MY HEART CAN ONLY TAKE SO MUCH !!!!!! HELP jdkfj AAAA

That’s the best way to describe how you feel when you look at Leon: aching. It’s desperation, an aching need to touch and hold. It’s not exactly love, but you don’t have another word for it. Maybe devotion? Looking at him feels like the first time a child sees a kitten. You’re like me, soft and lovable, and we should stay together.

gosh op i want to hug u like fr this is so so so gorgeous... i am melting

You agree, not that you could deny even if you wanted to. He’s looking at you like you’re someone he’s meant to love, like you’re more than just his partner. His hand slots against the curve of your waist like it was made specifically to be there. He’s warm and smiling, and you think maybe he’s had a bit too much champagne. But you like him like this. Who knows when you’ll see him like this again?

you have no idea how much i adore him and i'm like. going feral like i just need to take care of him and make sure he drinks water and eats properly and just keep him warm and safe and aaaAAAAAAAA. ur leon is so precious i'm crying

Perhaps, in another life, you would see this as a win. The man you’ve spent most of your life following around and yearning for seemingly returns your affections, and you are about to deny him. Admitting it out loud makes it real, makes it mean something. What happens the next time something goes wrong out there? The next time he does something heroic? Everything will be much too real, and much harder to bury. You blink at him, looking at him for what feels like the very first and last time. He’s still Leon; scruffy stubble, blue eyes, and warmth. He’s still Leon, teetering on being your Leon, and you’re not going to let that happen. You, again, are going to deny yourself from what you want.

OP I'M GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE PLEASE PLEASE DKJFD AAAAAA

“I love you,” he says. Your body goes cold. “That could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, but I feel like you should know that before you make whatever decision you’re about to make,”

please this is so canon leon i am sobbing on the floor

“We take risks for a living,” you say. He opens his eyes to peek at you through his lashes. “What’s one more right?”

MY POOR HEART OH GOD OH GOD !!!!!!

devotion

summary: because love doesn't quite capture it | leon kennedy x partner!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: depictions of injuries, angst if you squint, mentions of alcohol consumption, yearning, mutual pining, partners to friends to lovers

notes: BACK FROM THE DEAD W A VENGEANCE. my semester has finished and my second one doesn't start until january so i will be posting for once. college is kicking my ass like all the time so it puts everything else on pause for me anyway ily all | ao3

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The dress feels itchy against your skin. You don’t want to go to this event, so you can’t imagine how Leon feels. He doesn’t even like when you thank him for doing the dishes, so you wonder how he might behave up on a stage to receive a medal. You stretch behind you, reaching for the zipper. Wordlessly, Leon turns to you and zips it up himself. Of course he does; that’s just Leon.

“This is weird,” he says. It’s barely a whisper, breath dusting over your shoulder as he says it. You nod with a sigh.

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you return. You watch his eyes in the mirror. They hover somewhere on your forehead. “Not normal, but not weird,” “I think it’s weird,” he says, and steps away. You nod again, because what else can you say?

Working with Leon has its ups and downs. He’s too quiet some days, and you have to fill in the gaps yourself. Or he’s too loud–sometimes without even saying anything–and you have to figure out how to deal with it. Or he’s just Leon; he laughs and jokes, he helps cook dinner, he doesn’t talk about work. You like those days the best. Had you seen these versions of Leon when you were assigned to him almost ten years ago, you would’ve laughed. Ten years ago, you couldn’t imagine being this close to someone, to care as much as you do about someone you’re paid to be around.

You suppose there’s layers to it, layers you haven’t fully unraveled yet. You know only a few things for certain: Leon is your partner, he is also your unofficial roommate, and you care about him more than you care about others.

“Are you ready?” he asks. He’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, the light from the hallway making him look like an angel descending to relay a message from God. You swallow and nod.

“Just need my shoes,” you say, moving to the bed and sliding your shoes across the floor to be in front of you. Leon bends down without a word to help you fasten them.

When he looks up at you, he looks less like your partner and more like someone you’re meant to love. An ache resonates within you, a need to reach out a brush your fingers through his darkened hair. He shifts his gaze to your upper arm. Gingerly, he runs the tips of his fingers over a scar that spans from your elbow to your clavicle. It’s ugly and red, courtesy of the nasty burn you’d sustained there a few years ago. The ridged skin is unfeeling as Leon skirts his hand across it, tracing it from your elbow to your shoulder.

“I remember when you got this,” he says absently. His fingers dance across your skin, and you wish the scar didn’t run so deep so you could feel his ministrations. “Thought I’d lost you,”

He says nothing more, just stands up and offers his hand to you to help you off the bed. You take it, and he hauls you up with ease. He twists out of the room like a ghost. You follow him, like you always do.

The scar is one of a few you’ve come to own. You remember the day you got it, too. For whatever reason, you replay the moment in your head over and over in the taxi on the way to the gala. It makes your skin burn.

It was supposed to be a normal day, a normal mission. Go in, extract, get out. Three simple steps that you had done a hundred thousand times before. Leon stood beside you, always offering to enter a room first. You’ll admit, years removed from the situation, you should’ve been more careful, should’ve listened to what he was saying. But you were so angry at him. You felt weak, unnecessary. You remember shoving past him and through a door you hadn’t known was connected to a trigger. Almost as soon as your boot touched the concrete on the other side of the threshold, your hearing went out. It felt like you were standing miles away from a nuclear blast, and you had felt the effects of the delayed shockwave. You were knocked to the ground in an instant, but you didn’t feel pain–not yet at least. When you woke up in the hospital a day later, Leon was asleep in the chair beside you.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he’d said. You vowed not to.

“Do you think they’ll at least have an open bar?” he says now, drawing you back into the world. You turn away from the window of the cab to look at him. He’s staring at his hands, forcing a small smile.

“They better,” you say, reaching over and settling a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you. “It’s the only reason I’m going,”

This turns his smile genuine, and he even offers an eyeroll. You squeeze his shoulder, bracelets jingling with the motion. His eyes are on you, and you feel as hot as fresh sin. You hate this; hate that he makes you feel this way, hate that he is so beautiful, hate that you can’t seem to shake this deep seated love you harbor for him. You miss him when he looks away and you remove your hand.

The gala is overwhelming. Leon stays near you, hand hovering near your own. You wish he would reach out and take it. You debate the consequences of doing it yourself.

Breath hot on the shell of your ear, Leon whispers, “You think our taxes went into this?”

You suppress a laugh, tightening your lips into a thin line to fight a smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but I’ll pretend like this was all donated,”

“You can consider taxes a donation if you really think about it,” he says, gliding across the floor with you toward an empty table. You snort.

“I think that depends on what your definition of donation is,” you say. He pulls out your chair for you before pushing it in, then takes his own seat beside you. His legs are angled toward you like he only plans on talking to you.

“I think you underestimate my ability to bend definitions to suit my needs,” he says. You laugh again.

You like this version of Leon, and you know that it won’t last very long so you should hold onto it while it’s here. An old jazz song rings out from the speakers across the hall, and the lights catch his eyes just right. They’re really blue, as true blue as blue gets. They’re your favorite shade of blue. If you could paint your living room that color, you would. It’s a soft blue, like the crest of a wave blue, like the sky just after dawn blue, like two perfect oceans set into his skull. There’s a hairline scar that runs between the crows feet of his left eye, one you ache to reach out and trace.

That’s the best way to describe how you feel when you look at Leon: aching. It’s desperation, an aching need to touch and hold. It’s not exactly love, but you don’t have another word for it. Maybe devotion? Looking at him feels like the first time a child sees a kitten. You’re like me, soft and lovable, and we should stay together.

“Have you listened to anything I’ve said in the last few minutes?” Leon asks, putting a hand on your knee that brings you back to the gala. You suck in a breath and shake your head. He smiles wide. “Quit staring at me, makes me feel like I’ve got something on my face,”

“You’re pretty,” you say before you can stop yourself. Maybe pretty is the wrong word, but you don’t know what the right one would be. He’s handsome, sure, but handsome doesn’t encapsulate the way his lashes flutter against his cheekbones or the way he blushes when you smile at him. “Sorry,”

He’s grinning now, giving your knee a squeeze. “You flatter me,”

An hour later, and he’s being called up on stage by your director, who intends to decorate him. You’re beaming with pride, even though you know Leon is dreading this moment. He stumbles across the stage. Cameras are flashing, and you can almost see Leon cringe between photos. He’s off the stage a few minutes later, heading straight for you. You grin more, knowing that he’s choosing to seek solace in you, in your company. He wraps you in a stiff hug that loosens as it endures. You laugh into his shoulder.

“Don’t let me do anything heroic ever again,” he mumbles, burying his face into your neck. You bark a laugh.

“Yeah, okay,” you agree. “I’ll make sure to step in next time,”

In an act that surprises you, Leon tugs you toward the dance floor. You must look wildly confused because he explains, “Just this once. Just one dance,”

You agree, not that you could deny even if you wanted to. He’s looking at you like you’re someone he’s meant to love, like you’re more than just his partner. His hand slots against the curve of your waist like it was made specifically to be there. He’s warm and smiling, and you think maybe he’s had a bit too much champagne. But you like him like this. Who knows when you’ll see him like this again? You stare at him, intent to memorize his features and the way the light catches on the bridge of his nose.

“You’re staring again,” he whispers. You smile sheepishly.

“Never seen you like this,” you reply. He bows his head to chuckle. “Not sure I’ll ever get the chance to again,”

“I’m sure you will,” he says. “You’re the one who brings it out of me,”

You roll your eyes. “I’m more convinced it’s all the free champagne we’ve been drinking,”

“You can believe whatever you want, sweetness,” he says, spinning you. “I’m telling you the truth,”

You’re both giggly and joking the whole way home. Leon has you wheezing about something you can’t remember as you step into the apartment. Tears rest at the corners of your eyes. You shove him playfully. He follows you from room to room like a puppy, making you giggle and flash a smile as you clean up for the night.

You crash onto the bed, warm and light from the night, and reach to take off your shoes. Leon stands in the doorway, watching you. The light from the hallway gives him a halo. Your feet ache as you release them from their prisons, and you glance up to see Leon smiling at you. You return it with the cock of one of your brows.

“You’re pretty,” he says by way of explanation. You feel heat snake up your body. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, hair slightly messy from where he’s run his hands through it, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. If you weren’t as shy as you are, you’d probably move to touch him.

Instead, you huff a laugh and toss your shoes to the floor. “You flatter me,”

When you stand and begin to move around him, he grabs your elbow. “I mean it,”

Perhaps, in another life, you would see this as a win. The man you’ve spent most of your life following around and yearning for seemingly returns your affections, and you are about to deny him. Admitting it out loud makes it real, makes it mean something. What happens the next time something goes wrong out there? The next time he does something heroic? Everything will be much too real, and much harder to bury. You blink at him, looking at him for what feels like the very first and last time. He’s still Leon; scruffy stubble, blue eyes, and warmth. He’s still Leon, teetering on being your Leon, and you’re not going to let that happen. You, again, are going to deny yourself from what you want.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You take in a shaky breath. He’s still holding you, but his touch is a ghost on your flesh.

“Leon, I don’t know-”

“You know that one Frank Sinatra song?” he interrupts. You gape at him.

“Why did you ask if you won’t let me answer?” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He returns his hands to his pockets.

“Predicted where it was going, figured I’d circumvent it,” he admits, the corner of his lips turning upward slightly. “The song he sings with his wife?”

You shrug. “Maybe? What’s your point?”

“I love you,” he says. Your body goes cold. “That could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, but I feel like you should know that before you make whatever decision you’re about to make,”

Your face breaks out into a grin, and you laugh in spite of yourself. “I’m sure you’ve said stupider,”

Whatever worry was on Leon’s face dissolves, and a real, full smile splits across his lips. He takes your face in his hands. He holds you delicately, like you’d break under the slightest pressure. To be fair, you feel like glass at the moment–if glass could have legs made of rubber.

“This makes it real,” you say. He swallows. “No going back, no forgetting, no pretending. When something happens, it will be real,”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he whispers. “It’s worked out for us so far,”

You’re not sure who closes the space first, but it matters little after it’s happened. His lips are gentle and giving against your own. Your hands splay against his sides, using his suit jacket to pull him closer. His hands wind into your hair. There’s a desperation behind his movements, one you’re all too familiar with. After what feels like hours, he breaks from you, leaning his forehead against yours. His breathing is labored, you can feel it in his strong chest beneath your hands.

“This is real,” he says.

“We take risks for a living,” you say. He opens his eyes to peek at you through his lashes. “What’s one more right?”

He grins and kisses you again.

[aajjks]

choice!JK

“or maybe if you want to starve yourself to death i don’t mind— you deserve it” yet in the same breath “you don’t want to make your little brother suffer do you? if you eat, he can come here and live with you”

as tempting as that offer sounds, you don’t want to put your little brother in harms away again. you’ve already done it once and you’ll only feel worse if you allow him to stay here with you. he deserves to be free, thus, you don’t take jungkook’s offer. instead, you remain laid on the bed with your back turned to him.

you’re sure your silence is pissing him off but ‘you deserve to starve.’ that’s what he said to your face or rather your back but you get the point. the love you had for him, whatever he occupied in both your mind and heart are now gone. how can you forgive someone who kidnapped you and threatened to hurt not just you but the only family you have left? you’d be crazy to forgive someone that could do such a horrendous act, including your past lover jeon jungkook.

he may stand here with anger emanating from his demeanor but he’s hurt. you’re killing him and you don’t even know it. he so badly wants to make you pay for leaving him; for hurting him. but he loves you, he really really does but do you care? not at all. he’s tarnished every last speck of love you had for him and now all you feel is hate. you so badly want to hurt the man who threatened to separate your brother from your life but that requires tedious planning.

a tedious plan you’ll execute one day in your life if you’re not dead yet.

for now, you’ll just remain in bed with hopes that your misery won’t overcome you; dreaming of a better life for your brother and your ‘could’ve been’ life with him.

