#so sure. but its still gutting and makes me feel fucking /gross/ makes my stomach hurt and my skin crawl

[milf-harrington]

its so fucking disheartening realising that no one actually sees me as a guy, they just pretend to - and yeah its great being called theo but its less great being lumped in as one of the girls in the same breath

[cannedpickledpeaches]

The Drive Home

Floyd Leech x Reader

Notes: Haven’t finished the side stories for Insert Your Name so here’s some Floyd angst while you wait.

Somehow or the other, over the years, you’ve become Floyd’s designated driver.

You’re good friends, so of course you go to the same parties. You don’t drink, so of course he needs someone reliable and sober to take him home . . . if he isn’t going home with a new friend. The latter happened often enough in university that you only showed up to events when he was too hammered to leave with anyone else.

You never bothered to learn about his more personal life. It wouldn’t be too weird to ask—he’s happy to volunteer information unprompted, regardless—but you simply aren’t interested. You’re his childhood friend. It would feel almost gross to like him when his parents’ home welcomes you as warmly as your own. Jade and Floyd are just like your annoying brothers, that’s all.

You’re also really good at convincing yourself.

When you were young and fueled by emotion in high school, you constantly dreamed about Floyd if he was the perfect boyfriend. One who was attentive, fun, and loyal. One who would treat you as someone special, who would never get bored and cast you aside. One who would devote his entire being to you.

Maturing is realizing that’s just not Floyd. And you can respect that. Maturing is understanding that no matter how much your heart likes him, that fairytale prince you conjured in your daydreams with his face doesn’t exist. Maturing is realizing just because you like him doesn’t mean he’s good for you.

But you still like him. You tried, but you can’t change that.

Neon letters flicker and cast their light over the interior of your car as you wait in the driver’s seat. After graduating from university, he moved on from frat parties to clubs. Even while parked by the curb, you can hear the booming music thrumming in your steering wheel. The bass pulses like a second heartbeat.

A tall silhouette stumbles to the door on the passenger side. Neon pinks and purples from the sign behind him light up the flyaways in his messy hair. When he opens the door, the stench of alcohol crashes into you the same way he crashes into the seat. The cologne swirling around in the headache-inducing miasma doesn’t help in the slightest.

“You stink.” To alleviate your nostrils, you roll the windows down. The muted music transitions into a different song with the exact same beat. “I’m thinking about kicking you out and making you walk home.”

“Don’t do that, s’not nice.” His words sound as though his tongue has lost half its flexibility. “Ya’ve got your best friend in your car! Would never dream of doin’ somethin’ so mean, wouldya?”

“If you throw up over the seats, I’m kicking you out. Too bad my best friend isn’t worth cleaning up whatever’s in your stomach right now.”

“Won’t throw up.” His snicker ends in a groan. It takes him several tries to secure his seatbelt. “Fuck. Feel like the world’s spinnin’.”

You pull out a plastic bag from the glove compartment and shove it in his lap.

For a good stretch of the drive, he’s content with humming to himself. You don’t play music in case it makes his headache worse. He makes enough noise to fill the car anyway. His off-tune humming switches through several melodies, some you recognize, some you don’t.

The humming fades into silence. At a stop light, you glance at Floyd to make sure he’s okay. His eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones. You think he’s asleep until his eyes flash open and he gives you a grin.

“Eyes on the road.”

“Just making sure you didn’t kick the bucket.” You catch a glimpse of a red stain on the right side of his Adam’s apple. Your gut twists unpleasantly. “If you’re gonna sleep, turn your face to the right.”

“Why? Y’don’t wanna see my handsome face or what?”

You look forward as the light turns green. “No, you told me to keep my eyes on the road. I just don’t want you transferring those lipstick stains onto the seats.”

“Ain’t gotta be salty that you don’t get laid.” You don’t need to look at him to hear the grin in his voice.

“That’s because I have standards.”

“Like what?”

“Something higher than ‘has a hole.’”

He clicks his tongue playfully. “Jealousy ain’t cute on ya.”

You’re aware. Painfully so. Jealousy feels ugly, gnarled, like a twisting mess of poisoned vines reaching insidious tendrils through your veins. They eventually follow your veins back to your heart, squeezing its walls with every lipstick stain you see on his skin. The wish to possess, to confine him in your clutches when the thing he hates above all others is to be tied down—that isn’t cute in the slightest.

Maturing is keeping the worst thoughts inside. A mature adult like you won’t throw a tantrum or cry dramatically in front of him. No, a mature adult like you can do that in the privacy of your room.

“What’s cute on me, then?” You swallow hard. He won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow. Probably. Not when there are so many other, more interesting conversations from the club to remember.

Awkward silence fills the car. Your fingers leave sweat on the steering wheel. Focusing on the road might help distract you from the odd pause from his ever-present noise.

“Your hands.”

You very nearly step hard on the gas by accident. You weren’t expecting an answer at all, much less this one.

“Why? Is that a fetish, or . . . .”

He barks a laugh. “Nah, who knows?”

“Ew. I’ll kick you out.” Both of you know you won’t. If you’re being honest, you’re a little flattered that he thinks your hands are cute, even if it’s in a platonic way. “Why my hands?”

“Dunno. Just the part of ya I was lookin’ at when y’asked.”

Now that’s an odd answer. At a stop light, you look at him again. His sleepy eyes meet yours, and a lazy grin tugs at the corners of his lips.

“I told you to face your right.”

“Right, right.” He sticks his tongue out, but doesn’t oblige. “How’m I s’posed to give ya a proper answer when I’m not s’posed to look atcha?”

“You can’t think of cute things about me if you aren’t looking at me?” You scoff, turning onto a side street. Almost there. “Think of me in your head or something.”

“My head can’t do ya justice.”

Your heart almost skips a beat. Almost. Because you think of all the other people he’s said those words to. All of a sudden, you feel much less special.

Childhood friends. Maturing is understanding that is all you are, and that is all you will ever be, and that you will never, ever be in a relationship with Floyd Leech unless you want it to come crashing down in infinitesimal pieces.

“I like your eyes, too. Always lyin’.” He laughs. “The eyes of a liar, that’s what ya got. But I like them more this way.”

“Doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“Well, it is.” His chuckles fade into the ambient rumbling of the car for a few moments before he starts rambling. “I like your laugh, too. And the way ya come to pick me up even when ya complain. And when ya scoff when I do somethin’ nice for ya, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell you’re happy anyway. And your nose when it scrunches up. It gets red when it’s cold.”

“Most people’s noses get red when it’s cold.” You choose to ignore everything else he said.

“Not mine.”

“Most humans.”

It’s the novelty that attracts him. You’d have thought that after living with humans all this time, the novelty of flushed skin would have worn off, but it’s hard to tell with Floyd.

“Wouldya like me more if I was human?”

His voice is nearly lost in the humming of the car. You keep your eyes straight ahead. Vaguely, you wish there was more traffic in this side street. Something to keep your mind off the odd vulnerability in his voice.

“I like you the most the way you are,” you say, and it’s the truth. No matter what he is, human or mer or otherwise, you like Floyd as himself. You’ve fallen in love with a natural disaster, and you only barely have enough sense not to throw yourself in the midst of it. The winds would shred you apart. You desperately struggle against the part of your mind that whispers: at least you would have had it once before being destroyed.

But you’re older and more mature now. You won’t indulge that emotional side of you.

You stop outside his home and put the car in park. “We’re here. Get out of my car.”

A mix between a groan and a whine drags itself out of his throat. The alcohol might be making him woozy, but he can walk to his door just fine. You won’t need to help him anymore than this.

He unfastens his seatbelt and leans over to you. The hug he gives you is so uncoordinated, it feels like he’s simply throwing his weight onto you, his arms flopping uselessly.

“Thanks,” he says a little too loudly for his mouth to be next to your ear. “See ya ‘round.”

“Don’t ask me to pick you up again.”

“Ya say that every time.” He laughs again. Laughter always hides just under his tongue when he drinks. “Ya still come when I call.”

“I won’t anymore.” You don’t mean it.

He waves off your remark and plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You stiffen, but you’re sure he’s too drunk to notice. With a boisterous farewell, he stumbles out of your car and disappears beyond his front door, leaving the ghost of his kiss on your skin.

You hate being a mature adult. If you weren’t, maybe you would’ve called after him. You might’ve rolled down the window all the way and pulled on his collar, yanking him close enough to kiss him on the lips. Consequences be damned, caution to the wind, whatever else they say about being young and reckless. But you’re a mature adult, and the best you can do for both of you is watch as he leaves.

[endious]

This HAS to be said…

THANK YOU for being one of the few people who portray Jeff correctly!!! I understand why people romanticise him, but I feel it’s kind of boring?? He’s so much more interesting as a fucked up, sadistic asshole with legitimate mental issues.

Your fics are soo good! I hope, if you still have the motivation to write, that you can continue in the future :)

Could I ask what your general headcanons for Jeff are? Feel free to sprinkle some NSFW ones in too ;)

SPEAK LOUDER !!!!!!! honestly though tysm that means a lot to me ! i am glad you like how i portray jeff and i agree with you that it does get boring seeing the romanticization copy and pasted on jeff. he’s so fucked up i wish more ppl saw him the way i do 😭😭 its so difficult to find writers who write him how i think he should be portrayed so i took it upon myself tbh /hj BUT TYSMMM !! jeff will always be extremely fucked up here and im going to keep him that way 🫶🫶

HCS FOR MY ONE AND ONLY ? OF COURSE ILL INDULGE US BOTH ! this isnt proofread at all and is SUPER SLOPPY I APOLOGIZE !! i kinda went with any that popped in my head when i read this so i hope its okay !

— i’ll be as honest as i can because it is HARD to describe the vision i have in my head (it’s changed many times but roughly stays the same somehow) SO I WILL TRY TO MAKE YOU SEE WHAT I SEE !!

— jeff is gross so gross. not even in the, ew you stink sense (he does, he constantly smells like blood and dirt it’s fucking nasty.) he’s sick in the head and is proud of it. would tell you how he gutted the last guy you so much as glanced in the direction of and how he writhed in pain and choked on his own spit and blood while jeff shoved his boot into the fucker’s gut for added agony. he says all this with a sick smile on his face but be sure to not make any type of look of disgust, anger or expression amongst those. he will blow up immediately and start threatening you if you so much as even hint at not agreeing with his choice of action

— he isn’t afraid of hurting you, he actually enjoys it. he’ll purposely set you up for failure so he can cut you up or bruise you just enough to leave a reminder to behave and listen next time. after all, had you just obeyed like a good little doll then he wouldn’t have had to dig his knife into the bare skin of your stomach just enough to leave a mark that would stay for a short while.

— to add onto that ^ if he’s kidnapped you then he’s even more physical with his punishments. he’ll beat you to make you understand to take his words seriously if you aren’t already. he’s slammed your head into a wall before because you didn’t answer him when he asked you a question and you’d never do that again. you’d do whatever it means to make sure he doesn’t go from leaving marks and bruises to leaving broken bones and open wounds, and he knows that you’re scared of that future and he fucking loves it.

— moving on from that situation for now. he’s surprisingly good with his words (this could either be good or bad) he knows what to say to keep you wrapped tight around his finger and he knows what to say to scare you into listening. “that, uh, new girl you’re talking to. she’s nice isn’t she?” and while he grins, you glance at him with uneasiness at his tone when he spoke.

— i think it’s evident enough he stalks the fuck out of you. whether you’re aware or not he’s always there. ever felt paranoid that someone was watching you? it’s him. but don’f expect to actually catch a glimpse of him, he’d only let you see him if he wanted you to. he’s got way too many photos of you for it to be considered normal (given your relationship with him, nothing is normal). and he’s jerked off to every single one of them. doesn’t matter if it’s suggestive, sexual or a completely innocent photo, he’s gotten off to every single one of them at least once and if he wanted to humiliate you, he’d tell you himself while you cry pretty tears and yell those silly and meaningless words you like to use at him.

— now some nsfw ones… get ready because i dont hold back on anything when it comes to jeff.

— he’s so fucking mean it should be illegal to let him speak. he mocks you, threatens you, manipulates you— whatever he can say to get reactions from you he will. “aw, doll. you look cute all marked up, what if i left my name right- here. what? scared it’ll hurt? can’t take a little bit of pain? oh, you don’t want it? i don’t think i ever asked what you wanted, slut. now hold still before i make ya really scream in pain.”

— he’s so physical with you i’d be surprised if he hasn’t nearly broken one of your arms or crushed your windpipe before. his grip is so tight and he’s so rough it’s like he’s unaware of his strength and how hard he’s being. but he’s completely aware and even makes fun of you when you claw at his arm and gasp pathetically for air he won’t allow you for a few more seconds. he wants to see how long it takes before the life in your eyes starts to flicker. and god the bruises you’ll have from him holding you down to firmly, even if you tried to get away you wouldn’t move an inch under his grasp but he likes with you try to get free so keep going until he gets bored and makes you do something else you might not like doing either.

— speaking of him liking your struggles, he’s put you in situations where you have to fight back. his knife to your throat while he orders you to struggle under him or him forcefully ripping your panties off to have his way with you. anything he does will typically have you attempting to fight back against his advances and it gets him hard and makes him want to hurt you even more the more you cry out and beg him to stop and get off you, your hands pushing against him in failed attempts to free yourself.

— KNIFE PLAY KNIFE PLAY KNIFE PLAY ! i already touched on it but ill say it again because i have this idea in my head ive yet to put into words in a draft. he fucks you with his knife from time to time, it took a few carefully chosen words to manipulate you into giving in and trying “something new” but had you known it was this? you wouldn’t have ever agreed. not that your verbal consent would’ve stopped him.

— he’s rough with holding your hips down, his arm over your lower stomach as he nudges the hilt of his knife against your folds. “ya scared, doll? nothin’ to be scared of, ‘m not putting the sharp end in your stupid cunt.” he could, but that wouldn’t be much fun would it? he pushes it just barely into your entrance and it’s difficult to adjust to, it’s such a stiff object it’s weird feeling it inside of you but he only pushes it deeper and then you feel the dips in the hilt from the use it’s gone through from jeff and how hard he must’ve held it repeatedly and oh. this shouldn’t feel as good as it’s feeling right now.

— “look at you, getting it nice an’ wet f’me aren’t ya, princess? do you know how many i’ve killed with this knife? how many bodies i’ve stabbed it into repeatedly?” and you wish he’d stop saying it like it’s some achievement of his, in fact you wish he’d stop talking all together but his voice seems to only push you further to the edge maybe that’s the pleasure talking though and not your logical brain.

okay ill stop FOR NOW LMFAO this is kinda long and i’ve never dont hcs so idk how to properly do them 💀 this is extremely messy but if i dont post it now i probably wouldnt post it for another two weeks bcus i’d think too hard on it.

[im-in-vin-ci-ble]

Hello~ Can I request a Mark x fem reader who’s a lot like starfire and is very Powerful close to omni man and is also an alien princess but she lives on earth and they go to the same school and she’s also a solo hero who one day sees invincible fighting off a tough villain with the teenteam but is losing so she steps in to help and he recognizes her and starts getting all nervous since he has a crush on her and then after that they introduce themselves get to know each other and eventually work they’re way up to mark confessing and she says yes :3

(If possible can it be a slow burn im a sucker for slow burn tropes and stuff 😤)

A/N: I gotchu, this bout to be a lil long 😮‍💨 making the fem!reader a little more human, figured since she’s in an actual school for humans she’d need to adapt to the humor/culture so she doesn’t get suspicious

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Rating: M, some swearing and gross monster guts

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Mark is finally joined in battle by an alien princess who has caught his attention. Turns out she goes to the same high school, and if he can throw around 150-pound monsters across the street, surely he can confess his true feelings to a girl... right?

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" Rex Splode yelled as he wobbled up off the ground. "We've been on this thing for hours and it only has one damn cut!"

"Calm down Rex," Atom Eve said from behind, "You're gonna get even more tired from yelling."

The two watched as Dupli-Kate attempted to distract the scaly kaiju, replicating herself second after second to give space for Invincible to hit the monster by surprise. The kaiju's screech echoed throughout the city and shook the foundations of the surrounding buildings, forcing Rex, Atom Eve and Robot to move aside and save however many civilians they could.

"Invincible," Dupli-Kate shouted, "I can't keep up much longer!"

A sonic boom overcame the surrounding noise and Invincible appeared from the clouds. Dropping in at maximum speed, the young superhero balled his hand into a fist and took a deep breath. A loud battle cry escaped his mouth but it was cut short as the kaiju's heavy arm slapped him away just in time, throwing him through destroyed buildings until he landed on the pavement.

Out of breath, dizzy, and in a serious amount of pain, Invincible laid on the broken road for a second to regain his strength. The wind softly blew down on him as he focused his sight on a contrail leading towards him, and he watched as a girl in purple land right next to him.

She bent down and held him upright, "Invincible, are you okay?"

"Mmhmm," Invincible croaked with a defeated smile, "Totally fine."

His sight reverted back to normal and the first face he saw shocked him alive. It was her. They never talked in school and he was almost sure she didn't know his real name, but here she was, basically cradling him in her arms and calling him Invincible.

So she knows who I am. At least with the suit.

"Come on, that kaiju is about to be destroy the entire city," she said, helping him get back on his feet and flying away to the seemingly unbeatable figure.

He huffed, "Stay cool, Mark. She's here to help," and he followed suit.

This marked the first time he really interacted with the new superhero; he'd only ever see her on TV or read about how she saved people on the newspaper. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find her attractive — as do most guys his age — but watching her blast the kaiju with the green bursts of energy from her hands made her only even more appealing.

Invincible regrouped with the rest of the Teen Team. "I don't know what else we can do to this thing," Atom Eve admitted.

"I do," the girl spoke up. "Distract it as best as you can but stay far away from the stomach. When I tell you to take cover, make a run for it."

Robot replied, "That seems highly dangerous."

"Let's do it," Invincible quickly replied in a high-pitched voice.

Everyone looked over at him, surprised at the sudden change in his voice and just how fast he reacted in agreement. 

"Uh, it's a good plan," he nodded, causing the girl to shoot a warm smile his way. "I definitely think we should do it... if all of you... uh, think, we should."

Exhausted and out of options, the rest of the group followed her orders and took different corners of the monster. Dupli-Kate handled one leg, Rex Splode handled the other, Robot and Atom Eve took the arms, and Invincible went back to the head. The kaiju struggled to keep its focus on just one of the heroes, and while it remained preoccupied, the girl absorbed all the energy she could muster and flew straight for the stomach.

"Take cover, now!"

Invincible and the Teen Team moved away and they watched as the flying hero's eyes opened in a bright shade of neon green, both her arms extended out as a large ball of green formed around her hands. The rays exploded right through the kaiju and it shrieked in pain as she briefly disappeared into the stomach. The kaiju lost balance and slowly fell forward as the girl, her eyes still green, appeared on the other side and harshly fell down on the ground.

The kaiju landed on the street with a loud boom and the group ran towards the girl who was now covered in parts of the kaiju's digestive system.

"Okay, that's kinda gross," Rex Splode commented, to which Dupli-Kate quickly responded, "Shut up."

Invincible dropped down on his knees and wiped the blood and guts off her face. Subtly admiring her facial features up close, he couldn't believe (and almost felt stupid) that he never recognized her despite the fact that he almost saw her everyday.

The girl groaned in agony softly shook her head, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of Invincible's dark hair, goggles and yellow mask.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, "Are you alright?"

She sat up and hissed at her injuries, holding her head with her bloody hand. "Mmhmm," she gently nodded with a half smile, her eye one still shut. "Totally fine."

---

Mark had a hard time focusing on school. His body ached from yesterday's injuries and he suffered a few bruises from literally tearing through buildings. He made his way to his locker and rested his head on the metal door, dreading the fact that he still has an entire afternoon of classes to go. Closing his eyes in hopes to quickly recharge, his moment of peace was disrupted when a shoulder rammed into his chest and several books landed right on his toe.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," a voice exclaimed.

Mark's head snapped up at the sound of the voice. It's her. He momentarily froze and watched the girl bend down to pick up her things, and when he finally regained movement a split second later, he also bent down to help her out. He kept quiet as he tried to think of the coolest possible response to make her think that he was actually the coolest guy in school, but all he could think of was how heavenly and badass she looked yesterday.

"Thanks," she said as he handed her the book. "I hope your foot doesn't bruise."

They both stood up and he shot her a nervous smile. "T-totally fine," he replied, clearing his throat afterwards.

She crossed her brows at his response and nodded, and a look of suspicion replaced her worried demeanor.

"I'm Mark, by the way," he cleared his throat again and reached out his hand, "Grayson."

"Mark... Grayson, huh?" she responded, scanning his face as her suspicion grew. Her eyes finally landed on the hand that was waiting, and she took one last look into his eyes before deciding to shake it. "I'm Y/N," she introduced herself with a skeptical smile, feeling his sweaty palm wrapped around hers. "I'll see you around, Mark Grayson."

She walked away and Mark's eyes followed her trail as far as he could see. He quickly pulled out his phone to send a text to Eve, who was actually watching their interaction a few classrooms down.

"Mark," Eve called out as she moved towards him. “So I’m assuming...”

"You knew?” he asked her in disbelief. “Why didn't you tell me Y/N was a superhero? I just introduced myself to her as Mark Grayson and I'm almost positive she knows I'm Invincible."

"First off, it's not my secret tell," she answered with a shrug. "Second, you guys didn’t trade secrets or whatever?”

Mark shook his head in a panic, "No, but I'm guessing she also knows that I know her secret the same way I know she knows my secret." He rested his forehead on the locker door once again and groaned, "Ugh, I'm so into her, it isn't even funny. And this whole superhero thing just made it even more awkward."

Eve laughed, "Look, I'm not going to force her to tell you if she isn't up for it, but if you want, I can ask her to hang out with us later. Maybe — emphasis on maybe — my presence will make her comfortable enough to admit who she is."

"Okay, okay," he sighed, turning around to rest the back of his head. "My insides are dying."

"After the kaiju yesterday, be thankful you don't mean that in a literal sense."

---

Where in the hell is Eve?

Mark pulled out his phone for the third time in 10 minutes. Still no call or response from Eve to his text. He was getting evidently nervous; his palms were sweaty again and it felt like someone turned up the heat in Burger Mart. His left leg jerked up and down in anxiety as he stared at his phone, looking at the seconds on the clock icon tick by. If he were left alone with Y/N, he'd have no idea what to say. What does she like? Should I bring up the kaiju yesterday and praise Invincible? No, she'll just think I'm full of myself.

"Hey Mark."

He jolted and saw Y/N standing by the corner of the booth. "Hi!" he replied in that irritatingly high-pitched voice. Mark's heart began to race and the thoughts in his head ran wild. "Um... Have a seat. Sorry Eve isn't here yet, she actually hasn't answered my calls or my messages. Teenage girls, huh? What can you do?"

She crossed her brows again and chuckled, "That's fine, we can wait for Eve. But I think I'm more concerned about you."

"What do you mean?"

Y/N chuckled again, "You seem... nervous.”

He faked an obnoxiously loud laugh, “Me? Nervous?”

She watched him from across the table in silence, waiting for him to regain his composure.

When Mark couldn’t hear Y/N laughing with him, he finally shut up and shook his head. “Yeah, I am nervous, sorry,” he admitted, shutting his eyes tight. 

She giggled, “Totally fine.”

Hearing her say those two words calmed his racing heartbeat. A smile crept on his face and she reciprocated, their eyes locking for a few seconds before both their phones buzzed.

“Oh, I just got a text from Eve,” Mark said. 

“Me too.” She opened the message and began to read it out loud, “Sorry, can’t make it tonight. Something came up.”

“Have fun, you two,” he followed, his voice faltering. He placed his phone, screen down this time, back on the table and sighed, “Sorry, guess you’re stuck with me. That is, if you do want to stay and... hang out, and stuff.”

"Why wouldn’t I?” she replied, her warm smile easing Mark back into a relaxed state. “It’s nice to have a friend who...” she trailed off, “understands.”

“Understands what?” he asked.

“This thing people like us call life,” she answered. “You know, it took me a long time to acclimate here. I didn’t think I ever would, then I met friends who made this place feel like home. And home is a feeling I hadn’t felt in a really long time.”

Mark rested his elbows on the table and leaned in closer, “Well, I’m always here. You know, a-as a friend... or an acquaintance, even. I don’t, I don’t want to push it.”

Y/N giggled again, “You’re a funny man, Mark Grayson. This planet is lucky to have someone like you.” She reached out and held his hand, “And I’m even luckier to have you as a friend, or an acquaintance.” 

He felt the heat rush to his face and he could swear his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. The afternoon flew by in a hurry as they engaged in lengthy conversations, fatty fast food, and childhood stories. While Mark was open to sharing every tiny detail — down to the color of the bleachers at the park where he played little league — Y/N kept hers pretty vague, leaving out descriptions of family members and even the places where these stories happened. 

Mark’s phone buzzed again, but the vibrating pattern indicated it was a phone call. He turned the screen over and saw the unknown number; it was time to suit up.

“Shit, I’m sorry Y/N, but I need to go,” he said in a rush. “I have a... uh, an emergency.”

You couldn’t have thought of anything more specific?

“It’s cool. Um, don’t worry about it,” she said, shaking her head with her eyes glued to the vibrating phone. 

Mark’s one leg was already out the booth before he decided to finally just go for it. Sitting back down with his now quiet phone in his hands, he took a deep breath.

“Y/N, I think you’re really cool. Can I maybe, like, call you sometime, or something?”

Her lips formed into smile that extended to her eyes, and it was enough for Mark to melt a little. “Of course. Yeah, sure,” she replied in excitement and typed down her number on his phone. She handed it back, “Now you know how to reach me if you’re getting your ass whooped again.”

His mouth fell open as his shaky hands grabbed his phone. “Wait—”

She smoothly slid out of the booth, “See you later, Invincible,” she winked, “Don’t get killed today.”

---

Luckily for Mark, no one got killed today. Maybe a few wounds here and there, but nothing painful enough that will land him in the GDA hospital. After spending an hour in the shower, he finally managed to lie down on his bed and rest his body. He sank into the mattress and closed his eyes, taking in the seconds of undisturbed peace that have become rare moments since he got his powers. 

As he replayed the events of today’s fights in his head, his mind drifted off to the hours he spent with Y/N. He pulled out his phone and mustered the courage to press the dial button, and the repeating sound of the ringing was making his pulse race. 

“Hello?”

“Oh good, you didn’t die today.”

Mark chuckled and sandwiched his hand between his head and the pillow. “It wasn’t that bad today, just took a few hits,” he explained. “So listen, Y/N, I was wondering, uh—”

She cut him off, “What are you doing right now?”

“What?”

“What are you doing right now?” she repeated.

“Um, nothing, just getting some rest” he sat up and looked around. “Why?”

“If you’re not too tired, do you maybe...”

Mark smiled, “Maybe...?”

“I don’t know, sneak out? My roof is pretty comfortable.”

Silently fist pumping, he fully stood up and nodded, “Text me the address.”

Just as quietly as he exited his room via the window, he softly landed on Y/N’s roof. Swiftly flying up and greeting him, she took the place next to him and crossed her legs. 

“You’re right, your roof is pretty comfortable,” Mark said.

She chuckled at his remark then noticed a gash by his right temple. Her brows furrowed in worry, “You have a wound,” she said, making sure not to touch it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, softly holding her hand and placing it back down with his. “Totally fine.”

Those words brought her some sense of comfort as her eyes softened, causing her to unconsciously squeeze his hand. Mark’s eyes widened and he looked down at their tangled fingers, frozen for a moment.

“Is this... okay with you?” he asked.

She nodded. “Wanna lie down? Since my roof is so comfortable?” she asked with a smirk.

“Sure,” Mark chuckled, removing his hand from her’s and stretching his arm out as they lied down. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, keeping her eyes up at the stars.

“Hey Mark?”

“Yeah?”

A moment of silence.

“Thank you for coming.”

He looked down at her as she met his eyes, “You’re welcome.” 

The two shared a smile, and Mark took a deep breath as he prepared himself for the words that were about to come out of his mouth.

It’s now or never, Mark. Now or never.

