#no spoilers for anything last chapter 3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

awrkive · 3 months ago

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NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 3 — JJK

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 18.7k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, lots of screaming into your pillow moments, litol bit of #domesticity, FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF, angst if you squint??????????, the x file spoiler lol, suits cameo (me inserting my niche interests into conversations), the biggest warning of this part is: naked jungkook 💀

NOTES sorry for being almost 3 hours late efhkjdhfd i overestimated my abilities a bit mb mb anyway, AGAIN, i want to thank you guys for the overwhelming support! i want to take this opportunity to announce that i'll be taking a break from nb for around 2 weeks to work on my new jungkook one-shot fic that i will be posting for his birthday ❤️ if you are interested, i have posted the teaser on my tumblr page. LASTLY pls let me know your thoughts!! i LOVE LOOOVEEE reading every single one of your replies/reblogs/asks. i hope you enjoy this one and have a good weekend ahead!!!!!!

NB!JK VISUALS | TAGLIST OPEN (REPLY IN THE COMMENT SECTION. PLS DO NOT SEND AN ASK ABOUT IT)

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

You always wonder how a company this big seems to not have any budget lent for a copier that actually works – something that one doesn’t need to violently slap just for it to function perfectly.

You’ve been a victim not just once but five times to its inefficiency, the recent mishap being a month ago when the ink blots jumped right over the cuff of your shirt.

With the way that you’ve been harassing the copier at the very moment, you’ll say it’s about to do you wrong for the sixth time and you absolutely can’t let it happen anymore – not when you’re currently wearing a white polo shirt that stupidly costs a little too much more than anything in your wardrobe (you decided to spend a little more than usual last New Year’s).

So, with a last unnecessary kick to the bottom of the machine (out of pure spite) you left the copier room of your floor and think, fuck it – go to the IT department and ask Taemu to back you up from his supervisor so you can use their copier instead – which is something you’re not so sure of.

It’s embarrassing to go there just to ask him for help. Not with your history. But admittedly not that much of a history. After all, he seems to be cool with you and everything seems to be pretty chill. You can just go there; ask a little favor from a friend, and then hurry down to your floor.

There are some other options, though. Like, you can always ask the intern to do it for you. But the thing is, you kind of feel bad for those three. Your co-workers are doing a lot already; asking to fetch them things all around the building, buy them snacks, stuff like that. There’s another one but she’s way too quiet and didn’t really take shit from any of her seniors… which is kind of intimidating – but she's someone you wish you were when you were also an intern. You personally don’t want to help cultivate a somewhat toxic journey for the other three because you also started the same way as them. Beyond that, it would also be too rude to ask favors from Taemu indirectly.

You’re ultimately left with little and only one choice.

The elevator dings and the doors open after it does so.

One of the people in it is a woman you’ve never met around before. Long, black hair; tailored suit, slender figure, and a posture that screams she’s never hunched her back in her entire life.

Other people that entered at the same time as you start to bow their heads down slightly and greet a polite, “Good afternoon.”

You mirror their gesture as well.

As you step inside and settle on a spot, you wonder who she is.

An executive, maybe? She looks very put-together, and there’s authority that hangs over her frame… but exceptionally young in the physical aspect. Jungkook is also young, though – and he’s an executive, so that’s entirely possible. Additionally, others seem to know her. Or they're just pretending to know her like you did. Did you miss a ceremony? A meeting? Or did you gloss over some HR email again? You’ll have to check later to find out if that’s the case.

Anyway, your curiosity doesn’t last long when the elevator doors open once again, indicating the IT department floor.

You already texted Taemu awhile ago that you were on your way so he should meet you on-time.

As you walk down the hallway with your phone in your hand, your attention is caught by a familiar voice.

“Hey,”

You look up from your phone and see Taemu waving not too far away, heading towards your direction. It doesn’t take him long to get near you. When he does, you give him a smile.

“Taemu, hi.” You say as a small greeting. Taemu lifts his hand and you thought he was going for a high-five, so you lift your hand as well to meet the gesture. But then he leans in closer, one arm about to enclose your waist, and that’s when you realize he was actually gearing up for a hug.

Taemu seems to register that you weren’t exactly going for the same thing, so he steps back. He seems shy when you look at him in confusion.

“Oh, okay, sorry,” He offers his hand again, but just when you’re already thinking about hugging him because that was what he originally meant to do, he speaks just as you lean in closer to hug him. “I thought we were high-five-ing?”

Embarrassed, your hands retreat to yourself.

“I thought... you wanted to hug?” You chuckle.

“Okay, let’s just—” Taemu steps closer again and this time, it’s more than clear to you what he wants to do.

You reciprocate the hug he gives.

“This is so stupid.” You say, chuckling against his neck. The contact is quick as you two simultaneously break apart.

Taemu laughs at your remark, nodding his head. Then he gestures ahead, pointing to the direction of the copy room.

“Your copier not working again?” He asks as you walk down the hallway together.

You heave a sigh. “Yeah, they really need to change that one. Anyway, have you told Mr. Lee?” You ask, referring to his supervisor.

Teamu nods his head, opening the door to the copy room for you.

“Yeah, it’s fine with him. Just sign the logbook and stuff.”

“Thanks, Taemu.” You say, quickly getting to work, feeling slightly delighted at how their machine smoothly does its job and not like the one at all in your department. “Hey, I’m really sorry for bothering you with this.” You lament as you wait for the paper to slide out.

Taemu waves his hand, shaking his head at you. “It’s fine.”

You purse your lips into a thin line, giving him a somewhat apprehensive smile. The paper comes out and you get your thing. After a quick scan to see if the copier got everything right, you look back at Taemu to say, “Thanks again, Taemu. I really appreciate this.”

“No worries. Anytime.”

When you announce that you’re done, Taemu calls your name.

“Hm?” You hum, looking at him and wait for his next words.

He looks coy when he rubs a hand on the back of his head.

“Can I take you out for lunch?” He says, and you still in your position. Taemu seems like he surprised himself with his own words. You open your mouth to speak but then he beats you to it quickly, “It’s not a date. I phrased that as a date – but it’s not – ah, this is all coming out wrong,” Taemu chuckles, interrupting himself. With his hands in his slacks' pockets, he leans to a random table inside the room and looks at you with a more confident stance this time, as if he just gave himself a quick internal pep talk after jumbling his words. “What I meant to say is, if we can go out for lunch together today?”

You chuckle. You were just about to say yes. Contrary to his assumption, you didn’t really take his first question as an invitation for a date. Besides, he helped you with the copier today.

Nodding your head, you offer him a grin as you say, “Yeah. I’ll go to lunch with you.”

Taemu walks you to the elevator even though you said he doesn’t need to. He's insistent but you let it, anyway.

Taemu puts his hands on both sides of the door before it closes. The ride is pretty much empty except for yourself.

“When are you off?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment. “Is 12:15 okay?”

Taemu nods. “Sure. See you at 12:15?”

“Yeah. Later.”

The elevator closes and you laugh to yourself when you catch Taemu awkwardly waving his hand at you goodbye.

“No, you didn’t, I kicked your ass at mini golf!” You say, laughing as Taemu looks at you with squinted eyes, obviously saying that was absolutely not what happened on your date a few months ago.

“Uh, you disregarded all the rules.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, fine. Rules do not matter, though. It’s just some stick and a ball and… fake grass.”

Taemu laughs, surrendering his hands to the air, nodding when he says, “Fair, fair.”

You’re currently at a restaurant not too far away from your company building. It took Taemu and you about five minutes to get here; just a quick waiting time to cross the pedestrian lane to get from one street to the other.

Looking around, you can actually see some people inside wearing your company lace. The restaurant’s sort of like a famous spot around the company, though, so it doesn't necessarily surprise you. You’ve also had a few company dinners here some time ago.

Safe to say, lunch with Taemu is going… okay so far.

No – actually, it’s way better than you thought it would be.

You could have never, ever predicted that you’ll be out with him alone again after… you know, ghosting him. Your whole assessment of his character has also changed a bit after the whole fiasco.

See, some guys start feeling entitled over your permission and consent when you entertain them even just for a bit. When you go on dates and you break it to them that it’s just not working out between you two, they start to act weird. Like you’ve hurt them. Or that you lead them on – even though it’s absolutely not the case.

But Taemu’s proving himself to be different. You honestly expected him to act like that guy because he seems the type after your first date. But he surprises you by acting the total, complete opposite.

He’s so… nice. So casual. Like nothing happened. You feel bad because right now, you've officially confirmed to yourself that you totally misjudged him.

You can’t believe you’ll say this, but Taemu is not an asshole. Like at all.

Even now, you’re recalling what happened to your date and laughing about some of the memories of it, and it feels so long ago you’re starting to remember it differently.

“Anyway, this milkshake’s really good,” you say, taking your glass and looking at it curiously.

“Yeah? I told you,” Taemu grins, eating from his own plate.

“You always come here?” You ask out of curiosity since he seems to be familiar with the menu.

“Sort of? I mean, I try to take in the city as much as I can.” You nod, recalling what he told you before. He came from Daegu, and it’s his first time in Seoul.

Before you can say anything to that, the waiter comes to your table and gives you your bill.

Taemu and you simultaneously take out your wallets. When he sees you do it, though, he’s quick to shake his head, gesturing for you to not bother.

“No, no, it’s fine. I got it.”

“I got it, too,” You say, smiling at him, already picking out your card, ready to put it inside the check presenter.

“__,” Taemu says your name while chuckling. “I swear, it’s fine. I was the one who invited you for lunch.”

“Taemu,” You call him, using the same tone he used. Taemu grins at that. “I think we should split the bill.”

It’s only fair, you think. You ate pretty much the same thing.

You hold what felt like a minute staring competition until Taemu gives in and lets you stack your card on top of his in the booklet.

You’re about to resume eating – pick up on the conversation you left a few minutes ago – when your phone dings on the table, a message popping out on the notification center.

When you read the contact name, your eyes widen but you relax your face real quick lest Taemu asks questions.

“Sorry,” you say, pointing to your phone. Taemu nods, understanding. You pick the device in your hands, turn to your other side to not be rude, and read the text from Jungkook.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:47pm]: hey I bought you lunch Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:48pm]: i was gonnna ask you to go with me earlier but I got busy with some papers

Shoot.

You’ve done a pretty good job of not thinking about Jungkook at all for the entirety of the day. You woke up so early this morning that you waited for twenty whole minutes for your bus just so you can avoid seeing Jungkook because everytime his name pops up in your thoughts, you remember what you did the night before and it just messes with your head so much.

Listen, you aren’t embarrassed about trying to get yourself off. It’s just masturbation. It’s a carnal need and it’s totally normal. What you are not proud of is the way you thought about him – out of all people – and how it actually made you feel… a little more motivated to get yourself there.

But it’s a slip-up. A big mistake.

How are you supposed to look him in the eyes after that and act like you didn’t do what you did? Granted, you did stop before it escalated. But still, the point is that you thought about him while you were pleasuring yourself. Even if it was for a tiny bit second, it still counts!

Stupid fucking ovulation, you think to yourself with bitterness. You’re a much better person without it, you swear. You don’t go around thinking about men when you try to get yourself off, not at all! Personally, your head is mostly blank when you go through it.

But Jungkook left two texts. And he’s probably seen the read tag on his end already.

You [12:49pm]: I just got lunch ): thank you for buying me one tho that’s really nice ofu

You turn your phone off after sending your reply, placing it on the empty space of your table. When you look at Taemu, he’s eyeing something behind you. With furrowed brows, the question about what he’s looking at is on the tip of your tongue when he suddenly says,

“Isn’t that Mr. Jeon?”

“W-what?” You stammer, not sure if you heard him right.

The knots on Taemu’s forehead fades, and then he nods to himself. “I’m pretty sure that’s Mr. Jeon. He’s going this way.”

“Wha—”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon.” Taemu stands up from his seat and does a slight bow for greeting.

Without thinking about it, you mirror Taemu’s action, bowing your head longer than necessary.

“Good afternoon, M-mr. Jeon,”

It’s no use to avoid his gaze, though.

When you look at Jungkook, he seems pretty much just as surprised to see you. You look away, but your eyes fall to his hand, and you see that it carries a take-out paper bag from the restaurant. You think about his text.

“Good afternoon.” Jungkook says with an easy-going smile. He goes from surprised to casual real quick and glosses over you as if he doesn’t know you.

You don’t really know how that makes you feel.

“I was just going, have fun with your lunch.” He says and politely bids his goodbye, going straight to the direction of the restaurant’s door.

“He’s really cool, you know?” Taemu brings up when you both sit down again.

“I— huh?”

“You must have heard about the new project they’re starting at the end of this month, right?” He asks curiously.

You sit there stunned. Stunned from earlier’s interaction with Jungkook but also because you don’t really know what the hell Taemu’s talking about.

“No… I didn’t get any memo…?” You say instead, trying not to act way too oblivious lest he thinks you’re lazy or something. Not that it matters! You’re not trying to impress him or anything.

Taemu nods. “Well, you’ll probably know about it soon.”

But your head's too far gone now, still stuck on what happened a minute ago.

You look over at your phone while Taemu speaks, hoping for it to light up with a new notification from the messaging app.

A few minutes passed by and it doesn’t, even when you leave the restaurant.

You don’t really know why you’re here.

It’s been three days since that night in Jungkook’s place where you tried to bake in his kitchen, so it’s also been three days since you started practicing during the nights after work to perfect your cookies. Tonight, it just so happens that the cookies finally taste edible and honestly, it’s more than okay.

So, maybe that’s why you find yourself in front of Jungkook’s door with a plastic container in your hands, decently-baked cookies prettily arranged inside.

Jungkook was with you when you made those pathetic excuses for cookies, so you thought it’s only fair for him to try these ones and tell you what he thinks. Brag a little. Maybe have a little chitchat if he’s free or whatever.

It’s also… sort of like a peace offering for something he doesn’t need to know about. You can’t tell him you’re sorry for thinking about him when you did the deed because that’s just plain weird.

Speaking of weird, though, the interaction from yesterday left you feeling a little empty. There’s this gnawing feeling inside of you that something went wrong – but you can’t exactly point out why. Jungkook also hasn’t texted you after that – which isn’t out of the ordinary. You don’t text everyday and you don’t meet every single day, either – for the record. You’re both busy people. You can only imagine Jungkook’s schedule.

Anyway, if there’s anything that you learned about your friendship with Jungkook, it’s that you don’t need to lie to him. You just have to knock on his door and he’ll unintentionally clear your doubts by being the voice of reason because he’s nice like that.

You do hope though that tonight clears any weird air between you. Maybe you’ll find out later on that there’s nothing weird going on at all and you’re just overthinking stuff as usual.

You’re about to ring the doorbell twice when the door finally opens, showing you Jungkook still wearing his polo shirt. He looks like he’s just gotten home from work, red tie undone around his neckline and a few buttons popped open.

“Hi.” You smile.

“Hey,” Jungkook looks at you, obviously wondering what brought you to his door.

“I wanted to give you this,” you hand him the plastic container which he takes with a confused look. “Those are cookies. I baked them. I didn’t give you anything when I baked two nights ago because they were bad.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods, looking down at the plastic. He smiles, then leans on his doorway. “So it’s good now?”

You gesture a so-so with your hand. “Don’t set your expectations too high. It’s not exactly Poilâne. But it tastes like matcha cookies, I swear.” When Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a while, you decide to add, “You also won’t get food poisoning, if you’re worried about that.”

Jungkook gives you an amused look. “I wasn’t… worried about that.”

“It’s a simple disclaimer. Just in case, you know, you suddenly feel weird in the stomach…” Jungkook arches his brow while you trail off. You roll your eyes lightheartedly. “I’m kidding.”

He lets out a chuckle and then stands upright. “Thank you for this.”

“No worries,” you say. You shift your weight from one foot to another. “Uh, do you wanna grab dinner? Right now?”

Jungkook looks at you apologetically.

“I really wish we could, but I have to finish something tonight. Work stuff.”

“Oh,” You nod immediately. “Okay. Uhm, good luck with that.”

He smiles at you. Lifting the container up, he arches his brows, saying, “Thank you, again. It looks good.”

“Yeah, I hope you like it,” You say. Realizing that there’s nothing more left to say, you turn on your heel ready to go. But before that, you look back at him one last time. “Bye.”

Jungkook grins.

“I’ll text you what I think about them.” He says, pointing to the cookies.

“Okay, Anton Ego.”

You both laugh at that, and you enter your apartment with a small smile on your face.

You don’t want to admit it even to yourself, but you might have taken Jungkook’s words about reviewing your baked goods too seriously that you waited for it last night longer than necessary. Even when the night ended and you go to work the next day, which is today, none of his texts come, and you don’t think anything’s coming anytime soon.

You try not to think about it too much because he did say he’s busy with work. You’re sure that’s the case, so you feel slightly bad for him.

Right now, you’re looking for Ms. Seo to get her signature on a document. So you head to the elevator, rushing a bit to get inside the one that’s about to close. It’s a little urgent, so you cannot waste any more time.

As soon as you enter though, you notice who’s in it.

It’s Jungkook and the woman you saw in the elevator two days ago.

You’re starting to think you need to start using the stairs from now on because your elevator trips are getting too ridiculous.

It feels like you’re running on auto-pilot when you greet them both, walking to the side to make space for the other people entering.

You wish you went beside the woman instead and not Jungkook’s side because you then have to try real hard not to look at him.

It proves to be an uneasy task when more people squeeze in as the elevator takes a few stops in between floors. You had to taut all the muscles in your body just to not get into any contact with Jungkook, but even with all the effort, it goes unsuccessful, as you brush his arm when you step back to move a little.

Jungkook looks at you the same time you do.

“I’m sorry.” You utter, low enough to not cause any unnecessary attention.

A few do turn to stare, anyway. And you can’t help but notice the way the woman’s hand moves towards Jungkook’s to hold it as she takes a look at you.

Jungkook, meanwhile, gives you that same professional smile he seems to have reserved for every employee that greets him around the building, warm voice saying, “It’s okay.”

You’re thankful that the next floor is where your stop is.

As you go back to your cubicle, you wonder who the woman is. Again.

There's something about her that feels familiar. She looks familiar. Like you’ve seen her before. You can’t just figure out where exactly.

“__,” Sol calls beside you.

“Huh?”

“You’re not having lunch?” She asks.

“Oh…” Right. It’s currently your break time. “Are you guys going out?” You say, looking at Joonhwi who’s two cubicles away from you.

Sol shakes her head, taking her coat from the back of her chair. “No, just at the cafeteria.”

You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll follow in a few minutes, just need to look over some stuff here,” You point to your computer.

“Okay. Just text me.”

You give Sol a smile and watch as she and Joonhwi head out of the office.

Your gaze falls to the time on your computer.

12:10pm.

Is Jungkook possibly having lunch right now? You remember him buying you one two days ago and feel a little sense of regret about not taking it even though it isn’t your fault and he should’ve told you first to give you a little heads-up.

You never really talked about it. You never really talked for the past three days.

But then again, he seems to be busy.

With a little hope in your heart, though, you pick up your phone and decide to send him a text.

You [12:12pm]: hey do u want to go out for lunch?

Or should you just buy him one like he did for you? It’s not like you’re trying to up him in a kindness competition. It can just be a small, thoughtful gesture from a friend to a friend.

You receive a reply a few seconds after.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: hey __ I’d love to

Your lips curl down when you read the next one that comes in a second.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: but I have a work meeting in 5mins

Oh. Okay. That tracks.

You [12:14pm]: okii!! That’s totally cool! good luck with work 😊

You stand up from your chair and take out your wallet from your bag, going out of your office and sending a quick text to Sol that you’re coming to the cafeteria.

When you get there, your peripheral vision catches a familiar figure.

You look back, trying to see if it’s someone you know.

Turns out it is. Because it’s Jungkook.

You’ve seen him in the elevator this morning and he wore a grey pair of suit. You’d also recognize his stature anywhere, but just like how it was inside the elevator, he’s with the woman again; long hair down like it was yesterday, this time adorning a suit dress that hugs her figure really well, her stilettos making her legs look longer but somehow Jungkook still stands a little taller.

For the very brief moment that you laid your eyes on them, you saw how Jungkook had his hand placed on the low of her back, how she laughed at something he said, and how they looked good together from your point of view. It seemed like they were on their way somewhere.

You realize that was what Jungkook meant when he said he’s busy.

They say a silver lining comes in every worst situation possible, and you’re more of an optimist rather than a pessimist so usually, you believe in the concept of silver linings even though right now – it looks like it’s going to be winning the jackpot in the lottery or… free education for everybody across the world.

“The contractor estimates it would be a week-long repair.”

“One week?” Is your immediate response, disbelief coloring your tone. “I’m sorry—” You try to fix your tone, salvaging yourself from being seen as outright rude in front of your building manager. “You mean seven whole days?”

The building manager, Mr. Han, nods his head. He looks genuinely apologetic as he delivers the news, for the record.

“That’s… really long.” You say, albeit calmer now. But you still can’t imagine it.

“It’s just an estimate. Contractor said it might be faster than that, but they still need to do a full assessment of your unit tomorrow, together with the water damage restoration company. We’re doing all we can to respond to the situation. We’re also talking to your upstairs neighbor about the stipulation of his negligence.”

You nod along to his words.

Obviously, it’s his job to ensure everything’s taken care of, but still, you’re appreciative of the way they are going about the current situation. You’ve heard horror stories about tenants getting into arguments with their building managers or landlords when their apartments experience accidents.

“Can I ask about relocation?” You ask. You have to read your lease again to make sure.

“Unfortunately, it’s not indicated in your lease policy, but your renter’s insurance should cover it. You can also talk to your landlord about reducing your rent for this month due to the inconvenience.”

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Okay. Thank you.”

The plumber and some of the help the building manager employed to dry up your place from the accidental flood had already left a while ago, and soon, Mr. Han’s figure disappears entirely after a few seconds as you watch him walk down the flight of stairs and away from the building.

You can hear the loud whirring of the air movers placed inside your unit from where you stood on your porch. Your hair’s damp, including some spots on your work clothes from the water that trickled down your ceiling as you panicked earlier to pack some of your belongings in a medium-sized luggage you managed to grab in the timeframe.

It’s the state that Jungkook catches you in when you see him emerging from the stairs, looking like he also just got back from work.

“Hey, what happened?” Jungkook, with his brows furrowed, looks at you with worried eyes, sounding equally concerned.

You sigh. ��Hey,” you greet weakly. “My apartment got flooded.”

“What?”

“It’s the upstairs neighbor. He apparently left his tub running while he went to work this afternoon,” You take a sharp breath, getting pissed again at the negligence. So goddamn stupid, really. “He flooded his own place and the water leaked to my ceiling, and when I got back home from work I was welcomed with two inches of water on my floor.”

“What the hell?” Jungkook says in disbelief. You nod at his reaction. That is exactly what you said when you heard the story from the property manager. “Are you okay?” He asks, and you appreciate it.

“Not sure about that.” You answer honestly.

Jungkook furrows his brows. “You called your landlord immediately?”

Letting out a sigh again, you nod and move to sit on your suitcase – the lonesome bag that you’re planning to bring with you to wherever the hell you’re going to stay tonight. You don’t even think you have enough clothes in it.

“My place is a complete wreck. Most of the water’s drained, though, and the building manager brought some help inside and they put air movers inside to dry the place right now.” You blow air to the strand of hair that escapes from your ponytail out of frustration. “It’s a shitshow, I know.”

“Good that they responded fast,” Jungkook comments, but concern is still etched on his face as he asks you, “Have you called your insurance company yet?”

“Yeah, we’re emailing right now.” You tell him, showing your phone. You hate sending email through such a small device but you left your laptop back at the office – which is kind of a good thing, now that you think about it – because it would’ve gotten flooded had you left it in your place.

“Did you document everything?”

Your response comes in a little curt.

“Yes, Jungkook. I did.” The onslaught questions just somehow seemed to prompt irritation in you, and you can’t help but add, “I know everything I have to do. I’m an adult.”

Predictably, you render Jungkook surprised.

“I— I didn’t mean it like that. I apologize.”

When you look up at him, you see his expression softening – and you feel bad for what you just did.

Chill, __. He’s just asking logical questions.

“No, I’m sorry,” You shake your head, feeling a little ashamed for bursting like that. You shouldn’t have talked to him like that, anyway. “I don’t know why I snapped, you’re just asking the important questions.”

Jungkook hesitantly hovers his hand on your shoulder, and the look he gives you seems to be asking for permission to touch you. You don’t even know if that’s his intention, but you give him a nod.

He smiles, tapping your shoulder for a brief second, saying, “It’s okay. You must be really stressed right now.”

“You think I can’t be calm in this situation?” You look at him with a blank expression. Jungkook’s taken aback and you witness the very split second his smile drops form his face, probably thinking he said something wrong. Then you can’t help it, you break. “I’m just fucking with you.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow as he sees you bursting into a gentle laugh, breaking your serious demeanor.

He shakes his head slowly, seemingly incredulous of the stunt you just pulled.

“You and your jokes…”

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“You got me.” Jungkook chuckles.

“I’m sorry… it’s just me trying to ignore the fact that my apartment literally got flooded and those loud and big ass fans they placed inside are about to tear my ears off.”

You see the way Jungkook’s face winces.

“Where are you staying for the night, then?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, genuinely not sure about your options. “Probably gonna book a hotel or something.”

Of course you’ve thought about Jimin. He can probably easily help you find a place for the meantime but it’d probably be hard with him not being physically in the country just yet. Sol also crossed your mind, but you remember she has a roommate.

Getting a hotel to temporarily stay at is the most obvious option there is. It would be too much of a hassle, not to mention expensive, but—

“You can stay at mine for the night.”

You think you’re getting around to Jungkook offering you help without you even asking – but it doesn’t mean you still don’t get a little taken aback when he gives it so willingly and so quickly like this.

“No.” You shake your head.

“Seriously.” Jungkook stares at you.

You stare at him right back.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” He raised his brow.

“I can’t think of reasons right now.”

“You don’t need to think at all.”

You squint your eyes at him, he does the same.

Soon enough, Jungkook breaks first and laughs.

“Come on! You’re gonna freeze in here.”

Hesitantly, you say, “… Are you sure?”

“What are you worried about?” He cocks his head to the side, awaiting your response.

Well. There’s a lot to be worried about.

There’s the thing where you always just seem to be caught into some shit and then he catches you right exactly in it. It’s starting to get embarrassing.

But Jungkook just doesn’t really seem to mind it.

“Nothing, really.” Is what you weakly settled for.

“Okay…” He trails off, raising a brow, obviously a bit confused. “Then what’s the big deal? Do you really want to go through the hassle of picking out hotels and booking a room at this hour? You have to go to work tomorrow.”

You visibly wince at the mention of work.

He’s right and you kind of hate it.

“You’re right…” you say after a while.

“You’re staying at mine?” Jungkook asks again, in which you nod your head in confirmation.

