#shaking..SOMEONE HIRE ME I NEED TO MAKE PURCHASES

[desktopmermaid]

Oh my goddddd

[theharrowing]

One Day at a Time 🌙 2: It feels right; I don't care if it's wrong

Yoongi loves to help others. As a professional surrogate, he takes pride in using his body to help families bring life into this world, and love into their homes. But when his high school crush Kim Namjoon hires Yoongi to help him and his wife conceive, things get…precarious.

Or, Omega Yoongi gets bred by Alpha Namjoon and holy shit, does he fall in love.

🐺 Yoongi x Namjoon, established Namjoon x Wheein

🌙 word count: 19.3k

🌙 past acquaintances to lovers, a/b/o, mpreg, infidelity, angst, smut, eventual fluff, slash, nsfw, 21+

🌙 warnings: alpha/top Namjoon, omega/bottom Yoongi; Namjoon is married, and he has a big dick; Yoongi is a mess, and he cries a lot; a/b/o stuff (mating cycles, lots of scent stuff, wolf instincts, marking - there will be blood, omega slick), angst (hormones raging, pining, emotional infidelity, infidelity, hurt/comfort), smut (ritualistic sex, ass to mouth, anal sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, extremely painful knotting, pregnant sex, begging, praising, possessiveness), confessions, falling in love, “happy ending.”

🌙 note: you already know what is going on. warnings are serious hehehe. okay, have fun!!!

🌙 written for one shot two shot fest

🌙 thanks to @neoneunnajimin & @sailoryooons for beta reading and to @sweetestofchaos for helping me pick scents!

🌙 posted july 2023 | read on ao3

PREVIOUS | INDEX

Yoongi is on the precipice of completely and total mental collapse.

Namjoon's words take a moment to sink, but Yoongi lies with his eyes wide, staring at the muscular shoulder of the alpha above him as he sniffs the air near Yoongi's head. 

I finally get to have you.

Yoongi's hands attempt to find purchase on the satin sheets, grabbing fistfuls while he squirms under the warm breath that wafts across his shoulder, neck, and throat, but the material slides and slips. 

"What did you say?" Yoongi mutters despite knowing he should probably leave it alone. But he is spiraling over the idea that Namjoon has wanted this as badly as he has, and he just…he needs to know. 

"You heard me, little omega," Namjoon grumbles as he sits up and shuffles around, walking on his knees down to Yoongi's legs, which are bent and half-spread and moving uselessly, uncontrollably. 

"Gods, look at you," Namjoon teases as he takes one of Yoongi's ankles and pulls it to the side, spreading his legs. Warmth radiates beneath his touch, and Yoongi lets out a shaky breath, doing his best to keep his cool. "When is the last time someone has touched you?"

With a huff of air, Yoongi squeezes his eyes closed and makes a futile attempt at centering himself. This whole situation was already a mind-fuck without Namjoon toying with him. He thinks he can hear Namjoon chuckling as he takes Yoongi's other ankle and spreads his legs further, but he does not open his eyes just yet. 

He knew they would have to have sex, but Namjoon is treating him like a conquest. Or is this how alphas always fuck? Rough and possessive, grabbing and spreading and teasing.

"Do I scare you, little omega?" Namjoon asks with a tone full of mirth as the mattress dips, and Yoongi feels Namjoon's arms beside his hips, beside his ribs, above his shoulders. 

Yoongi shakes his head as he opens his eyes, finding Namjoon hovering over him, inches from his face. He could tilt his head up and kiss him at this distance. 

"No," Yoongi says, voice shaking unconvincingly. "You don't scare me at all, I was just…not sure what to expect."

"Do you want me to be soft with you?" Namjoon asks, tilting his head to the side. "Make love to you?"

A laugh rocks through Yoongi, and he knits his brows. "What?"

"Because I don't think I can," Namjoon continues, warm, sticky-sweet breath ghosting over Yoongi's face. "Not while in my rut. Not when you smell the way you do. You have no idea how much I'm holding back right now."

Again, Namjoon sniffs at Yoongi's shoulder, keeping himself just far away that he does not make contact with his skin – not that he even has to; the feeling of his breath alone coming out in huffs and pants is enough to make Yoongi's head spin. Oh, but he wishes Namjoon would just brush his lips against his scent gland. 

Namjoon may have tauntingly asked when the last time he had been touched was, but Yoongi wonders the same. Rut or not, Namjoon seems desperate, like he is moments away from losing total control. Is this what rut is like, or is Namjoon just as touch-starved as he is?

"It's not that I expect you to be soft," Yoongi finally responds, finding his voice, and doing his best to at least return some of Namjoon's playful energy. "But you really do love to tease, don't you, alpha?"

Namjoon groans deep from his chest, and this time, when he takes in a deep breath, his lips skim over Yoongi's shoulder ever so slightly. The contact is barely there, but it is enough to send a shiver quaking from the base of Yoongi's spine to the tips of his toes. 

"I'll stop teasing you, then," Namjoon responds, voice breathy and deep, lust-laced the way it was in the woods. "I'll take what I came here for. Is that what you want, little omega? Want me to knot you nice and tight and fill you with my pups?"

Gods, the language is archaic and borderline humiliating, but it sends Yoongi reeling. He wants it so badly he worries he may lose his mind completely if Namjoon does not hurry and give it to him. 

"Please," Yoongi pants, letting his eyelids flutter closed. "Breed me, alpha."

Another groan comes from Namjoon, this one sounding even closer to a growl. "I want to touch you so badly," he mutters, possibly to himself.

"Just touch me," Yoongi responds, almost frantically. Perhaps it is against the rules; Namjoon is married, after all. But there was no clause in the contract – which they have neglected to sign – that prevents intimacy. They are having sex, for fuck's sake; and it is not as if Namjoon is going to kiss him. "We're already doing…this…so just touch me."

Namjoon begins to crawl down the length of Yoongi's body, slowly stalking backward while his lips ghost over his chest, his stomach, his hip. Every minute touch of skin against skin makes Yoongi jolt – sends an electric current through his bloodstream, white-hot and high frequency; buzzing, dizzying, and not quite enough. 

"Please don't rip those to shreds too," Yoongi teases as Namjoon's fingertips grab and lift the waistline of his briefs. He does not actually care if Namjoon destroys the garment, but suddenly his heart is pounding so hard and fast and loud, Yoongi worries he might throw up, and he is searching for some levity. 

Namjoon laughs, dragging his cheek along Yoongi's thigh and knee as he sits back, pulling Yoongi's briefs with the movement. Yoongi stares at the ceiling above. The thought of being nude makes him shy, even though he is in heat and is desperate to be fucked. Because it has been a while since Yoongi has let someone touch him like this, and he needs it. He craves it.

As his briefs are pulled away, Yoongi lifts his legs high. He feels impatient over the way Namjoon is undressing him so slowly, and by how the material drags and lifts higher and higher. Finally, when the garment passes his ankles and he is free, he begins to drop his legs, spreading his feet but holding his knees together.

Namjoon takes a loud, deep breath, and the sound makes Yoongi tear his gaze from the ceiling. When he looks at the alpha, he is sitting stiff with his nostrils flared and pupils blown, and he has that expression from before – the one that made Yoongi wonder if Namjoon would eat him. In his hand, beside his face, Namjoon grips tightly to Yoongi's briefs, breathing deeply through his nose. 

He looks crazed, almost otherworldly, like a demon has clawed into his skin and taken over. The air is pungent with tangerine laced with cinnamon and warm musk, and although the scent is familiar, it is also different. It is headier and tangier, and most of the sweetness is buried. It makes Yoongi sweat – makes him claw against the satin sheets feeling far needier than ever. He is certain that if Namjoon does not fuck him right now, he might actually die. 

Yoongi is acutely aware of the fact that his slick is dripping from him. Demureness slips away as he lifts his legs and gently uses his feet to tug at Namjoon, using his toes to dig gently into his ribs. Namjoon looks down at Yoongi, down between his legs, and his lips lift into a grin. 

"You're so—" Namjoon begins, shaking his head and cutting himself off. 

"Please," Yoongi whines, hole aching to be filled. Namjoon's scent is overwhelming, clawing at Yoongi's senses, ripping his sanity to shreds like the shirt that still uselessly clings to one of his shoulders. Never has he begged to be fucked before, but he cannot hold back. "Namjoon. Please."

Namjoon nods in dazed, slow movements. And then he flings Yoongi's briefs across the room and gets onto his hands and knees in a movement so quick, the mattress shakes, and Yoongi gasps. Namjoon leans close, rakes his teeth over Yoongi's thigh, eyelids fluttering closed, and he looks so feral and so fucking handsome, Yoongi cannot help but stare.

"Yoongi, you are so—" Again, Namjoon shakes his head and stops himself. He nips at Yoongi's thigh, sending a tickling mix of pleasure and a tiny hint of pain coursing through him, making Yoongi dig his heels into the mattress and whimper. "So fucking—"

"So, what?" Yoongi shouts, bowing his back, feeling the sheet stick to his skin, digging his head into the pillow. The desire that pours from him clings in the air and looms overhead like a cloud. Like a threat. Yoongi fears he will be suffocated at any moment if he is not sated. 

Rather than respond, Namjoon sinks lower, and, before Yoongi can make sense of his actions, Namjoon grabs and slightly lifts Yoongi's ass, spreading him with both hands as he licks over his hole, slow and firm and so good. 

Yoongi's hips buck upward as he moans, choking on the end of it and turning it into a sob as Namjoon licks again and again. Is this allowed? Should he be doing this? Yoongi is already soaking wet and does not need foreplay; why is Namjoon tasting him like this?

But Yoongi does not voice his questions; he would not dare. Namjoon swirls his tongue over Yoongi, groaning and growling, making every inch of his skin burn with arousal, and his cock aches to be touched, neglected, and leaking against his tummy. 

"Holy fuck," Yoongi finally whines when he cannot keep it in any longer, back arched with his toes digging into the mattress, attempting to keep himself lifted.

"I just knew you would taste this sweet," Namjoon grumbles, dragging his teeth once more over Yoongi's thigh while sitting up between his spread legs. 

Yoongi whimpers, fisting the sheet tightly, body heaving and trembling and desperate. "Please," he sobs, squeezing his eyes closed and opening them wide, staring at Namjoon's shoulders, at his pecs, at his tummy and his thighs, and his hard, leaking cock. 

Two fingers graze over Yoongi's hole, and he stutters a moan, keeping his jaw slack while Namjoon penetrates him so slowly it makes his eyes roll back. The stretch of his fingers floods Yoongi with arousal that burns hot in his tummy and spreads to his limbs. Yoongi opens his eyes to find Namjoon's mouth slowly falling open as he watches his own fingers get swallowed. Then he pulls out and looks Yoongi in the eye, mouth tugging to a droopy smile. 

"You are soaked for me, omega."

"All for you, alpha," Yoongi responds almost robotically. "Please."

Namjoon strokes his cock with the hand he used to finger Yoongi, spreading slick over his thick length. Admittedly, his size is intimidating, and Yoongi swallows thickly and wets his lips. He wants to taste Namjoon badly, but he needs to be fucked before he loses it.

"Namjoon," Yoongi pleads, dropping his ass back to the bed and digging his toes into Namjoon's hips, trying to pull him close. 

With a deep, sardonic chuckle, Namjoon grabs Yoongi's ankles, pulls his legs to one side, and yanks at his thighs and hips, forcing him to roll over. Yoongi flails and twists haphazardly, satin clinging to him and rustling with the movement. 

"On your knees, omega," Namjoon instructs. 

Yoongi manages to finally shed his tattered shirt, tossing it aside on the bed. And then he scrambles to get into position, crawling back to the center, where he was, knees digging into the damp sheet. He hardly has a chance to settle before Namjoon licks over his hole again, forcing him to tremble and moan, crashing forward. 

"F-fuck," Yoongi mutters as he wraps his arms around the pillow and holds it to his chest.

The touch leaves, and Yoongi clenches then tries to relax, feeling his slick build and secrete, smelling it thick in the air, mixing with the heady, sweaty blend of the two of them, along with the smoke from the incense. His own scent of chamomile is supposed to be soothing, but it is sweeter than usual and mocks him – a reminder of his place in life as an obedient little omega meant to be bred. And gods, does he need it so badly. 

The blunt tip of Namjoon's cock grazes over Yoongi's hole, and he arches his back in presentation. Namjoon uses a hand to grip and spread one of his cheeks, digging his fingers into the skin. It feels possessive and greedy, and Yoongi wonders if it will bruise – he hopes it will. 

"I don't know if you can take me, little omega," Namjoon says in a mocking tone, rubbing his cock over Yoongi's eager, slick hole. 

"Please," Yoongi responds. 

"You're so tight, even with how much slick you leak. Have you ever taken a knot before, hmm? I might just break you in fucking half."

Yoongi is dizzy and desperate; he thought Namjoon would want to tear into him and use him; fuck him hard and fast, and be done. What the fuck is with all this teasing?

"Namjoon, please!" Yoongi shouts, quaking and on the brink of madness. 

"So needy," Namjoon taunts as the mattress dips under his shifting weight.

Yoongi groans and begins to say, "Oh, I fucking hate y—" but he loses the rest of the sentence and chokes out a sob as the tip of Namjoon's cock breaches his hole.

Namjoon continues to push deeper, deeper, deeper, blinding Yoongi with intense pleasure-pain that he was not prepared for, squeezing the air from his lungs and making his legs tremble. 

"What was that, omega?" 

"Oh, gods," Yoongi gasps before biting down on the pillow and letting out a whimper that is pitchy and broken – pornographic. 

Namjoon carves Yoongi open, pushing him beyond what he thought his limits were. He feels so full, and his head aches from holding his breath. Finally, when Namjoon's hips still, Yoongi sucks a sharp intake of air and sinks his head down into the pillow, doing his best to relax. 

"I bet your pretty little cunt has never been stretched this wide before has it?"

The words pretty and cunt ricochet around Yoongi's already fucked out mind, and he manages to get some weight onto his elbows and lift his head, breathing in the air that reeks of burning incense and pheromones. 

"I am going to fucking ruin you, omega."

"I'm going insane," Yoongi mutters, panting with each breath that falls between his lips. "You're making me go insane."

Namjoon rubs his hands over Yoongi's back and shoulders. The sweaty slide of skin against skin is exquisite, and Yoongi tips his head back and arches his spine, desperate to be felt everywhere. Although he does his best to relax, he can feel the rings of muscle gripping Namjoon tight and fluttering with each sensation. 

"Can you sit high on your knees for me?" Namjoon coaxes as his hands wrap around Yoongi's ribs and gently begin to tug.

"M-maybe."

Yoongi shifts on his knees, pushing his arms as tall as they can manage, and then Namjoon takes over, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's chest, grazing palms over his nipples and clavicle, and pulling him until he is sitting high on his knees, speared open, making Yoongi shiver and moan from every tiny, delicious movement. 

A low, deep growl comes from Namjoon, who slides one hand up to Yoongi's throat, forcing his head to tilt back. 

"Somehow you feel even better like this," Namjoon murmurs softly, slowly pulling his hips back and kicking up a flurry of pleasure and arousal in Yoongi's tummy. 

Yoongi moans unabashed as his head attempts to roll, held in place by the fingers that gently squeeze at the sides of his throat. The slow drag of Namjoon's cock already has him threatening to unravel completely. 

Namjoon thrusts his hips forward just hard enough to punch the air from Yoongi's lungs, and he grips onto his own thighs as he attempts to breathe through the feeling, voice coming out as nothing but a wet sob. 

"Don't hold back, little omega," Namjoon groans as he pulls his hips back and drives them forward, making Yoongi bleat a jumble of vowels. "I want to hear you."

Everything about this feels wrong to Yoongi. He should lay pliant and let Namjoon do what he needs to without giving into his urges to touch and beg and make all the lewd sounds he usually does. But Namjoon feels and smells so inviting – so dizzyingly good.

"Please, alpha," Yoongi whimpers, legs quaking as Namjoon slowly pulls back. "Please breed me."

Namjoon grips Yoongi's tummy, fingertips digging into his skin. "Say my name," he commands.

Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "N-Namjoon…please."

Namjoon snaps his hips forward, pushing a pitchy moan from Yoongi's throat, then he begins to fuck him, finally, setting a rough pace of skin slapping against skin. From this angle, it feels like Namjoon is all the way in Yoongi's guts, and his body is frozen in place, unable to do anything but sit tall and be used. 

The pleasure-pain of being fucked so hard makes Yoongi delirious. He babbles incoherently, eyes fluttering closed and then opening wide, watching as the knots and lines on the wooden wall blur and come into sharp focus, over and over. 

"S-so…b-big…" he manages to stammer between thrusts. 

Namjoon's fingers tighten and loosen over Yoongi's throat and stomach, then yank him back a little further, causing his arms to hang suspended in the air, fingertips no longer able to reach his thighs. Lips pass over Yoongi's neck, over the scent gland in the crook of his shoulder, and he shivers from the touch, feeling euphoria burst and bloom on the spot. 

"You take me so well, pretty Yoongi," Namjoon moans before dragging his tongue over Yoongi's gland and the overgrown hair that sticks to his sweat-slick skin. 

Yoongi whispers, "Pretty," unsure if he is imagining the word. 

"So perfect for me."

Pleasure claws at Yoongi, dragging him down, down, down, threatening to drown him. He wants to cum so badly, but it feels too soon. Should he be getting so much pleasure from this? The lines have long since blurred, and Namjoon praising Yoongi and calling him pretty only amplifies the tumultuous nature of this situation. 

With another lick over Yoongi's scent gland, he begins to crumble. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that," he manages to whimper, squeezing his eyes closed. 

"That so?" Namjoon asks, lips grazing over the gland with a snarl.

"Yes," he gasps. 

Namjoon's voice is low and taunting as he asks, "Can you cum untouched?" 

With a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper, Yoongi asks, "You're evil aren't you?" earning him a chuckle in response. 

Namjoon picks up the pace fucking Yoongi harder, spearing him deeper. Yoongi is in agony over how good it feels; he is so close but not close enough. 

Teeth drag over his scent gland and, as if every one of his feral instincts is awakened and on high alert, rippling through him, the dam breaks, and he cums untouched, making a fucking mess. The pace of Namjoon's hips has Yoongi's cock slapping against his tummy, and he sprays his release against himself and the sheet below as he growls and whimpers and claws at the air, frantic and out of his mind.

"Fucking squeezing me," Namjoon moans against his neck, hips stuttering before they find their rhythm again. 

Overstimulation has Yoongi's body tensing and relaxing, and he sobs, unsure whether he needs Namjoon to stop or to keep going. It feels incredible in the worst way; horrifyingly too much and too little. His body quakes as each muscle fights to relax. 

Namjoon slows his hips and pulls out, then gradually lowers Yoongi to the bed, onto his side pulling the sheet while muttering, "Don't lay in your own mess, pretty omega."

"S-shut up," Yoongi grumbles as he sinks onto his elbows, then rolls onto his back with his legs bent and sliding spread. 

Namjoon crawls on his knees to Yoongi's feet and yanks one leg to the side as he takes his place, towering above him. His hair sticks to his forehead, sweat drips down his neck and chest, and he is dangerously beautiful with cheeks flushed and eyes wide – exactly as Yoongi imagined he would look, but so much more.

Without a word, Namjoon lines his cock up and slides back in. No sound passes through Yoongi's mouth as his back bows, and he grabs for the sheet frozen in an arch of pleasure. When he finally finds his voice, it is raspy and broken. 

"How do you stay so fucking tight?" Namjoon groans, head tipped as he pulls his hips back and slams them forward. 

Yoongi claws at the sheets, hand falling into a sticky, cold spattering of cum, which he tries to rub away but just finds more of his own mess, coating his hand. Namjoon sets a pace somehow faster than before, holding Yoongi's thighs in both hands, spreading him wide. 

Still somewhat overstimulated but already chasing his next high, Yoongi feels delirious. As he adjusts to the feeling of Namjoon's unrelenting thrusts, he reaches his hands over his head, draping them over the pillow while his eyes flutter. 

Then his fingers brush over something firm and possibly leather, and he becomes curious, grabbing for the item and pulling it out. Namjoon's hips slow even more as Yoongi inspects it. It is brown, definitely leather, and less than a foot long, Yoongi estimates, and it looks like a strap or a handle. Squeezing it, it feels somewhat soft, but also firm.

"What is this?" Yoongi asks, voice rough and fucked out.

When he looks at Namjoon, whose hips continue to roll into him, he finds the alpha regarding him with a worried expression – brows knit and gaze somewhat piercing. He lowers Yoongi's legs, takes the leather item, and places it on the bed. Then he leans forward, caging Yoongi in with his hands, and hovering way too close to his face.

"It's for biting onto," Namjoon says, voice breathy and deep.

Yoongi cocks his head, confused. "For biting onto?"

"So I was right?" Namjoon asks, brow knitting with concern.

Yoongi turns his face away, staring at the wooden wall to the right of him. "About what?"

Soothing, sweet tangerine overwhelms the space, blending with the incense and all the musky, heady aromas, and Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath that falls between his lips in a broken sigh. The fluid motion of Namjoon's hips and slow drag of his cock have Yoongi sinking into a trance. 

Like this, it is easy for Yoongi to imagine the alpha caring for him – being soft and gentle with him. Like this, Yoongi can forget all about how Namjoon has a wife waiting for him; how he is nothing more than a means to an end. He wishes Namjoon would hurry up and finish fucking him; he hates how treacherous his heart is suddenly, now that the pace is languid and gentle.

When Namjoon does not answer him, Yoongi opens his eyes. The alpha is watching him with a gently furrowed brow, making his tummy do a backflip, and he looks away as quickly as he can.

"What?" he asks, feeling awkward.

Namjoon's hips slow to a stop, and he sits up, still buried so deep inside Yoongi that every movement is overwhelming, making him wince and gasp. With his teeth grit and nostrils flared, Namjoon lifts Yoongi's legs again, looking above him at the wall rather than directly at him. 

"You haven't taken a knot before," Namjoon says. "You should have told me."

"It's fine," Yoongi mutters, feeling ashamed although unsure why. "Don't worry about it."

Namjoon grunts and then begins to fuck into Yoongi once more, holding his thighs spread and lifted, spearing him open. All thought dissipates as pleasure ensnares him, and when Namjoon presses forward against his thigh to spread and lift him even more, Yoongi relaxes into the stretch, malleable and pliant and so, so good for his alpha. 

Not your alpha, his brain reminds him, but he shuts it out and allows the euphoria of Namjoon's thick cock to trick him into thinking he could be.

Yoongi's moans are softer – stuck in his throat and punctuated by the loud slap of skin against skin. His muscles burn where Namjoon bends him and presses down, and his tummy feels tight and heavy, like a taut wire ready to snap. 

"Getting close," Namjoon mutters, picking up his pace and lifting Yoongi's right leg over his shoulder, sinking impossibly deeper. 

Yoongi's ass is lifted, and he digs his head back against the pillow, feeling as though his soul may be escaping from his body. He feels used in the best possible way; nothing more than a breedable little fuck-doll who has no control. 

As Namjoon reaches his high, his hips become erratic, and he growls and moans, uttering sounds that may be curse words, but could also be nothing. Yoongi wants to cum again, and the slap of his cock against his tummy is just enough to bring him close but not push him over the edge. He thinks maybe he should not chase another orgasm; continually playing tug-of-war over whether he should be feeling so much pleasure from what is meant only to be a business agreement. 

Namjoon's grip is painfully strong, fingernails digging into Yoongi's thigh and hip as he drives himself so fast and deep into Yoongi that pain is at the forefront of every sense. His cock aches against his tummy, and as Namjoon leans forward and bends Yoongi further in half, he is overcome with a feeling of fear. What if Namjoon really could break him in half?

"Fuck, Namjoon," Yoongi mutters, once again clawing at the sheets. Yoongi is sore where Namjoon's thighs slap into him, sore where he is gripped and bent, and sore from Namjoon's cock punishing his tight, greedy hole. He tries to plead but only mutters a weak, "H-hurts."

Namjoon wraps his arm around Yoongi's thigh to keep his leg draped over his shoulder and reaches for his cock, engulfing it in blinding warmth that kicks up so much pleasure, Yoongi fears he might fucking die – like his heart could give out and stop. He only manages to scream, "Oh, f-fuck, I'm—" before spraying his release on his tummy. 

The pleasure is so searing and intense, Yoongi squeezes his eyes closed tight, and he screams incoherent half-profanities while his body quakes.

"That's it, omega," Namjoon growls. "I'm gonna cum, fuck, don't stop squeezing me."

Yoongi couldn't stop if he tried. His body is suspended in a grip of euphoria laced with pain so unlike anything he has felt before – body twisted and lifted and used. He babbles through the dizzying high that threatens to light him aflame and turn him into nothing more than a pile of ash, squeezing around Namjoon uncontrollably.

"Brace yourself, omega," Namjoon grunts between thrusts. "I'm gonna cum."

Namjoon's hips still as he moans deep and loud, head thrown back and body practically convulsing. Yoongi feels him twitching inside him, then feels him release, filling him with hot spurts of cum. And then, finally, he feels Namjoon begin to expand. 

With his leg slung over Namjoon's shoulder, the discomfort of the growing knot makes his muscles tremble and cramp. Namjoon's head is still thrown back, and he is groaning and whimpering as if locked into a state of bliss. Yoongi, on the other hand, is slowly being stretched enough that the pain feels similar to giving birth, and before he can stop himself, a scream rips from his lungs. 

Frantically, he reaches for a pillow – anything to bite onto – and he winds up taking the one out from under his head and pulling it over his face. Condensation builds instantly against the soft material as Yoongi screams bloody murder while hugging the pillow tight against him, still hanging suspended by threads of pleasure despite experiencing physical anguish so visceral it feels nearly incomprehensible. 

Sharp, piercing pain in his thigh makes Yoongi's entire body seize, and he pulls the pillow away, attempting to kick from the source of the feeling, only to find that the source is the alpha's mouth. Namjoon's eyes are wide and crazed, and his teeth are sunken into Yoongi's flesh as he growls with a mouthful of skin. Yoongi is absolutely terrified, chest feeling too tight to intake more air. 

"Namjoon!" Yoongi screams, lifting his other foot and kicking at the alpha's shoulder. "Stop!"

Namjoon releases Yoongi and stares at his leg as if in a trance. And then his gaze snaps to Yoongi, and he looks afraid, ashamed, and possibly sad. Yoongi sobs as Namjoon continues to grow inside him, and when Namjoon allows Yoongi to drop his foot to the bed, he begins to kick and drag his feet uselessly, thrashing in pain and horror. 

"Fuck," Namjoon mutters, leaning forward and grabbing the leather strap that Yoongi found earlier. He uses his hands to attempt to hold Yoongi's head steady, but although his eyes are soft and present once more, Yoongi is scared shitless and in immense pain, and he tries pushing Namjoon away. 

"Shhh, wait, Yoongi," Namjoon utters sweetly, filling the room with tangerine so thick Yoongi can taste it on his tongue. He holds the leather device in front of Yoongi's mouth and says, "Yoongi, here, bite onto this."

Reluctantly, Yoongi opens his mouth and lets Namjoon slide the strap inside, nestled between his teeth. It feels cool and soft on his lips, and as soon as he bites down, he feels somewhat calm. He also thinks Namjoon's knot may have finally reached its fullness. 

"Yoongi, I'm so sorry," Namjoon mutters, petting over his sweaty face and hair with both hands and leaning way too fucking close. "I lost control; I shouldn't have bitten you."

The pain is present but dissipating to a dull ache, and Yoongi huffs each breath through his nose, drooling around the leather strap. Namjoon's pheromones truly do work wonders, bringing his anxiety down enough that he can emit chamomile and ease himself further into nirvana. 

"Are you okay?" Namjoon asks, brows pinched, hands still gently raking over Yoongi's sweat-matted hair. 

Yoongi mutters uselessly and nods, eyelids feeling heavy; body completely wrecked. Now that the intensity is gone, Yoongi just feels full, sticky, and sated. He lets his eyes flutter closed as he sinks deeper into the bedding, shivering as his sweat-slicked skin cools. 

Gently, Namjoon begins to maneuver Yoongi onto his side, and Yoongi does his best to comply, aided by the lubrication of his slick and Namjoon's leaking cum to allow the alpha to wiggle around until he is lying behind Yoongi, pulling him close, knot nestled deep.

"We're gonna be here a while," Namjoon mutters close to Yoongi's ear, ghosting warm breath over his neck. "Relax, alright?"

Yoongi yawns, dropping the leather strap from his mouth. He curls slightly in on himself and shivers while Namjoon grabs the fur blanket and wraps it over them. Drool coats his chin, but he does not have the energy to wipe it away.

Had he known all of this would have been so painful and so intimate, Yoongi may have backed out. But he is here now, connected to the alpha in a way he has never felt before, and he allows himself to imagine a life like this – wrapped in Namjoon's warm embrace and loved by the man in a way he could never hope for. 

As Yoongi drifts to sleep, he feels Namjoon's large, warm hands rubbing over his hip and arm. He even imagines the alpha leaving soft kisses along his shoulder, neck, and spine. 

Oh, the imagination can be so cruel, he thinks, just as he drifts off.

Yoongi wakes up naked and alone. 

Although he should not be surprised to find himself in the dark, quiet bungalow all by himself, disappointment hits him in a wave, dragging him into its undertow.

Of course, Namjoon would leave, Yoongi tells himself. Why wouldn't he?

The incense have all burnt out, and the candles seem to have been snuffed. Although the other ritualistic items remain scattered around, there is also a tray of fruit and snacks, and a large glass of water. It seems Jeongguk has stopped by to at least bring him refreshments, but he did not bother to take anything away. Perhaps the items need to stay throughout the pregnancy, Yoongi wonders. In order to appease the gods, or…whatever. Yoongi is unsure.

Yoongi rolls into a seated position, feeling an ache in his limbs and deep in his ass, and he winces and groans as he gets onto his knees on the floor and hobbles over to the low table. He picks up a slice of watermelon and holds it suspended in air as his mind flashes back to earlier, replaying segments over and over like a broken record. 

Namjoon calling Yoongi pretty, telling him how good he feels. Namjoon losing control and biting him. A shiver runs up Yoongi's spine, and he blinks away the thoughts as best as he can. He tells himself that it was just alpha rut madness that drove Namjoon to say and do things he otherwise would not. The last thing Yoongi needs is to imagine Namjoon really does have feelings for him. 

Yoongi feels exhausted, and lonelier than usual. In the past, whenever he would return from the doctor with the in vitro process complete, he would be medicated and sleepy, but blissful in his loneliness, happy to allow his body to rest and grow a tiny human. But this time, the whole situation feels so personal that Yoongi wants comfort. He wants it so badly, sadness wells in his chest, forcing his exhale to come out shattered. 

Yoongi attempts to swallow back the urge to cry, but all at once, the emotions hit like a tsunami, and tears well up and break over in an instant. He sets the piece of watermelon down and hangs his head, anchoring his elbows into the hard wooden table and sobbing with his palms pressed against his eyelids. 

All he wants is for Namjoon to return. He wants to be wrapped in the fur blanket and cuddled back to sleep, feeling the soft traces of fingertips and lips against his skin. But Namjoon will not come back, because Namjoon is not his. 

The hot flashes and bouts of dizziness that come and go for the next several days keep Yoongi bedridden and frantic. Each time Jeongguk comes with food, Yoongi practically begs him to climb into bed and hold him. He can tell Jeongguk is concerned for his health, but he does not ask if there is more that Yoongi might need. And, truth be told, Yoongi would likely catch a whiff of Jeongguk's non-tangerine, non-cinnamon scent and turn the man away. 

Instead, Yoongi buries himself in the satin sheet that reeks of days-old body fluids and hugs the fur close, desperately sniffing for traces of the alpha. He avoids his phone, he does not go for any swims – teetering between madness and sanity while waking up to find the sun has risen or fallen again, unsure how much time has passed.

And then, one day, Yoongi wakes up feeling fine. Not great, but fine. He feels sticky from sweat but is not running hot, and the dizziness seems to have subsided enough that when he gets out of bed, he is able to stand. He feels wobbly from lack of proper eating, but he manages to go to the bathroom and return on steady enough feet. 

Candles, incense, stones, wreaths, and statues litter the space, and Yoongi finds that he likes them. He rubs his fingers over pink and dark green crystals, scraping his nails along sharper edges. And he picks up each candle to smell them, finding some of the gentle floral aromas familiar from that night.

That night.

Yoongi takes a fortifying breath and grabs his phone from the table, which has a nearly dead battery. As soon as he turns on the screen, he finds a message from Jeongguk sent a day ago—

Jeongguk The worst of the heat should be over soon. I have been bringing water and checking on you, but you have been sleeping a lot. Let me know when you would like me to bring you a meal, or if you need anything else. 

—and several messages from Namjoon. 

To Yoongi's surprise, only three days have passed since he and Namjoon performed their tempestuous little ritual. He has no idea how long they were fucking for, nor how long he was asleep after, but it seems Namjoon sent the first message late that evening. 

Namjoon Please let Jeongguk or me know if you need anything. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, muttering, "Asshole," under his breath. What he needs is for Namjoon to comfort him. But, of course, that is out of the question. 

The rest of his messages had come in the following day, and Yoongi really does not know what to make of them. The first one was sent in the early evening—

Namjoon How are you feeling? Let me know when you wake up. 

—followed by a second, sent ten minutes later—

Namjoon I would also like to apologize again, for what happened. 

—followed by one sent about twenty minutes later—

Namjoon In fact, maybe we should sit down and have a conversation once you're feeling better. 

The last one was sent several hours later, in the middle of the night. 

Namjoon Jeongguk says you've been awake, but pretty out of it from the heat. I could visit if you think it could help. Let me know. 

Namjoon offering to help Yoongi in the middle of the night makes him feel both excited and annoyed. Does Namjoon think that just because the two of them fucked, Yoongi needs him? He does – of course, he does – but Namjoon does not have to know that. And frankly, if he really wanted to be useful, he could have just shown up. It is not like the bungalow has been locked, and even if Jeongguk had been locking it while Yoongi has been in and out of consciousness, he has a key. 

It feels like an empty gesture more than anything. Or a weak man trying to sneak around in the middle of the night because feels indebted to the surrogate who he enjoyed fucking just a little too much. 

Yoongi huffs out a scoff and ignores the messages from Namjoon, and instead texts Jeongguk to let him know that he is awake and would like a proper meal and a change of sheets; that he'll be in the shower and Jeongguk should feel free to come right in. It is just after 6 PM, which means he has already cooked dinner and likely served the couple, so bringing him a plate should not take too long. 

With that settled, Yoongi tosses his phone to the bed. He eats several pieces of pear, drinks some water, then he peels himself up onto his feet to go into the bathroom.

This shower is just like the one inside the hanok, but it takes some adjusting to find a temperature he agrees with. Despite feeling like the worst of his heat is over, everything is simultaneously too hot and too cold on his skin, and he settles on something ever so slightly too cold and gets in. The water is instantly soothing, and Yoongi groans as it gently beats down on his shoulders and back. 

He stands still a little while, just letting the water pour down on him with his eyes closed. Although his treacherous little mind conjures image after image of Namjoon from that night, he somehow manages to feel a little relaxed. He even holds back a snarl when he pumps tangerine-scented shampoo onto his hand and lathers his hair with it. 

The mood swings are still rampant, and Yoongi at least has the wherewithal to recognize it. He knows that hating Namjoon and wanting Namjoon are both equally irrational and that there is likely a third other option right in the center of the two that he will settle on as soon as his hormones have evened out just a little. That is, unless the pregnancy hormones make him just as unreasonable. 

He rinses, conditions, and rinses again, telling himself that eventually he and Namjoon will need to have a conversation, and that perhaps he should be upfront about possibly needing him around. The least he can do is advocate for himself. 

As Yoongi slathers chamomile body wash on his skin, he hears movement out in the bungalow. He had left the bathroom door open a crack so that he would hear Jeongguk's arrival, and thinks he can make out the sounds of a tray being set down on the table and the bedding being changed. Then he hears the door open and close again, and before he can question whether Jeongguk has left, warm musk and tangy tangerine seep in through the air, greeting all of his senses and making his body run hot.

"Is he in here?" Yoongi hears Namjoon ask, and he snickers to himself; how could the alpha be so unobservant?

"In the shower," Jeongguk responds. 

"You should let me change those sheets," Namjoon says, and his voice sounds closer to the bathroom.

Yoongi thinks he hears Jeongguk mutter, "I got it," but he is not too sure. 

Seconds pass with Yoongi just standing under the warm stream of water, holding his soap-sudded rag in his hand while listening. When Namjoon knocks on the bathroom door, it startles him, making him tense up and gasp.

"Yoongi?" Namjoon calls softly.

Yoongi responds with a, "Hmm?"

More seconds pass, and the scent of musk is much stronger, accented faintly with cinnamon. Then, Namjoon asks, "Do you mind if we talk once you're done?"

Yoongi is not sure he wants to talk to Namjoon at the moment, but if the man is here, he may as well at least hear him out while he eats. It is not as if Namjoon doesn't know he needs to eat; he is certain that Jeongguk brought him a tray of food, and Namjoon has to have seen it. 

"Sure," Yoongi responds, finally moving his limbs to finish washing up. 