He’s seething.

Both at you and himself because why the fuck is he still in love with you? it’s so clear that you hate him and you are probably planning to kill him, but he couldn’t care less about that.

He’s more concerned about the fact that he still has intense feelings towards you and you’re destroying yourself because of it.

“Fine then. Starve yourself.” He growls before he’s leaving the Bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t like to be cruel with you, but you give him no choice.

His love, for you was the most innocent and purist thing in the world, but ever since you left him, he’s become the most fucked up version of himself.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word as he storms out of his large mansion, he needs to cool off before he starts to scream at you, depressing you even more.

You need time to adjust, and even though he doesn’t think that you deserve his kindness, he will give you some time. Because this is your life now and you won’t leave him.

You may have had a choice before, but you made the wrong one.

So, this time you’ll have no choice, not even the choice of death.

As Jungkook is driving to a pub in the middle of the day, he couldn’t stand to be in the home and drink there because all he thinks about is you, and it would be better if he stays away from you for a little bit, he takes his phone out and calls the caretaker of the house.

“Listen to me mrs Min. Please please make sure that she,” Jungkook refers to you, his hand firmly on the steering wheel, but his mind is stuck on you.

“She eats something. please take care of her and keep an eye on her. Specially, make sure that her door isn’t locked even when she’s visiting the bathroom. Make sure that every single sharp object from her is away. And the windows are shut tightly.”

He knows you may try to take a stupid step, you always been a very emotional person but he really hopes that you won’t. Because that won’t be fair to him. He didn’t even get an explanation from you about why you left him, and now he’s going to prevent you from leaving him again.

Call him selfish, but you made him this way.

You gave him no choice either.

[wilburgersoot]

She doesn't lean or curl into him. She hates him too much for that.

He notices of course, but says nothing. Guilt roils in his stomach. The fuck was he thinking riling her up like that?

But he knows what it was. Anger. Frustration. And yeah, maybe a little bit of resentment.

He needs to keep a better lid on it.

“I really am sorry I said all that to you,” he eventually ventures. “I shouldn’t have,”

Still, she doesn’t fight him. Just turns her head away.

“I mean … I meant some of it,”

And then she starts to fight him. Starts to shove at his chest to try and make him drop her.

There she is, he thinks, with grim satisfaction. 

“You are the strongest person I know.” He says, managing to hold onto her. “You are a survivor. And a fighter.”

She hisses at him before her head flops back. Ouch.

“I meant it about how a world where I didn’t care for you would be worse, so much worse, then what it is now,” he says, supporting her head and looking at her with concern. “But the other stuff … the other stuff was bullshit. You’re right. I act like I know what’s happening for you and I don’t. I just don’t. And it’s fucking — I offered you my home cause you needed me and I did that to you. It was completely out of line.”

After a moment, she gives up again, looking at him with tired frustration, but not resentment. “Just … this is so embarrassing. Don’t have to rub it in.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he says softly, “Fuck, I know it probably came across that way, but —,” he cuts himself off. “I wasn’t trying to.” He ends up repeating, sounding defeated, then he looks up.

“I know you feel embarrassed, and I know it probably doesn’t count for much, coming from me, but I don’t judge you. For any of it. I think you’re doing incredible, considering everything you’ve been through,”

Yeah, completely incapable of taking care of herself. Incredible. It reads on her face.

“Coming to me took guts.” He says firmly, “and it took humility.” He looks at her, “You’re so fucking brave, Sal.” He steps over the threshold into the house. “Sometimes just … getting through the day is all we can do. That’s when your strength is really tested. Those aren’t your weakest days. They’re your toughest. And you’ve met every single one. You’re incredible,” he repeats. “Needing help doesn’t make that less true,”

The sentiment is still kinda soured by the fact he was rubbing it in that she actually does feel some sort of way about him and that's what got her here. But she listens quietly nonetheless.

He’s quiet too as he turns back into her room. He pauses as he spots the pancakes still sitting at the bedside table.

He looks ashamed.

“This all started because I made a stupid, fucking joke when I should have just been helping you.” He looks down at her, “I’m sorry about that too, by the way. I just … I don’t know … I wanted to make you smile. But it was a bad joke. Humiliating. I don’t — I don’t want to humiliate you. I want to support you. And I didn’t. I should have known better that you wouldn’t like it. I’m sorry,”

"'S whatever," She grumbles, longing for the soft bed again.

He sets her down, piling her up with pillows, practically burying her in them as he makes it as cozy as he can. “No chance you’ll eat them now, huh?”

"They're cold," She huffs.

“I could warm them back up,” he offers gently. “Fry them up in the pan. Nice and warm and crispy. Or I could make you up something new. A soup or something. And I’ll put it in a mug so it’s really easy to drink.”

"... I don't care."

His face crumples.

He takes her hand, playing with it in his own, “I do.” He says quietly. “I care.”

She looks at him. "You should give up." It sounds more like a beg than a dare.

He looks at her with a frown. “Not going to happen,”

She harrumphs and sinks down, pulling the bedsheets up over her head. She's hiding.

He kisses her head through the sheets. “You’re worth it, Sally. You’re worth everything to me,”

He pulls back. “I’m going to make you the soup, okay?”

She just grunts back. She’s sleepy.

He smiles and gives her leg a little squeeze as he leaves.

[thatsexcpisces]

Astrology observations pt.5

- I’ve noticed that many of the people who have an alcohol addiction or drink A LOT when they go out, are Pisces moons

- people with Saturn in the 2nd house may have felt that they always had the less fortunate family when it came to money and way of living, and admired other richer families for being able to afford things they wanted (may have had trauma regarding poverty)

- Lilith in 3h/9h people may have felt insecure when it comes to an academic setting or situation meaning they probably felt dumber than others or afraid to express their true opinions. They may have had teachers or siblings who tried to make them feel stupid or treated them badly.

- Taurus moons have very complicated relationships with food. Some of my friends have this placement and they can go from having a serious eating disorder and struggling to eat anything to later overeating, always bringing food with them, always making sure they eat well, etc

- i feel like the sign in your 5th house shows your opinion on wanting children or how you would treat your children in the future. Ex: Taurus/cancer in the 5th house people may want to nurture and care for their child and look forward to having one. Sagittarius in the 5h may prefer their freedom and don’t really plan on having kids that early on.

- Pluto-Venus aspect people really bring out the scorpion energy in relationships imo. They can go to extremes with their possessiveness and jealousy over someone they love and can sometimes even feel that they love so deeply and no one matches their energy or others don’t care as much as they do.

- On that note, Having 8h synastry with someone is SO FUCKING INTENSE. Especially if one of you has your moon in the other person’s 8h. The moon person feels more imo and they’re the one that gets easily obsessed over the other person and stalks the hell out of them/watches their every move. I feel like it then takes the house person more time for their obsession to grow and to realize how much they need/love the moon person.

- This is a weird observation but Cancer risings have moments where they just randomly talk in a baby voice for no reason lol (unironically or ironically)

- If you have mars trine/square/sextile Pluto you’re def the hottest person in the room

- I feel like gemini men are more “pick-me” and brag more than Leo men. Like they just love talking about themselves lol

- People are so naturally attracted to sun-jupiter aspects and Leo rising people. Like they just draw people in and make friends so easily. They just have some sort of energy to them where they could be sitting in a room and people come up and talk to them automatically.

- Mars in 4h people easily get upset and annoyed by people in their household

- Individuals w Moon in the 8h May inherit mental illness from their mother or their mother could already have some sort of a mental illness that made their life very difficult

- Women with their ascendant in square or opposition to Lilith could likely be hated on by other females or women are naturally jealous and envious of them because they possess such a raw and sexually attractive energy

- Virgo moons 🤝 giving people their unsolicited opinion when no one ever asked them for it

- Venus in Capricorns will remember the smallest and I mean the TINIEST details about you If they’ve ever liked you. Even if they got over their crush on you, you 2 could be having a normal conversation and they will mention the most detailed thing about you that you didn’t even remember about yourself. It’s scary

- Libra mercuries on the other hand, actually have trouble remembering most details. They might forget things like your birthday here and there but the most ironic thing is Libra placements pick and choose something specific you did to remember and maybe even hold a grudge on, and you’ll never have a clue as of what it is.

- Mars in Gemini are so funny when they’re upset. They have the best insults and roasts which gives them no shame in absolutely destroying you with words

- A developed Capricorn woman’s confidence is the equivalent of an Aries man’s confidence (so they’re really loud and proud)

- Don’t ever fuck with someone who has Neptune or Jupiter in their 12th house cause the universe will be BREATHING down your back for anything bad you do to them

- Idk why everyone says all Aquarius are introverted and antisocial when tbh they’re some of the most confident, laid-back, and extroverted people you’ll ever meet. Many of the Aquarius I’ve met always tell me they’ll never miss an opportunity to go out and are very social

[sukirichi]

earned it [02]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. mentions of murder, suggestive content, unedited fic

notes. err, i’m only doing this on impulse. i would like to continue it, but i think part one stands enough for itself :> i might delete this if i don’t like it a few days later lollll

series masterlist

Your infamous customer hadn’t arrived even as the restaurant closed. You watched close enough, fidgety in your movements and often bumping into other servers, all because your gaze kept darting back to the front door, awaiting his presence.

There’s no actual reason why you want to see him. Maybe it’s because he left an impression? The guy didn’t even budge after finding out someone had snuck into the kitchen to poison him, leaving you to wonder why anyone wanted to kill him. Not that it was any of your business, but you figured it was only common between powerful people who are equally greedy. Still, you’re unfocussed in your work, apologizing every now and then when your boss shook their head at you.

Thankfully, you managed to get back to your old pace. Thoughts of the white-haired tall man left the room at the same time everyone did, leaving only you and your boss in the locker room. You ended up working two shifts again on this weekend, your co-worker asking you to cover for them due to sudden family issues.

It’s tiring, that much is for sure, but you won’t complain when it’s more money down in your pocket. You’re dazzled, however, as you leave the locker room and see that your main chefs are still there.

Upon seeing you, they immediately usher you into a lone table, table 98 that remained untouched the whole night, a two lit candles illuminating the otherwise darkness of the isolated restaurant. Only this time, it’s occupied by him no less, his azure eyes flittering up to yours at the sound of your hesitant footsteps.

You’ve been looking for him the whole night, yet now that he’s in front of you, you don’t have any words to say. Instead, you bow down deep, the hands clasped in your lap shaking.

“S-Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous. I only wish to discuss something with you,” his laugh is so carefree, lighthearted as he gestures to the empty spot across him. “Take a seat,” Wordlessly, you foolow his orders and dash down to the seat, spine straight and head held high. There’s a hint of amusement in his small smile, but he doesn’t tease you, save for the lilting tone he held. “So you’re in sophomore year of university?”

“Yes, Sir. How’d you know?” You furrowed your brows, unsure of whether you’re supposed to expensive meal served in two.

Gosh, and this was on page three too, a single meal cost at least six months’ worth of rent.

“I pulled a string or two,” he lifts one shoulder lazily, waving his knife in the air. “And please, call me Satoru. Assuming we come to an understanding, things will go well for the both of us. You are in need of financial aid, yes?” You nod, utterly clueless in where this is leading, but Satoru’s already made up his mind long before he came here that he found no need in beating around the bush.

“Good. Then what do you say about being my sugar baby?”

“S-sugar baby?” you repeat the word first in confusion, then with distaste. He simply hums around the meat he’s eating, as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to inquire such things, and you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

You don’t care that this guy is your precious customer – he was just the same as everyone else.

“Is that the reason why you asked me to stay behind? Do you think you can just pay people to sleep with you? It may have worked on others, but not to me. I would rather keep my dignity than be with you,” you breathe hard after your rant, slapping your palms down on the table. The impact of it makes the table shake, his hand reflexively reaching to steady his wine glass. “As for what happened yesterday, you don’t have to thank me about it. I did what any right-minded person would.”

“And if I said I never wanted to be saved?” he asks, his tone still so calm that it further infuriates you. You stare at him, stunned and mouth gaping. “Sit down. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for graciousness, Sir, but I really don’t—”

“Angel,” You freeze at the nickname. He chuckles with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, “Do you really think I need to pay people to sleep with me? I could have anyone I want,” his voice falls an octave or two, the sonorous warning rumbling something…alien inside your body. You stand there, unable to move, and he easily sees through this as he hides a smirk behind his drink. “Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.”

You don’t know what snapped in you to actually follow, but his words weren’t just that. They were always laced with eased dominance, the words leaving his lips coming out as a command. No, it was more like a hypnotizing order, and you’re nothing but a puppet enslaved by it.

His smile only grows bigger, and you hate that he looks ridiculously handsome under the dim lights of the room. Life would’ve been much easier if this man had been ugly.

“As I was saying, this relationship should be casual, no strings attached. I’d prefer if you’re exclusive to me, and in return, I’ll cover all your school fees and everything else. As for the sex,” he cuts his eyes straight to yours, an intense burning heat in them. You squirm in your seat, a little intimidated, albeit excited, by this proposition too, though you’d rather die than let him know that, “I don’t need that from you. I just want someone to talk to.”

“You’re paying me to talk to you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m saying you form a relationship with me in exchange of financial aid. You’d be similar to a lover, nothing less of a friend,” he stares at his drink so hard like he was having a debate with it. A few seconds later, he found his answer, the gleam in his eyes surreptitious as he says, “Someone I can trust.”

You huff. Surely it wasn’t easy as that. “Why me?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just find you endearing, that is all,” You lean back on your seat, trying to process all this. The hesitance must be written all over your face because he adjusts his tie, sliding a white business card your way before sliding his chair back in. At least he’s well-mannered enough to do that. “You can take your time to think about it. There’s no need to rush.”

Somehow, seeing his figure retreat triggers something within you. You watch as silhouettes emerge from the darkness trail after him; must be his security team, serving as an additional note that what you so struggled to achieve was likely nothing for him.

Was it fear? Desperation? Shame?