You stand up from your suitcase and pull up the handle. Then you look at him sincerely to give him a smile. “Thank you. I think this is like the five hundredth time this kind of thing happened between you and I.”

“Not counting.” Jungkook shrugs. “Have you had dinner yet?”

You nod your head. “I went with a friend— a co-worker.”

Jungkook visibly stills.

“The guy from a few days ago at the restaurant around work?”

You perk up at that, surprised he still recalls that day.

“Yeah, that’s him. Taemu. From the IT dep.”

He nods. You don’t know if he’s interested or not.

You think it’s a bit random that he brought that up, though, but you shake the thoughts away and call his name.

Jungkook looks at you.

“Thank you.” You say, hoping he hears the sincerity in your voice.

He chuckles. “You’re welcome,” Jungkook then gestures to the luggage you’re holding. “Let me.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for you to say yes before he takes the handle from you and carries the luggage with him to the direction of his place just across from yours.

You consciously try to make your steps lighter as you walk out of the shower box, making your way towards your suitcase to check on the clothes you packed.

When you open it, you thank the heavens that there are underwear – and a lot of them, for the record – but as you rummage around some more, you find that other than your work clothes, you only have nightwear inside. And when you say nightwear, not the comfortable cotton pajama kind but the nightie one – and that basically means the baby blue silky set of tiny camisole and shorts that can pass as a pair of panties.

I can’t possibly wear these, you think to yourself, hastily burying the pieces of clothing in the bottom of your luggage.

It shouldn’t mean anything – those are nightwear after all! But it was already embarrassing to ask Jungkook earlier if you could use his shower and his towel. You can’t come out of the bathroom wearing clothes that Jimin once tagged as “slutty pjs”. Not when you’re in Jungkook’s place.

“__?”

You look over to the door when you hear Jungkook’s voice, a knock following.

“Yes?” You answer.

“Do you have clothes in there?”

At the question, your gaze automatically falls to the suitcase where the thin strap of the camisole peeks out in between some other clothes that are completely useless for the night.

With hesitance, you say, “Uhm… do you possibly have a shirt I can borrow? I promise to clean it and return it to you tomorrow, ASAP.”

You hear him chuckle from the other side. “I brought you some. There’s also a pair of sweatpants but I’m not sure if they’ll fit you.”

It’s hard to not celebrate silently when Jungkook says that – but you might have jumped a little at his words.

When you walk towards the door and open it, you give Jungkook a huge smile as you tell him, “Thanks!”

He stops. And then you stop.

You realize you’re only in your towel – his towel, to be exact.

You feel the blood rushing to your cheeks the moment it registers.

Before you can do or say anything, Jungkook moves on quickly and stretches his arm, thrusting the clothes he’s mentioned into your way.

“There.” He says simply, smiling at you.

You take them from his hand, giving him a smile too, albeit a bit awkward.

“T-thanks.”

Jungkook turns on his heel to leave, and you lock the door to the bathroom as soon as he walks away.

You settle his clothes on top of the flat surface of the lavatory, physically shaking your head as you look at yourself in the mirror to shake your thoughts away.

Thoughts of his slightly parted lips when you opened the door while you’re only in a towel.

But it happened in such a split second that you’re not sure if it even happened.

When you take his white shirt, it feels soft to the touch and there’s a scent of fresh laundry that wafts through your nose when you wear it on yourself.

It’s loose on you, the sleeves almost covering your whole arms and the hem stopping mid-thigh. But because of that, it feels comfortable – like the oversized shirts you wear to bed that you, unfortunately, weren’t able to pack with you in the heap of panic.

But the pants show a different case. It’s so big that it drags on the floor as you wear it.

You made do, though; drawing the strings tightly and and knotting them together, pulling up the gartered hems up to your calf.

When you come out of the bathroom, Jungkook welcomes you with nothing but a towel wrapped around his lower half.

“H-hey,” You stammer, eyes meeting his own to avoid looking at his naked torso.

“I was just going in. You done?” He casually says, as if he doesn’t mind being naked in front of you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done. Thanks for the clothes.” You say, gesturing across your body.

“Looks good.” Jungkook comments before entering the bathroom.

You think your cheeks just got impossibly hotter.

The sound of water running is heard before you scramble to the living room.

Why was he naked?!

Okay, he wasn’t actually naked naked but still, he had no clothes on. Why did he have no clothes on? You’re trying to erase the image of his torso, the lines that draw an obvious four-pack, his firm-looking chest, and the way the tattoos over his right arm apparently go way above his shoulder. It’s obvious that he goes to the gym and works out from the way those polo sleeves of his always hug his biceps a little too tight – and with a body like that, you completely understand why he wouldn’t mind parading it around.

The AC in his unit is turned on, but it suddenly feels way too hot from where you currently sit on his couch.

Shut up. Ugh. You tell yourself internally.

Completely wanting out of that headspace, you decide to take out your iPad to get in contact with your insurance company to discuss your current situation, and it does a good job of keeping your mind off Jungkook for a while.

You’re so deep in the activity that you don’t even notice a few minutes has already gone by, and with that, you don’t notice Jungkook coming out of the shower.

When you see him in your periphery, he’s now thankfully dressed in a shirt and some basketball shorts. He’s drying his hair as he walks over to your direction in the living room.

You look at him in surprise when you notice the pillow and comforter he has in his hands.

“Sorry. You should’ve called me, I could’ve helped,” you say, standing up from the couch, ready to help him with it, assuming that you’ll be on the couch tonight.

Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows. “I’m taking the couch.”

You stare at him, ready to hear him say he’s kidding or something but he doesn’t look like he’s joking.

You shake your head vigorously.

“No, that’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous about it?” Jungkook says, putting the pillows on the couch, starting to make it all the while looking at you through the process to engage.

“It’s your place.” You reason.

“And you’re my guest.” He says as a matter of fact.

“But—”

Jungkook cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence.

“__, it’s fine, really. You can take my bed. I insist.”

“Jungkook…” you trail off, sounding more like a whine.

He laughs and then looks at you with a playful smile. “Okay, should we compromise? Like, what, share the bed or the couch?”

You ignore the way your cheeks heat up at the suggestion.

You honestly don’t know why Jungkook says these kinds of things. You know it’s just his usual teasing, but he’s about to confuse you one of these days…

“God, no.” You respond with a shake of your head.

He chuckles. “Oh, is sleeping with me that repulsive to you?”

You push a little at his shoulder and roll your eyes.

When Jungkook’s done fixing the couch, he gestures to the door by the far end of the room. “Come on, I'll take you to the bedroom.”

You both walk towards that direction and as much as you’ve been over his place for more than once now, you’ve actually never seen his room – and for the record, why would you?

But it looks nice. Just like the rest of his apartment’s interior, his room is also almost the same. Kind of bare, but there are some sleek furniture that add character to the whole place.

“Too cold?” Jungkook asks, and you look at him to see him holding the remote of his AC.

“The temp’s fine.”

He hums and puts down the remote.

“Alright, then. Just call me if you need something.” Jungkook says, gesturing to the door. He’s about to leave when you call him again.

“Good night, Jungkook. Thank you for your bed.”

“Good night, __. Uh… sweet dreams?”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook laughs.

When he leaves, you sit on his mattress covered by black duvets and sheets. It’s soft, and you let yourself bounce on the fluffy surface, delighting at the feel.

It’s about the same size as yours, and when you lay on it, you smell that usual scent that Jungkook always emanates. Clean, crisp, a little sweet. Like fresh apples. Or fresh laundry. He just always smells so… clean.

You feel a little sense of strangeness at the different environment you’re in, but the bed is too soft that you feel like you’re almost floating – and maybe it’s because you are tired from work and drained from the whole fiasco at your apartment, but you fall asleep fast and heavy within just a few minutes.

You almost jump from the bed when you open your eyes and see a different type of bedding, only to realize that you’re actually not in your apartment and in Jungkook’s instead.

After processing that, you begin to do a little stretching, finding that you slept quite well. As you do so, your eyes catch the digital clock on the bedside table, and you read 4:30 am.

It’s a bit too early to start getting ready for work, but maybe if you start prepping now, you’ll be ready to go out just as when Jungkook is waking up.

When you stand from the bed, you discover the absence of pants around your waist, the cold air sending goosebumps over your bare legs – and as expected, you see the sweats getting caught in between the heaps of dark sheets on the bed.

You must have taken it off in the middle of the night. It’s why you usually forgo pants when you sleep.

You decide against wearing it again, though, assuming that Jungkook is still sound asleep by now so he can’t possibly see you walking around his place naked from the waist down. Besides, the shirt’s big and almost serves as a dress.

Carrying the pants with you, you silently open the door to his bedroom to tiptoe on your way to the bathroom.

“Hey,”

“Jesus christ!” You clutch your heart at the sudden sound of Jungkook’s voice booming across the unit.

When you look at him, he’s… working out. Apparently.

Jungkook takes out the airpods from his ears and drink from his tumbler.

“What are you tiptoeing for?” He asks, brows furrowed.

From where you stand, you see droplets of sweat on the side of his forehead, his chest heaving from the push-ups you catch him doing a few seconds ago on the mat that he laid on the floor. There are small weights on the side, and Jungkook is still wearing his clothes from last night.

Did he possibly just… wake up and then choose to exercise? Is this his everyday routine?

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you make up an excuse that’s kind of partly true. He slept on the couch in the living room, after all. And from the sala, everything is pretty much visible to the eye as the unit has an open layout. So one single noise could’ve awakened him.

“Too late for that,” Jungkook chuckles. He looks at you longer than a second and you’re just about to get conscious when he asks, “You get ready for work at four?”

You purse your lips into a thin line. “Sort of. I also have to check my place.” Jungkook nods, understanding. “Uh, Jungkook?” He hums to acknowledge you. “Can I use your shower? Again?”

He laughs at the way you smile at him awkwardly. “Sure. Your towel’s just over the rack.”

“Thanks.” You smile at him and go straight to the bathroom.

You make quick work of washing yourself, and the shower, just like last night, isn’t your usual routine because of course, most of your stuff are still over at your place. Though Jungkook is kind enough to lend you some of his unused products – even giving you a spare toothbrush which now sits beside his own on the bathroom sink.

When you finish showering, you wear his shirt and his pants once again. As you go out of the bathroom, the sound of oil popping from the kitchen doesn’t escape your ears.

“I made breakfast.” Jungkook says as you make your way towards the kitchen island. He’s a few steps away, working around the stove, frying up some sausage. He takes some eggs and then turns to you. “How do you like your eggs?”

You’re sure he doesn’t mean anything by that, but then you both laugh at the realization anyway.

“Sunny side up.” You say after a while, seating yourself on one of the high stools. “Can I help you?”

“It’s okay, just sit there.”

You put your elbow on the island as you watch him work. “Wow, do you really treat all your guests like this?” You tease, deciding to poke a joke.

Jungkook laughs as he starts breaking eggs into the frying pan.

“You’re the first one.” He raises a brow your way, lips tilted into a playful smile.

“Awe.” You pretend to curtsy which makes Jungkook laugh.

It doesn’t take long before Jungkook serves you a plate of sausage and perfectly-made sunny side up. You say a delighted “thank you!” in which Jungkook returns an adorable smile for.

You thought he was going to eat with you, but he only ate the sausage and began to work on cutting up some bananas while you continued to eat.

“What did they say about your apartment? How long is the repair?” Jungkook asks while he takes out a mixer.

“Week-long,” He visibly winces at your answer. You purse your lips. “I’m trying to look for a place to stay for the remaining days.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Lease doesn’t cover relocation?”

“Talked to the building manager and the landlord last night and they said it doesn’t. I also read the policy again myself last night, though, just to be sure. Anyway, landlord’s cutting my rent this month for up to thirty, so that’s something.”

“Okay… how about your stuff?”

As you watch Jungkook during the whole conversation, you realize that he’s apparently making a protein shake, and when he finishes shaking the bottle, he gestures it towards you, silently asking if you want to try it.

You shake your head, also answering his question. “I already filed a claim on it with my insurance company, so they’re handling it for me. They’re probably going to seek reimbursement from my upstairs neighbor’s insurance if he has one,” You shrug. “And I’m also gonna have to ask him to pay for the deductible.”

Jungkook nods, consuming his drink. You watch as he leans back on the kitchen sink, putting his protein shake down and crossing his arms, looking right at you.

“Why don’t you stay here for a while?”

You look right back at him weird.

“You’re not serious.”

“When am I not serious?”

You hold a staring competition after that, but Jungkook’s eyes are way too intense so you break away first.

“I just can’t.” You say, interrupting the silence.

“It’s friend to a friend. I bet you’d do this for me too.” Jungkook shrugs.

He doesn’t understand, though. Staying at his place for the remaining six days would mean that you’d be both living under the same roof together, and while it’s true that you would probably do this for him if he was in your shoes, it’s just not the same.

But you don’t want to get into all that. It’s too complicated to explain, even to yourself.

So you decide to joke a little.

“Probably not.” You tease.

Jungkook chuckles. “Mean.” He comments, shaking his head at you and playfully clicking his tongue.

“I’m joking,” you smile apologetically. “It’s just for six more days, though. The manager told me it might take faster.”

“Where do plan to stay, anyway? A hotel would be really inconvenient. The nearest one around here is too far from work, not to mention it’d be expensive as well.”

“There’s loss of use coverage,” You say, even though you know the stipulation, and your apartment flooding because of your neighbor’s negligence might probably not be in the clauses.

It’s just to reason with Jungkook, but he’s quick to present another point.

“It’s gonna take a long while, no?”

You pout. Sighing, you say, “You’re right.”

“Okay, so why not stay here?” Jungkook asks curiously. “You know I don’t mind. I won’t mind.” He says and it sounds so convincing and genuine.

You decide to deflect a little because you feel like giving in any seconds now.

“You say that but wait until you find that I’m not very likeable as a roommate.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “Shoot. Hit me.”

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you try to think of your bad habits.

“I…” you trail off, but it stretches into seconds way longer than necessary.

Jungkook chuckles. “See, you can’t even list one.”

“I don’t cook.” You point out.

“I already know that.”

You frown. “So we can’t take turns cooking while I stay here.”

Jungkook only shrugs. “There’s take-out.”

“You’re gonna eat take-out for a week?”

“I can cook.” He chuckles.

“Okay… but sometimes, I get super cranky.”

He nods. “I’ll be out of your way, then. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

You sigh, out of reasons now.

“I’ll try to be helpful with you in the kitchen for the next six days. And I’ll also be nice.”

Jungkook’s brows perk up. “You’re saying you want to stay here?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But… I wan to pay you.”

“__, the whole reason why I’m offering is because a hotel is gonna cost you,” Jungkook laughs.

That prompts you to put a frown on your face.

“Fair point. But I’m going to take your couch the entire time, okay? And that’s final.”

It takes a little longer for Jungkook to agree to that. But he nods his head, anyway, saying, “Sure.”

It sounds so non-committal. You think he's going to still try insisting taking the couch.

“Okay.” You say, ignoring that thought, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

“You know you’re always welcome, right?” Jungkook says.

You’re thankful he turns around after he says that to tend to the stuff he used a while ago in the sink, giving you a perfect leeway to avoid his gaze lest he takes notice of the way you can’t help a big smile.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Finish your breakfast.” He says, pointing to your unfinished plate.

You give him a small salute.

Before he goes to the direction of the bathroom, Jungkook turns around to ask. "Do you want to go to work together?" He raises a brow, but then a second after his question, he puts a hand up, effectively stopping you from answering. "You're gonna say no. But I insist. Say yes, I made you breakfast."

You laugh at his squinted eyes.

"I was going to say yes, anyway."

"No, you weren't." Jungkook fires back.

You shoo him away playfully before he finally leave for the shower.

All you can think about is that maybe silver linings are indeed true.

Sharing a space with somebody has always felt… weird.

You had a roommate back in college for the whole four years, and while it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to you – it was just an experience that didn’t really strike you as something memorable or fun. Min Heeji was a Bio major who was an extreme introvert, and past the casual hi’s and hello’s, you both just never hit it off.

After moving out of your dorm, you rented around Itaewon. You found the unit through a listing you saw on Facebook – some woman who was finding a roommate to split the rent with. You found out later that the reason why the previous people before you left was because she was quite an interesting lady… let’s just say – she was a person who dabbled on the arts of illegal drug trading. Jimin jokingly told you he wondered about how her weed tasted like. Sometimes, you want to smack him on the head.

You pretty much decided on being against roommates for the entirety of your life after that.

But Jeon Jungkook is thankfully not a total hermit, nor does he sell weed.

It’s been long since you lived with somebody, and being under the same roof as him is different – the good kind of different, to be clear.

He’s somewhat a clean freak so it’s almost embarrassing to do anything in his place because it’s always so spot clean.

One thing that you learned though is that he’s a busy man. You had an idea about a packed schedule and non-existent free time for an executive person like him – but the idea feels more real now that you’ve witnessed it.

On the first day of your stay, after your apartment got flooded, he drove you both to work just like he offered. During the night, though, he seemed to have come home late. You slept at around 10pm and never saw him entering the door, and when you woke up the next day, he’s gone, only a note on the fridge telling you that he’s prepared some breakfast you can heat up to eat.

Nonetheless, you feel into quite an easy routine with him.

After a great deal of insistence from your side, Jungkook is rightfully assigned in his bedroom while you lay on the couch. It’s a bit bigger than the one you have on your own, so there’s space for moving around. Even when you wake up with shitty back pains in the mornings, sleeping on his couch is better than sleeping in your current wreck of an apartment as the contractor is already repairing your place.

As of the third day since the incident, they’ve already changed your ceiling, the flooring coming next. It was starting to look good as per your visit.

That made it clearer to you, though, that you’re indeed staying at Jungkook’s for another four days.

Jungkook was so busy that he even worked on a Saturday – told you that it was a hectic week for his team over a shared dinner that you thought will happen only once during your stay with his packed schedule. On Sunday, you kind of assumed that Jungkook will still be at the office, but he surprised you when he came barging in the bathroom while you were in it.

You had your leg propped on the edge of the bathtub, squeezing the bottle of lotion in your palm and spreading the cream over the skin of your shin, adjusting the towel up your thighs so you can cover your entire leg with the product.

You did so mindlessly, part of your usual after-shower routine, completely unassuming of the sound of the doorknob clicking and Jungkook suddenly barging inside the room with a hamper in his hand.

Frozen in your position, your eyes locked into his own as he stepped a foot forward on the tiled floor. You realized the hamper is his laundry.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” Jungkook apologized, and he looked genuinely bashful.

“I thought you were at work.” you said, adjusting the towel on the top of your head.

Jungkook raised a brow, but there’s a smile on his lips. “On a Sunday?”

You narrowed your eyes at him which prompted him to laugh. A beat of silence, and then you noticed Jungkook’s gaze. You felt his eyes to the direction of your raised leg on the porcelain tub – and if your own sight didn’t deceive you, you could’ve sworn he’d made a quick glance-over to the expanse of your bare leg before he snapped right back into looking at your face.

“Anyway, I was just gonna do my laundry,” Jungkook twisted himself away from the bathroom’s door. “I’ll wait for you to finish, though. I’m sorry again for barging in.”

At that, you quickly shook your head and planted both your feet on the tiles, standing upright.

“No, it’s fine. I’m done, anyway. Are you in a hurry? I just need to change into some… clothes.” You said, glancing at the heap of some pajama pants and a t-shirt on the bathroom sink.

“Not in a hurry. You can change here.” Jungkook gave you a small smile.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’ll be super quick.”

Your lips curled into an apologetic smile, but Jungkook waved you off.

He took one last look at you before he locked the door – one thing that you forgot to do in the very first place.

You blamed it on your habit of not really being mindful about it since you were used to living alone.

The day after that – one fateful Monday – Jungkook once again was MIA at his own place. You woke around 6 am, and as you got ready for work, you noticed a note on his fridge that he went to work earlier than usual that day, and he’d also be working late so you should lock up at night.

At the company, you did not even catch a single glimpse of him.

You bought some food on your way to his place later that day, thinking that maybe you could share a meal together – nevermind the fact that he had told you he was going to be home late. But you did not expect his “late” would exceed past 11 pm, and since you were also pretty much tired from your own activities for that day, you fell asleep on the couch without making it, lying on the surface with no pillows and comforter over your body.

In your dreams that night, you felt like you were floating.

Somebody has tucked their arms under your knees and neck, taking you off the previous surface you were lying on. The unfamiliar man cradles your body against his, carrying you somewhere and putting you on a much softer place. A mattress. A big, soft, mattress. And you noted that the man smelled of green apples and laundry. An almost familiar scent.

Needless to say, your dream was quite vivid that night.

When you woke up the next morning, you were welcomed with the familiar grey paint of the walls – the white ceiling, and the dark sheets and pillows that surrounded you. A waft of fresh laundry smell. The Iron Man figurine on the top shelf of the cabinet in the corner of the room. The black slippers on the side of the door that are way too big to be yours.

Jungkook.

The strange man in your dreams was Jungkook. And it wasn’t a dream at all.

It was Jeon Jungkook who carried you all the way to his bedroom from the sofa so you could sleep comfortably on it.

When you went out of his room that morning, ready to thank him and tell him he didn’t have to do what he did, feeling bad at the thought of him sleeping on his couch at his own place, Jungkook was nowhere to be found.

But as if it was becoming tradition, there was a note on his fridge that told you: I hope you don’t mind that I brought you to my room. I found you uncomfortable on the couch last night. Didn’t cook us breakfast because I have to go to work early again today, but I’ll have food delivered at around 7. Good morning, __ :)

— Jungkook.

That night, though, Jungkook miraculously came home early.

He arrived an hour after you, just in time as you finished doing the prep for the bibimbap you were planning to eat on your own, assuming Jungkook was going to be late again. When you saw him entering the door, you decided to make the portions of the ingredients bigger, thinking that it was the perfect opportunity to say thank you for the other night.

And you did not forget to say that either.

“Thank you for last night. You didn’t have to…” you trailed off, giving him a sheepish smile across the dining table as you both ate.

Jungkook, with his mouth full of rice – seemingly (thankfully) enjoying the meal you prepared for him – munched on it before he said, “You looked real tired. And uncomfortable, which reminds me, you should sleep in the bedroom as well tonight.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, Jungkook. Last night was just – uh, I was waiting for you to come home because I didn’t want to just lounge around your living room while you aren’t around, but then I guessed you arrived a little late.”

Out of all the things you’d said, it seemed Jungkook only remembered one thing.

“You were waiting for me to come home?” He said, his hand reaching for the side dish pausing mid-air, eyes trained to you. Curious, his brow piqued in what seemed like genuine intrigue.

You stopped. You went over your words, not realizing those came out of your mouth.

Obviously, you didn’t mean for that to slip out.

So, you shook your head slowly. Hesitantly, you reasoned, “It’s just you’re always in your room first before I fix the couch for bedtime. So.” You shrugged, knowing your explanation didn’t suffice.

Jungkook gave you a nod with small a smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry for making you wait, then. It’s just extra busy at the company these days.”

Your brows furrowed in curiosity, “Yeah, I heard about the collaboration with Kang Tech.”

You found out about it at work that day. It’s in the accounts payable you’ve worked on the past few days, and when you asked Joonhwi and Sol about it, they confirmed the recent moves the company is recently making.

You also realized then that the reason why the mystery woman in the elevator was familiar to you was because you’ve seen pictures of her before.

Of course you’d know her. She’s the woman Jimin’s parents are trying to set him up with. The one and only Kang Heesu. She took over as CEO just very recently at Kang Tech.

Apparently, Blue Nexus and Kang Tech are collaborating on a product that will be announced later during the month – which explains her being at the company oftentimes, Jungkook being busy, drowned with work stuff – them working closely together.

Whatever you felt on that day you saw them together – you’d like to dismiss that as just a blip in the system. Your system, to be exact.

It isn’t any of your business whoever gets around with Jungkook. Whether he’s close with Kang Heesu outside work or not (like what you’ve pondered about ever since finding out about the information of their collaboration) – that’s their thing.

“Yeah, the team’s been working overtime because of it.” Jungkook added to your words from earlier.

“So, you’re more tired than I am,” You pointed out, noting the obvious. He went to work at the ass-crack of dawn, went home late, and whenever he was home – all he faced was his laptop.

You even doubt he was getting enough sleep. There were bags under his eyes that weren’t there the past month you first met him – and even though he carried them with a certain grace, you could still see that some of the shine in his eyes was becoming absent.

You were glad you were able to prepare something for him. Did something for him. You didn’t have to – but you did. Because you wanted to be a helpful roommate.

“Does it show?” Jungkook chuckled, leaning back on the chair, a bashful expression on his face.

You shook your head. “Nope. But yeah, you don’t need to give up your bedroom tonight. I’ll be fine here.”

“I actually bought something. Wait a minute,” Jungkook suddenly said. Your brows furrowed when you watched him saunter over the living room and in towards his bedroom. When he came back to the dining area, he was carrying a huge paper bag. You looked at him, visibly confused. Jungkook cleared his throat as he sat back down on his seat. “I was thinking you could use this. It’s a foldable cushion or whatever so you can sleep more comfortably on the couch.”

You gawked at the paper bag, and then at him.

“What?”

“I went to the mall yesterday and the lady told me this is one of their best sellers… I don’t know. Do you want to have a look at it?” Jungkook said, worry seeping in his tone.

“That’s a… cushion? For the couch?”

He nodded.

“Oh.” Was the only thing you could utter. You didn’t really know what to say. “I… this is really thoughtful. You didn’t have to, you know that, right?”

Jungkook shook his head and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You told him sincerely.

“It’s nothing.” He waved you off. “I got that dry-cleaned already, by the way, so you can use it tonight if you really insist on sleeping on the couch.” Jungkook said with a teasing smile.

“That,” you point to the paper bag, “will single-handedly get me to want to live here for another three months.”

Jungkook raised his brow. “Really?”

You chuckled, leaving the conversation up on the air.

When you both finished your meal, you offered to do the dishes yourself, but Jungkook was insistent to do it, saying you’ve already done a lot for the day. You begged to differ, but you relented, anyway.

After you showered and made the couch, geeking internally at how soft the cushion he bought was, you couldn’t sleep right away, your mind finding it hard to focus on the lull of the crickets. So, at around 11 pm, you opened your laptop to pull up an X-Files episode, thinking it could condition you into being sleepy.

You promised yourself you were just going to finish one more episode, but the next episode button was too tempting and you found yourself binging the show into the wee hours of the night.

“__?” A voice coming from the far end of the room called, followed by the clicking sound of the lights turning on. With that, you found Jungkook standing on his door with his eyes half-lidded, hands rubbing his chest, seemingly having just woken up from his sleep.

“Jungkook,” you acknowledged him, straying your attention from your show. Jungkook started to trot towards the direction of the kitchen, and your eyes followed him as he stopped in front of his fridge, taking some water out and pouring it into a glass.