"Alright," Namjoon says. "I'll close the door to give you privacy."

Yoongi scoffs and mutters, "Okay," to himself while the door is gently closed. Sure, it is kind of Namjoon to give him privacy, but it is not like there is any part of him the man has not seen. And Yoongi had not brought a change of clothing into the bathroom with him, so he is going to wind up returning to the room in a towel, anyway. 

Voices chatter on the other side of the wall, and although Yoongi is curious, he takes his time rinsing. Then he shuts off the water, reaches past the curtain for a towel, and begins to dry. The door of the bungalow closes, and Yoongi squeezes his hair with the towel, then he wraps it around his hips. He brushes his teeth despite planning to eat right away, because he has no idea when he did so last, and applies some moisturizer to his face. 

He is not sure what he expects to see when he exits the bathroom, but he is somewhat surprised to find Namjoon wearing a black tee and black joggers rather than his standard white and grey office attire. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at his phone, and when Yoongi steps out of the fog-filled bathroom, he glances up, eyes widening and cheeks blushing before he averts his gaze. 

Yoongi cannot quite identify his myriad feelings, but pride definitely floats around in his tummy, and he bites back a smile while approaching the wooden dresser, eyes ahead as he passes Namjoon. 

"Sorry for intruding," Namjoon somewhat mutters, and Yoongi glances over his shoulder to find the alpha's shoulders curled slightly forward while he looks down at his empty hands. "You weren't responding to my messages, and I wanted to check on you."

"It's fine," Yoongi says, pulling out a pair of black briefs and soft light blue pajama pants. He has half a mind to stay shirtless just to see if he can get a rise from the alpha, but grabs a plain white tee and begins sliding his arms into it, instead. 

He steps into the black briefs while keeping the towel around his waist, but when the action of pulling the garment to his hips causes the towel to come loose, he allows it to drop to the floor. The heady musk that fills the room is almost instantaneous, and Yoongi bites his bottom lip in an attempt to keep from grinning. As he bends to slowly put on his pajama pants, he glances over his shoulders to find Namjoon still staring down at his hands, which are balled into tight fists. 

"Still in your rut?" Yoongi asks while pulling the pants to his hips. 

He picks up the towel and walks past Namjoon without looking at him, over to the bathroom to hang the towel on a hook. When he returns, Namjoon is watching him with a stare that is somewhat difficult to read. His brows are pinched, mouth in a slight frown, but there is a softness to his eyes. It almost reminds him of that night, after Namjoon had knotted him, and was rubbing his hair and trying to make him relax. 

Yoongi walks to the low table and finds a large salad with chicken, croutons, and a lot of vegetables, as well as a small assortment of pickled vegetables and a bowl of glass noodles on the side. He rounds the table and sits on his knees on the far side, with Namjoon and the bed to his right, and begins to rearrange the items on the table, pulling the tray close.

Namjoon clears his throat quietly and mutters, "I am."

Yoongi snickers, raising his gaze while saying, "I can smell it."

The way Namjoon blinks at him, brow further knitting, nearly makes Yoongi laugh, and he swallows down the urge while picking up his glass of water to have a drink. Cinnamon permeates the air, and Yoongi rolls his eyes, not in the mood to baby a grumpy alpha, if that is what the man is here for. 

"I'm glad to see you seem to be feeling better," Namjoon says while Yoongi spears a piece of chicken on his chopstick and chuckles to himself as he lifts it to his mouth. He hums in agreement then fits the entire long strip of chicken sideways between his cheeks, and closes his eyes as he savors the perfect blend of dressing on the delicately seasoned meat. 

"Jeongguk mentioned you were pretty out of it for a while," Namjoon continues, and Yoongi uses the metal chopsticks to gather a large bite of lettuce, pepper, and onion. 

"Typical heat," Yoongi grumbles before taking a bite. He fights the urge to ask Namjoon if he has ever actually witnessed Wheein experiencing a heat in all their years of being married, deciding it is best not to push him. 

Namjoon sighs, and Yoongi turns his gaze to the man, eyebrows raised while he chews. 

"Have I done or said something to piss you off?" Namjoon asks, taking Yoongi by surprise. 

Cinnamon scent spikes again, spicy with very little sweetness, and Yoongi scrunches up his nose in annoyance, shaking his head. 

"No," he responds, swallowing down his bite of food. "Why would you think that?"

Namjoon only stares at him, and Yoongi can see he is torn. He must have something on his mind; something that he wants to say to him, and Yoongi wishes he would just come out and say it. 

But Yoongi would rather eat, so eat, he does. If Namjoon wants to speak his mind, the floor is his, but Yoongi is not going to sit around and wait for him. The salad and banchan are delicious and savory, and hit all the spots. Yoongi is grateful for a lighter meal; his stomach is somewhat sensitive, and he already feels pretty full.

Minutes pass while Yoongi finishes his food, and although it is a little weird just having Namjoon sit in the periphery, he finds some comfort in the blend of their scents in the air. It is nice to have another warm body in the room, even if the body belongs to an annoying, impossible-to-read alpha with the best dick game he has ever experienced. 

A shiver runs through Yoongi at the thought of Namjoon fucking him, and he does his best to ignore the rush of arousal, but it hangs in the air between them, and there is no doubt Namjoon will be able to smell it, as well. 

Yoongi finishes his food and sits back with his palms anchored against the floor, closing his eyes while taking a deep, satisfied breath, feeling happier than he has in a while. Then he opens his eyes and turns to Namjoon. The alpha watches Yoongi with a wide, hungry gaze and an otherwise blank expression. 

"What?" Yoongi tries, attempting to sound playful, but Namjoon's stare becomes pointed. 

Yoongi attempts a different approach, sitting up and rubbing his palms over his pajama pant legs, suddenly feeling antsy. "You said you wanted to talk to me…what's up?"

Namjoon pats the space beside him, and Yoongi tenses at the thought of joining him on the bed, staring at him while his brain uselessly fails to come up with what he should do.

"Come here," Namjoon says softly, adding in a, "Please," that is more of a command than a question. 

With a fortifying breath, Yoongi gets onto his feet and shuffles over. He attempts to put space between them, and is surprised when Namjoon reaches out and takes his hand, pulling him over to sit close. Immediately, Yoongi's palms prickle with sweat, and he has a seat, removing himself from Namjoon's loose hold and clasping his hands over his lap. 

Warmth radiates from Namjoon, and his musk is so strong this close, that Yoongi finds himself sinking into a state of comfort and teetering on the edge of arousal. He attempts to breathe through it and get his bearings back, but Namjoon's presence covers him like a warm blanket, causing Yoongi to scramble to the side, scooting away from him.

"Namjoon, I can't—" Yoongi begins, and Namjoon turns to him, gets onto the bed on his hands and knees, and leans in close, sniffing the air loudly. Yoongi's pulse picks up, heavy and fast and suffocating, and he mutters, "What are you doing?"

"I can't stop thinking about you," Namjoon admits so softly, Yoongi wonders if he imagines it. 

Desire, guilt, and worry all build in his tummy, and he turns to Namjoon, places both hands on his shoulders, and attempts to push him away. "Well, you need to stop thinking about me," he says through grit teeth, frustrated when Namjoon is not moved even a little. "You have a wife."

"Yoongi," Namjoon huffs, emitting cinnamon and sounding exasperated, "please can we not—"

"What?" Yoongi asks, clipped and angry. "Can we not what?"

With a sigh, Namjoon sits up, then crashes to his hip with his legs bent, feet hanging over the edge of the bed. His gaze is unwavering, and Yoongi squirms in place, turning to bend his legs against the bed and face Namjoon; they definitely need to have a conversation. 

"The other night, with you…" Namjoon trails off, gazing flitting back and forth over Yoongi's face. He swallows hard and looks away, playing with the fur blanket that covers the bed with his fingertips. His voice is soft and low as he continues. 

"I know I shouldn't be telling you this. I know that I should just swallow everything down and try to ignore it, but…" Namjoon lifts his eyes, and they appear sad. "Yoongi, I…I think I am developing feelings for you."

A deep, angry scoff works its way from Yoongi's chest and stomach, and it huffs between his lips with the force of a tiny storm. He knows it has to be Namjoon's rut clouding his lust-addled brain, and the fact that he could so flippantly toy with Yoongi's emotions after what he has been through living in this weird fucking homestead, has sadness boiling in his guts.

"How dare you," he mutters before he can stop himself. 

Namjoon's eyebrows fly to his forehead, and he appears sympathetic albeit confused. "Yoongi, wait, what do you—"

"I need you to get out," Yoongi says, gripping onto the material of his pajama pants while his gaze falters and he looks instead to the fur covering the bed. "We can discuss things more when your rut is over, but right now, you are clearly not in your right mind, and you are talking nonsense. You shouldn't have come here."

Yoongi expects the room to be drenched in cinnamon and is surprised by the calming wave of heady, lust-laced musk and tangerine that fills his senses. His own arousal blends in, punctuated by pomegranate. 

"Yoongi, please—"

"Namjoon," Yoongi attempts to sound firm, but his voice trembles, "You can't think about me. You can't have feelings for me." Tears well in his eyes, which he closes as he whimpers, "It's not fair."

Before he can stop himself, tears break over his eye line, and he pulls his hands to his face to cover himself, embarrassed and confused and so fucking tired. Namjoon shifts on the bed, and as Yoongi can sense him getting closer, he attempts to twist away, but he is wrapped in a tight embrace that only serves to make him cry harder. 

"Yoongi," Namjoon coos softly, rubbing a hand over Yoongi's damp hair while the other is wrapped tightly around his back, pinning his arms in place. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm so sorry."

"It's not fair," Yoongi mutters again. He does not want to explain himself – does not want to admit to the alpha that he has feelings for him – but he cannot hold back. "You can't just say things like that to me. This isn't a game, Namjoon."

"Hey," Namjoon says, leaning back and sliding his hands until both grip his biceps. "Yoongi, look at me."

Yoongi shakes his head, digging his palms into his cheeks in a refusal to let Namjoon see him cry. But then Namjoon asks a soft, "Please," that cuts to his core, and Yoongi spreads his fingers to peer through, regarding Namjoon as little as possible.

"I'm not messing with you," Namjoon says sternly, intently. "I know that it might come as a surprise to you that I have feelings, but…I can't help it."

Yoongi opens his mouth, ready to remind Namjoon that being married to someone means he cannot go around having feelings for every omega he has ritualistic sex with, but Namjoon gives his arms a soft squeeze with brows pinched and mouth falling open, and Yoongi waits for him to speak again. He looks like he knows he should not say whatever he plans to tell Yoongi next, which only raises his anxiety more. 

"Wheein and I…fuck, this is going to make me sound like a fucking asshole."

Yoongi cannot help it, he chuckles – humorless but amused all the same – as he rubs his hands over his cheeks and lets them fall to his lap, saying, "Spit it out."

"Marrying Wheein was a political move," Namjoon says quickly, eyes on the wall behind Yoongi. "And, I don't know…maybe we used to enjoy each other's company, but…"

Yoongi's jaw sets, and he tongues the inside of his mouth. A dizzying mix of mirth and vitriol stir in the air, spicy with no sweetness to be found. "So you think having a baby will patch things up? Wouldn't a divorce be more effective?"

He can tell by the way Namjoon's eyes widen and pierce that he has struck a nerve, and is surprised to find only calming scents coming from the alpha. "It's not that easy, Yoongi," he mutters softly, almost as if he is ashamed. Or, perhaps, resolved. 

"Because you're a political figure," Yoongi responds, rolling his eyes. "Gods forbid the public witnesses their leader create healthy boundaries by filing a divorce. Oh, what will the citizens do if something such as divorce becomes more normalized?"

"I don't want to make a public spectacle of myself, Yoongi," Namjoon says with a hint of a snarl, tainting the air with sharp spice.

"No," Yoongi responds, eyes heavy from crying, shoulders raising defensively as he crosses his arms over his chest. "You would rather invite me here instead and make a quieter spectacle of me. Do you even want a child? Or were you just looking for someone to fuck?"

Namjoon heaves his next exhale and sits up straight, eyes trailing around the room almost as if he does not recognize his surroundings. Then he stands and scoffs, face morphing from incredulous anger to a dull amusement. 

"Yeah," Namjoon says suddenly, getting to his feet and sliding his hands into his pockets. "You're right, I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have…told you…" With an exhale and a shake of his head, Namjoon crosses the room and walks out, closing the door softly behind him. 

Yoongi feels sad, overwhelmed, and so terribly amused; all he can do is squeeze a pillow tight to his chest and laugh. 

For two days, Yoongi stays holed up in the bungalow. He finally takes out his laptop to catch up on a drama he had been watching before, and starts feeling much better, fully coming out of the haze of his heat and physically feeling like he has more energy. 

Today, he decides to go for a swim. The sun is shining bright, and when Jeongguk arrived to drop off lunch forty-ish minutes ago, a hot gust of air came in through the door, inviting Yoongi to dip into the warm pool. 

Yoongi changes into black swim shorts and a black tee, tying his overgrown dark hair into a bun atop his head. He walks to the bathroom to grab a fresh towel, and goes to the door, opening it wide with a smile on his face. To his surprise and chagrin, Wheein is in the pool while Namjoon is laid out on a pool bed, under a wide umbrella, reading a book. 

Hesitance stops Yoongi in his tracks, and he nearly changes his mind and returns to the bungalow when Wheein shouts, "Oh my god, Yoongi! Are you joining us?"

Although Yoongi keeps his gaze on Wheein, he can see Namjoon moving in the peripheral, and he nods, takes a fortifying breath, and closes the bungalow door tight behind him. He walks past Namjoon through a cloud of cinnamon and musk, over to the pool chairs near the far corner, and tosses his towel aside. 

Then he pulls his shirt over his head, wrapping his arms around his torso the moment the garment is flung to the chair, and quickly pads over to the steps, wasting no time getting into the water and squatting low so that it reaches his neck, careful not to let the bite mark on his inner thigh show. 

Wheein bounces over wearing a flashy red bathing suit and large black sunglasses. She has a wide smile plastered to her face, and she opens her arms wide, flinging droplets of water while pulling Yoongi into a tight hug, forcing him to stand up straight. 

"Oh my god, it's so nice to see you again," Wheein says as she pins Yoongi's arms to his sides in a warm embrace. "How was the…you know…ritual?"

"Uh," Yoongi mutters, laughing uncomfortably. 

Wheein releases the hug and takes a step back, lifting her sunglasses to her head. 

"Was it so awkward?" she asks with a curious smile. "Joonie said it was pretty awkward."

Yoongi does his best to school his thoughts and keep his scent as neutral as possible while he chuckles, shrugs, and says, "I guess so, yeah. It was pretty awkward." 

He laughs a little, feeling his cheeks blaze as he adds, "Namjoon was polite and professional," wincing inwardly and wishing he had kept that part off. 

For just a split, fleeting moment, Yoongi thinks Wheein's smile falters. Her gaze flits to Namjoon, and Yoongi wonders what she may be thinking about. But then she turns back to Yoongi looking happy as ever, and says, "I'm so glad to hear that. I really am so happy that you're the one helping us."

Yoongi nods, feeling a swelling of emotions. He does his best to only emit calm and hopes she does not notice the slightly sour hints of pomegranate. Luckily, her lavender is nice and strong, with only faintly-detected hints of bitter patchouli. 

A loud ringing echoes through the space, coming from Namjoon's direction, and Yoongi turns instinctively, watching as he stands – wearing only black swim shorts – cradling his book with a finger holding his place. 

"Break time's over," Namjoon calls before walking off toward the house in all his muscular, tanned glory, and Yoongi swallows a lump as he pulls his gaze away. 

Wheein sighs and wraps her arm over Yoongi's shoulders, pout audible as she says, "I was just about to offer you a glass of wine, but you might be pregnant."

And although Yoongi chuckles and says, "Darn," the fact sinks into his guts like heavy bricks. 

He might be pregnant. 

For several more days, Yoongi spends his time between watching dramas and swimming. He has learned that Namjoon has begun to transition most of his work duties to be done remotely, from home – presumably to be present during the pregnancy – and that he takes an hour-long lunch break that includes swimming and reading by the pool between 1:30 PM and 2:30 PM. 

Yoongi makes sure to swim no sooner than 3 PM, but no later than 5 PM, just to be safe. That way, if the alpha takes one of his evening runs, it is usually long after Yoongi has returned inside. Most days, he is alone, but Wheein seems to be taking an interest in at least coming outside to say hi and chit-chat. 

On the tenth day after the ritual, Yoongi and Jeongguk drive into the city for a doctor's appointment. And although Jeongguk is kind, funny, and a decent conversationalist, there is a part of Yoongi that wishes Namjoon would be able to play a more active role in all of this. Of course, he cannot, because if the media caught a whiff of the two of them at the appointment, it would cause a stir that Namjoon is trying to avoid.

He and Namjoon have not spoken since the day they had their argument, but Yoongi still wishes his calming alpha scents and familiar, soft voice were present while they sit in the sterile, fluorescent waiting room. He wishes Namjoon could hold his hand tight while he waits on the paper-clad operating table for the doctor to return with his urine and blood sample results. 

When the doctor says, "Congratulations, Min Yoongi-ssi. You're going to be a parent!" Yoongi wishes Namjoon could wrap him in a warm, tight hug. 

Yoongi does not hide the tears that fall when he and Jeongguk return to the car, and he is grateful when the beta quietly drives to an ice cream shop and tells Yoongi, "Anything you want. It's on me." 

He is grateful when he is handed a fish-shaped pastry full of melon soft-serve, and grateful that neither of them speaks the rest of the way to the hanok. At least he can hide away in the bungalow and be alone with his thoughts.

And he nearly gets through the night streaming television blissfully alone, eating his feelings, until, at 11:16 PM, there is a familiar knock at his door.

"Yeah? Come in." Yoongi calls with a sigh, tapping his fingertips to the space key to pause the episode before deciding he may as well just close his laptop and push it aside. 

It has been rather hot the last few days, and Yoongi only wears a pair of light blue briefs and a black tee. When the door opens, he bends his legs and wraps his arms around his knees, resting his head on one knee, facing Namjoon, who walks in and closes the door quietly behind him. 

Namjoon is dressed in grey sweatpants and a white tee, and he appears to hesitate before entering, then approaches the bed. 

"Do you want more furniture?" Namjoon asks, glancing around before having a seat at the end of the bed. "Or are you comfortable here?"

"Is this what you came to ask me about in the middle of the night?" Yoongi responds somewhat groggily. 

"No," Namjoon mutters, surprising Yoongi with a soft smile, emitting warm musk. "I suppose it is not."

Although Namjoon hesitates as he sits on the corner of the bed with his legs pretzeled and his back slumped slightly forward, he also seems much more calm and collected than the last time he was here. Yoongi wonders if he has come to apologize for everything from before, and he braces himself for Namjoon to once again tell him that what had happened was a mistake – a product of his rut and nothing more. 

"I thought I would come by because…well, we both owe one another an apology."

Yoongi snickers but nods, accepting that what he said before was probably not necessary or kind in any way. 

"I also wanted to congratulate you," Namjoon says much softer, gaze finding his.

All at once, Yoongi feels choked up, and he swallows it down, burying his face between his knees for a couple of seconds before changing the way he is sitting to mirror Namjoon, with his legs in a pretzel and his back straight. 

"Congratulations to you two, as well," Yoongi mutters, voice much shakier than he would like. 

Silence hangs, and although it does not feel heavy, Yoongi suddenly wants to curl into a ball and close his eyes to the world. He feels overcome with sadness and a little bit of excitement for the life he carries. 

Unable to hold in his emotions, Yoongi hugs his arms tightly around himself, lets his chin fall to his chest, and heaves out a shaky exhale. He is so tired of crying, but cannot help the tears that build and fall. At this point, he no longer cares if Namjoon sees him like this. 

Namjoon stands and walks to the door, and for a split moment, Yoongi wonders if he is going to leave him. Maybe he thinks coming here was a mistake and he cannot stand watching the omega cry, yet again. 

But Namjoon locks the door and returns to the bed, tilting his head as he quietly asks, "Are you tired? Do you want to lay down?"

Yoongi shakes his head, although it is not entirely true; he is tired. But he is not interested in lying down just yet. Not if Namjoon has more that he wants to say to him. 

"May I?" Namjoon asks, opening his arms and lifting one knee to the bed.

Without allowing himself to overthink it, Yoongi nods. And when Namjoon gets onto the bed behind him with his legs on either side of Yoongi and his arms wrapped around his shoulders, Yoongi sinks into the feeling, breathing in the calming scents that waft from the alpha, and letting his tears fall freely. 

Namjoon is warm, and he holds Yoongi just tightly enough that he feels protected and safe. Although the knowledge of all of this having an end date looms overhead, Yoongi allows himself to pretend that it can be his. 

Gently, Namjoon rakes fingernails over Yoongi's head, making him practically purr from how nice it feels. He has no idea how long they sit tangled together, but Yoongi sniffles and breathes deeply as the tears dry, catching his breath a little more easily. 

"Want to tell me why you're crying?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi scoffs. 

He practically asks Namjoon why he cares but settles on, "This is all just…a lot."

Namjoon hums and continues to gently scratch at his head, and Yoongi closes his eyes while considering how much he should divulge. Would it be worth it to tell Namjoon that he really has been developing feelings, and that is why he acted so irrationally the last time the alpha was here? He thinks it would, but struggles to find the words. 

Suddenly, the warmth and comfort of Namjoon's embrace feels like too much, and he shrugs away the arm over his shoulders and sits up. Without turning to face the alpha, Yoongi closes his eyes and says, "I do owe you an apology."

Namjoon rubs a hand over Yoongi's back and he flinches slightly, finding himself feeling bothered by how kind he is being despite everything. Or, perhaps, only bothered by how badly he wishes he could have this affection full-time and not just in bursts. 

"I'm sorry for what I said. What goes on under your roof is your business, not mine. But what you said really struck a nerve with me."

Namjoon hums and asks, "Because you don't feel the same way about me, I assume?"

Yoongi's heart pounds heavily as he twists and assesses the soft, daresay caring expression Namjoon regards him with. He frowns and furrows his brow, and all he can respond with is, "What?"

Namjoon sighs, cocks his head to the side, and with a soft smile says, "I meant what I said, you know. And I apologize if that was something that you didn't want or need to hear at the time. I can't imagine how weird it must have been for me to confess my feelings after we have hardly gotten to know each other outside of…well…you know…the ritual."

Yoongi's brain buffers. He struggles to accept any of what Namjoon has just said, and once more, only has the ability to ask, "What?"

This time, Namjoon falters, and he looks confused. "I'm…not sure what was unclear, but—"

Yoongi shakes his head and waves his hands, desperate for Namjoon to shut the fuck up before he incriminates both of their hearts even more. He opens his mouth to argue and insist that Namjoon must only think he has feelings because of the heightened emotion surrounding his rut, but instead, Yoongi blurts, "But I do have feelings for you," taking them both by surprise.

"I mean—" Yoongi says, heavy-blinking and shaking his head as he comes to his senses, "—fuck, why did I say that out loud?"

Namjoon's eyes are wide as disks, and he reaches up, gently cradling Yoongi's face with an expression that oozes affection. Yoongi shakes his head in tiny, quick movements and turns away, shrugging off the hands that touch him. 

"We can't," Yoongi mutters, eyes wide and glued to the black sheet that folds over the edge of the mattress and disappears. He repeats it again, softly, like a mantra. "We can't."

Namjoon's hands rub over the slopes of Yoongi's shoulders and gently tugs him back. And as much as Yoongi wants to resist and shove the alpha away, he allows himself to be wrapped into a back hug. When Namjoon's hot breath sighs against his neck, stirring up a familiar swell of arousal, he squeezes his eyes closed, doing his best to ignore the soft but present heady blend of scents that shroud them.

"We shouldn't," Namjoon responds, voice breathy and a bit distant. "Once with you should be enough."

Yoongi hums and nods. "Once has to be enough."

It is silent save for the pounding of Namjoon's heart against Yoongi's ear, and he begins to drift asleep, half-seated and half-lying when he hears Namjoon ask, soft enough to nearly be a whisper, "But what if it's not?"

Yoongi wakes up with his face on Namjoon's chest and gasps, scrambling back while holding in the urge to scream. He remembers Namjoon coming in last night but has no memory of the two of them lying down together and falling asleep. 

The movement startles Namjoon awake, who regards him with wide, worried eyes before he huffs out a quiet chuckle and stretches his arms over his head, asking, "What time is it?"

Yoongi feels frantic and afraid, and he looks around for his phone, finding it on the low wooden table and haphazardly dropping to his knees on the floor to grab it. 

"7:02," Yoongi says, turning back to Namjoon to gauge whether or not the alpha is going to be in a lot of shit for not returning to his bed last night.

Namjoon, however, has the fabric of his shirt pinched between two fingers, right near his pec, inspecting a spot in the fabric. He looks at Yoongi with an amused smile and says, "You drool in your sleep. Cute."

"Cu—" Yoongi starts, already tired of this day before it has had a chance to begin. "Shouldn't you get back to your room? You stayed the night!"

Although Namjoon chuckles in response, his eyes are somewhat sad when he says, "We often don't share a bed. It's fine."

"Oh," Yoongi responds, feeling a bit sullen. "But what about Jeongguk? Doesn't he have a key?"

Namjoon holds his arm out across the bed and pats the mattress invitingly. "He does, but he wouldn't come in here without permission if the door is locked. And you can always message and tell him to bring you breakfast later this morning."

Yoongi stands and returns to bed against his better judgment, clutching his phone tight. He supposes he could message Jeongguk. Or he could insist Namjoon get the fuck out of the bungalow and leave him to stew in last night's confessions alone. 

But Namjoon is handsome, warm, and smells like heaven, and he crawls back to the center of the bed and allows himself to be pulled down against his muscular, drool-spotted chest. 

Only, Namjoon rolls them over, flipping Yoongi onto his back while he hovers above, burying his nose against Yoongi's neck and down to his armpit, sniffling like a madman. Yoongi chuckles and shoves Namjoon away, only for the alpha to make more of a show of smelling him. 

"What are you doing?" he complains despite his smile.

"You're addicting," Namjoon groans, nuzzling against Yoongi's neck, tickling him with a faint pass of lips against skin. 

"What?" Yoongi asks through a laugh, jerking his head away. 

Namjoon wraps his arms around Yoongi and yanks him until he is on his side and the two of them are facing one another. He feels somewhat crazed from all the attention – from how grabby the alpha is – and he buries his face between Namjoon's shoulder and the pillow. 

"You smell even better after sweating all night," Namjoon responds in that deep inviting tone that makes Yoongi want to dive into a frozen lake. 

Petulant, Yoongi whines, "Shut the fuck up," earning him a laugh. 

Yoongi feels tired and begins to drift in and out of sleep as he and Namjoon settle into their tangled positions, with Namjoon returning to his back and Yoongi fitting perfectly against his side. 

When he wakes again, Namjoon is slowly sliding from his hold and sitting up in bed. 

"Hmm?" Yoongi grumbles, wiping drool from his face. 

"Gotta get to work," Namjoon says. 

"Oh."

Yoongi rolls onto his back and stretches his limbs out long, then he sits and rolls his shoulders back. He feels deep, empty heaviness as hunger pangs settle like gunpowder in his stomach. 

"I should message Jeongguk," he grumbles, mostly to himself. 

"I already did," Namjoon responds as he crawls out of the foot end of the bed and passes a hand over his dark brown hair. 

It takes a moment for the words to catch up, and Yoongi gasps, asking, "You what?"

"Relax," Namjoon says, rounding the bed and approaching Yoongi's side, taking a seat beside him. His dimples show as he smiles softly, eyes roving Yoongi's face. "He tried the door shortly after you fell back asleep, and I let him know that we were having a private conversation but that I would let him know when to return."

"Oh." It sounds simple enough, Yoongi supposes. "But what if he suspects—"

Namjoon shakes his head and cuts him off. "Don't worry about Jeongguk." 

"Okay," Yoongi mutters, unconvinced.

Before he can say anything more, Namjoon leans and plants a soft kiss to Yoongi's temple, causing the world to screech to a halt. Air gets caught in Yoongi's lungs, and he stares at Namjoon unable to process what just happened. 

"Have a good day, Yoongi. You should come swim at 1:30 today."

Yoongi nods, still dazed. "Oh…okay."

And with that, Namjoon gets up and leaves. Yoongi stares ahead for several minutes, interrupted by a familiar knock, thankful to find the resident beta carrying a tray of omelet and tea. 

As he gets up to sit on one of the yellow-brown cushions, the spot on his head still tingles, and Yoongi finds himself fixated on how soft the alpha's lips are against his skin. 

Yoongi checks his phone over and over all morning and afternoon in anticipation to go out to the pool. He even gets dressed in his swim shorts and a black tee twenty minutes early and opens the bungalow door a crack to let in some warm afternoon air. 

At 1:30 on the dot, he hears the hanok door open and close, and he gets up from his floor cushion in a rush and scampers into the bathroom for a towel. Then he stops in his tracks in the bathroom and forces himself to breathe deeply in and out. He does not need to walk out into the blazing afternoon sun reeking of desperation, especially if Wheein or Jeongguk are around. 

When Yoongi finally steps out of the bungalow, Namjoon is sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water, wearing only a pair of black shorts while staring ahead, softly kicking his feet. Yoongi's presence makes him look up with a start, and the wide smile that spreads over his lips kicks up Yoongi's pulse, undoing all the calm breathing he had done moments ago. The sight of Namjoon's nude sun-kissed torso alone has his cheeks turning warm.

"Fancy seeing you here," Yoongi grumbles playfully as he tosses his towel to a chair near Namjoon and peels out of his shirt. 

Namjoon anchors himself onto his hands and slides into the pool, going all the way underwater before returning. He is deep enough that the water comes to his pecs, and he waves for Yoongi to get in. Yoongi approaches the deep end and throws his hands over his head to dive in shallowly, just below the surface, sucking in a breath the moment his fingers breach the water, and smiling to himself as he huffs out the lungful of air.

When he stands, Namjoon is wading over to where he is, and he backs up instinctively, bouncing with every step and changing course in a bit of a zig-zag while the alpha approaches. Namjoon has a sharp, mischievous smile, and every one of Yoongi's nerves is on high alert.

"I feel like I'm being stalked by a shark," Yoongi jokes as he makes quick steps backward, only for Namjoon to make wide, swift steps forward. 

"We're canidae, Yoongi," Namjoon teases, "not fish."

Yoongi finds himself cornered, too distracted by the advancing alpha to keep track of where he is going. When Namjoon lunges forward, caging him in with his arms on either side of Yoongi's shoulders, Yoongi screams and laughs – chest heavy and so full of joy. Namjoon steps in close, knocking their knees together as he chuckles deeply, and hits Yoongi with a dizzying scent of heady musk. 

His voice sends a shiver through Yoongi as he says, "Seems I have you cornered, pretty omega."

Unable to hold back from panicking, Yoongi looks between the hanok and Namjoon, waiting for someone to come walking out and find them like this. Finally, while quaking with anxiety, he turns his head to the side and mutters, "What if someone sees us."

Namjoon's arms slip into the pool, and his head disappears underwater for just a moment as he bends and wraps his arms around Yoongi's thighs, lifting him as he stands. Yoongi yelps and instinctively wraps his arms and legs around the alpha, squirming and squealing in his hold. 

"They went on an errand," Namjoon says, dripping wet with his hair in his face, hands rubbing over Yoongi's ass while he presses Yoongi back against the wall. He leans close, speaking directly into Yoongi's ear as he adds, "They won't be back for a few hours."

"N-Namjoon," Yoongi mutters, dazed by the pheromones that ooze from the alpha but also worried about the kinds of lines they may be crossing. "We shouldn't—" he mutters, swallowing a lump. "We can't."

Namjoon rakes his teeth and lips over Yoongi's scent gland, and his body reacts so strongly – quaking and tingling and oozing with musk – he finds himself whimpering and clawing at Namjoon's shoulder. 

"I know it's wrong," Namjoon groans. "But I can't keep my hands off of you."

Blood rushes to Yoongi's cock, and with every hot breath that ghosts over his neck, his hips shiver and rut. He can feel how hard Namjoon is every time one of them moves even the slightest amount, and he plants his hands on Namjoon's shoulders when his desire becomes too overwhelming, attempting to push him away.

"We can't do this out here," Yoongi says, somewhat frantic. "Even if they left, it's too risky."

"Where can we do it?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi knows he should not invite him back to the bungalow – knows that the only correct answer is nowhere; they cannot do this anywhere, under any circumstances. 

But he swallows thickly and says, "Inside," before he can stop himself, closing his eyes as guilt sloshes around his insides. 

In a swift movement, Yoongi is lifted and placed onto the edge of the pool. He flails, confused by what is happening until his butt meets rough, warm gunite. 

Namjoon's pupils are blown wide, and he grins as he says, "Better run, little omega. If I catch you, I might just eat you."

All at once, Yoongi's anxiety and arousal reach new, horrifying heights, and he scrambles to his feet and runs around the pool to where his towel and shirt are. Namjoon wastes no time hoisting himself from the pool, water pouring from his body as he gets to his feet and stalks Yoongi around the deep end, causing Yoongi to scramble and run in the opposite direction of the bungalow, near the shallow end. 

"Where are you going, pretty Yoongi?" Namjoon teases in a growl, walking just a little faster to where his towel also hangs draped over a nearby chair.

Once the towel is in hand, Namjoon runs toward Yoongi, making him scream from excitement as he darts around the shallow end of the pool and takes off the long way toward the bungalow. Namjoon spins on his heels – closer to the bungalow than the shallow end – and takes chase, making Yoongi feel frantic as he opens the door wide and slams it shut. 

Feeling somewhat guilty about standing on the hardwood floor dripping wet, Yoongi hurriedly towels himself off, staring eagerly at the door, which opens fast and wide, revealing a wet, hungry alpha. 

Namjoon wastes no time closing the door, locking the knob, and crossing the space in two swift steps, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's waist before sinking to his knees. The look in his eyes is dark and full of lust, and Yoongi trembles where he stands, heart beating frantically in his chest. 

"Namjoon, what—" Yoongi begins, watching as the alpha's eyes trail down his naked torso, to the bulge in his shorts, then drift lower, to the bruise on his thigh. He looks sad, and he leans forward and places a soft kiss over the skin. 

Yoongi's eyelids flutter closed at the feeling of Namjoon's mouth pressing into the sensitive spot. He wonders how long a mark like that might stay, and how much harder he would have had to bite in order for it to be a mating mark – on his neck, of course; not his thigh. 

Curiously, Yoongi opens his eyes and begins to inspect Namjoon's shoulders and neck for his mating mark. When he finds nothing on either side, he dances his fingertips over the skin beside Namjoon's throat, absentmindedly muttering, "You don't have one."

Confusion stirs in Namjoon's lifted gaze before recognition settles. He scoffs and shakes his head, and then – with a sadness in his eyes – says, "I told you…we're not in love."

Even in today's society, with things being done in less traditional ways, the one act that people still hold onto is mating marks. They say the bond between mated pairs is less intense than it once was, and it is even common to meet younger folks with marks who are single, and folks with more than one. But not marking at all, after years of marriage, is practically unheard of. Especially for a traditionalist like Namjoon, who will not even have a surrogate carry his child in vitro. 

Yoongi feels sad at the thought of Namjoon being in a loveless marriage all these years, and he rubs his fingertips over the alpha's cheek before sitting down on the edge of the bed, bringing the two of them closer to being eye-level. 

"What are we going to do?" Yoongi mumbles, unsure what precisely he is asking for, or what Namjoon can even say.

"I don't know," Namjoon responds. "Let's just…take it one day at a time."

Yoongi nods, feeling affection burst and bloom behind his ribs. And when Namjoon sits high on his knees and says, "Turn around, I want to taste you," Yoongi does not think twice. 

Namjoon peels away Yoongi's soaked shorts and tosses them aside, groaning as he spreads him with both hands and licks over his slick entrance, causing Yoongi to sink forward into the mattress, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, completely enraptured in bliss. For a split moment, Yoongi questions whether he should stop this, but he does not dare; not when Namjoon makes him feel so good. 

Namjoon is slow and steady as he eats Yoongi out, twisting fingers inside him while his tongue and lips lap and swirl and suck. 

"Tastes so good," he says intermittently, making Yoongi's tummy do a backflip. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about this."

Yoongi sees stars when Namjoon flips him over and takes his cock deep into his throat, gagging himself while sucking eagerly, pulling Yoongi's release from him in an unfurling of time and space that has his body suspended in pleasure and intoxicating desire. He sobs and whimpers as he cums down Namjoon's throat, gripping tightly to his wet hair while his body trembles and quakes. 

And when the shrill alarm on the alpha's phone blares just in time, letting him know his lunch break is over, Yoongi feels satisfied as Namjoon plants a soft kiss to his temple and leaves the bungalow in as much of a flurry as he arrived. 

Some nights, Namjoon sneaks into the bungalow nice and late to fuck Yoongi until he cries, always pulling out before he knots, sometimes only using his hands and mouth to make him completely fall apart. 

"I thought about you all day," Namjoon always says as his fingers dig into soft skin, and he takes and takes, pulling pleasure from Yoongi as if it is his lifeblood – always greedy, always reverent. 