You don’t know, you won’t ever really know, but you run up to him anyway, brave enough to tug at his sleeve. The guards surrounding him tense up at the contact, stepping away only when he raises a finger that spoke a thousand words.

“You-you’ll pay for everything?”

With his back turned to you, you failed to see that victorious grin he wore. “And everything more,” he reassured. He turns around to confirm your submission, but you’re quivering under his towering frame, poor hands clutched around the card so tightly he won’t be surprised if you break it. He chuckles, coaxing the worries out of you as he caresses your cheek, his breath evident of expensive liquor hitting your cheeks. “Relax, angel. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to the devil.”

Your pupils blow wide at the close proximity. If he was attractive before, it’s nothing compared to the clarity of his sharp, angular features that are softened by his playful smile. Oddly enough, his thumb caressing your cheeks is tender yet calloused.

There’s no telling when who put who under a spell, because you’re clutching helplessly at his suit jacket, whispering, “Am I not?”

You are, he wants to say, but you’re so innocent, so vulnerable – such an angel, he can’t help but hum in his head – that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know. He already knew things were bound to fall out of place one another, but until that hasn’t happened yet, he’ll have to keep you close. He’ll make you his.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he declares so confidently that you couldn’t even question his capability to do so you, and for a moment, just a moment, your knees weaken under his stare. “Now that, I can promise.”

Should you have pulled away then? When he leaned down to seal the contract with a kiss, should you have pulled away then? Or better yet, could you even pull away then?

You’ve been so alone your whole life that each moment with him is awakening, soul-crushing, mind-shattering and so damn weakening that you should’ve pulled away then. If anyone were to tell you you’d share your first kiss after work hours with a man whose name you don’t even know of, you’d tell them they were crazy, crazier if they claimed you would enjoy it.

But you did. Oh, you did, you were addicted to him – his taste, his scent, his touch, everything about him – that when he pulled away, taking away every last breath in your lung that formerly remained taint-free by him, you’re left wanting. Craving.

And he knows this. How could he not? Your eyes are hazy with lust, chest pressed against his firm ones that would soon be the same body you found home over and over again.  You’re not the only left intoxicated from this sudden agreement. Whatever you feel, he feels it twice as much after years of watching you from the sidelines, asking himself a million times over what it is about you that pulled him in so much in the first place.

The innocence? The dedication? The youthful naivety?

Gojo wants to laugh at himself. It was never any of those – he simply wanted to fool himself that maybe he’s worthy of this, of your love, of your purity. He’s selfish, manipulative, heartless, and he wants nothing more than someone like you to make him feel like he’s everything he’s not.

He steps forward to brush his nose against yours; breathing in the tiny gasps you reward him with. And he’s barely even touched you.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he rasps, butterfly touches all the way down your back to hold you flush against him, letting you feel that he’s all muscle and hardness, while you’re the complete opposite, composed of softness and little ghosting kisses. Perhaps when he gives you by a name, he was right to call you –  “My Angel.”

The loud blaring of your alarm cuts through the silence of the room, its shrill sound piercing your ears. You groan, blindly patting the bedside table to swipe snooze. The spot next to you has been cold for a while now, but it’s normal for Satoru to leave early for work that you burrow yourself deeper in the covers. Five more minutes of sleep shouldn’t be so bad; it’s the weekend, anyway. You’ve got nothing else to do.

Waking up after that, on the other hand, now that is an impending task on itself.

You’re beyond sore, your inner thighs littered with handprints and your shoulder covered in love bites. “Jeez,” you mutter to yourself, stepping out of the bathroom. Tying your robe around you, you go out your shared bedroom, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep out.

It’s past noon already – Satoru really wore you out. And fuck, you could barely walk. You had to grip the counters just to sit on the stools, and even then, you’re wincing from the pain.

He should be doing paperwork in his office right now or something; he never really told you what to do. You don’t feel like asking either since he’s made it clear he prefers to keep his personal life, well…personal. But nevertheless, you swing your legs back and forth on the stool, texting him a quick I love you baby :)

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Usually, he’d respond in a few minutes, always supplied with a wink and an eggplant emoji. It was so him to act this way, that when those few minutes turned into a few hours and you’re met with radio silence, you can’t help but worry.

You try to brush it off, ignoring the deafening silence that rings all over his penthouse. He’s busy, he’s working, he’s got things to do – that’s all it is.

You convince yourself hard enough that you’ve cleaned the place until it’s sparkling, your reflection bouncing off the black marble floors. Every minute, though, your mind would race back to him. Not thinking about him proved to be a really daunting task because you think of him when you’re eating, reminiscing the way he’d always surprise you with a back hug, muttering morning angel all over your skin just to distract you from your meal. You think of him as you’re killing time with boring dramas; if he was here, he’d nudge your leg with his foot, pushing your shorts until it exposes your panties. He’d make sure you don’t get to focus at all, riling you up and kissing you hard that the show playing becomes nothing but background noise. You think of him, you dream of him, you remember him – and yet, you can’t feel him.

Nails bitten down to the skin, you scramble for your phone, swiping call over his contact. It doesn’t go through. Now that’s another odd thing; Satoru never fails to pick up your calls.

“He’s just busy,” you lie to yourself, telling the same thing over and over again even as night falls and you’re staring at the empty left side of the bed, hands smoothing over where the curve of his body would’ve been. “He’s just busy,” you say once more, giving into the exhaustion brought on by your worries. “He’ll come home soon. He always will.”

Except he didn’t.

And that was two weeks ago.

“Angel, I got you—” Satoru immediately clamps his shut, his footsteps muted as he walks closer to you. You’ve been dating for a few months now, and you’re still very wary of the nature of your relationship so you refuse to move in with him. He doesn’t mind, he respects your space and decisions, but now he’s starting to regret letting you have your way. You’re hunched over your swiveling chair, cheek pressed against the opened textbook and glasses perched on your hair. The lamp desk illuminates the dark circles lining your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight.

Thanks to his help, you’ve been able to spend more time focusing on your studies. It should be comforting, but Satoru’s heart aches as he thinks of what you’ve been like prior to meeting him.

How long have you stayed up all night just to pass your exams? How long have you cried yourself to sleep, unable to handle the burden placed by the world on your shoulders at such a young age? How long have you had to turn down friends’ invites to parties with a forced smile because you had to go to work? How many times have you stared at a failing mark, teeth clenched because you studied well for it; your exhaustion just got the best of you and muddled your brain?

Satoru places the beer and dinner he’s got you on his way back home on top of your one-man dining table, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. You look so beautiful this way – unaware, unknowing, and focused in nothing but the future ahead of you that you don’t bother yourself with his past.

Perhaps…it was comforting, after all.

He’d rather have you worry over your own studies than worry about him. Satoru can’t stomach the idea of you – his precious angel – being involved in his own shit, possibly get caught between the crossfire. It pains him to say it, but he doesn’t want you getting too close for comfort.

So he stays there by your side, simply because it would expel all ideas of you wanting to be beside him. He’ll be right where you’re safe, and the sigh that leaves your lips when he moves you to your bed, fitting in his long, lanky bed on your cramped mattress an immense struggle. As if feeling that you’re finally home, you snuggle closer to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that tug at his heartstrings.

Satoru rubs circles at your back, staring so hard at the chipped paint on your wall that he’s sure he’s got it burned in his memory.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve been satisfied with that. He should’ve held back in his desire to have more of you. He should’ve just tucked you in and left, but he was never really in control of himself. Before he knew it, he’s pulled in by you too much, encouraging him to move in with you under the lie it’s easier to keep an eye on you.

Had he just left you earlier…would things have been different then?

He’s asked himself this question too many times. Satoru always came to one conclusion. He loved you way too much that it consumed him, and soon the love he held for you slowly burned you inch by inch. The only way to save you was to pull away – but he wasn’t ready for that yet, not now – but he’s too scared, too deep in love that he ignores the warning signals and holds you close instead, finding comfort in the warmth of your arms.

Fuck. Satoru downs his second drink, glaring at everyone beneath his shades. Geto snickers beside him, sending side eyes to his boss every now and then just to check. Of course, Satoru’s not actually going to pass out, he was no lightweight, but he’d been uneasy every since that pretentious gold envelope landed on his desk.

One of the downsides of being a mafia leader meant you had to mingle with other clan shit, including him of all people. There were always new leaders popping out of nowhere, Satoru quote unquoting, criminals be spawning like maniacs.

For fourteen years – fourteen fucking years – his clan had been in bad blood with the Zen’ins. They were pretty new in the illegal side of business, starting off as a powerful name in the trade industry before they got interested in oil. One thing led to another, the family began to realize they could have so much more if they turned a blind eye to a law or to, soon shifting into illegal weaponry trade, human trafficking, then drug manufacturing.

These bastards had the audacity to insult the Gojo Clan when Satoru’s family dropped by to strike a contract out of curiosity to their goods, only to be turned down because they’re ‘barbaric’ and ‘informal.’

Satoru still remembers that humiliating moment of being escorted out by bodyguards, but he held his head high, vowing to show that bastard Zen’in guy that the Gojo’s were one of the powerhouses for a reason. He doesn’t even know where the elderly guy got his confidence from. Mafia business was not the same as their former expertise, yet they acted all high and mighty with their rules and standard of being sophisticated even in a life or death situation.

Gojo doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the old man died, his son taking over just as soon as his father perished. He would’ve celebrated with a whiskey or two, except the new clan leader was quite adamant in cleaning up their name to prove he would not create the same mistake his father did.

The new leader threw a large cruise party, inviting pretty much everyone they were chummy with, and Satoru has never felt more out of place. He recognized a face or two, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. He hated events like this – it was all about establishing power and face.

Satoru groaned under his breath, swiping at another flute as a waiter passed by. He felt the bubbles fizzle down his throat, the slight burning sensation somewhat easing his nerves.

He leans back at the wall and checks his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It’s been two fucking hours since they arrived, and the host still hadn’t arrived. If they planned on being ‘fashionably late’ Satoru won’t hesitate to slice someone’s neck tonight. He hates his time being wasted the most, and his eyes slid over to his friend’s still posture, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“Suguru,” he sighs through his mouth, “Don’t be so tense. This is a formal event – no blood will be shed tonight.” Suguru had a weird skill of being able to read Satoru’s thoughts that he raised his hands in surrender, silently promising that he’s not going to kill anyone.

“You’re not sure of that.”

“I won’t lose my composure, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he rolls his eyes, not looking back as he effortlessly places the empty glass back to another waiter. Satoru stands next to his friend, sucking his teeth out of boredom. Suguru, on the other hand, is tenser than ever, his eyes locked onto something in the middle of the crowd that began to cheer.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Satoru hears someone whistle in signal. A few seconds later, the fireworks are lit and decorate the night sky, bursts of gold and beauty accompanying the entrance of the woman who’s so effortlessly caught everyone’s eye tonight.

Satoru is rooted to his spot, taking off his glasses the same time the crowd parts. Then, his breath is knocked away from his body, his heart pumping so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

Because you’re there, smiling and waving at the crowd as if it’s second nature to you. Seven years of being apart from one another and Satoru is still bewitched each time he lays his eyes on you. You’re the same…from your face down to the angelic feeling you always carried, but at the same time, you’re different. Gone was his precious angel who shied away from too much attention, his precious angel who would’ve never worn such a bodacious ring embedded on her left ring finger. Your smile is more charismatic, confident, and even fierce compared to the small, private ones you always shared with him – he almost couldn’t recognize you.

As if feeling someone’s eyes on you, you spot him leaning languidly against the walls, those lips you used to kiss turned downwards.

Seven years ago, you would’ve kissed him until he smiles again, singing to your pouty and clingy boyfriend who never voiced out the reason of his troubles. Seven years ago, he would’ve carried you and swung you around, showering you with affection as he reminds you how lucky he is to have you.

But this was no longer the past – that much is clear from when he left you without another word.

Still, you smile at him, an empty one that showed nothing but concealed anger. He was sure though, so fucking sure, that for a split second, he saw you light up. That may have been seven years ago, but you loved each other to the point of insanity – surely you still held some sort of fondness of him.

Satoru takes long, self-assured stride towards you, his gaze never leaving yours with his hands tucked into his pockets. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but in his mind, it’s clear.

You still love him, he still loves you. He’ll do something about it. It doesn’t matter what, he just will. That was until a young man closer to your age with blond hair and pierced earrings, narrow feline eyes lined with eyeliner hobbles beside you, his weight supported by a cane that Satoru stops in his movements.

He’d recognize that face anywhere.

The youngest and perhaps most mischievous leader of them all, Naoya Zen’in. Albeit not as hard-headed as his father in comparison with his rather laid-back and welcoming nature, Satoru knows a monster when he sees it. It takes one to know one, after all, and despite the heir being crippled from a former accident, his intelligence and power was not to be overlooked through his appearance and coy smiles.

In fact, he might even be more dangerous than his old man, this theory only proven when his arms snake around your waist. The matching rings gleam from under the light, and you press yourself closer to him to whisper in his ear, your attention very much still on Satoru.

Satoru’s entire body burns.

“Still there, Sir?” Suguru asks, gripping his boss’ bicep to hold him back. Smart of him, Satoru exhales through his nose, unable to stop his glare from darting to your husband’s.

He’s heard of you, of him, of how his most annoying rival had a phenomenal trophy wife who looked harmless at first look, but was actually the brains of most of his operations. Satoru forgets how to breathe normally because he’s heard of you, and the rumors he’s gotten wind of about Naoya’s trophy wife are nothing less of how dedicated and perfect the two of you are.

Slapping Suguru’s arm away from him, Satoru grits his teeth. “Get me a drink.”

His precious angel was gone. No, this woman that stood before him…you were an entirely different entity, something darker, something along the lines that were more like him.