After he drank it, he looked at you to ask, “Can’t sleep?” You nodded your head. He made his way towards the couch, pointing at it. “Would you mind?”

“No, do you want to?” You adjusted the duvet you put all over your back to make room for him, and Jungkook placed himself beside you, peering over the screen on your laptop.

“What are you watching?” He asked, voice a little groggy.

“The X-Files. You know the show?”

“Heard about it a few times. Never gotten around to watch it, though,” Jungkook said, leaning on the back of the couch, eyes still glued to your laptop.

You smiled. “Maybe you can start it now.”

“What’s it about?”

“Uh… aliens,” you started off, feeling a little silly about it. Gauging his reaction, you waited for him to give you a judgmental look but he seemed to be intrigued when he looked at you, asking for more details. You perked up that, feeling suddenly excited. “Okay, so, the guy here – his name’s Mulder. He’s an FBI agent who’s tasked on cases that have, you know, unexplainable nature. Basically, he believes in aliens, all that ET stuff,” you explained. Right on time, Gillian Anderson appears on frame. Pointing at her, you looked at Jungkook as you introduced her to him, “And the woman – she’s so pretty – that’s Scully. She’s a skeptic. She’s an FBI agent who’s also a scientist and was assigned to be with him to debunk his work.”

“So, they investigate cases together?” Jungkook added.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, and it’s different for each episode. There’s the alien storyline which is like, the main plot of the show, but there’s the fun filler episodes. Monster of the week, they call it. I’m rewatching one of those right now ‘cause they’re fun and don’t have a backstory.”

“It sounds good,” Jungkook looked impressed, training his eyes back on the show.

You weren’t sure if he was just trying to make a conversation, but he seemed genuinely interested as you both watched the show, which tickled your excitement more. You’ve tried to get Jimin into it but he wasn’t really an avid fan of watching long shows, so you’ve given up on trying to convince him to be as obsessive of the show as you.

“Do they kiss?” Jungkook suddenly asked mid-episode, brows furrowed as he watched Mulder wiped something off the side of Scully’s lips. It’s the episode when Scully just got back from being abducted.

Amused, you looked at him and let out a chuckle. Jungkook turned to look at you, confused at the reaction.

“Hm?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s just funny. So, there’s a thing in this show, right? Scully and Mulder are not supposed to be a couple, but they act like one.”

Jungkook let out a seemingly enlightened, “Ah.” Then he looked at your screen again, “I’m watching it right now out of context and I’m assuming they’re a couple.”

“Right? They have such insane chemistry. It’s why I love this show so much.”

“Wait. They never get together? Or kiss, romantically?” Jungkook asked curiously.

“They kiss on the seventh season. We’re on the second one.”

“Wow,” He breathed, genuinely surprised. “That’s a long wait.”

“I know,” you chuckled.

You both sat beside each other as the episode finished. Jungkook would have some questions, and you happily answered each one. It was also fun to share some lore about the show – and you didn’t know if you were coming off too geeky about it – you were just unbelievably excited that he seemed to genuinely like it.

Time passed without you both noticing, and it was 2:23 am when you became hesitant on clicking the next episode button.

“Do you still want to watch another one or…” You trailed off, eyes glued to the screen, waiting to hear Jungkook’s response. But then a few seconds passed, and you didn’t receive one. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widened when you see the state Jungkook was in.

He was leaning far back on the couch with his head resting on the backrest, arms crossed over his chest, lips slightly parted with his eyes shut closed. You could see his chest rising and falling from the way he breathed in and out of sleep, looking quite peaceful regardless of his seemingly uncomfortable position.

You shut your mouth and closed your laptop quietly, trying to be careful with your movements so as to not disturb him and accidentally wake him up. Stretching your back to lean down, your breath hitched as you tried to set the laptop down on the coffee table, not daring to graze any part of Jungkook’s body, especially when his thigh was so closed to your own.

When you successfully put away the device, you went back to sitting beside him, contemplating on your next move.

You ended up staring at him, noting the way his biceps are bulging out of the sleeves of his white shirt with a thin material from their crossed position. Your eyes trailed down to the veins on his forearms, and naturally, you focused in on the one with the swirls of ink around it. It was a body of art on the first look – but looking at it at that moment – close up and free, you took time to identify the drawings on his skin.

There was that snake that trailed down close to his hand, the skeletal rock n’ roll hand, and the script that says “rather be dead than cool”. It was a shame that you couldn’t see from your current view the flower tattoo you were always curious about, nevertheless, the entirety of his inked arm was just… breathtaking, to say the least.

You wanted to ask him what they meant – or if they even meant something. You knew by now he only got them in college – when he moved to the US – and you were just curious about how he decided to get them; about the backstory, anything… Would love to trace down your fingers on his skin as he tells you the exact moment.

And then you realized what you were doing and suddenly looked away.

You felt like a creep. What were you doing, staring at him while he was unaware, unconscious in his sleep? It was not right, and you were supposed to scoot over to the edge to give him plenty of space all for himself.

But as you looked at him again, your eyes stopped at his face, and you couldn’t help but stare at it.

Again.

His nose was something you weirdly have a liking to, and there’s a scar on his cheek that once again bubbled up another layer of curiosity within you.

“Stop it.” You mumbled out loud – not loud enough for Jungkook to hear – but just enough to snap yourself out of the trance you were in.

It was stupid. So stupid. To stare at a sleeping man and have those thoughts inside your head. Jungkook would never do anything like this to you, and at that sentiment, you stood up from the couch to get away.

You caught a sight of the duvet that you used a while ago. As you looked at Jungkook, he seemed to be in dire need of one, so you made quiet steps to put it over him, stopping your breathing in case you did it too loud and he wakes up.

As you carefully laid out the blanket on top of his body, Jungkook stirred, and your breath hitched as you stopped on your tracks.

He mumbled something incoherent, his neck craning to lay on his cheek. Regardless, he stayed on his position, arms still crossed, seemingly going back to his deep sleep instantly.

You stepped out in front of him, letting out a breath of relief.

Standing there for a few seconds, you wondered about where you were going to stay. Jungkook was on the couch and unlike him – you could not carry him to his room without him noticing.

Looking at the direction of said room, you thought about staying there for the night, but decide against it. You didn’t get his permission to do so, it’d be rude—

But the couch is only one, though. And you could feel a yawn ready to come out of your own mouth, sleep lurking at the back of your head.

You could try to wake Jungkook up to tell him to go to his room so he could sleep more comfortably, but you couldn’t do it. The past few days, he had been so busy with work and seemed like he wasn’t getting enough rest. What if you woke him up and he couldn’t go back to sleep anymore? That would just make you feel bad.

Getting the pillow strewn over the edge, you walked towards the direction and fixed it against the arm rest, sitting on the spot and making yourself comfortable on it. Of course, it wasn’t – you were craning your neck too far to the side to try to lay your head, and your body was sprawled in a weird sitting and lying position.

It was fine, though. Jungkook was about two feet away from you, and you felt like you could sleep in the state.

But it was a few long minutes before it completely overtook you.

There’s a feeling of a hard plane against your back when you feel yourself waking up.

You’re in a curled position, hands tucked under your cheeks. As much as you’re starting to slowly feel conscious, you’re still not a hundred percent aware of your surroundings just yet. It’s why you ignore the blow of hot air against the crook of your neck.

When you blearily open your eyes, you’re welcomed with the sight of the back of the grey couch you’ve accustomed yourself with over the past few days. The white foldable cushion you’re lying on. The familiar scent of Jungkook’s apartment.

It’s another usual morning, as far as you’re concerned.

So, you stretch an arm up as well as your leg, groggily mumbling something as you go back to closing your eyes again to hopefully sneak in a few more minutes of sleep.

“Hmm…”

At the sudden sound, your eyes snap open, surprised at the embodied voice that came out somewhere that’s definitely not from your own mouth. It was close, though – something close to your neck; you felt it so – and at that realization, your eyes trail down to your waist, and your breath catches in your throat when you see an arm wrapped around it.

Under your head is another arm that adorns a familiar sleeve tattoo.

When you crane your neck to look behind you, you’re welcomed by Jungkook’s locks of black and messy hair, his face apparently buried in the crook of your neck.

He must’ve felt you move because he stirs in his position, mumbling something, arm tightening around you.

You feel your heart starting to beat faster than usual as you feel the tips of Jungkook’s fingers resting on the bare skin of your stomach due to your camisole riding up, and your eyes continue to widen when you saw that the shirt he’s worn last night is now lying haphazardly across the coffee table where your laptop is.

When Jungkook pushes himself against you closer, that’s when you feel something hard against the cleft of your ass.

“Oh my god!”

“What the fuck!”

“I’m so sorry!” You immediately say, retreating your hands that just pushed him off the couch once everything registered in your head.

You just… slept with each other! You woke up with Jungkook spooning you! The hard plane against your back that you felt earlier was his chest and the hot air blowing in your ear was his breath! You both fell asleep together on the couch!

Jungkook – the poor man – visibly winces as he cradles the back of his head, adjusting himself on the floor after you forcefully yeeted him off the couch.

He didn’t expect that, of course he didn’t! He still looks like he’s half asleep when you kneel on the floor in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and craning your neck to check if you’ve done damage to his head.

“What the hell was that for?” Jungkook asks, still lost about what just happened.

You grimace as you hesitantly put your palm over the back of his head and rub to soothe the pain you’ve caused him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. I was just surprised and shocked when I–”

You stopped speaking when you notice that Jungkook is looking up at you, eyes half-lidded from sleep. Stopping your ministration on the back of his head, you retreat your hands to yourself and look away.

“We slept together.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, his tone incredulous, but more like confused. When you train your eyes to him again, you see him looking down on his body and then yours.

Your cheeks heat up when you realize what you just said.

“Oh my god, no! Not slept slept with each other! I mean, we slept together. Like, literally.” You say, looking at him in panic.

Jungkook furrows his brows. And then after a beat of silence, he lets out a low, “Oh.”

“Oh?” You parrot back.

“Yeah, oh,” He says drily. Jungkook rubs his eyes with his fists and then looks at you again. “I’m sorry, I feel disoriented. I just woke up.”

You wince at that, feeling bad for pushing him again.

It was just a reflex thing, okay! Especially when you felt that certain something in your ass.

When Jungkook stands up from the floor, you notice the strings of his grey shorts getting undone, and your eyes betray you as they pay a look at the noticeable bulge on his crotch.

Jesus H. Fucking Christ.

You stand up quickly, following after him, feeling your heart hammer in your chest.

Okay, boo-fucking-hoo! Men get boners in the mornings. What’s the big deal about it?

“What time is it?” Jungkook asks, brushing his hair back, and you have to physically look away and try to busy yourself by looking for your phone so you can ignore his naked chest on display and his abs and stupid big arms.

You spot your phone nearby and turn it on.

“Six thirty.”

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses.

You’ve never heard him let out so many curses before.

“What? It’s still early.” you say, in case he was referring to work.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I was supposed to get ready at five am sharp. Need to go there early.”

“Oh.”

He groans, and the sound makes your stomach feel a little weird.

“I have to go shower,” Jungkook says, picking up his shirt from the coffee table. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Huh?” You realize what he’s talking about and is then quick to shake your head. “No, not your fault. I, uh, you fell asleep on the couch last night and I didn’t want to wake you.”

He nods, more like to himself. “How did we…?” Jungkook points between you, eyeing the couch.

“I didn’t want to use your bed without your permission, so I slept on the couch as well,” But then you decide to add, “But I didn’t sleep beside you, I was like –” you point to the edge of the couch, “there.”

“Ah,” Jungkook follows your eyes, and then nods. “Okay.”

“Yeah.” you purse your lips into a thin line. “Sorry about that. I should’ve just woken you up, huh?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “Well, is it okay if I use the shower first?”

“Of course.”

Jungkook smiles before he saunters towards the bathroom. You try not to stare at the hard lines of his retreating back, taping down to his narrow waist.

You failed to do that, obviously.

Sighing out loud when you’re sure he can’t hear you, you busy yourself in the kitchen to make some toast.

After work, you paid a quick visit to your apartment to see how it’s going, since you’re supposed to be able to come back tomorrow.

Your building manager told you that you can pretty much move back already, but there’s no water yet, so you will still have to stay at Jungkook’s place for the last time. At least for another night.

Speaking of him, when you step out on your porch, you see him in front of his own unit, back turned to you, opening his door.

“Hey,” you call. Jungkook turns on his heel, and he smiles as he sees you.

“Hey,” He greets, his hand pausing on the door. Jungkook gives you his undivided attention as he looks at you. “Your apartment’s fine now?”

You nod happily, grinning widely. “Yeah. But I have no water yet. They’re turning it on tomorrow.” You saunter towards his direction and stop beside him. Pointing to the paper bags in his hands, you ask, “What’s that?”

Jungkook lifts them up. “Soju and Midday Miso take-out.” Then, hesitantly, he looks at you curiously. “Do you drink?”

That prompts you to laugh.

“Of course. Are you drinking tonight?”

He nods his head. “Yeah. I was gonna ask you to drink with me… but if you’re not up for it, I’ll just be in my room.”

You cock your head to the side.

“What’s the occasion?”

Jungkook chuckles. “Nothing. Just thought I could loosen up.”

You nod in understanding.

You think about asking him how work’s been, but decide against it, not wanting to pry in case he doesn’t want to talk about any of it.

As you both enter his apartment, it’s almost so domesticated how you take off your shoes and put them in the rack in the threshold. Jungkook wears his black sliders while you wear your baby blue ones. Following him into the living room, it’s almost wild to see yourself being so familiar with his place already.

“Where can we watch The X-Files?” Jungkook asks suddenly after he set the bags on the table, going for the remote and turning on the TV.

You look at him in surprise, not expecting him to ask that.

You answer nonetheless, and Jungkook clicks on the show once it shows up on the screen.

“Do you really want to start with the pilot episode?” You chuckle when he hovers over it.

Jungkook grins. “I enjoyed it last night. Maybe this could be a new favorite.”

“Woah,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Do you know how much I have to convince Jimin to watch this show?”

“Jimin doesn’t like shows. I wanted him to watch Suits but he said he couldn’t stand Harvey Specter – which is fair.”

“Oh my god, that’s also what he told me when I recommended Suits!” You say. You narrow your eyes at him, excited about the information. “So… you like Suits?”

Jungkook nods. “Sort of like a guilty pleasure? I used to watch it a lot in college. My roommate studied law and started telling me about how inaccurate it was, but it’s fun regardless,” He says with a shrug. “Sue me.”

“I know, right! People always wanna be smart about procedural dramas, but I think it’s just camp they can’t comprehend,” You shake your head, feeling a certain high bubble inside you. You lean your elbows on the coffee table. “Okay, okay, thoughts on Jessica Pearson?”

Jungkook grins. “A dream.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m so glad you have the correct opinion.”

Jungkook laughs at that, and you begin to eat the take-out he bought, The X-Files playing on the big screen before you.

“You went home early today,” you comment as you take the shot glass he offers you.

A few minutes has passed already and you’re beginning to open the bottles of soju, Midday Miso take-out boxes all finished.

“Managed to finish early tonight. That’s probably why I wanted to drink,” Jungkook says, tipping his head back to drink from his own bottle. “Also, it’s your last day here.”

You nod. With a teasing smile, you jab, “Are you going to miss me?”

Jungkook looks at you briefly.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” You ask incredulously, feigning hurt.

He chuckles. “I liked your little dance in the kitchen last Sunday.”

Your lips part, recalling that time when you reheated some pizza during the night. As far as you were concerned, Jungkook was in his bedroom at that time!

“You saw that?” You say, embarrassed.

Jungkook must’ve noticed, because he chuckles and begins to sound comforting when he says, “Some part of it, yeah. Megan Thee Stallion would love to perform with you, I think.”

“Oh my god, no,” You giggle, covering your face with your hands because if he caught you during that part, it means he saw you trying to throw it back. “Yeah, I think I’m packing my things right now.”

Jungkook laughs, and his eyes crinkle as he does so, overjoyed at your tactics.

“I thought you wanted to drink with me?”

You squint your eyes. “Just because I feel sorry for pushing you off the couch this morning.”

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Yeah, that hurt. I think I have a bump on my head right now.”

You stop, eyes widening. “Seriously?”

Jungkook presses his lips together and nods. You grow concerned, ready to lean over the table to check the back of his head, but as you do so, Jungkook makes a sound of stifling his laugh and you realize he’s fucking with you.

“That’s so mean.” you say, going back to your side and pouting at him.

“Not meaner than you pushing me off the couch.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. You just surprised me, 's all!”

Jungkook laughs and nods his head. “I know, I know. I’m sorry about that. I have a habit of being able to sleep anywhere.”

You scrunch your face. “Me too.”

And then a beat of silence.

Jungkook tips his head back for another sip of his alcohol. When he looks at you again, a gentle smile is playing on his lips.

“I had a good night sleep, though. Did you?”

He looks at you with something in his eyes – something soft and gentle – his gaze making the hair on your nape stand and your cheeks burn.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The night continues to envelope your surroundings and as time passes by, the empty bottles of soju multiply.

You’ve always had a high tolerance for alcohol – and soju, in particular, is generally not too strong for you personally. With one bottle in, you don’t feel hammered just yet. There’s a daze at the back of your head that you’re starting to feel, though. One and a half is your limit, sometimes two – you’ve had that down since college.

Jungkook seems to share the same trait, it seems like. You noticed he’s on his second one, and even though his cheeks are starting to get painted red, he still speaks with you like he’s a hundred percent conscious and not like alcohol’s hit his system already.

“It’s so hot,” you say, popping open the first two buttons of your shirt. Jungkook’s coat has long been disposed on the couch, and his ties are loosened, with the long sleeves of his dress shirt pushed to his elbow, showing his tattoos.

“Should I adjust the AC?” Jungkook asks, looking at you as you gather your hair up in a ponytail.

You manage to secure it even without a tie and answer him, “No, it’s fine.”

When you feel like you can breathe again, you look at Jungkook. As you think about what to say next, you giggle lightly.

“Let’s have some fun with these,” You point to the empty bottle of soju. Jungkook quirks his brow, which prompts you to continue. “Let’s play spin the bottle. When it points at you, you have to answer some questions. If you don’t want to, then you’ll have to drink.”

Jungkook snorts. “Truth or dare? Really?”

You roll your eyes. “No, not truth or dare. Just truth because I’m sophisticated like that. Besides, are you going to entertain me if I dare you to wear a rainbow suit for work tomorrow?”

“This is your idea of fun?” Jungkook says, teasing you. Playful with a boyish grin.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s quite fun, actually. But I know about how thirty-year-olds get. If it’s past your bedtime, then…” you glance at the door to his bedroom.

Jungkook bursts out in laughter.

“You like making it sound like I’m sixty, don’t you?”

“Are you?” You pout.

Jungkook chuckles, although relenting to your game proposition.

“Alright…”

You do a little shoulder dance which makes Jungkook shake his head. As you spin the bottle, it stops and points at him. You let out a little sound of enthusiasm.

“Okay. What’s that mean?” You ask. Jungkook looks confused as he tries to see what you’re looking at. His arm. “That flower tattoo – or if it even has a meaning.”

“Oh,” Jungkook utters, realizing. He lifts up his right arm and twists it so that the flower tattoo is within both your sight. There, you see a full view of the flower drawing tattooed in orange ink. You find yourself staring at it as Jungkook starts to speak, “It’s a tiger lily. My birth flower. It means…” You can see Jungkook hesitate for a little while, and you’re just about to take back your question when he continues to say, “It means please love me.”

“Wow.” You gasp. “That’s… so pretty.”

Jungkook caresses his forearm, staring quite lovingly at the art. “I know. My tattoo artist did a really good job.”

He takes it to himself to spin the bottle again, and this time, it points at you.

“Well… do you have a tattoo?” Jungkook asks, and it’s obvious he meant to tease.

You nod your head. His playful smile drops.

“Are you serious?”

You raise your brow at him. “Sorry. Only one question gets entertained.”

He clicks his tongue playfully but then begins to spin the bottle one more time. When it points at you again, he gives you a smirk.

“Can I see your tattoo if you’re saying you have one?”

You scrunch your face, cocking your head to the side.

“Hm. I don’t think so. It’s under my boob. So.”

Jungkook stills, and you watch as his eyes trail down from your face down to your collar – although he did it quite subtly.

“Oh.”

You grin. “Yeah, “oh”,” you chuckle. When he shakes his head, you tell him, “What?” You look at him weird, regardless of the smile on your lips. He stares right back at you, and you narrow your eyes at him. “Ohh, I see. You think I’m lying.”

“No, I’m not,” he scoffs. “I just thought…”

“You just thought what?”

“I just thought you wouldn’t have one. Or if you did, it’d be a like a small thing on the leg or something. I don’t know.” He shrugs, still smiling.

You grin. “Interesting insight.”

“Nevermind that.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, spinning the bottle again.

When the rotation stills at his direction, you clap a little and put your elbows on the coffee table.

Your next question sounds stupid in your head, but you let it out anyway.

“What’s your ideal type?” You ask.

“Oh, are we doing that?” Jungkook says, sounding intrigued. “Are you going to ask me about my first kiss next?”

You snort. “This feels so high school. But answer my question.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He playfully gives you a salute. You couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, well, I like women who are smart and… funny,” Jungkook says, and when he looks at you, you move back a little. With a soft smile, he adds, “And pretty.”

You break the eye contact. Raising your brow, you nod your head. “Pretty women. Like Kang Heesu, right?”

Jungkook looks surprised when he hears the name.

“How do you know her?”

“How can I not? Jimin’s mother has been trying to set him up with her for months now.” You shrug.

Jungkook chuckles, as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Yeah. You’re right – not about the part that she’s my ideal type, though.”

You can’t help but let out a scoff.

“That’s such a cop-out answer, Jungkook.”

He looks at you incredulously, chuckling as he says, “What? It’s not a cop-out, it’s the truth.”

“You’re awfully close with her. I heard from my coworkers you’re both dating.” You raise a brow at him.

It’s true. Words are starting to get around the office that Jungkook and Heesu are more than just collaborators.

Of course, you know to ignore that. Not because you want to be in denial or anything – but because you just don’t think it is actually true.

But maybe poking fun at it will get you the confirmation. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter.

Jungkook laughs at your previous words, though, as if you just told him a big joke.

“God, no,” he shakes his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. “They’re really saying that?” You nod your head, your lips pressed into a thin line. “I ought to make everybody know we’re just working together. You know about the project the company has in collaboration with Kang Tech, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There you go,” Jungkook chuckles. “I’m not dating Kang Heesu.”

The words feel a bit different in your ears. Paired with the way he looked at you as he said it, he sounded as though he was… almost assuring you.

But of what?

You shake off the idea in your head.

“Okay. Next one.” you interrupt the silence to change the subject. You curse in your head when the bottle stops at you.

“Your turn. What’s your ideal type?” Jungkook asks as if his tongue is just itching to ask you that. You know he’s just excited to get back at you.

You think about it for a moment, though, and you find you don’t really know what to say.

It’s not a thought you ponder over a lot. The guys that you’ve been with were so… different from each other.

“I—I’m not sure,” you shake your head, genuine.

Jungkook points at the shot glass. “New rule. I’ll count to ten and if you don’t answer, you drink.”

You glare at him; he just gives you a grin.

“I really don’t know! I mean, my past relationships are so different from each other,” you say, pouting. “But— okay. I guess I like guys who are… confident,” You look at Jungkook and then let your mind float. “And I guess I also like somebody who’s…” You watch as he leans in closer to wait for your next words. Your feel blood rushing to your cheeks as you finish up with, “Attentive. I like good listeners. Yeah.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods. And then, he adds, “Is Shin Taemu from the IT department a good listener, then?”

Your brows furrow. “Shin Taemu?” He nods. That earns a laugh from you. “No, we’re friends.”

“Friends?” Jungkook asks curiously.

“Well, we – uh – did date. Didn’t work out. So. We’re only friends now.”

“Date, as in, a long relationship?” His eyes are so full of genuine curiosity that you cower away from them.

You shake your head at his question. “No, no – not long relationship, it wasn’t like that. I meant date as in – dinner date. Once.” You look at the shot glass and down it because of the sudden nerves that enter you. “We’re doing this game wrong.”

Jungkoon chuckles at the way you drink another glass. He mirrors your action, though, and ask, “How so? We’re questioning each other.”

“Yeah, but it’s too many questions!” You complain, jutting your lips into a pout.

“You said you only wanted truth, so there goes your questions,” Jungkook says. You roll your eyes, which makes him laugh. “Okay, just so I can amuse you, I’ll do a dare if it points at me, and you’ll do one if it stops at you. Deal?”

When you nod, Jungkook spins the bottle. He did it quite forcefully that the bottle takes a longer time to stop. You both watch keenly as it begins to slow down. Nervous, you pray it doesn’t stop at you, and you let out a sigh of relief when it finally points to Jungkook.

Jungkook shakes his head when you let out a contained, “Yes!”

“I dare you to…” you trail off, watching as he looks at you curiously. “Let me pluck your brows.”

“What?” Jungkook asks incredulously.

“A promise is a promise.” You remind him.

“Like all of them?”

“What? Of course no!” You chuckle, seeing the genuine panic in his eyes.

“Oh.”

“You silly,” You say, laughing at him. “Not right now, though. I actually feel like I’m about to pass out. Oh my god, I have to tend to a hung-over tomorrow.” You let your face fall into your hands and stifle a groan.

“I’ll cook us some porridge or something, don’t worry.” Jungkook says. Curiously, he asks, “Why do you want to pluck my brows?”

You stare at him, and then focus your eyes onto his brows.

Pouting, you let your shoulders deflate as you sigh. “They’re so thick.”

“What?” Jungkook lets out, laughing incredulously. “I’m so confused.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay… well, would you let me pluck your brows?”

You try to think about it.

“No,” you shake your head. You add, “Unless you’re flirting with me.”

Jungkook stops. And then raises a brow. “Unless I’m flirting with you…”

You snap your eyes to look at him. Mirroring his brow, you ask, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” Jungkook looks at you, lips tilted into a barely-there smirk that suddenly makes your cheeks burn with heat. “Do you like it?”

It takes you a while to answer, processing his words. You don’t know if he’s joking or what. Is this just his usual teasing? It feels different this time.

But why are you denying it again to yourself, though? You may be stupid sometimes, but you know his teasing gets a little… borderline flirty. You’re scared to ask him about it outright, though – afraid to be faced with the possible truth that it’s just your head playing mind-tricks for you; that Jungkook, with his teasing, is not flirty at all and you’re just flattering yourself to think about it that way.

But right now, his question feels real.

If he is flirting with you… do you like it?

You pour a drink into the shotglass and down it quickly. You feel your vision starting to get a little hazy as you put it down the table.

Jungkook realizes what you just did, and then throw his head back to laugh.

“Now, that was a cop-out.” He says, pointing to the trick that you just did.

You give him a smirk. “No rules about not answering except down a drink.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Smart girl.”