Other nights, Namjoon comes by just to hold him and talk with him about remedial stuff. What music they like, what movies they have recently seen, any memorable events that have happened since high school. The more Yoongi gets to know the alpha, the more he finds himself falling for him, and although the heated nights are his favorites, he cherishes these softer moments – holds them close to his heart. 

Namjoon arrives some days with his tray of lunch and tea instead of Jeongguk, always quick to check Yoongi's forehead and ask how he feels. Most days, when Yoongi joins Namjoon poolside, nobody else is around, and they can speak and giggle softly while Yoongi wades against the wall with his arms on the gunite floor, and Namjoon sits in his chair, holding onto the same book he has hardly made progress on for weeks. 

The two of them have taken to licking over one another's scent glands, but they have never kissed on the mouth. There seems to be an unspoken boundary that neither of them is willing to cross, and Yoongi thinks it is probably best, this way. Kissing is too intimate, he tells himself, knowing in his heart that so many other moments between them are, as well. Kissing, he decides, is too sacred.

Tonight, Yoongi lays on Namjoon's chest, both naked while the alpha combs his fingers through his hair, on the edge of sleep but eager to stay awake a little longer just to bask in his presence. His tummy is still flat, but he can feel his body changing; he has even begun to get sick some mornings. 

Nights like these, laying in Namjoon's arms, are a perfect way to end otherwise tempestuous days.  

"You know…" Namjoon mutters against the crown of Yoongi's head, and Yoongi hums in response. "We never signed that contract."

Yoongi chuckles and pulls Namjoon closer, nuzzling his head against his sweaty bare pec. "I know. I think about it sometimes."

"Remember the argument we had, when you were still in the main house?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi buries his face against him and laughs. 

"Oh, gods, don't remind me."

"You insulted me as an alpha," Namjoon chuckles, holding Yoongi tighter, "and then I stormed in there and you…were you turned on, or something? I swear, I could smell it; you made me dizzy."

With a whiny, embarrassed groan, Yoongi shoves at Namjoon, attempting to roll away, only for his alpha to wrap his arms tight around his back and pull him close. 

"You looked so fucking hot when you were angry," Yoongi mutters, feeling his cheeks warm.

Namjoon laughs some more, and Yoongi flails, indignant and slapping the alpha's chest with open palms while laughing, as well – hands striking only hard enough to make Namjoon take him by the wrists, roll him over, and pin him down.

"Is this what you wanted me to do to you?" Namjoon growls when he gets Yoongi onto his back with his arms held beside his head, pinning him to the mattress while he kisses his neck, his clavicle, his chest, going lower and lower until the grip on his wrists falls away. 

"Gods, yes," Yoongi whimpers as arousal and excitement pool and slosh inside him, pouring out in a heady musk, inviting Namjoon to do anything he wants. 

Namjoon growls as he nips and kisses Yoongi's tummy, to his hip bone, which is always so ticklish, making Yoongi squirm. Ordinarily, the alpha would spread his legs wide and lift his hips, bending him in half to taste his slick. But tonight, Namjoon stops right at his belly button, lips gently pressed into his skin, and he stares at Yoongi as if lost in thought. 

Yoongi lifts his head to find Namjoon cradling his tummy while slowly planting kisses against it, and he anchors himself on his elbows as he asks, "Everything alright?"

With a heavy blink, Namjoon nods and lifts his head to smile, but there is a sadness lingering in his eyes, and Yoongi sits up further, reaching down to rub the backs of his fingers over Namjoon's cheek. 

"What is it?" Yoongi asks, and Namjoon gets up onto his hands and knees and hovers over Yoongi, caging him in with his head just above his chest. 

"Have you ever wanted to raise a child?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi freezes, feeling the air slowly get sucked from his lungs. 

Truth be told, no. He has not. 

"I don't…know…" Yoongi tries, worried about being too honest; worried that if he says no, Namjoon may no longer want him. 

Namjoon watches him for a quiet moment, then kisses his chest and lower, down to his belly, hips, and thighs, soft and slow. When he finally rolls Yoongi around and pulls him onto his knees, thighs spread wide, he is unhurried, taking his time building Yoongi up and pushing him over the edge, again and again, until he is overstimulated and begging Namjoon to stop. 

The night before his eight-week checkup, Yoongi is frantic and hormonal, desperate for Namjoon to knot him and make him scream. Namjoon hesitates at first, clearly scared of hurting Yoongi, but he begs on his hands and knees, choking down Namjoon's thick length until it is achingly hard and ready for him. 

Namjoon props a pillow under Yoongi's ass and fucks him rough – hard and fast like the first night, fingers and mouth possessive and harsh against his soft skin. Although Yoongi has not begun to show, Namjoon is careful of his tummy, keeping his hands on his hips, thighs, pecs, and throat. 

The punishing pace of Namjoon's hips has Yoongi swaying and whimpering deliriously while his body is slightly arched, head digging back against a pillow. Namjoon always fucks Yoongi like each time could be the last, but he seems to hold back, never squeezing too hard or thrusting too fast. Tonight, Yoongi needs it. He begs and pleads until Namjoon gives it to him so good that he can only whimper and sob, crazed and practically non-verbal.

"Gonna cum, pretty," Namjoon grunts, hips stuttering. "Are you sure you can take it?"

Yoongi nods frantically before muttering, "Please," barely able to get the word out. 

One large, warm hand travels over Yoongi's side, up to his neck, and around to the back of his head, gripping a fistful of hair. Namjoon lifts Yoongi's neck, pulling him upward, and Yoongi nods somewhat maniacally, on the verge of cuming and so dreadfully entranced by the sight of his alpha. 

"I'm gonna—" Namjoon grunts, squeezing his eyes closed before opening them wide, brow knitting desperately. "Fuck, Yoongi, I'm gonna—"

Namjoon bows his back, sweat glistening down his neck, chest, and stomach. He groans and heaves out quick bursts of air, and then he bends forward, filling Yoongi with his hot release – spurt after spurt, mixing with all the slick, which Yoongi can feel dripping from him. 

And then, the knot begins, and immediately, it is so overwhelming, Yoongi starts to scramble and squeal, squeezing his eyes closed while he breathes heavy and fast. Tears break, and just when he thinks he cannot take anymore, Namjoon grips onto his hard, leaking cock, rolling his palm over the head. 

"Fuck, yes!" Yoongi screams as his orgasm rolls through him like molten lava in his veins, and he trembles and sobs, convulsing in Namjoon's hold, bending further forward as his release sprays over his tummy. 

Namjoon's knot continues growing, and as Yoongi's high begins to subside, oversensitivity sets in, causing him to panic; feeling amazing in the worst way possible. 

Namjoon looks maniacal as he leans forward, wraps his arms around Yoongi's back, and growls, "Bite me."

"Wh—what?" Yoongi asks, dazed and dizzy and being torn asunder. 

The scent Namjoon emits is so cloyingly sweet and thick on Yoongi's tongue that he finds himself chasing it – leaning forward, suspended by Namjoon, who aids in pulling him close. Yoongi opens his mouth and grazes his lips over the alpha's neck but hesitates. He wants to bite him so badly, but that would be an act of staking claim on him, and he is not sure that he can do it. 

A scream rips through Yoongi as the knot continues to expand, and he buries his face in the junction between Namjoon's shoulder and neck, attempting to muffle the sound. Namjoon grips onto Yoongi's hair tight with his fist and holds him against his salty sweat-slick skin. 

"Bite me, omega," he insists. 

The pain reaches its peak, and Yoongi whimpers, trembling and frantic. He knows that he has to bite in order to stave off the pain. He cannot hold back any longer.

With a pitchy roar, Yoongi opens his mouth wide, closes over Namjoon's scent gland, and clamps down hard. All at once, a burst of euphoria floods into his mouth and fills his chest and head with a warm rush of calm and affection. Yoongi continues to bite, breaking skin and tasting blood, all the while Namjoon holds him in place, trembling and growling against him – clinging on like a lifeline. 

But he feels incomplete. Yoongi's body is suspended between heaven and hell, full and connected and sated, but he feels like something is missing. 

"Need you to bite me too," Yoongi sobs, licking Namjoon's blood from his own lips. Tears pour from his eyes as his body shimmers and flows with a bliss he has never known possible. He hardly recognizes his voice as he begs for it. "Namjoon, please!" 

"Are you sure?" Namjoon asks, teeth chattering against Yoongi's neck; when did Namjoon's face become buried in his neck?

Yoongi nods and claws at Namjoon's shoulders and back, feebly attempting to pull him close. And when Namjoon sinks his teeth in, Yoongi snaps. 

White and splotchy black is all Yoongi can see as he screams and trembles and writhes, caught on his alpha's knot with his scent gland pierced by teeth. Arousal surges through him in a frenzy he hardly comprehends, and he cums untouched, spurting his release against both their bodies. Never has he felt so electric before as shockwaves of pleasure roll through every inch of him.

In a blink, Yoongi is laying flat on his back with his limbs spread wide, and Namjoon is dragging soft kisses over his neck and chin, muttering incomprehensibly as the pain of the knot dulls and he begins to return to his senses. 

Yoongi lifts his heavy, trembling arms and grabs Namjoon by the chin, capturing his mouth in an eager clash of lips and teeth. When he opens his mouth for Namjoon to lick hungrily inside, the taste of their blood comingles before fading away to something sweeter and more delicate; something innately Namjoon. 

"Should we have done that?" Yoongi asks against Namjoon's lips as he begins to fade and fall asleep. "Was that a mistake?"

"I don't care," Namjoon mutters against his chin, draping his heavy warm body over Yoongi, getting comfortable enough to wait for the knot to deflate. "All I want is you. It feels right; I don't care if it's wrong."

As sleep claims Yoongi, he almost allows himself to mutter confessions of love, stopping himself just in time. 

The ride into the city has Yoongi on edge, and he does his best to mask his scent, but it is impossible. He knows he must stink like Namjoon, as well, making the trip excruciatingly nerve-racking. Wheein insisted on driving Yoongi to his appointment. 

"If the media finds out, we're old high school friends, so it wouldn't be weird for me to accompany you," she says reassuringly. "I'm too excited to wait; I want to have a glance at our little baby."

If Wheein notices anything about Yoongi's aroma – his sharp, distressed pomegranate and the heady alpha musk that lingers on his skin – she says nothing. Although her own earthy patchouli gives her anxiety away, her voice is friendly, and she appears eager to be helpful. 

The waiting room is dauntingly bright, and the doctor's office feels suffocating. Yoongi keeps his hoodie on, covering the bite mark on his neck. When he adjusts his shirt and pants for the doctor to perform an ultrasound, he closes his eyes. The lubricant and metal paddles are cold on his skin, and everything about this situation is so overwhelming, he feels the urge to cry. 

A soft, warm hand takes his, and all at once, lavender hits his senses, and he lets out a deep sigh. Being comforted by Wheein only makes him feel worse, but at least his tears are warranted; seeing your baby for the first time is emotional, after all. 

Once he opens his eyes and looks at the screen, a little black blob comes into view, looking like nothing more than a giant bean. And then the paddle works over Yoongi's stomach, pressing in hard, and all at once, he hears it – the heartbeat. 

"Wow, just look at that," Wheein says, and Yoongi nods then sniffles as hot tears pour down his cheeks. 

There it is – the little life that he and Namjoon have made. A giant bean with a heartbeat. A living, breathing piece of the two of them.

Neither Namjoon nor Yoongi swims for the rest of the summer. The bite marks on their necks never fully heal, and the one Yoongi wears bursts with deep blues, reds, and purples – bruised in the shape of each of Namjoon's teeth. Whenever he runs his fingertips over it, warmth and affection blooms, covering him like a shroud. 

But when Namjoon drags his mouth over it, oh the feeling is horrific – good in ways that should not be physically allowed. Arousal bursts through Yoongi like an electric current, running at frequencies too high to control. Just a pass of lips over skin has his cock hard and leaking in his pants – has him on his knees begging for the alpha to cum down his throat and make a fucking mess of him. 

As Yoongi's tummy grows, his appetite for pleasure is insatiable. Namjoon spends far too much time in the bungalow for their relationship to go undetected, and Yoongi fears for the worst once the baby is born. He fears Wheein's wrath somehow, though he is not sure what to even expect from someone like her. 

Will Namjoon get a divorce? Will Yoongi move out and allow their relationship to fizzle? Will he sit on the sidelines pretending nothing ever happened while an unhappy couple raises his baby as their own?

Most days and nights, Yoongi does not want to ask the hard questions. He only wants to take it one day at a time, as Namjoon suggested. And when Jeongguk drives him to and from the doctor appointments, they always end in tears and ice cream before he is brought back to his temporary home.

Yoongi does not dare tell Namjoon that he loves him. But sometimes, he thinks Namjoon knows. A soft, candid glance here and there, and the way he holds him as he uses his hands and mouth to make him cum – close, affectionate, delicate. Namjoon oozes knowing and understanding, even if he is also too afraid to voice it. 

When Namjoon arrives with a wide smile and a grocery bag of Yoongi's favorite snacks, Yoongi is sprawled on the floor cushions, staring at the ceiling. He groans as he somewhat sits up, body stretched and heavy, feeling the familiar swell of love that aches deep inside him at the sight of his alpha. 

"How are you feeling, pretty?" Namjoon asks as he crosses the room and sits on his knees, discarding the bag on the nearby low table. 

He wears turtlenecks now, usually black like the one he has on today, tucked into grey slacks. Namjoon hovers over Yoongi, caging him in with his arms and legs, leaning in for a chaste, soft kiss. It always takes Yoongi by surprise when they kiss, and he sighs into the feeling, lifting a hand to card through Namjoon's freshly cut, short dark brown hair. Namjoon groans against his lips as Yoongi drags blunt fingertips against his scalp. 

"I feel good," Yoongi finally answers as Namjoon backs up only enough for them to see one another. "Better now that you're here."

"Corny," Namjoon teases with a scrunch of his nose, despite the tangy-sweet tangerine he emits. 

Yoongi pouts. "It's true."

They hover like this for a while, inspecting one another up close with soft smiles and knowing glances. Words hang around them left unsaid, palpable in the air, and Yoongi wonders when he will find the nerve to just voice everything that builds in his lungs and throat, suffocating in the way his feelings cling.

"Namjoon," he tries tentatively, cringing with the way his voice trembles. 

The alpha's gaze softens – something Yoongi would not have thought possible, given how he was already looking at him – and Yoongi takes a fortifying breath and, barely above a whisper, says, "I'm scared."

Although Namjoon says nothing, there is recognition in his eyes. He sits up, then stands, and reaches his hands out to help Yoongi onto his feet. Although it is a bit of a task now for Yoongi to move his body around quickly, Namjoon makes it seem so easy, cradling and lifting him, holding him until he is stable. Then they walk the two steps to the bed, and Namjoon sits, getting into the middle with his legs spread and knees bent, patting the spot in front of him. 

Yoongi gets on his knees and moseys over, plopping down with his legs bent to the side, facing Namjoon. Clearly dissatisfied with the space between them, Namjoon scoots forward until one leg is beside Yoongi and the other is draped over his ankles. 

"Talk to me," Namjoon says. 

"After the baby is born—" Yoongi begins, but he chokes on a sob. His chest rattles and he does not think he can say what is on his mind. 

Namjoon scoots closer and pulls Yoongi into a hug, tugging him forward until he is resting against the alpha's chest, listening to his heartbeat. Silence hangs, and Yoongi lets tears fall but swallows back every urge to fully bawl. 

"I just…" he tries again, swallowing and sniffling and closing his eyes tight. "Once I'm done here…once I return home, we…we won't—"

"Shh," Namjoon whispers, holding Yoongi close, emitting musky citrus. "I suppose we do need to talk about this, don't we? I don't want you to be so afraid."

"What if I never see you again?" Yoongi sobs, unable to hold back, clenching the black material of Namjoon's shirt in his fist, desperate to never let him go again. "What if you just carry on as if none of this ever happened?"

"Yoongi—" Namjoon tries, backing up as if attempting to look at him.

But Yoongi holds him close as anguish rattles through him. "You said I shouldn't come around to see the baby. You said it would be bad for the media to know about me. So once I'm gone that's it, that's—"

"Hey, hey, Yoongi," Namjoon says, hugging him nice and tight, squishing Yoongi's face into his chest. "We didn't sign the contract. We're not…legally required to do anything, alright? I'll…we'll figure something out."

"You're married," Yoongi sobs, grinding his face against Namjoon's chest while air heaves from his lungs – burns behind his ribs. "You're married and once I leave, your life will go back to normal. Remember long ago, when you told me, 'We can’t choose our circumstances, but we can do our best with what we are given'? Well, I didn't choose to fall for you, and now I'm…now I'm gonna lose you and I…Oh gods, I'm gonna lose you."

"You remember me saying that?" Namjoon asks softly, hug loosening but not letting go. "That was years ago." 

Yoongi sniffles and sits up, eyes raw and heavy. When he releases his grasp on Namjoon's shirt, his palm is sweaty, and the material is wrinkled. 

"Of course I remember that," he mutters, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. "You were nice to me when nobody else was. I could never forget that." 

This time, the silence that hangs feels oppressive, but Yoongi does not know what more there is to say. And his body betrays him with intense cravings and hunger that need to be addressed. 

"What did you bring me?" he asks, looking over his shoulder as he sniffles, to the bag on the table that sits sideways, spilling with snacks and a pack of apples. 

"Some of your favorites," Namjoon responds, rubbing his palms up and down Yoongi's arms.

Yoongi wriggles around and scrambles onto his feet, hobbling over to the table. In addition to being a round, heavy baby conduit, he feels emotionally off-kilter. Spiritually, even. 

He bends a moment and groans, finding the bag just out of reach. But before he can complain or ask for help, Namjoon is behind him – warm palm against the small of his back and reaching around him for the bag. When it is lifted to Yoongi, Namjoon stays close, wrapping him in a back hug and resting his chin on Yoongi's shoulder. 

"Was the fact that I was nice to you the only reason you remembered what I said?" Namjoon asks, gently rubbing his lips over the mark on the junction of Yoongi's shoulder and neck.

Yoongi's eyelids flutter closed, and he shakes his head, gripping the grocery bag handles tight while his body sways with affection. 

"I never forgot what you said because, after that moment, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Oh?" Namjoon asks, surprise in his tone. 

Yoongi nods. "You were so…handsome. So considerate. And you smelled…" he trails off and smiles at the thought of Namjoon scaring off his bullies so many years ago. "...amazing."

"So all this time…" Namjoon trails off with a chuckle. "I could have had you in my arms all these years, and I had no idea."

Myriad emotions kick up in Yoongi's guts, with frustration and worry at the forefront. "I could have known what it feels like to be loved by you," he says as his eyelids flutter shut and tears continue to build and fall. 

When he feels the tug of the grocery bag handles, Yoongi releases, allowing it to be taken away. He hears Namjoon set it on the bed, feeling his body shuffle and twist behind him. Namjoon takes Yoongi by the shoulders and spins him around, pulling him close, so their tummies touch. 

"My silly little omega," Namjoon teases as he thumbs at Yoongi's tears. 

Yoongi opens his eyes to find his alpha smiling soft and wide, and he feels his heart crack just a little deeper, leaving his chest in the form of a huff. 

"You already do know what it feels like to be loved by me," Namjoon says. 

With a knuckle, Namjoon softly lifts Yoongi's chin. As he slots their lips together, Namjoon smiles, eyes still open, which Yoongi stares into despite being so close they are smudges in the form of deep brown discs.

"Handling our…situation…" Namjoon says, trailing off to press kiss after soft kiss against Yoongi's lips, "it won't be easy." Another kiss, and Yoongi's cheeks begin to burn. "But I don't want to lose you. And as much as Wheein will hate losing the big house and man-servant she did not earn, I'm sure she'll be fine. Maybe her family can marry her off to someone who actually loves her, this time."

"You don't want to be made a spectacle of," Yoongi responds somewhat indignantly. Namjoon's considerations do assuage some of his fears, but he remembers conversations they had months ago, and he has a hard time believing that Namjoon has had a complete change of heart, already. After all, Namjoon has the most to lose. The adversity he could face is nothing compared to what Yoongi might experience.

Namjoon shrugs. "My term ends next year. Perhaps I won't run again."

At this, Yoongi frowns. Although he and Namjoon have not spoken too extensively about his profession, he has come to learn that the alpha enjoys being a public servant, and that the work he does makes a positive impact. There should be more leaders like Namjoon.

"We'll take it one day at a time," Namjoon says, planting a kiss on the tip of Yoongi's nose, which Yoongi scrunches as he turns his face away; he does not need Namjoon kissing his snot and tears. "You made a good point, before; perhaps setting a positive example about boundaries and divorce is something I can help normalize."

"And if the public shames you?" Yoongi asks, unconvinced that Namjoon has given the situation enough consideration. 

Namjoon releases the hug and plops back down on the bed, reaching for the bag and dumping its contents onto the mattress. Yoongi's stomach loudly growls at the sight of shrimp chips, and he sits on the other side of the pile, reaching for his prize. 

"I'll worry about my image," Namjoon responds, grabbing an apple. "You just worry about bringing a healthy baby into the world. And if you feel uncertain about raising them, we can always hire a nanny. Maybe Jeongguk is good with children."

Yoongi chuckles and opens the bag of shrimp chips with a smile. He imagines a life back in the hanok – in a home with more than two rooms. A nice, open building with more than one window. And although it seems like too big of a situation to be hopeful about, he allows himself to dream, just a little. 

The morning Yoongi wakes to his water breaking, he is in the bungalow alone. 

Yoongi struggles to sit up in bed, anchoring his palms against the mattress as he lifts his chest and stomach upward, sighing heavily. His cell phone is on the mattress, and he presses the power button on, revealing that it is 6:13 AM. 

His thumbs are swollen and slow as he opens his contacts and finds Namjoon's name. The alpha answers on the second ring. 

"Yoongi?" he asks, voice groggy on the line. He chose to stay in the hanok last night because he had a really early morning and did not want to have to wake Yoongi…a lot of good that did. 

"My water broke," Yoongi croaks, voice rough from disuse. 

Yoongi hears a gasp, followed by the line going dead, and he chuckles softly, shaking his head. He can only imagine the panicked expression on Namjoon as he tears clumsily through the home to alert Jeongguk and make sure their bag is packed and ready to go – despite having checked it several times in the past few weeks. 

The plan had been for Jeongguk to drive Yoongi to the hospital and be at his side, and Yoongi is surprised when Namjoon pulls the door open wide. His short dark hair is disheveled, possibly from pulling on the black hoodie he wears over grey slacks. He has a mask around his chin and sunglasses tucked into the front of his sweater, and Yoongi wonders if he plans on joining him, incognito. 

Before Yoongi has a chance to get to his feet, Namjoon is by his side, arm around his waist, pulling him to stand. Calming citrus musk fills the space, and Yoongi's heart pounds excitedly in his chest. 

"Alright, pretty Yoongi," Namjoon says as they begin walking toward the door to where Jeongguk waits in a black sweater and matching joggers, holding a duffle bag in one hand and a set of car keys in the other. "Let's go deliver our baby."

the enddddd!!! ahhhhhh!!! i know this may be too open of an ending for some people's liking, but as mentioned, i literally ran out of space. the fest had a limitation of 40k. sorry, friends lmao. they live happily ever after, okay??? we love to see it. the end. 😍

thank you so much for reading!!! reblogs and comments are the lifeblood of this hellsite and likes are appreciated too!!! i love you!!!

tags: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13@giriiboyy@mgthecat​ @moonleeai@m1sss1mp@spookyminyunki @sumzysworld @yoongoboongo0

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One Day at a Time is copyright 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. 

[ardenla]

Writing for the lost

A short horror story I wrote a while ago.

Word count: 2096

I've always wanted to be a writer.

I've always so desperately tried, to then always fail.

I've written stories about dragons, stories about strange civilizations, and yet it seems to be that all my hard work has been for naught.

I grasp to every chance to write something, be it a competition or just for others.

And I always end up getting hurt, again and again and again and again and again.

Perhaps they've been right all along, I just don't have any talent.

That my stories are mere imitations of the great ones.

Well, they might be, for all I know they might all be damned.

Perhaps it would be better to stop, to call it quits, but I can't.

I can't.

I just can't.

As the thing I've been working towards my entire life, I can't let it go now or I will really have lost.

I work jobs I don't like in order for me to be able to purchase the things to write and to give myself time to read.

But a masterpiece is something I will never be able to write.

I remember once entering a competition just to be told that my writing lacks emotion and originality. Well I've been told worse before.

But still, I try and try again.

Probably until I can't anymore.

Until even breathing is something too difficult.

Recently I moved to a new house, it's old.

It's also difficult to keep clean, but the rent is dirt cheap.

I might be able to stay here for longer than half a year, so I'm pretty happy with it.

Perhaps it's time to hire a maid, though I would need to work even harder to afford one... Yeah, I should just do it myself.

Even though this house is in a bad shape, it feels almost as if it has a soul.

Like the house is a whole character in itself.

In a way it makes me feel less lonely.

The paint is slowly peeling from the walls and not all the lights work, but in a way it speaks to me.

Like something I've long lost or have yet to gain.

In all truth, there is something amiss with this house, something strange, but I dare not call it wrong.

The first night I sat by my mattress on the floor and took out one of my old notebooks.

"Alright, I think I'm going to write now." I said to the house, I said to myself.

Speaking aloud is something I do often when I'm alone, so I did not expect a response.

"What will you be writing?" a voice echoed through the house, entering my bedroom.

I was quiet for a moment, listening to the suddenly eerie atmosphere that had entered the room.

After a long while I finally mustered the courage to answered: "A story"

"What is this story about?" The house asked.

"I-I don't know yet..." I whispered.

I could feel my hand holding the pen tremble, but I didn't dare to run away, I didn't even dare to look behind me.

"How about you write a story about me?" The voice asked slowly.

"I-I can do that, please t-tell me." I hated the fact that I couldn't stop my voice from shaking.

"Hmmm..." The voice seemed deep in thought: "How about we write it together?"

I could feel a cold hand touch my shoulder, to then enter my body.

It was truly a strange sensation, nothing I had ever felt before.

But I guess I can say, I got possessed.

When I came to, I had written almost an entire book, my hands covered in blisters were sore as can be and I felt like I had had the strangest dream.

I dreamed that I was someone else.

I dreamed of the feelings they felt.

I dreamed of the pain they had to have endured.

As I looked at the pages written in a handwriting that wasn't mine, I could remember the dream more vividly.

I looked up to find an almost transparent man before me.

"Not enough." He mumbled: "Not enough."

"What do you mean?" I asked carefully.

"This is simply not enough..."

I let him think in silence for him, afraid of what would happen if I were to anger the spirit before me.

"It's not the whole story yet." He finally answered: "It has yet to be finished."

As I tried to get up, holding up my arms for him, wanting to tell him that he can try again, dark spots start appearing in my vision and before I know it I fall over.

"That must be the problem." I heard him say: "You are too weak."

The words sound harsh, but I also know that they spoke the truth.

I was weak... No I still am.

I can't do anything.

I have no talent for anything.

I am useless.

Somehow the ghost decided to take pity on me and sat next to me.

"You gotta eat something, my friend." He said in a kind voice.

I could feel an ice cold hand on my shoulder, so cold that it felt like it could freeze my body and turn it into solid ice.

Slowly I got up, my 'friend' following closely behind me, making sure I wouldn't fall over.

He helped me sit down at the table, where I reached for some of the fruit in the basket.

I took a bite and only then noticed that it had long spoiled, still I continued until I had finished it completely.

"What is it that made you so obsessive over writing a story?" My friend asked.

"Good writers live forever within their works, good writers never leave this earth."

"What caused you to think like that?"

"People disappear often, swiftly and without much noise. I don't want to go out like that."

My friend hesitated and then answered: "I see." I think he said it because he didn't want to invade my privacy.

"So, why do you want to have your story written?"

He shrugged: "I guess it's almost the same reason as for you to write. I don't want my story to disappear. I came to my end in a way I don't wish upon my most feared enemies."

"Why not find someone stronger and more talented than me?" I asked out of curiosity.

"You're the first."

Just what does he mean with that?

"The first that was able to allow me to write to speak out my anguish."

As I have regained some of my energy I carefully stand up, this time not falling over nor seeing dark spots cloud my vision.

"Alright, let's work together." I offered and my friend nodded in agreement.

Days went by in which I took better care of myself and had a moment in which my friend could take up my pen.

Day after day, more empty pages got filled with a story, the story of him.

As the final day grew closer, I could feel his frustration slowly ebb away.

Then it came.

It arrived much too early for my taste to be completely honest.

After all, I made a friend, a good one at that, someone that only I could hear and see, someone that told me different from my dark lingering thoughts.

"May I request something?" He asked kindly like always.

"But of course, anything that may be of help to you."

His face turned serious.

"I would like it if you were to publish this, under your own name."

Shocked, I looked at him: "But this is your story, yours and yours alone, you can't leave it to me! If you want it published so badly, I can bring it to a publisher and say that you, my friend, are the writer of this masterpiece."

He looked down.

"But you wrote it." He silently protested.

I immediately shook my head: "No, you did, you did it, you wrote the story of your life."

Then he slammed his fist on the table.

"Dammit! I want you to take it, you have been nothing but kind to me. I have worn you out to have my last wish be granted through you. Most people would run away if they ever were to even lay eyes upon me. You are the only one to understand me, so please... just listen to me."

Shocked by his sudden burst of anger and frustration, he reminds me that his last day is coming closer.

This time I look down: "Fine." I mumbled: "I will publish it under my name, but I will tell everyone that I wrote it with the help of a friend."

A sad smile crossed his face: "You better do."

And thus I went to the publisher the very next day.

It was one of those that had refused me before a couple of times, but this was the closest one to my house.

As I knocked on the door, I was greeted by the man that owned the company.

"What the hell are you doing here so early in the morning?!" His voice was stern, perhaps angry even.

"I've come to show you something."

"Again?! You know I ain't reading anymore of that garbage that is written by you!"

"I wrote it with a friend."

"Oh, yeah, who ist?"

"He... he prefers to remain anonymous."

"Anonymous? Bah, the only thing I smell here is bullshit!"

"It's because it's his personal story."

A mailman walks by giving the owner a couple of letters.

At first I wasn't sure, but I noticed that one of them had something like 'EVICTION' written on it.

He then confirmed it to me.

"Look pal, there is no story big enough to save this company of mine. Rent is due and there are mouths to feed."

"Please..." I begged him: "Please just read, even if it's only the first page. No first half of the page is good enough."

He sighed.

"Fine then, but this is your last chance. If it's bad again, I will never allow you to enter this place anymore."

Thanking him, he let me inside.

Carefully I handed him my manuscript as he sat down on a chair.

"Half a page you said?"

"Yes." I nodded.

To my delight, as the owner started reading the story, he almost seemed to get absorbed in it.

He didn't read half a page at all like I had requested, page after page he read.

At some point I could see tears well up in his eyes, at another I could see the frustration in him like that of the protagonist of the story.

And then he closed the last page.

It had already gotten dark outside and he had read every word, not skipping anything.

With a satisfied sigh, he wiped his head and then looked at me.

"Well that certainly is how you do it, son."

I bowed and thanked him.

"I-it's truly almost something close to a miracle."

"Could you publish this for me?"

The man nodded: "Yes, yes. Of course."

It didn't take long before I could find my book in the local bookstores.

But I didn't take the time to celebrate this victory.

My best friend was gone after all, his place felt empty.

I couldn't care less about my income or the fact that I could finally live somewhere else that was cleaner or in better shape.

I visited his grave often, even talking to him, knowing full well he wasn't there to listen anymore.

Then one day another one came.

A spirit.

A lost soul.

Someone in need of my help.

Like before I wrote them a book, I wrote their story.

And in time they left me again too.

I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote and wrote.

Somehow in time I had become somewhat of a best-seller, people would even recognize me in the streets and ask me for an autograph. And I would always tell them that I never wrote a story alone.

I always told them that I shouldn't get all the praise.

Eventually I started noticing myself growing weak again.

Weaker than I had ever felt before.

Though some spirits would try to take care of me, I got sicker and sicker.

It wasn't something a doctor could cure.

It's my curse after all.

My curse is sucking away at my life force.

My unnatural talent is killing me!

Scared, I look up, dropping the pen from my trembling hands, spilling small drops of ink over the floor, my hands and on some of the pages.

"Are you okay?" The man, or rather ghost, before me looks worried.

"I...we..."

He looks down with eyes filled with regret: "Yes, you and I are the same. We both have the same curse, if you're not careful enough, death will come to get you earlier as well."

[whimsical-sonic]

uhh hewwo i have written about 1,000 words for something involving sting. i don't usually write! but i did my best to try and capture my little guys

@sonic-oc-showdown

this is the scene where vi hires sting, as i mentioned here

Sting leaned his elbow against the table, scanning the crowds for anyone that looked out of place. He wasn’t quite sure who, or what, he was looking for. The message he received was short, simple, to the point. They gave a time, a place, but managed to neglect giving him a general description of who was meeting him. It wasn’t a big deal, no, but it was common courtesy. He’d prefer to not mistake a passerby for his potential client again, thank you very much.

He popped a curly fry into his mouth. He tried to avoid anything vague, any potential offers that withheld detail, but he had to admit: he was getting desperate. Living on fast food wasn’t ideal, but not being able to afford his classes? That was worse.

His tail knocked against the chair behind him, rattling it. Luckily for him, no one was occupying it. He really didn’t need to deal with anyone else today.

Just then, something caught his eye. Someone was navigating through the mass of people across the street, heading his with some type of determination. He squinted, trying to make out as much detail of this stranger as he could.

The character approaching him reminded him of moss, both in color and in how vaguely noticeable they were. They blended with the crowd well enough to almost fade in, but there was something about them that set them just apart. Maybe it was the way they were tapping their fingers together, glancing around before locking eyes with him. The way they hurried across the street, awkwardly halting to look both ways before carrying on. He couldn’t tell if they were in a rush or simply unfamiliar with city life. Maybe both.

“Sorry sorry, I know I’m a little late.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“Hm? Oh, good, yeah.” They gently placed their duffel bag on the table and sat down, adjusting their glasses. “Introductions, uh, my name is Violet, but colleagues call me Vi. And, well, I know who you are, so I don’t suppose you need to tell me who you are. Unless you wanted to, of course.” Sting dipped a fry into his shake, staring at them. “Right, uh—” Vi cleared their throat, “the reason I contacted you. Probably wanna get into that right away, I didn’t give too much detail in the thing, the-the letter. Card. Envelope. That.” Surprisingly not the most awkward start to a potential job he’s had, but definitely pretty up there.

“Most potential employers do give a vague description.”

“Yes, there’s a, uh, reason why I left that out.” Sting raised a brow as the cat—caracal?—leaned forward. “It is of utmost importance that what we’re requesting of you stays quiet. No one else can know.”

Ah.

Vi continued. “Do I have your word? That what I talk about here stays between us? Even if you refuse the offer?” He shrugged.

“Sure.”

“My boss has been working on a research project for a long time, and has been getting closer to reaching a breakthrough. However, we’ve run into some...issues, small things that halt progress. Lack of specialized equipment and an inability to acquire a specific sort of intel.”

“That doesn’t sound small.”

“In the grand scheme of things it’s pretty small. Maybe not small small, but...” they waggled their hands, gesturing the approximate size of small they were referring to. “Getting the appropriate equipment wouldn’t be a problem if this research weren’t top secret; my boss doesn’t want to risk the possibility of any purchases being traced or linked or anything along those lines. What we’d require from you is for you to...acquire this equipment through specific means.”

“So...stealing, you’re asking me to steal.”

“I suppose that’s one way you could put it but yes. That’s part of it.” Stealing wasn’t so bad. He’s shoplifted a stick of gum and a pack of batteries before, he had experience in this. “The other part requires gathering intel on chaos energy.” That’s different.

“What sort of intel?”

“Any sort, really. Frequencies, wavelengths, power gauges, types, anything and everything. We do have readings, but—” they paused as someone walked by, eyes wide. Once the passerby was gone, they lowered their voice. “What we have isn’t enough for the scale of our research. We need information from someone, somewhere, who has more experience in this field.”

“Anyone particular in mind?” They nodded.

“The same person you’re going to collect equipment from. Dr. Eggman.” Sting nodded slowly, eating another fry as he mulled this information over. Eggman...he’s busted up badniks before, but has never outright fought the mad scientist. The closest he’s ever come to directly going against him was the Resistance’s effort to reclaim the islands all those months ago. To sneak into his bases, steal his likely well-used tech, scour through whatever databases he could gain access to...it was certainly more than he was expecting. Maybe more than he could... Sting glanced at the duffel on the table, studying it for a few moments before returning to meet Vi’s rather intense expression.

“On the matter of payment...how much is your boss offering?”

Vi rubbed their hands together before reaching over to the bag, looking around before zipping it open. Sting leaned forward, nudging the bag open to see what was inside. His eyes widened.

“If you agree, that is an upfront payment. Think of it as entering a contract with none of the paperwork. By accepting this, you agree to be on standby, to answer when we call upon your services, to carry out our requests without question. The, uh, payment after—there is a set amount that will be paid to you after finishing a request. An additional bonus will be sent depending on the value of whatever you give to us.” He re-zipped the bag.

“Count me in.”