What exactly happened the day he left you?

taglist: @ladywaifuuwrites​ @savantsoulfinder​ @my-reality-is-in-my-head​ tagging the ones who asked for part 2, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

[clouds-rambles]

hey bestie i was hoping to request xiao, venti, childe and zhongli where the the reader and the character have just had an argument + the reader needs time to calm down from the argument. omg maybe the reader comes back with a gift to apologise

Ask and ye shall receive <3. I’m the kind of person who needs time to relax and process the situation after an argument. I’m always too worked up (read angry) to kiss and make up straight after an argument.

Pairings; (Separate) Xiao, Venti, Childe, Zhongli x reader

Warning(s); breif mention of a wound, alcoholism, swearing

Keep reading under the cut!

Xiao

You’re probably being too harsh on the guy

You had just come back from a tough mission with a few more scrapes than you normally come back, a nasty cut in particular situated on your shoulder was what caused the argument to kick off in the first place

In hindsight the argument started from Xiao’s concern of you getting hurt worse but you were too tired from the commission to really read it as concern

But boy now do you feel bad. You both went your separate ways for the evening and in the morning you still haven’t caught sight of your partner. You eventually go around Wangshu Inn and ask if they’ve seen Xiao.

You get told that he’s out for the day, apparently he caught wind of something manifesting in the mountains. So, you suppose that it’s high time to make an apology gift

And what’s a better apology gift than your partners favourite food? Because your arguments are often few and far between you don’t mind making Xiao almond tofu since it’s not something you’ve associated with apologising

Though you’re aware that the sweet snack means nothing if you’re not sincere with your apology. 

So what’s more sincere than sitting at the highest balcony of Wangshu Inn and wait for Xiao. You don’t mind how long it takes for him to come back just as long as you get to apologise

He comes back just after dusk and you pour your apologise profusely and tell him you understand that he was coming from a place of concern

Xiao is a little distant a short while after the apology but soon you’re reassured that he accepts it when he places his hand on the table for you to take hold of

The two of you sit in silence sat hand in hand while Xiao eats his tofu

You watch him eat with a grin on your face, sometimes just watching the Yaksha sit still and do his thing is enough to keep you in a trance for the evening

-

Venti

Maybe you got into an argument because you’re concerned over Venti’s drinking habits, sure he’s an immortal god but doesn’t he worry about his liver?

Sure the argument started because you’re worried about the archon but boy does he make you angry with his non-sensical thought processes

Venti is the kind of guy who wouldn’t let you leave without settling the argument

Even if the happy medium isn’t actually going to bring any change into the questionable drinking habits

But this argument just feels a little different, you’ve had the same conversation form months but nothing seems to change

You’re not even sure if Venti has actually listened to anything you have said to him about it

So you tell him “Do what you want, but you’re sleeping on the sofa tonight” yeah you just resigned him to sofa treatment. As much as you hate it you’re far too heated to just kiss and make up right now

So the night passes and you wake up with the cold space beside you, you’re confused until you remember the previous nights events

Though your unusual silence in the room doesn’t last long, you presume Venti sensed that you’re awake because you hear a knock at your bedroom door, you’re surprised that Venti is actually here and that he hadn’t sulked off to Windrise where you had originally planned to apologise to him

As you open the door you notice your partner stood before you with a bunch of hand picked cecelia's and dandelions and an apologetic look on his face

You’ve never known Venti to speak so fast he apologises profusely for causing you such worry and promises that he’ll try to drink less, he mentions that he doesn’t wish to give up his Friday and Saturday drinking nights but he’s willing to tone it down during the week if it stops you worrying 

You thank him sincerely and find a vase to put the flowers in

You hug Venti and apologise yourself for being such a worry wart and causing such a big argument

“I’m glad I have someone to worry about me, I don’t know what I’d do without you” You can’t help but swoon at his flowery words and grin at him before the two of you start off the day

-

Childe

It’s a bad habit he has, when you try and talk about something serious with him he constantly cracks jokes at the situation. Which in its self isn’t the worse thing in the world, even you crack jokes to lighten the situation but at some points it goes too far

And today is too far, what started off as a disagreement about where you were going to eat lunch ended up in a full scale (mostly one sided) argument in Childes office about how he can’t take things seriously

You, of course, know this to be false. You’ve seen him in action against his foes and bank business but just in this moment when you are so angry about the situation those rational thoughts go out the window

And what does the bastard do? He cracks another fucking joke

“Is this what I am?” you ask finally reaching the catalyst of your temper “A fucking joke?” 

And boy does the exclamation comes to a surprise to him. No matter how frequent your use of curse words you’ve never directed them at him so it catches Childe by even more surprise

“[name] I’m sorry I didn’-” he tries to apologise

“You didn’t fucking what Tartaglia? Want to make me feel like a joke? Cause you’ve been going down that road at every fucking disagreement we have” you cut him off in a fit of rage “Sleep in your own fucking bed tonight” you add before storming out his office

He tried to follow you out the bank before he was stopped by a fatui agent about some urgent debt collection, so he never got to apologise immediately

And that’s how the next couple of days go, you’ve taken most of the time to cool off and avoid anywhere Childe might be hanging about, your plan works better considering said harbinger was out of Liyue Harbour for a couple of days

Though on the third night Childe appears at your door, he doesn’t bring any gifts, just himself. Childe enjoys gifting things to you so he doesn’t want you or him to associate gift giving with apologies. You’re more than thankful for this

Childe apologises before you even have the chance to invite him in and takes your hand and wholeheartedly promises to try and not make jokes when you have a disagreement

You also apologise and agree that, in hindsight, you blew things out of proportion. You reassure him that he’s a hardworking man and that a few out of place jests make everything more bearable to him.

You invite him inside for some tea, your bed isn’t as cold as it was tonight

-

Zhongli

Disagreements with Zhongli never seem to get any further than that. The archon likes to listen to you vent your frustrations over a cup of herbal tea and usually that calms you down and everything is settled before supper

But every once in a while you’re a little high strung. For instance this time you’re running on a total of 5 hours sleep over the last 4 days. Sleep deprivation could possibly be your middle name at this point 

The only thing you want to do when you get back from your restless trip from Mondstat back home is to just sleep the next few years 

But the sweetie that Zhongli is he quizzes you about your great to horrific trip

Zhongli pulls all the stops he readys some dinner for you and draws a bath when you get back. He even gives you a small lecture about how you’ll feel terrible not washing before going to bed

But with your tired ears, eyes and brain it feels like a personal attack in your entire self “I’ve had it up to here with bloody hillichurls for 4 horrific days, all I want to do is pass the living hell out thank you”

Replace the bloodys with fucks and that’s probably more accurate to what you said

Zhongli is taken a little aback, being an older traditional man it’s unbecoming of anyone to use such sailor language. And thus the male lectures you about it

You take that as about as well as you expect, you don’t respond to him and favour walking out the room, barely getting undressed and collapsing on your shared bed

You wake up the next morning (though when you peek outside it seems like it’s after noon) disorientated. You don’t actually remember coming home the previous day 

Then the memory resurfaces of you yelling at your spouse and regret washes over you

Surely the gift you had prepared for Zhongli would be good enough as repercussions of yesterdays outburst

You see Zhongli in the dining room, to the untrained eye he looks like he’s in a normal mood but to you, you can see his brooding emanating off of him. If you dare point it out Zhongli will deny that he even broods in the first place

He’s the first to greet you without turning around. Rightfully so, he’s still in a mood. So you just profusely apologise for your outburst

You explain that you were running on next to no sleep and while that doesn’t excuse your outburst it certainly explains it. If your spouse so wishes to ask how your trip was you would comply much more now since you’ve had a good sleep behind you. 

You then change the subject to the gift in your hands, some rose tea. Something Zhongli had mentioned when you were courting all that time ago. 

The man sits you on his lap and explains to you about how it was out of place of him to assume you’d be in a talking mood immediately after your travels. You reassure him that under normal circumstances you wouldn’t mind talking about it, you promise that you will do everything in your power to not let the previous night repeat

You then bring out his gift, rose tea, which he had mentioned wanting to taste a little while back, and before long you’re back in the cycle of Zhongli profusely explaining to you some random subject (in this instance rose tea) before you go off to make dinner where you finally share the details of your travels

Hope this is okay! <3 I kind of went a little ham with the Childe and Zhongli one in comparison to the other two hope you don’t mind lmao <3

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Wednesday

Monday     Tuesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Thursday (Part 2)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, getting outed, f slur and d slur, homophobia, puking, toxic friends

Word count: 5,160

(A/N): woah, thank you all so much for all the positive feedback, that really makes my day! 

The room was quiet with the exception of the clacking of the keyboard and the soft chirping of crickets outside your open window. The stars twinkled in the sky as the night droned on and on. There was a loud rustling outside your window, but your sleep deprived mind didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t important at the moment, the only important thing right now was finishing your work. 

Throughout the night, you worked endlessly on your friend’s work. The essays were relatively easy because Adrian and Annie had luckily chosen topics that you’re somewhat interested in, so at least finding the sources was enjoyable. You had gotten your essay completely written and proofread, Annie’s outline finished, and Adrian’s sources analyzed. You would start on Sammy’s presentation after you finished Adrian’s outline. Hours upon hours passed by you as you worked, yet you didn’t notice the time once. You worked uninterrupted with no breaks. Well, one break to talk to your dad about how you weren’t hungry, but you got back to work right after he left your room. You couldn’t waste any more time than you already have.

Your eyes felt heavy as you typed on your keyboard, working on putting Adrian’s sources together cohesively so that the writing would flow seamlessly. You paused your typing to rub at your tired eyes so you could keep working, you couldn’t afford to fall asleep. You had to get these done as soon as possible if you wanted their forgiveness. 

The blaring of your alarm startled you out of your focus, making you fall backwards out of your chair with a yelp. Landing painfully on your back, you laid on the floor trying to calm your racing heartbeat. You looked out your window. Hints of pinks and yellows were starting to make a gradient with the lightening dawn sky. Shit, you were so focused on getting your work done that you didn’t take account of the time. You just knew today was gonna be long. At least after school volleyball practice was shortened because of finals tomorrow. 

You groaned as you pulled your tired form off from the ground. You made your way downstairs and plopped yourself down at your usual place at the table, burying your face into the crook of your arm. You felt yourself drift off into a blissful sleep, the wood of the table suddenly seemed very comfortable at the moment. Not long after, you were jolted out of your peaceful sleep by a loud crash. Jumping up and looking around with wide eyes, you saw Tubbo looking at you apologetically. There was broken glass in front of his feet on the floor. 

“Sorry, (y/n).”

You just stared at him blankly as you slowly blinked. Philza didn’t spare you a glance as he whisked the short boy away from the glass. “(Y/n), can you please go get the broom and sweep this up?”

You nodded, hauling yourself to your feet and walked over to the storage closet, pulling out the broom and dust pan. You mindlessly sweeped up the glass, your limbs feeling heavy. After throwing the glass away, you rummaged in the cupboard and pulled out a mug. The bitter smell beckoned you welcomingly, working its way through your nostrils and digging itself deep into your brain. Just as you were about to pour yourself a cup, a hand snatched the coffee pot away from you. 

“You shouldn’t be drinking this.”

“You let Techno and Wil drink it, so why can’t I?”

“(Y/n), you’re a full year younger than them and you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday.”

You felt your eye twitch, “I’m only a year younger than them! There’s literally no-”

“(Y/n),” his warning tone cut you off, putting the pot back into the coffee maker, “you aren’t going to drink this. That’s final. Get a glass of water.”

You huffed and pushed past him to the sink to fill your coffee mug with water. You’ve been drinking coffee for a while behind his back, so you were used to its effects on your body. You supposed that you’d just beg Wilbur to take you to the cafe so you could get your sustenance. He always relented for you. 

You heard him chuckle, “you’ll thank me when you’re older.”

“Mhm.”

You plopped down next to Tubbo nursing your mug of water, trying to make small talk with him. One by one, your brothers made their way to the table. Tommy was talking and gesturing wildly to Tubbo like he normally did, Wilbur looked as dead inside as you felt, and Techno made it a point to ignore you. When someone pissed him off, he can hold a grudge better than he could hold onto his knowledge of Greek mythology, and that’s saying something. Man is obsessed with Greek mythology. 

Breakfast went by in a daze with you struggling to keep your eyes open. At one point, you almost fell asleep sitting up, only to be woken up by Tubbo shaking your shoulder to get your attention. When breakfast was almost done, you had only eaten about half your breakfast. 

Drifting off again, you were startled awake by the screeching of the chairs against the wooden floor and loud shouts coming from your brothers. You didn’t have the energy to race them to the bathroom like you usually did, you’d just freshen up after they were done. You tried to stand up to go to your room to get dressed, but you were stopped by a hand on your shoulder forcing you to sit back down. Looking up, you were met with the concerned, yet stern eyes of your father. 

“You’re not leaving this table until you’ve eaten at least a few more bites and tell me why you’re so tired.”

“I just stayed up later than I normally do finishing up some homework, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not or else I will make you stay home next time. When’d you go to bed last night?”

You avoided his eyes, “around one thirty or two.” You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t actually go to sleep last night, he’d flip. 

“You know, you’re a terrible liar.” Shit.

Looking him in the eye, you spoke more confidently. “Three in the morning.”

“(Y/n)-”

You felt a sudden rage start to twist inside you as he started to lecture you about taking better care of yourself. He was treating you like a child and you were not having it. 

“-young kids like you need to- are you even listening?”

You set your jaw and willed yourself not to explode at him. “Dad, I’m not a child. I know how to take care of myself.”

You saw him narrow his eyes and purse his lips in frustration, “well, obviously you don’t if you’re not eating or sleeping well,” his eyes softened. “I’m starting to worry about you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t because I’m fine,” you snapped at him. “I’m going to get ready.”

You stalked out of the room and stomped upstairs. Passing a shocked Tommy and Tubbo, you made your way into the bathroom to get ready. The person that stared back at you in the mirror looked pale and had dark eye bags accentuating her tired eyes. She had red pimples dotting her face more than she usually did. She was ugly, revolting. The girl you remembered her being was confident in her appearance and walked with an air of importance. Now, she was a decrepit thing that was run down and scared of her own shadow. You couldn’t recognize the girl that stared back at you anymore. You should’ve been able to;  after all, she was you and you were her.