He watches as you stand up, but when you trip over the carpet, he’s quick to follow and go over to your direction to hold your wrist, his arm going around your waist to guide you to stand upright.

“You okay?” He asks. When you look up, your faces are just a hair's breadth away.

“Hm.” You hum, blinking your eyes up at him. You find it’s because your lids are starting to get heavy.

“Be careful.” Jungkook says, but he doesn’t let go of your waist, nor your wrist.

You stand there in the middle of the living room with that position, and weirdly enough, you feel like you’re both glued on it.

You can’t move – or don’t want to. You wish you want to. But you don’t, and it’s why you let Jungkook’s fingers trail softly to your waist.

“You look real sleepy,” he comments – whispers, more like, his bated breath hitting your skin.

“I am a bit dazy.” You say, finding yourself indulging in his touch.

Somehow, Jungkook never makes a move to get away even when you’re already steady on both feet. You feel that fading away so soon though, your knees starting to feel like they’re about to buckle at the way Jungkook’s eyes bore deep into your own. You feel a sort of heightened sense within your body, his hand on your back making something in you tingle.

It’s so intimate – the position. Jungkook looms over you with his much bigger frame and with his support on your back, you can just let yourself fall back.

Can you, though? Are you sure he’s going to catch you?

“You do look a little dazy,” Jungkook comments, but his eyes have traveled down to your face, and you can see them stop at your lips.

That makes them part.

You see Jungkook’s adam’s apple bobbing at the action.

“I do feel dazy,” you say, parroting back his words. Maybe they’re coming off slurred. You don’t know. You find you don’t care.

Jungkook’s lips tilt into a gentle smile. Soft like his demeanor. Soft like his arm that somehow found a way to tighten its hold around you even though you don’t need it. But it’s Jungkook though, and as much as you deny it even to yourself – you do like his touch.

“Yeah, you told me so.” His voice becomes an octave lower. His hands start to rub your clothed waist, and the ministrations of his thumb distract you a bit.

You roam your eyes around his face – noting the scar on his cheek which story you want to know so bad. When you trail you eyes down to his lips, you see the mole under it. You don’t think you were being subtle at all – it’s quite obvious that you’re just staring.

And you know Jungkook notices.

“Jungkook,” you breathed out, calling him about nothing in particular.

His only response is a small, gentle hum.

A beat of silence, and you feel Jungkook’s face leaning closer to yours.

You don’t make a move away from him, just let your legs stay where they are, letting Jungkook slowly pull you to him. You can tell his movements are slower than usual – like he’s testing the waters, searching for something in your eyes, quietly asking if it’s okay – if what he’s about to do is okay.

It makes your heart hammer against your chest – his breathing becoming more audible in your own ears. His mouth reeks of the soju you both drank earlier, but you’ve always liked the smell of it, especially when it comes with a man as breathtaking as him.

You feel the tip of his nose touching yours, your chest pressing against his own, his hand travelling from your waist to the back of your head.

When Jungkook leans down to close the gap, you swerve your face just in time to have his lips press against your hair instead.

“I’m sleepy.” You say quietly, a nervous lilt to your voice. You duck your head a little lower, laying your face on his chest and bury it with his scent.

You can feel Jungkook freeze in his position, taken aback by the sudden turn of events. You hope he doesn’t feel the way your heart goes abnormal in your chest with such proximity – but right now, all you want to do is hide. Hide your face away from him because if he sees you, he’ll know exactly what you’re thinking.

He’ll know exactly the effect he has on you.

It takes a few seconds of silence before Jungkook comes back to you.

“Hm,” He hums, and you feel his hand letting go of your wrist to wrap around your waist, squeezing for a brief moment. Jungkook’s other hand cradles your head to his chest, swiping his hand against your hair in a repeated manner, and with the way he rests his chin on the crown of your head, you feel comfort in the whole thing. “We should sleep.”

“Yeah…” you trail off, and you can just feel your lids getting heavier at the remark.

“Yeah?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take the couch. Do you want to shower first?” You shake your head against his chest. You feel it vibrating when he chuckles. “Okay.”

“My body feels like jelly.” You say, and you feel that to be actually true.

“Is that code for “carry me to your bed, Jungkook”?”

You’re thankful your face is buried in his chest as you smile widely.

“Do you want it to be?”

“I don’t mind.”

You nod. “Good. I think I’ll get alcohol poisoning tomorrow.”

You feel Jungkook lifting his chin off your head as he sounds scold-y when he says, “Don’t joke like that.”

You giggle against his chest.

“Carry me before I pass out.”

Jungkook snorts. “Ohh. Bossy.”

“It’s my last day here. I deserve some slack.” You grumble.

“Fine.”

TAGLIST: @mortal-body-timelesssoul @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lachimolalajeon @miniesjams32 @parkinglot-nights @peterstarkchrishiddleston @aznstoner @chuberry22 @tae-hibiscus @jungkooksmytype

note: pls check your account settings if you are enabling ur profile to be tagged.

#fic: nb #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

Text

Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part III

Spoilers for MW3 ahead.

1 2 3 4 5 6

Short chapter to keep the writing inspiration going, next one will be longer.<3

''Si?'' You ask softly as you see the brooding figure on the doorframe. He's standing so still you would think it's a cardboard cutout, though the way his chest moves up and down gives him away. He doesn't say anything, simply walks up to you slowly, footsteps oddly quiet for someone his size.

You do nothing but sit up in bed slowly, looking at the familiar figure crouch down next to your bed, the black balaclava still on. You barely manage to see his eyes before he looks down, though you can recognize that haunted look in his eyes easily.

''What happened?'' You ask softly, hand on the back of his masked head as he rests his head on your lap. You see him take a few deep breaths, trying to hold himself together.

''Johnny's gone.'' Is all he can manage to say, voice raspy and weak. You've seen Simon lose comrades throughout the years, but Soap was a brother to him. He was the closest thing to Tommy he ever had, and losing a brother again felt like having his heart ripped out a second time. You hold him closer, hands applying light pressure on his back and he gets the message, climbing in bed with you. It's dark— you can't even see anything other than his outline, but you can feel him.

''I'm sorry, Simon.'' He stays quiet, simply allowing you to hold him close, his masked face seeking shelter on your warm chest, your hand running up and down his back while you console him. He removes his mask, knowing he never has to cover up around you, the feeling of the warm skin of your chest on his face slowly grounding him. You rock him gently, planting a soft kiss on his short hair,

''I'm here.'' He nods weakly, arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you as close to him as possible, fitting so perfectly like a missing puzzle piece. Despite the heartbreak from when he left, your pride is put aside to care for him, holding him in the same motherly way you held your baby when she was born.

''I'm sorry.'' He doesn't have to specify; you know what he's talking about.

''It's okay.'' You both know it's far from okay, but you push it to the back of your mind, for now.

''She awake?'' You shake your head, mumbling a small ''mm-mm'' in reply. He nods, arms wrapping tighter around you. The last thing he wanted was to wake up his little girl, always making sure he was being quiet as Ghost, despite being Simon as soon as he stepped into your house.

After years of knowing Simon— yes, Simon Riley, before he became Ghost, you know better than to ask what happened or press for details. You were there when he lost his family, watching him become Ghost, and you supported him along the way. This isn't any different. The night is spent with both of you holding each other, limbs intertwined. You don't even notice when you start drifting off, head slowly leaning back to the side and eyes growing heavier, though you don't fight it, the mass on top of you heavy and warm enough to feel like a second blanket.

''Hey, big guy.'' You greet tiredly, fingers running through his short blond hair as he looks up at you. The whites of his eyes are now red, veins painfully visible, and it's just a confirmation that he didn't sleep at all, simply focusing on watching you in your sleep and being too into his own head.

''Let me take care of you. I'll be here till you're right, Simon.''

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taglist: @skulfan1 @survivalshxt @ghostslittlegf @yaebaal @thecubanator2 @juliediets @shescabob @kenz-ee @lothiriel9 @dragonstoneshortcake @lunamoonbby @alfie2401 @perfectus-in-morte @mxtokko

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mononijikayu · 15 days ago

Text

love’s entanglement — ryomen sukuna.

“I’m not afraid, my lord.” you said, barely a whisper, but enough for him to hear. His eyes softened, just a fraction, but it was enough. The smirk that often played on his lips faltered, replaced by a look that spoke of ancient, buried memories and truths. “Then you’re a fool, little one.” he said, the words almost kind, a breath of admiration shadowed by disbelief. “Maybe so, my lord.” you replied, stepping back just enough to see his full frame. “Or maybe, I just see more than you let on.”

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: safe for work (sfw), mild angst, one sided romance, complicated relationship, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, marriage, married life, physical touch, introspection, unexplicit mention of character death, pining, one sided confession, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of pining, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of cuts and injury, mention of yearning, mention of manga spoilers, mention parts of jjk chapter 222, heian! ryomen sukuna, concubine! reader;

WORDS: 8.7k words.

NOTE: i was honest with all of you when i said that i wasn't done with this story at all. there are still forty years of stuff to dabble in. so i'll write that. the title is based off an ost from the untamed called qingqian ( 情牵) which translates to love entanglement. i remember listening to this for a while and picturing in my head how complicated love looks like for concubine reader and sukuna. they love each other more than they want to admit. forty years of this, making each other suffer and making each other feel this way. how could they not want to be entangled? anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

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THIS MOMENT WAS SOMETHING RARE. You do not usually find yourself around Ryomen Sukuna's own gardens. But today was quite a day for such a thing. For a good walk, after having been cooped up inside for so long. And yet, you did not find yourself in your own garden.

You after all have your own garden, courtesy of your husband who had allowed you to have a space of your own in your own hall, a luxury he extended to you — in contrast to his many, petty and envious harem. And all of it suited to fit your wants and needs, so long as you remained in his favor.

And because of that, you were particular with everything. Everything about it was more than enough to you, to last a lifetime of joy in a little space of paradise. Anyone who had been there would say so. Your Vermillion Hall was a serene haven, meticulously designed and tended to in ways that reflected your tastes and subtle touch.

It was familiar, soothing, yet lately, a certain restlessness had stirred within you. The beauty of your garden felt too known, too safe. In search of a distraction, you drifted through the temple's quiet halls, each footstep echoing against the cold stone. The air was filled with the weight of silence, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient wooden beams.

Yet, you perhaps will not find anything that could rival it besides the untouched wonder of the Heaven’s Hall — where your husband resides. Before long, you found yourself at the threshold of your husband’s wide garden. Everything about this could be a pavilion of its own, a few Vermillion Halls, with just the greenery alone.

The space stretched out before you, vast and wild, a realm twice, no, thrice the size of your own. You cannot decide the accurate size. But everything about it was fit for a god. And yet, it was abandoned, untouched by the hands of anyone. It was presentable enough, and yet it was a bizarre sight to behold when you take it all in.

It was an unruly expanse, tangled with thickets of dark green and deep crimson, vines snaking around cracked statues and gnarled trees towering overhead. The paths, barely discernible through the dense growth, were cloaked in a mist that gave the air a damp chill. The scent of rich earth, damp leaves, and a hint of some distant, elusive blossom surrounded you.

You took a step forward, your hand trailing over leaves beaded with dew. The statues, fierce and ancient, seemed to watch with stone eyes as you moved past, their faces frozen in expressions of silent judgment.

Sukuna’s gardens were imposing, powerful, and unyielding; much like the man himself. He never spent time here, finding no need for the peacefulness that gardens offered. His presence, always commanding and forceful, left little room for such indulgences.

A rustle in the distance made you pause. You looked up, the hairs on your neck pricking. From behind a towering stand of bamboo, Sukuna emerged. His eyes, crimson and sharp, caught the faint light filtering through the leaves.

“Wandering somewhere you shouldn’t be, little one?” he drawled, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight of you in his neglected domain.

You matched his gaze, refusing to be intimidated as you bowed before him. He towers over you as he tells you to be at ease. You raise yourself from your position and look at him with your uncertain eyes. He could tell immediately how you were.

He snickers. “You did not bring Chiharu with you?”

“She is at lessons,my lord. I did not wish to disturb her by my desire to walk.”

He raises an intrigued brow. “She would be throwing a tantrum then. You know of all people should know well enough that the girl likes to play.”

You purse your lips. “I am sure she will understand.”

“I should doubt that.” He retorts back to you. You did not reply. He was right. His eyes narrow at you tenderly. “How did you end up here, hm? Trespassers are not oft enjoyed by me, little one. Had you been some other unruly wench, it would be different.”

You feel chills echo through your bones at his words for a moment. You know well enough what happens to people who find themselves wanting around the King of Curses, even in his own land untouched by his hands.

“You never come here, my lord.” you said simply, your voice steady, echoing with a curiosity that cut through the mist. “I would have thought I would be alone here.”

Sukuna’s brow lifted, an unreadable glint crossing his scarlet eyes as he stepped closer, each stride deliberate. The ground crunched under his feet, the sound muffled by the thick carpet of fallen leaves. You let out a small soundless breath as you waited for him to speak.

“And yet here you are, caught red handed, little one.” he countered, stopping just a breath away from you. “Does your garden hold no interest anymore? Your favorite space of your own and you abandon it for unruliness, little one.”

“I wanted something different, my lord….and it felt right today.”

“Things feeling right does not mean you ought to come without a word.”

“My garden holds no mysteries anymore, I merely looked for excitement.” you admitted, letting your fingers brush a tangled vine. “And I walked and walked and merely found myself here. If I had offended you thus,my lord….I apologize.”

A moment of silence passed, thick as the greenery surrounding you. Ryomen Sukuna tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if weighing the truth in your words. He releases a composed chortle, echoing intrigue at your words.

“You’re bold, little one.” he said, the smirk fading into something deeper, more contemplative. You could not read his face now. You found that your husband is even better at hiding what he’s thinking over the years. You can only wait.

“Very well, little one. I shall give you a bit more of the grounds surrounding Vermillion Hall for your pleasure. Do with it as you please.”

You looked at him, your eyes widening slightly. Yet almost immediately, you thought to find yourself in collected composure. You could not falter easily, not in front of him. You bow slightly.

“I thank you for your generosity, my lord. I am sure Chiharu will enjoy that also. I thank you on her behalf.”

He grunts at you as he nods, crossing his massive arms together. Soon enough, you could feel his scarlet gaze shifting away from you, turning to scan the wild expanse that stretched around you both.

“These gardens have no order, no reason.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here, my lord.” you replied, your voice soft but unwavering. “Order can be stifling.”

His scarlet eyes met yours, and for a heartbeat, the wildness of the garden seemed mirrored in the crimson depths of his stare. “Then it would seem that the heavens wish you to stay.”

You lower your gaze for a moment, before lifting them slightly, your cheeks flustered red. “Does my lord wish that I shall stay here also?”

“What is the need for that question, when I do not say a word to dismiss you, little one?” Sukuna said in response, his eyes bearing intense more than ever.

You held Sukuna’s gaze, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. It was rare to find him in such moments, raw and unguarded in the vastness of his own untamed world. Ryomen Sukuna was good at getting under your skin, getting you good with everything.

With all this time that had passed, you would have thought that one would give in and surrender to the tides. The tides of all that had come and gone. You knew he would never love you. Not in the way he loved Hiromi.

And yet, when he says such things, you couldn’t help but let your heart beat for him, who had caused you so much misery. You fold ever so easily when it comes to your husband. Even if that gets you nothing in the end.

You couldn’t help but be a fool, loving him in your own way. But perhaps, that is all that there will be in this life. You must accept it as it is.

As you let your eyes drift from his face, they caught on the heavy folds of his finely cut silk kimono. The gleam of the silken fabric strained at his broad shoulders, seams pulled taut over the sheer expanse of his chest. It was clear that the garment, though richly woven, was not made to fit a man of his proportions, nor was it well sewn to fit the needs of his divine flesh.

He noticed your glance, a shadow of amusement crossing his face. “Did something catch your eye, little one?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. He shifted, the movement making the fabric pull tighter, as if to emphasize the obvious.

“I was just thinking, my lord….” you began, hesitating for a moment. “ About your clothes... they don’t seem made for you.”

Sukuna chuckled, a sound low and resonant. “Even the finest they find would never be enough to clothe a god, little one.” he said, a touch of arrogance glimmering in his eyes. “None of them will be able to capture the needs of a god.”

There was no boast in his voice, only the stark acknowledgment of truth. He stood before you like a force of nature, a being who seemed larger than life in every possible way. Everything about your husband suited that being of a god. Everything about him was born to be divine. He knew that for a fact.

You didn’t know how to respond at first. The weavers, masterful in their craft, would sigh with frustration when tasked to make garments for him, their looms creaking under the weight of excess fabric. Sukuna was simply beyond what they could create; his existence outstripped the skills of even the most skilled artisans.

“You’re right, my lord.” you admitted, your voice a touch quieter. “You’re not... an easy man to define.”

He watched you for a moment, the flicker of curiosity hidden behind his usual veneer of confidence. “And yet, here you are, little one. Trying to find some meaning to it.” he repeated, softer this time, eyes searching yours as if tracing a hidden path within them. “I can see it on your face, how hard you think about it.”

You curse silently, but he almost looks like he was even more amused as he watched you try and gather yourself once more. Soon enough, the silence dissipates as the wind rustles through the garden, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and wildflowers damping the air.

“Do you resent it, my lord?” you asked, more boldness creeping into your tone than you intended. “The way nothing ever fits?”

His expression shifted, a crease forming at the corner of his mouth as he considered your question. “Fine clothing and steel, power and titles—they were never meant to fit me, little one.” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “They are tools, nothing more.”

You nodded, understanding dawning on you. There was something in his words that resonated, the idea that even the trappings of power were too small for a being who transcended them. The moment hung between you, a rare peace settling over the conversation.

“It must be lonely, then, my lord.” you whispered, barely audible above the rustling leaves.

He regarded you with a sharp intensity, and for the first time, his smirk faded into something closer to sincerity. “There is no such thing for a god.” he said, voice low, almost gentle.

The silence that followed his words was profound, charged with an intimacy that neither of you had anticipated. Sukuna's gaze lingered on you, measuring, weighing, as if considering whether to share something more or let the moment dissipate like so many others.

His kimono, stretched and strained as it was, seemed almost like a metaphor for the man himself, something vast and untamed, constrained by forces too small to truly contain him.He shifted his stance, the faint creak of fabric and the whisper of leaves underfoot drawing your attention back.

“And you, little one?” he asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Do you find yourself longing for things that don’t fit?”

The question startled you, and you blinked, a shiver running down your spine as you pondered your response.

“I think we all do, in some way, my lord.” you said, choosing your words carefully. “We seek things that push at the boundaries of who we are. Otherwise, we’re just living within walls that keep getting smaller.”

A flicker of recognition passed through Sukuna’s expression. He looked away, his bright scarlet gaze drifting over the gardens, now cast in the golden hues of the fading sunlight. The air felt thicker, as if nature itself was listening to your exchange.

“It’s easy for mortals to speak of boundaries, for you most especially, little one.” he said, voice almost a murmur. “But when you’re something... more, there are no walls to you. Only the question of what to do with the endless expanse.”

The way he spoke, not with pride but with a rare trace of weariness, made your chest tighten. You stepped closer, the distance between you narrowing until you could see the fine, jagged lines of old battle scars peeking out from beneath the strained fabric of his kimono. You reached out, hesitating for just a moment before letting your fingers graze the edge of one of those scars.

“And yet, you choose to build walls, do you not?” you said softly, your eyes lifting to meet his. “You push others away, keep yourself untouchable, my lord.”

He tensed under your touch, though he didn’t pull back. Instead, his eyes met yours in, the intensity of his stare pinning you in place. “Because if I let them in, they’ll see what even I cannot grasp. Power that bends to no will but its own. It’s easier to let the world see only what they fear, little one. Remember that.”

A breeze swept through the garden, carrying the whisper of leaves and the scent of wild jasmine. You watched him, understanding the vulnerability that hid in plain sight, wrapped in the guise of strength and distance.

“I’m not afraid, my lord.” you said, barely a whisper, but enough for him to hear.

His eyes softened, just a fraction, but it was enough. The smirk that often played on his lips faltered, replaced by a look that spoke of ancient, buried memories and truths.

“Then you’re a fool, little one.” he said, the words almost kind, a breath of admiration shadowed by disbelief.

“Maybe so, my lord.” you replied, stepping back just enough to see his full frame. “Or maybe, I just see more than you let on.”

The garden held its breath as he took a step forward, closing the space between you. He towered over you, and yet, in that moment, there was an understanding—a balance between a force of nature and the one who dared to reach out and touch it.

“We’ll see, little one.” he finally said, the smallest tilt of a smile returning to his lips.

And for the first time, it wasn’t the smirk of a conqueror, but something softer, deeper, as if you’d both glimpsed a truth neither had expected to share.

══════════════════

YOU COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT WHEN YOU RETURNED. You cannot help it. You were only human. But it had been bad enough that it had distracted you for much of the day. And that rarely happens to you, as anyone else could attest.

Chiharu has been pestering about what has been so heavy on your mind, but you keep brushing her off. It was not her burden to carry. She was a child, after all. You would not let her find her way into the thought that consumed adults.

As you drank your medicinal tea, you couldn’t help but let yourself settle into the silence of the waning moon. That conversation had consumed you. Every little word between the two had endlessly lingered with you, its weight settling in your chest long after you had left the garden.

Your lord husband has always had a way with words. A Ryomen would — they were famed for intelligence and candor, for their wondrous words that echoed like the bountiful prose of a poet's mind. Everything about him is a gem more valuable than anything in the world.

And yet, this may perhaps be the first time your husband had spoken in that way. He did not play with his words. He did not mince them either. Everything about it had encroached on you whole, like the darkness swallowing the day.

Ryomen Sukuna’s words and the rare vulnerability he’d shown played over and over in your mind, weaving themselves into your thoughts like the threads of a delicate tapestry.

You found yourself thinking of him more often—not just as a powerful, untouchable figure but as someone who, despite his godlike presence, harbored something deeper beneath the surface. He was human once, after all. Wouldn’t such humanity at least remain, even unconsciously?

For days, you wondered what you could do. You thought about how to reach him in a way that spoke more than words ever could. Sewing came to mind, but you quickly realized your skills were rudimentary at best. Your brothers had said as much as children.

Your mother, however, was different. She had sewn clothes for your family for as long as you could remember, her hands weaving fabric with a mastery that turned every stitch into art.

The memory of her gentle hands, threading needle and cloth with unwavering care, bloomed in your mind like a warm, cherished light. Each stitch she made carried love, devotion, and the quiet strength that held a family together.

But a visit to her was out of the question. Ryomen Sukuna would never allow it; you knew that as surely as you knew the sun would rise. He does not find the need for you to debase yourself to such a life again, knowing you are a god’s wife.

And yet, you cannot help but think of her as you wondered what you could do for your husband. Everything about her echoed the warmth that one echoes with love. With devotion.

The thought of her touch, those fingers skilled in transforming cloth into something that fitted perfectly and comfortably, was a bittersweet ache. Yet, as much as you longed for her guidance, you knew this was something you had to attempt alone.

The desire to give Sukuna something beyond what words could express gnawed at you. He may not have loved you, not in the way stories spoke of love, but he cared for you in his own way.

He granted you freedom where he could, offered protection, and even moments of rare conversation like that day in the garden. You were alive because of his mercy, his whims. And you wanted to give him something in return. To show that you saw him, understood him, and cared.

With your resolve hardening, you purse the fullness of your lips in a flat line and find yourself calling over one of the temple servants. The young woman had soon approached swiftly, eyes downcast in the customary deference, but you caught a flicker of surprise when you made your request.

“What does my lady wish for this lowly servant to do?”

“If you may, could you bring me rolls of the finest fabrics, golden and silver threads, fine silver needles, whatever sewing materials you can find.” you said. The servant hesitated, her brows knitting as she processed the unusual command.

You offered a small smile, tilting your head. “Do not worry yourself too much. It is only that….I wish to indulge in some nostalgia.”

“I shall come and do as you ask, my lady.” she replied, bowing with great deference and desire to fulfill your request.

As you sat there in the gardens waiting, your mind continued to wander back to your mother’s hands, the way she hummed softly under her breath as she worked, the warmth that filled the room as she crafted each garment with care.

You breathed deeply, summoning that memory as strength. You would sew, even if clumsily, and you would give Ryomen Sukuna something he hadn’t asked for; a piece of your own devotion, stitched into every imperfect seam. You were after all, his most ardent follower, in all things.

The servant left quickly, her footsteps fading into the labyrinthine corridors of the temple, leaving you in a moment of quiet contemplation. You ran your fingers over the surface of a wooden table nearby, its polished edges worn from years of service, and thought about the task ahead.

You weren’t just sewing a garment; you were threading your thoughts, hopes, and unspoken words into every stitch. It would be a gift unlike any other—a piece of yourself, laid bare in the seams and folds of cloth.

Memories of your mother came flooding back like the sea against the cliff, more vivid and detailed than they had been in years. You could almost hear the gentle hum of her voice as she worked, an old song that spoke of love and patience.

You remembered how the light from the hearth would catch on the strands of her hair as she bent over her needlework, her expression calm and content. She worked slowly, meticulously, and with a grace that came only from years of practice and an abundance of love.

In those moments, her hands were not just sewing but crafting memories. You recalled the way she would glance up with a warm smile whenever you passed by, sometimes drawing you close to teach you the basics. Your child’s fingers were clumsy, the needle awkward in your grasp, but her voice had always been kind and encouraging.

“Each stitch holds a bit of who we are, my daughter.” she’d say, guiding your hand. “So make sure it’s done with care.”

The thought of attempting to recreate even a shadow of that magic felt daunting, but the desire to give Ryomen Sukuna something meaningful pushed you forward. Despite his aloofness, he had become a fixture in your life. No, he has become your life. He is your life. You lived and breathed to do your duty to him and him alone, even if that burns you in suffering his lovelessness.

His presence, fierce and unwavering, was a constant in a world that often felt unpredictable. He didn’t need your gift, and he may not even value it in the way you intended, but that didn’t matter. This was for you as much as it was for him. This was the only way to express what words could not. Words will never be enough.

Time passed, and soon the servant returned, arms laden with fabric of various colors and textures. She placed them on the table, eyes glancing at you with a question that remained unspoken. You nodded, dismissing her with a quiet “thank you” before turning your attention to the bounty before you.

The fabrics ranged from deep, somber blues to vibrant reds that reminded you of Sukuna’s eyes. You ran your fingers over them, testing their textures. They were all interesting. Some coarse and sturdy, others smooth as the flowing water. Everything about it had found you pushing through with curiosity. You wanted to see what could happen if you choose to weave it together.

You chose a deep, rich indigo for the base, a color that spoke of strength but carried an undertone of calm, and a crimson thread to stitch with, a reminder of the fierceness you wished to honor. Another was plain and pure as the driven snow, bright as the moonlight striking down on the earth, put together piece by piece with the finest of silver threads.