“Watching you kick ass yesterday was... really a sight to see,” he began. “You’re powerful and strong, but more importantly, brave. And you’re so fucking beautiful and kind and smart and...” Mark trailed off, sighing, “I never thought I would be in this position — with you next to me in a very comfortable rooftop under the stars.”

“Mark...”

“And I really like you. Like, really, really like you.”

“Mark.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but I just wanted to let you know. It’s important that you know—”

“Mark,” she cut him off. “I like you too. A lot.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and covered his eyes with his free hand. “Oh thank god. Thank god!” he exclaimed.

Y/N shushed him, “You’re gonna wake up the neighborhood, Invincible.”

“Sorry,” he giggled quietly, “I got excited.”

She laughed and faced her body towards him. They locked eyes again, and Mark didn’t know if it was gravity or just the adrenaline that pushed him, but he finally leaned down and met her lips. Static ran through his body as he deepened the kiss, and he felt an excitement that was even more exhilarating than the first time he flew.

She pulled away and Mark ran his hand through her hair, resting his hand on her cheek. “How was that?” he asked.

She smiled gently and placed her hand over his, “Totally fine.”

[introloves]

i saw you mention destroying virgin hinata,,,,,pls elaborate. i didn’t realize i needed that in my life but omg. head full many thoughts

omg my first drabble for hinata, lets see if i can do this sunshine justice bc brazil hinata lives rent free in my head so we going with big muscle, sun-kissed hinata for this one hehe (ALSO OOPS THIS GOT KINDA LONG SORRY!) also this is for f! reader!

he felt guilty, hinata felt absolutely guilty looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

the way your thighs looked beneath the dress you wore, your soft skin, you looked supple and beautiful.

you were perched on his couch, legs crisscrossed, comfy around your boyfriend.

“sho?”

“y-yeah?” you giggled at the way he seemed to be absolutely out of it.

“you’ve been staring at me for a long time, you okay?” the tips of his ears flushed red, he looked away swiftly, unable to meet your gaze.

“yeah! its just...” he exhaled, steeling himself, “you look good.”

hinata pinned you with a stare you’ve only seen him sport during volleyball.

oh.

this time you ran hot with his gaze, your hand came up to block him from view while you basically simmered into the couch.

he was on you in no time, prying your hands away, he thought that he had made you feel bad. you quickly dismissed his claims. explaining to him just how intense he could look.

by this point he was well aware of the feelings simmering in his stomach, no one had ever made him feel like you did. you made him feel like a man, so far his life practically evolved around volleyball, he just recently squeezed you in. you had been quickly taking a larger part of his heart, and as he hovered over you, wrists still in his hand, he realized that he was aroused.

he felt gross at the thought, you weren’t doing anything particularly sexual, just the way your skin looked presented so pretty for him made his baser instincts flare.

your eyes formed half moons as you smiled brightly up at him, still in a playing mood you shook free of his grasp, wrestling your much stronger boyfriend down beneath you.

your dress had hitched itself even higher as you perched on his lap not caring about flashing your undies at him, hinata always made you feel safe and you weren’t a very modest person anyways.

he squeaked as you settled right on top his dick, which was growing with need, throbbing at the heat currently situated right atop it.

“s-stop you shouldn’t-“ he squeaked out, your eyebrows furrowed at the sudden change in attitude he had.

“shouldn’t what?” you asked, leaning forward to try and lock your gaze with his. he jumped, hands coming to clamp down on your waist.

ohh.

your eyes widened at the realization, he was hard against you.

he made a move to tug you off him, but you placed a hand on his forearms.

“l-let me... help you.”

he was your boyfriend after all, this was something boyfriend and girlfriends did.

those words like a punch to the gut, he was sure he was going to cum embarrassingly fast with how just your words affected him.

he nodded, releasing a breath he didnt know he was holding as you smiled... and began rocking your hips against him.

there was no soft build up, he quickly blinked in awe at the feeling of your cunt dragging over his dick.

his hands kept a bruising grip on your waist, biceps bulging with the restraint of ‘dont cum, dont cum, dont cum’ playing over and over in his head.

your own pants lingered in the air as his dick provided the hardness you needed to get off, there was little barrier between your undies (which were soaking... much to hinatas pleasure) and him.

hinata had never felt like this, the fantasy of a woman’s heat so close to him paled in comparison to you rocking against him. his toes curled, his own hips rocking up to meet you.

he couldnt keep up, this was too much too soon for him. he didnt wanna cum in his pants like a teenaged boy. he was ashamed at how little expirience he had, but he still wanted to make you feel good.

you sped up suddenly, wanting to see how he’d react to your teasing, but it felt like his world was tilting on its axis.

he stopped you, mustering all the strength he could to keep you still above him.

“s-stop! stop... please stop.” he cried.

“you dont wanna?” you huffed, struggling to keep your undulating hips still. hinata groaned out a painful noise, he ran a hand through his vibrant hair in frustration, and embarrassment. how was he going to tell his absolute sexy girlfriend he was twenty something and still a virgin.

with a deep breath he managed to stutter out a coherent sentence.

“i’m a virgin.” the words hung heavy around him, he sat there once again unable to meet your gaze.

you shuddered at the confession, it was like a switch had flipped. you once again moved against him and hinata all but choked at the feeling of your cunt work yourself over him.

“i’m going to ruin you.” you rasped out, hands coming up to cup his face as you held him against you while your mouth clashed against his.

“fuuuck.” he groaned at your words, his head thrown back agaist the couch to breathe, disconnected from your kiss for just a second.

you were going to ruin him? those words played over and over, he pondered the thought before he realized he wanted you to ruin him.

he nodded, unable to speak, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

you made quick work of his pants, moving his boxers down his thighs.

your eyes roamed up his dick, it was so pretty. it was pale and much bigger than what you had thought, you knew it was going to give you a good burn once you sunk down onto it.

it was your turn to let out a fucked out noise and hinata ate it up, swallowing hard at the way you regarded him.

“all good?” he questioned, nervous at having someone else look at him like this.

“oh shoyo, its better than good. you have such a nice cock.”

and with that you move your panties to the side, once again hinata tenses at the look of your dripping pussy. he moans unabashedly at the sight, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as you begin sheating yourself onto him.

hes never felt anything so tight, his eyes wide as he stares up at you in awe.

you thought you’d hold up better than you were currently, maybe it was because it was shoyo filling you up, or because of the position you were in made him reach inside you extra deep, whatever it was you panted like a dog in heat.

“sthat okay?” you slurred and he could do nothing more than nod, eyes tightly closed. his hips jerked beneath you, twitching.

you bit your lip at the jolts, knowing he wasnt going to last long.

“i’m already close. i’m sorry, im so sorry.” he whines, and you quickly shut him up.

“shh.” you coo, starting a slow pace up and down his cock.

“youre doing so good, youre doing so good for me.” you whine, choking on the way he felt against you... fuck maybe you were going to cum.

however that thought is short lived as you impale yourself onto him, over and over.

“fuck! i’m cumming! i’m cumming!” he babbles, taking a hold of you and pushing you down on him, you let him, you let him use you for the time being while he cums hotly inside you.

hinata jerks with the force of his release, cumming harder than he ever as.

you do nothing but coo above him,

“there you go, cum for me.”

he’s dizzy with your words and the way you clench around him to prolong his release.

hes well spent by the time he finally stops painting your pussy white with his cum.

there’s a minute of reprieve, just breathing against you until he gasps as he realizes just exactly what happened.

he grabs you unexpectedly. pushing his nose right between your boobs, laughing.

“youre my first!” he laughs, the type of laugh that comes deep within his stomach.

“and you just made me cum so hard.” he holds you tight, hands roaming your back, squeezing your ass slightly.

you laugh with him, heart so very light because with hinata everything is so easy.

“you know i’m going to pay you back for that right?” you make no noise, still processing what he means by that statement- until he makes a show of pistoning his softening cock in and out of you, making an absolute mess, his cum and your slickness dripping down his balls, slickening your thighs, making you squelch against it all.

you pant, worried about your pussy as you remember his insane stamina.

“w-what a second shoyo! you need to wait, aren’t you still sensitive?” you question, and he pins you with another intense gaze.

“whats that gotta do with anything?” he deadpans.

he had the gaze of a predator now, as you looked up at you between your tits.

[keepingupwithpotters]

the kids are (not) alright

third week on @efkgirldetective 's summer of jily 🎡🎡🎡

carnival +we’re getting good at this

Warning for throwing up bcs its a rite of passage and we're goin traditional in this bitch

James retches one more time in the bushes.

He can feel a hesitant hand tapping his back methodically between his dry heaves, too awkward to be comforting. He hopes he didn’t get his vomit on their shoes, that would only make things more uncomfortable for both of them.

Children’s screams thrum in his head as he straightens up. He is afraid to make a sudden move in fear of upsetting his stomach once again, trying not to look down in case he sees what he ate today on the ground.

The owner of the hand clears their throat slightly, prompting him to face the music. An apology is already formed on the tip of his tongue before he turns his back, eyes squeezing shut to save him from some of the embarrassment.

“I am so sorry that you had to witness this.”

He opens his eyes when he hears a snort, the face in front of him belonging to a girl around his age, looking conflicted between being grossed out or amused (which is fair). “Don’t worry, you are certainly not the first person puking his guts out I’ve seen today.”

She hands him a bottle of water with some napkins. “Is that what you do then? Do you go around helping out nauseated blokes? Not that I don’t appreciate it, really, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but I didn’t come to help you.” His confusion must be reading off from his face because she explains herself. “You just appeared out of nowhere behind my stall and started gagging.”

The said stall in question is visible behind her, now that he’s taken the time to look at anywhere beyond the beautiful girl. He curses his luck for the thoughtless hurling location, mortification rising inside him with the thoughts of his earlier actions.

“I– I’ll help you clean it up. Here, I’ll pay for the water and the napkins too.”

She waves his offered money away, a mischievous smile appearing on her face. “So, what finally did you in? Was it the gallopers? The teacups? Or did you just eat one too many fried items?”

He grimaces. “Nothing of the sort. Just some good ole sympathetic vomiting.”

“Piss off.” She looks deadly serious. “You’re aware you’re in a fair, right?

“I wasn’t expecting this much,” he mumbles pathetically, a flush rising under his neck at her stare.

“Well, don’t turn your back right now then.”

His face blanches when he hears the voices coming from behind him. She looks far too happy by his misery.

“I don’t know what you’re so giddy about. It’ll be both of our problems if I have another go at it right now.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t agree to that.”

“Nonsense, we’re a team now.”

Her eyes glint merrily, foretelling the smile that’s coming. “I want a refund. Where are your friends so you can become their problem?”

“Oh, they betrayed me a long time ago. Something about ferris wheels being for couples only, and nobody liking a third wheel.”

“That’s a nice sob story.” She’s positively gleeful now. “Too bad you had already ruined all your chances in the first five minutes, or I would’ve felt sad for you.”

“I think I’m still pitiful enough. Wouldn’t that at least get me your name?”

“You’re lucky I’m in a giving mood today.” He swallows the joke rising to his lips with her retort. “It’s Lily. You can try to work your way up to a number too, but I can’t promise any more generosity.”

Before he can answer her, a customer appears. The little boy looks like he is on a sugar high with no chance to come down, hands and mouth sticky with something pink. Lily fills the paper bag good naturedly with his choice of sweets, smile never leaving her face. She is smart enough to not take the money from his hand directly though and waits for him to place it on the stall instead.

The smile turns devious when she faces him. “Don’t I get to hear your name too? I already know you’re a miserable third wheel who ate too many chips today.”

“See, normally I would’ve kept it a mystery, but I’m afraid of what kind of nickname you can come up with these two facts.” She opens her mouth to tell him exactly what she came up with, but he cuts her off quickly. “It’s James. And I will get that number.”

“Cocky words for a guy who first got the name with pity.”

“Well thankfully, being pathetic is not my only characteristic.”

“Yes, I can see being dramatic is right up there too.”

James wants to answer her, he really does, but he makes the mistake of looking above Lily’s shoulder. He can see the little boy who just bought candies from Lily crouching down, holding his knees, making those wretched sounds. Bile rises up in his throat.

“Fuck, not again, James. Do you have to sympathize with every child you see?” She is fast enough to hand him a plastic bag this time.

His voice comes out muffled with his head in the bag. “I think we’re getting good at this.”

The soothing hand stops its up and down motion to thump him on the back.

He gives himself more time to breathe before speaking again. “I’d say I have suffered enough now. So… how about that number?”

[starlight-starwrites]

can I please request soft smut with Marcus Pike? Please and thank you. I love you. You are my favorite writer.

Everyday

marcus pike x female reader

wc: 2.7k

warnings: piv sex, girl on top (for a bit), a lot of feelings and love (its so gross guys), hand holding, this is basically just all smut and fluff

i would literally do anything for you anon, omigod. the fact that you even sent this blows my mind, i’ve reread it so many times just to make sure im seeing it right. i am so so sorry it took me so long, and i can only hope you still get to see this!! thank you so much

You breathe easy, eyes still closed, covered by a thin sheet, the sun coming through the bedroom window, and a heavy arm. Inhaling deeply, you shift your head on the pillow only to feel another arm underneath it. A small smile creeps on your lips, and you sink into the embrace.

Without opening your eyes, you reach a hand to find the one underneath the pillow and intertwine your fingers with his. His arm around your waist moves, hand searching for your other to take hold of it too. You hum, giving his fingers a little squeeze, before you feel him scooch closer.

A nose tickles your bare shoulder. “Good morning,” he mumbles before pressing his plush lips to the back of your neck.

“Morning, baby.” You sigh and close your eyes tighter, wishing that you could have more time just like this. But Marcus was an early riser, and he would no doubt want to be up and getting ready for the day. You’re about to ask to just sleep in, but he’s already talking.

“Hey baby?” His voice is still thick with sleep, and you don’t mind it a bit as long as what he says next doesn’t destroy your moment of comforting bliss. “Do you think you could get off my arm, honey? I’m losing feeling.”

“Oh!” Your eyes open immediately, surprised at the request. “I’m sorry. Here.” You shift up, letting him move his arm from under your head and tucking it under your side instead, letting him wrap his arms around you while brace yourself with your shoulder so you’re not crushing him.

He pulls you to him, his bare chest to your back, both arms hugging your middle while you entwine your fingers with his again. His face is buried into your neck, brushing his cheek against yours to push away your hair, scratching you with his beard. His breath is warm on your skin, body solid and comforting at your back. It feels right, feels perfect, and you decide you are content to stay in his arms for the rest of your life.

You smile at the thought.

Marcus shifts closer to bring his body flush with yours, and when his hips meet the curve of your ass, you are suddenly very happy neither of you bothered to get dressed last night.

By keeping his hands held in yours, you force him to use other means to search for affection. His face buried in your neck now presses tickling kisses under your ear, and one of his legs comes to lay on top of yours, knocking your knees together. You wiggle your butt in retaliation, knowing the game he’s playing at is just to get you awake.

When Marcus wiggles back, proving just how awake he is, you know he is going to win. His kiss becomes firm, lips pressing and sucking at your sensitive skin, and he drags a palm over your stomach and searching lower, and you let your hand stay atop it as he touches you. It feels good having him here like this, no work, no responsibilities for the time being.

“You are incapable of sleeping in, aren’t you?” you tease him. His body is curled around yours, so much so you feel like you’re being absorbed. You know what he wants. You’re not inclined to refuse him.

“We did sleep in,” he retorts.

You scoff at that. He knows your sleeping habits, and your opinion on his.

“8 AM on a Saturday morning is not sleeping in,” you argue. His kisses that trail from your neck along your shoulder are only partially distracting.

“At this rate, we’ll lose half the day, baby.”

He always uses the same argument. But instead of groaning, you decide to respond differently. “It’s not a loss if I’m with you.”

The kisses stop. There’s a moment of silence, and you wonder what he’s thinking.

“I can’t believe you said something so cheesy.” He sounds genuinely shocked. “You hate when I’m cheesy.”

You scoff. “I do not.”

“You roll your eyes every time I do!’

You roll your eyes and push your back closer into him.

“You’re rolling your eyes right now.” He says it confidently. You don’t know how he does it.

“You don’t know that!” you bite back. “And just because I roll my eyes, does not mean I hate it.”

“So you’re telling me all those times you give me hell for being ‘sappy’, you actually like it?”

You grumble in response, closing your eyes and trying to will yourself back to sleep.

He pulls his arm from under you, lifting himself on an elbow to look at you. “So you do.” It’s not a question. You can hear the smile in his voice. You bite your lip to avoid smiling back.

With you pointedly trying to pretend to sleep, Marcus takes the chance to lean in and nip at your neck. The feel of his teeth and tongue make it impossible to ignore him, and when his hand that cups between your legs moves to separate your folds, you give up. You moan at his ministrations, turning slightly to the side to allow him more access, and he covers your body with his own.

Your hands skim over his shoulders, feeling his skin as he touches you, and you bring a hand to play with the hair at the back of his neck. He dips his head down to kiss you, slow and soft, the same way his fingers rub along your slit before slipping inside of you, only to pull out and stroke you again. It’s a lazy motion, and it’s relaxing, but you know it’s not going to get you anywhere. You don’t mind as you slip your tongue into his mouth, happy to enjoy a slow morning with Marcus for once, happy to feel his nose bump yours, his soft lips slant over yours.

He sighs, pressing closer as he deepens the kiss, and you pet his hair. He pulls back for a moment pressing kisses to each corner of your mouth, then one to your nose before he returns to your lips. You smile into the kiss, forcing him to pull away and try again. He presses a finger into you again, stroking you slowly as if he was trying to torture you. You sigh into his mouth, taking your time as you kiss him, but his gentle touches are beginning to drive you insane, and when you feel his hard length press to your thigh, you don’t want to waste any more time.

Your lips part from his with a soft sound. You notice he doesn’t open his eyes, just drops his head to nuzzle your cheek and kiss along your jaw. You cradle his head as he does it, but then you nudge him to get his attention.

“You going to fuck me, Mr. Pike?” It’s meant to provoke him, and you smile, but he doesn’t stop placing sweet kisses on any skin he can reach, even after he responds.

“Fuck you? I’m going to make love to you, Mrs. Pike.”

You raise a brow, hating how much the sound of that turns you on. “I’m not Mrs. Pike just yet.”

“Forgive me,” he takes hold of your left hand, bringing it to his mouth, “the future Mrs. Pike.” He places a kiss on your ring finger, right under where your engagement ring rests, making sure to keep eye contact.

You can’t help the way your lips part as you stare at him, darting between watching his dark eyes and his pouty lips. You twist your hand in his hold, catching his chin before pulling his face down by your grip on his jaw. “Get over here, Marcus,” you breathe out, and then his mouth is on yours. You think he tries to be sexy, taking your bottom lip between his teeth with a moan, but he’s trying so hard not to smile, and failing.

You laugh against his mouth, and he joins you, pulling away from your lips to press his forehead where you lay in the pillows. He takes your hand from his face and holds it, interlocking your fingers and pining it above your head. Your body still moves slowly this early, but the call of Marcus’ body on yours pushes you to act.

He presses his weight down on you, and you roll your hips into his, searching for friction. He happily obliges, grinding against you and pressing you deeper into the mattress. It may be slow, but it’s needy, the easy intoxication of having a body in your bed, of the early rise of the sun and the soft affection of someone who loves you.

His arms block you in and his face presses into the curve of your neck as you open your legs for him. No words are said as he slides into you. It’s all gasps and sighs and soft moans, his skin on yours, his breath tickling your neck. It’s a familiar feeling, one born of two people who know each other so well, who know exactly what the other wants. He pushes into you until he bottoms out, and you let out a moan as he reaches deep inside. You feel whole like this, like you were meant to wake up and go to bed like this every day.

“Oh, fuck Marc—” His mouth covers yours, kissing away your whine.

You feel his nose trail over the curve your cheek as he breaks away. “You feel so good, so soft for me,” he whispers into your ear. “Look at you. So beautiful,” his other hand comes to your face, gently stroking your cheek before taking your hair, pulling you back into the pillows.

“Mmmm baby, please. Please more,” you breathe it into his shoulder, consumed by his touch.

He kisses down the side of your face as he rocks into you, and your eyes slip shut, tilting your head back to let him kiss along your throat.

“Like that?” He strokes become harder. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

You slide a hand down his back to grip his ass, your nails biting into his skin and he grunts in your ear, moaning your name as he starts to move faster.

“I’ll give you more, fuck, I’ll give you everything.”

His body never parts far from yours, but he hits exactly where you need him, and you feel a pull beginning in your gut. He lets out a moan as he buries himself in you, over and over, and you love the delicious feeling of having him so intimately, the delicious sound of how wet he makes you. You can’t help the choked sound that escapes.

“Moaning like that, shit, shit. You keep doing that baby and I’m—”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Just like that, please. Please.” You don’t know what you’re saying, just want him to keeping doing what he is.

Marcus tilts his head as he pumps harder, his eyes slip closed, and you know he’s already lost in your heat.

“You take me so good,” he groans, and the sound of makes you grow wetter. “You love me so good. You promise,” his nose nudges yours, “You promise you’ll be mine?”

He thrusts into you again, his pace getting faster, and you know he’s close. But with the way he’s talking, how he groans when he hears you call his name, you know he deserves something better. So when he slides into you again, as deep as he can go, you quickly wrap your legs around him, squeezing your thighs to trap him. He moans above you, hanging his head, and you take the chance to roll the two of you over, keeping your bodies locked together. You sit on top of him now, keeping his back to the mattress with your hands pushing on his chest. You wiggle your hips to get settled, comfortable with him seated deep inside you. Marcus presses his head back, exposing his neck while he grits his teeth.

“Fuck, baby,” he curses, your move surprising him in his wrecked state.

You smile sweetly at him. “Not just yet, baby, I got something to say.”

You press a quick kiss to his lips before kissing down to his chest.

“Who do I go to bed with at night?” you ask.

He hesitates for a moment, confused and distracted by the light touch of your lips. You press your tongue to his sternum, dragging it over his skin until you find his nipple, swirling it around the peak. His hand comes to cradle the back of your head, mouth dropping open as you stay seated on him, teasing him.

“Who do I wake up to in the morning?” you try again. “When I need to be held, whose arms do I go to, baby?”

You watch the movement of his throat as he swallows and smile at the affect you have on him. Still, he doesn’t answer. You take his other hand and bring it to where your bodies meet, dragging his fingers around the base of his cock and through your slick folds. “Who makes me wet like this baby?”

He moans in response, mouth open as he stares at you like you came from the heavens. You swivel your hips around him, clenching on his hard cock inside you.

“Who, baby? You didn’t answer.”

The moan that comes from him is unashamed. He swears, a little fuck that makes you smile.

“I do,” he chokes out. “I make you this wet—” he grunts when you finally move on him, making his voice break again. And him finally admitting what he does to you, having him hard and throbbing inside you and nearly begging you to let him finish, breaks you. You lift yourself and rock into him again, finding a rhythm as you ride him.

He throws his head back, mouth running as he praises you, confesses his love for you. You feel your muscles tighten as you watch him.

“Yes, I promise,” you say. “Of course, I promise I’m yours. I love you, Marcus. I love you, I love you—”

He reaches up to tug on your arms, and you fall forward onto him. He wraps his arms around your body, holding you close to him, and he presses his face into your hair and your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispers, saying your name with reverence as he begins to thrust up into you. “I’ll love you forever.”

He snaps his hips up into yours as you lay there, only able to press yourself down on him. The angle changes, and he draws out a long moan from you where he hits inside you. His pace stutters, but with the two of you moving, the feeling builds and builds until it crests. You hold tight to him when it hits, he grinds into you as he releases, and one of your hands flies to press between your legs to prolong the high. It feels so good, he feels so good releasing inside you, tightening around you.

You touch yourself until you tremble atop him, and he captures your mouth in lazy kiss. Neither of you move from each other, content to bask in the moment a little longer. His hand rubs up and down your back as you settle into the crook of his neck.

You don’t regret him waking you up so early, don’t regret agreeing to join him in his bed so long ago. As you bend your thumb to adjust your ring, you definitely don’t regret saying yes.

“This is how I want to wake up. Every day,” you whisper it to the room, but you know he hears you.

He doesn’t say anything, and your hand on his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes. He brings it to his lips again, smiling before pressing a kiss to the ring on your finger. And you lie there, him still inside you, your thighs framing his hips as he holds you, surrounded by his warmth, his arms, his scent, and you’re happy.

“Everyday for the rest of my life.”

[littlefreya]

The Way To Hell - Final Chapter

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man on earth. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped while a trained assassin is sent to bring him down. 

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k (including epilogue) 

Warnings: 18+, smut, boomer Walker, some fluff, sexual intercourse, cock-warming, mentions of torture, implied insanity, slight mentions of gore, violence, murder, mass-shooting and death. Please proceed with caution  

A/N: The ending is here and I hope I did it justice, I hope I did right by you. I will reblog my kudos, but first I must thank @agniavateira for being my beta and a source of inspiration and @raspberrydreamclouds for the cover art. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Now allow me to die out of stress and anxiety.

Title: See You in Hell

Down by the valley, there is a serenity that exists only in fairy tales. Damp grass caresses her naked back, the pointy little tips ticking the base of her spine, leaving a fresh trail of dew. Pure mountain mist breathes life through blue hills caked with ice; white fog vales over the forest’s lush greenery and looms above the lake’s water like a lost-love phantom.

Lying with her eyes shut, she listens to the harmony of life surrounding her: the little fish bouncing in the river, the butterflies procreating mid-air and the hummingbird chirping with bliss. Yet the most beautiful sound is the low, melodic baritone humming and reverberating against her inner thighs. 

”Angel, With those angel eyes Come and take this earth boy Up to paradise.”

”Boomer Walker…” she teases, “Is that a song from your time?” 

Ascending a trail of kisses up her pelvis, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to suspect that you have a kink for older men,” he answers with a throaty growl, shifting his weight further over her abdomen. The soft fur of his torso grazes between her thighs, and she sighs with pleasure. 

”Do you want daddy to fuck you?” 

”That’s gross!” she curls her nose and tries to hit his head playfully, but August snaps at her wrists with perfect instinct, pinning her hands against the wet meadow. His tongue flicks over the slant of her neck while he aligns his cock at the little piece of heaven between her legs.

Sensual yet rough, his massive girth splits her walls while his lips shower her with honeyed kisses. Ingvild throws her head back, lacing her fingers with his and coils herself beneath his large body. 

“August...” she pants, feeling the air gradually diminishing from her lungs with every thrust, “I think I’m dying...”

Never halting or slowing his rhythm, August lowers his head to peer into her eyes. Fingers drenched with blood snap at her jaw.

“Stay with me, Ingvild.” He demands, letting out a husky groan, though his voice is but an echo.

A grey, thick mist wafts around the darkening forest, covering her with a bone-chilling breeze; his calling carries on the distance.  

“Stay, princess...”

“Don’t leave...”

“Stay. We’ve only just begun.”

Ice bites its sharp fangs into the little creases between her cracked bones as another bucket filled with frosty water showers her trembling body. The stabbing pain lasts for a lingering moment, reminding her that she’s still very much alive.

It must be the 10th bucket, or maybe 12th? She lost count at some point. Day and night melt into one another in this place, and the hours don’t make much sense.

Muffled complaints vibrate in her ears. Vaguely her sight picks on two silhouettes arguing when the world abruptly flashes white, and her jaw soaks a terrible blow. Fully crashing onto the hard marble, she tries to recover, but a sudden kick rips through her abdomen.

“Your methods are too slow, Issac!” A grey-haired agent chides, standing over the girl with his foot still drawn, “Walker could be setting his bomb somewhere across the globe any minute now, and you’re taking your sweet time with her as if she’s an art project.”

The scrawny torturer frowns and turns his back at him. Walking toward the metal desk, he browses through different equipment. “My methods always work, the pretty little girl was taught to endure pain,” he grunts in exasperation and gestures at the bloodstained bandage around her hand, “she did this to herself.”

Sighing with a mixture of frustration and disgust, the CIA agent takes another swing at Ingvild’s torso, the pointy edge of his shoe colliding with the scar at her gut.

Bloodshot eyes rise with wrath, violent tides of aftershock course at her viscera. She peers at the men through the haze of pain when a third figure appears in the room, standing calmly whilst Issac and the agent argue among them. 