You rushed through your morning routine in the bathroom avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bathroom door only to be met with Wilbur’s chest, his hand poised in the air in a closed fist ready to knock on the door. He stepped back.

“We’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry up.”

You glanced at the clock on the wall. “Wil, we still have twenty minutes before school starts. We don’t have to leave for another ten minutes.”

He gave you a smirk, “well, you want coffee, don’t you? You look dead.”

“Oh thank god. I feel dead, I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“When’d you go to bed?”

“I didn’t.”

“Christ, (y/n) I knew you were a dumbass, but not that much of a dumbass.”

You rolled your eyes, walking around him and into your room. You felt a stab of hurt in your heart. “Fuck you.”

Before you could close the door, he shouted out a cheeky “love ya too (y/n)!”

You took off all your clothes slowly and stood in front of your open closet deciding on what you should wear today. You figured that since you felt like absolute shit, you should probably put a little bit more effort into your appearance. Picking out your favorite flannel shirt and favorite pair of pants. Smiling at yourself in the mirror in your room, you felt slightly more confident in your appearance. You felt like you could walk around the hallways at school without as many peering eyes trying to figure out your every secret. But maybe that was just the sleep deprivation talking. You tend to be more impulsive and emotional when you’re sleep deprived.

You slung the backpack onto your back with less difficulty than in the previous days. Your back was healing faster than you thought it would. Now, it barely hurt and the swelling completely went away.

You went downstairs and slunk past the kitchen where Philza was talking to Tommy and Tubbo. You didn’t want them to notice you, you felt somewhat guilty for snapping at your dad. You slipped through the front door and hopped into the passenger seat next to Wilbur. You three usually rotated seats counterclockwise and took turns driving each day. Now, you were just waiting for Techno.  

“Well, you look less homeless today.”

“Thanks Wilbur, I just felt like looking a little nicer than usual.”

“Who’re ya dressing up for? Is it Adrian?” He asked with slight disgust. He hated Adrian almost as much as he hated Annie and Sammy. He thought he was nothing more than a fuckboy looking to get into your pants. Little did he know you were secretly a raging lesbian so deep in the closet that you’re froliking with Aslan through the flowerfields of Narnia.

“Wilbur, I’m gay why would I-” you froze, cursing your sleep deprived self for lacking a filter. Your breath caught in your throat and you felt anxiety start to seep into your veins and pump around your body, filling every single nook and cranny with dread. You could feel tears welling in your eyes as you stared at your shaking hands horrified at yourself. How could you just… just out yourself like that? How could you be so careless? So stupid?

You barely felt it when Wilbur reached over to press a gentle hand on your arm. “(Y/n), are yo-”

“I-tha-that was a joke, I’m not gay, I’m straight.” Your words came out in frantic jumbles, desperately trying to fix your slip up. Oh god, you really fucked up this time.

“(Y/n), brea-”

“I swear I’m not gay, I like men, I do. I-”

“(Y/n), breathe with me.” Wilbur’s firm, yet gentle voice demanded. He placed your hand on his chest and took in a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. You tried your best to follow him, but after about ten minutes, you were slowly but surely calming down. It was a lot faster calming down from a panic attack when you had someone helping you breathe. You’ve never gotten help with a panic attack before, it was nice. Becoming more aware of your surroundings, you took notice of the soft fabric of Wilbur’s sweater, the gentle thumping of his heart, and his worried expression. You also became aware of the extra hand rubbing small circles into your shoulder from behind your seat. It was Techno.

Taking in a shaky breath, you took your hand out of Wilbur’s grip and clasped your hands tightly in front of you, shrugging Techno’s hand off from your shoulder. 

“...Can we please leave? I don’t want Dad or Tubbo and Tommy seeing me like this.”

Wordlessly, Wilbur started up the car and pulled out of the driveway. At the intersection, he turned in the opposite direction of the school. “Wilbur, where are we going? The school’s the other way.”

“We’re going to the cafe for some coffee, my treat.”

“But school starts in five minutes, we’re gonna be late if we go to the cafe.”

“Actually,” Techno’s deep voice chimed in, “school started ten minutes ago. If we’re already late, there’s no harm in skipping first block.”

“Tech, I literally have no idea what’s going on in stats.”

“I’ll give you my notes.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

Wilbur pulled into the cafe’s parking lot, “don’t be stupid, (y/n). You can never bother us.”

You didn’t say anything as you left the car and headed into the cafe. You could think of plenty of ways you could bother your older brothers. You bothered everybody just by being in their presence. You just had that effect. 

Your brothers followed you into the cafe, glancing at each other worriedly. You three quickly got your orders and sat in the secluded back of the cafe. Soft jazz music drifted throughout the quiet cafe. 

“(Y/n), we need to talk about what happened. Was this your first panic attack?” Wilbur asked you gently.

“...No, I’ve had them before.” 

“Were they always this intense? You’re still shaking.”

“That one was nowhere near as intense as the ones I usually have.’

“Usually? Do you have them often?” Tecno asked.

“Yeah, usually a couple of them a week since the middle of freshman year. Nothing I can’t manage.”

“So you’ve been doing this on your own for three years? You could’ve gotten us to help you.” 

You sighed, looking down at your steaming cup. “...I couldn’t’ve. Don’t get me wrong, I know you guys could help me, but I-I just couldn’t. No one was supposed to find out.”

“Promise us that you’ll come to one of us when you have an attack. We care about you, (y/n).”

“I… I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

The table fell into a comfortable silence as you all sipped at your drinks, the comforting taste of the bitter coffee dancing across your tongue.

“Ya know, we don’t care that you’re gay. A lesbian called me ‘actually pretty funny’ once and I’m still riding the high.” 

“Yeah, you’re still you. Nothing changes the fact that you’re our little sister.” 

You smiled as you felt warm inside. You knew your brothers loved you, but you didn’t know that they loved you for being you. You didn’t think anybody loved you unconditionally like that, and that made you feel genuinely happy.

“Thank you guys, for everything. I-I can’t put into words how much that means to me, I love you guys so much!”

“We love you too,” Wilbur smiled before he dropped it into a stern frown. “But if any girl hurts you, we’ll have a stern talking to her.”

“Yeah, we can’t beat up girls. We’ll put her in her place alright.” You snorted into your coffee, almost spilling it on yourself. Quickly setting it down before you could baptize yourself with the scalding liquid (though, you did consider coffee to be holy), you wiped at your teary eyes. 

“And that’s why I love you guys.”

“We’re serious, she’ll be wishing she got beat up after we’re done scolding her.” Wilbur said seriously before he broke into a grin and started laughing. 

The conversation carried on about your sexuality, how you found out, when you found out, if you’ve told anyone yet (they were honored that they were the first people you’ve told, even if you did it accidentally mid-panic attack). Eventually you had to go back to the school before your second block started. You three split ways to your separate classrooms. 

Annie and Adrian were locked onto you as soon as you walked through the door. They looked angry at you. What’d you do this time to piss them off?

“Where the fuck were you this morning? We were looking everywhere for you,” Annie seethed.

“Yeah, you wasted so much of our time looking for your sorry ass. You ditch us again?”

Oh, that. “Look, I didn’t mean to skip out on you guys again. It was a rough morning.” 

“That’s funny because we also had rough mornings, yet we still hung out with each other. You aren’t special.” Adrian rolled his eyes at you.

“It’s gonna take more to apologize. We don’t let things like the little stunts you pull go off scott free.”

“Oh, Annie I have the best idea,” Adrian squealed, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. 

“What is it Dri?” Annie’s eyes shone.

“Our little (y/n) can set you up with one of her brothers and she can go on a date with me on a double date! It’s foolproof, not even someone as dumb as (y/n) could fuck it up.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good id-”

“It’s perfect Dri! Can it be with Wilbur? He’s literally so hot! Oh, the way his fingers can work that guitar…” Ew. The thought of Wilbur and Annie together made you scrunch up your nose with disgust.

“I’m sorry, but Wilbur’s actually dating Sally Fishmin right now. They’re actually really cute together-”

“God, how could someone as hot as Wilbur go for Sally Fishmin? She’s disgusting, always smells like fish,” Annie gagged, then gasped. “Wait (y/n) do you actually think that she’s more deserving to be with him than I am?”

“No, I nev-”

“Really? Cuz you just did. Glad to see you care about me, (y/n).”

“Annie, you’re literally so beautiful. I never said that you don’t deserve him. You deserve the world. I can’t split them up, but I can do more homework for you.” She perked up immediately, “awe, thanks love! That’s what happens when you actually put effort into how you look.”

“Speaking of, did you get that shirt out of the trash? It’s really not a look.” Adrian snickered to himself. There goes what little confidence you had. You actually thought you looked decent today. You felt grateful for your friends, they always told you the truth about how you looked when everybody else lied to you. 

Before you could respond, the bell rang and everybody took their seats. Luckily, Mr. Todd assigned today as a work day for your final research essays. You had finished Annie’s and got Adrian’s thesis done before the bell rang. While you were working on their essays, they were mindlessly scrolling on their phones and texting someone. 

You, Adrian, and Annie met up with Sammy and went into the lunch room. You tried to line up in the lunch line with them, but they laughed and told you that you’re fat enough and you needed to lose weight. What did you do to deserve such considerate friends? You really owed them one for always looking out for and putting up with you.

While you were waiting for them, you pulled out your phone. To your surprise, Haley texted you a screenshot of her conversation with Unknown. You felt a chill run down your spine. All four pictures were of you. You rubbing your eyes as the light of your computer provided the only light in the room. Your bare back facing the camera as you stood in front of your closet this morning. You sleeping a day ago (you felt sick as you realized that whoever took the picture was standing directly over your bed). Lastly, you and Haley holding each other’s hand under the moonlight last night. Attached to the pictures, Unknown had typed “you have one more day or else sleeping ugly gets it. Do not tempt us.”

Hales : )

(Y/n), how the hell did they get these pictures of you

Did you seriously leave your window open???

Why wouldn’t you close your curtains

Oh god, do you think they saw us in your driveway????

(Y/n)

Haley calm down 

Hales : )

I know you’re not telling me to calm down right now

You have a stalker

One that can GET INSIDE YOUR ROOM

(Y/n)

We’ll get to the bottom of this

Like I said, I don’t care if my pictures get leaked

I care about your pictures

Until we figure out who’s doing this, we need to lay low

Hales : )

Hanging out last night was a mistake

I shouldn’t have gave you a ride

I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you

I’m straight

And you are too

You said it yourself

We can’t talk anymore (y/n)

(Y/n)

I’m not straight Hales

I’m gay

And I like you

Like

Like you like you

Hales : )

I’m sorry (y/n)

But I’m straight

We can’t talk anymore

Goodbye.

With each text she sent you, you felt your heart drop deeper and deeper into your stomach until you felt your heart shatter in your chest, the pieces lodging themselves deep within you and ripping you open from inside out. How could you be so stupid to think that soemone as perfect as Haley Andrews, arguably the prettiest girl in the senior year, go out with (y/n) Minecraft, a known trainwreck. Annie’s shrill gasp sounded right next to your ear, making you gasp and drop your phone onto the table with a loud bang.

“OH MY GOD (Y/N) YOU’RE A FAGGOT? WERE YOU HITTING ON ME EARLIER? YOU FUCKING PERVERT.”

The entire cafeteria fell into silence as they listened to Annie’s shrieking. Whispers started to meld together.

“(Y/n)’s gay?”

“How gross”

“Damn, I was gonna hit it”

“We have a dyke going to this school?”

You felt like you were suffocating as the whispers and Annie’s yelling jumbled together in a disorienting cacophony. Adrian and Sammy both glared at you from behind Annie with a hatred that you didn’t know they had for you. You tried stuttering an apology, but you were quickly shut up by Annie harshly slapping you across the face.

“I don’t wanna hear it, fag. You’re going to finish our essays and you’re never gonna talk to us again. Do you understand me?” When you didn’t respond, she slapped you again. “I asked you, do you understand me?” 

You frantically nodded your head, grabbed your backpack, and sprinted out the door without any real destination in mind. You sprinted before you found the bathroom that nobody used. Ducking into a stall and slamming the door, you felt yourself start to hyperventilate. You couldn’t feel anything except for the tightness of your chest. You couldn’t see anything. You couldn’t hear anything. You faintly tasted bile rising up in your throat as you bent over to empty your stomach. You threw up everything in your stomach until you were left sitting on the dirty floor painfully dry heaving. 

You sobbed on that floor for what felt like hours. Everybody knows your secret now. Your dirty, dirty secret. God, you were a pervert weren’t you? You made people around you comfortable by just being you. Faintly, you felt your phone start to buzz in your pocket, your shaky hands scrambling to fish it out. They were all texts from your brothers.

Wilby

(Y/n) I heard what happened

Are you okay????

Please answer me

Where are you

Technology Sword

I’m gonna kill them

I swear to god they’re dead

Blood for the blood god

(Y/n)

Pls dont do anything or hurt anyone

I’m fine

I’ll see you two after practice

Wilby

Tell us where you are

(Y/n)

I’m fine

I’ll see you two after practice

You silenced your phone and put it back into your pocket, once again feeling yourself start to dry heave again. Your sobs and gags echoed throughout the bathroom. This is by far the worst panic attack you’ve had yet, and it doesn’t seem like it’s gonna stop anytime soon. You heard the final bell ring and students start to rush to their lockers to get home, so you tried to muffle your shaking sobs the best you could. You had at least an hour before you had to go to volleyball practice. Until then, you would stay in the bathroom trying to ground yourself. 

Luckily, you managed to calm down to the point where you stopped crying and dry heaving. You were only shaking slightly. You felt numb and completely drained from your panic attack, practice today was going to be a struggle. You cautiously walked through the empty hallways jumping at every little noise. When you finally reached the locker room, you made a beeline past Zara and Jazzy to your locker. You pulled out your uniform and changed in one of the bathroom stalls.