Vi looked as though they were about to collapse in relief. Sting wasn’t sure why. Who would turn down that? There was so much he wasn’t going to have to worry about financially so long as this agreement was in effect.

“Alright, cool cool,” Vi clapped their hands, rubbing them together. “I’ll, uh, leave that with you. We’ll send you our general location soon, along with the first request. Just be sure to keep an eye out for that.” They paused. “Can I take a fry? Or few. For the road.” Sting pushed the basket towards them. “Thanks.” Without another word, they scooped up the basket and hurried off, swerving around someone before disappearing behind the corner.

Sting rose to his feet, staring at the duffel for a few seconds before slinging it over his shoulder. He pat it twice, feeling how the fabric crinkled at his touch. It was real. He was half-expecting it to be a prank, a scam, some false offer, but no. It was real. Awkward, but real.

All he could hope for now was for that cat to learn how to be more discreet.

~ End ~

if you've read this whole thing, i don't have much else to say asides from thank you! it's very appreciated ;y;

if you're interested in learning more about sting, check out his socs2 tag here!

round 4 is almost over! if you haven't voted yet, please consider tossing a vote his way here!

[bookwormscififan]

My Bodyguard, Chapter 1

Read on AO3!

Prologue

A/N: Finally getting back to this AU! Basic premise: Mare is Mad's bodyguard, and Mad is a very well-known scientist that gets a lot of death threats and break ins.

--

Mad wasn’t used to having a bodyguard, being followed all the time and having to give his location every time he moved. Mare had given him a great number of lists to follow, and asked Jackie for several things to be purchased so he could make the place the safest possible.

Mad wouldn’t complain, but he wasn’t impressed with Mare needing them to lock up the rooms that weren’t in use.

“I just don’t get why he needs to block off certain rooms,” he grumbled to Jackie the next morning over a mug of coffee, speaking softly so Mare wouldn’t hear from the doorway to the kitchen. “I mean, who locks up a bedroom?”

“Mad, do you not know why people have locks on their bedroom doors?” Jackie asked, glancing at Mare to ensure the bodyguard wasn’t listening. “Actually, never mind. I don’t want to be that person who tells you these things,” he dismissed, shaking his head and drinking more coffee.

Mare finished typing out his report to his bosses, then tucked his phone into his pocket and moved into the kitchen. As Mad had made a comment about his wearing sunglasses inside, Mare had opted to only wear the sunglasses when he was out with Mad.

“Morning, Nova,” Jackie greeted, motioning to the coffee machine on the opposite counter. “Did you sleep well?” His gaze darted to Mad when he heard a scuffle, seeing the scientist hurriedly occupying himself with making a sandwich, face red as he snuck glances at the bodyguard.

“I slept well, thank you,” Mare responded, fixing himself a cup of coffee and turning to lean back against the counter. “You can call me Mare if it makes you more comfortable. I’d like to discuss Mad’s schedules with you today, so that I can work out the best ways to organise protection.”

“Mad doesn’t go out often,” Jackie replied, casually lifting his mug to his lips. “You’re better off just tailing him because he won’t say when he’s going to go out. Plus, I’m sure he’d appreciate having you follow him all the time,” he added in a singsong voice, grin growing at the darkening blush on Mad’s cheeks.

Mare followed Jackie’s gaze, letting an amused smile break his serious façade when he spotted how flustered Mad was, coating a slice of bread in jam distractedly in attempts to hide his reactions. Stirring the teaspoon in his coffee slowly, Mare stepped forward to stand behind Mad, releasing the spoon to pluck the bread out of his fingers.

“That’s a lot of sugar,” Mare said in a soft tone, masking his smirk at Mad’s squeak. “It’s not very healthy to have that much sugar with the amount of caffeine you’re drinking. Your reflexes will fall foul of you if you’re having too much of these, and then you won’t be able to react if someone does break in.”

“T-That’s supposed to be your-your job,” Mad’s voice was quiet, tiny as he curled up over the mug he now held. “You’ve been hired to protect me if someone breaks in. I-I don’t need to be able to react if you’re going to-going to react for me.”

Jackie’s snort of laughter made Mad glare at him, the look losing its effect when compared to the red flush adorning his cheeks. With a secretive wink at Mad and a curt nod at Mare, Jackie picked up his mug and left the kitchen, ignoring Mad squawk of protest at his retreat.

“I’ll make a note to have Jackie buy some organic plum jam,” Mare commented around his mouthful of bread, leaning an elbow on the counter beside Mad. “Less sugar, more health. It’ll probably also help your mental workings if you didn’t consume as much sugar.”

Mad pushed his mug of coffee away, dropping his head onto his folded arms with a groan. Turning his head slightly, he plucked the bread from Mare’s hand and bit into it, chewing grumpily.

“I need to install the cameras and locks around the house,” Mare stated with a huff, tugging on the cuffs of his sleeves and running a hand through his hair, not seeing how Mad’s eyes followed the shape of his arms. “If you’re just going to stay in the lab, then I’ll know where you are.”

Mad watched Mare leave the room from over his arms, gaze stopping at the way his shirt fell over his shoulder blades, letting out a soft whine as he dropped his face onto the counter again. Maybe he should have gotten a bodyguard earlier, but then he wasn’t sure if all bodyguards had the same physique as Mare’s, and he was already struggling to keep his heart beating by just seeing Mare moving.

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

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @dungeon-dragons-dragons @rattyboyisemo

[clarabowmp3]

fave lyric from TTPD and TA this hour? any coming to mind?

ttpd: my boy only breaks his favourite toys has just started to grow on me so I’m kind of obsessed with how she sings ‘sickest army dolll purchased at the malllll’ and ‘but you! should have! seen him! when he! first. GOT me!’

Ta:

I am someone who, until recent events You shared your secrets with And your location You forgot to turn it off And so I watch as you walk Into some bar called The Black Dog And pierce new holes in my heart You forgot to turn it off And it hits me I just don't understand

How you don't miss me In The Black Dog When someone plays The Starting Line and you jump up But she's too young to know this song That was intertwined in the magic fabric of our dreaming Old habits die screaming

I move through the world with the heartbroken My longings stay unspoken And I may never open up the way I did for you And all of those best laid plans You said I needed a brave man Then proceeded to play him Until I believed it too And it kills me I just don't understand

How you don't miss me In the shower And remember How my rain-soaked body was shaking Do you hate me? Was it hazing? For a cruel fraternity I pledged And I still mean it Old habits die screaming

Six weeks of breathing clean air I still miss the smoke Were you making fun of me with some esoteric joke? Now I want to sell my house and set fire to all my clothes And hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons Even if I die screaming And I hope you hear it

And I hope it's shitty In The Black Dog When someone plays The Starting Line and you jump up But she's too young to know this song That was intertwined in the tragic fabric of our dreaming 'Cause tail between your legs, you're leaving I still can't believe it 'Cause old habits die screaming

[kellysbookblog]

ERROR

TERROR by LeAnn Ashers

EXCERPT REVEAL BLITZ

TOUR DATE: Tuesday, Nov. 28th

THIS KIT INCLUDES:

(in order of appearance)

- All the information for you to create your own posts

- Twitter Post

- Instagram Post

- Facebook Post

- HTML codes for Blogger AND WordPress

- ALL Pictures are attached to the email!

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Title: TERROR

Author: USA Today Bestselling Author LeAnn Ashers

Series: Grim Sinners Rebels, Book 5 – Standalone

Genre: MC Romance

Tropes: Suspense, Possessive OTT Hero, Biker Alpha, Safe Romance, Instalove

Release Date: DEC. 5, 2023

TBR LINK(S):

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/200184641-terror

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/terror-grim-sinners-rebels-book-5-by-leann-ashers

PURCHASE LINKS: - PREORDER!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/40qGjoX

Apple: https://bit.ly/3Qkh6rA

Nook: https://bit.ly/3QkgPF4

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3QLO8Cv

BLURB:

Meghan

I spent my whole life in foster care, moving from house to house, never feeling like I belonged.

One day, I threw caution to the wind, left New York City, and drove across the country. I slept in my car and at gross, pay-by-the-hour motels. There were times I thought I was just one moment away from getting kidnapped.

Until my car broke down in a small town in Texas.

I never imagined that I would find my home there.

But my home is not a place.

My home is him.

But someone didn’t like that Terror had claimed me as his.

Terror

My mother spoke of this beautiful waitress she had hired for months, and it’s a shame I didn’t meet her sooner.

She took my breath away.

She became mine—heart, body, and soul.

My ole lady.

I would burn the world down to make sure she was safe and hand her the ashes of our destruction without hesitation.

And that’s exactly what I had to do when a man from my past dared to touch what was mine.

He would live to regret it.

People don’t call me Terror for no reason, after all.

EXCERPT

"The very second I saw you, I knew you were meant to be mine. Soul and body, Angel.”

“Yours.” I agree with him.

I never thought that I would want to belong to someone so badly as I do with him. But it’s because I know that he will protect me, take care of me, and I don’t need to worry about anything. He has me.

He shakes his head, smiling, “You are mine. I would fucking burn down the world as long as I knew you were safe.”

SERIES: Grim Sinners Rebels - Standalone Novels

Book 1: Gage

Amazon: http://getbook.at/GageAmazon

Apple: https://apple.co/3mMgbld

Nook: https://bit.ly/GageNook

Kobo: https://bit.ly/GageKobo

Book 2: Knight

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3zdJiov

Apple: https://apple.co/3VEgoqO

Nook: https://bit.ly/3eG37gV

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3yPIUMz

Book 3: Reaper

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Apple: https://apple.co/3kVHNqW

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Kobo: https://bit.ly/3L3KOjJ

Book 4: Andrey

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3peoo6I

Apple: https://bit.ly/3PmNye1

Nook: https://bit.ly/42RvkEG

Kobo: https://bit.ly/448OVkJ

AUTHOR BIO:

LeAnn Ashers is a blogger-turned-author who spends her days reading and writing. She released her debut novel early 2016, and can't wait to see where this adventure continues to take her. LeAnn enjoys writing about strong-minded females and swoon-worthy, protective alpha males who love their women unconditionally.

Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/b23duf

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TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@leannashers

TOUR HOSTED BY #HEAPR @HEAPRMore

[grison-in-space]

To Carrot he added, “You know, I feel quite perked up. The old brain has begun to work at last. You know the golem that did the killing?” “Yes, sir?” “Ah, but do you know what was special about it?” “Can’t think, sir,” said Carrot, “except that it was a new one. The golems made it themselves, I think. But of course they needed a priest for the words and they had to borrow Mr. Hopkinson’s oven. I expect the old men thought it would be interesting. They were historians, after all.” It was Vimes’s turn to stand there with his mouth open. Finally he got control of himself. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, his voice barely shaking. “Yes, I mean, that’s obvious. Plain as the nose on your face. But…er, have you worked out what else is special about it?” he added, trying to keep any traces of hope out of his voice. “You mean the fact it’s gone mad, sir?” “Well, I didn’t think it was winner of the Ankh-Morpork Mr. Sanity Award!” said Vimes. “I mean they drove it mad, sir. The other golems. They didn’t mean to, but it was built-in, sir. They wanted it to do so many things. It was like their…child, I think. All their hopes and dreams. And when they found out it’d been killing people…well, that’s terrible to a golem. They mustn’t kill, and it was their own clay doing it—” “It’s not a great idea for people, either.” “But they’d put all their future in it—” “You wanted me, Commander?” said Cheri.

It's not really all that subtle, either.

They wanted it to do so many things... all at once, too, of course, they wanted it to lead them out of servitude and towards freedom and liberation. Of course the golem king went mad.

I find the golems' arc such an interesting rebuke to the concept of a Messiah, or to the concept for that matter of a single glorious revolution led by a shining figure after which everything will be wonderful again. If you can make people, why not make yourself a leader?

Well, the pressure's wrong, that's why. The kiln isn't shaped right to grow a person: it's too hot in some places (the heat of desire weighs too much) and too cool in others (no one's thinking about the golem king as a person with its own inner life here; no one wants the golem king to have its own desires).

And anyway, the pressure of any single unstable event is enough to unbalance a society, and once unbalanced it can be hard for it to find its feet--clay or otherwise--again. We have to trust one another to hold up a society: and that means all the one anothers, even the ones which are pains in our collective asses. You don't get a good new society without making sure those foundations of trust are still there, just like you don't get a good new statue by building it with a head of gold and feet of clay. You have to build the foundations first.

It's rather wonderful, then, that the road to golem freedom is through the Golem Trust: one small act, the receipt to own oneself and a job, and then the collective action of many small acts that create a force to reckon with in the long term. It's something like a decade before Dorfl and his Trust purchase enough golems--build a strong enough set of feet, aha through their own feet and hands of clay--to make hiring someone like Ms Dearheart useful.

And in the end those small clay steps wind up creating a force to be reckoned with so powerful that by the time we return to them in Going Postal, they become hands that leave their potters' fingertips on the very soul and heart of the next leader of the city. Not the only hands, of course, but nearly every sharp shock that lures Moist into being a moral sort of person from the amoral one he starts as contra from either Ms Dearheart the kiln-hearth or Mr Pump the probate officer. These clay hands go on to shape the future at all the highest levels of power.

And now I want a haggadah for Feet of Clay, just to turn over in my head and examine. There's no way one doesn't exist already, right?

you know, if Guards! Guards! is about illustrating the harm that can be done to a people by the unchecked power of a bad king, and if Men at Arms is (in part) about showing off the harm that can be done to a people by the unchecked power of a good (charismatic) king, Feet of Clay is in part about the harm that can be done to a king by the unchecked desire and need of a (good) people.

[circe69]

Mr. CEO

nanami kento x fem! reader ( ˘ ³˘)♥

narrative: you're first day as Nanami's secretary takes a turn

cw: reader wears a skirt, you get shoved into a closet, suggestiveness

genre: FLUFF

(art is from pinterest!)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Today was your first day working as a secretary for a huge marketing company, and you were a little nervous. You had just graduated college and was hired on a whim due to short staffing.

You decided to wear a tighter-than-usual black pencil skirt and black blouse that was tucked in, with your hair up in a claw clip.

Walking down the halls to find the conference room, your heels clicked on the tile. You had heard that the CEO of the company was the only reason to be scared.

Nanami Kento

You passed his office on your way to your first meeting, feeling your heart skip when you saw his name on the door.

When you arrived at the conference room, the large wooden door squeaked open. Heads turned at your entrance, and unfortunately you were the only woman in today's meeting.

At the end of the long table, you saw him. Blinding blond hair, wearing a suit that fit him perfectly. His eyes were enough to kill someone, his face always looking upset.

You had obviously been a few minutes late, so you scooted across the room, sitting in the only seat available. The one next to him.

"Sorry I'm late," you whispered, receiving nods of understanding.

As you pulled out your chair and was about to sit down, you caught Nanami's eyes scanning your body. Worried that there may be something on your skirt, you looked down.

He smirked at your cluelessness. You took a seat as he continued talking.

"Meeting dismissed. Thank you for being here."

Your jaw dropped. Surely you hadn't missed the whole meeting. You stared at the CEO in shock as everyone around you stood up.

"Was I really that late?" you said. "I'm so sorry, I must've gotten the time wrong."

"You weren't late."

Oh. Phew.

"I just needed to talk to you in private," he said as he stood up and locked the door.

You abruptly stood up, not knowing what he was about to do.

"Chill," he whispered, making his way back over to you.

"Nanami Kento." He held his hand out to you, wanting you to shake it.

You hesitated, still on edge. You took his hand slowly, wrapping your small fingers around his, gently shaking.

"Y/N," you said in response, telling him your name.

He didn't loosen up his grip even as he started into your eyes, letting them drift to your entire face, almost like he was memorizing your features.

"So, you're my new secretary?" He spoke. His voice was deep, and intimidating.

"I guess," you said quietly, letting go of his hand and breaking eye contact.

"You guess?"

You looked back up at him, cheeks a little red from the circumstances.

He heard a knock at the door, and quickly grabbed you by the waist, trying to usher you into the closet.

"What are you doi-" you yelled, grabbing at his arms in attempt to stop him.

"Just hold on, they're gonna think something's up if we were in here alone."

He closed the closet door shut and went to go unlock the conference room door.

"What." His voice was terrifying when he was angry. But he was so sweet with you.

"Nothing sir, just making sure you were in here, since you weren't in your office."

"Okay well, I'm in here. Don't interrupt me again." It almost sent shivers down your spine. How was he so good at sounding like a complete monster?

You heard his shoes stepping closer to you. He opened the closet door slowly and picked you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and his hands roaming everywhere they could.

"Sorry I had to hide you." he whispered, his lips inches away from yours.

He sat you down on the conference table with his hands caging you in.

"It's fine," you whispered back, letting your hands comb through his hair. The only light in the room was coming from the blinded windows and the crack from under the door.

"My own personal secretary," he said, hands finding purchase on your waist, letting his thumb go through one of your belt loops.

"Don't get too excited, Mr. CEO. There's not closets for me to hide in in all the conference rooms."

He chuckled, standing up straight and smoothing the wrinkles out on his shirt.

"Well, then I guess it's just a matter of time before we get caught."

[queen-haq]

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 1

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Words: ~2200 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to any kind of emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*. 