Settling into a chair, you took a deep breath, the weight of your resolve pressing against your chest. Your fingers trembled slightly as you threaded the needle, but you forced yourself to stay steady. The first stitch was hesitant, awkward, but soon you fell into a rhythm, each pull of the thread a quiet assertion of your purpose.

As you worked, the hours melted away, the room filling with the soft sounds of fabric shifting, the tiny click of the needle meeting cloth, and your own heartbeat thudding steadily in your ears. The memories of your mother’s gentle lessons guided you, each one a quiet assurance that even imperfect stitches could tell a story.

And so, you sewed. You stitched late into the evening, the flicker of candlelight your only companion as it cast golden shadows across the room. Every knot, every seam held a silent promise, an unspoken acknowledgment of what you felt and what you hoped to convey. It was more than an attempt to dress the god you worship.

It was an offering of yourself, an expression of your unfailing care, vulnerability, and the hope that even the wildest of beings could be touched by something as humble as thread and fabric.It was a human being’s prayer wishing to be answered at the altar of the god.

When at last you paused to look at your work, you felt a swell of emotion. It was far from perfect; the stitches were uneven, the fabric puckered in places, but it was real. It was honest. It was yours. And soon, it would be his for all of time. Just like you were.

══════════════════

IT WAS ASTOUNDING, HOW TIME PASSED. And yet how they were not peaceful. Ryomen Sukuna had not seen you for a week, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit. It wasn't as though he sought your constant presence or craved your company in the way mortals would seek comfort.

No, his world was built on power, dominance, and the unyielding expectation that everything, and everyone served its purpose. They must submit to it. That is the fate of humankind in the face of a god.

You must, with all your might, carry out your duties by his side, as he demands. He did not care for how you spent your time in idle leisure, nor did he consider it his concern. But this week has been different.

You were absent from the audience halls, your soft steps nowhere to be heard drifting through the temple's stone corridors. You did not loiter about as you usually do when the sun comes around at dawn and or explore the temple gardens as you often did when the sun would set.

When he summoned Uraume to fetch you so you could stand by his side during the reception of the small folk and their insipid praises, Uraume returned with the same report: you had politely declined, citing that there was a rather important matter that required your attention.

And that too was confirmed by his daughter, who refused to tell him a word about it, even when Sukuna had threatened to be harsher upon her in training. Chiharu did not care about having to deal with more punishing punches and miles of running than betraying your privacy.

The first time, Sukuna waved it off, convinced that whatever occupied you was fleeting and of little consequence. The second time, he raised a brow but said nothing, allowing it to be an anomaly.

But the third time, it grated at him, a feeling gnawing at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t reach. Was something wrong? Were you ill? The notion was absurd, but the idea still sat heavily on his chest.

The fact that Uraume provided no further explanation infuriated him. His trusted attendant simply returned with your refusals, a slight bow and an inscrutable expression that offered nothing more. Sukuna's irritation burned hotter with each day you did not appear at supper, each moment you weren’t where he expected you to be.

He found it unnerving, a ripple of discomfort that was foreign to him. The mighty King of Curses did not worry, did not concern himself with the comings and goings of another. And yet, here he was, muscles taut and jaw clenched, pacing in his chambers as the unsettling sensation festered.

“This is absurd, foolish most of all.” he muttered to himself, voice sharp as the flicker of his irritation mirrored in the crimson gleam of his eyes. It was out of character for him to feel this way, and he knew it.

A wave of frustration surged through him, not at you, but at the unbidden thoughts themselves. He could not help it, not when you were failing to fulfill your duties, not when you were not servicing him as you should. You, who were supposed to be by his side, a symbol of his reach, his power.

Ryomen Sukuna slammed a hand down onto the lacquered surface of the table before him, the sudden crack of wood splintering under his force echoing through the room. The servants outside stilled, their breaths caught in their throats as silence returned, heavier than before.

“Uraume.” he called out, voice ringing like a blade through the hall.

Moments later, Uraume entered, head bowed and expression carefully neutral. “My lord.”

“Find out what your lady is doing, this instant.” Sukuna commanded, each word sharp and deliberate. “And bring your lady to me, whether it be willingly or not.”

Uraume hesitated for a fraction of a second, a subtle shift of their eyes betraying curiosity or perhaps concern, but they only nodded and backed out of the room, the door closing with a soft thud behind them. They would not fail their lord Sukuna.

Uraume stood at the threshold, gaze steady as they absorbed Sukuna's command. “As you wish, my lord.” they said, bowing low before slipping out of the chamber.

The sound of their retreating footsteps was soon swallowed by the silence, leaving Sukuna alone with the simmering tempest of his thoughts. That he hated more than anything. He hated having such thoughts by himself. But it cannot be helped. It would take a while.

As Uraume went off to the other side of the temple and headed to Vermillion Hall in order to do their duty — that will take a while. He has to wait. Sukuna pressed his lips together as he sat there, tapping one of his hands on the stool’s armrest with great impatience. Everything about this is causing him more irritation by the minute. If he could, he would have a headache.

He clenched his jaw, staring down at the splintered wood beneath his palm. The sharp edges bit into his skin, grounding him in the moment, but they did nothing to ease the unfamiliar twist of irritation in his chest. It wasn't like him to be unsettled, to find his mind preoccupied with the absence of another. And yet, the past week had been a slow, relentless descent into that very discomfort.

“This is a farce.” he muttered, turning away from the table with a sweep of his robes. His dark scarlet eyes narrowed as he paced, the flickering torchlight casting his sharp features into a series of jagged shadows echoing through the halls.

You, the one who had come to exist in the periphery of his life yet had managed to weave yourself subtly into his days, were defying expectations. One who he thought he would break and mold into his own — were still your own self, your own being and he cannot control what you do or what you want.

You were you and he does not know what to do. The thought stirred something darker, something that demanded control and conformity. Something in him wanted to enrapture you whole over and over again. There was that desire. And he does not know what it all means, what he should do. And for the first time in his life, Ryomen Sukuna does not wish to know.

A little while later, as twilight painted the sky in dusky hues of orange and purple, there was a soft knock on the door. The waiting is over. He gathered himself for a moment as he looked towards the door. His gaze narrows.

“Enter.” Sukuna called, voice measured but laced with an edge that warned of his impatience.

The door opened, and Uraume stepped inside, their expression unreadable but posture tense. “My lord.” they began, pausing briefly as if to gauge his mood. “My lady, your concubine has been in the private chambers. I spoke with my lady, but my lady insisted that there was no reason to leave. My lady could not leave the progress on the work.”

“Work?” Sukuna echoed, a scoff forming at the corner of his lips. The idea of you consumed by something so important that you would refuse him was laughable. “And what work, pray tell, keeps my little one from me?”

Uraume shifted, eyes flicking to the floor before daring to meet Sukuna’s gaze. “My lady had tried to find the right words to say, but it is obvious that my lady is sewing, my lord. My lady has asked for time alone to finish the task.”

A heartbeat of silence passed, and then Sukuna barked out a laugh, harsh and devoid of humor. “Sewing?” He repeated, incredulity turning to anger that settled hot and heavy in his chest. “And my lady denies me for this trivial pursuit? For so long? Over needle and thread?”

Uraume’s shoulders stiffened at the rising tension in the room. “My lady spoke of... nostalgia, my lord. I believe it holds some personal significance to my lady’s past.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. His pride bristled at the audacity of it. You had chosen something so mundane, so mortal, over fulfilling your role by his side. And yet, beneath the simmering irritation was a glimmer of curiosity. Sewing, of all things. It was an image so incongruent with your usual self that it gave him pause.

He paced, his heavy footsteps echoing like drum beats against the cold stone floor. “Uraume.” he said finally, his voice low but lethal. “Bring my lady here. I will see this work that my lady values so highly. Immediately.”

Uraume inclined their head, an acknowledgment that they understood the urgency masked as command. “At once, my lord.”

══════════════════

YOU HAD RUSHED TO GET READY. Uraume had come once more and you knew that you must depart soon enough. You knew your husband too well. He would end up throwing a tantrum the longer you made him wait.

He was just like that. You had kept your company and attention away from him far too long, more than what was necessary. But it had to be done, if you were to finish all of this.

You lamented not being able to finish the fourth one, but it would have to wait. You could return to finish it, once you show your husband the other three you had made. You looked towards Uraume and handed them two of the fine wooden boxes. They looked at you with a curious gaze, but the moment Uraume stared at your hand — perhaps there was some understanding on their part.

The heavy silence stretched between you and Sukuna, thick with unspoken tension. Every breath felt labored as you stood there, frozen in the doorway, your hands clasped tightly before you in a gesture that betrayed the anxiety tightening your chest.

Your eyes were cast downward, not out of fear, but because you couldn’t bear to meet his gaze just yet. His presence, like an oppressive storm, filled the room, suffocating any semblance of comfort. The weight of his stare, heavy and searing, felt as though it was burning through you, stripping you of any pretense or barrier.

Sukuna did not speak at first, but you could feel the intensity of his scrutiny in every second that passed. His crimson eyes locked onto you, an unrelenting force that seemed to penetrate deep into your very soul.

The room seemed to pulse with an energy that was entirely his own, and yet, there was something different about it now. Something subtle, almost imperceptible, but still undeniably present.

You shifted your weight nervously, unsure of what to say or do. Every instinct told you to bow, to humble yourself before him as you always had, but this moment felt different. The kimono, the one you had made for him, still lingered in his mind, you could tell.

The way his eyes flickered briefly to the space beside him where the garment was now laid out, the faint reverence in his touch when he had examined it earlier—it was as if he had been remembering something far more important than mere clothing.

You lowered yourself in a humbling bow in front of him.

Not once did his gaze leave your presence in that moment.

For a good while, you could feel the chills all over your body.

“Approach.” he ordered, each syllable cutting through the silence like a blade.

You stood from your bow and slowly stepped forward, heart thudding in your chest, carrying one of the boxes containing your work felt even heavier. You could feel how harshly you clutched it in your trembling fingers.

His eyes flickered down to it. You lay the boxes before him. Uraume laid the others before him. For the briefest moment, his expression shifted. There was less anger and more... intrigue.

“Explain yourself.” he demanded, though there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity woven through the command.

You swallowed, summoning courage from somewhere deep within. “I wished to make something for you, my lord.” you said, voice quiet but steady. “Something that would... fit you.”

Sukuna’s gaze hardened, but a question glimmered in his eyes, curiosity battling with the remnants of anger. “Fit me?” His voice was softer now, dangerous but tempered. “And you thought denying my summons was worth this pursuit?”

You nodded, holding up the fabric. “I wanted to show you that you could be seen, that I care enough to try. That I am devoted to you, my lord.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, his eyes locked onto yours, searching, weighing.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you stood, waiting for judgment, for the fury that could come like a storm. But instead, Sukuna’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it.

“Show me. Now.” he said, voice a low rumble. “This work that kept you from me.”

Uraume moved forward without hesitation, the ornate coverings making a soft, rustling sound as they were carefully untied and removed. The fabric shimmered under the dim light, revealing the fruits of your labor—a trio of kimonos, each meticulously crafted, each unique in its own right.

The first was white, paired with a matching hakama and a black haori that seemed to drink in the shadows. The second was a deep, royal indigo with crimson accents, bold and regal. The third was a rich, earthy gray embroidered with intricate silver patterns that caught the light like scattered stardust.

Sukuna's gaze shifted from one garment to the next, expression unreadable as his crimson eyes took in the details on all of it. He could see the fine stitching, breathing life little by little in each piece seemed to carry a subtle elegance that spoke of both strength and devotion. You cleared your throat, feeling the weight of his scrutiny press against your chest.

“A–as I said, my lord, I made them myself.” you began, voice wavering but earnest. “I’m sorry if they are not as perfect as you would prefer. I know they may not be fit for a king or for a god, my lord. But I had carefully crafted all of it while thinking of you.”

His eyes flicked to you at that, sharp and assessing. He said nothing, and the silence stretched long enough that you felt compelled to continue, though your pulse thundered in your ears.

“I just wanted to make something that would suit you. Something that would… reflect who you are, my lord.” You hesitated before adding, “And to show that you are more than just—”

“Silence, little one.” Sukuna interrupted, though there was no malice in his voice. He took a step closer, gaze settling on your hands.

The cuts and bandages were visible, stark against your skin, telling their own story of sleepless nights and determination. The marks of effort were not lost on him. The thought that you, a mortal bound by your own fragility, had poured so much of yourself into this—into him—sent a flicker of something unidentifiable through him.

He reached out, fingers brushing against the edge of the white kimono with the black haori. The stitching was impeccable, bold yet refined, as if each thread carried a piece of your heart. It was the simplest of the three, but there was an understated power to it. A garment that spoke of purity juxtaposed with shadows, stark and unwavering, much like the man it was intended for.

“This is no easy task to do by yourself.” he said finally, voice deep and resonant. “You undertook this task like you are a wife of a god. You dare to humble yourself before me, yet your work is that of one who knows worth.”

You could feel your eyes water slightly. “My lord—”

He lifted his gaze to meet yours, eyes dark and unreadable. “You have done well.”

Your breath caught at the unexpected praise, and you bowed your head to hide the sudden, overwhelming emotion welling in your eyes. “Thank you, my lord.”

Sukuna stepped back, casting one last glance at your injured hands. “Uraume,” he said, a command rather than a question. “Go to the healers. Ask them to bring ointments for my lady’s hands. They will be treated.”

A flash of surprise passed over Uraume’s features before they nodded briskly and left to carry out the order. You blinked, stunned by the uncharacteristic gesture. Sukuna turned away, but before the silence could return fully, he spoke again, voice low, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“Next time, you will not wait so long to show me what is mine.”

The room stilled, the weight of his words sinking in. You nodded, heart thudding with a strange mix of relief and something deeper, something you did not dare to name.

Sukuna's gaze lingered on the white kimono, his expression unreadable, but there was a quiet intensity in the way he took in each stitch, each line, and the subtle folds of fabric that fell with perfect symmetry.

The black haori had an elegant simplicity that balanced the pure white of the kimono beneath, embodying a duality that resonated with him—power restrained, shadow and light interwoven.

He reached out, almost absently, fingers brushing over the texture of the fabric. The quiet reverence in that small action caught even Uraume's attention, their eyes flicking between the two of you. Sukuna's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you could sense the battle raging behind his eyes, an internal war between pride and acknowledgment.

“You, little one….” he said, turning to face you fully. His voice was deep, almost resonant, as though echoing in the very bones of the room. “You claim to apologize for imperfections, but these garments carry none that I can see.”

The words caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was nod, your heart pounding a steady rhythm that resonated with the silent awe you felt. The faint sting in your bandaged fingers seemed to dull as he continued to regard you with that intense, unreadable gaze.

“Your dedication does not go unnoticed, little one.” Sukuna continued, stepping closer until the space between you was marked only by the breath you dared to draw. He reached out, lifting one of your hands with surprising gentleness, eyes narrowing as he took in the cuts and raw patches on your skin. “You have marked yourself in service to me. Remember that, and remember the value of your labor. As I will.”

He let your hand fall gently, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. The tension in the room shifted, not softening but changing, as if the unspoken had taken form and settled around you both.

“From now on, little one.” Sukuna declared, turning his back to you but with a final glance over his shoulder, “I shall command you to be the only one to make my clothing for me. I shan’t wear anything else. So do well, hm?”

A shiver passed through you at the rare acknowledgment, at the words that felt like both a demand and an offering. The title little one rolled from his tongue like an unfamiliar caress, a sign of possession and regard wrapped in one. You lowered your head, a flicker of pride warming the cold pit of exhaustion in your chest.

“Yes, my lord.” you whispered, voice trembling not with fear but with the weight of something new—something you hadn't yet fully understood but knew had shifted the ground beneath your feet.

“Come here, sit by me. Uraume will take a while.” He whispers back to you. His scarlet eyes are softly gazing at you. “Tell me about your work, little one.”

You couldn’t help but smile. A true smile that reaches your eyes. “If my lord wishes.”

Ryomen Sukuna let himself enjoy your smile for a moment.

He came to a good and true conclusion there and then.

You wear joy in the most beautiful way in the way no one else knows.

And he admits, he wishes to see it for the rest of your days.

══════════════════

epilogue

Ryomen Sukuna stood in the dimly lit chamber, his eyes narrowing as Uraume carefully moved boxes aside, clearing the clutter from the room. The sight of the discarded objects from a thousand years ago, long forgotten relics; they all seemed trivial at first.

But then, something caught his eye, something that made his breath catch in his throat. A simple box, set apart from the rest, seemed too out of place for the cluttered heap of old trinkets and broken pieces. His loyal Uraume, not noticing his change in expression, continued to sort through the boxes.

"Uraume." Sukuna's voice rang out, low and deliberate, making Uraume freeze in place.

"Yes, my lord?" Uraume turned, posture stiff as they anticipated another order.

"Stop." The command was final, and Uraume hesitated for a moment before pausing, then obediently approached the box Sukuna had taken notice of. "Bring it to me."

Uraume did as instructed, carefully lifting the box and walking over to Sukuna, who stood with his arms folded, eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and something far more dangerous. Once the box was placed before him, Sukuna opened it with a measured slowness, as though savoring the moment, although he didn’t know yet what he would find.

And then, there it was.

The sight of the white kimono, the hakama, the black haori—all painstakingly crafted in a way that could only be yours. The way the fabric shimmered slightly in the dim light was enough to bring him back to a time long past, a time when you were still present in this world.

The stitching so delicate and precise spoke of hours spent in quiet concentration, your hand steady as you worked. He recognized it immediately. His heart thudded in his chest, a sharp beat that reverberated in his bones.

The kimono was too big for him. Clearly, it had been designed for his old body. And yet, it felt familiar, almost like a second skin he had never worn but was made to fit him nonetheless. The memory of your presence. Everything of you was shining through, even after all this time. He could see it clearly; your hands, your laughter, your quiet hums as you sewed—came rushing back with such intensity that it almost overwhelmed him.

Sukuna's fingers twitched, and for a moment, he stood still, staring at the kimono as if it were some precious, fragile relic he feared would shatter under his touch. He reached out slowly, as though he could still feel the warmth of your hands in the fabric, the echoes of your care woven into every inch.

His touch was tentative, almost reverent, as if the kimono might disintegrate under his hand. For a fleeting moment, it was as though he could hear your voice, soft and melodic, humming the same tune you always had as you worked. A soft ache settled deep in his chest, a yearning he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for centuries.

He stood, unmoving, eyes fixed on the fabric. His thoughts blurred together, memories of you flooding his mind—of your past selves, of your touch, your presence in his life. Of a long life lived together.

And yet... you were gone.

All of that had come and gone.

Still, he can’t help but long for it.

Sukuna had long since accepted the passage of time, the impermanence of mortal lives, even the ones that had been his to command. But this, this feeling of loss; it was different. His thoughts were dark, bitter, yet they carried something deeper—a sharp longing for a time he could never reclaim.

"Uraume." he finally said, voice thick with something he couldn’t name. "Prepare this for me. I will wear it."

Uraume paused, sensing the change in him, the shift in the air that could only mean one thing. “At once, my lord.”

The room grew quiet once more as Uraume gathered the kimono, intent on following his command. But for a moment, Sukuna remained, staring at the fabric, his mind filled with fleeting images of you: your smiling face, your delicate hands working the needle with such care, the soft hum of a song that had once filled the empty spaces of his temple.

And then, in the stillness, it was as if he could see you again. Not clearly, but a shadow. A fleeting glimpse of your figure in the corner of the room, hunched over the cloth, the same rhythm of your sewing filling the air. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

But no, you were not there. He knew that. He could not allow himself to forget that. You had passed, long ago, lost to time, to the endless cycle of reincarnation.

For a moment, Sukuna let himself be still, standing in the quiet of the chamber. He reached out, his fingers brushing over the fabric once more, this time with more certainty, as if touching it again could bring you back, even for just an instant.

And in that moment, Ryomen Sukuna—the King of Curses, the immortal, the one who had never known regret, felt something in him break. It was a small thing, barely perceptible, but for the first time in a thousand years, Sukuna admitted something to himself, something he had buried deep within him and refused to acknowledge.

He missed you.

The realization hit him with the weight of a thousand years' worth of emotion that had never found its release. It wasn’t just the kimono. It wasn’t just the memories. It was the person you had been—the warmth you had given him, the way you had sewn not just fabric, but pieces of your soul into his life, despite all the darkness that surrounded him.

Sukuna closed his eyes for a moment, his breath deep and slow, before he looked down at the kimono once more. There was a strange sense of finality in the moment, as if the act of touching it somehow completed a circle long left unclosed.

“Uraume.” he said, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. “When you are done, make sure I can wear it tonight. No delays.”

Uraume glanced back at him, silent in their acknowledgement, and bowed. “Understood, my lord.”

And as they left, Sukuna lingered a moment longer in the quiet. The silence stretched, but for once, it wasn’t oppressive. He found himself lost in the memories of a time when the world had felt less cold, when you had been at his side.

And perhaps, he will never feel that again. Perhaps it was never meant to be. He had squandered his chance and now he suffers. He suffers life without you. And perhaps, that is his punishment.

Ryomen Sukuna, this old immortal, this untouchable legend, this unshakable curse could not help but accept his fate.

He accepted this punishment even if it was hard to do so, because there was nothing left of you without it.

For the first time in a long time that the King of Curses longs and yearns for his dearest concubine.

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hellishjoel · 2 months ago

Text

ungodly and unprofessional

5.6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: who said anything about falling in love? you're just co-workers. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.) and wears a waitress uniform, explicit smut, consensual somnophilia, swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers), lastly not beta'd (lmk if you're interested!) A/N: five or six months later, who really knows. believe it or not, I was never not working on this or thinking about it for all of those months... which is crazy. I completely wing these chapters which is probably why it takes so long but you guys don't mind, right? enjoy these cuties falling deeper <3 I almost forgot - shoutout to BistroHuddy on TikTok because one of their segments inspired something in here (but no spoilers!)

“To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy-Ray Belcourt.

You have this silly poetry book someone gave you as a birthday present or holiday gift exchange a few years ago. You’ve never picked it up until now. You’re shocked to say all of these cheesy love quotes and poems make you think of one very specific person: a guy with dark curls, a scruffy beard, amber eyes, and the perfect smile. Francisco.

Falling for a man like Frankie feels like growing up— a sign of maturing compared to the ghosts of terrible boyfriend's past.

Come to find out, it’s easier to go for the wrong guys, easier on your heart in a way — you don’t feel like you are actually losing anything.

That’s why you would bet on losing dogs. Invest your emotions and need for romance in those who don’t reciprocate. The ones who despise commitment or lack emotional availability leave you in a state of disappointment.

Better that than full-blown heartache. Better than ripping yourself open at the seams for another, only to be the one to sew yourself back up again. But not better than winning.

The letter Frankie’s father sent him weeks ago had been burned into your brain. Every single word, each break of a new paragraph, lines of apologies, and convincing stories of ‘the good times’ they used to have.

Frankie appeared to be just as wary about the letter as you were, neither of you so easily trusting. Frankie didn’t trust his father, but you did trust Frankie—end of story.

You’ve never known Frankie to be so tightly closed about something that bothers him. He was the type of man who wears his heart on his sleeve, an open book.

Aside from allowing you to read the letter, you two have barely spoken about it. And not due to your lack of trying.

There wasn’t a need for you to bring clarity to the situation, it wasn’t up to you to encourage Frankie to allow his father back into his life. But there was still a lot of emotional trauma that he carried that he didn’t have to bear alone. You just wanted him to know that you support him in whatever avenue he decides is best.

To forgive or to forget.

Frankie releases a sigh from his parted lips, squeezing his eyes closed tighter as your alarm chimes from your phone on the bedside table. He hates the fucking morning shift.

The air is sticky and thick, and the fan on his bedroom ceiling is doing little to help. Late August is still taking its toll on Texas and its residents, but he’s reminded that this time last year, he sunk down on his knees in the back kitchen and tasted you on his tongue for the first time. Can’t believe it’s been a year since then. Plus all the events that have transpired since.

There’s no label between you two other than the fact you are exclusive— putting your focus on each other and not seeing other people. It was good, better than nothing with you.

His eyelashes finally flutter open, seeing you shift in the dark to turn off the alarm, only to dig your face deep into your pillow. He thinks you’re fucking adorable.

Frankie is by no means a morning person, but waking up beside you has changed his perspective. Your hair is a scattered mess, the ponytail having fallen loose in the tosses and turns of last night. The sunlight peaking through the blinds highlights the slope of your nose and Cupid’s bow. Arms tucked into your front, leg hiked up like a ballerina.

His mind starts to swirl at the conversation you shared recently, that you wanted to try something… new. To be surprised. To be taken by him in your sleep.

He was shocked to hear you say it, all shy and meek - it’s not a side of you he sees often. But it’s the vulnerability talking, advocating the trust you share together.

“I want to wake up with you inside me.”

Frankie had to blink a few times, his large hand cradling your jaw as you spoke in whispers between the sheets. “You— I didn’t know you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“We don’t have to if it’s not your thing. But there’s something about you moving me where you want me to be, being completely under your control, even a little helpless,” you pause, uncertain if your words would scare him off.

The exact opposite. Frankie was intrigued.

“The thrill of trying not to wake you up.” He continues, watching your glowing smile return, indicating that Frankie understands why this would feel good to you.

“My natural reaction, trusting you, knowing that you’ll be careful, knowing that you’re using me— it’s hot, Frankie. You have my consent, I wanna try.”

Frankie’s stomach churns with excitement, butterflies spreading through his abdomen and up to his chest, his heart thunking eagerly.

He was slow and methodical, not wanting you to stir from your sleepy state. Nipping at his lower lip, teeth piercing the skin, he works up the courage to touch you. A rough and calloused hand travels up your side, pushing up your sleep tee and watching goosebumps line the tips of his fingers.

Frankie presses slow kisses to the top of your shoulder, feeling his cock swell against the plump of your ass in all of the excitement. He whispers your name, soft and raspy with the morning hour. Other than a small twitch of your nose, you’re out cold.

“Shh, s’okay angel, m’gonna make you feel good.” The desire stirs in his stomach, urging him to please you in your sleep just like you asked.

With two crooked fingers, he curls them around the band of your panties and slowly drags them down your soft thighs. You let out a slow sigh between your parted lips, Frankie pausing to watch as you settle once more.

Slipping two skilled fingers between your legs, he slowly massages up and down your folds. He’s surprised to already feel the slick between your legs, a low groan of approval leaving the depths of his throat.

There’s a shift, your hips squirming for more of his touch. You’re so perfectly pliant for him, causing the embers low in his belly to grow with anticipation, the blood rushing to his cock as it hardens against the curve of your ass.

“Good girl,” he remarks as you let out a little whimper upon the pads of Frankie’s fingers finding your swollen clit. “Even asleep, you’re nice and wet for me, princess.”