Practice went by with the girls on the team giving you sympathetic looks and Haley ignoring you. Not that you noticed, you were ignoring everyone and putting all of your focus on the ball. The entire practice, you felt light headed and drained. Fortunately, practice ended right as you felt like you were going to pass out.

You changed as fast as you could and pulled out your phone.

Dadza

Come outside, I’m here to pick you up

You felt a dread pool in your stomach as you stared at the text. Did he find out? Was he going to kick you out for being gay? Wilbur and Techno wouldn’t let him do that to you, right? Reluctantly, you left the sanctuary of the bathroom stall and rushed out of the locker room and out of the school. Sure enough, your dad’s car was parked in the parking lot. You glanced over to where Haley’s car was parked last night and saw glimpses of you and her chasing each other and laughing into the night sky without a care in the world before you ripped your gaze away to stare at your walking feet.

You reached your dad’s car and sat in the passenger seat. Your dad grinned at you. “Hey hun, how was practice?”

You merely shrugged your shoulders at him. You didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone at the moment. You felt extremely drained.

“What’s wrong, did something happen? You can talk to me.”

“...I’m just sad that the season’s over tomorrow.”

“Don’t be sad kid,” a gruff voice coming from behind you made you jump. “That’s pussy shit.”

You yelped and whipped your head around to look at whoever said that. Your uncle’s cocky grin greeted you. You felt yourself grin back at him. 

“Uncle Schlatt!”

“The one and only.”

“How was your business trip? You’re home early.”

He rolled his eyes, “boring as hell. I’m so fucking glad I got out early, I woulda blew my brains out if I had to stay there any longer.”

“Schlatt!” Philza reprimanded him, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

“What? I’m just telling the truth. I woulda!” He defended himself.

Your dad gripped the steering wheel. “You didn’t have to say it in front of (y/n).”

Schlatt scoffed, “please, she’s heard me say worse.” 

As they bickered, you felt yourself zone out as you looked out the window. Houses and street signs passed by in a blur as the car moved down the road and pulled into your driveway. You got out as quickly as you could and made your way into the house alongside your uncle and dad. As soon as your uncle walked through the door, Tubbo barrelled into him and pulled him into a tight hug. Schlatt laughed loudly and bent over to pick him up into a hug. You smiled at the father and son as Philza gestured for you to follow him into the kitchen. He opened the oven to check on something cooking inside of it and turned to face you, leaning against the counter.

“So what’s really wrong?”

“I already told you, I’m sad the season’s almost over.”

“It’s something more than that,” as you opened your mouth he quickly added, “and you can’t say that it’s because you’re tired. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You sighed and mimicked his actions. “...It’s just been a long day. I really don’t wanna talk about it.”

Without warning, he pulled you into a warm hug, your face being shoved into his shoulder and him rubbing circles into your back. “That’s okay, just talk to me when you’re ready. I won’t push you.”

That broke you. Throwing your arms around him, you started to sob into his shoulder. He started to rock you back and forth whispering reassurances into your ear. 

“That’s good, let it all out.”

“I love you so much.”

“I’m here for you.”

With each sentence to fall out of his mouth, you felt more at ease and safe. Your dad always did a great job at making people feel safe, that was just his natural talent. After a while, you pulled away from him.

“Do you feel better?”

You smiled tiredly at him, “Yeah, I really needed a hug.”

He turned around to check on dinner, “I bet, you look like you’ve been to hell and back. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but just know that I’m always here for you and I love you.”

The rest of the family flooded the kitchen after a while of you two talking. Dinner went by with Schlatt laughing loudly and telling stories about the people he met on his business trip. Every now and then, Wilbur and Techno would glance at you, but you ignored them. You just wanted dinner to end so you could pass out in your bed. Once dinner was over, you helped your dad gather everybody’s plate and put them into the sink. The rest of your little family went to the living room to start a game of Monopoly. The last time you all played that ended in fresh bruises and shed tears.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed, I have to get some rest for finals tomorrow.”

“But (y/n), it’s Monopoly! You love Monopoly,” Tommy exclaimed.

“That’s alright, you look dead on your feet kid. Go get some sleep.”

“Thanks Uncle Schlatt. Goodnight everyone, love ya.”

A flurry of goodnights and love you’s follow you as you leave the room and drug yourself up the stairs. Without a second thought, you closed your curtains and plopped face first onto your bed. You passed out without even making sure you were fully on your bed.

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[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.  

[witch-hazels-musings]

Could you do some headcanons about Kaeya and Diluc with an s/o who really wants to dance with them (whether it be at a festival, party, at home, etc.) Also? I seriously respect the hell out of you for writing while working an 8-5 as someone who has to work a 9-5 and feels like i doesn’t even have time to shower at night. ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡ I hope you’re doing well! Please continue to grace us with your lovely presence!

I finished it!! Thank you for waiting for me! I hope you like it :D 

^ expanded the request a bit --- I also don’t know how Kaeya’s got to be so long - so an extra special gift from me to you 

warnings -> sfw, reader is pestered by some ppl, jealous characters :) 

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Kaeya, Diluc, Childe, Albedo

Kaeya

When Kaeya asked you to be his partner to one of the largest events in all of Mondstadt, you were beyond excited - this was an opportunity you had been waiting for - you’d always wanted to dance with him, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so 

You did your best to get ready, not knowing if this or that outfit would be better to wear, and the anxiety of having to meet him at the event hall was weighing on you 

“Y/N!” You turned your head for the thousandth time, so many voices had called out to you the moment you descended the stairs, their eyes as powerfully overwhelming as their voices. Luckily, this voice was someone you were relieved to see. Amber gripped onto your hands and pushed herself between you and the many bodies standing just a bit too close. “You look incredible! I’ve only ever seen you in your adventure clothes.” 

“Haha, I couldn’t come to a ball dressed like that, could I?” You glanced down at your attire, it had taken you a long time to decide what to wear and even though you settled on this, and were getting compliment after complement, you only cared about one person's opinion. Where was he? 

“Well, you look incredible!” She gripped your wrist and pulled you along, shouting at people who refused to get out of the way, her peppy voice breaking through all the many others calling for your attention. It was strange to be the center of attention. You’d seen so many of these faces around town and they didn’t seem to notice you then, so why all the affection now? It made you feel self-conscious. 

When you were finally away from the sea of eager eyes, you took a deep breath. The new, less crowded space letting in relief to ease your nerves. 

You looked at Amber and smiled at her, she always seemed to know how to bring you just what you needed, her kindness knew no bounds and you were we happy to have a friend like her. “Have you been here long?” You asked her.

“Pretty much, I’ve been helping plan this event for a while. I’m happy for it to be over honestly, who knew planning something like this was so exhausting.” 

“Ha, maybe that’s why Diluc always has a sour expression on his face. Too many events.” 

“You’re probably right! Ah, can you imagine stern Diluc planning a party? I’d die.” She laughed and the cheery vibrations seeped into your weary skin, your nerves made it easier for you to have an emotional reaction and with her disposition you found yourself laughing with her. 

“So,” you looked out over the dance floor, noticing the tables full of food and drink, people standing in small circles chatting and laughing away. “Who else made it tonight?” 

“Oh, are you looking for someone in particular?” She tilted her head and smiled at your flustered state. 

“N-no … what … shut-up.” You frowned and looked away from her. 

“I think you’ll see him soon, he had something to do but it won’t take him all night.” She must have noticed your disappointment because in an instant she made the decision to get you something to eat and stuck to your side until you had a more natural smile on your face. 

Any excuse to be close to you he is all for, it doesn’t matter what the occasion is, he will find a way to hold you, touch you - he just cannot get enough of you 

When he invited you to the Favonious ball, he knew you’d quickly take up his offer and join him, there wasn’t a question in his mind that you would deny it 

He had several things to prepare for and was frustrated that he couldn’t bring you to the event himself, but he knew you’d show up and once you did he’d have all night to spend with you - that was if he could make his way through the barrage of people who were flocking to you as soon as you stepped through the door 

He stepped through the hallway, his footsteps echoing off the walls as he made his way toward the ballroom. Lisa had given him a few ‘last minute’ wardrobe adjustments, and while she cooed over how handsome he looked, he hated how tight the suit was around his neck. He pushed his finger between the collar of his dress shirt and pulled at it. 

As he turned the corner, he could already hear the sounds of the party drifting up toward him. He hoped it wasn’t too late, his work had kept him longer than he wished and it was well past the time that you said you’d be there. He was frustrated and eager to see your face. 

The light from the ballroom washed over him as he stepped onto the balcony. There were still plenty of people enjoying themselves below but he only cared about one. His eyes scanned the crowd, heart filling with dread as he failed again and again at finding you among them. Then he saw you, your back leaning against one of the pillars, your arms crossed around your chest, eyes looking at the outrider who seemed to be holding you in a lively conversation. 

He smiled and quickly made his way down the steps, his hands slipping into his pockets as he did so. 

People were engaged in discussions, which normally he would be interested in as these were great opportunities to gather information, but his focus was on something much more important. 

“I’m going to ask them…” A voice caught his attention so he slowed his pace. 

“Don’t even bother, they haven’t danced with anyone the whole night. They’ve just been talking with that brunette for hours.” 

“I’m pretty persistent; I know how to win someone over.” Kaeya looked at them, his gaze lingering for a moment before catching you in the same place you had been. He watched as they made their way toward you and the stab in his chest pulled at the back of his mind. Quickly, he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, the freedom of it spurring him on as he pushed his way toward you. 

-- 

“Hey, I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t danced with anyone here. I know, you’ve just been waiting for me to ask you all night.” The man smiled at you, but there was something unsettling about the way he did it. 

“No thank you, I’m not interested.” 

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You won’t regret it.” You were getting irritated at this point, not only had he interrupted your conversation with Amber, but he wasn’t the only person to ignore your first no. 

“Again, I’m not interested.” You turned away from him hoping that if you didn’t look he’d just walk away. 

He placed his hand against the pillar and leaned in closer to you and you were about to show him how strong your disinterest was when you heard a familiar voice.

“How rude of me to keep you waiting for so long, I came as soon as I could.” You looked behind the man and saw Kaeya standing there in formal attire, his beauty seemed to know no limits - frustrating. 

“Kaeya!” You stood, disregarding everything and flashing him the brightest smile you could. 

“Am I too late for a dance?” He held out his hand to you and without hesitation you took it. He led you to the dance floor leaving behind a confused, dejected suitor and excited Amber in your wake. 

He spun you around as soon as you reached the dance floor, a hand resting on your hip and the other holding your hand. “You look stunning, did you get dressed up all for my sake?” He looked down at you and his smile made your legs weak. 

“Maybe … don’t let it go to your head.” 

“Too late.” He laughed and you forgot how much you missed him. It didn’t matter how long you waited, for him, you would wait an eternity. 

“I heard a rumor about you.” 

“What rumor?” You looked up at him and caught the mischief in his eyes. 

“That you haven’t danced with a single person here, is that true?” 

“... It is … I only …” You looked down at his chest before continuing. “I only wanted to dance with you.” 

His hands squeezed around your hip and you felt him pull you closer, “How lucky am I. Sorry I made you wait.” 

“No! You don’t have to apologize.” Your head shoots up to meet him, your voice a bit louder than you planned, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Well let’s give them all a show, shall we? I mean, I have to make sure they know they’ll never stand a chance.” The two of you spend the rest of the night together, the jealousy of all those who wished they were Kaeya apparent as they started to fade away the longer the two of you held one another. Kaeya couldn’t be happier, he was completely fine with them dropping all hope of being yours - that space was for him and him alone. 

Diluc

You were having a great time enjoying the festivities. Practically everyone had been invited to the winery to celebrate the coming of the new season, it was one of the most popular events that could happen 

The two of you had been catching each other here and there, but with how busy he was taking care of everything, and how popular you were becoming as a dance partner or at least an interested dance partner, the two of you continued to drift past the other

Diluc was getting more and more irritated as the evening went on. There were so many things distracting him from where he desperately wanted to be. Instead of being at your side, he was busy hosting conversation after conversation with potential business partners, dealing with the drunkards who couldn’t seem to keep a responsible handle on their booze, and drifting between staff to make sure they had what they needed. 

Reasons like these were why he typically avoided hosting events, but it was always fruitful and he needed to keep old connections and build new ones. Still, when he had a second and his eyes drifted through the crowd to find you, he felt the heat rise in his chest as he watched you dancing in the arms of someone other than him. He wasn’t mad at you of course, he was frustrated with himself that he allowed others to touch you, you were just too kind - a trait he loved, but one that also pulled at his heart. 

“They are incredible.” He heard someone share with their friend. Glancing up from his work he saw just who they were in discussion about. 

“I wonder if they are seeing anyone?”

“I haven’t heard anything …Hey, If you don’t go for it, I will!” They laughed and while he couldn’t tell if their intentions held any weight, he hated that the idea was even present in their minds. Again, it was on him that people didn’t know you were seeing one another. The two of you looked like good friends with the way you respected his boundaries, and his reservation at being expressive with his affections for you. He clenched his jaw before walking away. 

--- 

Your legs were starting to ache from the amount of activity you were requesting of them. So many people had asked you to dance, and you didn’t want to be rude, as a guest of Diluc’s you wanted to make sure to be as kind and thoughtful as you could. However, with the amount of energy you were expending on everyone else you were starting to feel the effects of it all. So when several more, slightly persistent, patrons came to ask you to dance, you found yourself leaning to decline. 

“Excuse me,” they began, “If you would be so kind, I’d love to have the next dance with you.” You looked up at them and saw their nervous smile. It hurt to reject them, but you desperately wanted a break. 

“Thank you, but I’m going to have to respectfully decline.” You nodded your head and noticed there were other eager dance partners standing behind them. “I need to rest a bit, everyone has been so lively, and I’m running out of stamina.” You laugh in an attempt to make your rejection more lighthearted. 