Tall, broad, and charismatic, the handsome man strides toward her. His tailored steel-coloured suit envelops his statuesque body as if he is made of iron.  

“You’re taking it so well, princess,” he praises in his deep, melodic baritone while crouching down to take a closer look. Ingvild lifts her head, slowly breaking into a weak grin. Onyx orbs replace the storm-touched eyes, but that chiselled face still belongs to her beautiful monster.

“Did you tell them anything about where I am headed?” he asks and gives her a pout, reaching his index finger and thumb to squeeze her bruised cheek affectionately. 

Swallowing the aching dryness in her throat, she manages to shake her head meekly. “No… I said nothing,” her voice cracking as she whispers. Her chapped lips stretch into a pale, awkward grin. 

Tiny lines form at the corner of his void-like eyes as he smiles back, radiating with dangerous delight.

“That’s my good girl.”

The grey-haired agent throws a glance over his shoulder, scrutinising Ingvild while he stands next to Issac, who is twirling a scalpel back and forth between his boney fingers.

“Who is she talking to?”

“Not very sane this one,” Issac explains as he examines the silver blade against the light, “multiple mental disorders, dissociative personality, psychotic.”

Pushing the agent aside with his free hand, Issac steps forward. He leers at Ingvild, who stares at nothing for a long second before averting her eyes back at them. 

“We just need to dig a little deeper and the little bird will sing,” he exclaims and moves closer before dropping to his knees. One of his icy hands lands on her shoulder, forcing her flat on her back. Shuddering at his frozen touch, she closes her eyes; in the bleak nothingness, she recalls the night in the lake where August let her die.

“Pretty little Ingvild, have you heard of vivisection?” Her torturer asks as he lines his twig-like finger over the spine of the scalpel. Sensing his digits sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt, she shoots her eyes open yet remains still and intrepid. 

The tiny black marbles beneath Issac’s brows glint with twisted joy, appeased at the sight of the scar as he exposes her torso. Ingvild expects the pain of the blade when something tepid and unpleasantly wet slithers across her gut like a little pink slug. 

“Umm… Issac…?” The agent interrupts, furrowing his brow with confusion and disgust as he stares at his colleague licking the girl’s torso.

“What?!” Issac snaps at him, his eyes narrowing with spite, “you wanted me to go harder on her!”

“Yes, but…”

“But shut up and let me do my job!” He yells and returns his glare to Ingvild who blinks at the ceiling silently. Disrupted by his touch, she bites her tongue, fighting to hold back the acrid substance that threatens to emerge from her gut.

“You fight very hard to protect a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you, little bird,” his snake-like voice hisses as he leans down to half-whisper in her ear, “just tell me where he is and I won’t cut you open.”

Ingvild sucks the air in through gritted teeth and turns her head to look away from the obnoxious little man. She seeks for her beautiful monster, finding him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. August’s empty glance wears a calm grin.

“He is in this room,” Ingvild jests faintly, her sardonic laughter stretching thin, her chest heaving, exhausting whatever strength is left in her muscles. August’s smirk widens with hers, large dimples are slicing into his cheeks.

Ticking his tongue, Issac allows the sharp edge of the scalpel cut a skin-deep line into her flesh. Ingvild stares at him stoically, not moving a muscle as shy drops of blood begin trickling down her navel. 

“Are you sure about your response?” he asks, ghosting the scalpel over her abdomen while crooking an eyebrow.

Ingvild bites her lip, pretending to think about her answer for a few seconds. Lifting her head up, she inches her lips toward Issac’s ear. The scrawny man listens intently. 

“August Walker is the devil, and the devil is everywhere.”

A peal of sinister chuckles spills from her lips as she throws her head back onto the ground, staring at Issac’s disapproving glare. 

But her laughter soon dies. 

Taut pressure pierces into her flesh, the blade penetrating deep, cutting through tissue and muscle as if it was soft cheese. Ingvild clenches her jaw, her mind flooded by charring white light that dismantles every thought while the blade continues to swerve.

For a brief moment, she finds herself in Bergen, hands covered with thick blood, holding the gushing wound in her stomach with shock. August stands above her, toying with his favourite knife and staring at the red taint. 

“Time to fall, angel.” 

Scattered musings run behind her eyes: Liam, the nuns at the orphanage, August, and even Erica. She’s reminded of every hit she was forced to take, every country she visited, all blending into a bizarre parade of death. 

“C’mon girl, just tell us where he is!” She hears the other man shout as he steps closer with an urgent expression. “Just give us something, a country, a region, anything to make this stop, you can still do the right thing.” 

The heavy stench of iron fills her nose; the warm, thick liquid trickles down her bare skin, spilling in a cross on the map of her torso. The pain now is undeniable, making her lips heavier as she makes an attempt to answer.

“I don’t…. know… any August.”

The CIA agent scoffs violently and balls his fists. “Deeper!” He orders Issac, who like a composer, trails the blade further through her gut, cutting into sinew and brittle tendons. Ingvild trembles, feeling her body grow weaker. 

In her mind, she can hear caged screams.

“You will die for a man who doesn’t even care if you bleed!” The agent rasps, spit coming out of his mouth as he rages above her.

‘Stop!’

“He won’t even remember you once you die!”

‘Resist, don’t show pain. You’ve been through this before, you already died.’ 

“No one will.”

Swallowing every ounce of pain, she fights to remember her training, her past. Her mind scrambles for Fjellstrekninger forest, for the green pines and their stringy needles, for the scent of beech and the damp ground. She tries to imagine the silver-blue mountains of Bergen, that last time she hiked there before going to meet Liam at the gas station. 

How strange that at the very same day she encountered the most wanted man on earth, not knowing she was destined to be his. 

But none of these images appear before her.

‘You can’t escape this.’

Her screams shudder through the entire floor. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” 

August flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, glowering at the driver who gawks at him with disbelief and shakes his head. Pushing the phone against his chin, he stares forward at the rainy road, reciting in his mind the words of the MI6 and CIA apostles.

‘Erica captured a woman in her late 20s, having her tortured for information for a couple of days now. Can’t promise you she’s alive. No one goes in there.’

“I wasn’t asking,” August answers, throwing him an icy glare, “we’re taking the chopper to the Mi6 fortress in London. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you question my decisions.” 

The driver tenses his fingers around the steering wheel and shakes his head once again. He means to say something, but the scowl on August’s face shuts him up right away.

“Who is she? What is she to you?”

August huffs and lowers his gaze, eyes dropping to the plutonium case and then forward through the windshield, watching the heavy rain clouds that stretch before the sky. As he blinks his eyes shut, his mind plays a vision of an inferno; cracked ground and scorched skies. He sits on a throne made of bones and drinks wine from a chalice made of human skull. 

His angel sits on his knee, naked and pure, her iridescent wings tucked against her back. She stares at him with a smile full of admiration, her fingers brushing over his moustache. 

‘Your angel of destruction.’

“She’s just an asset.”

‘Hell lives inside you August, it always has. Rotting you from the inside as it begs to be let out. And you will unleash it, won’t you? Your suffering must be shared.’

Vast shadows gather outside the double-pane windows of the main hall. The thick storm clouds paint the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars alive one by one. Light wanes just in time for the harbinger of chaos to march into the well-secured lobby of the sizable Mi6 fortress.

If fairytales were to be true, the devil would arrive riding a monstrous mare with hooves made of flames. But if anything, he is but a man in a tailored suit and a long trench-coat. The leather soles of his midnight-black shoes squeak as he marches on, leaving a trail of mud on the cream-coloured marble.

“Evening sir,” the security guard greets and gestures August to pass through the large weapon detector with nothing but a quick exchange of knowing looks. 

The corners of August’s lips curl into a small smile beneath his moustache while he scrutinises the surroundings. Gold and pearly pillars spread across the vast hall, a false facade hiding a decaying world and the self-indulgent ghosts that harbour it. So lost in their own little lie, it takes them more than a few minutes to notice the hellhound who stepped into their haven.

It begins as a small rumble, like a seismic wave. The first tremor vibrates through the ground and the walls follow with a convulsing shudder. Gasps, chatter, and widened eyes stab at him with shock, yet they all seem to suffer from the same affliction. 

Standing paralysed, they ogle at the most wanted man on earth as he combs his fingers through his hair and walks toward the elevators located at the end of a narrow, red corridor. Unapologetically confident and ever so relaxed and condescending, he ignores them. 

A true king among peasants.  

“Is that?...”

“What the fuck?!”

“How the fuck did he pass security???”

His confidence is nothing but theatrics, as his blue eyes carry toward the large elevators with a glossy sparkle breaking on his corneas. He tries so hard to envision her beautiful face yet all he sees is a pile of dry bones.

“Stop! Hands in the fucking air, Walker!”

‘Ah, took them long enough.’

Standing between the carpeted walls of the narrow corridor, only mere inches from the silver doors, August slowly spreads his long fingers and lifts his hands in the air. His keen ear catches at least three firearms as the guards cock their guns at his direction, panting with fright. 

“Turn around so we can see you, piece of shit!!!” A presumingly young hero barks behind him. 

“Someone call Director Sloane down here right now, she’s not going to believe it!!!”

The soft rumbling in the lobby grows into impending thunder. A flash of pale purple lightning floods the lit vicinity for a split second, echoing the small grin that spreads across August’s beaming face.  

“Oh, I don’t think so, son,” he speaks serenely, almost like a tender fatherly coo. Not bothering to turn, he tilts his head up and inhales sharply.

“Go.”

Sharp gasps of shock and terror reverberate between the walls of the fortress as sudden darkness veils the main hall. The smell of their fear is almost as delightful as the strong smoky scent of gunpowder. Like shooting stars, the rapid gunfire pierces through the night. Cries, incoherent screams, and panicked gasps make for a beautiful concert, so much that he wishes he could stay, but he has a girl to rescue.  

‘If she’s still alive…’

Swallowing the bitter bile, he enters an elevator and presses the button for the basement level. He watches the flickering beams of light as his men continue to execute the remaining agents before the doors shut in. 

Drawing out his handgun and relieving the safety, he leans against the shuddering metal and stares at the neon red number while reminiscing on the day he met a pretty girl with an unpleasant smile.

“Too bad, I would have loved to see you again.”

“Well then, if our destinies were meant to be entwined, you will.”

The basement level seems completely abandoned and eerily silent. No wails nor cries carry on the chilly air. 

His Ingvild is forbearing, she would never show her suffering. Would she? 

Inching toward the interrogation cell, his hand runs across the naked concrete walls, sensing the coarse texture against the pads of his fingers. Opaline droplets of sweat bead his forehead and his lungs sink with the effort.

Muffled voices perk his ears the closer he gets: two men, no woman. No sounds of violence, no signs of her in there whatsoever. 

‘Angel, are you being brave for me?’

Arriving at the door, he takes a deep breath and gingerly pushes the handle. The pungent scent of salt and iron pervades his nostrils as he steps a foot into the shower of blinding white light. The brightness hurts and for a moment it feels as everything before him fades. 

Until his sight sharpens and he notices the two shadowy figures standing with their backs facing him. They look like vultures preying upon a corpse.

Her corpse.

‘No! Change this! Make this right!’

Wings of cherry-dark blood spread from her snow-pale body. Motionless, his girl lies with her top huddled around her chest to expose her bleeding gut. 

‘You are too late…’

Pure, undistilled rage burns within August’s throat, so ferocious it stings in his eyes, making his entire body tremble. He lifts his hand and fires the gun hastily, shooting both men in the back of their heads before they even get the chance to turn and look at the man who executed them. 

“Ingvild!” August pants, rushing and falling to his knees before her. 

“Angel?” He presses one hand to her gut, trying to pressure her gushing wounds while his fingers etch around her nape to pull her closer to his face. Blood, still sticky and warm, tarnishes his clean outfit while he cradles her in his arms.

“Please don’t do this to me…” He whispers, shifting his hand to caress her bruised face, recalling the last time she was dead in his arms. 

The world kept spinning on its axis when she died back at the lake. So why does it feel like right now it stopped in its place?

Pressing her to his chest, August shuts his eyes and shudders with fury. All emotions come to life, and every one of them hurt.

“You are not here…” 

A deep quivering sigh of relief soars from his throat, mouth cracking into a smile at the sounds of her hoarse whisper and delicate moans. Blinking faintly, Ingvild half-opens her eyes and stares at him through heavy lids. 

“I am here,” he whispers, brushing away the sticky strands of hair from her face and squeezes her cheek beneath his thumb, “I came to take you, we have to go.”

Shifting his arms, he tries to lift her up, but his petite woman is suddenly made of the heaviest rocks; her stiff muscles protest in his grip, making it impossible for him to manoeuvre her out of fear she will bleed to death. 

“We were both at the garden,” she mumbles drowsily, licking her bloodied teeth before breaking into a maddened smile that quickly dies as she depletes her remaining strength. “I’m tired, I want to stay here and dream.” 

“Ingvild, we don’t have time for this,” August warns with concern, noticing how her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter shut, “there’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. You have to get up, you have to survive this, you have to come with me! Please!”

Fat, oily tears roll down her temples, mingling with the blood and tangy sweat on her face. Opening her eyes again, she peers at her beautiful monster, recognising the familiar ocean and its eternal unrest. 

Did he come here for her, or is it just a dream?

“Why?” 

‘Tell her.’

Brow lifting and face softening, his hands clutch her tightly. He rocks her from side to side, holding her protectively. Ingvild senses the wrath that pours from his heart, the thundering beat throwing its fists against his ribcage as their bodies collide.

“You know why,” August suggests huskily, nearly begging, bargaining not to admit, not to say the words he was always so afraid of. But naively, her gaze pleas in return, the child-like innocence piercing a hole through his chest. 

“Tell me,” she begs him.

‘She needs you to say it.’

“Because I need you.”

The words nearly crack on his tongue, his throat suddenly so dry it sears. He glances down at the fallen angel, sensing the most excruciating thirst, where the only way to stop it is by stealing several deep kisses from her lips. 

“I need you by my side,” he murmurs above her lips between desperate, helpless kisses, hoping to breathe life into his weakened valkyrie, “stay with me, angel.”  

An awkward stretch tugs at her cheeks, hurting as if someone slices them with a blade from side to side. For the first time in her life, true laughter crisps her face, followed by crystal-like tears that run down her sullen eyes.

“I love you, August.” 

Every nerve in his body tingles with tendrils of light, reaching out deep within his gut and spreading throughout his tendons. For a moment, he feels divine, sanctified by the words of his angel, his woman, his by free will. 

Offering her a brief smile, he captured her lips for one last stolen kiss. His thick moustache scratches at her tender flesh while a little hum plays on his tongue. 

She tastes like blood and honey - the tarty flavour of victory.

“We have to go now, princess, I have to finish this.” 

Gingerly rising to his feet, he hooks a hand below her knees and places the other against her bruised spine. Bloody footprints trail behind him as he carries her outside the white room, trying to make for their freedom.

Locked down in her office, Director Erica Sloane inhales and exhales by practice, brushing a hand through her sweat-slick hair while trying to call every backup unit. Bullets still rip through the air in every story; the sirens howl while red lights flicker from outside. She puts her hands around her ears, trying to shut the noises out, uncertain if the screams she is hearing are her people still being slaughtered, or her mind playing tricks.

Walker is many things: an idealist, a manipulative snake, a monster. But this is a side of him she never anticipated. There is no need to question his motives this time. She is smart enough to figure it out. 

To risk so much, a man must feel deeply for a woman.

Her anxiety spikes as guilt seeps in when her phone suddenly rings.

“Director Sloane,” she pants against the receiver. Somehow, as she hears the deep, measured breath, she knows.

‘Walker.’

“Hello, Erica, did you miss me?”

Erica clenches her jaw and stares spitefully into nothing, “Hardly.”

She hears him scoff from the other line, her mind piecing together that horrible, pretentious grin of his. The bile climbs up her throat just from the vision. 

“We don’t have much time, but I just wanted to thank you.” August pauses, sighing with the bliss of a madman at her ear, “You see, if not for Lacey, if not for you kicking me to the curb the way you did - I would have never become what I was meant to be. And you sent me an angel to light my way…”

“You’ve manipulated her.”

“No, you did,” August interrupts calmly, “I set her free. I will set them all free and unite them.”

The anger simmers in her gut to the point of nausea. She holds her breath, counts to ten and tries to gather her thoughts. ‘August wants a bargain,’ she thinks, but for a reason, it feels like he already won.

“Can you come and look out of the window for me, please?” He asks politely. 

Turning her head at the window, she narrows her eyes and bites her plump lips with hesitation.

“If I had a sniper on you, you’d be dead 5 minutes ago,” he assures her. 

She gets up from her office chair slowly, her fingers reaching to uncover the blinds. The storm weakened, yet heavy clouds still loom from above like a noxious mist. She seeks for August on the horizon, listening carefully to the sounds on the line. She realises they are coming from above. Her sharp eyes detect the helicopter: far, yet close enough to see his shit-eating grin and that hand that waves at her. 

He has the girl with him. Who knew a monster could care.

“You know, you are the only woman in the CIA I haven’t fucked.” He provokes and then hangs up suddenly.

Erica watches as the helicopter takes off, her eyes widening with fear as the notion of her own demise resonates like a stinging slap.

The blast takes her along with the entire building within a split second.

Standing on the cliff by the edge of the valley, August stares down at the tranquil scar that swerves amidst lush, fertile mountains. The crystalline Indus river lies before his eyes, its sweet water so clear that the sky mirrors upon the brim.   

It’s not every day when a simple man becomes a god. 

The melancholic beauty of nature makes his fingers tighten around the detonator, thumb ghosting over the button as he allows himself a couple of last seconds to inhale the air of the old world. 

Oh, how many will die for this god to receive his halo.

‘I wish you were here, my Ingvild…’ August muses with anguish, feeling an awkward jab at the spot where his heart should have been.  

A sudden rumbling noise of a helicopter makes his gut weave. 

‘That better not be Ethan fucking Hunt! I should have thrown him off the cliff in Norway!’ 

Alarmed yet stoic as ever, he draws his gun, aiming it at the aircraft inching its way to land on the other side of the flat terrain. The last thing he needs right now is someone meddling with his affairs, but it quickly becomes clear to him that if someone wanted a monster like him dead, they would have sniped him from the air before he could even see them coming. 

‘Did you forget the woman is nothing but a valkyrie?’

“What are you doing here?” He calls out at Ingvild and frowns at the pilot, abruptly struck with anger. “I specifically asked to make sure she stays rested!”

The pilot shrugs while Ingvild makes her way toward August with mild effort. Dark circles rest beneath her eyes, yet she is still so very beautiful to him, especially when she frowns. 

“She was very persuasive and horrendously stubborn,” the pilot retorts. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” August mutters to himself and watches the little battered woman making every attempt to remain stoic as she steps closer. A shadow of a malicious grin creeps on her frosty eyes. 

Once upon a time, she promised him she will always find him. She has no intention of breaking that promise.

“Did you think I’ll let you do this without me, August Walker?” She sulks at him as she finally moves to stand in front of him. Every nerve in her body is inflamed with pain, yet the thought of not being here at the birth of the new world brings greater agony than imagined. 

Something she compares to missing out on the birth of a child.

“We are in this together now, this is our cause, our better world. You don’t get to leave me behind.”

Her hand reaches for his wrist, thumb pressing to feel his quickening pulse. Wonder paints his eyes and his lips gape softly. He promised himself Lacey will never cross his thoughts again; yet he can’t help but think about that night in his study and the pain of betrayal.  

‘How is she even real?’   

Gently peeling her fingers off his wrist, he looks at the detonator. He then takes her hand in his, placing the device in her slender grasp. 

“Forgive me, my darling. You’re right,” he apologises and turns her over to view the horizon. A shiver surges through her as she senses the weight in her palm when August moves to stand behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“We do this together.”

Pesky little honeysuckles flutter within her chest as his arms wrap around her carefully. One of his hands holds hers, raising it up slightly to position the device in front of her chest.

“Do it angel, set them free.”

Taking a deep breath, Ingvild slides her fingertip over the red button. Scattered images of her life briefly flash through her mind, ending with the single moment where their gazes first met that day in Bergen.

Bright heavenly light cleanses the sky and loud thunder rips through the earth. Standing on the trembling ground, August and Ingvild stare into the distance while slowly turning to face each other. They hold their hands together, both gaping with awe as rich golden hues pour into the sky. 

Enamoured, and lost within one another’s beauty, they share a long, lingering kiss. 

Epilogue. 

Sharp and heavy, the blade split the wood in half as if it was made out of soft butter. Resting the blunt side of the leaden axe over his shoulder, he pauses and observes the pile of firewood on the ground. His lips move in silence as he counts before crouching down to pick up another log and place it on the stump. 

Strong shades of pink and orange spread between the clouds, kissed by the drowsy sun as it makes its way to slumber beneath the earth. It’s been 8 months since the coming of their new world. Even though there is still work to be done, August decided a hideout was necessary to let her mend her wings. 

“Loki!” 

Ingvild rushes into the green field with a wide, toothy smile. Feral rivers of chestnut-brown reach the small of her back, floating behind her as she runs around giggling.

‘That smile, like honey. So pure, so real.’

Playful barks answer her call, and a German Shepherd puppy appears from across the green hill, jumping over one of the logs ecstatically and wags its tail.

“Careful or I’ll cook him for dinner,” August mutters and points the axe at Loki’s direction. The pup tilts its head at him and barks with playful rage, growling and baring its needle-like teeth.

Ingvild pauses and gives August an icy stare before grabbing the large puppy and holding him to her chest, “You’re a shitty liar August Walker, you love him. Always sneaking him bacon when you think I'm not looking and snuggling him in your sleep.”

August shrugs, brushing away her comment before sticking the axe into the tree stump. “Get inside, time for dinner.” A small grin stretches on his lips as he sees her walking away, kissing the puppy on his wet little nose. 

The scent of cedarwood burning at the mantle and brewed coffee welcomes her home as she enters the cabin, immediately filling her chest with mellowness. She allows Loki down on the ground before walking into their cosy bedroom where she removes her trousers and remains in an oversized sweater and black thigh-high stockings that August gifted her after they left Kashmir. 

When she returns to the living room, August is sitting at the study with his laptop open. A small wrinkle lines his forehead while he runs two fingers over his moustache. A map and coordinates are visible on the screen, along with a messaging platform which she only assumes is a conversation with one of the apostles. 

Loki lies guarding at his feet.

“Come here, princess,” August calls, reaching out his arm toward her. “I have something to show you.”

Sneaking toward him like a large feline, Ingvild takes his hand and lets him guide her to his lap. Her legs fall to each side of his thighs, and August rests his chin at the small crook of her neck where it always belonged.

“What are you looking for?” She asks, casually pulling the sleeve over her wrist to scratch at a peeling hammer tattoo gracing her skin.

“Don’t touch it, let it heal.” August answers and takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers together tightly. An illustration of an angel wing decorates the same spot on his arm. As she glances at the way the black ink is embedded into his flesh, she can’t help but smile and ever so slightly grind herself on the semi-rigid bulge beneath her ass.

August growls against her neck, grazing his stubbles over her supple skin before reaching a hand to unzip his tracking trousers and pull out his swelling manhood. After a soft scuffle of her panties, he lifts her hips and slides himself fully within her wet, angelic cove. 

“August…” She sighs, fluttering her eyes shut for a split second, embracing both pain and pleasure. When August fills her, she is ethereal, as if a piece that was missing all her life has finally made it back home.

“You always look so beautiful with me inside you,” he murmurs against her neck, planting bristly kisses down her jawline before returning his glare forward. Ingvild only moves slightly above him, swaying slow and smooth on his thick, throbbing girth and squeezing him tight between her walls to relish in their bond.  

“I have a present for you.” He opens a tab on his browser while his fingers toy with her clit with surprising tenderness.

“What is it?” She moans as he presses down on her sensitive pearl.

“I found Liam,” he explains, a twinge of pride and a spit of revenge hanging on his baritone. He growls slightly as her cunt clenches around him by his words. “He’s hiding out in Sao Paulo. I plan to bring you his head.”

Sucking on her bottom lip, she grinds a little harder, feeling August deep in her gut. The temptation to ride him hard and rough is too great, but this sweet slow torture always brings her to a higher ground of ecstasy when they finally fuck. 

“Can it wait, my beautiful monster?” She asks sweetly, reaching her talons to clutch his thigh as he pushes further in and bottoms out inside her with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while and be your angel for a little bit longer.”

August lifts his cerulean gaze back to Ingvild, the clear sky in his deep irises slightly darken as he observes the serene look on her face. His hand rises to cup her chin and turn her head to the side to meet his possessive lips. He cages her mouth with his, devouring her with the lust of a hungry man.

“You will always be mine and mine alone Ingvild,” he promises as he ends the kiss with a nibble on her chin. Ingvild licks his saliva off her mouth and stares back at him with the oxymoronic union of innocence and sinister urge before she leans back and continues to look at his plans.

‘Who is she to you?’

‘She is my queen, and I am the king of hell.’

_______________________________

Additional Notes: Song lyrics by Elvis Presely - Angel. Additional Inspiration by Nine Inchs Nails - We’re in this together. 

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Mission Impossible’s franchise or August Walker.

[baepsaetan]

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Jungkook

Summary: You miss him so much, but it seems like getting to spend time with Jungkook is going to take a Christmas miracle.

Ao3 Link: here 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, side Namgi

Length: 17.6k

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Warnings: Suspicions of cheating, misunderstandings, panic attack, suggestive content, swearing

A/N: Oooof I am finally done my Secret Santa fic for @thebtswritersclub​ and only - *checks calendar* - too late. So sorry this is so late @jjeongukkie​! It got so much longer than I had planned, and while I had a lot of fun writing it, I did not plan it quite well enough to finish in a timely fashion. Still, I hope you’re able to enjoy a last blast of Christmas vibes and fluff and angst as you slide into 2021! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you have an awesome new year! 

I always appreciate all likes, reblogs and comments! If you enjoy reading this, send me an ask! Happy belated New Year to everyone! 

---

“You’re not coming home now?”

Even as you say it, you’re vaguely surprised you manage to get the words out. Your lips are numb with shock and disappointment, and Jungkook’s wince on the screen of your phone just makes the feeling even more jarring. More painful.

“I’m sorry,” he says, half pleading and half desperate. “It’s just, this project is so important, and we need to have it ready for rollout…”

Throat tight, the fingers of your free hand pushing into your thigh, you adjust the phone with your other before saying thickly, “You said it would be a few hours in the morning, Jungkook. It’s – it’s Christmas."

"I know, I know, I just..."

He’s still speaking, quick and anxious words about necessity and pressure, and while you’re listening, you’re thinking about the cute lingerie sitting next to you on the bed. You'd been planning a little gift for him when he got home, and when he'd surprised you with a Facetime request, you'd pulled them out of the drawer, thinking it might be a fun little tease to give him a flash of the red and black set. Now, though...

"Hey, Y/N, I'm sorry. Really." Biting at his lip, Jungkook somehow manages to look a bit pitiful, even with the dress shirt he's wearing, ironed to sharp definition. The collar of the black shirt is open, sans a tie – he’d mentioned this morning no one cared about perfect business attire while working over Christmas – and the bare curve of his collarbone just adds to the disjointed clash of his clean outfit compared to his dejected expression.

The look has your throat closing even more, and you try to force a smile. You're well aware of how stressful the new position has been for your long time boyfriend, seen the casualties of the job; late night arrivals at the apartment, distracted eyes while making and eating dinner, forehead creased with frustration every time his phone vibrates, fatigue that throws him into sleep before you and he have really even had any time to talk together. He's also been hitting the gym almost religiously lately, another outlet for stress, and while you love Jungkook's enthusiasm for staying active, two sessions a day, every day, is excessive for him. It also eats into what little opportunity is left for you two to spend time with each other.

But he's doing his best. You know that. You're sure of it. And he promised it would get better, soon.

Soon. So, you swallow the disappointment, and the thing that’s more dangerous, simmering below it and too perilously close to anger. You hitch on a smile, and hope it doesn't look quite as forced as it feels. "I get it, Kookie. I'm just sorry you have to work for so long. Will you be back in time for dinner?"