Goddammit, he thinks, how does she have this much of an effect while perfectly asleep? He can’t stand the feeling of not touching her, the carnal need to take her was strong like a magnet, forcing their bodies together.

One yank and he was out of his briefs, chewing on his lower lip in concentration. He needed to move you, to perfectly fit in the nook of your body, you’d have to be good and yield to him.

Frankie hikes up your leg and fills in the spaces between your bodies, stroking over himself as he slowly lines his leaking tip along your entrance. Just as he notches his tip inside, a quiet and sleepy gasp leaves your perfect pillowy lips.

“Right there, baby, you just stay right there for me,” Frankie growls against your ear, his hips flush with yours as he slowly lets inch by inch of him be swallowed by your warm cunt.

After that, there wasn’t a lot of nicety to him. The level of control he carried was lost. He just wanted to take and take, feel and fuck. He wants to use you like his own personal toy; do whatever he pleases with no resistance. You were his to devour.

He’s still inside you, but he’s gotten this far, and you’re still out. Even in sleep, you’re pulsing around his cock, so fucking tight around him that it steals the air from his lungs. There’s a hint of discomfort in your face, a quiet gasp held within your expression.

“Fuck,” he grunts, the hand he holds firmly on your hip now moving under your sleep tee.

You were so fucking accessible to him, so beautiful, so peaceful being fucked raw.

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, getting the reaction he’s been waiting for all morning. A sweet, slow moan tumbles loose from your throat, your hips reeling back to grind against Frankie’s lap.

He’s somewhat pleased he knows you this well, knows what gets you worked up and gushing. The fact that even in your sleep, you have this reaction towards him makes the fire burning inside his abdomen grow. Maybe a deep part of him gets off on knowing you so well.

Frankie lets out a sigh at his own thoughts, lightly nipping the skin of your exposed shoulder as he slowly rolls his hips back and glides in again, feeling the drag of your tight pussy keeping him lubed up and warm.

If he weren’t so desperate to fuck you, he’d love to just sit inside you like this all goddamn day. It would probably give him the same comfort as the first cup of coffee.

He gives your breast one more firm squeeze before returning the attention back to your clit, all desperate and tingling with each eager circle he gives you.

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers against your ear, his hips continuing at a steady pace until he simply needs more. He hikes up your leg once again to allow himself more movement, smirking as your ass smacks against the front of his hips with each thrust that now jostles your body.

You’ll surely wake any moment, shocked and sleepy and startled at his cock so deep inside your perfectly spent cunt.

You whimper each time he fills you, your face digging into the pillow as you moan against the cover. Frankie’s efforts grow needy and demanding, fisting your hair out of his way as he sucks marks into your neck; teeth and tongue massaging the skin before leaving a bruise in its wake.

A sweet little sob exits your parted lips, Frankie groaning at the pretty little noises you make.

“Take me so well, princess. You want me to keep fuckin’ you, huh?” He snarls against your neck, smirking as you hiss at the sensations you’re feeling all throughout your body.

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. They absorb the settings around you and it all clicks. A long, desperate moan crawls from the depths of your throat, your movements sluggish but your hand eventually clasps onto Frankie’s forearm, his fingers still swirling around your clit.

“Ohmy— Frankie, fuck,” you gasp as you feel the full force of his cock drilling deep inside your pussy. Your voice is still thick with sleep, eyes cloudy with lust, and skin-prickling sensations that you had never felt before; a million emotions, but the standout being desperation to come undone like this with a man you trust.

“This what you wanted, angel? Wake up with my cock stuffed between your legs?” Frankie smirks as he presses his lips against your cheek, jaw dropping against your own as you ride out the high together.

You cry out something wrecked, a garble of syllables as your spine arches against his front. You weren’t given the pleasure of feeling the orgasm build and build; you woke up at its high heat.

In an instant, your skin was clammy, hair sticking to your skin as desperate pants filled the room, along with broken moans of Frankie’s name.

It’s exactly what you wanted, maybe better. Yes, way better.

You’re so tight, literally clinging to every single inch he gives you as your slick drenches his cock. Your nails dig into his tan skin, feeling the muscles and tendons work to play with your clit.

A whimper leaves you as the warmth in your stomach boils over, turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes are dark, cast over with lust as he stole you in your sleep. In an instant, he meets you with a messy kiss, your bodies and the bed still jolting with each rough thrust he gives you.

“Please,” you moan against his lips, nodding your head as you look into his eyes. “Come inside me, I wanna feel it, please, give it to me, Frankie,” your words turn into a whine as he begins to fuck you harder, deeper, his tip tickling your cervix as you damn near blackout from the pleasure.

The pleasure inside of you finally reaches the surface. The feeling was like a wave breaching over your rocky shores, washing over you both in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his thick cock.

Frankie spoils your clit as his hips snap against your ass, one, two, three more times before the feeling of you overcomes him. He braces you tightly in his arms, panting against your shoulder, eyes clenching closed as he lets out broken grunts of release. He paints your insides with his spend, both of you relaxing in one another’s hold as you slowly descend from heaven.

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie breathes, shaking his head with a tilted smirk. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He remarks as you look over your shoulder in a haze.

You whimper as you pull him in closer, fingers weaving into the curls at the back of his head and encouraging him to meet your parted lips.

The words are at the tip of your tongue, and you can feel them spread heat throughout your body. You can hear both of your hearts beating, thundering against the human flesh, and signaling the feeling of being alive.

Frankie waits for the words. The feeling of anticipation has been lingering for quite some time. Your touch of nervousness was welcome, expected even. A moment in time when your heart feels exposed but also overwhelmingly full. Only hoping that the other person feels the same way, yet uncertain of how they will respond. A game of chicken of who will say it first and who will have to respond. The leap of faith one will be forced to make and the right words the other will have to find.

Both roles are downright frightening.

You’re risking everything, the biggest gamble one can make without physical currency.

But he sees the panic behind your eyes, the nervewracking feeling of saying the sacred words to someone, maybe even for the first time. And he knows that they will be worth it to hear.

“I know,” he whispers against your lips, shaking his head in a way that tells you he knows what you’re thinking. “I know.”

You don’t attend church, so you have one question: why the fuck is God sending people to get brunch after Sunday’s service? Why is that their beck and call?

Every Sunday morning, like clockwork, a flock of people flood the diner with their church clothes and a hankering for waffles and Frankie’s house lumberjack skillet (you wanna know what’s in it, don’t you?)

Frankie’s Secret Ingredients:

Potatoes: 1/4 lb (about 4-5 small potatoes)

Olive Oil: 1/2 tablespoon

Breakfast Sausage Links: 3 oz (about 4 links)

Onion: 1/8 of a whole onion, chopped

Red Pepper: 1/4 of a whole red pepper, chopped

Jalapenos: 1/2 jalapeno, sliced (omit if person looks too old to handle)

Butter: 1 tablespoon

Hickory Maple Seasoning: 1/2 teaspoon

Eggs: 2 large eggs

Milk: 1 tablespoon

Cheddar Cheese: 2 tablespoons, shredded

Anyway, Tommy’s Diner is slammed by mid-morning, and you’re working up a sweat. You’re wiping at your neck and forehead every few minutes, and the sun filtering through the windows does little justice to cool your skin. Tina called out sick, which is code for hungover from Saturday. It’s overwhelming. Your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you just plated for that family of four.

“Enjoy,” you whisper a little breathlessly, tucking your notepad into the front of your apron, rubbing at your temple with the heel of your hand as you walk past the rest of your tables.

By the time you lift your head, you see a large potbelly man who is waving an arm up above his head, fingers already snapping incessantly. He looked like a chubby rat, with a large dark-haired mustache and a shirt that didn’t fully cover the beer gut he was sporting.

“Uhm, hello? Miss, can we get some service over here?”

Jesus fucking Christ. Your jaw tightens a few notches, pushing your hair out of your face and wrapping around to their table. You remember them; you took their table’s order a bit ago now - shit, did you forget their plates? No, you didn’t.

Stopping at the head of their table, you smile politely at the large family.

“Hi, can I get you something while you wait?”

The man scoffs and snaps, “Uh, yeah, our food.”

Taking a deep breath wasn’t enough; you were a ticking time bomb. “Sir, do you see how many people are in the diner? We’re at capacity with a line out the door. I understand you’ve been waiting, but our kitchen is backed up and-”

“Bull-honkey-bullcrap, little miss,” the man raises his voice, spitting violently with each syllable, “This is ridiculous! We’ve been sittin’ here for nearly an hour. How hard is it to make some eggs and Mickey Mouse pancakes, huh? You just that stupid? What the hell is goin’ on back there? Are you people completely incompetent, or are you just ignorin’ us?”

Worse things have been said to your face, but you’re at your breaking point. You can feel your face flush with warmth radiating throughout your body. Now, the entire diner is staring at you from all the commotion. Your lungs feel tight, a headache casting heavy behind your face. Tears line your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall.

“Again, I’m really sorry, but like I said, the kitchen is backed up.” But apologizing isn’t enough. This guy just wanted someone to take his punches.

“Don’t even try to apologize. I don’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses. How hard is it to cook some damn eggs? This place is a joke. You must be the worst server I’ve ever dealt with. ‘Nd I swear, if I wanted this kind of useless service, I’d go to a fast food joint. Is this how you treat payin’ customers, or ya’ll just this lazy? Do your job, or I’ll make sure everyone knows how worthless you and this diner is.”

You clutch the empty coffee pot tightly, biting your tongue. Turning swiftly, you head straight for the back swinging door. You don't intend to contribute to the chaos or the bustling mess in the kitchen, but here, in the safety of the back section, you allow a few stray tears to escape.

Shoulder blades hitting the cold brick, you wish to blend into the wall. It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you, your chest heavy and tight. Every sound around you blurs as the man’s harsh words replay in your mind, louder and louder each time. Your hands shake just enough to want to hide them behind your back, feeling afraid to have eyes on you in such a vulnerable state. Exposed. You’ve absorbed the anger meant for something or someone else, so now, it sticks to you, something you can’t wash away.

Your name echoes once, twice.

“Hey,” A calm amongst the rushing waves - it’s Frankie. You blink him into focus, bleary tears slowly fading away. His red bandana is tied tight around his forehead to catch the sweat from his forehead and hair. His face is laced with concern. He wipes his hands off on his apron, gently capturing your face as he shields you from the rest of the kitchen.

And just like that, life returns to your body. You can feel the tips of your fingers, previously tingling, wiping under your eyes as you hiccup through your breaths. Frankie knows this high-traffic area will only make your anxiety worse.

“It’s okay, take a deep breath and tell me what happen.”

The eyes of the kitchen staff are slowly starting to turn to you, asking if you’re alright and why you’re upset. Shaking your head dismissively, you blink away your tears and look down at the grubby floor that probably hasn’t been mopped since the invention of flip phones.

“I’m fine. This customer just got pissed and yelled at me. He was upset that his food was running behind, and I tried to explain that the kitchen was backed up.” You part your lips to continue, but the jaw drops of the kitchen staff signal shock by your words.

They all start honking in unison like a flock of geese.

“He what?”

“Which fuckin’ table?”

“You okay, sweetheart? Fuck them.”

Frankie's back straightens stiff, having previously been craning to see your face, now strict with annoyance.

“Is that him?” Frankie asks as he walks to the window between the kitchen and the back counter, narrowing his eyes on the rat man and his family.

“Frankie, please don't,” you huff, already refilling your pots of coffee and hoping to just forget the whole thing ever happened. "It's okay, it happens."

But it’s not okay. Because this guy made you cry, and what the hell was it for? Some scrambled eggs and bacon on delay?

The rest of the line cooks have abandoned their food to gawk at the asshole who thinks he can get away with yelling at one of their own like that.

Frankie tightens his bandana and peels off his gloves, slapping them down in the trash.

His boots thunder across the linoleum, catching the attention of many of the patrons on his way to the booth by the window where the rat man has continued to reside angrily. Even worse, he chuckles at the sight of Frankie.

“Take a load of this guy," the rat man appears to mutter to his wife who looks between them both with startled eyes. "Okay, okay, just bring back the pretty waitress. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” He sneers, shaking his head.

“No, you’re done with her. You’re dealin’ with me now.” Frankie snags an empty chair from a nearby table, turns it around, and straddles the seat as he gets in the burly man's face.

“I just feel terrible that we’re not meeting the quality of service you expected. So what exactly is the problem?” Frankie asks with a hint of venom lining his words.

“Well- we’ve been waitin’ here for half an hour and-”

“Right, and what did the pretty waitress say?”

The man scoffs lightly, feeling embarrassed with all the eyes on him not once but twice now. “Well, she said the kitchen was backed up.”

“That’s right, that’s right, well, I’m the fuckin’ kitchen. You wanna yell at someone? Well, I thought I’d give you the chance to yell at me since, hey, I'm in charge of the kitchen today. Please, tell me your honest review.”

The rat man stares blankly, looking from left to right in surprise, but his family all gawks at Frankie.

Frankie waits, eyes unblinking, face hardened as the man sputters up something weak in response.

“This is ungodly and unprofessional,” he gargles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“You’re absolutely right!” Frankie says, smacking the table with his closed fist before pointing at the rat man, the tip of his finger inches from his face. “I am unprofessional, but that’s because I don’t have the great customer service skills of our waitresses. That’s her job,” Frankie juts a thumb backward towards the kitchen in your direction. “So now, instead of cookin’ you and your ugly wife and kids some food, I gotta come out here and knock some sense into ya since you seemed to have lost your manners. So you gonna let her do her job so I can get back to mine?”

You can only watch from the window in shock, hand over mouth, unblinking eyes - but it’s like a car crash you can’t look away from. The man is shocked into an embarrassed silence.

“We’ll just… we’ll wait. There’s-uh-there’s a lotta people here.”

Frankie sighs and smiles with fake relief. He stands from the chair, looking around the quiet restaurant.

“Anybody else have somethin' they wanna say?”

They all seem too scared of Frankie to complain again to the psycho chef. Chants of ‘Everything’s great!’ or “Thank you!” echo through the dining room.

You smile warmly, forcing yourself to turn away from the scene and clean up your teary makeup in the bathroom. But all you can think about is Frankie. Francisco. Stupid Catfish. Stepping in like that to protect you, to make that jerk take accountability. It makes your heart flutter knowing how much he cares. And you feel the same way.

It’s about time you tell him.

Knuckles wrap against the bathroom door, and an echo of, “You okay?” follows.

He comes in without a response, somewhat relieved to find you adjusting your hair and wiping at the smeary makeup. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, watching in the reflection. He looks disheveled and annoyed, shaking his head as he starts ranting about rat man.

“I don’t get how people like that- the God-loving church people- come in here and act like they weren’t just told at a sermon to love thy neighbor or whatever bullshit.”

He continues, but all you do is stare.

A part of you thinks he defends others due to his childhood. No one picks on the people Frankie cares about. That letter riled him up, maybe more than either of you had realized. He’s thinking about those times of the past, the innocent hurt by the deviant.

“You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry, he’s a fucking dick. You don’t have to take his food out, I’ll do it. Honey,” he breathes, hand resting on your shoulder as he gently turns you around to face him. “Are you mad at me? I know you told me not to go out there, but no one makes you cry if I can help it, y’know? I don’t want him to think he can get away with that.”

Once Frankie starts ranting, it’s really hard to get him to stop.

“Frankie,” you breathe out, resting your hand over the one he holds on your shoulder.

“I mean, does he really think that it’s smart to be rude to the staff? I’ll spit in his food, and it will feel really good because he’ll have no idea.”

“Frankie,”

“You’re a good fucking waitress! Doesn’t he see the entire breakfast bar and all the booths filled with guests? The line out the door wasn’t an indication of how busy it is? Get a fuckin’ brain, I mean-”

In an instant, you tilt your chin up, catching his gaze just long enough to see the shift in his eyes before your lips meet. Your hands slide around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft curls at the nape, gently tugging him down toward you. The kiss begins with an urgency, part playful, part to silence his words, but mostly, it's to thank him in a way that words never could.

Frankie’s initial surprise fades quickly as he melts into you, his breath hitching for a moment. His hands travel to your waist, sliding around until they lock just above your hips, anchoring you to him. He presses closer, his touch firm yet tender, and slows the kiss, savoring the warmth of your lips. You feel the way his body relaxes, how he leans in, letting the world around you both fall away as he holds you, close and unmoving, like he’s never letting go.

It takes every ounce of courage in your body to pull away, your lips lingering against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if tethered by an invisible force. Slowly, you break the kiss, your breath shaky, heart racing. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his eyes still half-closed, unaware of the words hanging on the edge of your lips.

You gently pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still laced in his hair, trembling slightly. His eyes search yours, soft and expectant, filled with something unspoken but unmistakable.

With a deep inhale, you let the words slip out, vulnerable and raw, barely louder than a whisper, but heavy with meaning.

“I love you.”

The world stands still as the words hang in the air, your heart pounding as you wait for the weight of what you’ve just said to settle between you.

And then he smiles like an idiot. And you’re joining him.

“Did you say what I think you said? Did you say that you love me?" His voice is soft, teasing, as he presses his forehead against yours, capturing your lips with a few playful, quick kisses between his words. “Come on, say it again.”

You feel your heart flutter, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Frankie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I heard you say it. Now you can’t take it back,” he adds with a grin, pulling you tighter, his arms leaving no space between you.

You giggle, your hands pushing lightly against his shoulders, though he doesn’t budge. “Stop, that was really hard,” you huff, breathless, as though the words had stolen all the air from your lungs.

Frankie just shakes his head, his smile fading into something softer, more real, as the weight of the moment catches up with him. “I’ve thought about better places or times to tell you this, I wanted to wait until you were ready,” he whispers, his voice hushed with disbelief, eyes locking onto yours, “but I love you more than you’ll ever know. More than you’ll ever understand or dream. I love you.”

His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, a gentle, affectionate touch that sends shivers down your spine. The intensity in his gaze mirrors your own, both of you lost in this shared vulnerability, your hearts speaking in unison.

“I love you, too,” you breathe, the words falling effortlessly this time, as if they’ve always been waiting for this moment.

So, yeah. You sort of love your co-worker Francisco Morales.

The sun is blinding—orange and yellow streams of light as it is forced to set along the horizon. It’s slow but noticeable, sinking into the land beyond what you can see.

The sun goes down in Texas once again.

Frankie raises his cigarette, its glowing tip mirroring the fiery hues of the sunset.

His neighborhood is tranquil, lined with single-story homes and tree-bordered streets where autumn's touch is just around the corner. Children ride bikes, joggers and dog walkers pass by, and new parents push their baby strollers—a picturesque scene that feels meticulously arranged yet somehow distant. Frankie, too, feels out of place here.

"You got pretty worked up today—more than usual," you say softly.

Frankie lets out a dry chuckle, cigarette between his lips as he leans back on his elbows, squinting at the fading sun. "Yeah, maybe. You think I’m off right now?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious, as if searching for what’s changed.

You shrug, glancing at him with a fond smile. "I think that letter from your dad has you more rattled than you realize. I found it in your sock drawer this morning."

Frankie’s gaze drops to his lap, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

"I thought you said you were gonna toss it?" you muse gently, watching as his mind churns, cigarette hovering at his lips before he sighs deeply.

"You’re too observant," he smirks. "I don’t know why I haven’t crumpled, burned, or shredded it into pieces by now. I have every right to."

You rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tension there. "But you didn’t. Why?"

Frankie bites his lower lip nervously, glancing your way. "At the end of the apology letter, he asked to take me out for my birthday. Put down the time, place��everything. Said he’d wait for me."

Your expression softens, letting him know you’re here, really listening. "And you’re thinking about it?"

"Yeah… I guess so. But I don’t even know what I’d say. I’ve only seen him once or twice since I moved out. It’s been years. And when I do see him, I’m thirteen all over again, just yelling at him, so angry. I see his face, and it’s like a switch flips. And that’s not me. You know that’s not me," Frankie stammers, panic flickering in his eyes.

"I know," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as the weight of it all settles.

After a deep breath, Frankie gathers himself. "He used to bring out the worst in me. I don’t know if I still hate him as much. Time’s passed, maybe he’s changed. But I’m not holding my breath."

He’s an adult now, more guarded, wiser to the people who’ve hurt him. He’s fought through battles and traumas you don’t even know about. Yet, in his eyes, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe his dad has turned a corner, maybe he’s cleaned up, seen his mistakes. But you know better than to trust in maybes.

And you’d protect him from being let down again.

"Do you want me to go with you?" you offer quietly.

Frankie’s eyes snap to yours, wide and searching.

"Okay," he says after a long pause. "Let’s do it."

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales smut

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ryotheraccoon · 7 months ago

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Guys look pin

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 8 months ago

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Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 1

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader)Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 3631 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazonians' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

(21 years old)

'All right, team,' Y/N Prince addressed her small group of young heroes. 'Good work today. Now go hit the showers and enjoy a nice quiet night in. You've earned it.'

'So crash!' Bart cried with an energetic jump. If anyone were to guess how the team's week had been solely based on Bart's energy, they would've said it had been cruisy. Not that Y/N had led a covert task force over the past week into Bialya to take down meta-human trafficking outposts.

Y/N watched with pride as Bart and Jaime bantered on their way out, followed by Stephanie and Cassie chatting excitedly about something, all the while Tim and Cassie held hands quietly. It had surprised the team a little how, out of the blue, the two of them were dating. But if Wally's death had taught them all anything, it was that time was too precious to waste in their line of work. They'd been together ever since.

Two years, Y/N mentally noted, and suddenly the adrenaline she'd been running on for the past week died as the last of the team exited the entrance chamber of the Watchtower. Exhaustion weighed down on her spent body, but an extra weight now sat in heart. Has it really been that long already?

So much had changed in that time. Like how the Young Justice began working out of the Watchtower alongside the Justice League, having both the Hall of Justice and Mount Justice destroyed by the Reach and the Light respectively. M'gann and Connor were back together, having finally gotten over their differences and accepted their mistakes. Also, Kaldur had been offered a position in the Justice League following the retirement of his king, and so Kaldur took his place as the new Aquaman in the Justice League. M'gann was promoted to new team leader, with Connor and Y/N assisting her as senior members of the team.

Some things had remained the same, however. Like the team's energy and slight dysfunction that always made Y/N feel at home. They weren't perfect, but what family ever is?

Dick was still gone. So was Artemis. She'd, understandably, retired as Green Arrow's protégé immediately after Wally's death, assuming her undercover identity Tigress instead and going off on her own. Neither had stayed in touch with anyone on the team.

You're my best friend. Always have been, always will be...

'Yeah right,' Y/N mumbled bitterly as she made her way to the conference room. No doubt that'd be where M'gann and Connor were waiting for her to debrief the mission.

Upon entering the room with the long table, she was immediately embraced by M'gann. 'Welcome back,' she said, squeezing Y/N tighter. 'We're so glad you're okay.'

Y/N smiled softly as she embraced M'gann in return. 'You ever doubted me?'

'No,' Connor answered, 'but you can never be too cautious right?'

Y/N let go of M'gann to hug Connor as well. Since getting back together, Connor wasn't as emotionally suppressed as he'd initially been. It was nice seeing him this way, more happy and free. The same effect had happened to M'gann, who (only around the team and the Justice League) revealed her white martian self proudly instead of pretending to be something she wasn't.

'You're right,' Y/N said as she released him, then the three of them took a seat to discuss the mission.

The debrief didn't take long, there wasn't much to report on as all out-posts had been hit successfully, putting Queen Bee's meta-human trafficking at least a little behind.

'It's not much, but it's the best we could do with the little information we got,' Y/N admitted. 'I dislike Queen Bee and her minions as much as the next person, but I've got to give it to her, she knows how to keep things under wraps.'

M'gann reached across from where she sat and closed her hand over Y/N's. 'Y/N, the mission was a success,' M'gann insisted. 'And what's most important is that you brought everyone home. Alive.'

Y/N heard the underlying fear in her words, the memory she was thinking of as she spoke them. Y/N twisted her hand over to clasp M'gann's in return. 'I know,' she said softly. 'But I just... we haven't so much as put a dent into the underbelly of meta-human trafficking in the two years it's been running. Somedays... Somedays I just feel so useless.'

'I know, Y/N,' Connor reassured. 'But we've just got to trust that our hard work will pay off eventually. I know it doesn't seem like much now, but every mission counts. Don't be so hard on yourself.'

Y/N withdrew her hand at the comment, hastily standing up. 'Don't be hard on myself? My mother is Wonder Woman, is the Champion of Themyscira, a World War II hero, and had already saved the world once by my age now. My father was a fighter pilot in the Iran-Iraq war and died fighting for his country,' she said angrily. 'And what am I doing? Hiding under the protection of darkness, taking out small outposts that will just be rebuilt elsewhere just as quickly? How can I not be hard on myself?'

At M'gann's taken aback expression, Y/N felt slightly guilty for raising her voice. But they just didn't understand. All her life, she'd been training and fighting for her supposed "destiny". Surely this wasn't it.

'I'm sorry,' Y/N said, forcing herself to calm down. 'I just...'

'You don't have to a apologise,' M'gann interrupted, standing and walking over to Y/N to clasp their hands together. 'After all we've done together, I understand that what we do now doesn't seem like enough. But I can tell you were made for more.'

Y/N offered her a grateful smile and M'gann let their hands drop. 'I should go. Mother and I have patrol in Washington DC tonight.'

'Already?' M'gann asked, face dropping with disappointment. 'But you just got back. Surely she knows that.'

'Unfortunately, even in the country's capital, crime never sleeps. I'm just grateful it's nothing like Gotham,' Y/N said.

'I agree,' Connor said. 'Visited there once with-' He paused for a moment, eyes growing wary as he looked between Y/N and M'gann. But Y/N already knew what he was going to say and gave him a slight nod to continue anyway. 'With Dick. We did patrol once there together. To put it simply, they're all nutcases there.'

Y/N managed an amused half-smile. 'You're not wrong there,' she said, then made her way to the door. Before she reached the doorknob, M'gann called out.

'Maybe when you're free next, you can join us for dinner at home,' she offered, her eyes hopeful as she waited Y/N's answer.

'Yeah,' she eventually answered though it wasn't as enthusiastic as she should've been. 'Yeah, that'd be nice. I'll talk to you guys soon. Don't stay up here too late.'

It had to be close to 7pm in Washington DC at least, so there weren't many people still left in the Watchtower. Just those from the League and her team that were rostered for overnight supervision. Y/N made sure to greet each person she walked by on the way to the Zeta-tubes. But just as she was about to dial in her code to leave, a resounding voice made her pause.

'Wonderess,' Kaldur called. 'Not even a hello before you head off for another mission?'

Y/N smirked as she turned back around to face the new hero of Atlantis. 'I'm sorry, Aquaman,' she said in an exaggerated tone. 'Not all of us can sit around having team parties with our Justice League buddies.'

To anyone else, it would've been taken as an insult. But Kaldur saw her humour and smiled. 'Oh is that what this is about? You know the League do more than just chit chat.'