“If you don’t want to dance, we can do something else!” They sat down next to you, their arms perched on the table, body leaning in way to close. They began to ask you questions, which was fine until they started to get more and more personal. You did your best to answer them, but when they asked the next question it was a challenge to get them to accept your response. 

“Everyone is dying to know,” another asked, you turned your head to them and waited, “are you seeing anyone?” 

You averted your gaze before responding, “Yes. I am.” 

“What!?” | “There is no way?” Their voices hit you at once and the loudness of their shouting drew eyes from other party-goers. They badgered you for a bit, all asking different questions at the same time, making it hard to hear them all. One stuck out and when they spoke the group got quiet. 

“I’ve never seen you with anyone.” You looked at them, their arms crossed and lips turned into a frown. “You’re pulling our legs.” 

“No, I really am seeing someone.” 

“I don’t believe it, you're just using that as an excuse.” Their words made you angry. You didn’t own them anything and you were being plenty kind, and, that kindness, was starting to grow thin. “Tell us who it is and then we will believe you.” They placed their hand on the table and looked directly into your eyes. You were about to answer them when you were interrupted by the person himself. 

“Y/N.” He spoke and the voices around the table died down, you looked at him and felt unbelievable relief. 

“Diluc.” You stood and walked toward him, his hand open for you, a gesture you were surprised by. Carefully, you placed your hand in his and scratched the side of your head. 

He looked at you, his eyes heavy on your skin. “Sorry I’ve been so busy.” 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind waiting.” His thumb rubbed the back of your hand, there was no way people couldn’t notice how much that affected you. 

“Hey! What’s going on … are the two of you …?” The person stood up and placed their hands on their hips. Their shouting drew the eyes of others again and everyone at the table stilled as they waited for a response. 

“Yes, and I ask that you don’t cause them any trouble; I won’t tolerate it.” His tone had a hint of a threat and it made your chest tight. There was a shockwave of disbelief that ran through the crowd, and the whispering made your ears burn. Diluc looked at you and you looked back, “Shall we?” 

“Mhm.” 

You followed after him, his broad shoulders a sight you never got tired of seeing and when the two of you held each other in movement to the music, you knew there would be no secret to your relationship now. Diluc made that clear from his words to his actions, and as the music began to fade and the sun dipped below the cliffs, he bravely showed his feelings for you as his lips touched your cheek. 

Childe 

He’d be all about showing you off to others - he wants to make it clear that you and he are an item no matter where you were

You went with him back to his home-town. It was a long trip, but so worth it to be with him, to see where he grew up. It took a while to get used to the chilly weather, and in fact you had to layer up extra carefully in order to bear the cold

His family had prepared for him a welcome party and had practically invited everyone they could to celebrate his return. Even if they knew it was only temporary, as his membership with the Fatui often kept him on the move, still, it was nice to feel so loved and welcomed with such a joyous event. 

They also knew he would be bringing someone special back with him. It was a demand which plastered every letter he received from his siblings. He knew if he didn’t bring you along there would be a reception colder than the snow that never melted. 

Of course, the two of you arrived hours before the start of the celebration. This gave his siblings and other family plenty of time to introduce themselves to you. They asked you question after question and when it was finally time to get ready for the party, you noticed how rough your voice had become. You definitely knew that Childe was a member of this family, he too knew how to wear out your voice. 

Childe changed clothes quickly, it had been so long since he wore those clothes from this region. As he looked in the mirror, the way the outfit rested snuggly against him, it made him even more nostalgic than he already was. He was waiting out in the large living room, his mind playing out memories of his childhood in this house when a sound caught his attention. 

His younger siblings giggled and shouted in excitement and as he turned to see what was all the fuss he felt the air in his lungs leave him. You were dressed in a traditional style outfit, your hair styled to fit your attire, hands fussing with the clothes you weren’t used to wearing. When you looked up at him and smiled shyly he felt an incredible urge to lock you behind closed doors and not let anyone lay their eyes on you. 

You walked toward him, ignoring the loudness of his siblings, “They said this would be okay … Do I … look alright?” 

“You look incredible.” 

“Thank you.” You drop your head, looking at your hands and he desperately wants to pull your face back to him, but is interrupted before he gets the chance. 

“Let’s go already, big brother!” Teucer shouts, already standing at the door. 

“Shall we?” Childe extends his elbow to you and you take it. 

---

He had been watching you dance with the members of his family for a while, and while it moved his heart to see you laughing and doing your best to learn the moves, he wanted to hold you in his arms himself. He wanted you, to have you experience his traditions first hand through him. So, when he couldn’t handle it any longer, he finally asked you to dance. 

“You all have been keeping them so busy … I’m going to steal them back now.” He exclaimed, barging into the game you had been playing with his younger siblings. 

“That’s not fair! You’ve been able to keep them to yourself for so long. We want to play more.” 

“You can after I’ve had my fun, let’s go.” He pulled you away and their cries sounded as you drifted further from them. 

“I was winning!” You exclaimed, laughing as he pulled you behind him.

“It’s my turn to have your attention.” He turned and pulled you close to him. You could feel his energy through his fingertips, it was familiar, like the time he saw you talking to that stranger in one of the bars of Liyue. 

“Childe, you can’t seriously be jealous of your family.” 

“You don’t know me at all, do you.” He spun you around and when you realized you were out on the dance floor you knew you were in trouble. 

“I’m not very good at this yet.” You try to explain to him but it falls on deaf ears. 

“I’ll teach you, just follow my lead.” He nodded to the musicians and they began to warm up, their music drowning out the chatter. Quickly, he leaned down and kissed your forehead before offering some last minute encouragement, “Let me show them all how spectacular you are.” 

He loved every second of this. The way your feet stumbled over his as he moved with you across the dance floor, the way your face flashed through different expressions: joy, concern, embarrassment, confidence. He couldn’t get enough of you, there was never enough of you. How was he ever going to be satiated with you around, especially when you were embracing his home, his family with such unbound acceptance. 

He wanted to swallow you up, he wanted to lock you to him for the rest of time, and the more you let him take, the stronger his desire became. 

As the music drifted into its final crescendo he lifted you in his arms and spun you around. There were countless couples surrounding you, all shouting and cheering on the excitement that rippled from the center of the dance floor. When he stopped and you slid a bit down his chest, your shoulders at the height of his chin, hands gripping tightly on his shoulders and face dipping down to him with a smile that told him everything he ever needed to know about you, he let the words fall from his mouth, finally being as honest as he ever had been. 

“I love you.” 

Albedo

Albedo wasn’t too fond of parties and get-togethers, it was a lot of energy to expend on the discussions or interactions which he’d much prefer to stay clear of, at least if he can get away with it. Still, he had promised to make an appearance, and when he saw you he was much more inclined to stay

He loved to watch you have a great time, you were so independent, doing things whenever you felt like it and experiencing life as it happened. Unless it was explicitly told to others, most wouldn’t have any idea that the two of you were seeing each other. Most of the time that wasn’t a problem, as your busy schedules kept you distracted, but as he watched you mingle with the citizens and partake in the festivities, and how you drew the attention of interested eyes, he was starting to get jealous

These sorts of festivals drew in travelers from all over Teyvat. Most of them only blew in with the wind while others stayed longer after the final banner was removed. It was something that almost everyone in Mondstadt took part in, even those who often didn’t get out much -- and he was one of them. 

Albedo made his way through the streets greeting citizens as he passed by, a quick nod or hello here and there. It was Sucrose who had encouraged him to take a break, reminding him that he was likely to see you down in the festivities. So, he put away his work for the day and headed out of the research labs toward the cheering below. 

When he saw it was like the sun shined on his face for the first time in days. He felt so warm and was eager to reach you. As he got closer, he couldn’t help but notice the many faces that were turned to you. It was strange but he tried not to let that oddity hender him in any way. That’s when he started to hear the conversation you were having with someone, the closeness of them to you, and the way they didn’t seem to leave you alone.

It wasn’t like him, either, to let his emotions get the better of him, but having to listen and watch others take notice of you, something inside of him grew and he wanted to make sure they knew their hands would never reach yours.

--

“Hey.” A man walked up to you and injected himself in the conversation you were having. You stopped what you were doing and glanced at him, curious. “Would you be interested in dancing with me?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not much of a dancer.” You smiled at him and tried to let him down easy. In fact you’d love to dance, but only if it was with a particular person, and he didn’t seem to be around at the moment.

“It’s okay if you aren’t, I’m happy to teach you some moves.” He took a step closer and his first impression of friendliness was slipping into pushiness. 

You started to tap your fingers against your leg, the motion becoming more intense the closer he got. “Really, I’m not a good dancer, you’ll find more luck with someone else.” 

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” He reached for your hand but was blocked by another. When you looked at the owner and saw it was Albedo, your stomach flipped. 

“Albedo?” You turned to him, a smile on your face and relief in your voice. 

“Excuse me, but I believe they said they weren’t interested?” 

“... ha, what are you their boyfriend?” They laughed and continued talking, “Listen, why don’t you let …” 

“Yes, I am.” Albedo interjected, cutting the person off. 

“What?” 

“We are together.” They looked confused, their eyes moving back between yours and Albedo’s. Albedo looked down at you and noticed the expression on your face, “Is that not the right way to describe our relationship?”

“No! I mean, yes, that’s right.” You looked at the person and gestured to Albedo, “This is my boyfriend, I’m his … we’re together, yes.” You nodded your head way too many times, but the point seemed to get across to them anyway. They left in a huff and you watched them leave before standing and turning to Albedo. 

It was the first time the two of you had ever really said those words out loud - of course you knew in your minds that you were a couple … but to say the term which let the outside world know of your relationship, well it was so exciting 

You felt your face get hot as you remembered how factually he had spoken, how quickly he answered their question. You couldn’t help but pat your face and pinch your cheeks 

After that, the two of you wandered through the festival, eating delicious food, participating in the activities, laughing and having interesting discussions, as you always did 

When night started to drift over the event and only a few people remind in the city center, you found yourself back in the place where your time together started, music drifting through the air 

You had such an incredible day. There were times the two of you were so busy that you would go days without seeing one another, so to spend an entire afternoon together was like a gift. 

“Today was incredible.” You express, the excitement and joy from the day making you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. 

“I can tell you had a good day.” Albedo replies, smiling at you. 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yeah, you click your tongue like that when you’re happy … sometimes when you’re focused.” 

“Ah, really! I’ve never noticed.” 

“I think it’s cute.” He stepped closer and grabbed your hand, his grip soft and gentle. “So I know you don’t like to … I was wondering … would you like to dance with me?” 

“Yes!” You answered much quicker than he expected, your voice startling him a little. You covered your mouth and laughed, your eyes squinting. 

“Let’s go.” You took his hand and walked until the space felt right. Albedo let go of you before turning to look at you. With an elegant bow he requested your hand once again, you returned the gesture, not wanting to be rude and also trying your best to not scream with excitement. The music swelled and your bodies moved closer, his hands wrapping around your back while yours draped over his shoulders. You rested your head against his chest and let the wonderful day drift into a wonderful night, you and Albedo sharing in a moment with one another. No worries, no interruptions, just one another swaying to the sweet mixture of music and distant conversations. 

“I’m glad you could make it today.” 

“Me too.”

[twinklelilstarkey]

Relieved - Matthew Tkachuk

Words: 1.7k+

Type: Fluff

Summary: Matthew has to go back to work just days after you give birth to his son and he absolutely hates it.

Warnings: Female!Reader. Anxiety (maybe, separation anxiety). Kinda rude Matty. Mentions of soreness and lack of sleep (from birth).

It has been 2 days since you were dismissed from the hospital. Two days since you have officially become a mother. And two days since you haven’t slept a full night without waking up at least 4 times during it.

Your body is still very sore, but medicine helps. Yet it’s not like you move a lot around the house.

Matthew, your boyfriend and dad of your kid, does not let you get up most times the baby cries. He always says that he will check and then if you’re needed, he’ll bring the baby to you. All of this because he knows that you’re tired and really doesn’t want you to tire yourself out further or go through any pain from how sore you are, over something that he can do.

Bad thing work calls quick. You’ll be on maternity leave for at least one more month, but Matt? Yeah, no, his team supposedly already needs him back.

And he’s not happy about it.

“Baby, I’ll be fine.” You tell him in a low whisper. “You don’t have to worry that much.”

He clenches his jaw and looks out of the window, clearly annoyed. He’s not wearing a shirt and is holding the newborn baby close to his chest as he sleeps peacefully.

Matt looks down at his son, staring at his small chubby face with adoration, as it is kind of smooshed against his warm skin, which makes his lips slightly parted, and he continues to contemplate calling his coach and just announce his absence last minute.

“He’ll probably still be asleep when you come back.” You tell him, gaining his attention again. “We’ll both be fine.”

“And if something happens?” He asks, also in a whisper, “I won’t be able to pick up the phone and come home.”

“Your mom is just a few blocks away at the hotel, remember?” You ask softly, “I promise that if something happens she’ll be the first person I call.”

He thinks about it for a second and looks down at the baby again.

“She’ll probably get here in less than 2 minutes too.” You add to lighten the mood.

A grin appears over his lips at the sound of your words and he gives his head a slight shake. You smile and he leans away from the wall beside the bedroom window.

Matthew sits down beside you on the side of the bed and you move a bit to sit closer to him. You two look down at the sleeping baby, admiring him as if he’s just the most peaceful thing in the world and didn’t wail his little lungs out just about half an hour ago.

You lean your cheek against Matthew’s naked shoulder and he lays his head against yours, letting the two of you sit in the peaceful silence as he rethinks his options.

“I’ll go.” He finally whispers, “But promise me you’ll call my mom right away. And that you’ll always have your phone with you.”

“I promise.” You say with a slight grin.

You lift your head off his shoulder really slowly, so he can lift his first, and you move a bit on the bed to move in even closer to him. You give a quick kiss on the lips before giving him two more on the cheek and offer him a smile.