He hesitates, teeth still sawing into his lower lip as he jiggles his head indecisively and the camera frame shifts a bit. "I'm not sure but – probably?" Your expression must sink just as much as your stomach does, despite your best efforts, because Jungkook immediately grimaces, his hands making desperate little waves of abortive denial. "I mean, I will. For sure. I'll be home, okay?"

When he flashes a thumbs up, deliberately and extravagantly enthusiastic, you can't help but smile, just a tentative lift of your lips. "Just – I love you, Kookie. I hope we get to spend some of Christmas together."

"We will! Promise." Both hands are up now, clenched into eager fists under his chin, and he really couldn't look more earnest if he tried.

The smile comes a bit easier now, and you nod, feeling some of that enthusiasm reaching through the screen. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, you try to redirect the conversation, too painfully aware that sulking isn't going to help at all. "Have you eaten lunch yet? Don't miss it just for your stupid boss!"

His grin is a small, toothy thing. "Nah, I haven't. I –"

"Jungkook!"

"I was saving room for when I got home!"

"Hah! You think there's going to be food on the table for you?" This bickering is so much easier than anything else that you might say, and you fall into it with something like relief.

His eyebrows fall, nose scrunching dramatically. "On the table? Y/N, that's so unsanitary."

"So unsanitary...?"

At your puzzled look, the grossed out expression whirls away, replaced with a smirk that's so abruptly suggestive that you find your breath catching. The way his voice drops, becoming a low hum, just concentrates the effect. "I was saving room for you, of course. But I'm not gonna eat you out on the table, baby."

You huff in scornful incredulity, but it can't take back the fact that you almost choked a second ago. It also doesn't really hide the way your cheeks have heated up into a patchy red, and besides, Jungkook knows you too well. If anything, his smirk just gets even sharper, and he adds playfully, "Unless you have it on your wish list. Then I might consider it."

Fucking around with Jungkook on any surface is absolutely on your wish list, but you're too proud and currently too annoyed to tell him that. "With my luck, it would break trying to hold up your inflated ego."

"My inflated muscles, you mean," he says, and flexes. Which is just so obnoxious, and also the long sleeve hides his arms too well to be truly impressive.

"Do that again when you get home," you order imperiously, and immediately he bows his head.

"You got it, boss," he agrees, and it's that easy, sudden switch, that flexibility, that's at least part of the reason you love him so much. Jungkook is what you need him to be; he's always been comfortable with that role, and your flighty ass needs him in so many different ways. He's never failed you in that respect. Well – not much. You need him with you right now, after all.

Want, you remind yourself sternly. You want him, that's all.

Abruptly he stiffens, turns slightly. You hear someone speaking off camera, high and strained, and Jungkook replies in a confident voice, talking about something you don't have enough information on to fully understand. They have a short conversation before Jungkook says, "I'll be over in a moment, okay?"

Then he's turning back to you, the by now familiar crease back between his eyes. "I've got to go now, Y/N. I'll get out of here as quickly as I can, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, Kookie. And try to eat something."

He nods, curter now, already turning away from the camera. "See you soon."

And you're left with a call ended screen and no reciprocal "love you". The flicker of warmth that had been blooming in your stomach wilts until there's nothing but a cold tightness left. For a few minutes you scroll aimlessly through your apps and messages, fingers restless for something the phone can't give. There are too many Merry Christmas posts, too many pics of friends and family having a good time together with gifts and food, and it grows the hurt in your gut. You and Jungkook had decided not to travel to any of your families' gatherings, to save some money this year after a big and expensive move, but that had been with the assumption that you would be able to take comfort in each other. Now...

Before too long, you give up, toss the phone aside. It lands next to the lingerie, and for the time being you leave them both alone, suddenly anxious to get away from the remote device and the painful reminder both. Your apartment isn't large, and it only takes you a few steps to leave the bedroom and head to the kitchen. You spend several moments milling around there, but you've already prepped everything for dinner tonight; the only thing left to do is the dishes from this morning's simple breakfast, eaten long after Jungkook had already bolted his and left. You clean them with desultory effort, trying not to remember that you and your boyfriend had planned to make something fancy together. The restless feeling doesn't leave with the dishes done, and you check, doublecheck and triplecheck everything before you're even halfway to feeling like this part of the apartment might not need anything else.

The living room, attached to the kitchen, has been decorated with reckless abandon. You've got at least an ounce of beauty aesthetic in your bones, and so does Jungkook, but for some reason when put together it equals a pound of ugly. The tinsel – red, gold, silver, and green – is flung about the room over pretty much any surface that will support it, along with red and green lights. The Christmas decorations are a hideous mash up of whatever you and Kookie have scrounged together from your families or garage sales or cheap outlet malls, plus a few modest clay additions of your own making. Several of the larger succulents and other plants are bowed morosely under the weight of ambitious ornaments, and the cactus on the windowsill looks positively garish with a star perched jauntily on its crown.

And you love it all so much.

Remembering the absolutely wild hour or so that you and Jungkook spent together decorating the apartment – such a rare and precious moment, since you moved here – makes your eyes start prickling with unbidden tears. Jungkook's staggering workload hadn't been so bad, while you were working; acting as a long distance design consultant for a large collection of homegrown companies tended to keep you busy, and you hadn't noticed his absence in a way that demanded you address it. Now, though, with Christmas an enforced break, since none of your suppliers or other contacts will reply to emails, your loneliness curls itself up in your chest, all barbs and agitation. You’re beginning to suspect that maybe the long absences have hurt you more than you thought.

One of your projects is on the coffee table, the spread of files and print outs of possible designs covering the worn surface. You've always preferred working with physical copies for the initial stages, moving to a tablet for more detailed work. You fling yourself onto the couch, telling yourself you might as well do something productive and hoping it might provide a distraction. That lasts for about half an hour, but it's a constant fight to keep your thoughts on the papers in front of you. The unhappiness is curdling your concentration, and more and more you're aware of a simmering resentment, sharp and insistent under your sadness.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. There'd been so little conflict about moving when Jungkook got the job offer. You were already working remotely, and while the pay increase at Jungkook's new company wasn't that much, it was the promise of what could come that made it nearly impossible to turn down. Saying goodbye to your family hadn't been an issue; you were already living in a different city than them, settled there after university. It had been harder for your boyfriend, but not impossible, and despite both of you leaving friends behind, you'd left with excitement. Hope. The future opening up before you two, together.

With a sigh, you shove the papers away. Leave the living room and take shelter on your bed. Send and reply to some Christmas messages. Make a face at the snap Jin sends you, a little blurry, his flushed cheeks matching the red reindeer antler headband he's wearing. He's holding the gifts you sent several weeks ago, an adorable pair of windup salt and pepper shakers shaped like teddy bears that can walk across the table, along with a few duck-shaped strainers. The caption makes you snort. I'm bearly making it without you, sis. I'm like a duck out of water. The next snap is clearer, of him and his two roommates, Jimin and Hoseok, all making heart signs. Thanks for the gifts! Hope you have a Merry Christmas!

He's in the same city as your parents, and you know he spent yesterday with them. Looks like he's having a great time with his roommates, too. Before the affection can sour, you save the photo and put your phone down again.

Kitchen, living room, bedroom. A discontented circuit you don't know how to break yourself out of. It feels so dumb to be making yourself even more miserable like this. You should phone one of the few friends who aren't with their families, or maybe your parents – hell, you could even phone Jin, he and his roommates would be sure to talk with you for an hour or two. But the thought of admitting you're alone, Jungkook having chosen work over spending the holiday with you, has your shame rising to scalding levels. The mere prospect of hearing and seeing everyone happy while you’re alone is another hurt, one that makes you curl up more tightly on the bed, clutching his pillow to your chest like it could fill up the hollowness settled in your lungs. Just like all of the sheets, it has his scent, light and flowery and soft, and it inspires an aching, cloying feeling that isn't really close enough to comfort, but you hold it tighter anyways.

The day drags on like that, swamps of self-pity drained by bursts of frantic activity. You clean up a bit more, work on a project, watch some TV. And then the rush of drowning loneliness fills up your lungs again and you're reduced to more aimless pining.

By three, with no texts from Jungkook and the need to start cooking soon looming large on the horizon, you send him a message. Hey. Gonna be home soon?

About half an hour later, you add a ? that still gets no immediate reply, and agitated tension has you wondering if you should call him. But what if you interrupt something? Get him in trouble? Worrying the thoughts ragged in your head, you resolve to give it just a little more time. Hell, for all you know, maybe he’s on his way home now.

At around four, your phone starts vibrating. Not a Facetime request, this time, but the name that pops up is welcome all the same. You answer almost breathlessly. "Hey Kookie!"

"Hey Y/N."

Right away you know this isn't the kind of phone call you were hoping for. Jungkook's voice is gravelly and tired, more like a bruise than a sound. Your shoulders slump, and you can't find it in yourself to say anything.

Your boyfriend tentatively breaks the silence a moment later. "Y/N, I'm sorry. Things are spilling over and I'm not going to be able to leave for awhile longer."

"..."

"Y/N? Are you -"

"How much longer?"

You can practically hear the wince. "I'm not sure yet."

"Jungkook..." But once again, the words catch in your throat, trapped by just how ungrateful and immature you feel.

"Look, Y/N, I was thinking. Maybe, if I come home too late, we can move dinner to tomorrow? I'm definitely going to be home all day, so we can have a nice breakfast and dinner and maybe open our presents and..." There's nothing in the quiet between you two. Certainly not your agreement. "I know I messed up and that this isn't fair to you, Y/N, and I'm sorry. Maybe – couldn't we just... reset? Start Christmas for real tomorrow?"

"Reset?" you repeat. "Like – what, like one of your video games?" The swampy depression is bubbling now, surging with the outrage that's been building all day.

"No, that's not -"

"We can't just reset, Jungkook. This isn't a level you get to just do over!"

"I know that, that isn't what I meant, you're -"

"I've been waiting here all day, Jungkook! By myself! Just waiting here for you! Do you get how bad that makes me feel?"

Jungkook sounds choked when he replies, though it's hard to tell if it's from guilt or anger. "I know I've made you wait, and I'm sorry. But the project -"

"I don't care about the fucking project! You should have told them to fuck off when they asked you to work!" You're full on shouting now, eyes stinging with tears, the sound tearing from your throat. "This has been the worst Christmas I've ever had, and you just want me to forget about it?"

His voice doesn't get louder. If anything, it gets quieter, smaller, coiling in on itself into a tight mass. "Do you think I'm having a good time? I've been working since 8:00 on Christmas day! It's not like I asked to come in, and they barely gave me a choice! I'm the junior here, do you think they would have been okay with me shrugging today off?"

"Today? Today?" Your laugh sounds too cruel, even to your own ears. "It hasn't just been today, Jungkook! This is just – more of the same! More ditching me – ditching us – for work. For some stupid reason I thought that you might consider Christmas an important enough day to knock it off for just one fucking second. But I guess not."

"I'm doing this for us! For – I told you how much work it was going to be! I thought you'd be okay with it!"

"And I thought there might be a tiny little exception made for Christmas. I guess we were both wrong!" you spit furiously.

There's a pause, heavy with the sound of both of your staggered breathing. You're too angry to regret what you've said – or at least, to acknowledge how much you regret it – and the bewildered hurt is travelling straight to your head, leaving you dazed and disconnected. Could Jungkook really have thought you were okay with what's been happening? Okay with being left alone for what feels like months now? How can you be listening to his tense exhales and still not understand the person on the other end of this call?

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Too polite, too gentle by far. Where the hell did he get off sounding like that? You know that's Jungkook – that he's far more likely to shutdown during an argument, to close off – but it leaves you clashing against air. No opposing force to clamp down on your own anger.

Heaving in a sharp exhale, shaking your head even though he can't see it, you say, "Do what you want, Jungkook. I'm not making the dinner if you're not leaving right now."

"Y/N..."

"Merry Christmas." You hang up.

It feels horrible. The phone is a dead weight in your hand, the anger an even heavier weight in your heart. You make a fractured noise, a frustrated scream that quickly trails into a barely checked sob. If you felt bad before talking to Jungkook, it's nothing compared to the mix of self-recriminations and resentment assaulting you now. He was just - why did he have to - why couldn't he -

Why did I have to say that to him?

You know Jungkook. How hard working he is, how dedicated, how keenly he wants to do well in front of and for others. He isn't working late because he doesn't want to see you; you're sure of that. It's just an inability to say no to his superiors. And... and you really haven't told him how unhappy you are with how often he's away.

But still. Couldn't he figure it out? Did you need to spell out your misery for him to get it? Is that really what your relationship amounts to?

Another aggravated exhale parts your lips, and you start pacing faster, needing the release. The next few hours stretch in front of you with wretched promise. What do you do now? Just wait by yourself until he gets home? Have to see his ashamed, hurt, averted eyes, the way he would creep into the apartment with a shield set between you and him? And then what? Go to bed with that block between you two, wake up and somehow try to pretend it doesn't exist tomorrow?

The tears flow down your cheeks despite your hands’ furious attempts to press them away and there's no way to stop them once they've begun. You cry, the way people often cry when they’re lonely, like silence is their only companion and they're afraid of scaring even that friend away. Quietly, then, no longer trying to hold the tears back but unable to give voice to the magnitude of your pain, either. The wet, soft sobbing quickly sends you back to bed, where you curl up once again, struggling for some kind of self-control.

God, you just miss him so much. Not today, not now, not – it's a void of the little things. The snicker when you berate him for being messy. His warm, gentle hands on your neck after a day hunched over a project, massaging out the pain. A little giggle as you watch a Ghibli film together. The shoving matches when you're out shopping and competing for who can get the most stuff on the list. The quick kisses and the slow kisses and the deep, hungry kisses that always lead to you waking up in his arms the next day, far later into the morning than usual.

You miss him so much, and you just pushed him away even more.

With a muffled sob you push your face further into the pillow, hating how pitiful this is, how much you're struggling to get your emotions under control. This is so – it's ridiculous, that's what it is. Childish. It's not as if you've lost Jungkook forever, and you haven't lost all of the things you love about him, either. It's not like you never goof off anymore, or cuddle, or talk. It's just – it's just that everything has been so much more frantic, hurried, and stressful since the move. It seems like there's never a moment where you can just sit together and love each other and think of nothing else.

The anger, remorse and dejection feed off each other, first growing and prolonging the wrenching feeling choking your throat, and you cry until time doesn’t mean much anymore. The grief is so horribly thick it’s like you can’t even breathe through it, let alone do anything but lie in bed. It goes on and on and – and then exhaustion overtakes your convulsive crying. Eventually, without ever actually being filled, the hollow ache contracts into a hard pit, the tears all forced out. Nothing else, though. The guilt and resentment and sadness are still there, dulled to a grey, insubstantial mass.

But at least you can think a bit. Listlessly, with all the colours drained out of it, but you can do more than sob. Wiping at your clogged nose and tear-streaked face, you find you can actually breathe, something of an improvement. You sit up, gently set the pillow back on Jungkook's side of the bed, giving the soft material one last swipe, trying to rid it of the wet evidence of your meltdown. No luck there, but it'll probably be dry before your boyfriend gets home.

If he gets home.

The bitterness of that thought is too tired to summon more tears from the hole in your heart or your head. You shake it away, more because you're just too drained to cling to the heavy emotion than because of some angelic impulse to forgive.

You know you have to do something. Anything. Literally anything will be better than just sitting here, waiting for Jungkook to come in, getting pricklier with each passing minute. With the Christmas dinner off the table, you suppose you could just pick up something to eat. Fast-food or something... have it ready for him to heat up when he was done work... like you're some trophy girlfriend.

Once again you need to stop yourself, biting back the wave of resentment. God, this isn't doing you any good, and it's so, so unfair to Jungkook. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have agreed to work on Christmas. Maybe he should have been more sensitive to how far you've been drifting apart because of his long work hours. But at the same time, yelling at him over the phone wasn't the answer, either. He's probably having as bad of a time as you are, and with no private room to cry in, either. He'll be totally repressing the argument now, shoving it into a locker and subconsciously telling himself he's to blame, that he's a horrible boyfriend. Trying to listen to his coworkers and do his work with those harsh criticisms running low and dark through his head. That's how Jungkook is. He takes everything onto himself, especially if you give it to him.

Running your hands through your hair at the thought, pity clenching your chest, you abruptly get up. You and Jungkook definitely need to talk, and soon. But – but there's no reason to close out this shitty day with an even more horrible evening of strained silence and brittle rebuttals. Neither of you are particularly good at apologizing, even though you're both great at feeling guilty. You just don't have the words for it. So, unless you do something – make some gesture – this is just going to stretch into an awful, prolonged fight that isn't a fight at all, both of you retreating from each other.

It's unbearable. You can't stand it. So… you're going to do something about it.

Resolved, as resolved as you can be, you change out of your PJs. The weather's been quite warm, with no snow to speak of, so it's not like you need to bundle up much. After a moment of hesitation, you choose to snag the ugly Christmas sweater. It's got a comically drawn pink bunny on the front, absurdly muscular, with a red Santa hat settled firmly between its ears, and a myriad of red and green patterns crammed into the background. It was the rabbit's expression and the accompanying phrase that had got Jungkook to laughing until he was doubled over when he'd seen it at the mall last year. A challenging, almost intimidating grin is plastered on the rabbit's face, with the words This Bun Don't Want None in cheerfully bedazzled white underneath. Your boyfriend had quite literally begged to get two and wear them to the upcoming Christmas party, and he'd been too imploring for you to say no.

Slipping it on, with the accompanying memory of his hysterical amusement, crinkled nose, and bunny grin every time he caught a glimpse of you at the party, is the closest you've felt to peace in the last few hours.

You throw on some dark jeans and apply your makeup with a thoroughness that's a little much, given that you're not going anywhere for long. You don't care; it feels good to dim the red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks your breakdown has gifted you, to cover it over with something prettier. Finishing with the last of the mascara, you grab your transit pass and head out, closing the door behind you with a finality that could almost be a goodbye.

The air outside is cool, a relief compared to the stuffy apartment, at least for now. You inhale deeply, the mild cold burning your sinuses and clearing your clogged head a bit. In a while, you might regret not having a warmer layer on, but for now it’s a relief to begin to walk, to stretch both your legs and your mind from the cramped defensiveness the apartment had been inspiring. This is – this is a good idea. You’re positive about it now, and can feel your shoulders loosening, steps becoming brisker.

If Jungkook can’t come to you – well, you’ll just go to him. At least for now.

Your building isn't too far from Jungkook's work; you only have a short train ride and a shorter bus ahead of you, according to your phone. You’ve been to his work three times before, but always in your shared car, and you walk with eyes fixed on your screen, calculating the time schedules. Part of you wants to text him, send a little olive branch to smooth the way and let him know you’re coming, but a larger part longs for something romantic and cute to happen today. Fast-food might not quite cut it, but surely a surprise visit might? You won’t stay long, won’t interrupt his work, but just to see his face, confused and then quietly grateful and loudly gleeful when he realizes why you’ve come –

It seems like that shouldn’t be too much to ask.

The trip flies by; you're too anxious in your own head to notice much outside of it, and besides, there aren't many people out and about today. Probably busy celebrating with their families.

You bite your lip at the thought, and violently yank your attention away.

At this rate, you should sign up for a game of Olympic tag. Surely nothing can run as agilely as you've been doing, avoiding every uncomfortable idea.

Jungkook's work is downtown, and there are tons of fast-food options nearby. You pick a smaller chain, KTown Fried Chicken, that both you and Jungkook enjoy. It's hard to convince yourself the cashier isn't judging you at least a little bit for your weird presence on Christmas night. Or maybe she's just eyeing the sweater. That’s another possibility.

With only one other person in line, the food comes quickly, and then you're on your way. Somewhere between stepping off the bus and smiling awkwardly at the girl behind the counter, it occurred to you that you didn't know when Jungkook was actually leaving work. He obviously didn't pack up right away after your argument – he would have made it home before you left – but that doesn't mean he isn't going to be heading home some time soon.

What if you show up and he's not there? What if he shows up and you're not there? What would he think? It is entirely too much to ask your wrung out brain to decide if it would be hilarious, infuriating, or some kind of karmic justice, but you do know that you'd rather just catch him at work with this peace offering. Much simpler that way, so you hurry your steps, snugging your sweater a little tighter around your frame as you do so.

You make it to the imposing office building of Projeck at around six, which is, as it happens, when two of Jungkook’s coworkers are leaving the building. Jungkook talks about them quite a bit – actually, gushes might be a better word – and you’d met them at the office Christmas party a couple of weeks ago. Namjoon, a tall, elegant man with blonde hair currently dressed in a black turtleneck, is one of the lead game designers, and he holds the door open for Yoongi, an audio engineer. The older of the two, in an oversized, comfy hoodie markedly at odds with his companion’s attire, slouches through with a tired smile of thanks.

Both had made a good impression on you at the party (it helped that they were obviously fond of Jungkook and appreciative of his talents) and you’re a little relieved to see them. Solved the awkwardness of trying to get into the building without letting Jungkook know you were here. Both pause at the sight of you, confusion creasing their features, before a grin flashes across Namjoon’s face.

“Hey, Y/N! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” offers Yoongi as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he’s wearing. His eyes are on your chest, a little furrow across his brow, and it takes you a second to realize it’s the bunny again. After a moment his lips quirk, quiet amusement in the expression, and it makes it easier for you to reply brightly.

“Hey Namjoon, Yoongi. Merry Christmas! Are you heading home?” The prospect makes you a little excited. If they’re leaving, surely Jungkook won’t be far behind?

“Yup,” Namjoon agrees easily. His head tilts a little, scouring over you quizzically, before his gaze finds the bag in your hand. “Are you bringing something for Kookie?”

“Yeah… He, uh, was working so late I thought it might be nice to surprise him with some food.” You say it more like a confession, shoulders tight with the knowledge that this is making you sound way better than you actually are.

Namjoon whistles, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s really nice of you.”

“I mean, I haven’t done much today so –”

“He’s not here.” Yoongi states it so bluntly that it takes you a second to process what he said.

“…not here?” you ask, dismayed.

“Nah.” As your stunned eyes fall on him, giving him your full attention, he shrugs uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. He left like… twenty minutes ago?”

“He did?” Namjoon demands, and Yoongi just shrugs again.

Clutching at the paper bag that suddenly feels pathetic and cheap, a stupid idea, you say weakly, “Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, and both of the men’s expressions are soft with a sympathy that doesn’t make you feel any less stupid. “I guess… I’ll go home, then.”

Shifting again, a movement that has him brushing briefly against Namjoon, Yoongi trails a hand up to his ear. “Uh, I don’t think he was going home? Or at least, not right away?”

"What do you mean?" Maybe he'd mentioned he was stopping to pick up dinner, too? Maybe the fast-food you're lugging around is even more useless than you'd thought? Why hadn't you texted him? Why hadn't you -

"He was asking me about the fastest way to get to, uh, the Golden Closet Gallery. I think he was dropping by there first."

"Did - did he say why?"

"Meeting someone? Maybe? I dunno, he's been quiet almost all day, and he rushed away pretty quick."

You stare at him, tired and confused and more than a little guilty at the mention of Jungkook’s withdrawn state. What are you supposed to make of all this? You know about the Golden Closet Gallery – of course you do. You and he went a couple times, early on after your move here, both of you taking a lot of enjoyment from the art displays. But – it couldn't be open now, could it? And even if it were, why would he be going? Who could he possibly be meeting? Was he trying to take a late tour to calm down? Something else entirely? And – it didn't even matter. It wasn't as though you could reach him in a timely manner.

You were just going to have to go back home, and – you weren’t sure. Certainly not eat. The thought of trying to swallow any food right now, with your stomach tearing itself into pieces of shivering disappointment, is too much. Maybe Jungkook would already be at the apartment by the time you got there. Maybe you two could just – sit together. Just be together.

You’re not sure what’s sadder; how much happiness that simple picture gives you, or how sad you are that it makes you happy.

Trying to straighten your crumpled expression, you smile. "Well – thank you for letting me know. Guess I get all of this for myself." Your laugh as you heft the fast-food bag is a small and lost thing. "Sorry to keep you guys. I hope you have a good night!"

You've just begun to turn away, aching to end the conversation before you start bawling in front of these two men, when Namjoon clears his throat, his gaze shifting to Yoongi for a moment. The other man jerks a shoulder, bobs his head, and Namjoon looks back at you. You shuffle a little, desperate to be away but not wanting to be rude to two of the few people at this company who actually seem to be lessening Jungkook's stress.

"Did you take the bus to get here? We could give you a ride if you wanted."

Your throat tightens, and you're already shaking your head before you've even thoroughly processed the offer. "No, thanks, I don't want to take you out of your way."

"Well, if you wanted to drop by the Gallery and see if Kookie is there, it wouldn't be out of our way at all. We live pretty close by." Yoongi nods in agreement, his round face scrunching reassuringly with something that's not – quite – a smile.

When you waver, Namjoon says with studied nonchalance, "Even if he's not there, Yoongi and I don't have any plans for tonight. We don't mind dropping you off."

Still, the thought of inconveniencing them because of your stupid planning – not to mention that you don't know them that well – makes awkward turmoil roil in your stomach. Reading your reluctant expression and apparently hesitant to press you, Namjoon relents. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“Y/N. Come on. We’ll save you a lot of time, and I’m sure Jungkookie would be mad if we didn’t give you the ride. He already throws stuff at me when he thinks I’m not looking; I don’t want him to start chucking shit that actually hurts.” Yoongi’s eyebrow is lifted, an inviting gesture accompanied by a smile with just a hint of gums, and you can’t help but respond, a rueful chuckle that slips out at the picture his comment puts in your head.

Jungkook had mentioned there were a few people he liked to mess around with at work, but somehow it hadn’t crossed your mind that the quiet and slightly intimidating man would be one of his targets.

It decides you.

With a sharp dip of your head, you assent. "Okay, okay. Yeah, sure, and thank you guys. It means a lot to me, and, umm, if you need gas money or something..."

Namjoon throws back his head and utters a loud, barking laugh while Yoongi chuckles. "The company doesn't pay us enough, sure, but I think we can afford to cover this trip, Y/N. Besides, Jungkook's been working overtime so often, I feel like we practically owe you for stealing him so much."

That leaves a sour taste in your mouth that you're quick to swallow. Grinning weakly, you follow the two to their car, a compact grey Honda that's seen better days. Namjoon tries to insist you take shotgun next to Yoongi, but you're far too flustered at the thought of taking his spot and practically dive into the backseat. The first few minutes are a little strained, the fast-food bag on your lap rustling every time you move. Namjoon shuffles through a bunch of Christmas songs on his phone and Yoongi hums to them under his breath, seemingly unperturbed every time his companion switches mid-note.

Eventually, though, Namjoon finds a song he likes enough to leave on, and you find yourself drawn into a relaxed talk with them. Yoongi throws in a comment here and there, and together the two of them are so – easy. They add teasing remarks about each other without pausing for breath, Yoongi praises an arching plotline Namjoon had finished storyboarding today, and when a particularly loud Christmas jangle comes on, Namjoon's already changing it before Yoongi has time to huff in displeasure. You know they're roommates – more than that Jungkook hasn't said – and there's something uplifting about listening to their comfortable conversation.

They don't leave you out of it, either. You talk about your home city. You talk about how you met Jungkook in university, when you both arrived late to a morning Intro to Computer Animation course and were locked out of the classroom as a result. (You'd whispered furiously at each other about who should knock first until another hectic student had come charging up, bleary with sleep, and literally ran into the door when it failed to open. That had pretty much dissolved the tension between you two.) On a wave of laughter from that story, you tentatively ask how the job has been for Jungkook so far.

He's always so keen to hide his stress, so anxious not to talk about it and burden you. It seems like these two coworkers might be a good way to get a better picture, rather than the stitched together portrait you've gotten from the late nights and short, hesitant answers he gives you. At the thought, you pull out your phone to see if he’s sent you anything, but you have no texts.

The laughter dwindles, and you hear Yoongi rattling the spit in his mouth loudly enough to be heard over the music as he makes a lane change. In the other seat, Namjoon runs a hand through his blonde hair. Their silence immediately winds you up, and your hand, holding the phone, falls to the side. Had Jungkook not been telling you something? Was it worse than the late hours? Was –

"This isn't a great company," Yoongi states flatly, when it becomes obvious Namjoon is still groping for something more tactful to say. "They make you feel like you owe them your finger bones just because they pay a bit above average, and if those aren't showing from hitting the keyboards enough, you're some kind of failure."