Y/N shook her head. 'I don't know. The mess you guys left behind in the conference room before I left tells another story.'

As Kaldur approached Y/N, the sarcastic banter dropped as they both embraced each other. Kaldur had grown into a fit, muscular man, and now stood a good head taller than Y/N. His uniform was more or less the same as it had always been, except now both his arms were covered from shoulder-to-finger in gold armour. He certainly was no longer just a young lad, but the man his predecessor saw he could become.

'It is good to see you, Y/N,' Kaldur said softly as he pulled away.

'And you, old friend,' Y/N replied, a genuine smile splitting her lips.

'I heard you went into Bialyan territory,' Kaldur continued. 'I am glad to see you and the rest of the team are unharmed.'

'Well, the team are no longer just children' Y/N said, 'but it was a simple enough mission too. Nothing too dangerous.'

Kaldur's brows furrowed together as he looked over Y/N. 'I sense you are not happy with something. Wasn't the mission successful as I have heard?'

Y/N let out a soft sigh. 'It's not that I'm not happy with the mission's success. Of course I'm happy we all got home okay. I just...' She didn't really feel like explaining herself again, but Kaldur nodded in understanding.

'You feel stuck,' he finished, to which Y/N nodded in confirmation. Kaldur turned so he could look to the giant windows of the Watchtower's entrance chamber. They framed Earth in a way that made it seem both ginormous and insignificant at the same time. 'The League is in a similar position, I am afraid to admit. Some days there is progress. Other days, it feels like I wait so much I am afraid I will freeze in one spot.'

'How do you combat that?' Y/N asked.

Kaldur turned back to Y/N, his face softened with a small smile. 'I train.'

'That's it?' Y/N asked, not quite believing her friend.

He shrugged his shoulders. 'Amongst other things, yes. I train, I go home, I see my family, I laugh with my friends. I do all these things to remind myself why I am here. Why I do what I do. It sounds to me like you need to remind yourself why you are here.'

'Because of the team,' she said without hesitation. He hadn't asked a question, but she felt she needed to justify herself. 'Because I can't just desert them, not when they're working so hard.'

'And yet you feel you are not doing enough,' Kaldur countered, his teal eyes gazing hard at her. 'Why?'

Y/N opened her mouth to answer but no answer came.

'Y/N,' Kaldur continued. 'Why do you feel the need to stay when you don't want to be there?'

'I do want to stay-'

'Don't lie to me, Y/N,' Kaldur interrupted.

Y/N swallowed thickly as she looked from Kaldur, to the conference room door where M'gann and Connor still were, and back to Kaldur. Seeing no escape from his fierce questioning, she caved.

'It's not that I don't want to stay,' she admitted quietly. 'I love the kids, I love the team. I'm just... so tired, Kaldur. Of doing the same thing week in and week out and getting nowhere. But if I leave, I don't want the team to think I'm abandoning them. Not like-'

Y/N bit her lip at the thought of him. No, she wouldn't leave. She just wouldn't.

Kaldur pressed his lips into a firm line. 'Dick needed to reforge his own path. He was grieving in his own way.'

'Well I was grieving, too,' Y/N countered, a sudden surge of anger flaring up inside her. How dare Kaldur defend Dick. 'And I had to get on with my life because the team needed me. We needed him, Kaldur. I needed him, and he just left.'

Y/N bowed her head to collect her thoughts and calm down. That's two friends she had yelled at for no reason. Before she could apologise though, Kaldur placed a hand on her shoulder, and she raised her head to find him looking directly into her eyes.

'I cannot say I am not also disappointed in our friend,' Kaldur admitted sadly. 'I did not expect him to become so closed off for so long. But you've helped rebuild this team from the grief and pain it experienced when Wally died. I think you've earned the right to decide where you go from here, Y/N, without feeling guilty or selfish if your wish is not to stay with the team. In my opinion, you were made for more than this.'

'That's funny,' Y/N said in a flat voice. 'You're the second person today to tell me that.'

'Maybe because it is true,' Kaldur said sincerely. 'You know you still have a place in the Justice League whenever you'd like to join us. I would be honoured and happy to fight alongside a warrior such as yourself again. It would be like old times.'

Y/N offered a grateful smile as she patted Kaldur's hand that still rested on her shoulder. 'Thanks Kaldur, but I'm not ready for that just yet. Besides, you don't need two Amazonians running the show. And let's be real, we would so be in charge of you boys.'

The two shared quiet laughter as Kaldur's hand retuned to his side. 'Very well, then. So what will your decision be, Wonderess?'

Y/N looked to the Earth and space beyond it once more. Her heart and head were tearing her in two. She truly loved being a part of the team, but something inside her agreed with M'gann and Kaldur. Surely she was meant for more. But what exactly that was, she had to go find out.

'I think you're right, Kaldur,' she finally said, turning back to face her friend. 'I think I need to remind myself why I am here in the first place. And that comes from knowing who I am to begin with.'

Kaldur's face pinched in slight confusion. 'I'm sorry, but I do not follow.'

Y/N didn't answer straight away. Instead, she turned to dial in her code to exit the Watchtower. 'B-00: Wonderess,' the computer announced as the Zeta-tube activated.

She then finally turned back to Kaldur. 'I need to know where I've been to then know where I will go,' she said. 'I need to go back to where it all started.'

'And where's that?' Kaldur asked.

'With my mother,' she answered, then spared him one last sweet smile. 'Tell M'gann and Connor and the team I'm sorry.'

Kaldur looked as if he wanted to say something, ask more questions. But Kaldur was always more insightful than the rest of their group. He didn't always need an explanation. He just somehow knew, and so Y/N was grateful when he accepted her words with a simple nod of his head.

'Be safe, dear friend,' he said in farewell. 'May destiny be kind to you, wherever it leads you.'

Y/N nodded her appreciation and entered the Zeta-tube. It was always a weird sensation travelling by Zeta-tube, like a million light pricks into every part of the body. Thankfully the trip was quick to the Zeta tube depot in Washington DC, with Y/N walking out of an abandoned janitor's closest in the post office down the road from her apartment.

She smiled and waved down to civilians as she flew over the busy streets, but she flew as fast as she could to the meeting point.

Her mother casually sat atop the Washington Monument as Y/N approached, floating just in front of her. 'I was starting to worry you had gotten caught in Bialya,' Diana joked as she stood to greet her daughter. 'Welcome home, my daughter.'

'Good to see you, Mother,' Y/N said, and the two briefly embraced.

'Now that you're here,' Diana said, prepping to take off for the usual patrol, 'why don't we get going.'

'Actually, Mother, there is something I wanted to talk to you about first,' Y/N interrupted.

Diana raised an eyebrow. 'Really? And what would that be?'