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost...

~~~~~~

You met Billy Russo at an industry conference two years ago. While you didn’t know much about military security at that time, your specialty was online security and both of you ended up attending a lot of the same events. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, magnetic and a total flirt, and it was obvious he was aware of his good looks and used it to his benefit. You didn’t sleep with him during the conference. Something told you his dance card was already full every night. So, instead, you exchanged contact information and left it at that.

 A year later you were hired as a consultant for one of Anvil’s direct competitors and moved to New York City. When Billy called you to meet for drinks, you knew exactly what he was up to. You were no fool. He wanted information on your employer and thought he could charm you into spilling secrets. You told him it wouldn’t work over a second drink, and he simply laughed.

 You didn’t fuck him until a month later. The official reason for the delay was conflicting schedules but mostly it was due to insecurity on your part. To the outside world you were attractive in the kind of way that snuck up on people. You weren’t the type to turn heads, like Billy was, and your fucked up childhood had ensured you didn’t let anyone in easily. It wasn’t until a pep talk from your best friend, Davina, about enjoying Billy Russo for what he was – a fun time and nothing more - did you finally decide to take the leap.

 Fucking Billy had been unlike anything you’d experienced before. You’d had sex before of course, but not the kind of sex that made you lose all of your inhibitions and scream and come for hours. Billy knew how to coax you out of your shell and demand things from him you’d never even knew you wanted. You fucked him in your apartment, his penthouse, the underground parking lot, in his car and that was all within the first week. He had opened up a whole new world for you and you were willing to try anything and do anything he wanted. After that first night together, all the walls you’d built around your heart collapsed. Your best friend warned you repeatedly that great sex made people confuse lust for love, that she was worried you were falling for Billy, but you told her you were an adult and could handle yourself.

 Of course that had been bullshit.

 It had been been almost a year now since you and Billy were sleeping together and you had no idea where you stood with him. You didn’t even know if he was fucking other women, though a part of you suspected he was. If he was with you two nights a week that left five other nights to be with someone else. It clawed at you, knowing you weren’t enough for him. It heightened all of your insecurities, made you believe that you were worthless and ugly just like your abusive father used to scream at you. Of course you’d never tell Billy that. The minute he suspected you were getting attached to him emotionally he’d bolt, he’d already warned you of that. So you kept your thoughts to yourself and let your pain eat away at your insides when he wasn’t with you.

 At least that had been the plan until you saw him on a date with Madani.

 You were at a restaurant with some of your coworkers, enjoying happy hour, when you got up to use the bathroom and spotted Billy sitting in the other corner of the room. The breath rushed out of your lungs, your knees felt weak. They were enraptured with each other, legs intertwined, heads close, a true couple. You knew who she was because he’d let it slip he’d been working with Homeland on something and, you being you, you’d looked her up. Her pictures didn’t do her justice, because she was stunning. And exactly the type of woman Billy would be proud to be seen with.

 After you and Billy started sleeping together, Billy rarely took you out. Sure you guys would go to some hole-in-the-wall places or fast food joints but never to fine restaurants, not like this one. You never complained because why waste time when you could be busy fucking his brains out? Except now that you saw him and Madani sitting only a few feet away from you, and he was proudly holding her hand and being openly affectionate, you realized it had all been by design. He never took you out because he was ashamed of you. If you had been prettier, thinner, sexier, taller – anything but what you already are – he’d want you as more than a fuck buddy. He’d want you as his girlfriend.

 It was a bitter pill to swallow but at least now you knew the truth and that meant you were back in control of your life.

 As much as it hurt, it felt good to know you were the ones making decisions about your future again and they didn’t revolve around Billy. No longer would you be obsessing over what he wanted, what he was doing, if he’d like a certain thing on you or not, if he was fucking someone else or not. You wouldn’t spend hours researching Billy like you did in the past and finding out things about him that he never knew you knew. No, now you were finally free.

 And it was time to move on.

 Tonight was the night of the fundraising gala. Your company had purchased a table and the CEO of your company had personally extended an invite for you to attend. Based on a conversation you had with Billy three weeks ago, you knew he would also be attending to represent Anvil. When you’d first broached the subject you’d hoped he’d asked you to attend as his date – but he hadn’t. At the time you’d reassured herself the reasons were practical. It would be weird for Billy to be sitting at a competitor’s table (if he went with you) and you would risk offending your boss if you sat at Billy’s. But now you knew the truth.

 So, tonight, you were dressed to the nines in a curve-hugging gold dress with a plunging neckline which emphasized all of your assets. Your heels, which cost more than the dress itself, were over five inches high and made you feel like an Amazonian goddess when you sauntered in them.

 When you walked into the ballroom with Davina in your arms that night, you felt confident in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

 The thing about you that a lot of people didn’t know was that you were fucking fantastic at owning a room – despite your insecurities. You may not be beautiful but you were charming. You were really great at getting strangers to open up, people were drawn to you. It was one of the reasons your CEO promoted you so quickly after a few months. Your job, initially at least, was meant to be a technical role but when you were invited to a party with potential clients you had schmoozed them so easily they had signed the contract within the week. And then you had impressed them with your actual technical skills which only cemented their positive impression of you.

 So, yeah, you were in your element and you were ready to charm.

 “What table are we?” Davina asked.

 “14,” you said. Of course your eyes were automatically drawn to Anvil’s table on the seating chart. 157. A safe distance from your table, which meant there was a good chance you two wouldn’t even be crossing paths in the grand ballroom. You didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or disappointed.

 A while later you were circulating around the north bar, chatting up with some potential clients that your boss had wanted you to pay particular attention to when you saw Dinah Madani. She was in one of those slinky, maroon satin dresses, her hair up, and you felt that surge of jealousy go through you again. She was probably here as Billy’s guest considering this wasn’t the kind of events Homeland agents typically attended.

 “Y/N!” You turned to find your boss waving you towards him.

 Glad for the distraction, you picked up two glasses of champagne from a nearby server and headed towards him, handing him his drink. Your boss was chatting to a group of people you vaguely recognized, but the smile on your face stiffened when you spotted Billy amongst them.

 Fuck. He looked good in a tux. His hair was slicked back, and you were struck with the sharp memory of fucking him in his car one night with your fingers roughly fisting his hair. God, you loved his hair, loved running your fingers through the silky strands.

 Billy’s eyebrow quirked up when he saw you and you wondered what he thought of you so dressed up. No. It didn’t matter what he thought of you. Fuck him, you reminded yourself.

 “Y/N is our new Executive Director,” your boss said, introducing you to the group. “Her division has shown a significant growth ever since she joined Valiant.”

 You smiled, shaking hands with everyone. When it was Billy’s turn, you reached out to clasp his hand, not betraying any emotion even though you felt an immediate charge upon touching him. He gave you an amused smile, like he was enjoying the charade.

 “Nice to meet you all,” you said. “And don’t listen to Roger. Valiant was doing fine on its own.”

 “But Y/N has definitely changed the way we do some of our regular operations. I didn’t realize how archaic this industry’s systems and processes were until she came along.”

 “Sounds like I may need to poach Y/N from Valiant,” Billy said with a smug smile, his eyes fixed on you.

 “Anvil couldn’t afford me,” you reciprocated with equal smugness.

 Roger laughed, patting your arm. “We’re not giving her up without a fight.”

 “Clearly,” Billy replied.

 The expression on Billy’s face was new to you, you had no idea what he was thinking but you also didn’t want to waste any more of your time obsessing over him.

 Roger leaned in closer, lowering his voice so others wouldn’t hear him. “Table 35. Those were the clients I told you about.” As you glanced over to the table he mentioned, your eyes met Billy’s. He was watching you intently, still with the unreadable mask on his face.

 Ignoring Billy, you flashed a confident smile up at Roger. “Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

 You turned back to the group, your gaze skipping past Billy’s. “It was a pleasure to meet you all. I hope you have a great evening.” Bidding everyone goodbye, you headed to Table 35.

 ***

An hour later you were on the terrace, enjoying the cold, crisp New York air that rattled your bone. You were exhausted. Networking took a lot out of you and now you just wanted to go home and soak in the tub. Davina, a natural extrovert, was still in the ballroom, flirting and socializing but you needed a few minutes of privacy so you had snuck outside to compose yourself.

 “Congratulations on the promotion.”

 Your jaw clenched as soon as you heard Billy’s voice from behind you. You turned around to look at him as he swaggered forward, closing the distance between the two of you.

 “You never told me,” he remarked.

 You shrugged your shoulders. “We didn’t tell each other a lot of things.”

 “I get the distinct feeling you’re pissed at me but I don’t know why. Care to fill me in?”

 “What reason would I have to be pissed at you?”

 “You tell me. I’ve called you-”

 “You’ve never called me,” you interjected.

 “Fine. Texted. Whatever.” Billy took a step closer, forcing you to look up at him. Even in your fucking stilettos, he towered over you. “You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks now. Why the ghosting?”

 “I just think it’s time I move on.”

 Oh, Billy didn’t like that. His eyes grew darker, so dark they were almost pitch-black. “Really? You’ve got the next one lined up already?”

 As much as you wanted to believe he was jealous, you knew that wasn’t the case. “We both know you don’t give a fuck about me so drop the fake jealousy bit.” You tried to walk past him but he grabbed your arm and pulled you close. You felt his angry breath skim over your skin as he glared down at you. “Let me go, Billy.”

 “Why?” he snarled. “So you can go fuck Roger?”

 “You really expect me to believe you’re jealous of me seeing someone else?” you snapped back. “Or is it because it’s Roger? He’s more successful than you, he’s your competitor, his company has been taking all the contracts you’ve been fighting for and now he’s got you beat in the one area you thought you excelled at. Fucking.” You angled forward on purpose, holding his gaze. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you go fuck Roger and leave me out of it?” You smiled up at him. “Or does Madani not let you stray?”

 Understanding dawned on Billy’s face. “So that’s what this is about.”

Part Two

A/N - This is my first reader insert fic. Hope you guys enjoyed it. If you’d like me to tag you, please leave a comment or DM me.  

If you created this GIF, please let me know so I can give proper credit :)

[nev3rfound]

someone i once knew : b.b

bucky is left alone in the compound whilst the rest of the avengers are sent on a mission. yet, to bucky’s surprise he isn’t alone as he’s about to meet tony’s new assistant and someone from his past. (3.4k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

“You sure you’ll manage on your own?” Steve asks as he walks alongside Bucky.

Bucky quirks a brow at his oldest friend. “What, you don’t trust me?” He quips back, hearing Sam let out a dry laugh from the quinjet as he helps load the last of the supplies. “He doesn’t get an opinion.” Bucky adds, and Steve chuckles under his breath.

“I do trust you, Buck. But I just wanna make sure you’re okay being on your own here.” Steve explains, crossing his arms as Bucky buries his hands into his jacket pockets.

It was going to be Bucky’s first time being completely alone in the compound. Everyone else was required for a mission, and Bucky simply wasn’t needed this time. Initially, it stung a little- that Sam was going over him, but some downtime never hurt anyone, right?

“I’ll be alright, Steve.” Bucky states as Tony emerges from the elevator, huffing loudly as he looks at his phone.

“Oh, tin man? Do me a favour and don’t scare my new assistant,” Tony calls out, and Bucky looks to Steve who simply shrugs his shoulders.

“Since when did you hire an assistant?” Steve asks, and Tony stops beside them, locking his phone as he puts it into his pocket.

“Since I lost the last one,” Tony retorts.

“You married your old assistant, Tony.” Bucky comments and Tony simply rolls his eyes.

“Just, don’t scare her off, she has potential.” Tony remarks before carrying on toward the Quinjet, leaving Steve to bid farewell to Bucky.

Stepping back, Bucky rolls on his heels. “Guess I won’t be completely alone after all.” Bucky huffs. It is one thing to be alone in the compound with one of the other Avengers, but someone he hasn’t even met yet, that’s a level of confidence and comfortability he has yet to reach.

“Hey,” Steve pats Bucky’s shoulder. “you’ll be fine, just be your charming self.”

“I think he died back in the forties, pal.” Bucky mutters as he shrugs it off, it’s only for a few weeks at most.

“Just, don’t do anything stupid till I get back.” Steve says softly as he steps back from Bucky, turning around toward the Quinjet.

Shuffling on the spot, Bucky watches as they leave. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Bucky mumbles to himself as he walks back into the compound, wandering whereabouts his company for the next few weeks is hiding out.

*

It had been a quiet few days and Bucky had still yet to meet the newest addition to Starks team and started to wonder if Tony was messing with him for the fun of it.

At least, he thought as much until he was training in the gym when the faint sound of the piano caught his attention.

Pausing his work out, Bucky couldn’t stop his curiosity from getting the better of him as he exits the gym, hearing a familiar melody clearly coming from the shared living space in the compound.

As stealthily as possible, Bucky enters the open space and can make out a figure sat at the usually absent grand piano. Tony purchased it a year ago to fill the space, even though no one could play, it did work in making the compound look somewhat homely.

Stepping further into the room, Bucky knew the song, his Mother always played it on her radio and witnessed her and his Father dancing to it.

Humming the tune, you remain oblivious to the company creeping into the room as you remain concealed by the bonnet of the piano.

“Wake and dream medley?” Bucky speaks up, and you jump in your seat, hitting the keys of the piano causing an awful blunt sound to echo in the open space. “Sorry,” Bucky adds, now retreating into himself as you remain hidden. “I, I could hear you from the gym, I love, loved that song.”

“No need to apologise,” You chuckle, and Bucky tenses upon hearing your voice.

It sounds so familiar, too familiar for his liking.

Rising to your feet, you rub your hands together before closing the bonnet of the piano, now in full view to Bucky who can feel his whole body shutting down.

Bucky steps back in disbelief, clinging onto the sofa behind him with all his might as you hesitantly step forward. “I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, Mr Stark had me doing a fair bit of paperwork so I’ve been holed up in my suite for the past few days.” You explain, but Bucky can’t seem to meet your gaze. “I’m Y/n,”

You extend your arm, holding your hand out to Bucky who stares in disbelief.

“Is this some kinda cruel joke?” Bucky questions, slowly looking up at your confused expression. “Y/n, is it really you?” He stares at you, but your confusion only deepens as you lower your arm back to your side.

“Are you alright?” You ask, but Bucky continues to eye you with evident shock. “Have we met before?”

A dry laugh leaves Bucky’s lips as he straightens himself up. “Do you not know me?” His voice is breaking as you shake your head, and Bucky can feel the moment of relief in his heartbreak once again.

“I’m sorry, you must have me mistaken with someone else?” You nervously laugh, trying to ease the tension in the room.

Bucky simply nods and straightens himself up. “I’m Bucky, Bucky Barnes. And I do apologise for that, you just remind me of an old friend.” Bucky brushes it off, knowing it’s not possible, it just can’t be.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Bucky,” You tell him with a smile, one that Bucky once knew and loved, but he forces himself to remove that thought, it isn’t her. “the song I, I guess it was from your time?” You ask, moving back over to the piano and opening the bonnet.

“Yeah,” Bucky walks over, leaning against it as you take a seat, resuming the melody as if you had never paused. “I remember it growing up. How come you know it?”

Your fingers glide over the keys effortlessly and your eyes close for a moment. Whilst they’re closed, Bucky takes the chance to look at you properly, noting your distinct features, identical to the girl he once knew.

“I’m not sure,” You admit, lifting your fingers from the keys as you glance up at Bucky. “I, I just do.” Your brows furrow together, and Bucky notes how you look back at the piano.

“Well, it’s a nice song, so thank you for playing it.” Bucky speaks up. “I’ll be around, so I’ll be seeing you.” He mutters before exiting the room and rushes back to the gym, barely hearing you saying goodbye.

Once Bucky is gone, you look back at the piano. There’s no sheet music, but you knew the song, you knew the exact keys to play and the words as you hummed along.

There was something about Bucky, something amicable and undeniably so. You could feel it in the back of your mind, a nagging sensation to remember, remember something, anything. Yet, as always nothing follows through.

*

You and Bucky had been living in the compound for an entire week, and you had only come across him three times in total. The first at the piano, the second was after an attempted run; Bucky watched as you reentered the compound soaking from head to toe after being caught in a rainstorm. You tried to make a joke, but Bucky merely grumbled and walked off in the opposite direction. And the third well, that was this morning.

The smell of burnt toast woke you up, and you rushed from your suite to the shared floor where the kitchen is located.

“Stupid toaster,” Bucky groans under his breath as he throws the toast into the bin, slamming the lid shut with his metal hand, nearly leaving an indent.

“You alright there?” Your voice is so soft, and Bucky can feel the tension between his shoulders ease.

Lifting his metal arm up, Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I just got distracted.” He shrugs as he turns around to look at you in your pyjamas, just a t-shirt and joggers. A lot more casual than the girl he remembers in the forties.

“Happens to the best of us,” You joke, moving past him to grab a mug. “want one?” You hold a second mug up, and Bucky nods.

He remains quiet as you pour him a cup and slide it across the counter to him. “Look alive!” You call out, and he grasps it firmly.

Silence falls between you both as you look over your shoulder to see Bucky holding the mug in his metal fingers, a distant gaze over his eyes. “Real smooth, Y/n.” Bucky eventually speaks up, followed by a short laugh as he raises the mug to his lips.

“I’ve never done that before,” You admit, now leaning against the counter.

Laughter fills the bar as soldiers pass through with open arms and cheers for a new day. “Hey, look alive!” You yell as you slide across a bottle of beer to the brunette soldier.

“Thanks, Y/n.” His bright blue eyes focus on yours as he winks before patting his blond friend on the shoulder and walks closer toward you, yet the closer he gets, the more blurred he becomes. “Y-”

“Y/n?” Bucky calls out, snapping you from your thoughts. “You in there?”

“Sorry,” You look up from your mug, forcing a small smile. “got a bit lost in my head for a moment.” You mutter. “I, I’m going to go get ready.” You sip at your coffee and head out from the kitchen, leaving Bucky perplexed as he hears you running and swearing from in the hallway towards the elevator.

So, your encounters with Bucky haven’t exactly been the best. Yet, there’s something about him that you’re drawn to but scared of. His cool exterior doesn’t intimidate you, you know his history, you know all of the Avengers’ history. However there is a part of you that feels like you know Bucky somehow on a deeper level than what you've read in his files.

Rushing through your suite, you gather the necessary files before heading out to the elevator. You knew you shouldn’t have left it to the last minute to get the meeting scheduled.

As the metal doors open, Bucky steps aside, his blue eyes focused on his feet. “Which floor?” He asks.

“Two, please.” You respond, and silence ensues over you both.

It was becoming harder and harder for Bucky to not see the Y/n he once knew in you, this version of her or a copy. You twitched your nose the same way when you laughed, your hair smells like vanilla and you add small quirks to the same words.

“Y/n, do you ever have the feeling that you’ve met someone, in a previous life?” Bucky asks out of the blue, taking you by surprise.

“I, er,” You stumble over your words as you reach level two. “I’ll get back to you on that one, Bucky.” You tell him before exiting the elevator and carry on rushing to the conference room for your meeting with Pepper.

“Thought as such.” Bucky sighs as the doors close, leaving him alone with his memories of you once more.

*

“What’re you doing up here? You’ll freeze!” You laugh giddily as you wrap your arms around yourself, seeing Bucky sat with a blanket draped over his shoulders despite the early spring chill.

“I’ve endured worse, doll.” It rolls off his tongue before he can stop it, his treasured nickname for his girl.

Yet, you smile at the nickname, swearing you’ve heard it before. You contemplate a response, but leave it and walk closer, sitting beside Bucky.

“So, what are you doing up here? Am I that bad?” You nudge him playfully and without a second thought, Bucky lifts the blanket up, allowing you to curl into the soft fabric for much-needed warmth.

“You never could be, Y/n, trust me.” Bucky sighs sadly as he looks up to the stars, aware of you studying him closely, your eyes burning into each of his features. “I’m sorry if I’ve acted a little off this past week, I, I’m still adjusting to well, everything.” Bucky tries to ease his growing nerves as you scoot closer, the fragrance of your perfume encroaching into his nostrils like old times.

“You’ve been just fine, Bucky.” You reassure him as a faint smile forms on his lips.

“I’d know if you’re lyin’ to me, doll.” Bucky turns to face you, kneeling down as you cross your arms playfully, refusing to speak up. “Well, I guess you leave me no choice.” He mutters, and before you can react his hands grab your hips and he starts tickling you senselessly.

“Calm down, soldier!” You laugh happily. “Will you stop?!” You breathe out as his hands rise further up from your waist, pausing as he holds your face, smiling smugly to you, knowing you were truly hooked.

“So, I was just fine then, doll?” Bucky raises a brow as you nod, his hands bringing you closer as he breathes out a sigh into your lips. “Well, I guess I’ve got a few things to work on.”

“That you do mister.” You mutter before kissing him, wrapping your arms around his neck as hollers from across the road sound, and the faint call of your name interrupts you once more.

“Y/n?” Bucky nudges you, and you look up at him with wide eyes. “Are you okay? You went all quiet on me for a minute.” He half laughs, seeing tears forming in your eyes as you shake your head.

“I, I’m not.” You admit, letting the tears fall. “I, you asked me earlier about feeling as if you’ve met someone in another life,” You trail off, seeing Bucky nod.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, feeling the remaining strings attached to his heart hoist it up, hoping they won’t fray at this final attempt. “it was dumb, I know.” He brushes it off.

“No, it’s not.” You tell him defiantly. “I, I keep having these memories of sorts, but I can’t make out any faces.” You rub your eyes. “Every day there’s this nagging sensation to remember something, to recognise someone I believe I knew, like there's this guy and I think he's someone I’m meant to know.” You explain, and Bucky can feel the restraints in his heart tightening, the cogs in your brain now turning.

“I know the feeling,” Bucky comments. “when HYDRA had me, they wiped my mind of everything, any memories of my life before and brainwashed me into their weapon. It’s kinda funny really, it was all still in there, and it slowly started to come back.”

“How did you know which memories were real?” Your voice softens as you home in on his blue eyes, watching as they twitch under your gaze. “Like, which weren’t misconstrued.”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, I just, I do.” He murmurs. “So, this guy, what’s he like?” Bucky changes the subject as a smile forms on his lips as you laugh lightly.

“I wish I knew,” A light shiver crosses your body, and Bucky pulls the blanket off of him, wrapping it around you. “he’s just, this amazing guy who, who is funny, and caring. I have these snippets of what I believe was our life together, but it doesn’t make any sense.” You ramble, trying your best to comprehend everything.

“Take your time.” Bucky reassures you.

“These ‘memories’ I’m having, they take place in the past- that much I know. But I know my life, I know the year I was born, I have memories of my childhood and I know my family.” You explain, feeling your eyes welling up with tears as your frustration and confusion increases. “How can I have memories of a life I’ve never lived?”

"Maybe you can." Whistling into the breeze, Bucky shuffles and turns to face you. “Try and focus on one detail, okay? Do you trust me?”

You search his eyes for any uncertainty, and you nod in response.

“Close your eyes.” Bucky whispers, and you oblige. “Think of him, think about any details that you have relived, any conversations or scenery you noticed.” Bucky suggests, trying his hardest to not reach out and take your hand in his.

Keeping your eyes closed, you try to focus on his face, hear his voice, but it’s all too much of a blur. “It’s no use.” You sigh, burying your face in your hands. “I just, I know if I ever saw him again or met him somehow, I’d know who he was.” You mumble into your palms, unaware of Bucky tearing his eyes from you, the ropes pulling his heart snapping for good, now beyond repair.

“You’ll find him, Y/n.” Bucky pats your back, hearing you sniffle.

“You think?” You ask, lifting your head back up as you half-smile to Bucky who nods.

“I’m sure of it.” He forces a smile, but you can tell it’s not reaching his eyes.

“Thanks, Bucky." Silence falls between you both, stifling the cool air. "I, I better go in before I catch a cold.” You rise to your feet, removing the blanket and hand it back to him. “Can’t have Mr Stark complaining about me coughing senselessly on a conference call.” A light laugh escapes your lips as you wave to Bucky before heading back inside.

As the door closes behind you, Bucky blankly stares out at the sky. “Oh, doll.” Bucky pleads to the stars. “Please remember.”

Now back on your floor, tears freely cascade down your cheeks as you sob into your hand, barely able to reach your door before you fall to the ground. “Come on,” You cry, feeling snippets of memories colliding together of the childhood you knew versus one you don’t recall, two boys by your side at all times.

Forcing yourself to your feet, you shut the door to your suite behind you, hearing laughter echo in your mind.

“Steve! Stop, I need to keep my dress clean!” You plead, looking down at the splashes of mud coating the hem of your dress.

“I warned you, punk.” Bucky sighs, hitting Steve over the back of the head with the newspaper. “You still look beautiful, Y/n.” Bucky winks to you, watching as you roll your eyes in response.

“Thanks, James.” You mutter, ignoring the burning of your cheeks as you reach your front steps. “I’ll see you boys later, seven still good?” You ask, looking between the pair as they nod. “Okay, well, don’t get in too much trouble without me.” You chuckle before turning on your heels and head up the front steps, unlocking your front door as the radio plays faintly.

“James?” You whisper to yourself, rushing over to the nearest mirror. “My name is Y/n Y/l/n. I am twenty-four years old. This is my home. My parents are Y/M/N and Y/D/N.” You recite, staring at yourself in the mirror. “This is who you are.”

Running your fingers through your hair, you step away from your mirror and fall into your bed.

“Ms Y/l/n?” FRIDAY calls out, and you quickly sit upright.

“Yes, FRIDAY?”

“Tony is calling you, would you like to answer?” The AI asks, and you groan into your pillow, it’s not like you couldn’t answer your employer.

“Sure, FRIDAY.” You reply, reaching over for your phone and answer the call from Tony. “Hey Mr Stark, how’s the mission going?” You feign positivity as you force a bright smile. Even if Tony cannot see you, the walls have eyes.

“Hey, Y/n, I told you before, call me Tony. We’re on our way back now, I just wanted to make sure the tin man hasn’t been causing you any trouble.” Tony asks, moving away from other voices in the background.

Your eyes rise to your closed door, picturing Bucky mere minutes ago by your side, trying to help you remember him, James Buchanan Barnes, your James.

“Jam-” You cut yourself off and move the phone away from your ear, allowing a moment to compose yourself for your boss. “Bucky’s been fine, I promise Mr, sorry, Tony.” You chuckle uneasily, but Tony doesn’t question it.

“Well good to hear, listen we’ll be back in an hour, and you can meet the rest of the team in the morning. Get some rest, Y/n.” Tony tells you and hangs up before you can respond, leaving you alone once more with the impending thoughts weighing heavy in your mind.

“This is who you are.” You repeat like a mantra as you lie back down in your bed, wishing tomorrow would never come.

P A R T  T W O 

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[artaefact]

grinchly, yours.

—wordcount: 15k+

—genre: angst, fluff, bookshop owner!reader, florist!hoseok, bookshop au, christmas au, flower shop au, s2l au

—pairing: jung hoseok x f reader

—rating: pg-15

—warnings: awkward moments, a cemetery scene, mention loss of loved ones, a soft!hobi

—summary: Christmas time is around the corner, everyone is celebrating to their heart’s content, but not you. No, you despise Christmas and the joy it brings. That is, until a friendly florist decides to pay your bookstore a visit.

author’s note: i’ve been meaning to write a character with the grinch’s personality and this story has been revolving around my head for some time !! happy reading everyone 💖 

prompt: “carolling” for @btsholidaybingo event & “winter market date” for @kdiarynet winter hearts event !!

© artaefact 2020. All rights reserved. Copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform or by any means is NOT permitted.

You nearly lose it when a snowflake lands on your face — specifically, your eye — for the third time now as you pad along the asphalt road. Releasing a breath, you calm yourself. This should be a regular occurrence for you. Still, you can’t help but scowl at the sight of fake candy canes and decorated fir trees near the streets and shops, and well, basically everywhere.

Once you near your bookshop, another annoyed sigh escapes your lips when you find a group of people singing right in front of the door again. Honestly, your patience is running thin as you have once told them to not sing in front of your bookstore.

Cursing under your breath, you try not to meet anyone’s eye and opt to quickly enter your shop. However, one of the members notices you and waves at you. You recognise him as Jimin — a local baker who likes to stop by your bookstore to look for recipe books.

After responding with a brief nod at him, you unlock your door and rush inside.

It’s not even Christmas yet, so why are these people singing Christmas carols early in the morning already? The sun has barely even risen up!

A relieved sigh escapes your lips when you can’t hear the choir anymore, at least muffled by the door of your bookstore. Moving towards the cashier table, you place your messenger bag underneath it before getting to work.

Carrying boxes of books back and forth from the supply room is the daily norm for you. You find comfort hidden between the shelves while you stack the newly-delivered books neatly into their allocated place. Many would say that it’s a lonely job, especially since you refuse to hire anyone to work in your store. But you don’t. You seldom feel that way.

The soft music from the jukebox is the only thing that keeps the bookshop from falling into complete silence as you work on reshelving and rearranging the books. That is until the bell on top of the front door rings.

“Welcome!” You place the books on the wooden floor, standing up only to see Jimin peering on the aisle you’re in, smiling ear-to-ear.

Sighing internally, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to pop in and say hi.”

You sit back down on the wooden floor and continue to shelf the books. “Didn’t you do that before?”

“You didn’t say a word.” He moves closer and plops down beside you.

You merely shake your head, still focusing on your task. “How many times do I have to tell you not to let those choir people sing in front of my store?”

“Right,” Jimin answers sheepishly. “You see, we are still scouting for another area and—”

“Well then, find it quicker. Why don’t they just sing in front of your bakery?”

“It’s not exactly an ideal spot for singing…”

“And the front of my store is?”

“There’s not much public transport station here—”

You huff in annoyance. “If you don’t have anything else to do besides making excuses, I would appreciate it if you leave. As you can see—” Lifting one of the books in emphasis, “—my hands are full.”

Despite your cold words, Jimin dismisses it quickly. “Well, I’m looking for a book about plants.”

“Botany?” Your brows furrow. “Did baking go wrong?”

He snorts. “As if, but my friend is looking for one. He asked me if I could get one for him.”

“Is there a particular book he’s searching for?”

Jimin hands you a piece of paper.

“Oh, I have to place an order for this one,” you utter. “I’ll send you a text when it has arrived.”

Nodding, Jimin finally stands up and is ready to leave when you call him.

“Oh, and Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

“For the last time, take your fellow choir crew somewhere else to sing.”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

The box lands on the cashier desk with a thump before you send a message to Jimin, a week later.

[ 2:05 PM ] You: your friend’s book is here

Placing your phone on the table, you peel off the wrapping tape and open the box. The printed white letters of Guide to Gardening contrast against the pine green background of the hardcover as tiny drawn flowers scatter across the edge of the cover.

You read the synopsis curiously, wondering how someone can find garden-work interesting when your phone dings — a text notification from Jimin lights up your phone screen.

[ 2:09 PM ] Jimin: Oh! I’ll tell my friend to pick up the book himself. He should be able to swing by today.

Not bothering to reply to him, you put away the book for safekeeping — leaving Jimin on read, as usual, and get back to check your supplies, making sure everything’s in stock.

An hour or two have passed until someone enters your bookstore. “Excuse me?”

Looking up from the papers, a new customer staring at you. “May I help you?” You ask, standing up from your seat.

“I ordered a book. And my friend, Jimin, told me it has arrived.”

“Oh!” You scramble through your paper-covered desk, reaching for the book. “Are you—” You check the name it was ordered under. “—Hoseok?”

He nods, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“Here you go.” Handing the book to him. “Is this what you were looking for?”

The subtle smile on his face turns into a bright grin as soon as he reads the title. “It is.”

“Great,” you nod. “Do you still want to take a look around, or would that be all?”

Hoseok’s gaze lingers on you, a bit too long for your liking, but he shakes his head regardless. “This would be all for now.”

“That’ll be twenty-five dollars.”

While you print the receipt, he asks, “Are you a friend of Jimin’s?”

“Acquaintance,” you correct him, handing his receipt.

“I see. May I know your name at least?” He extends his hand.

Blinking at his question, your hand moves before you can think twice about taking his hand in yours. Ignoring the way your hand fits so well in his, you introduce yourself, “Y/N.”

And a bright, bright grin appears on his face, one that you swear can light up the whole bookshop. “Hope we’ll see each other again soon, Y/N. Just recently opened up my shop near the corner of the street.” Then he makes his way out of the store, steps faltering slightly before the entrance, giving the bookstore a once-over and walks out.

The next time you meet Hoseok is when he visits your store in passing. “Hey, Y/N!” He greets you as you place a stack of books on the cashier table from the delivery box earlier.

“Hi, Hoseok...” You do not know what to make of his cheerful demeanour.

“How’s your day?”

You furrow your brows in confusion. Is he seriously asking that for no apparent reason?

“Fine, I guess,” you answer nonetheless as you rub your palms against your jeans. “Just had to clear out the storage and rearrange some shelves.”

“Do you need any help?”

You shake your head. “I’m good. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh! I’m looking for a book about orchids,” Hoseok explains. “It’s so hard to grow them.”

“Give me a moment, I’ll check the supplies,” you mumble, moving and clicking your mouse to find what he is searching for. Hoseok moves to a nearby aisle, looking through random books while you move to the allocated aisle of the book he wants.

Hoseok is confused for a moment as his attention is set on the little post-its on the shelf. As he takes a closer look, he realises that these are your reviews of the books. He can’t help but chuckle at how enthusiastic your reviews sound.

It’s amusing how you are interested in The Grinch.

Plucking one of the books, he makes his way to you. You are so focused on the books as he stands beside you, then he pokes your shoulder and you jolt. “Oh my—”

Hoseok apologises sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

You clear your throat. “It’s fine. I tend to tune out my surroundings when I’m focused. And, uh, here—” You hold out the book to him. “—is this it?”

Hoseok nods, smiling as he takes the book and follows behind you to the cashier. As you type in the order, he asks, “Do you like this book?” Your movements falter at his sudden question, which he notices. “I saw some stickers you posted beneath the books that seem to be your favourites.”

Cheeks growing warm at his words, you stammer, “Well, I thought it would encourage people to buy and—”

He places one of the books that you recommended on top of the book he was looking for. “I’ll get this one too.”

“But… It’s a children’s book.” You gape.

“I’m not big on reading heavy novels, Y/N. So, I think this is a good start,” he shrugs. “Plus, you recommended five stars for this and your review—”

“Okay!” You cut him off, grasping the book. “I-I get what you mean, but are you sure? You don’t have to—”

“Am I not here as your customer?”

Sighing mentally, you proceed to scan the barcode. “That will be forty-seven dollars.”

Meetings with him are refreshing, as it is odd. Hoseok would come by your bookstore once in a while — once a week or even twice. At first, you thought something was up. Definitely, since he didn’t purchase books on every visit. But what throws you off is that he would come by to drop desserts or even just a quick ‘hi’ when he is busy that day.

You’re sceptical indeed. Was there a bet being made to befriend you? But he wouldn’t have treated you to those sugar-coated doughnuts or hot chocolate if he wants money.

Deep in your own thoughts, you walk along the usual route to your store; hands tucked inside your thick coat, even ignoring the snow that’s covered your beanie.

You’re not used to this; someone just straight-up approaching you, or just enjoying being in your presence with no obligation to do so. Haven’t he heard of the rumours that surround you? In a small town where you live, he must have heard something.

Thoughts drifting back to reality, your eyes twitch as you find those carolling people in front of your store again. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out an annoyed sigh.

How many times should you tell them to scram? And where is Park Jimin?

You scan through the faces of the group, and he was nowhere to be found. Muttering a curse under your breath while ignoring the slight aching in your chest, you stomp towards them.

“Hello,” You plaster on a big fake smile, ceasing their singing at once. “I thought I had told one of your crew — Jimin — that you can’t sing in front of my store. Where is he, anyway?”

“He’s not joining us today,” one of the choir members answers, nonchalantly. “We didn’t know that this is a private area. I thought you only own your part of the store.”

The other choir members glance nervously at each other; their reaction an obvious contrast with this chipper, unheeding chatterbox in front of you. Gritting your teeth, you force down the curse words that are on the tip of your tongue back before clearing your throat. “Well, now, you know.” You pin down that girl who opens her loose mouth with your sharp stare. “So, I would appreciate it if you’d leave and never sing in front of my store again.”

She is about to respond when her crewmembers stop her from saying anything further, which is fortunate for her. In minutes, they pack up and finally leave.

Rubbing your temples, you make a mental note to put a sign in front of your store that says no choirs allowed, or any Christmas activities at all. After changing the ‘close’ sign to ‘open’, you place your things on the cashier table. Looking at the old jukebox fondly, you trace the intricate, beautiful designs for a little while before you turn it on. Soft jazz music fills the air instantly, and your heart warms up at that.

Deciding to have a little reading time, you pick a book from your favourite section. However, you falter momentarily when you realise it’s the same book Hoseok bought last week from your post-it recommendation. Sighing, you place the book back and pick another.

Time flies so quickly when you immerse yourself in books. By the time you check your phone, it’s afternoon already. And then the quiet atmosphere shatters when the bell of your bookstore rings.

“Y/N!” His familiar cheerful voice startles you.

“Hoseok…” You’re back again.

“I’m grabbing a bite in Jimin’s bakery, would you like to join?”

“No, I’m—” Your stomach growls loudly as if on cue.

Hoseok laughs at that, “Your stomach says otherwise. C’mon! You shouldn’t stay cooped up in your shop the whole day.”

And you can’t bring yourself to reject his offer again.

“How long have you been running your bookstore?” Hoseok asks as you both make your way towards Jimin’s bakery.

“It’s been... Five years,” you answer hesitantly.

“Oh, that’s quite long! Have you always been interested in books?”

You nod. “Yes, I’ve loved reading since I was a child.”

You didn’t realise how much you had enjoyed conversing with Hoseok until you reached Jimin’s bakery.

That was quick, you thought, at the sight of the pastel pink store.

Stepping into the bakery, Hoseok calls out, “Kookie!”

“Hyung?” The familiar man called ‘Kookie’ greets him after serving a customer with their order.

You wreck your head for his name — you know this guy. Well, have seen him with Jimin most of the time but you didn’t bother to know his name. Or actually, you did, but you forgot.

The only ones you can come up with are “John Cook’ or ‘Jungkook’. It has to be either one of those or else you’d embarrass yourself further.

“Oh, Y/N, it’s nice for you to come by!”

Screw it.

“Nice to see you too, John.”

Kookie lets out a giggle. “You can call me ‘Jungkook’ instead of my last name.”

Then it clicks. Right— it’s Jeon Jungkook. Thank the heavens ‘John’, and ‘Jeon’ sounds similar.

You feign indifference. “Alright, Jungkook.”

“Jimin is out with his girlfriend for hot chocolate, he’ll be back soon.”

As soon as you and Hoseok take a seat, Jungkook hands you both the menu before dealing with other customers.

“So... Are you sure you’re new here?” You break the silence. “Looks to me that you seem to know everyone here already.”

Hoseok chuckles at that. “Not everyone. But Jimin, Jungkook, and I go way back.”

“Ah, I see...” Then you cast your stare to the menu once more. But your attention shifts to the glass door to see Jimin and his girlfriend laughing. Not long after you catch his gaze, however, the warmth dissipates almost instantly. He stalks towards your table at once.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin seethes, eyes boring into yours as you match them equally with your icy ones.

“Ah, Jimin,” Hoseok turns to look at him. “I was grabbing something to eat, and I invited Y/N along and—”

“Y/N is not welcome here,” Jimin seethes.

Hoseok’s eyes widen before it gradually hardens at your defence. “Since when?”

But Jimin’s eyes are on you once more. “Why did you drive the choir crew away again? What did they do to you? They managed to sing a few blocks away from your store!”

“That is bullshit.” You stand up and level his gaze. “They sang in front of my store again, still disturbing the peace in my shop. And I told you to take your choir crew somewhere far to sing.”

Jimin lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not what they—”

“Believe whoever you want,” you cut him off, mood darkening. “And since I am not welcome here, I’ll see myself out.” Without another word, you head out of the bakery. Clutching your coat tighter to your frame, the sound of your boots thumps along the cobblestone until another pair of rapid footsteps follow behind you.

“Y/N!” Hoseok calls out, grabbing your arm. “Hey… I—” He catches his breath. “I’m sorry, Jimin is an asshole to you—”

You shake your head. “No, that’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I—”

“Hoseok.” You turn to him. “Why do you even bother to befriend me?”

His eyes widened at that before he splutters, “B-Because, why not?”

Taking a step closer to him, you consider asking him if there is a bet going on, but decide against it. “I’ll be fine. You go back to Jimin.”

Without another glance, you turn away once more, leaving him in the midst of the cold weather.

Autumn flies away too quickly, you bitterly thought. You find yourself missing the warm colours of the town, where the crunching sound of fallen leaves will always fill the silence when you go to work or go back home. Or, spring sounds good to you too — bright, vivid flowers loitering around as the warm sun kisses your skin.

Not this whole white fiasco. Your mood always dampens when you walk out of the house, only to find the usual bright morning still dark as it takes later for the sun to rise up.

‘Achoo—!’ You let out a sneeze, wrapping the thick blanket around your form tighter. The heater of the store is cranked up to the fullest, yet the winter cold still manages to get you.

Letting out an annoyed ‘tsk’, you continuously flip through the accounting records of your store, eyes scanning the numbers to make sure no mistakes are made. Unable to focus further, you sigh.

Maybe you should do other things before getting back to these numbers.

You let out another sneeze as you trudge to the storage room, huffing in annoyance while you sniffle. Taking out an opened empty box from the shelves, you pack children books into it when your doorbell rings.

“Please wait a moment!” You quickly shove the box to an empty corner before rushing out.

“Umm,” Hoseok stands awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “Hi…” He takes a few steps closer. “I’m sorry about yesterday—”

Posture stiffening, you cut him off, “It’s not your fault, nor it was Jimin’s fault. It was my own mistake.”

He tries to argue. “No, it’s—”

“Hoseok, it’s alright.” You reassure him, plastering on a tight smile. “Really.”

“Ah, that’s… Well, these are for you.” He extends a bouquet of orchids.

You stare at him. “W-Why…?”

“I thought it would brighten up your bookstore,” he rambles. “Uh, unless you don’t want it? It’s really fine—”