"Yeah..." Namjoon sighs. "They tried that with me, but Yoongi's been there for several years, he's the best they've got in the audio department, and he made it clear that if I left, he would too. So they pulled back a little. Jungkook, though..."

"He doesn't say no. I've told him to – told him I'll throw in for him – but he's really afraid he's gonna get tossed. Can't blame him. People get fired too easily at Projeck." His voice is disinterested, but Yoongi makes another lane change, too abruptly this time, and that, plus his tight grip on the steering wheel, is a hint that he’s not quite as untouched as he sounds.

You press your back into the seat, trying to give yourself a semblance of a spine as your whole body threatens to fold. You'd had an inkling that Jungkook was maybe conceding too easily to upper management, but it sounds like he's having way more than a little pressure to work late put on him. This – actually this sounds toxic. Crippling. And Jungkook hadn't said anything about it.

And you barely asked.

Gnawing on your cheek, you lapse into silence, struggling for something to say.

Namjoon looks back, brows pulling together at whatever he sees on your face. "He's trying to get ahead of his workload, Y/N," he says gently. "I know after today he doesn't plan on going in until after New Years. He said he really wants to spend time with you."

"He was literally moping all over the office today," Yoongi adds. "Was surprised he didn't break his computer screen, he was sighing on it so much."

They're trying to make you feel better, reassure you that Jungkook had missed you and hated being separated on today of all days. They are accomplishing the exact opposite of what they intend, but that's not their fault. After all, they don't know what you'd said to Jungkook over the phone. Part of you wonders if they'd even have been willing to give you a ride if they did know. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have been if you were them.

You might also have tried to run yourself over on the way out of the parking lot, if you were them.

Before you can pull anything resembling words from the mire of rabid guilt curdling in your throat, the car pulls into the Gallery's small parking lot. It's almost surprising to find that there are two other vehicles already parked, and with the way the night is going, it's even more surprising that you recognize one of them as Jungkook's.

"He's here!" you cry out, relief and something heavier saturating your voice.

With a pleased exclamation, Namjoon gestures excitedly, smashing his hand into the roof of the car with a loud thud in the process.

"If you fucking dent my car..." Yoongi begins, but their mild bickering slips by you.

Your eyes are straining for some sign of Jungkook. The parking lot is empty of people, and the big sign above the building isn't lit up. However, it looks like there are some lights on in the Gallery, spilling out into the dimly lit lot, and as you fix your anxious gaze on the interior through the wide glass windows, you think you see the dim form of at least one person moving inside.

He’s here. You’re literally lightheaded with the joy of that certainty. This day has stretched out with excruciating discord, but now, everything is drawing tighter, shorter, focusing into a promise of reprieve. Finally, finally, something’s going right. The blissful expectation of getting to see Jungkook is almost enough for you to forget about everything else. For this moment, you think you’d forego everything Christmas – the gifts, the dinner, the decorations, everything – just to press your face against his chest and feel him holding you.

Hand on the door handle, you keep yourself from leaping out and dashing to the building only with difficulty. “Thank you so much for driving me. I almost can’t believe we caught him.”

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies. “Escaping from Projeck before eight was our miracle – looks like this gets to be yours.”

The three of you chuckle at that, and then you’re opening the door. “I’ll let Jungkook know you helped me. Maybe he’ll stop throwing things.”

“And maybe Santa exists,” Yoongi grumbles, but there’s no annoyance in his rasping voice. “’Sides, that’s not what I want from him. Tell him to think about what we’ve said, ‘kay?”

Assuming he means saying no to the boss more, you nod, emotional with how lucky both you and Jungkook are to have run into such kind people. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t really cover the gratitude their thoughtfulness has inspired in you, and on top of everything else you’ve been through today, it’s almost enough to set you to crying again.

Namjoon seems to sense you’re at a loss for words; at any rate, he fills in the space. “If things change for the better in the new year, we’ll see more of you, Y/N. In the meantime, take care! I hope you and Jungkook have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!”

Your voice comes out husky with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. I – Hope you both have a Merry Christmas, too! And a Happy New Year!”

Then you’re out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind you, your jaw tight to keep back the ridiculous tears. Yoongi and Namjoon wave, you wave back, and then Yoongi pulls away, leaving you standing and waving in the parking lot until the car turns and is gone. You take a couple of deep breaths, a smile easing the urge to cry. The excitement hasn’t dimmed at all, and, clutching the fast-food bag tightly, you pivot towards the Gallery, little shivers of anticipation darting under your skin.    

You practically run to the doors, and nearly commit the same mistake that student had, years ago, when they don’t open at your touch. The thought of smacking into them and announcing your presence to Jungkook that way has a low laugh bubbling in your throat. Yanking yourself to a halt, you try pulling and pushing on the doors, to no avail; they’re locked. You give them one last jerk, just to be sure, but they remain stubbornly shut. It’s not enough of a deterrent to dampen your spirits, though you find yourself bouncing impatiently on the soles of your feet, unable to get rid of the fizzy energy coursing through your veins.

You’re okay to wait outside until Jungkook comes out – it’s still not that cold out, and how much longer could he really be? – but nonetheless you start heading to the right, circling around the building, peering into the windows on the off-chance you can catch sight of your boyfriend and get his attention. The lights are off in some of the areas, but a few are flooded in a soft glow, and you skim your eyes over all that you can see. The more you look, the more confused you are about why Jungkook would be here. There are no other customers that you can see, so clearly, it’s not some sort of special Christmas showing. You literally can’t think of another reason he might be here. And hadn’t Yoongi said he was meeting someone?

It’s a mystery you can’t solve yourself, and you keep up your roaming examination. Most of the building has glass walls, except for an area near the back, and you can see inside fairly easily, where the lights are on. The Gallery is pretty typical, all open spaces and white, dismantlable walls, the better to more starkly exhibit the art pieces scattered across the wooden floors. There are paintings and sculptures, a few more abstract works, little plaques beside most of them –

But no Jungkook.

Lips pursued, you make your way further around, until you’re on the other side of the building, ears keen for any sound of a door opening. Wouldn’t that just be typical? While you’re wandering around out here, he comes out and leaves…

You should text him. A surprise visit is one thing, but at this point you being outside is going to be surprise enough. With that thought in mind, you begin fumbling in your pockets, awkwardly cradling the fast-food in one hand as you search for your phone. Not in your back jean pockets. A horrified panic starts building, and by the time you’ve clawed all the lint out of your sweater’s pockets, you’re certain. You don’t have it.

A memory, stilted and strained, of your hand falling to your side when you’d been talking about Jungkook’s stress in Yoongi’s car. In your anguish, it suddenly becomes clear to you; you’d dropped it. Forgotten to pick it up again. It was in the car!

For a second, you think that’s going to be the breaking point. The straw on the camel’s back. Your frustration peaks, eyes stinging, hands balled into fists as your excitement is drowned in self-reproach and an overwhelming sense of despair. Why were you so stupid? Fighting with Jungkook, sulking around the apartment, this dumb idea to get fast-food that’s definitely cold by now, and now – now this. You start walking again, barely looking, just planning to get to the front of the building and maybe collapse on the pavement. The crushing unhappiness doesn’t let up. Were you cursed? Was the world out to get you? Had you kicked a puppy in a past life? Why did you end up –

Your raging internal soliloquy is interrupted by movement within the Gallery. Someone is moving inside. Someone tall and muscular, with his black shirt rolled up to the elbows, long, shaggy black hair tucked behind his ears as he lounges against one of the white walls. He’s partially turned; you can only see half of his face, and even that not perfectly because of the narrow angle, but the sharp definition of his jaw is obvious, even from here. There’s something rectangular leaning against the wall next to him, wrapped in brown packaging paper, but you barely notice it. He’s talking to someone equally as tall, their back turned to you, but you barely register them.

Jungkook. It’s Jungkook!

It is not an exaggeration to say that for a second you doubt your eyes. Everything has just been so, so shitty today that you’d almost believe he’s a hologram or a figment of your imagination before buying that your flesh and blood boyfriend is standing some twenty feet away and that all it will take to end this horrible experience will be to catch his attention.

The person he’s talking to must say something funny, because his nose crinkles, lips rising as he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s just a giggle, quickly stifled, but it’s also a needle; the second you see that laugh, your bubble of disbelief pops with a force that’s almost audible. You can’t hear him, but at the same time, you can, fully aware of the way his snicker of amusement started out low and then pitched higher in tandem with his head being thrown back. The sound that isn’t a sound but a memory and a gift and a promise altogether gives rise to something hot and aching in your chest.

“Jungkook,” you say, barely aware of the name slipping between your tingling lips. There’s a rushing sensation in your ears, through your veins, like your blood has just remembered that it’s alive and is eager to prove it. The misery of moments and minutes and hours ago doesn’t disappear, but the sight of your boyfriend is enough to lift you out of it, to buoy you above the churning waves and set you, heart alight, in the clouds.    

“Jungkook!” you call, a shout this time, and start waving. He doesn’t hear or notice you, attention fixed on the man he’s with. You still don’t recognize whoever it is, but then again, with his back to you all you can see is the vibrantly patterned orange shirt stretching over his shoulders and a fluffy bit of brown hair. However, whatever he’s saying has sobered Jungkook; from what you can see of his face, his lips have tightened, and he shakes his head now and again.  

Who the hell is that, anyways? More vigorous gestures still don’t pull Jungkook’s gaze away from the other person. You know that any second now he’s going to look over and see you, break into a silly, bemused grin, rush over to the window, if only you could just– You’re about to tap on the glass when whoever it is abruptly steps closer to Jungkook. From what you can see, the guy’s large hands are moving passionately, persuasively, and a moment later he grabs Jungkook’s wrist, other hand rising up towards his face. You can’t quite tell what’s happening, except that Jungkook doesn’t shake him off or push him away. Doesn’t push him away, even when he leans closer, their faces inches apart, and the way they’re standing, you still don’t know who it is.  

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind that his personal space is being invaded. There’s an attempt at a scowl on his lips, but you can tell it’s fake, a laugh on the verge of breaking through. You realize your hand is still raised to knock on the window, and let it fall. Brows pulling together, you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. The other man leans in even more, and when their lips are about to touch you wrench your eyes away.

For a long moment you stare at the pavement at your feet, mouth moving silently, like you’re searching for a word that fits what you just saw happen. It couldn’t be what you thought. Any second now, a reasonable explanation is going to come to mind. You’re going to find some frame of reference that makes this understandable. There’s going to be something that changes your point of view, makes reality into fiction. Because this can’t be true. This can’t be happening.

Jungkook could not have just kissed someone else in an empty art gallery while he thought you were waiting for him at home.  

Except that’s exactly what happened. You feel yourself change. You’re not a person anymore, not a human; you’re a wound, red and open and weeping. With a strangled sob, you suddenly find your feet moving to match your reeling thoughts, and you stagger away from the warmly lit building. The disbelief is like novocaine, numbing the screaming pain of the betrayal, but it’s not strong enough to force your gaze back through the window. Back to your boyfriend and whoever he’s with. Who knows what they’re doing now?  

Stopping yourself from crumpling to your knees and curling into a ball takes almost all of your strength, and you can’t keep yourself from doubling over slightly, one hand across your middle as you stumble blindly down the sidewalk and away from the Gallery. You press on your eyes to keep back the tears, cover your mouth to stifle the high, anguished gasps you’re making, but it does little to fool anyone, least of all yourself. Each sob rips from somewhere deep inside you, opens up the injury even further, until it feels like you might very well be tearing your chest apart.

He couldn’t have. He just– he couldn’t have. You can’t reconcile what you saw with what you know, but how can they be two different things? How can your boyfriend – loving, loyal, protective – exist in the same place as that man who hadn’t mentioned he was meeting anyone, who snuck around on Christmas day to see someone else? How can Jungkook be a cheater? How? How?

How could I not have known?

Bewildered, you scrabble through your memories like they’re a pack of spilled cards, struggling to piece them together, to pick them up and put them in order after they’ve fluttered to the ground in a chaos of white and black and red. At first you can’t find a hint. Can’t find a reason. There’s warmth and laughter and closeness in your memories together, with only spots of friction and hurt. What could the memory of you throwing tinsel around Jungkook’s neck and him parading around the living room teach you about this moment? What could the recollection of Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your shaking form when you’d received news of your grandmother’s passing tell you that you should have already known? What could the shadow of his quiet admiration as you showed him your most recent design reveal to your befuddled mind?

Was the staying late the only clue? The only ace card that trumped every other moment together? Or had there been others? Did you confuse his withdrawal from you as stress when it was really guilt? Had the silence been resentment? Boredom? Was he really going to the gym? Or into someone else’s arms? Did you do something wrong? Say something wrong?

Is this your fault?

You don’t know what to do, and as your steps slow, tears still going strong, you realize you barely know where you are. It’s fully dark now, and people are passing infrequently, with the streetlights only vaguely reassuring as they spill over faces. You haven’t taken any side streets, just followed this main road passed gas stations and boutiques, offices and fast-food joints, so you’re not lost, exactly. But you don’t have your phone. How are you supposed to get home?

Home. Suddenly the ache is more real. Present. Demanding. How are you supposed to go home when you thought home was Jungkook?

What do you say to him? What can you say? The thought of facing him has you trembling with something approaching nausea. Or maybe it’s the cold. It’s late enough now that the temperature is dropping, your heaving breath misting from your mouth, and you hadn’t planned to be out so late. The sweater is doing nothing to keep you warm. The sweater…

“Oh, God…” you mumble, your fingers digging into the tacky material, creasing the bunny that had made Jungkook so happy. “What do I do?”

What do I do?

---

With a grunt, Jungkook shoves Taehyung away using a hand against his stomach, the other man’s breath spilling across his face as he huffs in surprise. The push is strong enough to send Taehyung staggering back several paces, and he nearly trips and falls. Even as he catches himself, Jungkook is regretting the violence of the motion. It’s just – he’s feeling so vulnerable right now, so strained, and his friend acting like a clown doesn’t help matters.

Rubbing at his stomach, the other man complains reproachfully, “I was just trying to show you what to do!”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing at his face. “I don’t remember saying I needed help with how to make out,” he points out.

Taehyung throws up his hands. “You’ve missed the point!” he exclaims in disgust. “Didn’t you see the concern in my eyes? The tenderness? Dude, I was stroking your face. That’s how it’s done!”  

He snorts but the irritation is already fading, replaced by the amusement he’d had when Tae first started his shenanigans. Jungkook shakes his head, clearing his hair from his eyes, and relents a little. “Do you really think I should do it like that?” A beat. “Well, I mean, not like that. Better.”

With a grand gesture at their surroundings, Taehyung ignores the insult (or misses it, it’s hard to tell with Tae sometimes) and tells him, “You’re already doing better. You’ve got her a painting from an artist she loves.” He stops, points to himself. “Courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood art dealer, who sacrificed his Christmas night and drove all this way to make sure you got it. Plus, there’s the big news – she’s going to lose her mind when you tell her. Anyways, yeah, Koo, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna forgive you, even if you don’t use my sweet moves.”

“But I still don’t know what to say.” Jungkook hates how whiny his voice sounds, how uncertain. At the same time, it feels… good, to admit how he hasn’t got a clue how to make up with you. Or– That isn’t quite right. He does know, somewhere in his gut, in the palms of his hands, in the way his lips ache to skim along your skin. It’s just turning that feeling into words that’s struck him dumb.

“Dude, say what’s in your heart.” There is no one in the world but Taehyung who could say that earnestly and not sound like a weirdo, yet there the other man is, mouth set solemnly, somehow almost making sense. “You love her, you’re sorry for what’s happened, you want to hear her opinion, you’re working to make it better… Koo, you’ve told me all of that in the last half an hour. Now you just need to say it to her.”

“But what if…” He can’t even put it into words, the fear and uncertainty and guilt. Is he asking too much of you? Does he even deserve to ask anything? And what if… what if…

Reading him like a book, Taehyung smiles, simple and brilliant. “She’s going to forgive you. You’ve already forgiven her, so what else is there? Just the getting it done.” Still Jungkook hesitates, and his childhood friend says, a little more gently, “You’re a good person, Koo. I know that, and she does too. Talk to her. You won’t regret it.”

He hangs his head, slowly running his fingers against each other, exploring their lines like they might lead him to the courage he’s searching for. The call with you this afternoon had – shaken him. Although Jungkook had been aware – painfully so – that the two of you weren’t spending enough time together, he hadn’t realized how much it was harming you, and your anger had been both shocking and hurtful. Work had just sucked, so much, and to have you yelling at him…

But after the initial defensive reaction, he couldn’t get the thought of you sitting alone out of his head. It was never his intention to leave you for the whole day, but when he broached the subject of leaving with the boss, the look he got on his face, the way he said, “Well, of course, since I assume you’re done everything you were assigned,” had just been…

You still shouldn’t have left her. Jungkook knows that, knows equally that he didn’t have all that much of a choice if he didn’t want to get fired. It was the balancing act between those understandings that had his shoulders hunched, his cheek fair game to be chewed on. He was working on changing the situation – Namjoon and Yoongi were helping – but what if you thought it wasn’t fast enough? What if you decided you had enough? How can he bear to face you with that possibility on the horizon?

Taehyung gives him space, just hums under his breath and wanders a little, examining the various pieces on display. The Golden Closet Gallery isn’t one of his usual haunts – he tends to deal with artists further up north – but he’d come at Jungkook’s hesitant request, with an alacrity that still has Jungkook wondering what he’d done to deserve such a friend.  

He’d had his eye on your favourite local artist’s website, and when the painting went on sale, he’d known he had to get it. However, Projeck employees didn’t get paid until the 20th, and by the time he had enough money to comfortably purchase it, the artist wasn’t available on short notice and wouldn’t have been around to give it to him until after New Year’s Eve. Taehyung is well known in the community, though, and the painter had had no qualms letting him deal with establishing the price and then handing the piece over. It was practically a miracle, even if Tae had only been able to slip away from his family on Christmas afternoon.

Eventually, with Taehyung’s deep baritone hum a soothing presence, Jungkook tamps his fear down. Gets it to a manageable level. At the end of the day – Taehyung is right. He loves you, more than anything, more than he thought he could love anyone. That’s enough. It has to be enough.

He looks up, clears his throat. “Thanks, TaeTae,” Jungkook says quietly. “I really couldn’t have done this without you.”

His friend beams. “Nah, you couldn’t have. But what else are friends for, right?”

“I’ll get you an early release copy of Urban Anonymous. I think you’ll like it,” he promises. “But in the meantime… I think I’ve got someone to, uh, speak my heart to.” For half a second Jungkook thinks he’s about to die from the sheer cringe of saying that, a blush flooding across his cheeks, but at the same time – it feels kinda good to say. Goofily so, and very embarrassing, but still.

If anything, Taehyung’s beam intensifies. “Then my job here is done! I should hit the road anyways, I wanna get back home. I promised my parents I’d make them something nice for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Sure you don’t wanna stay over?” Glancing out the window, taking in how dark it is, Jungkook feels bad to be sending Taehyung out on the road at this time.

The other man snickers. “And get in the way of a beautiful thing? Nah. Besides, you know I like driving at night, and it’s only a little over three hours. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so…” Jungkook snags the painting off of the floor, and together they walk through the Gallery, to the doors Taehyung had locked behind them when they entered. He unlocks them now, and they leave the aesthetically pleasing space, spilling out into the chilly night air. As Taehyung locks up, Jungkook glances around, breathing in deeply. Now that he’s resolved himself, he actually feels – a little better. Steadier, as though his world isn’t about to jerk out from underneath his feet.

Their cars are parked together, and once there Taehyung flings himself at Jungkook – scrupulously avoiding hitting into the painting, of course – and they hug, Jungkook staggering under the weight of his friend. The fond affection is a fluffy, sleepy thing, and, with one hand wrapped around Taehyung’s shoulders, Jungkook repeats, “Thank you, TaeTae.” It’s not eloquent, but with Taehyung, it’s enough.

They break apart, and Taehyung is grinning, a wide, boxy affair that has the nostalgia and warmth growing. “I’ve missed you, Koo. I’m glad we got to meet up. Tell Y/N that I miss her too, okay? And that I wish her a Merry Christmas.”

“We’ll have to get together again soon; Y/N will be disappointed she missed you. Although I know she loved your blue hair, so she’ll probably be sad you changed it.” It had even surprised Jungkook a bit when Tae had first ducked out of his car. The blue had just been so… riveting, and compared to that, the darker tone really changes how he looks. Not to mention that Tae went with a curlier style this time around.

Taehyung runs a hand through his fluffy brown locks before shrugging. “I got bored. Besides, I haven’t had brown in, what? Five years? It was a nice change.”

“It’s a good look. Almost as good as mine,” Jungkook teases, and Taehyung laughs in his deep, rolling way. “Okay. Merry Christmas, TaeTae. And have a Happy New Year! Don’t drive into a ditch, but if you do, call me.”

“I’ll get you to drag the car out by yourself,” Taehyung agrees amiably. “You look like you could manage it these days, and it’d save me the cost of the tow-truck.”

He gives Jungkook’s upper arm a cheerful poke, whistles in exaggerated admiration and then dodges Jungkook’s swipe at him. “See you soon, Koo! I’ll send you a text when I get home. Hopefully you’ll be too busy to read it until tomorrow.” And with a wicked little giggle, he gets into his car.

“Bye, Tae! See you! Thank you!” Jungkook waves until the other man has pulled away, blasting an R&B version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and then he gets into his own car. Being with Tae is like inhaling a warmer version of helium, all uplift and expansion. It suddenly occurs to Jungkook, with a little jolt, that he’s excited to get home.

No matter how scared he is, scared of the future and scared of the conversation ahead, picturing you, thinking of walking into the apartment and seeing your face, is enough to drive a sharp spike of joy through his trepidation. You are the best thing in his life, and even with this fight, even with the hurt still nestled against his ribs, he wouldn’t have drawn it any other way.

It’s as he’s starting the car that he realizes he got a text from Namjoon and didn’t notice. Hey Jungkookie. Can you let Y/N know we have her phone? She left it in the car.

He stares at the words, waiting for the moment when they’ll make sense. When sense is not forthcoming despite scrambling his brains for what it could mean, Jungkook types out a reply, his fingers sweaty with sudden anxiety.  

what car? you saw Y/N today?

…Yeah? We dropped her off at the Gallery. Did she not mention it?

at the gallery?? when?

His heart is in his throat, the unease ricocheting to unprecedented levels, and Jungkook shoves open the car door, begins looking desperately around like you two could have possibly missed each other in the empty lot. When his phone vibrates thirty seconds later, he almost drops it in his haste to unlock it.

Thirty minutes ago. Around there. Is she not there? Is everything okay?

Jungkook rips his eyes from the screen to the empty parking lot and back to the screen, a bewildered trek that gives him no hints, and he doesn’t know the answer.

---

When you finally get back to the apartment, your hurt has become a cramped, flattened pressure at the back of your throat, and every breath scrapes painfully on the way out. It’s taken you close to two hours to get back. The first person you’d asked for directions had given you the wrong bus number, and while you’d realized it eventually, you’d been going the wrong way for a significant period of time.

Usually, you and Jungkook laugh at how bad your sense of direction is, but this is just more humiliation to stoke an already raging fire of shame. Your steps literally drag – you almost trip on your way up the stairs – and your fingers are tingling, almost numb. It’s gotten progressively colder as the night wore on, and by now the icy feeling has sunk deep into your bones, passed the hard exterior until its wrapped around the marrow.

You’d thought about checking into a hotel. You at least hadn’t forgotten or lost your credit card. There was something tempting about postponing the moment when you had to see Jungkook. But at the same time… If you didn’t answer your phone and didn’t come back, he might worry (would he worry?) and worse, he might get other people involved. What if he talked to Namjoon and Yoongi? Or phoned your parents or brother? You can’t stand the thought of having to explain to them what happened without any preparation – without even knowing what happened yourself.

So here you are, facing the door, empty-handed. You’d thrown out the fast-food at the first trashcan you’d come to after deciding to return. Would Jungkook be home by now? Had he finished with – was he done? Or was he still out there, still… You have to say it eventually, you try to tell yourself firmly, but your whole being cringes from making that acknowledgement, from putting it into syllables that might somehow trap it in reality. It’s not something you can manage tonight. You really don’t know what will be worse, him being inside or not, but you can’t just stand outside forever.

Forcing the key to the lock is no harder than flinging yourself off a cliff, and you approach it with the same amount of dry-mouth apprehension. Your hands are shaking so bad it’s hard to get them to align, but when you finally do, the click of the key sliding in is too loud, like its announcing that you’ve slunk back in shame to all of the apartment building inhabitants. A ridiculous notion, but you flinch anyways, heart seizing as your stiff fingers fumble with the little jiggle required to get the door to open. It takes you three attempts, your anxiety growing, and when you finally manage it, you’re so strung out with tension that you don’t hesitate. You just fling the door open and stumble through.

Straight into Jungkook.

For just a second, it feels like the magnetism you learned about in school. For just a second you fall into him like there’s nothing else in the world more natural than falling, and for just a second you press against his chest and feel dizzy with the light, clean scent that surrounds you. For just a second, as he catches your weight and closes his arms around you, calling your name with a voice of choked relief, you let yourself forget.

For just a second.

And then reality floods back in, a tainted torrent of regret and grief, strewn with rage and humiliation that drifts just below the surface. Though you’re so unsteady you can barely see, your lungs blocked and battling to heave in enough air just to keep breathing, you struggle to get away from him.

“Let go of me,” you say, dry and curt, and when his arms only tighten – more, you suspect, to keep you from pitching over than in denial of your demand – your efforts become harsher, more violent. Without room you can’t get any momentum to really push away from him, but your motions are frantic with the desire to do just that. There’s a panicked, screaming need to get away from him, to get enough space, like he’s the reason your lungs are crumpling in on themselves. “Let go, Jungkook!” you cry, your voice spiking up into shrillness, shattering the syllables of his name.

Like he’s been electrified, Jungkook jerks, his arms flying open. Instantly, let loose, you scramble away, down the entrance hallway. Just as off balance as he’d feared, you nearly trip over something long and cumbersome leaning against the wall that you’re too distraught to look at, and you have to windmill to catch your balance. A moment later you slam your shoulder into the corner of the wall as you try to take the turn too sharply. “Y/N, please, stop!” you hear, and wish you hadn’t. Barely registering the sharp throb in your shoulder, you catch yourself and keep going. Seconds later you’re in the bedroom, and you slam the door shut.

It doesn’t have a lock. Putting your back to the door, your air rattling hollowly out of your mouth – too fast, too shallow, but you can’t seem to calm down – you slide down the solid surface. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your forehead against them, eyes tightly closed, still gasping. Your eyes are aching, but you can’t cry against the immense pressure of overwhelming panic. There’s just a stinging sensation and a pulsing rigidity in your face, like each and every muscle there has chosen to stage a personal rebellion at the exact same time.

I can’t, I can’t, oh God, please, I can’t do this I can’t look at him I can’t I –

“Y/N?” Jungkook sounds like he’s directly on the other side of the door, but he makes no attempt to open it. “Baby, please, are you okay?”

His voice is so raw with worry that it’s red. The colour blooms across your closed eyelids, swathes of crimson and scarlet, and you imagine that it’s blood, trickling from the wound inside of you. You can barely tell where your back ends and the door begins, like any moment you might slide through it, or maybe through the floor, or through the ground, or maybe you’re already there, floating in nothing, and the red breaks into jagged pieces of black and orange and you still can’t breathe.

“Y/N? Can you talk to me? Just – say something, okay? Just so I know you’re okay.”

You can’t even manage that. Even if you wanted to. Even if he deserved to know. Throat moving convulsively, you choke out a sob but nothing else comes after. Just wheezing breaths, and you think you’re shaking but you’re somewhere outside of your skin so it’s hard to tell.

“Okay, okay. I’m – I’m gonna be here, okay? Right here. If you need me, I’m here.” Even through the hazy distortion swamping you, Jungkook’s clear, resonant voice comes through. Maybe it’s the concern, too heavy to be swept away by the raging panic. Maybe it’s the compassion, too anchored in you to be broken away by the tremendous pressure.