“Everything’s going to be fine.” You tell him in a whisper.

(...)

Throughout the warmups and game, Matthew’s mind is going a mile a second. 

Sure, he’s a professional athlete, he’s supposed to be able to put everything in the back of his mind and only focus on the game and nothing else. But it doesn’t really work that way. 

From the time he stepped foot outside of the apartment and inside the arena, he feels like his heart is continuously skipping beats and accelerating for no reason.

And the fact that everyone that would see him walking to or around the locker room would congratulate him for the second time for being a first-time dad, is just making matters worse. 

How is he supposed to be focused on something when everyone just keeps on reminding him who he has at home?

Warm-ups were awful, he just wanted to do one more lap, go take his gear off, and go home. It’s going to take him hours to leave that place and knowing that is just worsening this whole situation.

You, on the other hand, are more than calm. To be completely honest, you’re sitting in bed half-asleep for most of the time. As well as the baby, who is sleeping on his little crib beside your bed, peacefully, as the game plays in a soft mumble on your bedroom’s TV. 

You’ve also now come to realize that the voices of the casters over the sound of blades on the ice are surprisingly relaxing when left at a certain volume. To you, at least, a mother who hasn’t slept more than 3 hours for the past few days.

While you were taking your very peaceful nap, Matthew was still a nervous wreck. He’s made sure that one of his trainers has his phone just in case something happens. Something that, of course, they never do but today is the big exception.

And surprisingly, he scored in the second period. 

Matthew honestly felt like he was on autopilot the whole game, so it even came as a shock to him that he did it. Which some people did notice since he had a more confused look on his face than anything while everyone around him celebrated. 

And right as the game went to intermission, he thought he was being able to put home aside for a second. But that was only until the god damn intermission interview.

“Congratulations on the new addition to the family , by the way. How’s everything going back home?”

Damn you, whoever decided to make that question. He did answer with a smile and a soft tone, seeming to everyone like he’s an under-control-over-his-emotions dad and not at all freaking the fuck out.

You? Still fast asleep. Just like the baby.

By the time the third period reached its half, Matthew was already seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. 

He’s almost home.

And you? Well, this time you’re not asleep anymore. You’re changing a diaper and then comforting your very small baby against your upper chest as you walk around the house.

It still amazes you how such a small being can scream so loud.

You used the opportunity of being up on your feet and with the baby with you to go actually eat something. Which was kind of hard to do with only one hand, but not impossible.

You texted back Chantal, Matt’s mom, just to let her know that you are okay and that you were even able to take a nap, which as an answer you got all types of celebration emojis.

Everything was going pretty okay and honestly, that nap worked wonders with you. You felt exhausted when Matthew left, and now you feel as strong as ever. Still sore, but strong.

After eating and drinking tones of water, you walked back to the bedroom to watch the end of the game. You had to eventually feed the baby as well but that went fairly easy.

You had to give yourself a pat on the back after this whole thing, everything went so well that it seemed like you’re truly getting the hang of it. For now, at least.

The game ended, the Flames won, and Matthew was ready to go home. 

That is until he’s told that he has press to do. He swears he almost hit someone with his stick or even helmet. Like, come on, people!

And this time he did not have the smile nor a soft tone, he looked pissed, which some people found funny. 

At least some questions were quick and easy to answer, but there still were the quite annoying ones he’s grown accustomed to.

He was out of his chair as soon as the words ‘the questions are do-’ left someone's mouth. Rude? Probably, but today is not the day to throw that in his face.

The shower was probably the quickest one he’s ever taken and he thinks he didn’t even dry himself off completely when he started getting dressed. 

Speeding out of the parking lot, home he went.

He doesn’t even think he parked his car correctly, but he was out of the car and inside the house in a matter of seconds.

You heard him from the bedroom let his bag fall by the lobby of the house and his quick footsteps over the wooden floor of the hallway. 

A few seconds later, Matthew appears in the bedroom’s doorway and his eyes are staring down at you right away.

“Hi!” You say with a smile.

“Did he sleep this whole time?” He asks, a slight shock on his face.

“No,” You say with a smile, “But he might go to sleep again in a few.”

You look down at the small baby and you hear Matthew making his way to the bed. He ignores the fact that he’s still wearing his very uncomfortable suit and sits next to you, leaning his back against the headboard while eyeing his son staring at the ceiling while what looks like chewing on his tongue.

“Do you want to hold him?” You ask him as he stares intensely.

A shy smile grows on his face and you smile back as you see that as a big ol’ silent yes. 

You lean away from the bed’s headboard and turn a bit to Matthew to get a better angle. He slowly and safely takes his baby from your arms, who automatically leans on whatever warmth is next to him - that being Matt’s chest.

Matt doesn’t feel stressed, anxious, mad, or even tired anymore. He just feels relieved that he’s back home.

You look at two of them and your heart completely melts at the image you swear you can look at for the rest of your life. 

What is there not to love about this?

Baby fever is still going strong, so I had to write this, don’t hate me.

[minshookie]

Late night hookup

| Yoongi |

Warning! || 18+ smutty smut smut, fuckboy!yoongi, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, cum eating, fem masturbation, rough sex, vocal Yoongi 🤤

[ jin • Yoongi • Hoseok • Joon • Jimin • Taehyung • Jungkook ]

You’d opened his contact for the 14th time in the past hour, down bad was an understatement for you at the moment.

It’s the fact that you knew he was in town, it’s also the fact that he chose to ignore you that made you upset, yet you yearned for his harsh touch.

Text first maybe? You put your phone to rest, your independence wouldn’t dare let you give into the temptation, if he wanted you he’d be here. And you’d ignore him until he made up his mind.

One thing that wouldn’t be ignored though, is the ache settling in your core, rolling onto your back bringing your thighs together to apply pressure to no avail. He’s never there when he’s needed.

Separating, you let your fingertips massage over the dampened fabric finding the lazy ovals you were accomplishing pleasurable. Just before you could indulge your phone chimed.

“You awake?”

You could scream in happiness! Your late horny wishes have been heard.

“Yeah, welcome back in town, how are you!”

“Excited to see me? You’re horny huh?”

Once an ass always an ass, he’d beat around the bush until all the leaves fell off before he’d give a straight answer.

“Yeah, get over here.”

“Get some help y/n,I’d think that you’d find someone new already.”

“Are you coming to fuck me, or can i continue to finger myself...you interrupted me.”

“Impatient little thing you are, sure continue, but open the door when I get there.”

Tossing the phone to the corner of your bed you rolled off changing shirts to look sightly presentable.

Skipping like and lovesick schoolgirl you cleaned the living room like he’d even notice the scatter of classwork and pillows if you’d left it. Setting drinks up on the table you anticipated your 2 AM date.

His knock undeniable, you pranced to the door pulling it open letting in the dusk breeze, “hey, you look different.” you looked his stature up and down, “and you look tired.” He quips pulling you into him his chilled hand wrapped around you neck. Kissing you, his taste never changed liquor and mint, he explored you like he’s been hungry for you. “Still don’t know how to kiss? Fucking virgin.” He bullied walking into your apartment removing his heavy shoes.

“Can you stop being an ass Yoongi.” He threw himself in the couch watching you primarily as you closed the door, gong to the kitchen before his statement stoped you. “I don’t care about the tea party you set up in there, get over here.”

Legs spread his hand rested inside of his black sweats. Obliging you went to him, only here for one thing, and he was ready to get it as quick as he could, “wanna lay on the couch for me?” The pounding in your chest persistent, knowing fully what’s to come. Letting your back hit the couch, he threw your decretive pillows. “Miss me?” He freed you from your panties, letting his limber fingers massage you collecting your slickness. “C’mon speak up.” “Yeah I did, you miss me?” You breathed out in impatience. “Like hell.”

“You play with this while imagining me when I’m away?” Sensually he stroked your bundle of never earning a physical reaction. “Honestly?” “Mm yeah tell me.” Vulgarly he spit on your mound before continuing to toy with you. “I think about your little friends more than I imagine you.” You lied for his reaction, thoughts of Yoongi swam in your head more than you’d like to admit.

“Liar.” He entered you with his index and pointer, whimpering to show your appreciation. Moving back and forth rotating his wrist ever so slightly. “Tell me this though.” He changed his tactics now rapidly stroking the most sensitive area inside of you. “This still make you cum cutie?” He jokes obviously watching you buck at his skilled fingers movement. Staying in place he gave you the treat of massaging the area into your first orgasm of the night. Your stomach clenched and you griped around him unintentionally. “Mmhhm fucking hate you.” Insulting him was a regular during orgasm and he enjoyed it. He continues forcing more pleasure on you as you cum.

A cocky grin plasters his features, “I guess it does.” He leaned coming face to face with your core, still pulsating. “Sensitive little thing still, I would’ve thought you’d grow from that.” He latched onto your clit causing you to prop yourself on your elbow in surprise. “Yoongi fucking wait.” You pushed his head to no result he licked and sucked on your clit with no mercy. “Ah fuck please Yoongi.” He looked up his dark eyes commanding you as he let go. “Done for the night?” You shook your head no, “just a little sen-” “nothing new.” He went back down, lapping at your sopping entrance with hunger and lust, grunts erupted from him.

With better leverage he enters you with his tongue prodding you like you’ve missed oh so bad. It seems like he left and came back better than he’s ever been at this. It was muffled but you understood his dirty comments. “Fucking cum in my mouth, you’re gonna taste it bitch.” Moving back to your clit he flicked quickly replacing his fingers, rubbing your tender sweet spot. Eyebrows furrowed in focus he closed his fiery eyes. “Shit! Shit! Ahhh shit!” Squirming inches from succumbing to your second orgasm. You griped his styled hair pulling him deeper onto your cunt. He latched sucking you, your stomach tightening.

Finishing messily onto his digits and lips. “Fuck Min, who gave you lessons in Korea?” You heaved legs wide needy for more. Ignoring your comment he connected his lips with yours not giving you time to breath. purposely kissing you sloppily making sure he spread your nectar along your tongue and lips. “Sweet?” You nodded, bucking, begging for him subtlety.

“What next baby, ask for it,what do you want?” He took off the sweats fully commando underneath, he stroked himself collecting his precum and bringing it to your mouth. “I know you’re filthy. Eat it.” You suck his fingers, and he visibly holds back a groan. “Fuck me, that’s what I want.” You answer seductively.

You got up from the couch, grabbing his shirt bringing him to your bedroom, “bigger bed?” “Yeah, you like it?” You crawled on top, putting your ass in the air cheekily. “It’s your turn to buy the pill.” He laughed at your random outburst, “shut the fuck up already.” He got behind you aligning and plunging into you a groan of enjoyment coming from him. “Always so fucking tight.”

Gaining a grip he bottoms you out earning a squeal. “Nice a full? Ready to fuck?” You could hear his impatience, you nodded in response. “Damn it y/n speak baby.” He griped your ass harshly. “Just do it already!”he pulled out completely hooking you with his arm rolling you onto your back pulling your shirt off with your assistance.

“I have been thinking of you in this position ever since we landed.” Pushing your legs up, “hold them with your arms...please.” Obliging to his lustful wishes, on your back legs bound by your arms, everything vulnerable on display for him.

Getting comfortable he entered you, bottoming you out throwing his head back. “Tighter than before, you’ll fucking kill me.” He fucked into you sensually keeping a grip on the back of your thighs, “feel good? Wanna- oh shit.” Tightening around him he fucked into you harshly, the lewd smacking sound something that was very missed.

Resting his forearm next to your head, dominantly he gripped a handful of your hair, letting his head fall at you ear shamelessly moaning into it. “Mm so good y/n, you’re too good.” Picking up speed making your breath trap itself in your throat. “Tell me-mm tell me.”unable to respond to his commands you whimpered in a sorry excuse for response.

By the change in tone you could tell he’s close to finishing off, while in the chase for his high, he pulled your hair harsher. Placing his other hand on your sensitive clit. “Fuck!” Pulling back up he removed his hand from your locks placing them on the back of your thighs his pace giving a little slack.

His eyes closed thumb massaging you assisting you to orgasm. “You better fucking cum.” He gritted.

He continued his rough thrust until he hit his peak “oh fuck me!” Whining he spilled inside of you as you tightened around his member once again lost in his gift of euphoria.

He pulled out of you sweat dripping over his features his seed warmly gushed from you. He removed his shirt the heat getting the best of him.

His member already half mast. He got up stretching before striding to the bathroom. “ don’t move.” You could care less what he just said, your senses still draped in pleasure. Though certain thoughts threatened to pull your lustful high. “Your legs or arms cramping?” He came back cleaning you up, using a colder cloth you cool your sweaty limbs. “Left leg.” He pulled you from the folded position massaging your leg and thigh.

“Too rough?” “Not enough.” He laughed under his breath, “noted.” He let go of your limb standing from the bed, leaving the room.

Though not exclusive your heart still aches for him slightly. “I’m leaving.” He came back with his sweats and shoes on, grabbing his shirt. “Oh, I pulled out some of my best alcohol and you leave?”

He smiled kissing your drenched forehead, why did he love torturing you. “Yeah, I got a busy day tomorrow.” He sighed pulling his shirt over himself. Groaning you rolled over out of the bed, pulling on a large shirt, “I’ll walk you to your car.” Obliging you followed him out.

Walking side to side, in silence until you both left the building standing in front of his pricey sports car. “You know you never gave me that ride.” He grasped your waist lifting you onto the hood, darkness shields you both.

“Mm tomorrow If I’m not tired, we’ll go get something...ice cream?”

“Stop acting like my boyfriend Min.”

“That’s what you want though, right?”

Sighing you felt uncomfortable when pressed with the truth.

“Well I’m sorry y/n but I can’t be, acting is the best you’ll get.”

“I know...so, who’s your best fuck back home?”

“Haha, some real pretty girl that you don’t need to ask about....but don’t worry, I cum and think of you.”

He laughs at your visible discomfort.

“You’re literally disgusting.”

Any and All feedback is greatly appreciated! !