You take the bouquet from his hold, your smile turning genuine on your lips. “Thank you.”

He grins at that. “Well, I’ve got to go back to the shop. Maybe we can go out for coffee or even lunch whenever you’re free?”

When you nod in response, Hoseok’s expression lights up further. With your numbers exchanged, he waves you goodbye and exits your store. It’s quiet once again, and you merely stand there, still staring at the bright purple hues of the orchids.

Perhaps, it’s still ol’ winter outside, but it feels as though spring blooms within the walls of your bookshop now.

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

Hoseok is in a good mood; he whistles some random pop songs as he makes his way back to his shop. “I’m back!” he chirps, scrubbing his snow-covered boots against the ‘welcome’ rug.

“I was beginning to think you have lost your way,” Jungkook comments, eyes focusing at the bouquet in front of him, wrapping it up. “The next customer won’t be here until three and, wait—” He looks around frantically at the scattered flowers on the counter. “Hyung! Where are the orchids?!”

“Huh?” Hoseok feigns innocence. “I thought we had them. You’ve cut their stems right?”

“Yes, but—”

It’s kinda funny to see the usual composed Jungkook, now, panicking. Little did he know, Hoseok had taken the last of the orchids to make a bouquet for you.

“Hyung! We need orchids! The colours don’t match! And—”

Hoseok snorts. “Use the hydrangeas. They fit with whatever bouquet you’re wrapping.”

Jungkook makes a face. “It’s not going to be the same as how I pictured it, Hyung. It has a different meaning too!” However, Hoseok has gone into the changing room to change into his usual working attire. From outside, Jungkook grumbles to himself, “I don’t deserve this treatment. I helped Jimin, and now Hobi hyung too. And for what exactly?”

“So, you won’t stay cooped up in your room until New Years.” Hoseok comments, tying his apron then rolling the sleeve of his shirt till it reaches just before his elbows.

“Okay, but ‘fess up, Hyung—” Jungkook still looks unamused. “What did you do to the orchids? I know you’ve worked hard growing them so you won’t give away those flowers easily.”

“Huh,” Hoseok feigns innocence, grabbing a set of flowers to wrap. “Really? Maybe I did give it away to someone pretty, who knows.” Beautiful, in fact.

“Who?” Then Jungkook’s face turns dumbfounded as he seems to realise something. “Wait, don’t tell me it’s Y/N.”

“Why not Y/N?” Hoseok raises a brow, sparing the younger one a questioning glance.

Jungkook groans. “No, hyung, don’t you know she’s like… Unapproachable? Like even Jimin’s charm does not affect her at all. In fact, she made him angry the other day!

Hoseok mindlessly nods at Jungkook’s rambles. “Yeah, yeah…”

It goes quiet for a moment before Jungkook asks, “So… Did she throw away the flowers at once and kick you out of—”

The image of your bright eyes and soft smile engraves itself into his mind as he works on the bouquet at hand.

“No.” A smile appears on Hoseok’s face. “She loves it actually.” All that time he spent and the hard work of growing those orchids really does pay off.

“What did you say to her? I don’t think she’s the type to accept an apology gift that easily.” Jungkook tilts his head slightly, still questioning.

True. At first, he wanted to give it as an apology gift. However, at your insistence that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but your own, he thought of another reason — to brighten up your cozy bookshop with the vibrant colours of the orchids.

“Well, I thought of other reasons,” Hoseok answers vaguely, finishing the arrangement. And boy, did his heart soar when you accepted his gift afterwards.

“It’s so hard to believe…” Jungkook mumbles, focusing on his own task at hand.

Hoseok sighs. “She’s not what you guys seem to paint her to be. At least, not with me. Does anyone even try to approach her in the first place?”

Jungkook nods. “Jimin hyung did. You know how he is.” Silence falls for a few moments until Jungkook mutters, “I think she’s always grumpy when it’s Christmas season.”

“Why?”

Jungkook answers with a mere shrug. “No one knows. We just avoid her during Christmas.”

With furrowed brows, Hoseok clicks his tongue in disapproval of how people treated you. There must be a reason why you are acting this way. You weren’t a complete grouch with him, and your smile earlier proves that. If it takes hundreds of orchids to make you smile like that again — even when others say you are a grouch and your presence is unpleasant — he would gladly grow them all over again.

Sipping the gingerbread latte, you let out a satisfied hum at the burst of sweet taste on your tongue from the warm beverage. Definitely perfect for cold weather as you sit near the window, mindlessly staring out at the falling snow and the buzzing people beneath.

Hoseok has agreed to meet in the cafe. You are too stubborn to admit that you actually enjoyed his company these past few weeks. But, as soon as he texted you to meet in this cafe, you barely thought twice before agreeing.

Speaking of the devil, he sits across from you with a grin on his face. You snap out of your thoughts when your gaze zeroes in on the bouquet in front of you.

Irises.

“It’s for you.”

Blinking with furrowed brows, your voice comes out unsure. “For me…? But why?”

He lets out a sheepish chuckle, “I just think it suits you. Like those orchids.”

At his words, your heart beats faster. “I… I don’t know what to say,” you admit, gaze dropping to the bright yellow flowers, arranged prettily and pleasing to the eye. “But… Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“Do you know what irises mean?”

You shake your head, taking the bouquet reluctantly.

“Hope and friendship,” Hoseok beams then raises his own steaming cup of coffee to you. “So, here’s to our friendship!”

Chuckling lightly, you lift your own cup.

“Right, I read the book,” Hoseok starts, earning a raised brow from you. “It’s a whole lot to digest even when it’s merely a children’s book. What makes you like it so much?”

You shrug, eyes averting from his briefly. “I just admire how the Grinch put so much effort to ‘steal’—” You quote with your fingers. “—Christmas. I mean he’s an entertaining character to read about.”

Hoseok tilts his head. “What makes him so?”

“He sticks to his plans and goes through with it. I admire his perseverance despite the hardships he has been through. And I feel the same way about Christmas as he does.”

“Do you not like Christmas?”

“Nope. Don’t like this season at all.”

“May I ask why?”

“It’s…” Your eyes are downcast, gaze on your steaming cup of coffee. “It’s a bit overrated, in my personal opinion. This season seems to force people to be happy.”

“Huh…” Hoseok sips his coffee. “I never really thought about it in that way. But I can understand. Is there anything else that makes the book so special?” Curiosity swimming in his eyes. “You mentioned in your review that it’s comforting, but how so?”

Just how on earth can this man be so observant?

You purse your lips, pondering. “Well, it’s comforting to see how the Grinch manages to have a change of—” You falter before shaking your head. “He’s just a great character.”

Hoseok nods, agreeing with you.

Then you change the subject, asking him how he got into gardening and decided to open his flower shop. Conversation flows so easily between the two of you that time flies so quickly.

When you step out of the cafe building with Hoseok, you couldn’t stop smiling as you hold on to the bouquet he gifted in hand. You walk back together, just enjoying each other’s presence. That is until you come across the carolling choir who takes notice of you, or actually, of Hoseok.

“Hobi!” One of them calls out, breaking from the group. Her puppy-like excitement exudes out of her in waves as she draws closer. And then you recognise her as the chipper chatterbox whom you never bother to learn the name of.

Hoseok greets her, “It’s good to see you.”

Then she glances at you, more specifically the bouquet of irises in your hands. “You both went on a date?”

You snort, earning a surprised glance from Hoseok and the girl. “We just got coffee, and Hoseok is nice enough to bring me these lovely flowers as a gift. But, I don’t think it’s any of your business, right?” Lifting a brow, you spare her a questioning stare — recognising that familiar face — as she fails to come up with an answer. “And shouldn’t you get back to your singing activities spreading the Christmas spirit in this public area?” Sarcasm dripping your tone.

Her gaze narrows at you as a flash of recognition crosses her. “Aren’t you the one who sent us away from our first location?”

You nod blatantly. “You were singing in front of my shop. You were disturbing.”

“That was so rude—”

“I did warn you and your group before,” You quip. “Or would you rather I call the police next time?”

Hoseok gapes at your exchange with Chatterbox seemingly at a loss. Lucky for you — well, Chatterbox actually — the tense conversation ceases as another choir member approaches you, this time a lovely-looking elder lady. “Oh, Y/N!”

You blink, expecting her to recognise Hoseok instead since the boy is a social butterfly and probably know half of the townspeople already. “Y-You know me?” Her delicate features are somewhat familiar.

“Well, of course, I do! I volunteer in the or—”

And it clicks. “Oh!” You cut her off loudly. “Oh, nice to meet you!” Hoping the pleading look you send her can stop her from blurting other things besides pleasantries. Fortunately, she gets the message as she smiles knowingly at you before glancing at Hoseok who is utterly quiet as Chatterbox talks his ear off while he mindlessly nods.

“I should get back to my store,” you explain.

The lady smiles warmly, reducing her voice to a whisper, “Hope you come to visit us again this year.”

“I won’t miss it,” you reply with a smile of your own.

Her eyes light up at that. “And Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Have a good day, Miriam.”

And when you finally turn your attention to Hoseok, he’s already looking at you mouthing, You want to go?

You give him a brief nod. He smiles, bidding Chatterbox goodbye. But what nearly sends your heart into overdrive is that he strides to you and grabs your hand as if it’s the only natural thing to do.

“Slow down!” You huff as Hoseok turns briefly to give you a cheeky smile.

“I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of there,” he teases, steps slowing down. Your hand goes limp, but instead of letting go of your hand, Hoseok interlaces his fingers with yours.

“I couldn’t wait to get out of there myself,” Hoseok comments. “I thought my ears were going to fall off.”

Letting out a chuckle, you tease, “I thought you were enjoying her company.”

Hoseok shakes his head. “She was mean to you. I don’t like that.”

At his words, you stumble on your steps. If it isn’t for his fast reflexes, you would be face-planting to the ground. “Ah, t-thank you.”

He chuckles, “No problem.”

And you curse your own heart for beating faster at his smile.

“She’s not bad, Jimin.”

“Yeah, right.” Jimin huffs, wiping the table aggressively. “Until she decides to piss you off all the time.”

“What did she do to you?”

“Don’t even get me started.” Jimin clicks his tongue in annoyance. “She literally said to take the choir crew away from her store, and Ellie—”

“Ellie…?” Confusion is written all over Hoseok’s face.

“The girl who likes you,” Jimin sighs.

“Who???”

Jimin makes a face. “For someone who flirts easily, you’re awfully dense to someone else’s feelings.”

Hoseok lets out an unamused snort. “I don’t flirt—”

“You gave Y/N flowers,” Jimin gives him a pointed look.

“How did—” Hoseok comes to a realisation. “—right, Jungkook.” he mumbles before he explains, “It was supposed to be an apology gift—”

“And then yesterday you empty your supply of iris flowers too to give her for no apparent reason—”

“The kid should really learn to shut his mouth.” Hoseok groans, his cheek heating in embarrassment.

“—if that isn’t called flirting—”

“Jimin, you flirt with everyone too.”

“That’s different, hyung. I charm people.”

Hoseok sighs. “We’re going off track here.”

“Okay, so I had told the choir members to sing a few blocks away from her store. But, she drove them away again!” Jimin slaps the table with the cloth.

Hoseok scrunches his eyebrows. “What do you mean a few blocks away? Y/N said she found them in front of the bookstore again.”

“That’s not what Ellie told me.”

“I still don’t know who Ellie is, but I think there’s a whole misunderstanding here.”

“No, hyung. There is no clear proof—”

“Did you ask the other choir members?” Hoseok asks before sighing. “I mean, shouldn’t there at least be a few other witnesses that can confirm where exactly they were singing?”

“The entire choir said so.”

“Did they actually tell you that? Or did only Ellie tell you that and you assumed it was the whole choir crew’s answer?”

Jimin purses his lips.

“Y/N is not the type to lie, Jimin. It’s not fair to her if you only consider one person’s point of view. And I saw how unhappy Y/N was that day. Don’t you think you should’ve confirmed it with other people first before jumping to conclusions?” Hoseok lets out another disgruntled sigh.

Jimin goes silent, seemingly pondering at Hoseok’s words.

“And I invited her here—” Hoseok points at the ground, indicating the bakery. “—that afternoon, since she likes your sugar doughnuts. And other things you bake. Thought it might cheer her up, but look how it went.” He raises his arms in exasperation.

“She tried it? She never even stepped into the bakery until she came along that time with you!”

“Well…”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

[ flashback ]

“___, I’ll take more of these home today!” Hoseok lifts up his hand that’s holding the powdered doughnut.

Jimin’s girlfriend nods. “Anything else?”

“Oh! Your caramel cookies too, please.”

She nods again. “Coming right up.”

A few minutes later, Hoseok steps out of the bakery with a paper bag in hand. His nose is buried in his scarlet scarf, and he hums a soft tune while padding through the snow-covered sidewalk. As he gets closer to your dimly-lighted bookstore, his glove-covered hands start to grow clammy while his heart beats a tad faster.

“Y/N~” He calls out after the bell of the doorstep rings.

You scramble up to your feet from your slouching position behind the cashier register, wide-eyed. “H-Hoseok? What are you—” Your words falter when he lifts up the paper bag in his hold, grinning at your confused state.

“I brought some sweets.” He stops right in front of you, placing down the bag before opening it. “So… I got some powdered doughnuts…” He takes it out. “I hope you like them.”

“Well, yes. But—”

He puts the paper-wrapped doughnut on your hand. “Go ahead, try it.”

“I…”

“Or do you want me to feed you?” Hoseok teases, raising up the other doughnut towards your mouth. “Then here, ah—”

You take a step back, avoiding his reach before taking a bite out of your doughnut. He laughs at your pout while you chew, patiently waiting until you swallow it. “So...?”

Nodding slowly, you observe the bitten doughnut for a few moments then snap your gaze at him. “Thank you. This is really good.” You take another bite of the doughnut, fighting back the instinct to smile.

“Great! Now, try the caramel cookies!”

“Wait, but I—”

Hoseok plucks the doughnut from your hold, replacing it with a caramel cookie and urges you to try it and you comply.

“Where did you get this?” Eyes full of wonder as you stare at the cookie.

“Jimin’s bakery.”

“What? No way.”

Hoseok tilts his head in curiosity. “You’ve never tried his baked goods before? Even after months the bakery has opened?”

You shake your head. “Never had the chance. I assumed it’s nothing special. But now…”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

[ present time ]

“She said what?” Jimin gapes, not sure if he heard what Hoseok said was right.

Hoseok repeats, “She likes your sugar doughnuts and caramel cookies. She said they were ‘excellent delicacies’ when she tried them.” More precisely, you said, I suppose despite his absurd personality, he still makes excellent delicacies. But Hoseok knows better than to say that.

Jimin is downright speechless at your compliment.

“Anyways,” Hoseok clears his throat. “As I was saying, I frequently visit her, and on that day she wasn’t happy at all, Jimin. So, I didn’t visit her that morning to let her cool off and visit her during the afternoon.”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

[ flashback ]

Hoseok gazes up from his phone when the streetlight turns green. Shoving the device into his coat’s pocket, he crosses the street. From the corner of his eye, your bookstore comes to his view, and a smile appears on his face. As he draws nearer, his steps grow lighter. That is until he peeks in from the window and notices a deep frown on your face. He falters, weighing his own thoughts on whether or not to approach you at this moment. And he decides against it and plans to visit you in the afternoon instead to let you cool off from, perhaps, an argument.

And off he goes, still passing by your store; still purposefully slowing down his steps to see you through the stained glass window for longer, to see if you’re okay. He’s surprised at the sight of you tracing your jukebox slowly, gazing at it fondly. It must have meant so much to you, he assumes. Smiling softly, Hoseok continues down the pathway to his flower shop.

It’s nearly midday when a familiar face from Jimin’s choir group visits him. She waves at him. “Hobi!”

“Welc—”

“So, glad to see you again!” The girl squeals as she reaches him at the counter.

“Hi…”

“How are you?”

“Good and uh, shouldn’t you be singing with your choir members?”

Her face falls slightly at his question before she scoffs, “It’s cancelled because someone was so rude. She just told us to scram. Like who does that? We’re spreading the Christmas spirit! Everyone should be happy, especially at this time of year!”

And Hoseok instantly has an inkling of who this someone is. “I don’t think we have the right to judge someone. Everyone has their own problems, after all.”

She seems genuinely shocked by Hoseok’s words. But Hoseok didn’t bother waiting for her response as he said, “If you aren’t planning to buy anything, I would appreciate it if you leave. There are other customers here. And I would listen to Y/N if I were you.”

✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

[ present time ]

“I’m sorry.”

You raise a brow at the unexpected guest who is standing right in front of you, eyeing him briefly before shifting your attention to the man beside him.

“What are you both doing here?” You ask. “More specifically, what are you doing here?” Your gaze snaps back to Jimin, who is huffing in annoyance with his arms crossed against his chest — looking like he was just scolded by, you presume, the grinning man beside him. So you ask, “Hoseok, what is this?”

“I talked some sense into him,” he replies, elbowing Jimin not-so-subtly.

“I am here to apologise, Y/N. For the way I reacted in the bakery—”

Your stare narrows. “I thought we’re past that. And I told you it was my fault.”

“Would you please let me finish?” Jimin asks in a surprisingly polite manner. You assume he’s trying his best not to get frustrated further with you since, well, you always have that irritating presence during this time of the year and have the knack to run his patience thin. “I also want to apologise for assuming the worst of you.”

Now that catches you off-guard. Your silence spurs him on.

“I contacted the choir members and told them to not sing in front of your store. And I told them to sing at least a few blocks away. I should have confirmed their location with you instead of blindly trusting the people I barely interact with outside of choir activities—”

Not like we interact much either, you thought but hold back your tongue.

“—and it was my mistake for doing that. I only recently found out that they were really in front of your store—” He glances Hoseok, unamused. “—Hyung had contacted the choir people and had them confirm that they were singing in front of your store. Which is why—”

The sudden burst of your door opening startles the three of you.

“You brought her here?” Your expression clearly shows disdain at the sight of Chatterbox strutting in like she owns the place. And you wish nothing but to kick her out at this moment because she’s like an impending doom that’s about to befall your bookstore.

“No, we didn’t—” Hoseok looks flustered.

“I’m here to spread the Christmas spirit to Y/N!” Chatterbox claims with a few drinks in her hand. “Since she seems to hate our singing so much, I thought a few drinks will ease her up for Christmas!”

“Did she follow us?” Hoseok hisses to Jimin who looks just as flustered.

“I thought she should apologise to Y/N too.”

“Clearly, she has the wrong idea about this meeting,” Hoseok groans. However, just before Jimin can respond, a crash cuts him off.

It feels as if time is slowing down and your heart drops when she trips over one of the antique rugs and spills on…

“No!” You lurch forward — figure blocked by the counter you’re standing behind — towards the jukebox that’s drenched in eggnog, regarding it with widened eyes and trembling hands in the air.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Chatterbox whispers, standing up straight on her feet. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You clench your fists as you snap your head towards her, eyes blazing. “Get out.”

“But the drinks—”

“I said, get out!” Rarely do you ever raise your voice, but you are already trembling in anger as no one made a single move. You grab Chatterbox, pulling her along with such strength that she struggled against your iron-like grip.

“I said I was sorry!”

“Well, ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it!” You seethe, shoving her out like a ragdoll. Jimin approaches you carefully and tries to appease you, but you shake your head. “Now, this is your fault.”

Hoseok looks downright devastated as he watches you. “Y/N…”

“Get out, leave me alone.”

There are no other words but warmth and pure joy that can describe the sight of children excitedly rushing towards you; they are all giggling and squealing.

“Uh, please don’t block the way,” you huff. Stopping momentarily, you lift a knee to support your hold on the heavy box briefly to prevent it from slipping down.

“Y/N,” Miriam greets you with a warm smile on her face. “So glad that you can make it.”

“Of course,” you reply, crouching to place the heavy box on the wooden floor of the living room. Taking off your gloves, you ask, “Where’s Helen?”

“She’s staying with her grandson for a couple of days; said something about a family Christmas reunion.”

“Ah…” You tear open the duct tape and take out the children’s books you packed a few weeks ago. “Well, then—”

“Y/N! Are you going to read us a Christmas story this time?” One of the children — Amy — asks with a big smile on her face.

“I shouldn’t… Maybe Helen can read to you once she’s back—” Words die on your throat at the expectant — hopeful — gazes of the children that have gathered in the warm living room. “Okay… Maybe one book won’t hurt—”

The children squeal happily.

“—so, you guys pick whichever book you want, and I’ll read it to you.” Then they rush to the opened cardboard box. You make yourself comfortable against the velvet cushions that’s spread on the rug-covered floor. While the children are busy discussing which book would be their pick, you fish out your phone from the pocket of your discarded coat only to realise that Helen had sent you a message that she won’t be in the orphanage tonight.

After replying to her with some reassurance — that you’d take over the story-telling position just for today — your fingers hover over Hoseok’s unread messages from yesterday night. Well, since the day you told him to get out of your bookstore in your fit of rage.

Hoseok constantly messaged you about many things — asking how you are doing, if you want to go out to get some coffee, or even just ramble about his day. You read all of them through the notifications from your phone — the ones that are not cut off by the message bubble — and your heart aches just a little more.

“This one!” Amy runs up to you, handing the book before taking the spot right next to you.

When you read the title, you falter. “Wait, are the others okay with this or are there any books you’d like me to read?” You look around at the children who are already in their respective seats surrounding you in a half-circle; they nod eagerly.

Letting out a sigh, you purse your lips for a brief moment. “Alright then—” You lift the book up; front cover facing the children. “How the Grinch Stole Christmas…”

Then you flip the book open and begin reading the story…

✧༺♡��∞ ∞༺♡༻✧

By the time you have finished reading the book, it’s nearly midnight; most of the children have fallen asleep with a content smile on their faces. You make it your mission to help Miriam tuck them into their beds since Helen is not here tonight.

“I really appreciate what you did today, Y/N.” Miriam follows you out of the building, stopping on the doorway.

“It’s not a problem, really.” You put on your gloves.

“But I really appreciate it, Y/N. And you know you will always be welcomed here.” Miriam reminds you.

You let out a sheepish chuckle. “Thanks, Miriam. Maybe I’ll come back and help around.”

She pulls you in for a hug. “The children love you. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled whenever you decide to come visit.”

After exchanging a few more words, you leave the orphanage and walk into the winter night. Gradually, your thoughts take you to Hoseok once more. You’d be lying if you don’t miss his presence and it has been just a few days since the incident. However, you just can’t find the right words to explain yourself, not when Christmas Eve is nearing.

Shaking your head, you keep your gaze low; eyes focusing on the snow-covered streets while the night grows darker with only street lanterns dimly lighting up the pathway. Just as you pass a particular house, loud laughter catches your attention, causing your legs to stop abruptly.

Through the bright window, you watch silently at what seems to be a Christmas gathering. You recognise some people who live in the same neighbourhood as you; even Jimin and Jungkook are there and… And Hoseok. Their smiles are so warm, and they seem to be enjoying themselves as they sit by the fireplace. The lively atmosphere inside the warm room is a definite contrast to the quietness of the night outside.

Letting out a sigh, you stop watching and continue on your way; once you arrive at your house, you mutter weakly, “I’m home…” After taking off your boots and gloves, you tug off your coat, brushing off the snow before you hang it on the coat hanger. Making your way towards the dark kitchen, you flip the light on and boil some water.

While waiting for it, your own mind seems to have an internal battle of its own. After that incident, you think it’s better to revert back to your old self who has no worries in being alone. However, after spending time with those children — it’s hard to admit, but you know you can’t be alone at this time of year. Spending time buried between pages of a book no longer distracts your thoughts, nor does sorting out books that are usually enough to distract you.

Opening the cabinet, you take out a box of your favourite tea, placing it on the counter. Looking back at the opened cabinet, you falter for a moment, staring at the unused mugs labelled ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’. With pursed lips, you quickly take your own mug and close the cabinet.

Rain drizzles down onto the asphalt path while the repeated sound of Hoseok’s footsteps crunching fills the empty air. He avoids the wet snow, treading carefully to not soak his boots further in this weather. Rain during winter is perhaps one of the things Hoseok considers unpleasant, but it reflects his current mood despite today being Christmas Eve.

Crossing the familiar street with an opened umbrella in hand, he lets out a sigh into the cold air, fog coming out with his exhale. Growing nearer to your dark bookstore, his heart grows heavier with each step. He stops momentarily and peeks inside your darkened bookstore, then his shoulders drop in disappointment.

Arriving at his store, he closes his umbrella before entering. Hoseok rubs the sole of his boots against the ‘welcome’ rug, shaking the umbrella to shed the remaining frozen droplets on the material.

Jungkook — already onto his task of assembling bouquets — spares a glance at the older man. “No luck?”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Hoseok mutters a ‘no’, passing by the counter gate and into the employee changing room.

It’s been more than a week since anyone has seen you. There has always been warm light filtering out through the window of your bookstore. However, now, your bookstore is completely dark as if life itself has been snuffed out of it.

Tugging off his thick coat, Hoseok places it on the hanger then takes the usual apron, tying it around his waist.

Hoseok wonders what had happened; the expression on your face was unlike anything he had ever seen… And, he really wants to reach out, but you have seemingly disappeared without a trace. As he’s rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, he’s still deep in thought, that is until Jungkook gasps rather loudly.

“What’s wrong, Jungkook?”

But his movements stop completely when he hears a familiar voice — the voice he has been dying to hear again. In seconds, he barrels out of the room slamming the door albeit too loudly, startling Jungkook and…

“Y/N…” He stands in shock, still processing that you’re here.

“Hey,” you say nonchalantly, “I’d like a bouquet of chrysanthemums and dahlias, please.”

The three of you lapse into silence for a few moments until Jungkook mutters, “I’ll… Work on them... Yeah...” Jungkook snaps his finger while pursing his lips. “I’ll do just that…” Jungkook gets to work immediately, leaving you both near the main counter as he scuffles around the shop where the chrysanthemum and dahlias are.

Your gaze wanders along the neatly placed shelves on your side, and the various colourful flowers that’s set in silver-coloured buckets. It’s your first time visiting his store, and it is unexpected, alright. After your “disappearance”, you’re now here as if nothing has happened.

“I texted you…” Hoseok mumbles, earning your attention on him. “I called you too; visited your store a few times. What happened?”

“I needed time to get myself together,” you answer, fiddling with the button of your black coat.

“Why didn’t you call or at least let me know you’re okay? You had me really worried.”

“Because it’s none of your business.” You speak monotonously, but it still manages to strike at his heart.

Hoseok clenches his fists. “Right… My friend’s business is none of my concern.”

You exhale at that but still keep your mouth shut. Even as Jungkook timidly passes by you with the wrapped bouquet. Right after you pay for the flowers, you rush out.

Hoseok releases a breath that he did not even know he was holding. And he can feel his heart squeezing in pain.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

In silence, standing in front of the two tombstones — with an umbrella on one hand — you lay the bouquet between them. One shoulder is drenched from the rain, but you don't find it in yourself to care; not at this moment when all you can think about are your parents and that tragic day.

Countless of tears you have shed on the same day, each year; though it has been half a decade since then. But your heart still lays heavy in your chest, borderline suffocating in the middle of the quiet cemetery. And it feels as if it just happened recently.

Tearing your gaze away from the tombstone, you look up to the cloudy sky and blink rapidly — adamant about not letting any tears fall this year. With a deep breath, you look back down and leave.

The cold isn’t the worst when you walk back. Usually, you would even cry on the way home thinking about your parents. But this time, your mind persistently drifts to the disappointment on Hoseok’s face from earlier, unable to forget as if it is burned into your mind.

Biting your trembling lower lip, your steps grow faster to your bookstore. You promised Miriam you would come to visit the orphanage and bring more books for the children.

Arriving at the front door, you slot in the key and are about to unlock the door when you freeze momentarily, body seizing as your brows furrow. Taking a slow deep breath, you open the door and darkness greets you as usual. Closing the door behind you, the sound of your boots clicking on the wooden floor fills the air as you make a beeline towards the storage. Flicking the light on, your eyes search for the packed box on the corner, lifting it up in your arms once you find it before turning the lights off.

Walking between the shelves towards the front door, the jukebox appears in your sight. As everything that happened comes rushing back, you move towards it — dropping the box on the floor, nearly tripping over it — and your eyes looking around it frantically. “It should work now…” You mumble to yourself, at the now-cleaned jukebox and after letting it dry for days. You click the usual button, and wait…

And wait…

And…

“No…” Hands trembling, you make an attempt and press the button once more, but it just won’t turn on. “Please, please, please…” You begin to plead, tears welling up in your eyes and again you press the on button. This is the last resort, after all. You’ve called all the possible service stores that fix instruments and jukeboxes, but they all had the same response, ‘We’re sorry, this model is too old.’

“I’m sorry…” You whimper, knees giving out as a sob escapes your lips. “I’m sorry…”

The last piece of memory of your parents ceases. And your heart has never felt so cold on the night of Christmas Eve.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

When the fiftieth sigh escapes Hoseok’s lips, Jungkook spares him an empathetic glance as he does his task. “You should talk to her.”

“I don’t think she wants to.”

“Huh… That sounds so unlike you,” Jungkook muses as he cleans up the counter. “And you’ve been brooding all day.”

“I do not brood.”

“Tell that to the five customers the usual all-sunshine-and-rainbow florist has scared away today,” Jungkook remarks and stops cleaning to face Hoseok. “You should talk to her, Hyung. It hasn’t stopped you before. What changed?”

“I… I don’t...” Hoseok falters, searching for an answer. “She’s my friend, I…”

“You…?” Jungkook nods with a know-it-all look, urging the older one to continue.

Hoseok narrows his stare at the younger one. “You’re mocking me.”

“Nope,” Jungkook says, emphasising the ‘p’ with a pop. “I mean, you have always been forward with your feelings, and I really admire that. Unlike, you know, Jimin—” He pauses. “—please don’t tell him that, but yeah, what’s stopping you now?”

“I just—” Hoseok releases a deep sigh. “—I don’t want to lose her, not after everything. And she’s the type of person who really values her space. I can’t just barge in and demand to make everything alright. She’ll come around, and she’ll show it when she’s ready.”

Jungkook purses his lips, seemingly in deep thought.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Hoseok asks in frustration.

“I think I know why…” Jungkook mutters.

“Why Y/N is acting the way she did?”

“No, not exactly,” Jungkook answers. “But on why she hates Jimin’s guts, ‘cuz you know, he tends to not read the situation he’s in and go all in without thinking of the consequences—”

Hoseok makes an attempt to cut Jungkook off. However, Jungkook raises his hand to stop Hoseok as he continues, “—but you—” Jungkook gives Hoseok a pointed look. “— you tend to read the situation you’re in and that’s a good thing. So, I suggest, instead of moping around, you can just go to her and see how she is doing? See if she wants to talk and if she does, you talk, and if not, then you can leave.”

Blinking, those words sink into Hoseok’s mind. “That’s actually… A great idea…”

“Yeah, wonder why no one has thought about it, but ends up scaring away customers instead,” Jungkook retorts and clears his throat at the glare Hoseok sends his way. “Which, you know, is okay since we’re humans, after all, right? We make mistakes. And the only thing we can do is try to make up for it.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes at that before chuckling. “You’re right, JK.”

“I know I— I mean, am I?”

Hoseok clicks his tongue. “Right, okay. So, I’ll go check on Y/N. And since it’s already closing hours—” He glances at the wall clock while untying his apron. “—you can just close up today.”

“What?”

But Hoseok ignores him and runs straight into the changing room to grab his coat. Once he goes out, he tosses the key to Jungkook. “I’m entrusting you with it.”

“Wait, but—”

“See you tomorrow!”

And Hoseok rushes out of his store, leaving a baffled Jungkook behind.

Hoseok scores a new record in the number of minutes it takes for him to reach your bookstore. However, his shoulder droops as the last bit of his hope vanishes at the sight of the dark place.

So, you had left. Or still not coming in.

He steps closer to the window, futilely peeking inside. After a few moments, he sighs in disappointment, putting his hands inside the pocket of his long plaid coat. Just as he’s about to leave, he stops — furrowing his brows when…

Is that a whimper?

Curiously, he goes near the door once more and makes an attempt to turn the knob and it opens. Eyes widening, he enters quickly into the darkness. And there he can finally (barely) see your hunched figure on the floor beside your antique jukebox, burying your face as your arms are wrapped around your knees… Crying?

“Y/N?” He calls out in hesitance, taking a few steps closer. You look at him and Hoseok braces for you to tell him to get out.

But instead, all you can mumble is his name. “Hoseok…”

“Hey…” Slowly, Hoseok crouches on one knee to meet your gaze. “I’m here.”

You merely stare at him, unmoving.

“You’re not alone anymore, Y/N,” he says, softly. “I’m here.”

Throat bobbing, more tears flow down across your cheeks. Hoseok opens his arms. “Come here.”

One moment you are still unmoving, and the next you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. Hoseok leans back — both knees on the floor now — one hand gently pats your head while the other arm keeps you close to him.

“Let it all out. I’m here now,” He whispers, letting your face rest against the crook of his neck. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

[ flashback ]

It should have been a happy time for Hoseok as he gathers with all the people he cares about. Well, not all of them when you have not even read his texts. He scrolls through his phone mindlessly, staring at the texts he had sent over the past few days.

Hoseok [18/12]: Hey… how’re you feeling? I brought some sugar doughnuts today but you weren’t working today :( i hope everything’s well

Hoseok [20/12]: Y/N, i’m really sorry about what happened. Please let me know if you need anything

Hoseok [21/12]: you know i hate it when it rains so hard during the winter, i swear i came into my shop with icicles hanging on my face and jungkook had to say that i looked like that squirrel from ice age 😭 anyway, i met a tough customer today… I spent three hours waiting for them to choose which flowers they’d like for their bouquet. Even jungkook was close to combusting as well. it was torture 😢

Hoseok [22/12]: Hey, so we’re having a christmas celebration tomorrow, would you like to come? It’ll be fun!

Hoseok [23/12]: hey, Y/N! I was wondering if you’re going to make it to the celebration?

But that last text was hours ago and you had remained unresponsive. Hoseok sighs harshly and his emotions overwhelm him. And he lets himself think if you’re worth all the trouble and turmoil he’s facing.

“Something on your mind, dear?” His grandmother asks, placing one comforting hand on his knee. “I know that look on your face all too well. Your father used to have that look whenever he’s in deep thought. So, let me guess, is it a girl?”

Hoseok blinks a few times, flustered at his grandmother’s guess. “Yes, but well, no? Not really?”

“Who is it? I never heard any news about your love life. And now, your dear grandmother is absolutely curious,” she says, laughing with mirth lighting up her crinkled eyes.

Hoseok smiles softly at his grandmother before he relents and tells her all about you. At the mention of your name, he swears his grandmother just smiles a tad wider.

“It’s about time she finds someone,” she mutters to herself but Hoseok still hears it anyway.

“You know Y/N, Grandma?”

She nods. “Y/N used to live in the orphanage a few years ago… Poor thing.”

Hoseok gapes at that. “I… Never knew.” His heart twisting painfully in guilt and worry. “I’ve always assumed she had a really bad past since she never talks about it.”

“Definitely traumatising for someone so young to face heavy losses.” His grandma explains. “She dealt with most of it on her own, and… She may come across as cold, but she isn’t cruel, she’s just closed off,” Helen says softly. “But I guess you know that already?”

Hoseok nods.

“So, don’t give up on her. I think right now, she needs someone more than ever. She has had no one to lean on for so long.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

[ present time ]

You stare silently at the crackling flames with a blanket wrapped around your frame and for some time your mind stays quiet after you have emptied out your pent-up emotions. Hoseok busies himself in the kitchen for a few minutes, and brings out two mugs of hot chocolate.

After your cry fest in the bookstore, Hoseok has taken you to his place for some hot chocolate he received from his grandmother, who had insisted that he should let you try it even when you know nothing of her. You rejected the offer at first, not wanting to bother him more after your breakdown. But Hoseok being Hoseok, from the time you have gotten to know him, you’ve learned that he can be very persuasive and persistent. And now, here you are, where he claims is his humble abode.

One thing for sure, this place screams Hoseok. It’s definitely more to the cozy side despite some unique furniture you spot decorating the place.

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking a mug from his extended hand as he takes a seat beside you on the couch.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better...” You take a sip of the hot chocolate, sweetness spreading across your tastebuds. And you resist the urge to hum in delight.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Hoseok shifts his gaze from the flames to you.

“Why did you help me?” You blurt out. “I mean, you didn’t have to… Like just now, and after the way I treated you, usually people would... Leave.”

Hoseok ponders for a moment. “Maybe it’s because they don’t know you like I do.”

“But we just met each other not too long ago.”

“And that’s enough for me to get to know you, at least some part of you. And as I’ve mentioned before, I would really like to get to know you even better.”

“I don’t think you really do…” You mumble, staring into the half-finished hot chocolate.

Hoseok snorts at that. “You’re someone who really values her space and if someone dares to cross that line you’ll give them hell for it.”

His facial expression softens further as he continues, “And you’re also someone who knows how to stand up for herself, not needing anyone to defend you. You don’t care what others think of you because you already know your own worth.”

You stare at him wide-eyed.

“Do you need me to continue? Because I still have more and—”

“Hoseok… I’m not— I don’t think I’m a nice person to be around...” you admit.

“That is the most ridiculous sentence I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” Hoseok scoffs. “So you’re telling me someone forced you to donate children books to the orphanage and read to those children?” He recalls the pictures his grandmother showed him the other day — of you reading to the children and having a pleasant time with them.

Blinking, you gape at him. “H-How did—”

“My grandma told me.” Hoseok is now looking at you, unamused. You shoot him a confused look as he explains further, “Helen is my grandmother. And I may not know what you have gone through, Y/N. But I told you I’m here and you don’t have to face things on your own now.”

You look away from his gaze, unable to keep looking into his intense stare any longer.

“Why do you hate Christmas?”

You stiffen at his question as it becomes silent between the two of you besides the crackling sound of flames. Hoseok sighs after a few moments, placing his hand on your arm briefly as if to say ‘it’s alright’ then standing up from the couch.

Just as he’s about to step into the kitchen, you blurt out, “I loathe Christmas.” And his steps falter, he turns slightly to look at you fiddling with the mug nervously. “I hate anything that has to do with Christmas because like I once told you, this season seems to force people to be happy. It doesn’t care whether or not you’re hurting inside, no consideration of how people truly feel in the heart. And I gradually find it pointless and fake.”

You shut your eyes tightly. “I… I lost my parents on Christmas Eve.” And the image of the car flipping upside down still vivid in your mind and you can hear the crash as clear. “I don’t deserve to feel happy, not when I should’ve gone with them at the incident. I-I should have gone with them. It's n-not fair that they’re gone and I’m here and alone and if I’m happy while they’re not here—” you blabber, hands shaking rapidly. “It’s not fair and now, I’ve failed them, I lost them— Their jukebox is broken and I can’t do anything about it,” you whimper. “Just like that day.”

“Y/N…” And you didn’t realise Hoseok is already in front of you, crouching. He lays his hand gently on yours after taking your mug, placing it on the coffee table. “Look at me,” he stares up into your eyes, gaze so warm and gentle that you might even break down again. It’s been a long time since someone looked at you that way. “You can’t take responsibility over the things that are out of your control.”

“And what you had gone through is unimaginable, but do you think you’ve punished yourself enough, even though it’s not your fault? You stopped letting yourself enjoy life itself and — correct me if I’m wrong — your parents wouldn’t want that for you,” Hoseok says. “Would they want you to be trapped in your past?”

You let his words sink in.

“And despite your jukebox not working anymore, that doesn’t mean that your parents are gone.” Hoseok grips your forearm, lifting your right hand to place it on top of your heart. “They live in you. You’re their daughter after all. The jukebox only serves as a memory of them, but surely, you have other memories of them.”

After all this time, you realised that’s what you needed to hear — you haven’t failed your parents, despite everything.

“And looking at how you’ve grown into this amazing woman that I have the privilege to get to know, I’m definitely sure your parents are proud of you.”

Face crumpling, your palm covers your eyes as another sob escapes your throat.

Sitting again next to you, Hoseok coos and gathers you in his arms. “Cry all you want, I’m here, love. I’m here…”

And you cried again, the hardest you’ve done in a long time.

Once you have calmed down, you murmur, “They used to dance around the house a lot...” Tear-stained cheek resting against his chest as you find yourself curled up on his lap. “Hanging socks and filling them with candies, claiming that they’re for the elves that visit late at night.”

Hoseok leans against the throw pillows, quietly listening as you tell stories of how your parents used to love the winter season. His warmth comforts you and your still-aching heart.

That night you fell asleep in his arms; the last bit of your emotions all used up, but your heart definitely feels lighter than the past years.

Knocking on the wooden door, you clear your throat, hearing scurrying footsteps before the door opens.

“Y/N!” Miriam exclaims. “I was so worried, you didn’t show up yesterday.”

“Sorry, something came up yesterday and I didn’t realise how late it was when I was done. But I bring another couple of books?” You lift up the box in your hands in emphasis.

Miriam lights up at that. “Well, come on in. The children will be so happy. They are excited to—”

“Oof—!” The loud thump behind you causes you to turn to see Hoseok huffing, catching his breath — one hand on his knee as he sits on the stairs — another box on top of the stoop. “I didn’t realise how much book you’ve packed, Y/N.”

Snorting, you place the box you’re holding on your left hip and extend your right hand to him, instinctively, to help him up. “C’mon, the children are inside and we should help to unpack the boxes first.” He takes your hand and pulls himself up, nearly stumbling and having his face close to yours.

As if his piercing gaze locks you in a trance, you stare back until he murmurs, “Well, someone is looking beautiful today.”

Spluttering, you let go of his hand, face burning. “Let’s go.”

Hoseok laughs at your embarrassment before he lifts up the box on the floor and makes his way inside, passing by Miriam who’s waiting by the door.

When you step inside, Miriam whispers, “Is he—?” Her tone lace with curiosity as a teasing smile appears on her lips.

“Uh, no, he’s not my boyfriend—” You say too quickly, flustered.

“Well, I meant to ask if he is Helen’s grandson, but I see.” Miriam fails to stifle a big smile now. “You two would look really good together.”

You curse yourself, walking faster as Miriam laughs behind you, closing the door. When you reach the living room, the children are already waiting and once you step into their view, they squeal happily.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Amy waves to you giddily. “Hobi says you brought more books for us!”

“H-Hobi…?” You blink. Snapping your gaze towards said man who is already looking at you intently and you avert your gaze once more to the grinning children. “Umm, yeah. I do.” You sit beside Hoseok, tearing the tape off the boxes you two brought in.