Or maybe you just know Jungkook’s voice so well that even your disassociation can’t make it unfamiliar to you.

“You’re doing good, Y/N. I’m still here. Just on the other side of this door.” A pause, a deep chasm of silence, and then he continues. “I think it’s a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”  

Later, you will be both annoyed and touched that Jungkook realized you were having a panic attack before you did. You’ve had a few throughout university, but none within the past year or two, and in the moment, you’d been too overwhelmed to identify what’s going on. The insight is helpful though, something to cling to and repeat to yourself. A grounding. It’s a panic attack. You’re going to be okay.  

Jungkook keeps talking, slow and steady. Nothing serious. Just words. You lean on his voice just as hard as you’re leaning on the door, and, slowly but surely, in a stretch of time that doesn’t mean anything to you, the constrictive bands across your chest loosen. You sink back into yourself. The tips of your fingers make sense again.

And you start crying.

“Y/N? How’re you feeling?”

Funny. Now, with your throat something other than a fist and pain, you still struggle to say anything. This is a softer kind of crying, not quite quiet, with little, hiccupping gasps as the tears run down your face. Possible to speak through. You just don’t know what to say to the man who just talked you, with kindness and compassion, through a panic attack. Who cheated on you. Your fingertips might make sense, but nothing else does.

“I – Y/N, baby, I get that you’re upset, but I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” So anguished. Why did he have to sound like that? What right did he have?

You don’t know if it’s outrage or bewilderment or grief or pity that has you answering. Is it possible to have all of them in your mouth, gritty across your tongue? At any rate, your tone is as washed out as you feel, fatigued and grey. “I saw, Jungkook,” you whisper to your knees.

There’s silence on the other side of the door. Denial? Guilt? His reply is sluggish, thick with confusion. “You saw what?”

That makes you laugh – or not really, though the tortured sound was supposed to be one. “I was there. At the Golden Closet Gallery.” Will he really keep pretending after he knows you were there? Could he really be that brazen? The Jungkook you know couldn’t. There’s no way he could carry a lie like that, holding it effortlessly in the face of the truth. The Jungkook you know would blush, shuffle, collapse like a house of cards. He’s really not good at lying.

The answer isn’t a lie, but it confuses you all the same. “I know you were. Namjoon texted me to say he’d dropped you off, but – Where did you go? I – I drove around for like an hour trying to find you, and I couldn’t and when I got home you weren’t here…” The stream of words dies out like Jungkook can’t quite find any more to say, or maybe he’s embarrassed to say them.

When your reply isn’t forthcoming, confusion churning up anything you might spit out, he continues, more subdued. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you after what you just went through, I just– Are– How are you feeling? Was it – did something happen while you were getting here? Is that what took so long?” Another pause that you can’t fill, that stretches on and on as you try to understand what he’s talking about. How he can apologize for that and not the actual offense.  

Abruptly his voice bursts out. “Why won’t you talk to me!?” Tighter and more uncertain than you’ve heard tonight. Maybe more afraid than you’ve ever heard him.

It rips at your heart, and you realize in a swell of furious sorrow that you can’t stand to hear him sound like that. With a sudden, unstable surge, you get to your feet. Immediately your vision falters a bit, and you stagger, but catch yourself before you fall, clinging to the doorknob. You take a deep breath, fighting away the residual nausea and light-headedness. It clears within a few seconds, and your hand tightens on the knob as you take a deep breath. You can’t just leave him standing out there. You can’t just leave this incomprehensible thing hanging in the frame between your two lives.

You open the door. Slowly. Reluctantly. But you open it.

His long black hair is a wild mess, pushed back from his forehead, strands sticking up here and there. Even as you inch the door open, he runs his hand through it, ruffling it even further. His shirt is wrinkled, only partially tucked in, one sleeve rolled to bare his forearm, the other slipped down almost all the way. With his jaw so tense it’s a wonder he’s not cracking his teeth, Jungkook stares at you, lips set and pale. He doesn’t look like someone who committed a betrayal only hours before; if anything, the anguished panes of his face speak to a betrayal committed against him.

You’re so, so tired. Too tired to grasp at the outrage that wisps at the edge of your consciousness. Sniffling to clear your throat, you wipe at your face, trying make yourself a little less pitiful. “I was at the Gallery, Jungkook. I saw you,” you repeat because it’s still so hard to think of anything to say. When his expression doesn’t change – unless his eyebrows furrow, just a little, in innocent perplexity – you exhale. “I saw you with that guy. I saw you…”

“That guy? Who do you–” Jungkook breaks off, examines you more closely, like you’ve given him something to be concerned about. “Are you talking about Taehyung?”

The name is startling in its sheer unexpectedness. What the hell did Jungkook’s best friend have to do with any of this? “Taehyung? No, I’m not talking about Taehyung. I’m talking about that guy you were with tonight, in the Gallery. The guy you–” The words catch, but only for a second. You push them through with a surge of vehement exasperation for the blank expression he’s wearing. “The guy you kissed!”

In another place, the nonplused spasm across his face would have been hilarious. As it is, it just heightens your frustration, and the way he starts sputtering does absolutely nothing to reduce it. Even when he finally gets himself together and manages to talk, your aggravation is here to stay.

Right next to your mortification, as it happens.

“I didn’t– Y/N, that guy at the Gallery was Tae! Could you not tell it was him? I know he has brown hair now, but…” Jungkook shakes his head, flipping his own hair back. The tension seems to have slipped from his jaw, at least a little, and it might very well have crept into yours. “Is that– Is that what this whole thing has been about? You thought I did something with some random guy?” His lips twitch, and it doesn’t seem like he can decide if he wants to smile or scowl, and you feel the beginning of a flush heating up your face.

“It was Taehyung! And I didn’t kiss him. I mean, he tried to kiss me but it was just to–” Abruptly there’s a wash of faint scarlet crawling up his cheeks – cheeks that are rounder than they were a second ago, as he looks down and away, gaze slipping from you for the first time since you opened the door.

“Just to what?” you demand, the challenge extra belligerent to make up for the belated shock of suspended relief that hangs like smoke over your head. Too intangible for you to catch with your hands right now, though present enough to burn your throat with its sooty possibility.

He’s still looking at the ground, the blush becoming more prominent, and he begins to shift, the rustle of his dress pants loud in the fraught silence. “Um,” Jungkook begins awkwardly, head ticking to the side the way it always does when he regrets saying something or doubts his ability to do something. “It’s just, uh… he was helping me.”

“Helping you.”

Jungkook winces at your deadpan echo. “Yeah. I, um, asked him to…” Hands drumming on his thighs, drawing your attention for a second before you snap back to his flushed face, Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet. “Uh… This is totally not how I planned this,” he mumbles, before hauling his gaze up to meet your own. “Hold on for a sec, okay? I just want to grab something.” For all that he’s definitely lightened a bit, the request is tinged with urgent appeal, his eyes scouring your face hesitantly like he’s afraid you’re going to retreat back to the room the moment he loses sight of you.

You’re not entirely sure that isn’t going to happen, but there have been so many emotional upheavals today you’ve just about exhausted your ability to feel more defensiveness. The more Jungkook speaks – the longer you’re in his presence – the more the sheer impossibility of what you’d believed is sinking in. He’s just – he’s Jungkook. Such a focal point of light and energy, such a reserve of easily offered comfort in a form so much more substantial than words. Somehow – maybe because of his prolonged absences, maybe because of your staggeringly challenging day – you’d managed to forget just what he is, but it’s in front of you now, demanding to be seen and acknowledged against the backdrop of what you’d thought. What had seemed so possible, even an hour ago, suddenly seems ridiculous when set next to the quiet solidity of him, of everything he is.

Wiping again at eyes that haven’t ceased watering yet, you nod.

He hurries away, down the short hallway and back towards the front entrance. You hear a thump, a muttered curse, a short dragging noise, and then Jungkook rounds the corner, hefting a rectangular object covered in brown paper. When you examine it more closely, you’re pretty sure it’s what you almost fell over when you ran inside. By the time he’s standing in front of you, the unwieldy item put on the ground and balanced against his knee, you’re pretty sure you know what it is by the shape and packaging alone.

And somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re beginning to make connections. About Taehyung and the art gallery and the thing on the ground in front of you.

Jungkook just speeds up the process. “I was gonna wrap it in something nicer,” he offers apologetically, “but I was… Baby, I was so scared when Namjoon said you should have been at the gallery and I couldn’t find you and you weren’t at home. I thought – hell, I didn’t know what to think. That you got kidnapped or something.” He laughs, that shaky sound of amusement reserved for disasters that are absurd to imagine until they actually happen, and you shift, the heat crowding your face growing.

With a slight roll of his shoulders, he nudges the brown-wrapped object. “Anyways… Tae was helping me get this. For, um, you. Because I thought you might like it.” When you make no move to grab it, his eyebrows knit together. “Y/N? I swear, I didn’t do anything with anyone else. I wouldn’t do anything with–”

“I know.” You cut him off, unable to bear the imploring tone. It’s impossible to meet his beseeching gaze with the burden of your stupidity weighing on you, and you keep your eyes on your fingers. “I know you didn’t. Jungkook, I’m…” The winded feeling is still lingering, a hollowness in your lungs, and you have to inhale deeply just to remind yourself you can. Your anger at being abandoned by Jungkook for work died out so long ago it might as well be a relic, and with the betrayed grief swept so thoroughly out of your stomach, you’re left feeling strangely empty of anything but guilt.

“I’m so sorry. I – God, I’m so stupid. I saw you two and I thought – I assumed…” All of the logic that had founded your incorrect assumption is trickling through your grasping fingers, and you don’t know how to explain in a way that makes sense. In a way that justifies how you’d leapt to conclusions.

“I’m sorry,” you continue unevenly. “I just…”

“It’s okay.” When you keep staring down, Jungkook moves closer, reaches out, tentatively puts his arm around you. Light enough that you could break away if you wanted to. You don’t. You absolutely don’t.

The contact feels like an anchor, pulling you ever closer to reality. Making the trembling relief that much more real. The embarrassment, too. “Really Y/N, it’s – I know today has been…” After a moment he sighs, faint and low, shaking his head. “Today has sucked so bad, and Christmas isn’t supposed to be like this. I get why you thought what you did. After everything that’s been happening, after I’ve – I haven’t been around.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” is your whispered protest, still unable to look at him. “I should have just talked to you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would have saved us both a bit of panic. But Y/N…” He waits, waits longer, until you’re forced to bring your eyes up. Meeting the dark softness of his gaze summons up more guilt, more regret – but also a clear, undeniable relief. Light at the end of a pitch black tunnel. You’re not out of the darkness, but with those sympathetic eyes on you, you have a sense of striving. Like taking a step, and then another, is possible. And might just be worth it.

“Y/N, baby, it’s not all your fault. It’s on me too.” His arms are resting lightly on your shoulders, fingers gently rubbing across the nape of your neck. “I haven’t talked with you enough. Kept just pushing it off, pretending it’s okay.” When he laughs softly, his breath tickles your face. “Not quite okay, hey?”

Your strained giggle isn’t heartfelt, and it fades quickly. “In the car, when Namjoon and Yoongi gave me a ride, they said – It seems like work has really, really sucked. More than I thought it did.” You lean back, just a bit, his arms a steady support against your back, and search his face. He’s biting his cheek, little lines skittering across his forehead. This close, the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, his skin sallower than it should be. He looks tired, but he doesn’t look away from you.

“Jungkook,” you say quietly. “How bad is it?”

Something flickers behind his eyes, a shadow of his normal reserve. You can feel the tightness in his body, the slight tremor that suggests he’s about to move away. The protective distance he clings to when he doesn’t want to worry you rears up – and you kill it with your hand, trembling only slightly as you tenderly trace your fingers along his temple, down his cheekbone, to cup the strong lines of his jaw. “Please, Jungkook. Tell me.”

The admission comes, fast and breathless, like he needs to get the words out before his teeth clench over them. “Bad. It’s bad. I hate it there.”

“Oh. I–” This is a different kind of pain from most of what you’ve been feeling today. More selfless, an anguish that extends and expands outward instead of curling up. “I’m so sorry. Kookie, I didn’t know. I should have but–”

“I didn’t tell you. How could you know?”

“I should have,” you insist.

His mouth quirks, a flash of teeth showing in mild amusement. “You can’t expect me to know you’re upset, but you should know when I am? I don’t think it works that way, babe.” When your mouth opens to object, Jungkook pulls you to his chest, cutting off your protest. You sink into his embrace, boneless and aching and grateful for the support, and if the gift’s hard frame weren’t digging into your leg, it would almost be perfect.

Perfect enough.

Pressing your face against his shirt, you feel him kiss the top of your head, arms still wrapped firmly around your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispers.

“I’m glad you told me about work,” you mumble into his chest, reluctant to draw away. “If I told you to quit today, would you?” You’re not really joking, even though you know what the immediate answer has to be. You don’t have enough savings for one of you to quit without any other prospects lined up.

“Actually…” There’s something restrained in his voice, teetering on the edge of anxiety, or maybe excitement.

Shock has you looking up, resisting the comforting pull of his warmth for a moment. “You did!?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Jungkook says hurriedly, biting at his lower lip. Far from pleasure, the reassurance has disappointment funneling into your heart, funds be damned. To say that Jungkook’s job was the mother of all evils would probably be both unfair and exaggerated, but if it’s making him (and you) as miserable as he says...

“It sounds really bad, Jungkook. Killing yourself trying to please a bunch of jerks isn’t worth it.”

“You’re right.” He’s smiling now, smiling completely, showing off his teeth. “I don’t know if I can keep working for them for much longer, but… Ah, I was so scared to talk about this, and here you are, making it easy!” In his excitement, he’s playing with your hair, hands restless as they dance around. For once, the mystery isn’t extended. “Namjoon wants to break off. Start a new company, one that’s not an absolute dumpster fire to work for. He’s got several other people lined up who are happy to go, and Yoongi, obviously, and he asked me if I would join, too!”

“Is that why they gave me a ride?” Even as you demand it, you can feel yourself picking up on Jungkook’s energy. Not too much – the exhaustion sucking at your bones won’t allow it – but still, the lightness in your chest is a far cry from the sodden despair that’s taken up space there for most of the day.

Your boyfriend jiggles his head back and forth. “I dunno. Maybe. But I think mostly they did it because they’re pretty nice people.” He sounds a bit awed as he continues. “We can’t start for a couple more months – Namjoon said something about getting funding from some rich guy, Bang Sihyuk – but I still can’t believe they want me to come along. I mean, some of the people are, like, the best there are, Y/N.” You can almost see stars shining in his eyes.

Your response is firm, albeit playful. “So, it makes perfect sense that they’re having you join! Kookie, you’re gonna fit in so well, because you’re one of the best, too.” And honestly, you’re not even just shovelling empty praise; Jungkook is a truly talented artist in his medium.

His smile grows, eyes thinning with happiness. “And – you’re okay with it? There aren’t any guarantees that it will work out, with it being a new company.”

The trials of the day – mostly made from your own mind, though no less difficult for all of that – pass through your head. The loneliness and anger and sadness. All of it dimmed if not gone entirely, simply because here you are in his arms, speaking to each other instead of covering your hurt up. “Jungkook, one of the few guarantees I have of anything is that I love you, and you love me. If you’ll be happy working with Namjoon, with moving companies, then that’s all I need to hear.”

With a low hum, Jungkook sweeps you into another hug, and you’re glad to give up what space is between you two. Enfolded in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, is about the securest place you can imagine being. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with the truth of what he’s saying.

“I love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”

“I haven’t even given you your presents yet. Here –” And you’re breaking apart again – although not really, because you can still feel the connection as a thin warmth snuggled beneath your ribs – and Jungkook bends down, picks up the item sandwiched between you two. “Feel up to opening it?”

“The mystery gift that almost broke our relationship? Yeah, I’m up to it.”

Nose scrunching, he hands it over, and in your haste to see what’s inside, you make short work of the brown packaging. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised with the first glimpse of the mahogany frame – you expected a painting – but as more of the brown rips away, you feel shivery awe cascading down your spine. Once the painting is completely uncovered, you clutch it with sweaty palms, well aware of how precious a gift you’ve been given. You’d recognize the style anywhere.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, “oh my God, Jungkook, this is one of Ayeong’s, isn’t it? You – you actually got one of her paintings!?”

The quality is unmistakable. It’s a detailed piece, zoomed in on a small, dilapidated house. Almost everything about the house is bleak; the colours are all dull greys, blacks and browns, the porch is crumbling, and the shutters over the windows are chipped and cracked in places. However, right in the center of the house, taking up a good portion of the painting, is a door flung wide open, and the inside is flooded with warm colours and details in stark contrast with the exterior. There are people inside, crowded around the entrance, laughing and vibrant, and they dominate the doorway with their collective presence. One person, the only one who is looking outward, has her hand raised in greeting, as though inviting the viewers in.

“It’s called Homecoming.”

Soft and reverent, the name feels like an echo, a reverberation of your hopes and fears, and against a suddenly blurry vision, you smile. “It’s beautiful! It’s so, so beautiful. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Do you feel like opening the rest of our presents? Or should we wait until tomorrow? We can grab your phone in the morning, too.”

Your fatigue drags at you, overwhelming even your hunger, but you try to rally, lifting your chin up. “What do you want to do? Do you want to open a present?”

His head tilts as he looks you over, a quick assessment. “I don’t have to. It’ll be nice to look forward to it later.” You’re absolutely positive he’s saying that for your sake, and it makes you just that closer to crying in gratitude for what’s in front of you.

Swallowing hard, you suggest, “How about tomorrow, then? We can…” You pause, scrambling for the memory, and then grin tiredly. “We can reset. Start over tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s laugh washes over you in cozy tides of amusement. “Now there’s a great idea. Whoever thought of it is a genius.”

With a chuckle, you carefully set the painting to the side, planning on figuring out where to put it tomorrow. As soon as it leaves your hands, Jungkook is there again, claiming the free territory. His grip firm and warm, he asks you, “Do you wanna eat? Or maybe nap for a bit?”

Your panic attacks always leave you drained, and the fact that Jungkook remembers is just another fond ache to add to the collection in your chest. “Nap,” you reply gratefully. “But… do you wanna lie down with me? Just for a bit?”

He couldn’t have looked any more solemn, or any more beautiful, if he’d tried. Squeezing your hand, he says, “I’d lie with you forever, if I could get away with it.” A second later the somber façade breaks apart, leaving a blush and a squirming, quietly giggly Jungkook.

With a snort, you pull him along with you, into the bedroom, a tightness across your chest that has everything to do with just how much you love the man next to you. “Now I know you were with Taehyung.” That makes you remember, and as you both walk to the bed, you glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Taehyung almost kissing you had to do with helping you out?”

As expected, his blush grows, painting his cheeks with a pale pink, but he surprises you by pulling you closer. With a hand under your chin, the other arm wrapped around your waist, he tilts your head up. Meeting your eyes with a tenderness that floods you with reassurance, he brushes a thumb along your lips, leaving a tingling trail. When it comes, his voice is hoarser than before, firmer. “He was trying to teach me something I already know.”

And then his mouth is on yours, steady and certain. Your lips soften against him, and time becomes languid, moving by the count of each breath that flutters against your lips. Jungkook isn’t demanding, not tonight; he kisses you sweetly, gently, conveying everything that he hasn’t managed to put into words. His body has a gravitational pull all its own, drawing you closer, and you skim your hands against his back, relishing the powerful certainty of his shoulders and the intimate confidence of his mouth on yours.

A second later, he sweeps you off your feet, and you gasp in surprise, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook places you on the bed, stands looking down at you with unmasked adoration. You open your arms, a wordless invitation that unwittingly bares the front of your top. His eyes fix on it, and if anything, they soften.

“I like your sweater,” he comments quietly, and as you laugh, he climbs onto the bed with you.

You take off the sweater in question, and your jeans and bra, easy and unhesitant in his presence. He follows suit, and then grabs your pajamas, placed as they always are at the foot of the bed. You wiggle into them, and for his part, Jungkook just throws on a pair of loose pants. The feeling of familiarity sinks into your system like a sigh of contentment, and when he pulls you against his chest, you snuggle into the embrace.

Wrapped in his arms, the smooth warmth of his skin pressed against your cheek, you let the drowsy bliss sweep over your body, and you relax, sinking against the sheets even as you curl closer to him.

Jungkook’s voice ripples against your mind, a soothing undercurrent taking you closer to sleep. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas,” you mumble. With one last faltering effort, you say, “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?” You feel the inquiring murmur just as much as you hear it, a smooth hum on your cheek.    

“Thank you for coming home.”

[jinkicake]

Periods Don’t Stop Nothing But A Sentence

Tendou, Tsukishima learn about the benefits of having sex while you’re on your period and offer their help. 

Tendou Satori x Reader

Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Here you go Anon~ I really like writing this scenario and had so much fun writing it,,,, I don’t know why. Anyway, I’m about to go rewatch hunter x hunter.... You know why-- 