Y/N took a deep breath in before she spoke the words. But when she did, she had never been more sure. 'I want you to take me back to your home. To Themyscira.'

~~~

Since she was a little girl, Y/N had heard hundreds of stories from her mother about the homeland of the Amazons. How beautiful it was with its architecture, its nature, and the women who ruled the island. She'd always dreamed of someday going there, but her mother said it was impossible to find it.

Except she failed to mention that despite leaving the island and forgetting where it was located, Diana had been gifted a compass that would always lead her back home, but only if she used it. It would not work without Amazonian hands.

So after all the storytelling and all the dreaming, nothing came close to actually witnessing Themyscira in the flesh.

Y/N stood speechless on the beach, looking up at the steps that led up to the first level of the city that seemed to climb higher and higher towards the sky. It was something out of the Ancient Greek text books Diana used to make Y/N read as a child, but even more fantastical and wondrous.

It wasn't just the visuals, though. Since the Invisible Jet broke through the barrier that hid Themyscira, Y/N had felt a pull of sorts towards the island. Now that she stood on its soil, she felt a warm energy wash over her, strengthen her, pull her into its embrace as if to say, Welcome home at last.

An entourage of women in red leather slitted skirts, plated tops, and armour while holding spears followed behind a woman dressed in white and purple robes. Ebony hair billowed out behind her golden leaf crown, the grey strands in between looking more silver as they caught the midday sun.

Y/N knew immediately who she was. Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. Her grandmother.

As Hippolyta approached Y/N and Diana, she opened her arms to take her daughter's face into her hands. 'Diana,' she said, bringing her lips to her daughter's forehead in a simple kiss. 'Welcome home.'

'Thank you, Mother,' Diana said, and Y/N could tell by her mother's smile that she was joyous to be home. 'I'm sorry it took me so long.'

'Do not worry about that, child,' Hippolyta reassured. 'You are here now.'

She then looked over to Y/N, and for some reason Y/N straightened up, flattened out her Wonderess uniform, made sure her hair was tucked behind her headband. Y/N was briefly taken back to the time she (consciously) remembered meeting her grandparents on her father's side. All dressed up so as to make a good impression.

Y/N held her breath as Hippolyta walked slowly over to her, grey eyes scanning every inch of Y/N's figure in silence. When she'd done a cursory glance, she then stepped closer and took Y/N's face into her hands. Y/N was unable to look away from Hippolyta as the older woman caressed and poked and prodded at her features.

At last, Hippolyta stopped and her hands dropped to Y/N's shoulders. A kind, joyous smile graced the older woman's features. 'You have my daughter's eyes,' she said quietly, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. 'So kind and forthright. What is your name child?'

'Y/N Prince,' Y/N managed to get out once she caught her breath. 'Daughter of Steve Trevor...' Her gaze flickered to her mother, and the two shared a smile. '...and Diana Prince, Princess of Themyscira.'

Y/N looked back to see Hippolyta tearing up as realisation finally hit her. 'I have a granddaughter,' she said as she finally embraced Y/N completely, to which Y/N reciprocated and the entourage of Amazonians cheered and smashed their shields with their spears in celebration.

Hippolyta let go of Y/N to clasp one of her hands as she went to grab her daughter's hand. She then turned the three of them to face the crowd. 'My daughter and your champion, and my granddaughter have come home!'

More cheers erupted.

'Let us prepare a feast in their honour,' Hippolyta continued, and when the crowd began to disperse, she turned to Diana and Y/N to speak more quietly. 'I am sure you have both come here for a reason, and not just to say hello.'

'You are correct, Mother,' Diana said. 'It seems as though I have neglected our origins as Amazonians for too long and can no longer teach Y/N our ways.'

'I wish to learn who I am,' Y/N added. 'I wish to know where I come from, so that I may know where I must go next.'

'And how long do you believe that will take?' Hippolyta asked.

'As long as it takes,' Y/N answered, more certain than ever before. 'I don't care what I must do, Your Majesty. I will follow your guidance, as my mother once did.'

Hippolyta considered Y/N for a moment, then spared Diana an impressed smirk. 'Well, you taught her one thing, Diana.'

'What's that mother?' Diana asked.

'Your steadfast stubbornness.' Hippolyta looked back to Y/N. 'Very well, granddaughter. You will train among the other warriors. I just hope you know it won't be as easy as you might think.'

'Trust me,' Y/N replied, 'I'm hoping it isn't.'

Hippolyta's smile widened and her eyes sparkled with excitement. 'That attitude is already a good start. Come, we will talk of this later. First, let us celebrate this homecoming.'

That night Y/N ate and drank and danced among women like her, some older, some younger, some taller, some stronger. And she had never felt more at home, more recognised and celebrated. She'd had her doubts if she had made the right decision, but now she had no doubt.

She was where she belonged.

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stellas-and-tonitruses · 6 months ago

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these last 3 chapters more than ever have left me wondering about the timeline of spy x family and in particular,

donovan's age.

i'm not going to go too deep into the full timeline because i simply don't think we have enough info to make a real robust timeline, BUT i do think we can very feasibly approximate donovan's age with our current info.

I also won’t be using any precise years like 1964 or whatever bc at this moment in time I find that to be kind of useless, bc the only years we have happen very early in the story in background details and for a lot of those ones, I noticed endo had a tendency to just carelessly put whatever so long as it looked fine from afar, which includes news that were happening around the time of that chapter's release. SO unless he decides to explicitly highlight actual years, I’m not gonna be like “this happened in 1964 and that happened in 1953” and anything of the sort.

now, i shall partake in my least favorite activity.

✨math.✨

so uh buckle up my fellas and feel free to correct me anywhere where i might be wrong bc i am more than aware that math is NOT my strong suit!

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTERS 97, 98 AND 99!

gonna start with the facts!

according to the spy x family EYES ONLY fanbook, henry henderson is 66 years old at the time of the current events of spy x family! in the past three chapters we have learned that there is a 3 year age gap between him and martha, so that would make her 63 years old currently.

as of the events of chapter 99, he is 22 years old (and martha is 19), assuming there wasn't any years-long time gap that was not mentioned within the chapter! which, it doesn’t seem like there were any MASSIVE time gaps, so I’ll be using those ages for calculating.

so, what all this means is that we are (roughly) 44 years into the past at the moment! previous info about the war of loid and yor's childhoods puts it at around 20 years old, so from where we are in the backstory, we still have roughly 20 more years before Luwen is attacked — clearly, because this first war has already ended with donovan still in school.

while we don't have loid's age, we do have yor's, who is 27 years old — meaning she was born around the time of henry being 39 years old, aka clearly neither loid nor yor have been born yet as of the events of chapter 99. too into the past for now!

now, how am i gonna get donovan's age out of all this?

simple! henry's his teacher and has a talk with him after his jail time.

like I mentioned previously, I shall be sticking to 22 for henry’s age here. it may not be fully correct, it may be a year or two off because we aren’t given concrete details on exactly how long he was in jail, so just take it with a grain of salt! it's only going to remain as a rough estimate until we get a definitive answer on donovan's age.

so! henry has a talk with donovan, but the conversation itself, while very important for the plot and especially for our understanding of donovan’s character, is irrelevant for this conversation. no, what's crucial here is what henry is holding. endo even highlights it by focusing an entire larger panel on it!

it's a history textbook for year 7 students!

it being a history textbook is very poignant for the conversation they're having, but the reason this is important to me is because it's very clearly a year 7 textbook.

now, i don't know how much of eden academy's curriculum is based on the uk! but because pretty much all of the architecture of it is based on eton college and endo has literally just returned from a london trip where he showed us he visited a kindergarten, so i think that's grounds enough for me to assume eden academy's year 7 is generally populated by children between 11 and 12 years old. luckily for me, that seems to be the general age for germany's secondary school year 7 too, so even if it's not the british one, it's still close enough!

with all that being said, if donovan is, say, 12 in that moment and henry is 22, that means there is a 10 year difference between the two of them, which, drum roll please, means donovan desmond is 56 years old when our story's events take place! assuming the war of loid's and yor's childhoods took place exactly 20 years ago (when yor was 7 and henry was 46), this would make him around 36 years old when he became ostania's prime minister! it would also mean he had damian at 50 years old, and if demetrius is 12 right now, that would mean he was born when donovan was 44 years old (and his birth would’ve been in the last years of the war).

so, rough events timeline based on all that, focusing on ages!

66 years ago: Henry Henderson is born.

63 years ago: Martha Marriott is born.

~56 years ago: Donovan Desmond is born.

49 years ago: Martha (14) transfers to Eden and meets Henry (17)

47 years ago: Henry (19) graduates Eden.

44 years ago: Henry (22) joins Eden as a teacher, in the same year becomes Donovan Desmond’s (~12) history teacher. Martha (19) graduates Eden and joins the Women’s Defense Auxiliary.

~44 years ago: Martha (~19) is presumed dead. Henry (~22) faces jail time. The war ends, and he marries.

27 years ago: Yor is born. At that time, Henry is 39, Martha is 36, and Donovan is 29.

~27 years ago. [REDACTED] is also born. Same as above, just approximate this time!

~20 years ago: Second war begins. Yor and [REDACTED] are ~7, Henry is ~46, Martha is ~43, Donovan is ~36. Yuri is born.

~12 years ago: Demetrius is born. Donovan is ~44, Yor and [REDACTED] are ~15, Henry is ~54, Martha is ~51, Yuri is ~8.

~10 years ago: Second war ends. Demetrius is ~2, Donovan is ~46, Yor and [REDACTED] are ~17, Henry is ~56, Martha is ~53, Yuri is ~10.

6 years ago: Damian is born (and most other kids in his and Anya’s grade). Demetrius is ~6, Donovan is ~50, Henry is 60, Martha is 57, Yor is 21, Twilight is ~21, Yuri is 14.

5-4 years ago: Anya is born. Damian (etc.) are 1-2, Demetrius is 7-8, Donovan is ~51-52, Henry is 61-62, Martha is 58-59, Yor is 22-23, Twilight is ~22-23, Yuri is 15-16.

1 year ago: Yuri (19) becomes part of the SSS. Anya is 3-4, Damian (etc.) is 5, Demetrius is 10-11, Donovan is ~55, Henry is 65, Martha is 62, Yor is 26, Twilight is ~26.

I HOPE THAT HELPS PUT THINGS INTO PERSPECTIVE?? melinda is not included bc we have nothing to go off of for her age outside of purely subjective things like her appearance.

super glad endo included the year 7 thing JAKLSDFKLSD

anyway thank you for reading!!! :DD

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seraphinitegames · 3 months ago

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Hey, Mishka!!!

I've been replaying TWC over the last couple of months, and must say, it's been an entirely rejuvenating experience for me. Like, I was reading it the first time, although I've replayed the series quite too many (worrying number) of times already. And it still manages to amaze me, EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I've repeated this in the past, and I'll repeat it again. The Wayhaven Chronicles is a blessing for me and I'm sincerely thankful to have come across it when I did. And I'm grateful to you for making this lovely world a reality (and of course, the four beautiful vamps)! Really eager for Book 4 and have already player the demo; can say it's gonna be worth the wait. It every time is.

Replaying the series in the last few months, I had a certain uncontrollable urge to drop and ask a few questions to you. Apologize in advance for the long ask and message, but it had been bottling up inside of me for SOOOOOO LONG.

1. In Book 1, when we're to lead the investigation in one of the three directions, is there any way to get success in any direction without Bobby making a big joke out of our investigation in the newspaper?

2. In Book 2, when Nicole and Max Salinas come to report their incident, can Tina actually find out anything unusual? If so, what is actually needed to explain that?

3. In Book 3, I noticed if we choose to go the final mission alone, depending on the route chosen, Boddy/Doug will end up tagging along as well, jeopardizing everything. Is there still a way to complete the mission successfully and rescuing everyone like it happens when we go along with Rebecca?

4. Less of a question, but more of a plea. Please tell me we can get a pet anytime in the series. I was just curious if we can get one.

5. How powerful is the big baddie in Book 4 compared to Unit Bravo? You don't need to answer if this verges on spoiler-y territory.

Really sorry to overwhelm you with this, but it's just months and months of joy, happiness, and sheer ecstasy making me blabber on about this world like this. Thanks once again, for making this truly beautiful story, world, and the vampires a reality.

Have a good day!!!! Lots of love from India!!

You can never play a game you love too many times (I keep telling myself that as I gradually burn a hole into my poor old console playing Dragon Age over and over, lol!)! If it brings you happiness, then that's what is important! :D

Ok, let's see about the questions...it's been a whole since I've gone through the older games without being in editing mode, hehe!

I don't think so...Bobby is, well, Bobby. And that scene was there very much to establish their character and show the player what type of person they are.

I don't think so, again. If there's anything unusual or odd, then I usually like to let the MC find that instead of it happening 'off-screen' so it's more impactful for the player—unless it's Verda discovering stuff, because that needs to happen for…reasons.

Iirc, in the Bobby/Doug routes, you get the auction scene, so a lot of that branch involves focusing on saving yourself! But the other team that joins Unit Bravo will help in saving a lot of the captives in that version.

I would love that being a massive animal companion fan myself, hehe! But likely not, just because the MC is away a lot from home, and that's unfair on the pet, even a fictional one, lol. I was tempted to give the MC a supernatural pet that hung around at the facility—that was definitely a strong idea at one point just so I could write a pet in the series for those that wanted it (me, I was the one who wanted it, hehe!) :D

**BOOK FOUR DEMO SPOILERS AHEAD** It's not just that Book Four's villain is terrifyingly powerful (or will be. They are, thankfully for the MC and UB, in a weakened state for a while due to what's happened to them and what happened in Chapter Two) but it's a lot to do with the fact that their power specifically counteracts and weakens Unit Bravo's. So that's a double whammy!

Thank you SO incredibly much for the amazing message! It means more than you can know <3

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megamagimugi · 5 months ago

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Art for @silenzahra

This is a post of appreciation for @silenzahra who welcomed me to Tumblr so warmly, became my first mutual and has ever since treated me with nothing but extreme kindness and sweetness.

And it all started with my comment on her post where she announced chapter 3 of her amazing story "Anything for him". I absolutely love this story and was so, so happy to hear that it would be finished after all. If you haven't read it yet, go do that. There are going to be spoilers in my post.

You can find the story here:

So. Here are my illustrations for each chapter compiled into a single image (CW: blood stains, nothing too gruesome):

Below are full versions of each image, along with chapter descriptions.

Chapter one is a beautiful description of Luigi's POV in Luigi's Mansion. It's canon compliant and not unlike other Luigi's Mansion retelling fanfics. We can see into Luigi's head as he faces his fears with one goal in mind: to find and rescue his beloved brother Mario.

Chapter two is where it gets really exciting as not only do we get to see Mario's side of the story, but we get an amazing twist that diverges from canon. Spoiler: Luigi gets seriously injured and Mario actually manages to get out of the painting on his own in order to help him! And thankfully, he succeeds. Luigi's wounds are healed and the brothers are together again.

The last chapter wraps up the story, switching back to Luigi's side. Some of the story overlaps with the previous chapter, then we get to see the proper reunion after Luigi wakes up. Lots of brotherly affection in this one. I like how the ending is sort of open yet definitely optimistic. I just had to try to draw the forehead touch.

Well, Zahra, I hope you like these little illustrations. I'm sorry it took so long, I know at this point it's been a while since you posted the last chapter, but I hope this post still brings a smile to your face.

Thank you once again for being such a nice and fun person, and of course such a good writer as well. I mean it when I say: keep being you :) Looking forward to your next works.

Btw, this is my first time posting my digital art here, which I'm not very good at so I'm kinda nervous. Please be gentle everyone? ^^' Shoutout to @peaches2217 for encouraging me to try posting fanart here on Tumblr, though!

#my art #mario #luigi #fanfiction #fanart of fanfiction #luigi's mansion

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alygator77 · 2 months ago

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alright, now that I have sat on this ending a bit I’d like to express my frustrations with this manga—this is entirely my own opinion, you have every right to disagree with me if you do, just please be respectful.

spoilers ahead.

it’s just… what was the point…the theme of JJK? can anyone please tell me? like honestly, I would really like to know what you think it was, because I feel like there were so many plot points that were introduced, and they led no where.

look—as a new writer I know it ain’t easy, I am still a novice and I’m not trying to completely disrespect geges writing. obviously there are some things he did right, otherwise this manga wouldn’t have gotten as popular as it did—I’m just so disappointed that this story feels so… empty. It’s shallow. It’s action with shock value—that is all this manga is to me, because everything gege built up to amounted to nothing.

the story starts with yuji talking about “proper deaths.” lol. lord the fucking irony. yet, satoru doesn’t get a proper burial. look… death is a big thing in Japan. they dedicate literal shrines to their loved ones. the disrespect for satoru as a character is so disgusting to me. we see yuji preemptively “mourn” him in a flashback—but not when the guy is actually dead?

this is not how real people are—real people mourn death. I understand everyone grieves differently—hell, yuji felt weird mourning his grandpa in the beginning, but you’re telling me no one gives a fuck? no ones gonna say anything? talk about how he’s gone? what he sacrificed? yuta got out of his body and…that’s it? we don’t know where tf it is or what happened to it.

nobara mourned yuji when she thought he was dead back in the beginning, and she barely knew him then—so what, everyone just hates satoru? the guy that literally cared so much for his students? the guy that was willing to completely overthrow a system just for yuta and yuji because he cared so much for their youth, their happiness?and yet, even they don’t acknowledge his death?

there were multiple chapters that just ended on some sort of cliff hanger or introduced a new side plot—giving the readers something to keep them interested, only for it to amount to nothing. yuta in gojos body—what was the fucking point of that? It accomplished nothing. It was just shock value. what was the point of these last 3 chapters?

look I don’t hate angst, and I’m all for tragic characters—satoru is definitely a tragic character—but god, there is also some tact in handling it. his character is amazing, yet the way he was executed in the end is just so fucking sad. especially considering he’s one of the most beloved characters in the fandom. this literally felt like a big “fuck you” to us satoru fans.

I could literally write an entire book about how unhappy I am so I’ll just stop there…

I’m so upset.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk series #jjk leaks #jjk ending #satoru gojo #satoru #gojo #gojo satoru #jjk

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wild-typo-turtle · 1 month ago

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Threads - Part 9

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine

Dreamcasting: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Content Notes for Part 9: Here there be smut! Yes, we've finally gotten there. Please do not read this chapter if you do not care for smut (my style runs on the M side of E, but there's details), or if you are not at least 18+.

Part 9

There was no change to how Lavan and Pendes carried out their duties, once they arrived. They were as calm and efficient as ever: Pendes prepared the wash basin for Linnea to clean her face and her hands, and while she washed, Lavan laid out her nightclothes and her robe.

The preparations had put a temporary wall in front of her grief. But it was flimsy, barely a few sticks tossed together. Soon enough, it would break again - and everything seemed to make that heap of sticks shudder. Even the lavender petals that floated in the bowl of hot water reminded her of Lhenes, of how it had been one of her mother’s favorite flowers.

Her eyes prickled as she dried her face. But as that wall threatened to burst open, she felt a gentle warmth in her chest, as if someone had lit a candle in her very heart.

And there was a soft whisper at the back of her thoughts, and this time she knew she was not imagining it.

I am here, melethel.

It was enough. At least for the moment.

Once she had washed and changed, Linnea settled back down at her dressing table, and Pendes quickly removed her hair ornaments and the thin silver circlet she had worn that day. She stared at herself in the mirror as Pendes drew a wide-toothed comb through her hair and then deftly re-braided the top. Lavan’s choices in what she had laid out betrayed no assumptions; the nightgown was creamy silk, it was true, but the cut was simple and modest. And the nightrobe was the same deep green silk as she usually wore. Nothing to imply that she would not be going to her own bed that night.

Come to me when you are ready.

It seemed she was, as Pendes finished with the braid and stepped back. Lavan had been moving through the other parts of Linnea’s rooms, straightening and tidying; since Linnea had been out most of the day, there was little to do, and she had finished at the same time as Pendes.

“Should we arrive at the usual time tomorrow morning, my lady?”

It was Lavan who had spoken. Her head was tilted down towards the floor; even had she not been veiled, Linnea would not have been able to see her expression.

She thought quickly about how to answer. Ereinion typically rose before she did; he had been maintaining his habit of taking an hour in the morning for contemplation, settling his spirit before facing the day. By the time she usually awoke, he had already been up for quite some time.

“Yes,” she replied. “The King rises early. I will be ready for you at the normal hour.”

“Very good, Your Grace. Is there anything else you require?”

“No thank you,” she said softly. “You may go.”

They bowed and left, and the rooms went quiet.

She knew she had no reason to be nervous. Nothing was going to happen that night - nothing except what Ereinion had offered her. Let me ease your pain. But she was going to him; she would sleep in his arms. She would know what it meant to share his bed, to wake with him next to her. The intimacy still to come, their wedding night when they would lie together, seemed to almost pale in comparison.

Almost.

Linnea rose to her feet, moving slowly out into the main room. Would he be ready for her? Should she give him a few more moments of privacy? He had come to her straight from the council meeting, or so it had appeared. Would he want more time to himself?

But she knew how she would feel, had she been waiting for him. She would not have been able to think of anything else.

She bit her lip, trying to settle the butterflies in her stomach as she approached the door, and opened it with a hand that trembled. The guards had changed when she had returned from the city, and it was Laebel and Natthor on duty that night outside her rooms.

“Good evening,” she said, working hard to keep her voice steady. “I will be going up to the King’s rooms now.”

She had taken long enough.

Ereinion had changed too, and was standing by the fireplace as she stepped off the staircase. There was a goblet of wine in his hand, and another sitting full on the table next to the hearth - but she barely noticed.

No crown, his hair loose over his shoulders. Beautiful hair was a point of pride among their people, and she hadn’t ever failed to appreciate how blessed he was. His feet were bare like her own, peeking out from the hem of a long, pale gold nightrobe. Above the edges of the robe, she could see the collar of a silk shirt, an even lighter gold, buttoned just at the base of his throat with a star-shaped pearl clasp. Other than the pearl, and the two rings on his right hand, he was without adornment.

But he was enough, all on his own. Any jewels would have been outshone, as pale dewdrops placed next to the brightest of diamonds.

“Meleth nín,” she breathed.

The glass in his hands wobbled slightly, the liquid in it giving the tiniest slosh, as his eyes landed on her. He smiled - but she could see he was nervous too, and it helped those butterflies calm down, helped her hands steady.

But he didn’t speak, and she searched his face as she walked to him. As she drew closer, she could see that his hand was tight on the stem of the goblet he held.

“What is it?”

Ereinion’s smile widened, just the smallest bit. But at the same time, he closed his eyes, shaking his head softly.

“I would tell you that you are beautiful,” he murmured. “But there are no words that are adequate for that. And so I can only marvel at you, melethel, and thank the Valar for what they have given us.”

It was Linnea’s turn to smile, her turn to close her eyes. He was never shy with his compliments, and she was still growing accustomed to it - the sheer volume of the love that he had to give. She reached up, running her fingers through the hair that hung over his shoulder; dark silk, as dark as the night sky, and just as velvety soft.

“I thank them every moment,” she said softly. “For you are just as beautiful. In body and spirit alike.”

He leaned down for a kiss then. It was a soft kiss, and it did not last for long, but it was one of the most tender that she could remember ever sharing. It did not push the grief back - he knew better than that. Instead, love sat side by side with sorrow, much as he had sat next to her on the floor in her rooms.

When their lips parted, he stroked the back of his hand down her cheek. “Come,” he murmured. “There is food if you are hungry. And then we shall have our tea, and then I will hold you for as long as you may need me to.”

She wasn’t sure about the food part. But as she turned towards the dining room, Ereinion’s hand moving to the small of her back, she could smell vegetable stew, and it did smell good. And perhaps she could be tempted into eating.

Linnea had found the cups several weeks ago, in a district full of potters and glassblowers. She had wanted something special for their evening tea, something that spoke to the shared time just as much as the tea itself did. And they had been beautiful, sitting on the shelf in the cool, quiet workshop.

The color had drained from Ereinion’s face when he had seen them.

He hadn’t said anything to explain, simply complimenting her on the choice. But his reaction had stuck in her mind, and as they sat together by the fire after eating, waiting for the tea to cool enough to drink, she finally decided to ask.

“What was it about these that shocked you so?”

Ereinion didn’t reply right away, turning the cup back and forth in his hands and watching it move. The porcelain was painted white, with just a hint of grey, calling forth the bark of the Great Tree. And to further the likeness, there were golden leaves painted on top of the white, subtle and faint brushstrokes lending themselves to the feeling that the leaves were slowly drifting down from the top of the cup to the bottom.

She waited, letting him decide whether to tell her. Part of her still felt as fragile as the porcelain she held, but at the same time, having her belly full was helping anchor her to the here and now as opposed to being drawn into her memories. As was the peace of Ereinion’s rooms; the lanterns that hung from the ceiling were lit, but they gave a gentle, warm light, casting a softness over everything.

Finally he raised his head, meeting her eyes.

“I have told you that the rings grant foresight,” he murmured. “But what I did not share with you - out of fear, perhaps, that it would be too much for you - was the vision I was given when first we met.”

Linnea nodded. He had indeed shared it with her that he had had glimpses of what had come to pass at Eregion: the mountain crumbling, the Glanduin running dry. It grieved him, she knew, that he had not understood what he had seen - but how could he have? What warning could he have drawn from such things?

“It was that night, at your fire,” he said. “You offered me some of the tea. I smelled it, and suddenly I was seeing the future.” He paused. “Our future. We were here, in these rooms. It was winter. I was at my desk; you lay by the fire. It was clearer than any sight I have had from the ring, before or since. And when you called me, I came to you, and our tea was in these very cups.”

She couldn’t help but smile, picturing it. It sounded peaceful, and more - it sounded like what he needed. An island of calm, in the storms that they knew were coming.

But something he had said made her curious. The chairs that circled the hearth were comfortable, certainly, but they were chairs, not chaises of any sort where one could recline.

“I lay by the fire?”

His eyes dropped back to the cup, and he - his face - was he blushing?

“I had it made for you,” he said, speaking to the tea. “I felt that when I saw it. A lounging chair, so that you could relax with ease. While you - you - while you carried our child.”

Our child.

“I was with child? In what you saw?”

He nodded, still not looking at her. “I do not know how far ahead it lies along the path of our future,” he murmured. “Nor even if such a vision can be trusted. But it was so clear to me, melethel - I could feel it. I touched you and I could feel our child reaching out for me.”

Her eyes burned hot, prickling with fresh tears. She had thought of it, yes - and they had spoken of it, enough to know that both of them desired it - but to know that he had seen it, felt it, almost made her envious.

“I will carry our children gladly,” she whispered. “Whenever that time may come for us. Although I think - “

Linnea swallowed past the lump in her throat. The thought of Eressie’s son was fresh in her mind, with this talk - the son that was barely a dozen years old, that would never know more of his father. Haste was not something their people engaged in; the hand of time crawled so slowly for them. Under normal circumstances, she and Ereinion might wait a century or more to begin their time of children. Her parents had done so.

But these were not normal circumstances. Their love was not a normal love.

War would come. They would both need their strength, in hröa and fëa alike. The enemy was biding his time, building his strongholds and increasing his armies. If they were going to have children, perhaps soon was the time.

“I think - “

It was no strange matter that her children would not know their grandparents. Many did not. Her own grandparents, all of them, had perished in the Wars of Beleriand. She had no memories of them; they had been long gone by the time she had been born. They had been weavers too, all four of them, and she often wondered what she might have learned from Lhénes’ mother Lhéniel or Taucion’s father Tauben.

Lhénes would never show a grandchild how to warp a loom. Taucion would never weave a blanket for a young one.

“I - “

She didn’t feel the tears overflowing and dripping down her face. Not until Ereinion’s hands closed around hers, gently taking the half-full cup of tea from her and setting it to the side.

He was kneeling on the floor before her, and once he had moved the tea, he gathered her into his arms, pulling her head to rest on his shoulder. And then more - he slid his arms around her back and under her legs and rose, lifting her with him. She raised her head, her cheeks still streaked with tears, and saw the sorrow she felt reflected in his eyes.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply carried her across the room, stepping around the furnishings. He was moving towards the sleeping alcove, and when he reached it, he laid her down on the bed, on top of the covers that had been neatly set in place.

She moved over, and Ereinion joined her, laying down beside her, still in his nightrobe. He was propped up against the pillows and so was she; it was a position where they could see each other easily, and the newness of everything offered another of those momentary distractions from grief.

The blankets were soft. That was the first thing. They were good wool, light - the Eldar were not vulnerable to the cold - and woven in a warm blend of gold and brown. As her fingers touched the cloth, she could feel faint charms in the threads; whoever had woven the blankets had been strong in the art, and she could sense blessings for peaceful rest and pleasant dreams.

The same had been laid on the ivory satin that covered the pillows she was leaning against. Ereinion’s dark hair spilled over them; his eyes were riveted on her face, and she could feel the warmth of his body as they lay next to each other. He was such a perfect example of their people: tall and sturdy even for a Noldor, broad and strong, and beautiful.

And yet, when he gathered her up against him, all that strength was held in reserve. While she could feel the muscles of his body, his hands were gentle, and his embrace was infinitely tender. He turned onto his back, positioning her at his side, and she pillowed her head in the space between his chest and his shoulder with her cheek against the satin of his nightrobe.

“Are you comfortable, melethel?”

It almost tickled, the rumble of his voice beneath her face, and it made Linnea smile even through the tempest of emotion that was swirling in her. “Very,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

He hummed softly in acknowledgment. “I had hoped you would find the bed to your liking,” he murmured. “And that you would enjoy sleeping here often.”

This was something she had been curious about. Her parents had shared a room, but she didn’t know if the Noldor did things differently. She hadn’t minded having her own rooms thus far, especially as she’d been settling in to court, but she’d wondered about what would happen after the wedding.

“I think I would, if that is something you would want,” she said softly. “I was not sure what the customs would be, if we would continue as we have been or if you would want me here…”

He chuckled, and shifted their positions again so that they could look at each other. “I will always want you here with me,” he said. “I thought to give you a space of your own that you could use for hosting, as you have done. But yes, beloved…if you will it so, I would have you come to me at night. Even when we do not lie together, I would have you share my bed and greet the dawn with me.”

She reached up, caressing his cheek. “I would like that,” she said again. “And I - “

She paused. The other question she had been so curious about hovered on her tongue, prompted by his words, but it made her cheeks heat up even at the thought of asking. He was new to this too; would he even have an answer?

He noticed.

“What makes you blush so?” he murmured.

Linnea took a deep breath, pushing the embarrassment down. This was her betrothed; her soulmate. He would be her husband in only a few more days. There was no need for such between them; he was the person she could speak to about it.

“I was not sure about that either,” she said softly. “About - how often we would lie together. I did not know what the Noldor do, or even the Sindar, really, and there is no one to ask, and I did not want to disappoint you if - or seem too eager if - “

Ereinion laughed.

But it was not a malicious laugh; he was not laughing at her. It was a warm, gentle laugh, and as he did, he brought his hand up to cup her face and bring their foreheads together. Her eyes closed and she felt his laughter fade, felt the soft brush of his lips against hers.

“I have wondered the same,” he whispered. “Truly. You are not alone in your uncertainty. In my youth, I was taught that such desires were tied to the time of children, and that while the union of love brought great joy and delight, the wish for it would fade once that time had passed.”

She nodded. “I was taught the same,” she said. “But - “

No shyness, she reminded herself. Not with him.

“ - but I want you,” she finished, all in a rush. “And I was never told that it would be like that. I did not know if it was me, or you, or something else. I wondered if it is different for us because of how we met, how we knew so quickly.”

She felt him move, and opened her eyes. He had scooted back slightly so that he could meet her gaze again.

“I think it very likely,” he murmured. “For I desire you as well, melethel. Greatly. This you know. And I too wondered at it, how it was so different from what I had thought to expect - even had I wed when I was young.”

She smiled with relief, knowing that the same thoughts had been in his mind. And the feeling made her bold, bold enough to reach for him and bring their lips together, pouring her desire into the kiss so that he would have absolutely no doubt that she spoke true. He had said she knew, and she did - and he deserved the same.

Ereinion let out a soft moan as she did it, and his arm slid to her waist to draw her body against him. It was another one of those moments where her skin did not feel like it could contain everything inside - desire, grief, love, sorrow - and it pushed her to be even more daring, to slide her leg up and over his waist in a rustle of silk and satin so that they could be even closer.

The kiss deepened and she let herself fall into it; she let the touch of his lips and the taste of him - spices from their dinner, herbs from the tea - drive everything else away. And it was her turn to moan as his leg slid in between hers, as the thick, rock-solid muscles of his thigh pressed against her core through her nightgown and his arm tightened around her waist.

At the sound, he tore his mouth from hers, breathing raggedly - but he also didn’t move away.

“Linnea,” he said raggedly. “I would not - we do not need to rush, we can wait for anything more. Our wedding is a fortnight away.”

She took a deep breath. Her breasts pushed against his chest as she did; they were so close, so close. What he said was true; they could stop. But his kisses, his hands, were another of those anchors to the here and now, and she did not want to stop.

They would wait for their wedding night for their ultimate union, yes, but they could explore one another before that. Coming to it all new was certainly special, but this was a different kind of special - the special of knowing at least something of how to give pleasure, the nervousness that it would not be enjoyable for the other banished.

If that was what he wanted too.

“It is,” she whispered, acknowledging what he had said. “But you were right, beloved. You are as much my husband now as you will be after we lie together. And tonight I wish to feel my husband’s touch - if he is willing.”

He was.

Her words broke any resolve he had mustered up to pull back, to make his offer. His mouth crashed back onto hers and she was rolling onto her back, Ereinion rising over her and propping himself on his arms so that his weight did not crush her. Her eyes were closed, but she felt his hair fall over his shoulders, silkily brushing against her face and neck.

And then he stopped. His weight shifted again.

Linnea opened her eyes, looking up at him. He was gazing at her with such love that her heart felt that it would burst, and yes, there was still grief - but for the first time, as she lay there, it was possible to see that all of this had to happen this way. They were soulmates, fated to be, but perhaps all that had come before had been necessary for them to meet at the right time, under the right circumstances.

“When you wish to stop, you have only to say the word,” he whispered. “And you must speak it if I hurt you, or if there is anything - “

She pressed her fingers to his lips.

“I will wait to have all of you till our wedding night,” she murmured. “But I think there is much we can do to please each other apart from that, is there not?”

Ereinion smiled, and kissed her fingers.

“Let us find out.”

With that, he dropped his head, and began leaving a trail of kisses that started below her ear and made its way down her neck, right to the edge of her nightrobe. He was leisurely, moving slowly, letting his lips linger and dance on the skin that he was kissing, and every so often his teeth would delicately nip. It was delicious and maddening at the same time, and Linnea writhed - and as she did, her core rocked against the thigh that was still between her legs, which was its own form of maddening.

Ereinion dropped a last kiss on her collarbone and then lifted back up. He balanced himself on one arm, and the fingers of his free hand followed the path his lips had just taken, skating slowly down her neck.

And his fingers stopped at the edge of her robe, his eyes seeking permission, and she nodded.

He sat up, taking her hand and gently tugging so that she did the same. And once she was up, his hands moved to the belt of her robe, even as his eyes remained fixed on hers. She nodded again as he found the knot, and with that consent given, he undid the belt and smoothed the robe off her shoulders.

The neck of her nightgown was gathered at the center of her chest with a ribbon. The small bow was the next object of his attention; he untied that as well, loosening the neck so that it slid down off her shoulders and caught on the swells of her breasts.

He hadn't really revealed anything yet. But she felt more exposed, as his eyes dragged down from her neck to her breasts, than she ever had in her life. Heat throbbed in her belly, between her legs, craving for more of his touch - and also craving to touch him.

His lead was a good one to follow. Linnea started with the belt of his robe, making sure to receive his nod before untying it. When it was off, she found that in addition to the beautiful shirt, he was also wearing a pair of loose silk pants of the same pale gold, soft and comfortable against his skin.

And just like him, she hadn't revealed much, but she still traced the outlines of his body with her eyes.

Hers.

The lanterns hanging from the ceiling were dim, casting the room in shadow and mystery, but they were still bright enough to make the pearl clasp at Erenion's throat sparkle. She fixed on that, unbuttoning it, and then sliding her hands underneath the edge of his shirt to lift it off him.

And then there was much, much more to look at: a smooth, chiseled chest and arms and shoulders and stomach, the trained warrior so apparent in the strength and power of him.

She tossed the shirt away and barely noticed where it landed.

The gold silk pants were tied at his waist, and they beckoned temptingly. But there was plenty for her to explore now, and she was not about to delay getting started.

Ereinion sucked in a breath as she placed her hand on his chest and pushed, toppling him over onto his back, and she heard his heart speed up as she followed him and straddled his waist. His hands went to her hips, eyes hooded and dark, and she tried not to think too much about what she could feel pressing between her legs - later for that, later.

Instead, she focused on his chest, spreading her hands over the expanse of flawless skin. Slowly and carefully, Linnea traced the outlines of each muscle, exploring the map and the texture of him, and smiling as he fought for air beneath her fingertips. His hold on her hips tightened but he didn’t say a word; he just let her caress him, like he was learning too, learning what it felt like to be touched with love.

But he wasn’t going to be passive forever.

He lifted further up once she brushed over the lower part of his stomach, just above his waist, and his arms wrapped firmly around her. She slid hers around his neck and pressed herself tight against him as he claimed her mouth with his; she tangled her fingers into his long, dark hair even as she felt him brush her hair away from her neck. And then he was abandoning her lips to kiss his way down her throat again, making her whimper softly.

A warm, strong hand slid down her side, and nestled itself against the underside of her breast.

He pushed up, plumping the flesh above her nightgown, and his lips feathered over that too. His hand felt like it was aflame, and part of her wondered that it did not burn the cloth, but that was far less interesting than what it was doing - gently squeezing and kneading, thumb brushing over the center of the fabric covering her to find and tease her nipple into a stiff, aching peak.

As good as it felt, she wanted more. Her nightgown was an unacceptable barrier and somehow he knew, whether it was her continued soft whines or the rocking restlessness of her hips; he abandoned his efforts and yanked the edge of her nightgown down, baring her breast to his eyes, and once again she could hear and feel his heart hammering.

“Nan i ‘aear ar in elin,” he muttered, a beautiful epithet that scorched her skin. “Rîn vuin.”

“Aran vui - oh, Ereinion…”

Beloved King, she had meant to say in reply, but his lips had closed around her nipple and his mouth suckled her, hot and damp, soothing the ache and at the same time making it worse. One hand still held her breast for his attention; the other pressed on her back, keeping her close to him. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she dropped her head to rest against his, lost in sensation, waves of pleasure rippling from where his mouth touched her out to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

He switched hands, ministering to her other breast in the same fashion. Her nightgown dropped down, a band of bunched fabric between waist and thigh that barely covered anything, and had he stopped long enough to tear it completely off of her she would have helped him to do it. Her arms held him loosely, her hands still tangled in his hair, and she could have let him continue for the entirety of the night just like this and been happy for it.

But she felt that burning hot hand land on the bare skin of her thigh, just above her knee, and his mouth and tongue stopped their movements. He released her breast and raised his eyes to her, lips still hovering just above her tender nipple, and breathed against her skin.

“May I?”

She nodded. And she turned her head to watch.

Ereinion was doing the same, pillowing his head on her bare breast. The edge of her nightgown lay across her thigh, and she watched as his hand slid upward and his fingertips slipped beneath the hem, and his thumb captured it. As his hand continued to move, the fabric moved with it, pooling in the crease of her hips. Linnea shuddered at the sight and the feel of his hand there, where none save her own had been before, feeling her core swell and slicken even more than it already was. She wanted his hand higher, more, she wanted his fingers dragging through her and releasing the coil of pleasure that he’d already wound up so tight.

There was one more barrier, short silk drawers beneath the nightgown. But they were loose, and presented no obstruction.

“Ereinion…”

The softest of exploring caresses, as he finally reached the apex of her thighs. She went rigid with sensation at the delicate trace of his fingertips over the damp, quivering, burning flesh, so gentle and yet almost overwhelming.

“Avo dharo,” she moaned, barely conscious of speaking. “Please - do not stop, please, meleth nín…”

“Linnea,” he whispered. His other hand moved, wrapping around her waist, holding her close. “Linnea.”

She clutched his shoulders as he continued, his touch growing the tiniest bit firmer as he learned the shape of her. She felt his hot breath on her skin, his lips caressing the side of her breast, as he worked to coax the pleasure higher and higher. Any shyness was a distant memory; her tongue was unbound, offering praise when his touch found the right places, the right patterns. A finger slid into her and she cried out at the new sensation, clenching around it, her hips rocking helplessly against his palm where it cupped her. Everything was so new, so new, and there was the added thrill of not knowing what he would do next, how he would touch or where he would press, and -

She shattered.

Nothing at all like how she had explored her own body, as different as night to day. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think; the only thing in the entire world was the release, that wound-up coil of pleasure finally letting go. Cries escaped her parted lips somehow, even though all of the air had left her lungs; soft moans of his name, and wordless pleas, entreaties for more, for yes, for don't stop.

As she came back to herself, she was aware of her nails digging into his back; her forehead, slick with sweat, pressed into the side of his neck. The hand on her waist moved up, smoothing soothingly over her back, as the hand between her legs gently eased away.

“Are you well?”

Was she well? Could he not tell? But although Ereinion's voice was the softest whisper, he sounded nervous. And although she was still trembling and unsure if she could speak, she lifted her head and met his eyes, and managed a smile, and that seemed to be enough to reassure him. He leaned in for a kiss - a slow, gentle, tender kiss, perfect for the moment of winding down, resting, pausing before the next thing happened.

That next thing, she vowed, was going to be her making him feel just as good.

“Lie down,” she murmured, once their lips had parted. “It is my turn.”

“Melethel, you do not - “

Have to, she was sure he was about to say, and no, she did not, but she wanted to. And more, she did not wish to spend even a moment explaining that to him; there was a far, far better way to let him know it.

So instead of speaking, she stopped him by sliding her hand between them and caressing between his legs.

He collapsed back onto the bed as if all of his bones had suddenly vanished. His fingers dug into the blankets, clenching in a white-knuckled grip. And when she reached for the tie on his pants, he helped, lifting his hips so that she could slide them down without having to move off of him. And she had seen an unclothed man before - but this was different, it was her unclothed man, and as his sex slipped free the only thing she could think was beautiful. Beautiful.

Linnea didn’t hesitate for a moment. She wrapped her hand around him; his sturdiness was reflected here too. He was long and thick and perfect, velvety soft and diamond hard, hers hers hers. She let her fingers wander, exploring slowly and carefully and gently, taking her turn to learn his shape and his texture. He was trembling, the muscles of hands and arms as tight as a drawn bowstring, the iron control that had formed over hundreds of years shattering in mere seconds. A power that she had never known existed, and it was hers and only hers; she would be the only one who would ever do this for him, to him.

“Linnea.” A string of broken curses followed her name, and it made her heart swell with both pride and relief. “Gin iallon - I - “

He jerked, and a moment later, his seed spilled hot over her hand. A high, soft moan left his lips at the same time as he gasped; more broken words, nonsense, his eyes slammed shut and teeth clenched tight.

She couldn’t help but smile at the sight. If she had thought he was beautiful before, he was infinitely more so now, caught in the throes of pleasure that she had given him. She slowed her hand and drew it away as his body stilled; she had been sensitive after she had reached her peak, even the lightest touch almost too much, and she thought it likely that the same would be so for him.

He had pleasured her. She had pleasured him. It was enough - for now.

There was a washbasin off to the side of the bed, with a full pitcher of water at the ready. Linnea rose for just long enough to clean her hands and dry them, and to pull her nightgown back up around her shoulders. Ereinion was still lying motionless when she returned to him, although he stirred when she curled up against his side and pillowed her head back on his chest. His arm went around her, and she felt his lips brush her hair.

“Two thousand years,” he murmured. “And I could not have imagined this.”

“How could you have?” she whispered. “How could anyone, save by experiencing it? I cannot see someone trying to write it down…”

“Rúmil tried,” he said dryly. “Although the verse left something to be desired.”

“Rúmil?” Linnea sat up, looking at him in confusion. “The poet?”

“Indeed.” Ereinion gave her a small, self-deprecating smile, reaching down and pulling his pants back up to his hips. “Melethel, I wanted to be perfect for you. I feared I would hurt you out of ignorance, or at the least, that I would fail to give you pleasure. I thought to perhaps gain some small amount of knowledge before our wedding. And Rúmil was said to have written some very…intimate…passages.” He chuckled. “Yet as you say, it is not possible to describe in words.”

He’d tried to research.

She laid back down on his chest, feeling his arms come back around her. “It was perfect,” she whispered. “It was you. You required no guidance, meleth nín, not even from a poet as brilliant as Rúmil. Your touch was all I needed.”

He kissed her forehead. “This was not my intent when I asked you to stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “But I am grateful for it. Both for learning something of you, that our wedding night will be naught but joy - and also for what you have given me, shared with me.”

He was right. This night had been a gift from each of them to the other, and she wondered how many other couples had done the same before their wedding. It simply wasn’t talked about; it was too sacred, too special to discuss in any sort of casual environment. She knew that Men and Dwarves did so, even made light of it - she had heard some of the crude jests when merchants had come to trade. Perhaps their ways suited their peoples, but she could think of nothing so beautiful as what had just happened between herself and Ereinion.

And in that beauty was also peace. Her spirit was content, the grief soothed by his nearness. It was easier to remember that her parents were not gone forever, that they would rest in the Halls of Mandos and then be reborn to live in the Blessed Lands. She would see them again; this was a parting, but not an ending.

“And you, my love,” she said softly. “Just as much have you given me. And I am grateful to know I returned your gift in kind.”

He chuckled again, and he shifted, using his feet to push at the blankets and draw them up over them both. She approved; pleasure had left her languid, and between that and the warmth of him, sleep tugged at her.

“In kind,” he said wryly. “My love, you wondered how often we would lie together. Knowing that I can give this pleasure to you, and how the touch of your hands feels for me…I fear you will grow very weary of my desires in that respect.”

She echoed his laugh, even as she settled herself against him and closed her eyes.

“We shall see who grows weary of the other’s desires first, aran vuin,” she murmured. “You may regret taking a wife who demands you remain in bed so often.”

“Nidhinc bestad meneg lui bo i chaust hen,” he said, and she could hear his smile. “And that will just be a start.”

Continue to Part 10

A/N on the Sindarin, all credit to RealElvish.net:

Nidhinc bestad meneg lui bo i chaust hen: We shall wed a thousand times on this bed.

Aran vuin: Beloved king

Rin vuin: Beloved queen

Avo dharo: Don’t stop

Gin iallon: I beg you

Nan i ‘aear ar in elin: By the sea and the stars

#rings of power #gil galad #gil-galad #the rings of power #trop fanfiction #fanfic #gil-galad x ofc #fanfiction #fix it fic #fix it au

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