This time you brought in colouring books and other story books.

“Can Hobi read to us today?” One of the children asks.

You shift your gaze to his surprised face, a teasing smile appears on your face. “Yeah, Hobi, you should read to them today.”

Hoseok narrows his gaze at you before leaning close to whisper, “You should call me ‘Hobi’ from now on.” Then he turns to the children, smiling. “Alright, I’ll read for today. And which book do you want to read?”

“Which one is your favourite, Hobi?” Another kid — Ian — asks, curiously looking through the books.

“Well…” Hoseok scans through the titles of the stacked books. Your eyes widen at his pick. “This one!” He lifts up the How the Grinch Stole Christmas book.

“Wait— I read that to them already,” you try to stop the children’s interested looks.

“He can read it to us again!” Amy says giddily. “I think it’s a really nice story!”

“But there are other better books to read,” you offer. “Like…” You look through the books you brought. “This! The Night Before Christmas!” you read the title aloud.

“We can read that later,” Quin whines. “We want to hear Hobi read the book!”

Unbelievable. How the hell can these children choose him over you already?

As if he can read your mind, Hoseok shoots you a smug look and you pout like a petulant child. “Fine, I’m gonna go to the kitchen to help Miriam,” you huff, standing up and stomp out.

Hoseok watches your figure disappear into the kitchen before he says, “She’s so cute, isn’t she?”

Amy nods, grinning. “She’s grown up, but she’s still like us! That’s why playing with Y/N is so fun!”

“Right…” He gives a brief soft smile at Amy before he clears throat. “So let’s begin…”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“You’re not reading to the children?” Miriam asks when you appear in the kitchen.

“No, Hoseok’s handling that.” You take a fresh apron and tie it around your waist. “So… I’ll help out with the cookies.”

“Alright then,” Miriam chuckles, handing you the mixing bowl and mixer. “You can continue mixing the ingredients until everything’s smooth and I’ll take out the cookies I baked earlier.”

You flip the switch of the mixer on and continue to mix the ingredients. When the texture of the dough is smooth, you place the mixture into small scoops on the baking tray and that’s when you overheard Hoseok’s voice.

“What can you learn from the Grinch’s story?”

“Oh! Oh!” One of the kids exclaims. “That Christmas isn’t all about gifts!”

“That’s right,” Hoseok agrees. “And also, despite the Grinch being mean at first, even unkind, that doesn’t mean that they are truly that way at heart.”

Your movements falter at his words.

“There is always a reason behind their actions,” Hoseok points out. “So, it’s always best to learn about them first before assuming things.”

“You sound like you know the Grinch well.” Amy tilts her head in curiosity. “Do you happen to know the Grinch, Hobi?”

“Well, I don’t know the Grinch personally,” he muses. “But I do know someone who is very similar to him. Maybe that’s why I grew fond of the Grinch.”

Did Hoseok just compare you to the Grinch?

You scoff internally. Quickly, you finish scooping the rest of the cookie dough onto the tray before placing it in the oven after Miriam takes out the first batch of cookies and then retrieving a serving tray from one of the cabinets.

“Oh!” Amy raises her hand enthusiastically. “I know! I know!”

“Yes, Amy?”

“An act of kindness towards someone can change them!”

Hoseok blinks. “That… Is right.”

“That’s right.” You walk into the living room with glasses full of milk for the children. “An act of kindness can change a person’s life.” Placing the tray on the coffee table, you look at the children one by one. “So, it’s important to be kind to others.”

As if on cue, Miriam brought out the freshly-baked cookies. And the children flock around her to get a piece. She chastises them and sets the cookies on the table alongside the glasses of milk.

You spent the entire Christmas day in the orphanage, helping out and spending time with the children and Hoseok. You even meet Helen who never stops gushing once she finds the two of you visiting the orphanage.

When it’s already late at night, you and Hoseok bid the children farewell with a smile on your face and warmth in your heart. Hoseok walks you home afterwards, and silence falls between you — both comforting and soothing. Arriving in front of your doorsteps, you turn to him who is already staring at you with his bright eyes.

“Thank you for today, Hoseok—” You stop at his unamused look. “What?”

“I thought I told you to call me ‘Hobi’ from now on.” He steps closer to you. You step back. “Hearing you saying ‘Hoseok’ all the time makes it sound so formal between us.”

“Alright—” You place your hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away. “—Hobi, got it.”

“That’s better.” He chuckles at your antics before he steps back, stance growing uneasy. “And, uh, I forgot to tell you that there’s a winter market near the town hall. Would you like to come with me tomorrow?”

You nod without any hesitance.

“But Jimin will be there too.” And he adds quickly, “With his girlfriend. So, he won’t bother us and—”

“I’ll go.” You pause for a moment. “There’s something I need to resolve with him too.”

A gentle smile appears on Hoseok’s face at that. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod. “Definitely.”

He grins before tugging you in for a hug to which you reciprocate as if it’s second nature. And you both stay like that for a while until Hoseok mumbles suddenly, “I think I left something in your bookstore when we went to pick up the books earlier.”

You laugh. “Well then, I can go with—”

“Oh no, that's okay!” He says quickly. “I’ll go there myself, if you’re okay with lending me your key?”

“Oh, sure.” You take the keys out of your pocket. “Don’t lose it, yeah?” You chuckle, handing him the keys.

He nods. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

It’s another cold morning. Jungkook stifles a yawn as he walks along his usual route to Hoseok’s flower shop. Unable to contain his yawn any longer, he covers his face with his hand before he freezes — mid-yawn — when he sees you standing in front of the shop.

Quickly shutting his mouth, he calls out, “Y/N?”

Your gaze snaps to him from your phone. “Jungkook, hi!”

Uh-oh. Jungkook wonders if Hoseok has screwed up — since the man himself isn’t here — and now you’re seeking help from him to perhaps find ways to get rid of his hyung.

“Hey… May I ask what you’re doing here?” He checks his watch briefly. “So early…?”

“Hi, yeah, so I need a bouquet…” You fidget nervously.

“Oh?” Jungkook focuses on unlocking the glass door. “May I know what you’re looking for?”

“Hydrangeas and irises...”

He opens the door and motion for you to enter before following suit. “I’ll put my things in the back and I’ll wrap your bouquet.”

You mutter an ‘okay’ as he quickly changes into his uniform. Jungkook changes in record time as he has heard of stories of you being impatient, especially during the winter season. And well, someone has never intimidated him so much even though he is taller than you.

“Okay, so, hydrangeas and irises,” Jungkook mutters once he’s out of the changing room. He makes a quick dash towards the respective flower buckets and brings it back to the counter.

“Oh… They’re pretty,” you comment, eyeing the flowers curiously. But somehow Jungkook feels like you are scrutinizing him, ready to nitpick at him should you find any mistake or flaw.

“Why are your hands shaking?”

“Huh?”

“Your hands—” you point out. “—are shaking. Don’t you do this every day?”

“Not every day,” Jungkook mumbles, trying to stop his hands from shaking. “Anyways—” He clears his throat, changing the subject. “Who’s the special one?”

You blink. “Uh…”

Another uh-oh. This will not end well. Hyung is going to throw a major fit if he finds out about this.

“Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.” Jungkook arranges the flower stems together. “No one is going to hear about this. I promise you. I know you really value your privacy.” You shoot him a confused look while he rambles. Not long after, he lifts up the bouquet. “Is... This okay?”

“Do you have yellow irises?”

“Uh, you want the yellow one?” He makes a face.

“What is it?”

“It’s going to be ugly,” he blurts out before he remembers who he's talking to. “I-I mean if you want them then I’ll search for the yellow—”

“No! That's okay!” Your hands flay to stop him from finding more irises. “It’s fine, really. I trust your opinion. You’re the expert.”

Jungkook blinks, clearly caught off-guard by your words. “Oh… I— Thank you.”

You nod, giving him a smile that is, dare he say, pretty.

“Okay,” He relaxes, bunny-smile appearing on his face. “I’ll finish this up quick.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Thirty minutes later, Jungkook finally manages to finish the bouquet and you thank him incessantly to which he responds with a flustered ‘No problem, just doing my job…’

Rushing out of the store, you check your phone for Hobi’s text which says that he’s on the way to the market and would meet you there. With your heart fluttering, you put your phone back into your pocket after sending him a ‘see u too, hobi :)’.

Arriving in the market twenty minutes later, you spot him standing near the entrance, waving at you enthusiastically.

“Hey,” he starts before gaze dropping on the bouquet you extend to him. “Wha—”

You mumble, “These are for you...”

His eyes grow wide. “I… Thank you.” He breathes out. “Wow, this is so unexpected. I don’t know what to say.”

You let out a sheepish chuckle.

“So…” He observes the bouquet. “You bought these flowers from my shop and you’re giving them to me.”

At his words, you blink as realisation dawns on you. “Uh, oh right I—” You stammer, flustered.

And Hoseok laughs at your cuteness. “Aww, that’s okay. I’m just joking. But, thank you. It’s really meaningful.”

“You know the meaning of the flowers?”

He grabs your hand, tugging you along into the market. “Of course. Hydrangeas means—”

“—grateful for being understood.”

“Thank you for being understanding.”

You both say simultaneously.

He stops, turning to you as his hand tightens on yours.

“I never got the chance to properly thank you.” You meet his gaze. “And, I really appreciate what you did for me these past few days — months — actually. I really can’t thank you enough.”

A soft smile decorates his lips. And before the both of you are able to say anything else, a familiar voice calls out Hoseok’s name. Turning your gaze to Jimin and his girlfriend, you greet them with a small ‘hello’ and a smile. As they walk closer, Jimin has a wary look on his face while his girlfriend responds to you with a smile of her own.

“Jimin…” You earn his attention. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He nods as his girlfriend and Hoseok gives both of you space.

“Look. About the other day, I know you had no intention of bringing Chatterbox to my store to mess things up. I just want to apologise, you just wanted to set things right and I blamed you for her actions which you have no absolute control over.”

“No, Y/N. I could have explained better that we’re going to just apologise — no drinking and no singing—”

“And it’s in the past,” you cut him off. “And that’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m really sorry for not trusting you,” Jimin sighs. “I thought they had really sung a few blocks away, but you still did not like it and drove them away.”

You shake your head. “Even though I hate their carolling so much, I would have tolerated it if they were singing a few blocks away. But they still sang in front of my store and that angers me.”

“I wouldn’t take your words lightly, Y/N.”

“I sure hope not,” you snort, but then a grin appears on your face. A genuine smile appears on Jimin’s face in return as he extends his hand. And you shake it with yours, finally making up.

Returning to Hoseok’s side, you both wander around the market and you take in the festivity of it all.

“Oh! Look at those skewers!” Hoseok points out in excitement. “Wanna go try it?”

You nod at him. “I’ll go wherever you want to go. I’ve never been to any of the winter markets.”

“Alright,” he answers giddily, taking your arm to loop around his own. “Don’t want you to get lost now.” Chuckling at that, he leads you towards the first food stall of the day.

People are smiling, laughing, and enjoying themselves and for once it does not bring as much bitterness as before. It’s been quite some time since you are able to feel this way without holding back. But you’re certain you’ll move on, little by little.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“That was really fun,” you laugh, walking back to your bookstore with Hoseok still glued on your side. Despite not being in a crowded place any longer, he refuses to let go of you.

“I’m glad you had fun,” he muses. “We should do this more often.”

“Hanging out in markets, trying out various kinds of food together?”

“Well, if you consider it a date,” Hoseok says as you reach your store.

“Are you asking me out, Jung Hoseok?” You fish out the keys, unlocking the door.

“You remember my whole name?” He teases.

You shoot him a playful glare, stepping inside. “I mean, I have a sharp memory when it comes to relevant people in my—” You stop, gaping at the sudden colourful hues of orchids and dahlias decorating the broken jukebox. “I… What—”

Hoseok watches you stride towards the jukebox, observing the flowers intently with your glassy gaze while he takes off his gloves. At that moment, you seem like a child finding a surprise gift from Santa. And if Hoseok could, he would like to keep this moment into his memory forever.

When you finally turn to him, you ask, “D-Did you do this?”

He nods. “It’s fake though, since we don’t want them to wilt and—” You lunge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as he nearly drops the bouquet you had given him earlier. Setting it down on the cashier counter, he wraps his arms around you as well in a tight hug with his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“It’s still beautiful, Hobi…” you murmur, breathing in his scent. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“I hope it would bring comfort to you, Y/N…”

Pulling away — still in his arms — you meet his gaze and blurt out, “Gosh, I swear I think I can kiss you right now.” The pair of you stiffen as heat rushes to your cheeks. “I-I mean—”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” he says, cupping your cheek. Leaning down to close the distance between you. You scan through his eyes for any signs of hesitance and when you find none, you close the remaining distance, meeting his lips with yours.

Everything happens so fast, but Hoseok is the only clarity at this moment as his hand on your waist moves up to cup your other cheek to deepen the kiss.

“Hobi...” You breathe out as he backs you against one of your shelves. “Hoseok—”

“Y/N...” he murmurs, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb as he looks into your eyes, gaze half-lidded. “Do you know what blue irises mean?”

You blink, still processing his question. “Hope… And faith?”

He chuckles, tucking your hair behind your ear. “It also means deep feelings when gifted to someone.”

Gaping, you stare up at his face.

“Is that how you feel? Towards me?”

You nod slowly.

He kisses your forehead softly and your eyes flutter shut. Interlacing your fingers together, he leans his forehead on yours while he whispers, “I feel the same way. I have feelings for you, Y/N.” He then mumbles, “I really, really like you, Y/N.”

“I really, really like you too, Hobi.” You meet his lips again. He smiles into the kiss.

When you both pull away to catch your breaths, you bury your face on the crook of his neck. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

And he kisses your temple, holding you tighter in his arms.

After punishing yourself over the loss of your parents, you had never given yourself a chance to move on. But you have known for quite some time that some part of you longed for a change. That is why you admire the Grinch who has a change of heart towards Christmas. Now with Hoseok by your side, you realise that you can move on as he encourages you to finally take a step forward. And for once you look hopefully to a happier future.

author’s note: honestly, i nearly turned this into a drabble series, but well, my writings are either too long or too short theres no in between so, oneshot it is sjdksjkfsd i hope you guys enjoyed it and as always, feedbacks are always appreciated !! if you’re interested in jimin’s story, you can find it here! thank you for reading 💕

[vore-scientist]

Like A Good Neighbor (sfw safe vore)

[M/nb vore with fearplay. safe soft oral non-sexual]

A tale of the Mystic Woods! Featuring Yonah HaEsh and Myran the Dwarf Witch and many other fun characters!

A story of bad first impressions and making new friends! Lots of GT, and a cute little adventure at a magical farmer’s market!

Warning: Careful there are references to Fa.tal! An example would be “ogres are far more likely to eat smallfolk than giants!” (implying that said actions are deadly). That is the extent of such references!

Other warning: mild harm during the immediate post-vore scene. Yonah just goes a little too far in scaring Myran.

——/——////——

“Did you hear?”

“Have you been told?”

“A new resident!”

“I haven’t checked it out myself! But Ms Zukkar told me-”

“A wizard!”

“Didn’t there used to be an old sorcerer there?”

“-new guy’s a witch!”

“So, hear about that new giant!”

“A giant wouldn’t fit in that tower! And wizards is all human!”

“A criminal, on the run they say”

“Maybe a magician? They like towers sometimes!”

“His Majesty wouldn’t hire a criminal!”

“-supposed to be evil?”

There were so many rumors being flung around that the dwarf witch Myran Gamadin decided to see for themselves and set out to investigate. Undoubtedly there was a new resident. The story was that he was a Mage, and a criminal, but also just expelled from The Academy of Wizardry. And a giant? That was strange, the old tower was much too small for a giant! Even if it was magic it was only 10ft taller than your average giant in the first place. However… they did hear about the trial of a giant recently… stuff that happened in the civilized court didn’t really concern those in the Woods.

“Why would you go to see a villain? You’re not evil!”

The World’s Largest™ Maine Coon cat trotted alongside the handsome young dwarf, looking more like an oddly fluffy pony than a cat.

“It’s important to know your neighbors! Even the evil ones!”

Siv flicked his tail up into his witch’s face.

“And he’s got to be just a young man! So young and the expectations on evil mages is so high! He will appreciate a friendly face!” Myran had done the math. If this Mage hadn’t even graduated from The Academy, he was at most 23. Unless he started his education late. But they doubted this.

“Why are we walking! You have your broom!” the cat complained.

“That’s for the tower, Siv. It’s one of those designed by assholes who think it’s clever to have the only entrance be the window at the top.”

“Hrfff,” said Siv.

“Do you think he will appreciate the house-warming gift? I didn’t really spend much time on it…”

“Fresh fish would be better.”

“Maybe if he were a cat. This is for a Mage.”

“Clippings of magical plants? Maybe for another witch. This is someone who was studying Wizardry.”

“Wizards use magical plants too!”

“Yeah, they buy them from witches!”

As the pair stepped out of the trees, they froze.

“I think he’ll like the gift,” Siv admitted as he And Myran stood in awe at the largest magical garden either of them had ever seen.

It wasn’t even finished yet! Plots of earth were freshly turned, and piles of wood, half built into beds that lay in patterns across the clearing. And massively spread apart. At least 3 meters between plots. And the finished ones. Well. They already had some amazing specimens. Even if they were just sprouting. Myran noticed the Twisted WyrmFern and harpy’s breath; delicate, but common magical plants that were being used to test out the soil. It was working great.

The garden did make Myran worry a bit.

Maybe this wasn’t a wizard at all! It could be a witch. And he could be very evil indeed. Even evil witches treated their gardens with the utmost care and attention.

But they had come this far. And the tower that looked over the garden was calling to them. Well. Not really. The green-black thorny vines screamed “STAY AWAY!” But when one had a flying broomstick, one didn’t need to heed such warnings.

Flipping their broom around like a baton, they sat side saddle and Siv hopped on the end, somehow managing to balance his prodigious fluff. They took off. And flew into the window.

“WOAAAHHH!”

It was like hitting an unexpected and large wave on a boogie board, but a magical one that flowed through the body! And Myran had never been to the ocean, so it made their brain swim.

The room, which from the outside looked normal, was anything but. The rumors of this being a giant were not just rumors.

This place was HUGE!

And yet, it was much too small.

Growing up, Myran had visited some giant villages with their family. They hadn’t been THAT much smaller then, but the houses and items in the village were definitely much larger. While giant mages certainly existed, they had their own traditions and made their own supplies.

This looked exactly like the workshop for a young wizard, with additions for the wizard being a giant. It was wild to see some of the common arcane tools at such an immense scale.

Flying over, Myran saw that the resident Mage had an ancient book under a magnifying glass, and had been translating it, with notes and commentary. Spell equations and diagrams were additionally copied in a dedicated smaller notebook.

While it was surely a fascinating read, they could tell at a glance the notes were somewhere in the middle of an involved spell, and they didn’t want to be the reason the Mage lost his place. The workbench had plenty of other diverting materials.

Siv had no interest in such things and curled up against the base of the magnifying glass. The sun hit the metal through the window, making it quite warm.

Myran put their broom down and explored the desk. There were several magical tombs! Rare ones! They flipped through and saw fresh handwritten notes tucked inside. Smart, this mage did not want to tarnish the original pages. There was also an open notebook and a few spell components laid out.

They stepped carefully back onto the notebook to get a better idea of what this wizard was up to. The notebook was written in giant, which Myran wasn’t fluent in but got the gist of. So this was indeed a giant wizard. Fascinating.

That’s what they were thinking until...

FEE FI FO FUM!

Myran nearly jumped out of their boots.

No longer fascinating. Very bad. Very dangerous! They’d heard stories that quoted these lines, classic, even amusing. However, hearing them bellowed by an actual giant nearly stopped their heart. These words were so loud and so immediately panic-inducing, especially when accompanied by thundering footsteps.

I SMELL THE BLOOD OF THE-

There was a pause and maybe a stutter

DWARVEN KIND!

The trap door off center in the room burst open and a giant with a mane of black hair, a trimmed goatee, and a wizard’s hat, climbed out. He was smiling, snarling, showing off impressive fangs.

USELESS TO FLEE, USELESS TO FIGHT, FOR YOU WILL BE MY MEAL TONIGHT!

Eat them!? Oh No. Myran scrambled to their feet as the giant advanced.

Siv had gone catatonic, or nearly, and fled behind the mirror. But Myran just stood there. The next thing they knew, they were in the giant's fist… AND THEN IN ITS MOUTH! There was a brief moment where they thought the giant was going to bite them in half… but no. Worse than that, the giant fulfilled his promise to make a meal of Myran by swallowing them whole.

Never had Myran imagined themselves in this predicament. Witches, as far as they knew, were not prone to being eaten by giants! Giants ate thieves, slayers, adventurers! Though... giants were known to occasionally eat random people that happened to be rude to them as they went about their business.

Myran had not been rude! They just hadn’t had a chance to be polite! This giant had no business eating them.

Not that any of this was actually going through Myran’s mind. Oh no. Myran’s thoughts were preoccupied with panicking about their impending doom!

First, they tried to stop the giant from swallowing. But the teeth threatened to crunch their limbs if they dared to try and find purchase! So, failing that, they tried to slow their progress down his esophagus.

The problem was the walls were too damn slippery! They knew that their slow progress was merely due to the tight fit, as they couldn’t stretch out. The flesh was too tough.

Right before they started to worry about suffocating, they were deposited into a large chamber, sliding into a puddle of nasty smelling fluid. They took a regretful breath of the rancid air.

Yonah sighed as the dwarf left his throat and settled into his stomach. Small yet still filling.

He patted his stomach lightly. “A bit disappointing. Dwarves don’t taste nearly as good as most other smallfolk, but I’m not complaining.” His prey thrashed and yelled but didn’t seem to be coherent.

YEOWCH!

Something bit his hand and he waved it violently. Whatever it was released and smacked into the wall that the desk was up against, crumpled into a motionless pile. Curious and momentarily forgetting his snack, Yonah investigated.

A cat!? And still alive but unconscious. Why had a cat attacked him? Then he saw the abandoned broom next to his notebook. And his stomach twisted.

“You’re— not a thief!” Technically, he could eat anyone he wanted, he wasn’t restricted to adventurers. He was still figuring out what kind of villain he wanted to be. Such self exploration would take time, time the person he ate didn’t have.

“I’m a witch!” He heard them squeak.

“A witch? Invading the lair of a wizard? Are you stupid!” He poked at them. They didn’t like that.

“Let me out!!”

So Yonah spat them up, sooner than he would have liked to, and leaned over them with a frown and glowing eyes.

The moment the witch hit the desk, the cat woke up and was between him and the witch as it hissed.

The witch was shaking and coughing, glancing at him with wide fearful eyes.

“If you’re a witch then what the fuck were you doing in my tower?” Yonah demanded.

The witch was still in shock but recovered enough to speak. “I’m… Myran! I wanted to introduce myself!”

“A likely story! Why would anyone want to introduce themselves to me?” Yonah wasn’t really in the mood for conversation, but figured he could use the practice at evil banter.

“You’re… new to the forest” they coughed.

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m your neighbor!” they said,

Yonah narrowed his eyes, “The forest is constantly moving, no such thing as neighbors.”

“I figured I’d try to be friendly!” they continued as if he hadn’t replied. “Everyone was talking about the new mage in the tower, but no one had any definitive stories.”

Another mistake. The giant snarled.

“You are a fool then! I don’t want any friends!” He hesitated briefly as he said it, not sure of the truth, but recovered fast. “But I don’t want you spreading rumors about my mercy either…” he picked them back up. Gripping them hard and getting their right arm between his teeth. He didn’t bite their arm off, but broke the skin with a fang and pinched their hand. They yelled.

“Stop! Stop! I won’t tell! I won’t tell!”

He dropped them and they sat, crying, holding their bleeding arm and hand which was turning a plum purple.

“Good,” he hissed steam in their face, scalding the skin red as his eyes glowed bright orange. “Now get the fuck out before I eat you for real!” He flicked the broom at them. “And if you ever show your face around here again, I will.”

Finally, they listened to him. They got onto the broom along with their cat and with a burst of magic kicked into the air and fled out the window. Yonah watched until they disappeared, then sat down. His hair hadn’t been smoking before but it was now. Additionally, his eyes still glowed.

His first visitor in months wasn't an adventurer and he’d eaten them without a second thought! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Maybe this was his destiny. For years he’d trained himself to be restrained. Keep his anger in check, Keep his half giant identity a secret and become a wizard. But that had all gone to shit when he’d been discovered not as just a half giant, but as a half fire witch. Chased out of the academy but captured by the authorities of Orr.

Forced to sign a contract with King Ben to become his new pet monster! So why not be a monster!?

But he still wanted friends… his friends from the academy weren’t allowed to visit him. His tower of magic and wonder was so empty. He put his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands.

~chink~ his elbow brushed against something.

He looked down and saw a broken clay pot, the soup spilling out and a seedling now helpless and exposed on the desk.

Quickly yonah dipped his fingers into a pouch at his side and licked it, saying a spell. With a puff of smoke he stood on his desk, a mere 8ft tall, and he knelt down.

With his more appropriately sized hands he gathered the soil and with a wave of his hand and another mutter the pieces of the pot shook and flew back into their original places. The pot was… functionally repaired. The proper repair spell required materials to fuse the pieces properly. So it wouldn’t hold water, but it could hold soil.

As he scooped it back in, a piece of paper fell from the loose soil. Curious he dug it back out of the pot and cleaned it off enough to read:

“Welcome to the Mystical Woodlands new neighbor! This seedling is from my own garden. A special cultivation of Frozen Thyme.”

The moment he read it he was instantly planning where this would go in his garden. But… this gift. Did he deserve it? He’d eaten the one who brought it. He chased them away!

He couldn’t accept this gift but he couldn’t just let the seedling wither and die. It didn’t deserve that. And thus, his brain rationalized a way for him to keep the gift. So now what?

Yonah’s brain was too full of rage to do any proper work, so he decided to take it out on the garden, which was still in a state of construction. He’d already torn up old dead pieces of the overgrown mess left behind by the predecessor. Now he was digging spots for flower beds and what would hopefully be an orchard. There was even a designated spot for herbs.

The reason this was slow going was he refused to use magic. For the most part. Thankfully, being giant made digging and construction easier. Now that he had the thyme, he prioritized the herb beds. It was with a sour pride that he completed one as the sun started to go down.

A large wooden box that curved in a lovely arc close to the tower. The wood was specially imported from his The Blue Sky Mountain Giants Tribe in the Implausible Mountains, the smell of it reminding him of home. The frozen thyme seedling was given enough space to grow. He even gave it some friends that he knew would be compatible.

With his mind a little more at ease, he managed to get himself to sleep.

And awoke the next morning with an ache in his heart and a new plan in his brain.

For the first time since he arrived in this prison of a forest, he ventured beyond the boundaries of his clearing. Yonah knew he was allowed, a certain distance from his tower, to walk the forest. It had just seemed pointless. Not wanting to draw too much attention, he wore his gardening outfit: a pink plaid button up and light blue overalls. He had a straw hat that he recently wove to be a wizard hat, as well as his wizard staff. He couldn’t really leave that behind.

The trees in the forest were shorter than back home, but still very large. Thankfully he didn't have to duck so much to avoid branches. In his mind was a list of ingredients he needed to find. Foraging in the forest might seem like a fruitless endeavor, but when you have the keen nose of a giant, tracking down wildberries was a simple feat.

What a bounty! A huge patch of bramble with perfectly ripe berries. He didn’t need a giant’s amount and they would just get squashed if he tried to pick them at his normal size so once again he shrank down. He retrieved a basket from his hat and started to pick berries.

About ten minutes in, the bush began to shift! A section opened up and out ran a gnome with a garden spade. It smacked into his hand mid berry pick.

“Stop! Thief!”

SMACK SMACK!

Yonah was so startled he backed away and returned to his normal size, the basket of berries spilling over.

The gnome yelped. “Giant!” They dropped the spade. “Don’t eat me! Take berries! Don’t eat me or family!”

There was something satisfying about the gnome’s fear and Yonah grinned, “While you would make for a nice little snack,” he said, “I’m not in the mood for gnome today.”

The gnome shook and took up the spade again, pointing it at him as if that would help. From inside the bushes, Yonah heard rustling, and smelled more gnomes. This must cover their burrow.

“Put that away, or I might change my mind!” Yonah growled, showing his fangs. The gnome complied, tossing it aside.

“But you are also in luck. I am not interested in being a berry thief. I have more honor than that. If you would permit me to buy some of your berries, at a discount for me not making a meal of you and your family, I will leave you in peace”

The gnome gulped and nodded, “Am… sure we can make a deal.”

“Pick up the ones I already picked, will you?” Yonah ordered.

The gnome scrambled. “You will need more?”

Yonah nodded. The gnome whistled. And a troupe of younger gnomes carefully came out of the bramble.

“Kind giant has offered to buy some berries. Exchange for not eating us!”

The kids looked nervous and their fear didn’t spark the same kind of joy as the adults. But Yonah had a reputation to build! And he had to admit, it was still a bit fun.

He watched as the gnomes gathered berries until the basket was full and the adult gnome put it down in front of where Yonah had sat down. He picked it up and took off his hat, dropping it in and noticed the gnome’s eyes get wide. Storage space items were not uncommon, but storage hats were tools of professional mages, not common folk.

“That all?” the gnome asked.

Yonah stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Yes. I think so.” He reached into this hat. While he didn’t have a lot of money, Ben had supplied him with funds should he need them, and he had distributed the rings between his various pocket spaces. He got out a large wooden dowel upon which hung many metal rings. Small ones and large ones. With a pair of tweezers, yonah removed a few silver rings and one gold ring and put them into his palm, placing it up in front of the gnome.

Who did not take it.

“Do not insult me by refusing my payment,” Yonah insisted but the gnome did not move.

“More than we charge normally… You wanted discount: berries, a silver a pound!”

Yonah blinked. He still wasn’t good with smallfolk money. When purchasing as a giant, you purchased such large amounts it always cost at least a gold.

“Oh? Er-” he didn’t want to actually exploit these gnomes. “I'm not taking it back! Take the money Or I’ll eat you!” his voice faltered and the gnomes looked a little confused, and a little more relaxed.

“Leave us alone then, yes?” The gnome reached out a hand. Yonah nodded. The gnome finally took the money, giving each of the kids a silver ring. Any fear the kids had was gone as soon as they studied their rings and looked at Yonah with excitement. It was hard not to let the warmth in his heart at their expressions show on his own face.

“Actually!” Yonah announced as the gnomes started to back away into their burrow.

The adult stopped and looked nervous again. Yonah huffed. “I’m not going to eat you, I never was. I just have a question.”

The gnome ushered the kids away, not trusting Yonah, before turning back to the giant. “And if don’t have a good answer, you won’t eat… right?”

With a sigh Yonah shook his head, “No. I won't.”

“Then ask.”

Yonah took a breath, “I am... looking to get some ingredients. I… lashed out at someone recently and I very much regret it, and want to make some amends. I have giant ones back home but… giant sized ingredients do not taste as strong as small ones. Do you know where, or who, I might be able to look for?”

The gnome smiles, “Yes! Mystical Market. Sell our berries there. Open today, also gnome holiday.” They gave Yonah the instructions on how to find the market.

“Thank you- er…” Yonah put a hand to his chest and bowed.

“Kalle” said Kalle.

“Yonah,” said Yonah. The gnome bowed as well, “Don’t be flaunting riches, mysterious half giant. Marketeers take advantage”

Riches!? He did not have endless funds. He would have to be more careful with his spending.

“I am also looking for… Er... Shit!” he exclaimed and was glad the kids were no longer outside, “I don't know their name. Dwarf witch.”

Kalle considered, “Know them. Likes almond cookies. Sorry. Market easier find than people. That all?”

From their tone of voice, Yonah knew the gnome desperately wanted to get back to their family. It was a holiday after all. Yonah stood up and nodded, leaving without subjecting them to any more conversation.

Almond cookies? That changed things. He had only made almond cookies once! He needed a little more help. However, he did not backtrack to the tower. He knew that if he went back, he would lose motivation. Locating the market was his current task.

Unfortunately, it took some luck. According to the gnome, it was a special place that one happened to come across, just by wanting to be there. The more familiar you were with it, the better chance there was of that happening. Yonah really really wanted to be there. So he gathered his will and set off in a random direction.

After an hour of walking yonah felt a weird tingle all over his arms and legs. Like his hair was standing on end and all pointing in the same direction. Had he entered some magical field? No matter, he was fairly immune to passive magic.

Then he took another step and a jolt of magic electricity surged through his body, causing him to freeze up. Before he could collapse, he felt as if a giant hook had caught around his middle. There was no physical hook, but it still yanked him back, pulling in through the forest.

Eventually it stopped and finally Yonah fell over, breathing shallowly as his heart raced. He rolled onto his back and stared up into the trees.

“What’s the big idea!?” Someone kicked him in the side and he sat up. “You’re blocking the way!”

An elf!

Yonah frowned. “You’re so bold for someone I could crush with a finger!” To tease the elf, he poked them in the chest.

“YEOWCH!”

For the second time that day, Yonah got bitten. This time, it was the elf who sank their fangs into his finger, letting go before Yonah pulled away.

“Don’t get sassy with me! Messing with smallfolk isn’t allowed in the market, you'll be banned!”

Yonah looked around “The market?”

He had assumed it was the Mystical Market because it was in the Mystical Woodlands. But now he realized that the name was rather accurate. An entire marketplace incorporated into the forest itself. Stalls and restaurants built into the trees, with carts parked in between. The trees here were also… there was no other word for it: majestic. Larger and older and, compared to the forest he had been exploring before, more deliberate spacing. He couldn’t even see all of it. The forest stretched on for a while, and thus was obscured by the very trees that made up the shops.

There were even buildings in the branches so that ogres, trolls, and giants did not have to bend down to make transactions. He even spotted a few trolls. Amazing! Trolls (and ogres) were much more likely than giants to eat smallfolk. Giants mostly threatened unless the person in question did something really, really stupid.

And yet, there was a troll, large with brown fur and green spots, purchasing a roll of fabric from the elevated section of a gnome shop.

“Yes you idiot, the market! And my cart won't fit through any other path! Move your giant ass or I’ll get the guard to move it for you!”

His elation at having found the market was in conflict with his pride that was being so insulted by this little creature.

“Apologize for biting me, and I’ll consider it!”

The elf looked indignant. “You threatened to squash me! MAGEN!!” they yelled.

Thunderous footsteps were heard and Yonah turned as a proper, full blooded giant, made her way through the shoppers, somehow avoiding stepping on anyone. She was maybe 17, but full grown and taller than Yonah by at least ten feet. Her skin was a light greyish pink and her eyes were a dark red. She wore a lovely headpiece of woven flowers and vines to look like hair, which full giants do not have.

She knelt “This man bothering you?”

The elf nodded. Yonah threw his hands up, “Hey! I don’t mean any trouble!”

“He threatened to squash me!”

The giant glared at Yonah, who glared back.

“How largefolk deal with smalls outside of the market is their own business,” she said. “But inside the market we do not even threaten to squash, or kick, or stomp, or eat!”

“I did not intend to and I did not know I was in the market! I have never been before!” Yonah stood up so that he was not at such an extreme height disadvantage. Magen was a rather short mountain giant, only 35ft tall.

She nodded, “I can believe that.” She stood up. “I would have remembered you for sure.” She sniffed and said in implausible Giant: “You are from the blue sky tribe?”

“Yes! I am.” he answered, also in Giant. “I just moved to the forest. I was looking for the market but… I must have… hit something magic. I sort of fell into here”.

The elf took the opportunity to weave their cart around the giants’ feet, disappearing into the market.

“Ah, the seller seems to no longer push this issue. My name is Magen.” she introduced, bowing.

“Yonah HaEsh,” Yonah answered in return.

“HaEsh! I know the name. Fire man who helped save the Implausible Mountains from the Society of Wizards!”

“That’s my dad,” Yonah said, a little embarrassed.

“Mom told me the story! How exciting!”

Yonah brushed himself off and glanced around, “So... What are the rules here, then?”

Magen shrugged, “Just don’t start fights, alright? All sales are final, so don't go making a fuss if you haggled wrong or think you got cheated unless you believe your items are defective. There are ways to deal with fraudulent goods, but we cannot risk collateral damage.”

“Does that happen often?” Yonah asked, “I only mean to buy food, I can tell if that’s fresh”

“Oh, you have a giant’s nose then. Good. It does not happen often. Makes my job easier. And I usually manage to break up confrontations before they get out of hand.”

Knowing he could likely sniff out the stalls he needed, Yonah asked if Magen could show him around and help him find all the items on his list. She happily agreed. He had to walk behind her as there wasn’t room for two giants to be side by side.

As she carefully led him, she took glances back and down Yonah who was getting a little nervous. It had been a while since he encountered other giants. He was watching his feet to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone, and he was stopping constantly to look into the shops and stalls and carts.

“What is it like, being half giant?” Magen asked, who somehow managed to walk without looking at her feet very often at all. Maybe Yonah was being too careful and people here knew to stay out of the way of largefolk's feet… Still, he didn't want to take chances.

“Er… I have hair, I guess?” he said.

“I was wondering if that was natural or a wig.” Magen brushed the vines spilling from her head.

“But mostly, things were just a bit inconveniently large for me. I still managed.” Then he countered. “What’s it like being a guard in the market?”

“The shopkeepers pool money to have me stand around, mostly. Smallfolk behave when an angry giant is within earshot.” She grinned with all her fangs.

“I thought you said giants couldnt mess with smallfolk here?” Yonah inquired.

“You can’t. It’s my job to interfere,” Magen retorted. “I haven't hurt anyone… badly. I’ve only worked here for a year. But I know everyone and everyone knows me!”

They stopped at a stand selling nuts and Yonah purchased the almonds he needed. The seller seemed a bit disappointed that he bought so few.

“Shopping for someone small?” Magen asked.

“Er- yeah.” Yonah said. They both had to back between trees to let a trio of trolls go by. One was only 10 feet tall and barely came up to Yonah’s waist, but another was nearly 20 feet! They carried baskets and bags on their furry backs, and even had some tied to their tusks!

Before they continued, two elves leapt from the tree nearby and onto Yonah’s shoulders! He was about to brush them off when Magen stopped him.

“Don’t! They are just hitching rides!” At that, he spotted more elves on her head. “You need honey, yes? I know the best shop!”

He followed Magen around the market, which was much larger than he had realized. The elves had no qualms about leaping on and off him and other largefolk shoppers and eventually he ignored them. Magen even helped him avoid making a bad deal for oat flour, saying she couldn’t believe the nerve of the shopkeeper trying to take advantage of a new resident.

Before Yonah left, he wanted to properly thank Magen. “If there is anything I can do to show thanks. Perhaps er-” he looked around.

“You know, the juice stand behind that tree has new flavors I’ve wanted to try. How about you buy me a drink? You should get one too. It’s very refreshing!”

“They make them giant sized?” Yonah asked.

“Oh, they are made by ogres!” Magen replied, rounding the indicated tree.

Ogres, kin of trolls and even more dangerous due to their magical powers. Typically smaller than trolls, but that was not the way to tell them apart.

An entire family of ogres were operating a massive open storefront. Jugs hung from branches or were strapped to the trunks of trees and fruit swung in baskets. Behind the counter was an elaborate prep station operated by two large ogres. Around the entire display were platforms sticking out from the nearby trees. Smallfolk sat on stools enjoying drinks and food at an elevation that made it easy to be served by the ogres. Magen walked up to the counter, which was not at an ideal height for her but was easily manageable. She spoke to an ogre with straw colored fur, blue spots, and large horns.

“Edna! I’d like two passion fruit smoothies please! One giant sized and one…” She glanced back at Yonah. “Full Troll sized!” She stepped aside and pointed at Yonah. “He’s paying”

Edna nodded and passed on the order.

Yonah stepped forward. Bowing “Yonah HaEsh”. She bowed back, “Edna Baneclaw. That will be a gold bracelet for the giant and half for the full troll”

Yonah’s heart nearly stopped. A gold bracelet and a half !? He looked at Magen who flashed her fangs mischievously then back at Enda.

Edna smiled as well. “We don’t have enlarged passion fruit, not in high demand by largefolk.”

With another glare at Magen, Yonah fished into his hat. He didn’t have gold bracelets but he had rings. 10 silver to a gold. Rings to Rings. Bracelets to Bracelets… 10 gold rings to a silver bracelet… 10 silver bracelets to a gold ring. That’s 100 gold rings to a gold bracelet (he had really overpaid the gnomes for the berries... A holiday gift he supposed), but this was not money to spend on frivolous fruit drinks!

Too late, however. The drinks were ready, and he carefully removed golden rings from silver bracelets. 50 gold rings and 10 silver bracelets exchanged for two smoothies. They came in wooden cups with bamboo straws.

This better be fucking worth it. Yonah took a sip.

His eyes widened as the cool icy tart concoction hit his taste buds and he took a long drink. Finally, he looked at Magen and then Edna. “This is incredible!” he exclaimed. Magen grinned and sipped hers as well. “Yeah. Too bad we’re the last two to have some for at least a month!”

“What do you mean?”

“That took all the passion fruit we had,” Edna informed. “Won't get more for a while”

“Worth it! Suck it smallfolk!” Magen teased the people on the platforms, a few looked a bit annoyed, but most didn't seem to care. She didn't seem to care either.

“Well it was nice meeting you, Yonah. I hope to see you again. Oh, and by the way, you can return your mug to the ogres for a silver bracelet, even if you take it home today!”

Yonah glanced at his drink. “Oh! Thanks for letting me know. But where are you going?”

Magen sipped at her smoothie loudly before answering. “This was my break, silly, I need to go back on proper duty now, and you have all your things.” Magen held out her free hand and Yonah shook it, bidding her goodbye. It was getting late in the day now and he wanted to get to work on the almond cookies.

Wait… which way was back to the tower? How could he be so stupid wandering off like this!? His mom taught him better than that. Forest ranger rule number 1: DON’T GET LOST. ...okay, so that wasn’t really a rule. It was supposed to imply that you paid attention to where you were going so you could get back. This was not so easy in the Mystic Woods.

The moment he had walked far enough away from the market, he turned forward and then back, and it was already gone. He had nowhere to go but forward.

It was to his great surprise that only a minute later, he exited the dense trees and found himself in the clearing. The tower was on the opposite side. While he was elated to have made it back safely before dark, there was a distinct absence of any gladness to be home. This was not his home, after all. It was his prison.

Yonah HaEsh climbed up the tower and back into his prison. He took off his hat and sat down at his desk in the workshop, staring into the reflection on the large, ornate mirror that rested upon it.