SMUT // NSFW

WC- 1,284

~~~

Tendou Satori

Tendou is the best boyfriend when you are on your period, please he is so sweet and supportive

He will get you candies and food that you like, will cuddle up with you and watch tv with you,,, he’d set up nice baths, ANYTHING ….. Tendou will do it all whatever your preferences are

I feel like him thinking about having sex with you is always on his mind like on the back burner, so he has thought about sex with you when you’re on your period once or twice or every month

When you bring it up to him, his immediate thought is YES but then Tendou gets worried about you and if it will actually help you feel better.....

He’d probably only say ‘no’, because he thinks you are doing it for him,,,, he’d probably get mad like “I don’t need to get my dick wet (Y/N)! I can wait” and then you’re like “I AM H0RNY SATORI” and Tendou is like “right, I knew that”

Because he is so self-conscious about little things, Tendou would probably look up the ‘correct way to have sex while your partner is on their period’ even though…. Is there really a right way?

Tendou just notes how you should either do it in the shower or on the bed with tons of towels,, to make sure everything is clean before, during, and after

He’d probably learn about the benefits too through his research, oh here comes medical Ph.D. Tendou Satori

He’d make it all about you, he always does but, he is super attentive…. And as much as Tendou wants to dirty talk you into oblivion, he refrains from doing so

He will genuinely take care of everything, you can all asleep right after your orgasm and Tendou will clean everything up then turn on your little heating pad and let you snug with it,,,, this man… give him to me NOW.

“You’re so sensitive,” Tendou sucks in a deep breath and watches in amazement how much you mewl whenever he touches your breasts. He thrusts into you rather deeply and you press yourself further into the sheets. “and so damn tight.” He groans loudly, unable to focus on anything but how good you feel. “You like this angel?”

You pant loudly into the pillow beneath you and grind your hips against the sheets. Tendou has you on your stomach as he mounts you from behind, the pressure on your abdomen almost makes the cramps and pains disappear immediately.

“Yes, Satori. Keep going.” You moan quietly and close your eyes once more, focusing on the blissful pleasure you are receiving. Tendou grunts when he sees your fucked-out expression, how you’re basically falling asleep. He starts to thrust rather gently into you, not to disturb you as he tries to prolong your comfort. Tendou reaches one of his hands down to cup your sensitive breast, his fingers start flicking and pinching your nipple softly to make them feel better.

The feeling underneath his fingertips makes his hips stutter and Tendou quietly curses at the particularly hard thrust he caves into you. He looks down at your face and nearly cums when he notices your soft tongue peaking out past your lips.

“Harder Satori, fuck me harder.” You beg and grip the sheets, Tendou blinks a few times and mentally pauses. You want him to fuck you harder? Will that even feel good? Before he gets the time to even think you stubbornly whine. “Now!”

Tendou shakes his head and begins to move even faster, slapping his hips against your ass with every thrust. Your whole body shakes and you grind your hips into the mattress, pushing your ass back to meet each of his thrusts. He feels so deep inside of you that it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Fuck, you’re so sleepy you can barely keep up.

“Come on Angel, let go for me, you can do it.” Tendou’s voice sings in your ear and you moan quietly, choosing to focus on the wave you feel taking over your body. “Such a good girl, so good baby.”

Tsukishima Kei

Tsukki is a little shit, I know he will turn his nose up at you for being on your period LMFAO TO YOUR FACE

But would he actually think it’s gross? No! Tsukki might be an asshole but he knows it’s natural and you can’t control it,,,, he just likes making you mad~ HA

I feel like when you first ask him about it, he would be like SEX? YES! and then say ‘no’ out loud because you caught him off guard

He also wants to hear you beg a little bit~~

If you stop asking him about it then he will be all apologetic and tell you that he wanted to do it since the first time you asked,,,,, someone beat his ass

I know we all think, damn Tsukki big sexy brain... but hear me out,,,

…. That is simply not the case with this one,,, he is going to dive right in LMFAOO like this mf is not thinking this one through

You can look it up if you want or just ways to make yourself feel comfortable but Tsukki is just like sex, sex, sex, sex

I think he would be really careful with you though, much more than usual because he wants to make sure you are okay and comfortable

It would be very, very, very soft </3

Tsukishima uses his long fingers to carefully hold the tiny pink vibrator against your clit. He watches you squirm with heavy lust-clouded eyes and each moan that leaves your lips causes his length to harden painfully.

“Oh, Kei,” You whine while one of your hands gently fondles your breast, you glance over at your boyfriend who is on his side next to you. Immediately your eyes dart to the tent in his shorts and you gently moan at the sight of it. Your hips arch into his touch as you try to get more from the vibrator. “more.” You beg and Tsukishima dramatically sighs and presses the device harder against you.

“You always beg,” Tsukishima mocks and tilts his head tauntingly. “you always want more, more, more-“ His words get cut off by a loud moan that you ripped from his chest, Tsukishima glances down to where your hand is tightly cupping him over his shorts and can’t help but swallow loudly. “Fuck.” He pants as you move your hand beneath the waistband of his shorts, immediately pumping his length. The fit is tight but you still manage to jerk his slender cock, gripping his base tightly and then thumbing over the tip.

Tsukishima starts moving the vibrator a little bit and your hand falters slightly in its movements, however, you keep up just to hear the stutters in his breath. Something about pleasuring your boyfriend always gets you off and it makes the entire experience that much better.

The feeling in your gut becomes stronger and your eyes flutter shut in need, Tsukishima reaches over and holds your hips down as you continue to try and chase the vibrator. He turns up the setting and presses the pink little bullet directly against your clit, he holds you down as you keep squirming and even as you roll your hips up for more. Tsukishima grits his teeth every time you pull too hard on his length, the tiny amount of pain making the pleasure much more enjoyable.

“There you go, there you go,” Tsukishima whispers in your ear when he hears the familiar moan you always release right before you orgasm. “That’s it, baby, ride it out.” He moans quietly in your ear and your hips shoot up underneath his hand.

~

Taglist.

@yams046 @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy @xhanjisungiex @xxashshs @chaosamu @angelkogane @augustdearly @kunimwuah  @lovellucy @osamuonigiri @pearzuko

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte x (no longer canon)

NOTE: Chapters X and XI are not longer considered canon in Lavender Latte. 

...

(M (for now!) 

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

||  series masterlist  ||

word count: ~4.4k

beta’ed: @hawnks​ (thank u!!! 💗)

the softness after the storm

warnings: reference to the panic attacks/dissociation of the last few chapters, fragile reader, mostly fluff. so much fluff. nesting too.

 ...

hello <3 ll is alive and well to the point where... i made another mega chapter that i had to split, so here’s the first chunk! just lots of softness, hurt/comfort and fluff. both of u need it. we all need it right now. find some comfort if u can loves 💗

(psst-- thank you all for sticking around for this series, i adore you all with my whole heart!!!!!!) 

||||||||||||||||||

After all of the noise and pain of the morning, Keigo and you stayed twisted in each other for a long time.

You both needed it, the softness and heat of the other.

You clung onto him, taking in big gulps of his smell and presence as he tethered you to earth purely by breathing and living.

 You were precious to Keigo, more than anything.

As tender as the time together was, he couldn’t forget that what preceded it was not only traumatic but induced by trauma. 

It worried him, to his core. 

That protective flare quieted, somewhat, but never truly went away. Keeping you in his arms, whispering new ‘I love you’s and being able to comfort you certainly helped, but he knew he’d need to examine that part of himself more thoroughly. 

It was new, strong, and ran deep.

His mental musings dissolved when you trembled particularly hard in his arms, his gut twisting.

He placed a few slow, kind kisses where he could reach, rubbing his fingers into the tension in the fat above your hips, “You’re okay, (Y/N), we’re safe.”

“A-are you sure?” You asked softly, again, trying to tug Keigo closer.

He nodded, nuzzling into your hair, “I promise.”

It worried him, how much reassurance you were asking for. He gave it freely, of course, as it was not only the truth, but feeling some of the tension drain from your body with his words felt good.

He knew you just needed to feel grounded. 

“I love you,” You barely looked up at him, eyes shining.

His heart ached as he gently pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours.

It wasn’t a chaste kiss, something deeper, like those you had been sharing all day as you both unwound. 

You grabbed at his face, stuttering breaths into his mouth as he gathered you up by your waist.

“I love you too, dove. So much,” Keigo spoke between kisses, hands dipping just below your waistband, only to massage at any tension he could find. “I’ve gotcha’.”

You stifle something like a sob, cuddling back into him, your light trembling somewhat dulled.

 It felt good to say ‘love you’s to Keigo.

But, physically?

You felt like shit

Your hand and leg ached. The adrenaline lingered in your system, making your body shake out of your control and sleep impossible to reach, as exhausted as you were. That wasn’t even to mention the headache you had from crying for so long and the lack of food and caffeine in your body. 

Keigo smoothed a hand over your back, setting it at the base of your skull, “How are you feeling?”

“Gross,” You mumbled, keeping your eyes shut and mentally blessing the darkness Keigo provided. “Sort of awful.” 

“I can imagine,” Keigo squeezed your sides. “Do you want some water?”

“S-sure.”

Keigo immediately helped you sit up against your headboard, a fresh bottle of water pressed into your hand. You appreciated that it wasn’t glass, just an old plastic one you’d had hidden away in a cupboard.

You sipped greedily, the water feeling far too cold in your stomach. You frowned.

“I think I need to eat, even if I don’t feel like I need to,” You said quietly, folding your hands in your lap. 

“Would you like me to help with that?” Keigo asked softly.

You nodded.

Keigo hummed again, something low and sweet that made your eyes go half-lidded as you leaned against him.

“How about this?” He tapped the top of the water bottle. “I’m still stuck in my hero uniform, so I can run home and grab a change of clothes, sleepover stuff, some food, and whatever else you need and then we camp out for the rest of the day?”

The thought of being able to nest with Keigo for the rest of the day was heavenly. 

“You want to stay the night?” You asked, confirming, flickering your gaze up nervously.

Despite the dulling of it all, it was obvious you were still frayed.

It broke Keigo’s heart.

“Of course,” Keigo beamed you the best smile he could, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll hold you all night, keep you safe, dove, the whole bit.”

You didn’t reply, not verbally. All you could do was sag in his arms, nodding and pressing small kisses to his covered collar bones.

“Can you stay a little longer now?” You sniffled, curling around him. “Just a little.”

His chest ached with how fragile you sounded. 

“However long you need, dove, promise,” Keigo pulled you close, into his lap and wrapped what he could of his wings and feathers around your shoulders. 

...

Keigo departed an hour or so later, sometime near noon. He helped you into the living room, draping a blanket over your shoulders and putting the plushie into your arms.

He knelt in front of you, squeezing your hands, “I won’t be long, promise.”

You bit your lip, nodding.

“Can I ask something?”

“Anything, dove.”

“Can I have one of your feathers, while you’re gone?”

Keigo’s heart panged so hard in his chest, it felt like a bell toll vibrating to the tips of his fingers. 

A few of his plumes fell into and around your lap, softened and rippling. 

“Of course, dove, bare minimum,” He pressed a few kisses to your knuckles. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

You were already sinking into the cushions of the couch, eyes tired and wide, “Thank you, Keigo. I love you.

“I love you too, angel.”

He kissed your forehead before taking off from your balcony.

...

You were so tired. 

Quickly, you fell onto the couch, eyes half-lidded, but your body was still too restless for sleep.

You felt like human vibration, sticky and wrong. As much as the anxiety of the earlier day had died down, you still shook with the physical and mental aftershocks of it all.

It made you that much more thankful that Keigo was staying.

You were self-aware enough to be coming to terms with that you needed a fucking therapist. 

Not that that was a bad thing, but you felt a little dumb for not thinking about it sooner. As soothing as Keigo’s kindness was, you knew it wasn’t a cure. All the aches ran too deeply and personally for that. 

The thought was shoved off, the lingers of the trauma-spiral making your brain spin again.

You winced, curling around the plushie and Keigo’s lingering feathers. 

Still raw.

You shuddered, cursing that you still hadn’t stopped shaking, hadn’t stopped flinching— 

It’s not that easy, you reminded yourself.

You made a mental note to thank Keigo profusely for dealing with you in such a fragile state.

 Keigo had flown back to his penthouse, shucking off his uniform in favor of a pair of joggers and a loose, cropped sweater. His wings stretched up and out from the specially-made slits, still sparse from the day prior. Notably, taking a day off was probably a good thing for himself. He could still feel the aches of his own exhaustion, worse than its normal perpetual throb, from his recent healing.

 As he gathered his things around the penthouse, he was acutely aware of you and your physical state from the feathers he left behind. Considering he was practically on the other side of the city, the sensations were fairly dull, but undeniably there. 

The flutter of your heart and the shaking of your body were unmistakable and unavoidable. 

Keigo remained on edge, jaw set. There was a constant flood of newly unsuppressed feelings around you that he genuinely didn’t know what to fucking do with.

Mainly, the big, lurking need to protect you.

It wasn’t like his instinct to fix up the world and save civilians with a smile on his face. All of that was different, ultimately rooted in his primary goal of allowing himself rest— 

No, around you, it was the deep, carnal need to keep you safe.

Hence why the shuddering of your limbs against the faraway feathers was so hard to ignore. 

Despite how much Keigo wanted to call you, check-in despite the fact he’d been gone for maybe twenty, he took a moment to collect himself.

Carefully, Keigo took some pointed breaths, wings and shoulders sagging.

He could only do so much.

He knew enough about hurt and pain to understand that he couldn’t stitch you up, no, that was a terrible idea. Sometimes you just had to hurt before you could feel better.

Keigo made a mental point to stay with you through it all, to try and support and comfort you where he could, like he had been. 

It satisfied enough of that instinct that he could’ve purred.

He grabbed his phone, sending off a text before flying from his balcony once more.

 [birdboy <3]: hey angel ;^) i’m gonna pick u up some surprises

[birdboy <3]: good stuff

[birdboy <3]: i’ll be back very soon

[birdboy <3]: love u!! <3!!

 You smiled at the texts, taking a shaking breath and burrowing deeper. You sent off your own I love you, antsy with your lack of him. Ultimately, you wanted Keigo to be back soon, but being alone for a little while was probably good.

It allowed you some precious moments of self-soothing.

You were fine, you reminded yourself. Nothing in your apartment was harmful. You were safe, despite the adrenaline and remnants of fear.

Now was the time for rest.

You pushed off the couch, grabbing your crutches and started to make a plan. 

It wasn’t a difficult one, mainly scrutinizing the layout of your bedroom in conjunction to the size of your TV. 

Making your way to the kitchen was difficult, some fear still boiling in you as you approached.

You sighed in relief when you noticed the spotless sink and counters. 

Keigo must’ve cleaned up.

You reminded yourself aloud to thank him later.

Shuffling to a nook in the counter, you grabbed a small metal tin, two mugs, and two tea strainers. The tea blend you’d grabbed was one you’d been reaching for often enough that you’d started to just keep it at an arm's reach.

You popped the lid, sucking down the floral fragrance with a sigh.

Shaky as you were, you could do this much.

You gave yourself a little smile and got to work. 

 Keigo was busy as well, dashing around town to gather what he could.

He didn’t tend to... shop. Most of those needs were met with delivery services and online ordering as it tended to be so much easier than being the number two pro hero out in public and trying to be ‘casual’ with two massive pairs of red wings.

It was slightly better, consider how they were still plucked from the day prior. 

He flew from store to store, trying his best to be quick at dodging his fans, repeating that he was having a ‘self-care day’ in the wake of getting so beat up. 

It wasn’t really a lie.

His final stop, feathers towing a few bags behind him, was picking up one of your comfort foods, a smile growing on his face.

Keigo knew that all he was doing wouldn’t make you feel better in the way that a few fragments of him wanted it to. Part of him wanted to save you— 

But that’s not how people work.

And he knew that.

Instead, he’d just be there.

That felt far better than agonizing about wounds too deep for even you, their bearer, to fully perceive. 

Keigo shook his head as he neared your apartment once more, your sounds and movements becoming stronger against the feathers he’d left behind. 

 You jumped at the clear ‘thump’ echoing from your balcony, but were quickly soothed as the door slid open, revealing a soft-smiling Keigo.

He was on you in an instant.

Carefully, notably.

He was falling onto the couch next to you, a bundle of feathers resituating themselves to his wings as he tugged you into his arms.

Keigo winded his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as he could manage while peppering little kisses on your cheeks. 

As saturated and sticky as your mind was, his firm touch and the feather-light brushing of his lips made your body thrum in a pleasant way. His contact was soothing the fresh burns and you let it.

“I missed you.”

It was a mutual sentiment. 

He squeezed you, tight, a broad wing wrapping around you both.

“What did you end up doing?” You asked, voice soft and filled with a lingering weakness.

Keigo directed you with a glance to the several bags stacked by the door.

“I used a bit of my hero’s paycheck to treat you, a little extra comfort,” Keigo hummed, nosing into your hair. 

“You didn’t have to—” 

Keigo quieted you with a quick kiss, a hand dipping under your shirt to smooth up your spine. 

“Hush, let me spoil you,” His lips quirked up as he spoke. “You deserve it, you know. Not to mention, I’m more than able to.”

He wasn’t wrong. 

You’d subconsciously shoved down the thought, avoiding ogling at Keigo’s obvious wealth. He had to be loaded, money wouldn’t be an issue. 

You thought for a moment, turning over the idea as your anxiety stirred, the ambient quaking of your body picking up. 

“Today has sucked.”

Part of you felt guilt, overwhelmingly. 

Keigo had done so much for you already, physically and emotionally. 

It was a short-lived feeling as you met his gaze.

It made you feel so damn precious.

You’d seen Keigo smile for photos and on billboards, but it was nothing like the ones he gave you. His expression was all that warmth and honey that you loved about him, delivered through the melted-cores of his eyes.

And it clicked.

You said nothing, knowing that the conversation and implication of it all made your heart swell so much, it ached.

“Okay, just this once, okay? And you gotta let me treat you to some tea,” You managed a little smile, something small and sacred that made Keigo’s heart swell.

 Keigo followed you into the kitchen, shuffling to meet your slow pace. Each of your movements was clearly labored, but you didn’t seem as perturbed as he would've thought.

You hit a button on the electric kettle, fiddling with the stem of the pre-prepared mugs. They already had small, metal balls made of mesh, filled with what leaves and flowers. Set nearby was a carton of oat milk and a jar of honey with a homemade label.

Keigo blinked.

“Did... you put this all together while I was gone?”

“I did,” You nodded easily, eyes drifting to the bubbling of the kettle. “It’s the least I could do, you know?”

Keigo’s gut went into knots, a mix of things that were hard to parse through. Mostly, it was that chest tightening mix of worry and syrupy adoration that he wanted to drown in. 

Carefully, yet firmly as he could, he tugged your close by the waist, burying his nose in your hair, “You’re too good.”

“Says you,” You reminded him. “You’re the one who’s been doing the heavy lifting today, birdboy.”

Keigo gently scoffed against your crown, “‘Heavy lifting’? Bare minimum, as far as I know. I like being here and helping you, you know.”

You paused.

“You... do?”

Your words were punctuated by the click of the kettle turning off, the bubble of boiling water slowly dying off. 

“Of course,” Keigo replied after a moment of quiet, keeping himself soft. “Is that a... bad thing?”

 You reminded yourself that he was new to all of this 

“N-no, not at all,” You pressed into him, tighter, closer, ignoring the idle kettle in favor of giving Keigo some much-needed comfort. “It feels nice.”

Some of the tension drained from Keigo as his wings shifted behind him. 

“Good,” He dropped yet another kiss into your hair. “It... feels nice. Knowing you’re safe.”

“S-Same,” You stuttered, frowning into Keigo’s chest. “Are you alright, Keigo?”

 Your words startled him into silence for a moment. 

“I’m not bad if that’s what you’re asking— “

“Deflecting again, are we?” 

You managed him a cheeky smile, pulling back to nudge your nose into the stubble at his chin.

“I’m... really grateful you were here today, and are gonna be here,” You squeezed him tighter, hands resting at the base of his wings. “But, you’ve had a pretty tough last twenty-four hours too, you know?”

You weren’t wrong.

“It’s a part of the job, I’ll be alright,” Keigo tried to shush you, but you weren’t having any of it.

You cupped his cheeks in your palms, giving him a little frown, “Keigo, I love you.”

The new words got his heart stuttering in his chest. 

“I’m kind of fucked up right now, but I’m still here, okay? For whatever you need.” You reminded him, gracing him with a chaste kiss as punctuation. 

Part of Keigo wanted to tug you closer, slip his hands under your shirt and express how much he loved you, but he knew better.

There needed to be a moment of reprieve.

“Thank you, dove,” Keigo wasn’t sure how to fully accept your kindness, but with the smell of earthy flowers wafting and your small smile shining all for him, he was excited to try. 

 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 The rest of the day was a testament to softness.

Keigo had some avian instincts, sure, but the Commission taught him long ago how to suppress the more bothersome traits. One that he had never been able to shake too well was the need to stay bundled up and warm— 

Nesting, as it was labeled.

And you were all for it.

 Keigo adjusted the TV on top of your cleared-off desk, tilting it so it was perfectly viewable from the bed. 

You were half-on your knees, booted foot extended while digging through the bags of softness Keigo had brought.

“These are so fucking good, Keigo!” You held one of the fluffy blankets to your chest before unfurling it. “Absolutely wonderful choices, I have to admit.”

“Happy to please, angel. I grabbed the comfiest ones I could find,” Keigo chuckled, mostly to himself.

He wasn’t the most adept at finding comfort, but he knew a fair amount about surrounding yourself with softness (something he’d been indulging more thoroughly in his private time, after meeting you, of course.) 

Something stirred in his chest as he watched you prop up pillows and arrange blankets over your mattress. With it up against the wall, you were able to create a little... nest of sorts.

Keigo’s’ dick twitched.

Calm down, it’s only a little bit cute— 

You clamored to the edge of your bed, outstretching a hand with a warm smile, “Come on, tailfeathers, I need your body heat.”

“That all?” Keigo’s chest filled with molten heat as he let you tug him down into the softness you’d made. “Just need me for warmth?”

You hummed, pulling at his forearm to topple him over your lap, “Nah, plenty more. Want me to tell you about it?”

His dick twitched again. 

Keigo mused on it, only for a moment. 

“As much as I’d love to hear your reasons,” Keigo braced his arms on either side of your head, ducking to whisper in your ear. “I think you need to rest, hm?”

It was your bloodshot eyes, shaking hands, and tired smile that gave you away. Though it was obvious you were in better spirits, exhausted radiated off of you, even if you managed to banter.

You didn’t put up any fight, only nuzzling into his cheek and trailing your lips near his own, “Maybe you’re right.”

“Just ‘maybe’?” Keigo teased, bearing more of his body weight down onto you. 

You didn’t reply verbally, just tugged him down by the waistband of his joggers. 

“It’s okay,” Keigo said softly, maybe the softest he’d ever spoken, “we’ll just rest.”

“Can you put on something for background noise?” 

“Of course, dove,” Keigo smothered you with kisses, littering your forehead and nose with affections wherever he could reach. 

As you situated yourself, Keigo now the one repositioning the fluffing and blankets around your bed, his mind wandered.

 The amount of vulnerability he showed you was scary, it had been since the beginning. All those subtle glances and remarks that went from weightless flirting to all-out love were new and terrifying.

Yet, Keigo craved it to the point of aching.

As you sipped your tea, nestled between his legs with your back against his chest, that ambient pain was dulled.

 Keigo rested his head against your shoulder, nosing below your ear, “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy, now, less shaky,” You replied following a heavy, audible gulp. 

It was true, your body had mostly stilled its ambient trembling. 

He couldn’t imagine how tired you were.

He also was having trouble acknowledging how tired he was.

Keigo reached to take a sip of his own tea, the smoothness of the honey, oat milk and lavender washing down the back of his throat. The softness of the drink itself was pushing him closer to acknowledging his own exhaustion.

(That was, of course, part of the reason you prepared such a tea, but you kept yourself smitten with your solely known knowledge.) 

“Can we try napping again?” You asked, pulling him from your thoughts. The heat of your pressed back into him as you nuzzled the side of his face. 

“Of course.”

And so, you nested.

The mugs were set aside, the steam tapering off but still filling the room with aromatics. The lights twinkled dimly, the curtains drawn to keep the afternoon light extinguished. The TV glowed in the corner, moved from your living room to on top of your desk, something ambient and meaningless running to fill the quiet air.

And you held Keigo with all you had.

It took a bit of maneuvering, pillows and plushies being pushed and shoved. Maybe, on a different day, you would’ve been a little self-conscious about all of the softness you were shamelessly surrounding yourself with. 

But, that day? You couldn’t care.

As the shakes subsided, your body craved only rest. Keigo offered it up without and second thought, and you drank it in, him in, greedily.

You faced each other, held in the arms of the other, Keigo’s feathers having spread themselves across the ‘nest’ and floor to allow him to accommodate the space a bit better.

Your face was buried in his chest, your hands already snaked under his cropped crew neck and resting below his wings. Every so often, your touch would brush close enough to the base to make him shudder.

You loved how it felt, how he felt next to you.

That was the only real thought you could conjure up in the perfect mess of blankets and softness. 

Sleep took you easily after that.

 Keigo managed to stay awake a bit longer, thoughts restless but slowing. 

He felt a new sort of sated, now that he was curled up with you.

The two of you had cuddled plenty in weeks prior, but nothing that was quite this cozy. With his feathers scattered about the room and nest, blankets pulled up to your chin, for the first time in a long while, he felt truly at peace.

Mostly.

As tired as he was, his mind wandered as he idly stroked along the bare skin of your neck and collar.

He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about your state just hours ago, eyes uncomfortably full, yet vacant in the same moment.

Keigo knew how you felt. 

He knew how these sorts of things worked. The way the mind functioned in vulnerable states (and how to exploit them) was something branded into his mind. In the silence of his penthouse, Keigo was smart enough to put together that this was the reason he’d been able to be there for you in the way that he had been.

It was disturbing, thinking about the origin of his ability to comfort you. His roots being in his need to manipulate rather than comfort. 

Part of him felt sick with the thought, feathers ruffling and puffing up around the room. 

The things he’d been taught and the way they’d been etched into the marble tablet of psyche weren’t good. Even if he valued the skills he’d gained, he had garnered enough agency at some point to put together how the corruption of the Commission infected him. 

The thought made him feel dirty, which was why he pushed it back and away so often.

But, now, thinking about the way you shuddered and wailed in his arms, he couldn’t avoid it, an odd poison spreading through his chest. 

 “Hey,” Your voice slurred with sleep as your hands twitched at his sides. “You’re thinkin’ too hard.”

“And how do you know that?” 

“Your heart, silly,” The sound of it was loud in your ears, the thrum far too quick to be calm. “Sounds fast.”

“Caught me,” Keigo gave a weak laugh, smothered into your hair with kisses. “I’m alright. Get some sleep, I’ll be right here.”

“Nuh-uh,” You forced yourself to full wakefulness with a few unpleasant blinks.

You cupped his jaw and searched his face.

...

Keigo was far too good at hiding how he felt. 

From his painfully cleansed expression, it was hard to tell what exactly he was really feeling, only that he wasn’t expressing whatever it was.

“Keigo,” You breathed his name. “You deserve to rest. All you gotta do is be here, right now, okay? 

Your tired mind was one of its most honest iterations. 

 Weren’t you right?

 “I’m here, always, Keigo.”

“I know,” Keigo sighed with relief, softening against you. 

There was so much he couldn’t tell you, especially not yet. Too much knotted up and tied with himself that was too fragile, secret, or buried to be even acknowledged by himself, let alone you.

Not to mention, the Commission and the public had no idea you were a part of his life, and you intended to keep it that way, at least for a while. 

Keigo opened his mouth to let loose one last quip, but quickly silenced himself.

You’d already fallen back asleep, maybe even more relaxed, clinging to him with everything you had.

 He had always believed he would never let sentiment get his way. 

Even the word ��sentiment’ felt dirty rolling around in his mind.

You weren’t just ‘sentiment’, you were love.

And he loves you. 

Keigo drifted off with his warmth and comfort knotted up with your own, relaxing, truly for the first time in a long time.

+++++

💗ko-fi 💗

++++

taglist: 

taglist (please send me an ask if you’d like to be added!): @thepandapopo @hawksexual @sinclairsamess @darcia22 @inhalingsoysauce   @yee-fxcking-haw @aproperthottie @seasalttrioforever @mia--merc @call-me-rhee @peach-buns-unicorns @amethyst-rose-17 @mega-bastard @an-untamed-rose @ravioliplease @keigosangel @gobestupidsomewhereelse @themusingsofmany @mariiloei @hecatve @assassinslittlesister  @thepuckishrogue​

[secretobsessionstuff]

Hi your fics are so good 😻😻 could you write one where Dakota had the stomach flu but he recovers but still gets wet belches after recovery so Blair rubs his belly and chest to sooth him cause he can't sleep? 💞💞

Thanks for the request! It’s short but I hope it’s okay :) 

Tonight was the first night that Dakota would attempt to eat something other than crackers and ginger ale. He was starting off slowly with a sandwich, but even that he wasn’t sure his stomach would like. He just finished a rough twenty-four hours of puking his guts up and he really didn’t feel like doing that a second time. Still, the fact that he was craving real food was probably a good sign. Blair joined him in his simple meal and later they sat on the couch until they got tired.

After dinner, Dakota found that the food was staying down without much trouble. He felt quite full and shaky, but it was a surprisingly good outcome given the hellish day before. Maye tomorrow he could have a banana with his sandwich.

They mindlessly watched tv until they got tired, and that came early for Dakota. He fell asleep on the couch with Blair curled up beside him. Blair wasn’t paying attention to the show anymore. By using Dakota as a pillow, she had her head pressed against his body and could hear the inner workings of his digestive system. Her boyfriend stayed quiet, sleeping hard, but his stomach was not so quiet. She could hear the organ working, trying to do its job properly this time. He was still recovering from the nasty stomach flu, so Blair guessed it would take some time for him to feel like himself again. It was almost unbelievable that her boyfriend only ate one measly sandwich and then announced that his belly could take no more.

The low gurgles coming from Dakota’s stomach made Blair wonder if he was sleeping peacefully. It sounded awfully uncomfortable. She didn’t want to wake him, but it was time to go to bed. Besides if Dakota woke up later on the couch, he might have a hard time falling back asleep.

Blair turned off the tv, tidied up the kitchen, and came back to her restless boyfriend. She gave him a kiss on the cheek to wake him up. “Let’s go to bed, babe.”

Dakota awoke quickly, startled by Blair. He only ever jumps awake like that when he’s in a shallow sleep. He felt heavy and full, and in no mood to get up. But the bed did sound nice. Taking Blair’s hand, he pulled himself from his comfy spot on the couch. As he became upright, he felt the air in his stomach shift just before letting out a long-wet burp.

Blair froze. “Ooh, are you alright? That didn’t sound too great.”

“Uh yeah…” Dakota rubbed his chest. “My stomach’s a little unsettled but I’ll be fine.”

The bedsheets were cold, just like they should be. Dakota and Blair both sighed as they got under the covers. Dakota wasn’t too sure about lying on his stomach like he normally would, so he opted for lying on his back. This position turned out okay because Blair draped her arm across his torso. He liked the small weight that her arm provided, like a soothing reminder that she was there. Some nights the two of them forgot that they shared a bed because they often valued their space. Well, tonight Dakota thought fuck his space, they needed cuddles. And of course, Blair agreed.

She lightly traced patterns on his arms, hoping that he could fall asleep just as quick as he had on the couch. That did not seem to be the case. He kept burping and groaning, making Blair wish she could do something. He deserved a good night’s sleep now that the virus was gone. Unfortunately, his body still felt the lasting effects.

Dakota squirmed around, trying to find a position that was comfortable. Nothing was working. Multiple times he needed to sit up and let a burp come easier. He rubbed his stomach and chest while the air in his stomach shifted.

Blair sat up with him. “Are you going to be sick again?”

“I don’t think so.” Dakota grimaced before opening his mouth and letting out a deep belch. He could feel his stomach working so hard to keep the food down because he really needed this one normal meal. Falling asleep like this sounded impossible. “Sorry for being gross…I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until my stomach feels better.”

“Do you want me to rub it while you try to rest?”