To do this right, he needed help. Professional help. So he activated his mirror. Or at least… tried. He stared at his own reflection, then spoke. “Mirror Mirror on the desk,” he faltered, “Could you please connect me to Shoshana at the academy?”

The mirror snorted. “You think politeness will work after all this time? I don’t make exceptions. This is why your friends think you’ve forgotten about them! Put in the effort! Ask me properly or don't at all.”

“They’ve called me!!” Yonah insisted, but the mirror said nothing in response. Just like he would do when he got calls from his friends. Yonah growled and snorted back at the mirror, fogging it up. “Mirror Mirror, oh magical vanity, I wish to call Shoshana, at the wizard academy”

There was a whistle from the mirror. “Now that’s how you do it!” it praised. The fog cleared and for a brief moment, he saw his own face again before the reflective surface turned grey. Another moment and the face of his friend Shoshana emerged.

“Yonah!!!” she exclaimed. “You called! I cannot believe it!”

Yonah’s face turned a bit red. “I’ve… been distracted.”

Shoshana waved her hand, stopping any further excuses. “You’ve been through so much! I was worried! Since we graduated, you haven't called at all!”

/I never called before either... / Yonah thought. /It was always you.../ When Grand Master Sean reinstated him as a wizardling student, his friends would call regularly to work on homework and their theses, as he wasn’t allowed to actually attend the school in person. And while he attended the graduation…

That wasn’t a happy memory at all and he didn’t want to think about how he sat behind all the students in the amphitheater in magic chains looking more like a beast one of the adventuring tract students had wrangled for their final than a student.

“I need a recipe!” he said.

Shoshana raised her brows “That’s it!? First call in over a month, and it’s to get a recipe! You don’t want to catch up at all?!” Yonah’s eyes flickered and Shoshana backed off. “Alright, I can see you’re not in the mood. But please, we’re all missing you so much. We’d assumed you embraced the evil hermit wizard life.”

“I… haven’t meant to. But it’s surprisingly easy,” he admitted, grinning awkwardly. “I’d rather not go full hermit, of course.”

“Well, then dont go a month without calling your friends!” Shoshana chided. “Or make some new friends! The forest is full of interesting people, right?”

Yonah looked away, but his eyes were probably glowing orange now.

“This… is for that.”

“Oh!” Shoshana exclaimed, “I should have figured! Of course, I will give you whatever recipe you’d like.”

Yonah got out his ingredients to show Shoshana and explained what he wanted to bake. She nodded and made some suggestions for ingredients and spices to really make these cookies great. He did not have all the supplies she suggested, which led to some back-and-forth as Shoshana pointed out some substitutions for what Yonah bought or already had in his tower.

“Got that all down?” she asked, as she watched Yonah scribble out the final lines to the recipe.

“Yes!” Yonah exhaled in relief. “Thank you so much, Shosh!”

“Next time, we will catch up properly, but I had fun designing this recipe!” Shoshana chirped. “What a challenge. I wish you had called first, before just buying random ingredients.”

“I was already in the forest, Shosh.”

“I know, I know.” Shoshana blew Yonah a kiss and the mirror flickered back to his reflection.

It was time to bake! Which he did after shrinking down.

By the time he was done baking his jam print almond cookies, it was past midnight. He needed sleep and didn't think finding the witch at night was a particularly wise idea, especially since he was getting tired. That meant he was extra likely to be grumpy and irritable. So he placed the cookies in a special cooling rack to keep them magically fresh, then went to bed.

It was right after breakfast that Yonah HaEsh left the tower and, for the second time, entered the forest.

Once again, he had no direction, not that one could in the Mystic Woods. It wasn't even possible to have a map unless it was incredibly magical. Still, he was determined and willing to wander the forest for days if he must! But he’d do so at his full size, which would allow him to cover more ground.

That’s… That’s a witch’s hut! He hoped it was the correct one. It was more of a mound than a hut, with one side covered in rocks and moss and the other a more sheer side with windows, plus a flatter side with a door.

As he approached, a garden came into view and he heard a yelp before watching a small figure dart into the hut and close the curtains. The door opened briefly and a hand hung a sign that read “NO SOLICITORS”

That was the evil giant! Why was he here!? Why did the forest let him find the hut!? Was he here to eat them?! To finish the job!? Could they take on a giant fire witch?! Myran was a damn skilled witch, and at least 15 years the giant’s senior by their estimate, but they were quaking in their boots.

A knock sounded at their door. It didn’t sound forceful enough to be a giant. Siv was in front of them, hissing at the door. Thinking it better to be safe, they peeked out the window, then ran to open the door. Just a crack.

Red faced and holding a basket was… the giant. Only he wasn’t giant. Not exactly. He now stood at about twice Myran’s height. A little less actually. Right. Wizard. Giant wizard.

“May I come in?”

“Depends… what’s in the basket?” They narrowed their eyes. “I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

The wizard’s face got redder as he removed the cover. They opened the door and stood aside. They took the basket with their right hand… Yonah hesitated. Their arm had a massive scar from shoulder to elbow, but the hand was unbroken. The Dwarf noticed and gave him a hard look as he crouched low to get through the dwarf sized door, Siv still hissing at him in warning.

Myran put the basket on the kitchen table and motioned to the couch. “Please, sit.” Yonah did. The couch was small for him but it took his weight. “I’m going to be honest.” Myran leaned against the kitchen table and crossed their arms. “This is quite the unexpected visit.”

“Oh?” Yonah said. Of course, it made sense. He chased them out. Why would he then try to find them again?

“You bit me!” Myran reminded him harshly. “You broke my hand, and you said if you saw me again, you would eat me. Again. And kill me.”

/Ohhhh/

Yonah’s breath caught before managing to say. “I did… didn’t I?” He looked down at his feet.

Myran. sighed. “Yep. Though eating me at your current size would be an impressive feat. So... What the fuck are you doing here? Besides bringing me cookies to fatten me up.”

“I’m not-!” He looked back up to defend himself and saw their cheeky grin. “I didn’t come here to eat you…” They raised an eyebrow in sarcastic disbelief. “I want to apologize. For what I said… What I did. After I ate you. I was so angry. I still am, though mostly at myself. I shouldn't have hurt you. It wasn’t right.” He was almost crying. Dammit, he’d gone nearly a month without crying!

“And for eating me?”

“Huh?” Yonah was thoroughly confused.

“You’re sorry for what happened after you ate me, but what about eating me?”

Yonah bit his lip, “I’m… I’m not sorry about that.”

The witch raised both eyebrows now, genuinely curious as to the workings of this monster’s thoughts.

“I’m supposed to eat people! Especially those who enter my tower unannounced. It’s part of my job! And… And I like it!” He startled himself with that statement. He liked his job? He didn’t even want this job!! He was forcefully employed by the King under threat of death! Being evil had never been his plan and he didn’t want that. Did he?

The witch didn’t look completely satisfied with this answer. But they didn’t get to inquire further as Yonah’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Er- your hand…”

Myran smiled “It was rather mangled by your jaws yesterday. Luckily, I am a very good healer, and well-known in this forest. If you had killed me, you would have had a lot of angry forest residents after your head.” Myran began preparing a pot of tea as Yonah Processed that statement. “You’re a lucky giant aren’t you?”

“What?” Yonah voiced. “For not killing you and putting a target on my back?”

“Yes, exactly. And that was curious. It is rare that evil giants are merciful.”

Yonah looked away, “I’ve only been evil for a few months. I… you’re the third person I’ve eaten at all. And I dont… I haven’t yet… killed anyone.”

That surprised Myran. “I guess I do not know the frequency that giants normally encounter adventurers… but what I meant was you’re lucky that you even get to eat people. Most giants like the taste of smallfolk but they don't actually eat them. It’s rather rare.”

“You said it yourself. Evil Giants eat people,” Yonah pointed out. “Which I am one. I guess it’s… nice that I get to eat folks. But it comes with a cost… It’s only a matter of time before slayers come after me.”

“Most evil giants kill their victims, right?” Myran asked.

Yonah shrugged “I met another one once. Said it depended on his mood.”

“Fascinating… though if you keep up your more merciful streak, perhaps you are less likely to attract slayers?”

“Perhaps…” Yonah had not considered that. He just felt he wasn’t ready to kill anyone yet, but maybe there were other perks than just a clear conscience in continuing to let his snacks go.

“Cracked some sort of code then?” Myran inquired. “Getting to eat people without attracting too much attention? Not that this would stop all slayers,” they added. “I expect you would kill a slayer?”

Yonah nodded, sniffed, and wiped his nose. In that case… Guess he was lucky. Indeed, he’d gotten to taste plenty of smallfolk. Plenty of giants did. It was unique that he’d had his human dad while growing up. But all of the smallfolk in the village knew that when giants kissed their hands, the giants were getting little tastes. Sometimes giants would lick a friend playfully or freak someone out. He’d had a few elvish and human friends growing up, and they sometimes let him and the other giant kids lick them during games of Jacks and Giants. And his academy friends were quite amused by his affections. He very much missed them. It had not taken long for him to get used to living amongst human friends, not just because he got to taste them. And so quickly, that was taken away from him. Friends…

As tears welled in his eyes he couldn’t look at Myran any longer. He closed his eyes and turned his face away. Should he keep talking? Shit, how much of that had he said out loud!? The words continued to come out regardless.

“I know I said I didn’t want any friends. But I do! I need them. And I know I can’t be your friend. You came to me and I fucked it up. But I beseech you to not tell everyone else in the forest to avoid me. I already went to the mystical market and-“

“You… how did you find out that I liked almonds!”

Yonah looked up. They weren’t looking at him but reaching into the basket for another cookie. They munched on it thoughtfully, not a crumb falling into their beard. The tea was ready and Myran poured it with magic, leaving their hands free to hold more cookies. They walked over to Yonah, the tea cups floating with. He took the larger one out of mid air. It was very hot! And he drank. It was… It tasted like tea he’d had at home. His village had alway gotten various teas from the dwarves. New tears came to his eyes.

“You alright?” Myran asked, offering a handkerchief. “You’re a very emotional evil giant.”

Yonah took it and dried his eyes. “The tea is… really good.” That wasn’t the real reason but right now he couldn’t process all of his emotions.

“It’s my grandma’s blend,” Myran said. “I’ve tried to replicate it using my garden, but you just can’t replicate those tunnel grown fungi.”

They dipped one of the cookies into the tea. From their expression, it wasn’t really a mistake but likely didn’t improve the experience. Still they munched thoughtfully.

“I’ll be your friend.”

Yonah’s jaw nearly hit the floor and he almost dropped his tea. It was a few seconds before he managed to pick his jaw back up. Were they serious? They walked over to him, placing their much smaller hand over one of his. Then they smiled most disarmingly.

“Just don’t eat me again.”

Yonah smiled.

“I think I can manage that”

[FIN]

——

(You can imagine that Yonah got to hug Myran before he left, probably a little too tight but dwarves are tough!)

THANKS FOR READING! PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED MY STORY!

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[firstofficerwiggles]

Dress Code, Part 1

Part 2, Part 3 (T rated), Part 3 (M rated)

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Some swearing, references to sexuality, mostly just fluff with some longing

Summary: You’re headed out to shop when Din takes issue with your dress

Word Count: ~3000

Author’s Note: This will be at least a two part story, possibly three parts if I can make it all connect well. This takes place at some point between seasons or maybe early on in Season 2. 

P.S. There’s a tiny nod to Ed Sheeran in this.

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“Is that what you’re wearing?” the Mandalorian’s gruff voice questions as you are getting the child ready for a day of supply shopping. It feels like forever since you’ve been off the ship and you are in dire need of fresh food and other essentials. You swear if you have to eat one more packet of reconstituted soup your taste buds will shrivel and die. You are also desperately looking forward to breathing in fresh air and feeling the sunshine on your skin again. As luck would have it, you’ve landed in a spot that is lush and green with a moderate climate, and as you flew by overhead you spied a bright and colorful village with a bustling marketplace.

Back home you never would have considered food shopping a reason for dressing up, but after many long months on a starship, these brief outings feel like a special event to you. In your eagerness to be outside again, you decided to wear a pretty sundress that you love. It hugs your curves in all the right places but still manages to be flowy and soft, plus you know this color is one of the most flattering for you. Ok, maybe you didn’t need to also do your hair and makeup quite this nicely, but you figured, why not? it made you feel good. Plus there was the added hope that maybe the Mandalorian would look at you for once as more than just a crew member. Not that you should want him to do that, you remind yourself strictly, he is your boss after all.

“I suppose it’s a little dressier than normal for shopping, but I think I look nice,” you respond smoothing your hands over the dress and feeling a small thrill of delight that at least he noticed the dress.

Din makes a hmpf sort of sound as if he wants to disagree with you but can’t bring himself to actually say anything definitive.

“What do you think, sweet baby?” you say with a wink to the child. He grins up at you and makes his happy cooing sounds. “He seems to like it.”

“Let’s get going,” Din says, ignoring your comment and handing you your cloak.

“I don’t need my cloak, Mando, it’s a warm, sunny day out there,” you tell him.

“So, you’re just going to go out, like that, exposed.” He is still holding out the cloak to you.

“Exposed?” you say with a laugh, “This is a perfectly respectable dress.”

“Your arms are naked and so are most of your legs and toes,” he points out. His hands are on his hips and he tilts his helmet as if his eyes are traveling down your body taking in the knee-length sundress and ending at your open-toed sandals. You feel your cheeks flush and the ship seems warmer all of a sudden as he scrutinizes your body.

“Mando, I know this is more skin than you’d ever show, but trust me, non-Mandalorian women dress like this all the time,” you reason with him. “Besides, I wasn’t aware this marketplace had a strict dress code.”

“What if it does?” he retorts.

“Seriously. Is that the best you can do?” You’re getting a little annoyed at him now, and as you think about it you realize he’s made a few off-hand comments recently about the way you dress. Why is he making this an issue?

Din knows he is being a pain in the ass about the dress and it has much more to do with him than he would care to admit. He’s noticed that you wear your prettiest clothes each time you leave the ship, but this is the first time he’s openly questioned you about it. When he hired you to help him out with the child, he thought you were much too beautiful and that it was probably a bad idea. Hell, everyone always has jokes about dads and hot nannies. But he also knew that was a really shitty and misogynistic reason to deny someone a job, so he hired you because you were clearly the best candidate. Din had been absolutely right in that area and he admired the way you had bonded with the child and cared for him as if he were your own. But still, lately everything you do has been driving him crazy with desire and he’s getting more frustrated by the day. Just yesterday he had walked in on you cooking dinner, playing music, and dancing around the ship’s tiny galley. He was transfixed as you swayed your hips to the beat and listened to the singer crooning to you that he was in love with your body. It had made him flee to the fresher for a cold shower just to calm down. Frankly, the sight of you in this dress is making him yearn for another cold dousing. Besides that, he knows that the moment you get to the marketplace, his eyes won’t be the only ones on you, a thought that makes his stomach churn with ill-placed jealousy, but one that does give him an idea for a better counter-argument.

“You’ll attract too much attention.” Din finally tells you soundly.

“Excuse me? Mr. Head-to-Toe Beskar? I attract too much attention.” You sound incredulous.

“I attract the right kind of attention that says, ‘back off’,” he replies, “but you attract horny male attention, that seems to say, ‘hang around and be a pain’.”

“Oh, puh-lease. I’m not the only one who can attract horny male attention, Mando,” you sass back at him with a playful look, “The galaxy takes all kinds, and who can resist a man in shining armor?”

“Well,” Din clears his throat and looks away for a moment, “that may be the case,” he mutters, but then he turns his visor back towards you, and says more confidently, “but the men you attract are much more aggressive and persistent.”

“Maker, Mando, that was like one time, and he took off after you punched him.” You will admit there was a scene a few weeks ago in a particularly rowdy cantina where some creep wouldn’t leave you alone, until the Mandalorian hauled off and hit him square in the nose. You had been mortified at the time that he had needed to do it, but you would also swear that Mando had enjoyed punching the guy.

“I didn’t like your dress that night either,” Din lies to you. He did like it but he didn’t like seeing other men like it too.

You roll your eyes at that comment and sigh, “Since when do you care so much about my clothing choices?”

“I care when they might bring you unwanted attention,” he insists, “I do feel a responsibility for your welfare even if you don’t seem to.”

“Well, listen, is there any chance you are going to let me wander around this marketplace alone?” you ask changing tactics.

“Hell no,” he replies swiftly.

“Ok, then, problem solved.”

“What do you mean ‘problem solved’?”

“I mean no one is going to bother me if you are by my side all day,” you explain. He crosses his arms at this, but he doesn’t have a response. “That creep in the cantina only got so bold because I was by myself at the bar while you were negotiating that bounty. I’m sure he wouldn’t have dared try anything if you had been right there.” You decide to take things a bit further in attempt to end this silly argument, “Would you care to make a wager?”

“A wager?” he’s curious now.

“If a man hits on me while you’re by my side, I’ll let you pick out my clothing for a month. However, if no one hits on me, you say nothing about my clothing for two months.”

“One month,” he counters.

“Alright, fine, one month, either way,” you agree. “But, it only counts if you are by my side, if you walk away from me all bets are off.”

“I won’t be walking away from you, and you better not wander off either,” he warns.

“Do we have a deal?” You hold out your hand for him to shake.

“Deal,” he says taking your hand.

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

Your little party picks their way through the marketplace with ease stopping by stalls of fresh fruit, vegetables, cheeses, breads, and a delectable selection of pastries that has the child reaching out with both hands from his floating pram. The sneaky rascal had got a particularly large one in his mouth before you even had a chance to make your selection. Thankfully the vendor was entranced by his adorable face and hadn’t been bothered at all by his momentary thievery. This village has been nice and you’re enjoying the day not just due to the lovely weather, but also because of your little competition with the Mandalorian. You’ve noticed men giving you appreciative looks, but you’ve been cozying up to your Mando as much as possible, even going so far as to put your hand in the crook of his arm at times as you walk through the streets. In a few instances you were a little worried you might lose the wager when a particularly enthusiastic vendor was trying to make a sale, but fortunately for you, everyone had stayed polite and focused on helping you make your selections.

Din could see that he was well on his way to losing this wager. Normally, that would irritate him thanks to his competitive nature, but spending time with you like this was worth it. He had the chance to watch your happy face as you strolled through the colorful market and to listen to you cheerfully greet people and negotiate prices to get the best bargains. There was such an easy enthusiasm about you as you took pleasure in something that otherwise would have been mundane. It made him feel more lighthearted too. Yet the best part of this shopping trip was how attentive you were being towards him. Din was thoroughly enjoying the way you checked with him before making final selections of your purchases, the way your hand touched his arm, and the way you kept looking over to him with a smile. You were even letting him place a hand on the small of your back at times as he guided you towards different stalls. He had been right about you drawing attention from other men, but apart from a few appreciative glances, they had stayed away, no doubt because to all outward appearances Din and you looked like a couple.

You’ve been making good progress on your shopping list, and there are just a few more items you want to get before heading back to the Crest. You know you are supposed to be focused on picking up the essentials for the next few weeks, but your eye is drawn to a jeweler’s stall nearby and the pretty pieces he has on display. You let yourself wander over as the Mandalorian follows.

“Good afternoon,” the vendor greets you cheerfully, “please take a look, it’s all my own work, handcrafted right here,” and he gestures to a workshop behind the stall. He has many beautiful items but one necklace in particular catches your eye. It is a pendant shaped like a flower and it looks to be made of some type of silver. The flower has a second shinier metal filigree on top creating a lovely design that is topped off with tiny silver balls that glint in the sunlight.

“Would you like to try it on?” the jeweler asks you.

“Oh, I’d love to,” you reply eagerly. You lift the pendant up and place it around your neck, and then try to clasp it, but with your hair in the way, you can’t seem to get it to latch.

“Allow me,” Din’s fingers replace your own. You lift your hair up for him, and then tell yourself to breathe as his gloves gently brush over your neck. Perhaps it’s your imagination, but it feels as if he lets his hands linger there longer than necessary. When he takes a step back, you whirl around and ask, “How does it look?”

“You look beautiful,” Din replies, more honestly than he planned, your eyes lighting up at his compliment. He watches you turn back around towards a mirror the jeweler has set up to admire the necklace yourself. His eyes are drawn back to the pendant which is now glittering just at the top of your cleavage enticingly. He watches your delighted face in the mirror, enjoying the simple pleasure of wearing something beautiful.

“Your wife has excellent taste,” the jeweler’s words cause Din to turn his head and come back to the rest of the world. “That’s one of my favorite pieces.”

“What it’s made of?” Din asks the jeweler, not bothering to correct him on the word ‘wife’.  

“It’s silver with beskar plating,” the jeweler explains, “I’m not surprised she likes it so much,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper and a slightly cheeky glance at the Mandalorian.

“How much?” Din asks.

You haven’t been paying any attention to Din and the jeweler; you’ve been too busy admiring the pretty necklace and imagining what it would be like to wear it to a special night out with your favorite dress. You’re so caught up in your daydreaming that it isn’t until you hear a merry laugh from the jeweler that you realize how long you’ve been staring at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks flush thinking that you must look so vain, and you turn to the jeweler and say, “Thank you so much for letting me try this on, but I suppose I better take it off now.”

“There’s no need, lovely lady, your husband has already purchased it for you,” he says with a grin.

You’re stunned both by the jeweler calling the Mandalorian your husband and with delight that he has bought you such a beautiful gift. Before you realize what you’re doing, you throw your arms around Din in a hug and thank him profusely. He is stiff for a second, not sure how to react to your embrace, but then, his arms come up to encircle you and he pulls you in tighter to his chest. He can’t remember the last time anyone hugged him and he has missed it more than he knew. For a moment, Din allows himself to enjoy the intimacy of holding you like this, and he imagines what it would be like to be able to hug you all the time.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Din tells you softly, the term of endearment slipping from his lips before he can stop himself. Your cheeks flush with pleasure at his words and when you pull back away from him your face is shining with the brightest smile he’s ever seen. The bustling marketplace falls away and it’s just the two of you standing in the sunlight with electricity buzzing between you, until the child coos loudly reminding you both of his presence.

“We should, uh, get the rest of the… supplies,” Din says sounding a little flustered. You understand that’s he’s feeling a bit shy right now after that public display of affection. You’re feeling the same way, wondering what all of this could mean. But you know that now is not the time to reflect on those thoughts, and instead you turn back to the child, scooping him up for a quick cuddle so he no longer feels left out. The Mandalorian also reaches out to give the kid’s long ears a stroke and says, “Are you still hungry, buddy? C’mon we’ll get you another snack.”

The rest of your shopping trip passes quickly and you’re back at the Razor Crest shortly thereafter. You are still floating on air after the day you’ve had. You keep sneaking glimpses at your new necklace and smiling to yourself like a besotted school girl. Even the drudgery of unloading and then securing all the supplies in the ship doesn’t put a damper on your spirits. The Mandalorian seems to be sharing in your joyfulness, humming a little as he lifts heavy crates and sneaks a few extra treats to the child. You’re getting ready to depart, when he turns to you and says, “Well, I suppose I should congratulate you on winning our wager.”

“That’s right, I did win,” you say happily almost having forgotten about the whole silly bet, “I knew no one would bother me with you right next to me.”

“Yes, it appears you were right about that,” he says grudgingly, “this time.”

“So that means one whole month with no comments about what I choose to wear,” you remind him.

“This doesn’t mean you should take this as an excuse to wear your most scandalous outfits,” Din tries to tell you.

“Uh-uh, the month starts now, no comments from you, sir,” you reply cheekily to him. You laugh a little to yourself, scandalous outfits, he’s being so dramatic.

“I’m going to get us on our way,” Din concedes his defeat and turns to head to the cockpit, but he can’t help to get in one last word as he tells you, “I’m sure your new necklace will look just as pretty with your more conservative clothes.”

“Maybe,” you reply attempting for a nonchalant tone, but failing spectacularly as your eyes light up at his suggestion.

Din makes his way back up to his pilot’s chair and begins the take-off procedure. He shouldn’t have made that comment about the scandalous outfits, it will just give you ideas filled with your sheerest and most revealing garments. But then, he has an idea of his own. Smirking under his helmet at his own cunning, he punches in the coordinates to the icy world of Hoth and makes the jump to hyperspace.

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Thanks for reading! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for Part 2.

[tryingmybestpls]

Bath Time

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian watches as the reader gives his foundling a bath (set post Chapter 12).

Word Count: 1.7k

Rating: R

Warnings: slight breeding kink?, mentions of anatomical parts, hint at masturbation

The Mandalorian wished he didn’t enjoy watching her do things like this.

Y/N was carefully giving the little green being a bath in an small metal oblong shaped tub that was purchased for this exact reason. Mando was supposed to be cleaning and polishing his various weapons, but he kept stealing glances at her. There was a smile stretched across his partner's face as the Child splashed around the bubble-filled bath water. His movements were causing Y/N's shirt to become soaked and while Mando would have scolded his foundling before if got to that point, she didn't mind it in the slightest.

When the Child puked up the cookies he had been eating, Y/N became very concerned. As soon as the Crest had evened out, she took the kid into her arms and disappeared down into the hull. When he climbed down under the guise of cleaning his weapons, she almost immediately held her hand out and asked for his cape. Y/N was already scrubbing the turquoise stain out of the Child’s robes. He wanted to tell her that the little stain from cleaning his foundling’s mouth was nothing compared to what else was on his cape, but he knew better then to argue with his companion. The Mandalorian immediately unclipped his cape, having it over. With the Child strapped to her chest, she started to scrub at his cape, the water quickly becoming murky. The scene in front of the Mandalorian is incredibly mundane, but for some reason he finds himself trying to discreetly hide the fact that he is enjoying watching this.

He’s fucked and he knows it completely.

The cape and the Child’s clothes were hanging up to dry in the back of the hull. In all honesty, the Mandalorian probably wouldn’t have cleaned up his foundling as quickly as she did. While he was concerned about the green child’s well-being, she took it to a whole other level. Y/N kept asking the Child if he was feeling well or telling him this is the reason why he isn’t allowed to only eat sweets. Every time the Child made a noise, her eyes would look down to him and her voice would be filled with concern as she asked the green little baby if he was feeling okay. Every time Y/N asked, the Mandalorian would pause what he was doing to look up at the two of them.

"You know the whole point of the bath is to keep the water inside of the tub, kid." Y/N teases as she carefully washes his big ears. There's just something about her being so motherly that the Mandalorian just has to stop what he is doing to watch. She must've tickled the kid with the washcloth, because he erupts into a fit of giggles, which then causes Y/N to laugh. The whole scene makes the Mandalorian feel warm all over.

"Aren't you being awfully sweet today? Maybe being so dirty made you cranky." Y/N continues her one sided conversation as she rinses the soap off carefully. Mando feels like he shouldn't be watching this, but he can't help it. His hands are still moving, cleaning the same blaster he has been cleaning for twenty minutes. He hopes she doesn't notice, but the Mandalorian knows that Y/N won't. She's completely focused on the child.

"Alright, we should get you out of the water before you catch a chill." Y/N grabs a towel before lifting the green child out of the water, carefully wrapping it around him. Mando can hear her humming an unrecognizable song softly as she swaddles his foundling, looking at him almost lovingly. The scene in front of him makes the bounty hunter swallow hard.  He cannot understand why Y/N taking care of the Child is affecting him this much-no, that's a lie. The Mandalorian knows why, but he rather not go down that route. He's trying to keep the relationship between him and Y/N professional. Maker, is he trying-

"Mando? Mando, are you listening to me?" Her voice yanks him out of his thoughts and the Mandalorian is incredibly glad she can't see the blush that's most likely on his face. He makes a grunting noise in response-something that he'd use to respond to anyone else. Y/N shakes her head, trying not to smile. The Mandalorian hopes that his companion cannot see the semi that he’s currently sporting.

"I was saying that I'm going to take the kid and feed him in cockpit so you can eat and clean up." She informs the bounty hunter, the bundled Child resting on her hip. That's another thing that's making this whole situation even more difficult: Y/N taking care of Mando himself. When he had hired her on, she was tasked with looking after the foundling and taking care of the ship. Yet for some reason, Y/N also likes to make sure her employer is doing okay. Every time she shows him even the slightest bit of kindness, the Mandalorian suddenly turns into a teenager, his knees getting weak and his stomach twisting and turning. He forced himself to quickly recover.

"You don't have to." He tries to argue, but he knows it's futile. Y/N is already walking over to where the meal rations are stored, grabbing the kid's plate and utensils. She hardly takes no for answer and he really doesn’t want to fight her. The Mandalorian loves it when she takes care of him, when she shows that she cares for him too, but he’d never say it outright.

"I know, but you smell as good as the kid did before his bath." She teases him, full on grinning now as she walks to the ladder. Y/N fucking teases him and Maker, the Mandalorian wants more of it. He's forcing himself not to smile underneath his beskar as she holds the child close to her chest, somehow managing to climb up the ladder. The bounty hunter would love to pretend that he doesn’t sneak a look at her ass as she climbs up ladder, but of course he does, which then causes his flight suit to get even tighter. Maker, pull yourself together.

The Mandalorian waits until she's seated in the pilot's seat before he lets out a sigh, his feet carrying him to the meal rations. He wishes that he could just chalk her kindness as naivety, but it's not that. Y/N only acts this way around the Mandalorian and his foundling. Hell, the bounty hunter has watched her bring a man twice his size down to the ground just because the creature was looking at Y/N funny. That very same woman will walk around the Crest, making repairs with the small green child strapped to her chest, telling the kid a story. Both actions had the Mandalorian thinking about his partner in a way that was far from being appropriate.

Yet, there was just something about watching her taking care of his foundling made the Mandalorian want to grab Y/N and fill her belly with his child. The bounty hunter never had such archaic thoughts before he hired Y/N to watch the Child, but they always pop up whenever she’s around. Once again, the Mandalorian tries to readjust himself, telling himself that he’ll take care of his problem in the ‘fresher.

As the bounty hunter took off his helmet in order to eat, he forced this thoughts far far away from his female companion. The Mandalorian tried to make himself think about what the ship needed or what supplies he had to pick up on their next outing, but somehow his thoughts kept finding their way back to Y/N.

-

Y/N is humming again when the Mandalorian climbs up the ladder into the cockpit an hour later, his stomach full and just out of the ‘fresher. She's sitting in the pilot's chair-his chair as she holds his foundling. The bounty hunter tries to ignore that as he takes a few more steps, trying to keep his thoughts clean. The Child is fast asleep in her arms. It's like the Galaxy itself is mocking him.

"He likes you, you know." The Mandalorian says quietly, his eyes on sleeping child on her chest. The kid adores her, almost to the point where Mando thinks his own foundling favors Y/N over him, but in all honesty the Mandalorian can't blame the child. It’s extremely hard not to like her. Y/N chuckles softly, the stars streaking across the sky was illuminating both her and the Child.

"I'd hope so. I like him too." Y/N replies, her eyes on Mando as she smiles. There's something about the way she says it makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest. He hates this feeling, hates the way she's making him feel. No-he doesn’t hate it. It’s just different. It’s something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager.

"Thank you-for letting me..." His words trail off. The Mandalorian isn't a man of many words and his companion knows that. Y/N nods, her smile still stretched across her face.

"Someone has to remind you to take care of yourself, Mando." Y/N tells him, her voice soft. Her hand is resting on his foundling's back, holding him to her chest. The Mandalorian's head is full of images of Y/N holding another child to her chest, cradling a different baby while he holds the kid. Mando swallows hard, forcing those images away. He turns his head towards the Galaxy, but he can still feel Y/N's eyes lingering in him for a few seconds before she too turns her head. Out of the corner of the visor, the Mandalorian watches as she looks down at the sleeping child, one of her fingers smoothing the white hairs on top of the kid’s head.

"You should go get some rest. I'm more than comfortable up here with him." She announces, leaning back further into the chair. Once again, it's not really a suggestion and once again, the Mandalorian finds himself trying not to smile under his helmet.

[azucanela]

SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE

PAIRING: SUGAWARA KOUSHI X FEM!READER

REQUEST: if you’re feeling into it a suga fic where they like dated during high school and later get back together after college would be awesome!! maybe fem y/n was manager for karasuno or something and they just broke up bc of distance! and if you don’t want to do this that’s perfectly okay! take care of yourself, you’re an amazing writer!!

WARNINGS: ANGST TO FLUFF. KISSING. MILD TIMESKIP SPOILERS.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

A/N: i love suga, SUGA SUPREMACY, thank you for the request it was fun to write!

HAIKYUU!! MASTERLIST

HE LOVED HER AND THERE WAS NO DENYING IT, but it wouldn’t be the first time that two people very in love had been forced apart for whatever the circumstances. 

You could see it in the way he forced her onto the inside of the sidewalk— a small thing done in an attempt to keep her safe from possible incoming cars. You could see it in the way Sugawara’s eyes fell on her absently, so encapsulated with her words and the passion in her voice. You could see it in the way he seemed to light up when he saw her in the stands of his volleyball games, even though he likely wouldn’t be playing. 

And oh did Y/N L/N love him as well. Her sad smiles at the mention of his name were evidence enough, and if not, it was the way she frequently asked Daichi and Asahi of his health full well knowing the boy had a tendency to forego taking care of himself when he was so caught up in the well being of others.

Kageyama had observed it early on— or more accurately, Hinata had observed it early on, pointing out to the young setter that his senior was obviously enamored with their second manager. Hinata’s emotional intelligence had always been far ahead of Kageyama’s, although Kageyama had noticed the difference in... treatment between the pair, he had never truly realized they were dating.

But it soon became abundantly clear that they were in fact, together. And Y/N L/N wasn’t just the other manager of the Karasuno Boy’s Volleyball Team, but the girlfriend of Sugawara Koushi.

Which is the main reason why Kageyama had suspected she hated him early on, after all he’d taken her boyfriend’s spot on the starting line up, and he had bluntly pointed this fact out to her by the vending machine one day. Though Y/N had simply laughed it off, bringing a hand to Kageyama’s shoulder and offering him a smile.

Just like Sugawara had. Maybe that’s what made them the perfect pair, Kageyama wasn’t sure. But anyone with a set of eyes could tell they were a disgustingly perfect couple. 

Which is why Kageyama had never imagined they would break up. Nor had anyone in the club really. Even Asahi and Daichi were left in shock as the pair went their separate ways. 

It was supposed to make things easier, leaving. They would both be abandoning everything they ever knew and heading off to college after all, and seeing as they’d both ended up at different colleges... well, how plausible was a long distance relationship? 

It was a mutual break up. That they mutually did not want. 

Not much changed if Y/N is honest, and maybe that’s why she didn’t find herself sobbing in her bed until she actually got to college. It was just a label, but at one point... the change became alarmingly clear to her— the fact that she and Sugawara Koushi were no longer together.

Sugawara felt it in the little things, when he went to message her good morning and remember that... they weren’t together anymore. Did Y/N even want a good morning text? Maybe she was receiving one from someone else now. 

Talking wasn’t awkward, with the silent agreement that if they ever needed someone to talk to, they would always be there. But the change was painful enough to drive them apart in a way that wasn’t just physical. 

It’s not until she’s seeing him again that Y/N is reminded of that very pain once more, though the smile on her face is still very genuine and authentic as she throws her arms around the three boys from her third year. 

Sugawara holds on for a little too long. 

“It’s so good to see you guys! Are we all excited for our boys’ final tournament of their third year?” She exclaimed as she wrapped an arm around Kiyoko.

Daichi ruffles Y/N’s hair as he grins, “of course I’m excited to see them win again.” Comes his reply.

And of course, Asahi finds himself beaming with an albeit nervous smile as he agrees, “definitely! I believe in them.”

“I dunno guys, maybe Hinata will forget to spike again,” Sugawara chimes in, jokingly of course, while Kiyoko nods along with the rest of her friends as she offers them a small smile. Her eyes drifting to the arm that Sugawara throws over Y/N’s shoulder. “It’ll be just like old times!”

Just like old times indeed.

Daichi finds himself giving Asahi a look, that is returned with a look of confusion until he gently shoves him forward, a look of realization washing over his face as he begins to walk faster and Kiyoko says, “why don’t we head on over to our seats guys?” She turns to Y/N and Sugawara, “would you mind getting us some snacks from the vendors?”

The pair exchanges looks momentarily before Y/N offers Kiyoko a smile as she nods, “yeah, of course. Any preferences?”

“The usual!” Daichi replies, waving them off as he drags Asahi away, winking at Sugawara before disappearing around the corner alongside Kiyoko as well. 

Sugawara simply raises a brow, opening his mouth to say something until Y/N’s hand comes to grasp his own— loosely holding the one wrung around her shoulder as she begins to speak of which vendor they should visit.

But the only thing he can focus on is the ring she wears. For a moment, he panics, thinking that someone else has already snatched her away, that he lost the woman he loves.

Until he looks a little closer and recognizes the very promise ring he’d given her in their third year, almost identical to the one he was currently wearing around his neck, attached to a chain he’d purchased shortly into his first year of college. After all, he couldn’t bring himself to take it off either. 

Y/N seems to take note of this, pausing before noticing where his gaze has fallen, her cheeks warming at the realization. “I’ve been meaning to return the ring to you, sorry about that.” She releases his hand with a tight lipped smile, moving to remove the ring, only for Sugawara’s hand to come over hers as he shakes his head.

“Keep it. What would I do with it anyways?” And who else would he give it to?

Y/N pauses, eyes drifting between the ring and Sugawara for a moment before replying, “okay.”  

It’s not that they hadn’t talked at all in the past few years, just that things had changed and now neither of them new where the boundaries were. What could they do? What couldn’t they? Where was the invisible line between friend and former lover? It was a line they danced around in each interaction and today was no different.

Y/N finds herself desperately needing some space as she inhales deeply, perhaps it’s because she’s shocked by how easily he’d wormed his way back into her heart in the five seconds they’d been together now. Or maybe it’s the reminder that nothing had changed, she was still going to college across the country.

It’s not until they’re seated beside each other once more, two years later, that Y/N realizes nothing had changed. 

It’s a party they’d thrown for the New Year, and practically a get together for their teammates, new and old. They pair had managed to get onto professional teams— to no ones surprise. Although the fact that they’d be opposing each other was a surprise. 

Somehow, Y/N and Sugawara had found themselves on the balcony of the home, fresh out of college— which had really been the only thing keeping them apart up until now.

So, something had changed.

“You’re officially a teacher!” Y/N exclaimed, beaming at Sugawara with a smile that he quickly returns, drink in hand. 

He’s leaning against the balcony. eyes drifting towards the lively city as he replies, “kind of. I was lucky to even get hired so soon after graduating.” He takes a sip of his drink, “I just hope next year is better.”

A small laugh escapes Y/N as she downs what is left of her own drink, “me too, Suga.” Their eyes meet, and she can see the way he stiffens at the name, it had been a while since she’d called him by anything other than his first name. Though Y/N disregards this fact as she asks, “so what school are you working at?”

Y/N can see the passion in his eyes as he begins to speak of the school he’ll be working at, nodding along until she realizes, she recognizes the name, mouth gaping open as she asks, “are you serious? I recently got a job at one of the corporations in that area!” She exclaimed. Sugawara is opening his mouth to say something when they suddenly hear the people inside cry out—

10.

“Oh! I didn’t realize it was that time.” Y/N mumbled, looking inside to see their friends— new and old— congregating together around the TV. She wonders how time could’ve passed so quickly, it feels as though she had only ventured out to the balcony a few minutes prior because last Y/N had checked, it was barely 10PM.

9.

Sugawara allows a laugh to escape him as he nods, “time flies by when you’re having fun right?” And Y/N finds herself in shock momentarily, wondering if maybe he’d read her mind.

8.

Y/N turns to him, offering him a small smile as she nods in agreement, “it does. Doesn’t it?” And Sugawara is left feeling breathless, even after all these years, her smile still seems to have that effect on him. 

7.

“I did, have fun. By the way.” Sugawara says, eyes darting between the door of the balcony and Y/N. His words are true, he did have fun, of course Sugawara would never consider lying to Y/N. And even if he did try, Sugawara had a feeling she’d be able to tell. 

6. 

“We should head back inside.” She continues, eyes drifting back towards where their friends are calling out the countdown. Huddled together, Y/N finds herself smiling at the sight of Tanaka’s arm around Kiyoko’s shoulder.

5.

Y/N meets Kiyoko’s eyes momentarily, and the look Kiyoko gives her is one of urgency, one that tells her, “don’t you dare come back here right now.” But Y/N finds herself rolling her eyes as she begins to head back inside. 

4.

Their relationship had been over for years, and yet Kiyoko was still trying to convince her that the boy’s feelings never changed. Though Y/N wouldn’t deny that she would always love Sugawara— and she had no doubt that he still loved her— those feelings were probably purely platonic now. Right?

3.

Right. Y/N shakes off the feeling as she continues inside, until she feels a hand wrap around her wrist, keeping her from carrying on inside and yanking her backwards. Y/N finds herself colliding with Sugawara’s chest with a gasp.

2.

Sugawara’s eyes meet hers, a clear question within them as he wordlessly places his drink on the rim of the balcony. The hand on her wrist still firmly placed there as Y/N nods slowly.

1. 

And suddenly his lips finds hers, Y/N’s arm winding around his neck with her drink still in hand while Sugawara’s hand comes to her waist in an attempt to pull her closer. Almost desperate to be closer to each other as the crowd inside begins screaming and cheering. Y/N frees her other hand from his grasp and brings it to his shirt to tug him even closer while his other hands comes to her cheek.

When they pull away, Sugawara is grinning as he says, “happy new year, babe.”