That actually sounded like a nice plan to Dakota. He was wary about lying back down again but Blair eased him into it with gentle touching. She lay on her side and used her fingers to rub soothing circles on his belly. Occasionally he needed more pressure, so Dakota put his hand over hers and pushed harder. He guided her hand to where his stomach felt the sorest, and she started to massage the area.

Dakota was getting sleepier, but he still needed to burp. As Blair continued to rub, he found that the air came up easier and didn’t make him feel as sick. After one particularly wet belch, he quickly covered his mouth, not because he felt sick, but because he didn’t want to be disrespectful. Of course, he should have known Blair better than that.

Blair felt that pocket of air move beneath her hand, and she chuckled when Dakota sighed upon it being free. “Oh, that was a good one.”

“Yeah, it felt good too.” He grabbed Blair’s hand from his stomach and brought it up to his lips to kiss it. No matter how many times he takes her hand, he’s always shocked at how small it is compared to his own. “I really needed this. Thank you.”

“Any time,” Blair said as Dakota let her hand go. She kept her hand up by his face and played with the stubble on his chin. Then she laced her fingers through his hair and gave his head a massage “By the way, you’re not gross at all. I just spent the last day with you on the bathroom floor. You can’t scare me away that easily.”

Dakota hummed in response because he was already beginning to fall asleep. He reached for Blair. When he found her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. “Night, night…” he mumbled.

[masterkief]

hiii this is really gross and I’m ashamed...pls forgive me and hopefully u enjoy. Also I did this from ryan’s pov so like idk?

- -

Heaven. I never really thought it existed, until tonight that is. Call me a weeb, corny, lame, whatever you want but when she walked into the room every once and a while and she danced with herself as she chatted up friends it felt as if the earth stood still and I was in the presence of a goddess. It was Saturday and some friends and I had gone to a party for the night. She was dressed in tight light blue dress that was decorated in various Animal Crossing characters, gripping at her curves in all the right ways.  Her hair was twisted in loose curls that fell just below her breasts and her smooth skin gleamed just as bright as her eyes.

“Aye ya big goof, just go talk to her!”

Although Matt was sitting right next to me his voice had gone distant as soon as my mystery girl had entered my vision. A sudden hand waved in front of my face attempting to draw my attention back to reality. I blinked slowly and reluctantly looked in his direction, my mind refusing to draw away from her. “Her” I didn’t even know “her” name, I didn’t know anything about her but still I was instantly infatuated.

“What?” I half growled, irritated that he took my attention from her.

He raised his eyebrows shocked at my irritable reaction, and then smirked when he realized why I was so mad.

“Go talk to her.” He suggested pointing his head her way.

I slowly turned my head back towards where she last stood and felt my stomach fall when I realized that she had vanished again. My eyebrows furrowed with slight annoyance that I had missed my chance because Matt needed me to look at him. I forced myself up but not before pounding my fist into his shoulder. The slight buzz from the alcohol I had gulped down was beginning to take over and I could feel my vision growing blurry. I searched the house up and down trying to find the girl who flooded my thoughts since the beginning of the night but found no luck.

“Fuck.” I grumbled to myself stopping in front of the table full of alcohol.

Drinking probably wasn’t the best idea if I was going to talk to this girl but my nerves were shot already and I hadn’t even spoken to her yet. As I was pouring the whiskey into my glass I glanced up and noticed the girl from before standing right dead in front of me, her eyes examining my entire existence intently as if she were reading right through to my soul. A hidden fiery lust began to burn through my veins and I wasn’t paying attention to my glass that was now overflowing with Jack.

“Shit!” I cried as the sticky substance soaked my hand and the table.

The girl giggled timidly to herself as she watched me flail and panic to quickly clean up my mess. When I had gotten it under control I looked up to see her smiling at me from behind her hair, her alcohol glossed eyes gleaming beautifully under the dimly lit kitchen light.

“Am I funny to you yeah?”

I guess they don’t call alcohol life’s “liquid confidence” for nothing because the confidence that suddenly filled my mouth shocked even myself. The girl chuckled again and raised an eyebrow seductively.

“In fact,” She started, leaning closer to me.

My eyes tried not to avert to her cleavage that was protruding from the top of her dress but I failed which caused her to laugh again and my cheeks to burn a deep shade of embarrassment.

“You are quite funny.” She finished slowly standing straight up again.

She put her cup to her mouth and took a sip. A droplet of the drink sat dormant on her bottom lip, her tongue soon traced the plump pink flesh to clean it off and she made sure her eyes never left mine. Hunger filled her brilliant eyes and I could feel a hunger of my own pressing firmly against the inside of my basketball shorts. My head began to spin quickly as the burst of confidence from before began to drain quickly, nervousness filling its place.

“So…” She began again placing her cup down. “What’s your name Mr. Funny?”

Words trapped themselves in my throat as I picked my brain for what my own name was.

“R-Ry…Ryan…Ryan my friends call me Ryan.” I stammered from both nerves and the liquor that swam through my veins.

The girl smiled again and shifted in place so that she was putting all her weight on her right leg and the table.

“Well R-Ry-Ryan,” She mimicked playfully. “I’m Y/N.”

‘Y/N’…her name floated through my head rapidly. I thought of beautiful things, like sunshine and rain and fields and fucking her mercilessly right here for everyone to see. A harsh throbbing erupted through my groin at the thought and my breath hitched in my throat.  Y/N’s eyes slowly moved from mine down to my hips and she absentmindedly licked her lips again.

“Ryan.” She stated knocking me from my inappropriate thoughts.

My eyes met with hers again as words escaped me. She tilted her head upward and eyebrow rose.

“Follow me.” She demanded with another radiant smile.

Without a word or even a thought of detesting I made my way to her side. She put her hand in mine causing a shot of electricity to ravage my spine as she led me throughthe living room where the music was the loudest. My head was spinning more rapidly now and I felt as if I might explode. 

We ended up on the patio, a cool breeze sending a chill down my spine.

“You smoke?” Y/N asked as she plopped down at the little glass table.

I watched as she pulled a blunt from her purse and cracked it open with her thumbnail, spilling the tabacco guts into the bush behind her. Without a word I sat down across from her, watching as if she might disappear.

“What?” She asked, looking up at me from beneath her eyelashes, “Never seen the devil’s lettuce before?”

She finished packing the blunt with the all too familiar green substance and I couldn’t help but watch her run her tongue across the end to seal it. She knew exactly what she was doing to me.

Lighting it, she took a few hits then passed it in my direction. It was as if I never smoked before and I smoked every fucking day. Trying to keep my hand from shaking as best I could, I took it from her.

“First time?” She teased with a playful laugh, exhaling the smoke.

I couldn’t help but snicker as I passed it back to her, “I wish.”

We sat outside for what seemed like forever. My brain was finally able to comprehend sentences and by the time we finished the blunt it felt like we were long lost friends just catching up.

“You’re really cute.”

Her sudden compliment caught me off guard, causing me to choke on my cigarette. She giggled into her cup as she took a sip of her drink.

“I’m sorry.” She started, “That was really weird.”

Ha...weird? I’ve been obsessing over her the entire night and she felt weird?

“You’re joking right?” I blurted out, sounding more harsh than intended.

Her eyebrows pulled together with confusion and offense. Way to go Magee..

“Sorry.” I apologized quickly, throwing my cigarette butt. “It’s just you’re a fucking babe.”

She bit her bottom lip and stood up from her chair.

“Come with me.” She whispered, leaning into my ear as she passed me.

I obeyed silently as she led me back into the house and eventually down a darkened hallway. She didn’t even give me a chance to make a move as she suddenly threw me up against the wall towards the end of the hall, her mouth destroying mine. She bit at my bottom lip causing a throaty moan to escape from my mouth.

“Fuck me Ryan.” She ordered in a harsh whisper against my neck.

My hands grabbed and squeezed eagerly at every inch of her as we backed towards a door still attached to each other. We busted through not even checking if anyone was already occupying it and closed the door quickly behind us. I threw Y/N to the bed roughly, our bodies only parting briefly so that I could eye her up as she laid on her back, her breasts coming out of the top of her dress even more. I licked my lips and quickly put them on hers again. Soon they traveled to her jaw…then her neck…and then her collarbone as I left sloppy kisses and bites against her skin. I tore her dress down to her waist violently not being able to hold back any longer.

“Ryan.” She moaned as my mouth planted itself onto her right breast.

I bit and nipped at the skin making sure to let my tongue trace her perfectly hardened nipple. Slowly but surely I moved downward gliding my tongue down the valley of her stomach, stopping right at her hips. I heard her breath lodge itself in her throat as I got dangerously close to her core. My hands gripped her thighs, my thumbs digging into the inside of each one causing her to buck her hips upward. I moved back up to her face and her hands tugged at the top of my shorts. Our lips crashed together fiercely as I ground my hips into hers causing a more audible moan to come from her mouth. My shorts soon found their way to my ankles and I kicked them off, then sliding Y/N’s panties off from under her dress. We reconnected once again as I readied myself at her entrance.

“Come on funny guy.” She groaned eagerly, wanting me to enter her. “Show me what you’ve got.”

I smirked and raised an eyebrow, the tip of my cock now right against her slit. Her eyes widened, in complete disbelief that I was teasing her. She forced herself upward trying to push it in for me but I pulled away every time knowing it was driving her crazy.

“Please.” She begged. “Please Ryan just fuck me.”

Her begging set me off and with her least expecting it I plunged deep into her warm, and wet center. As her noises of pleasure grew louder and louder I pumped harder and harder into her, the headboard of the strangers bed surely putting dents in the wall.

“Ryan.” She cried, her walls getting tighter around me. “Ryan I-...I’m close already.”

I smiled against her neck and thrust into her as hard as I possibly could, surely about to break her. 

“Not until I tell you to.” I ordered, my voice shaking as I got close to my own explosion.

I pulled away from her neck and placed my hand over her mouth to keep any outside audience on the edge of their seats. Wrecking into her I felt her breath on the palm of my hand grow faster, indicating that she was right at the edge and unable to take anymore.

“Cum for me Y/N, cum!” I growled against her ear.

Soon enough she screamed my name into my hand, her muffled cry of ecstasy setting me off as well. I collapsed next to her, both of us breathing heavily.

“Christ.” She breathed heavily her legs trembling.

“I’m not just good at being funny.” I teased, my hand now resting on her thigh.

Y/N laughed her lovely laugh, which made my head continue to spin.

“I see that…”

[adowbaldwin]

Baldwins secret - part 30

"Oh my God" Diana marvelled, reaching out to touch the painting. She lightly trailed her finger over it "its beautiful"

"Calling yourself beautiful is abit egotistical Diana" Baldwin narrowly missed the punch to his gut "joke, it was a joke"

"Demetria did this? She was only small when i left" she thought alot about those from Rome she missed and seeing this painting now made her feel guilty for leaving "I miss Rome, do you?"

Baldwin contemplated but it was an easy answer "No"

She turned to him, just as confused as Jack "no?"

"I dont miss the stench of a bath house, the hypocrisy of the Senate, Anthonys unpaid debts - none of Rome. I miss my family, but not the time" he cleared his throat "you want this sent to France or the States?"

"To Jacks studio, in New York. It can be the first bit to go up" she gripped his hand "only if you want it?"

"Sure there is nothing id love more then to stare at a six foot pop art painting of just your face" he retorted sarcastically

Baldwin chuckled "maybe you should have one of Matthew too, a complete pair"

Unfortunately for them both, or rightly deserved for the attitude, they did not escape Dianas double back hand to both of their stomachs.

"Watch your lip, next time it will be harder" she jokingly warned

"Diana you barely broke through my suit" Baldwin lied, God she could fucking punch "dont you think the house is rather quiet?" He noticed the shared glances "what?" He askes suspiciously. He had suspected something was wrong when Jack insisted on showing her the painting early, or when Matthew had insisted on 'brotherly bonding' and when Diana had forced him to help change make the twins lunch.

They had been keeping him busy all day, and now he was concerned "tell me whats going on, now" The last time he was in the dark Diana and Matthew took a trip to 1590.

"BALDWWIINN" Penelope burst through the door charging for Baldwin "UP UP"

He span on his heels completely confused until he saw her making moves toward him like a stampead. He lifted her off the ground, lightly flinging her in the air "the little terror" he kissed her on the cheek "what are you doing here?" The question was more for her mother who was in the doorway, surrounded by his skulking daughters

"Boudicca came to Nanna Ro's house and baked cookies" she squealed "And then i played eye spy for two whole hours in the car with Fabiana and Keiko" she rambled on "And Flo said i can call her sissy but not yet"

He gave them all that spine chilling look and like rats they scurried away. "So you met my daughters?"

"Ah huh and mummy said we can go the Swan Lake now can we can we?" He could hear her little heart thudding

"You missy have had too much sugar" he booped her nose "you know you need to be careful, youll loose all those pretty teeth"

She pouted "i woooont it was only two cookies"

"Only two?" He gave her a knowing look

"Plus seven BUT I PROMISE i saved some for Diana" she gave him a toothy smile, pulling her gums open with her fingers "amd i brush teef"

"Tell you what, why dont you go with Jack to find Augusta" he placed her on the floor "go on, ill come find you in a moment alright?"

She laced her tiny little fingers through Jacks and happily followed him "HI DIANA BYE DIANA" she yelled back as she left, sneaking another cookie out of her pocket

"So, who flirted with who first?" Diana broke the awkward silence, folding her arms over her chest "and why did you two idiots think it was okay to hide it from me?"

"He did"

"She did" they said at the same time

They both scoffed, arms crossed and ready for an unnecessary argument

"ME?" Sienna wailed "YOU stuck it on ME at Sarahs Christmas party!"

"ONLY because YOU were desperate for it i mean come on Sienna you stuffed your fuckin underwear in my pocket"

"AFTER YOU FINGERED ME IN THE BATHROOM" She yelled. She would not be blamed for this. She didnt loose.

"OH MY GOD STOP" Diana bellowed "BOTH OF YOU" she came to stand between them "okay first of all gross, second of all im not angry that you are doing whatever it is you two are doing. Im mad because you hid it from me"

"So if we had told you, you wouldnt of kicked me out of your class? We would still be friends?" Sienna dropped her arms, fidling with the hem of her dress

"It would have been wierd sure, but i want you both to be happy. Despite Baldwin being a giant asshat 98% of his life, he deserves it. So do you" Diana pulled her in for a hug "love you bestie"

"Love you too Di" she pulled free focousing her attention back on Baldwin "we still need to talk though, and not with your entire family and my daughter eavesdropping"

"I am not partaking, i dropped an earring. Ysabeau is helping me find it" Sarah called through the closed door "oh there it is!"

Baldwin groaned "this house is too big for it to be this crowded" he glared at Diana "shouldnt you all be making arrangements for the Christening at Sept Tours"

Ysabeaus ears shot up, a wicked plan already convoluted.

[sams-sass]

Always

Summary: You and Sam realize something on a case when you make a bold decision. 

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Language, mutual pining, fluff

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

It all started with a ghoul. A dirty, disgusting, and hungry ghoul. This gross scavenger made you rethink everything about your life. Everything you thought you knew about your heart was about to take a turn that you could have never expected.

 ------------------------

You were on the computer in the library, your shoulders hunched and eyes squinted in concentration. You took a long sip of coffee and tilted your head to the side.

“Hey.” Dean said, walking into the library. His hair was spiked in different directions and he was wearing his robe.

“Hey, I think I found something.” You said, blinking up at him.

“Finally, I gotta get out of this damn bunker.” Dean leaned over your left shoulder. He smelt like coffee, stale whiskey, and mint toothpaste.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t know what it is though, I’m not even sure if it’s a case.” You turned your head to look at his face that was about five inches from yours.

“Well, if it’s not, it will still be a reason to get out for a bit.” He slapped the table slightly and smiled down at you before walking into his room, passing Sam in the hallway.

“Hey.” Sam greeted his brother.

“Hey, go talk to Y/N, she thinks she’s got a case. I’m going to go pack.” Dean instructed his brother.

Sam walked out into the library and saw you sitting at the library table. You were moving your head and grabbing your shoulder. This always happened. You always concentrated too hard and scrunched your shoulders around your ears for hours. Your shoulders were sore for days afterward and it never failed to make Sam giggle. He ran his fingers through his hair and walked over to you, placing a hand on your back. Sam thought of you as one of his best friends. Someone he could talk to about anything. Who he could always rely on. You looked up and smiled at him. Sam didn’t understand the way his stomach flipped at the sight of your smile, there were times when he was almost halted by you. You were his friend, but he was a man and you were striking. He just chalked it up to loneliness and the fact that no one could deny your beauty.

“Found us a case, I think. I gotta get out of this freaking bunker.” You swung your head back, looking directly into Sam’s eyes and stopped in your tracks. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest and you tried to laugh it off, too much coffee. Sam was your best friend. He was someone you could always count on, no matter the situation. However, you were a woman and he was a freaking god so it was hard to ignore that from time to time. You licked your lips and cleared your throat, running your fingers over your hair. Calm down, Y/N, its just Sam. Get it together.

“Where?” He leaned down and just like his brother looked over your shoulder at the computer. He smelled like orange peel, spices, and the earth. Your eyes closed at the warm and familiar smell surrounding you. He smells so good. STOP. God, I need to get laid.

“Iowa.” You pointed to a section of the article that seemed off to you. “People are going missing for a few days and them appearing again as if nothing happened. They seem to live their normal life and then they disappear again, odd right?” You put your elbow on the table and leaned your head on your hand.

“Definitely odd, could be something.” Sam nodded and placed his hand on your back again, looking down at you. His skin is so warm…QUIT IT.

“I’m gonna go pack.” You stood up kind of abruptly and walked toward your room, your brow furrowed in confusion. Your face felt warm and your breathing was quick in your chest. You shook your head and got to work packing your bag.

Fifteen minuets later you all climbed into the impala and took off. The heat from the sun was pouring into the backseat and you felt sweat sitting on your lower back. You sat up and removed your jacket, rolling your head around from your sore shoulders. Sam caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to watch you take your jacket off. You reached up and moved your hair out of your face before leaning back against the seat. Sam had seen you in stages of undress before, you were hunters and things happen. Sometimes clothes needed to be stripped in order to fix wounds or press against others wounds. Something felt different here, he had never felt pulled to you like his was now. God, she’s fucking perfect. Nope, don’t entertain that thought. Sam turned back in his seat and pulled lightly on his collar, suddenly feeling constricted in his clothes. You leaned your elbows on the seat and poked your head between the two of them, telling Dean that you were hungry. Sam caught your sent in his nose, his eyes closing and his heart racing. If she smells that good, I wonder what she tastes like. NO. STOP. She’s your friend, quit being weird.

The three of you arrived at the town and began to canvas the people who were reported missing. You were all sitting in the impala again on a stake out. You were in the backseat, propped against the door. Your feet tapping to the soft music Dean was playing. You yawned and moved your sore shoulders again, inching towards the window. You saw movement and hit the seat lightly, getting the boys attention. They both looked and saw him in the house. The guy you had been watching, Eric, walked out the front door and headed on foot towards the town. You all got out of the impala and went to the trunk. Grabbing guns, knives, holy water. Everything really. Armed and ready you all followed him through town. He snuck into the graveyard on the other side of town, looking over his shoulder the whole time. Dean went in first with you and Sam closely behind him. Eric walked into one of the old mausoleums, as he walked in you noticed blood on his hand. The three of you all exchanged a look and leaned against the walls, looking in through the small windows. Eric’s footsteps echoed throughout the cement tomb. He grabbed the casket laying in the open, as if it was just placed there. He opened it with ease. Inside lay…Eric. Your eyebrows knitted together on your forehead and you glanced back at Sam. He looked at you with the same confusion on his face. His eyes really have so many colors in them…Jesus Y/N, focus! His eyes shifted from yours to behind you and widened. His arms circled your waist and he pulled you into him as he fell to the ground. You were now sitting in his lap on the cold dirt. His body was so firm and warm, wrapping you into him like your favorite blanket. Dean was next to him, crouched and waiting.

“What happened?” You whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear your heart beating out of your chest.

“Someone else is here.” Dean whispered back, his fingers splaying against the cold concrete of the tomb. Sam moved slightly and it took everything in you not to press your body harder against his. What is happening? This is Sam for christ sake. Salad eating, nerdy, book loving Sam. This tension was building and it was really starting to distract you.

Having you against him like that was too much for Sam, he couldn’t handle the way you were making him feel. Your warm and soft body pressed against his was like adding fuel to an already burning fire. When you landed on him all he could do was go completely stiff against you. The smell of your hair. The feeling of your breath on his skin. The way you melted into him. You are on a case, Sam, start using your brain. But my god does she feel good. I could lose myself in her.

“There’s two of them. Whatever they are.” Dean was the only one still paying attention to the case. He stood up taller and chanced another look in the mausoleum. His face turned to one of disgust and he crouched back down next to you.

“What?” You and Sam said at the same time.

“Ghouls, they are having dinner right now.” Dean scrunched his face and shook his head, trying to get the image out.

“Gross.” You agreed with Dean.

“Alright, you guys take Eric. I’ll follow the other one.” Dean instructed, flicking his head. You all stood and followed them after they were done…eating. Eric surprised you and Sam by walking into the woods. You followed him, frequently exchanging looks of confusion. He went into a small and worn down shack after about a mile. You and Sam crouched down against the side of the house and listened closely. You wanted to see if this was a trap or not. You pressed your ear to the side of the house and closed your eyes, listening for anything suspicious. Hearing just footsteps and seeing a flashlight through the window you and Sam decided to go in, guns ready. You moved together towards the door and watched each other as you moved. You entered the house and Eric, or the ghoul pretending to be Eric, turned around with a wide grin. He charged at you and Sam, fists flying and guns blazing. He took a hard swing at you. You fell to the ground, your head hitting the rotting wood with force. Sam landed a gut punch to his left side. You gathered yourself to your feet and staggered slightly, gaining your balance. You aimed your gun and found Sam’s eyes in the darkness. He nodded and grabbed the ghoul, throwing him down so you could shoot. Bullet straight to the heart. He went down quick. Sam helped you move the body into a closet and that’s when you heard the knocking.

“Police, open up!” A man screamed from right outside the door. Trapped. Sam kicked the ghouls foot in and closed the door, turning towards you.

“Run.” He said, practically pushing you. You weren’t going to let him take all the blame for this. You acted completely on instinct then. You reached forward and unbuttoned Sam’s shirt before reaching up and messing up his hair. Then you reached down and unbuttoned your own shirt. Sam was staring at you with wide and confused eyes, trying to keep his eyes off your unbuttoned shirt. You heard the door bang in its frame. They were kicking it down to get inside. Now or never, Y/N. You grabbed Sam’s collar and pulled him towards you. You pressed your lips against his as the banging against the door got louder.

Your lips hit his and the warmth quickly spread throughout Sam, his blood running hotter in his veins. The world dropped from around him and all he could feel, taste, smell, or see was you. His fingers ran through your hair, twisting some strands between his fingers. In that moment he knew. He knew you were the only thing he could ever want. You were the only thing he was going to crave for the rest of his life. You were like the rays of sun shining through the branches of a tree on a warm spring day. Welcoming, warm, fresh, and peaceful. You were like the lyrics to his favorite song. Learned and known, but holding a special place in his heart. She tastes better than I thought she would. Sam’s arms lifted you to him, bringing you as close as you could possibly be.

The door slammed open, hitting the wall. Lights flashed on you and Sam.

“Freeze!” They screamed, their voices deep and authoritarian. You and Sam broke apart. Your hair a mess, your lips puffy and red as your heart pounded in your chest. Your breath was coming in large and heavy, your chest rising and falling quickly. You tried to focus back on reality. Sam let you down and put his hands up. The cops looked at both of you and then exchanged glances with each other. They lowered their weapons and held in their smiles.

“Sorry.” You spoke, your voice was breathy and low.

“Alright, get outta here.” The cop said, waving his hand out the door. You and Sam made your way back into the woods while you buttoned up your shirt. “Go find somewhere else to fool around.”

The two of you took off, walking quickly and then into full out running. Sam called Dean and he had the impala waiting at the edge of the woods for you to jump into. You and Sam quickly got into the car with heavy breaths and beating hearts, Dean took off quickly.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“I think the ghoul tried to set us up by calling the cops.” Sam said, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“How did you get away?” Dean asked, his face one of confusion.

“We uh, we hid the body so there was no reason for them to look into it any further.” Sam said quickly, his eyes watching Dean’s reaction.

“Really? Huh.” Was all Dean said back. He leaned forward and turned the music up, hitting the gas peddle harder. The car ride was quiet and tense. You could feel the waves coming off of Sam as you looked at the back of his head. He barely moved the entire car ride. You knew you should feel exhausted, but your heart and mind were racing too fast. That kiss was more than you could have ever thought. It was hot and passionate. Full of emotions and lust. There was no denying it: you couldn’t get enough of him. You wanted him. Wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything in your life. His hands on your skin were like waves crashing on a shoreline. He felt like wind whispering through the trees on a crisp fall day. Awakening something buried deep inside you. As soon as your lips had touched his, you knew. You knew he was going to be the one thing you put above all else. I’m in love with him, always have been.

You made it back to the bunker around 2am. You all filed into your rooms, with closed doors and shut off lights. You were laying in bed, willing sleep to take you in its peaceful embrace. There was nothing. You couldn’t stop thinking about Sam, pining for him in the stillness of night. You rolled over and let out a long and defeated sigh. You decided to stop fighting it and got up. You pulled on a flannel that you stole from Sam about a year ago now and played with the fabric between your fingers. You closed your eyes and smiled to yourself, feeling him all around you. You left your room, making your way through the quiet halls of the bunker. The library was always a place you found calming and serene. You found your favorite book and began to read.

Sam couldn’t sleep, his mind was too busy with thoughts of you. The way you felt against him. Your warm and intoxicating scent. How it had filled him completely. He wanted to sleep, could feel the ache in his bones, but he couldn’t stop you from dancing through his mind. It was here in the bed that he realized how he had felt about you all these years. You were his. Everything about you filled everything in him. He realized now that he didn’t just want to spend the peaceful times with you. You were his peace. You were his happiness. His heart rate quickened at his realization. I’m in love with her, always have been. Sam moved from his bed and wandered into the cold halls of the bunker. He knew the library was your safe place. A place you felt peace and tranquility. That’s where he found you. His heart stopped at the sight of you. He let out a breath and licked his lips, his eyes never leaving you. You were laying on top of the table on your stomach. Your arms bent and resting on your elbows, your head in your hands. You were wearing one of Sam’s shirts and a par of socks. Your knees were bent, putting your feet in the air, swaying back and forth slightly. Your eyes scanned the pages of a book. He wondered if you thought about him. God, she’s absolutely amazing.

“Hey.” His voice broke the silence. You looked up from your book and swallowed thickly. Your stomach flipped in your abdomen and you thought your heart was going to pump out of your chest.

“Hey.” You practically whispered back. Your voice felt caught in your throat.

“So, I have been thinking a lot about that kiss.” He said, his feet bringing him closer to you. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. What the hell am I going to do now? Just talk, Y/N, just say anything.

“What about it?” Your body moved into a sitting position on the table, your legs folding under you. Sam watched you move and felt himself stiffen. What the hell do I say back to that? Should I ask her why she did it or should I just tell her I liked it? Shit. Shit. Shit. Ok, moment of truth.

“Well, about how much I liked it.” Sam said, his body pressing against the table. His eyes were staring into yours with a look you had never seen before. Oh, I am in for it now. I am going to die right here on this table. No, I am going to answer him. Wait. What did he say again? Crap. Do something, Y/N! Just kiss him.

That’s exactly what you did. For the second time that night you pulled him to you. Your lips pressing against his. His hands ran over your skin, grabbing and squeezing at your soft flesh. He grabbed your hips and yanked you to the edge of the table. His hips moving between yours as his hands ran over your back. You moaned into his mouth and opened for him, letting his tongue explore you. Kissing him was like that drop on a roller coaster. There was that feeling of nervous energy as you hit the highest point and then the total euphoria as you fell, picking up speed as you went. Sam couldn’t stop, you were like an 80 degree day in February; unexpected and exciting. Your skin on his was sending a fire through his blood. He couldn’t control how you made him feel. The two of you together were tidal wave, crashing through his mind and making him forget everything he knew.

I love her so fucking much.

I love him so much, holy shit. Its like he was made for me.

There was no stopping the two of you. You conquered together, always by each other’s sides. You were his and he was yours, completely. He was there on the nights where it seemed like all lights had gone out and hope was fading. You were there on the days of calm, when the world was still. You celebrated together and fell hard together, experiencing life as one. You were in love and had always been.

Tags: @watermelonlipstick​ @virtualheaderssupernaturalnerd​ @wnchetrs​ @lukawats​

[pixie-cocaine]

ATEEZ Reaction To: Their sick S.O. throwing up

Hello sunshine, I love your Ateez writings so much! Can I request an Ateez reaction to you waking up in the middle of the night being sick and you throw up?

Ohhh this is a good one, your mind. This is a non-gender specific one, so there’s there’s that, as well :)

Songs Listened To: My bird’s chirping

Hongjoong ♡:

• Snoozin woozin when he felt the bed shake as you struggled to throw the covers off of you

• In his post-sleep haze, he’d still be very concerned as to why you were so frantic

• “What’s wrong?”

• You wouldn’t be able to answer though, because, well, just as you hopped out of the bed and began to run to the open door...

• Blurghwaggbleghughagh 🤮

• Immediately rushed up to go steady you because gorl- you were HEAVING

• Holding onto that wall for dear life, eyes tearing up and everything. Yikies, here’s a glass of water or sum

• Tried scrubbing the vomit off your shirt, also went to fetch a wet rag and water

• “Fuck..,” You’d still be queasy, unconciously holding your stomach and staring down at the multi-colored puddle of your mushy dinner, trying not to look at Joong out of an odd sense of embarrasment, “I’m sorry… it got everywhere…”

• “Hey, hey, no一it’s not your fault at all, honey,” He’d frown and guide you back to bed

• Helped you change into different jammies and cleaned up with you, as well as got you a bucket

• Wouldn’t stop cuddling you and asking if you still felt gross ;(

Seonghwa ♡:

• You’d already felt your gut stirring when you went to bed, but you weren’t expecting to wake up in a cold sweat and experience the disgusting nausea that was happening in the same bed as Hwa

• You let out a pained whimper, head aching like it was being pounded on, and attempted to sit up

• You suceeded, but not without waking up Seonghwa

• He made a noise that you couldn’t quite register in the pain you were in, cuz damn you were trying your hardest to not pass out from the horrible headache-bordering-on-migraine

• “Mm… Baby…? Are you ok?”

• “I-… Ow..,” Was all you could get out. Your voice wavered, cracking, and the copious amounts of saliva that began to coat your mouth was a clear sign your stomach was readying to empty its contents, not to mention the lurching of your intestines

• The best word to describe it would be ‘agonizing’

• One second you were trying to slide the covers off you, the next, you were leant forward and throwing up all over the comforters and mattress

• It was literally horrible, dawg. Your throat felt like it was forcing itself open, and the yellow chunder that expelled from your mouth burned the inside lining of your trachea. You wanted to game end, maaan 😔🤙

• But it all turned out ok, because Hwa was there to help :))

• Acted fast after he got over his initial shock; bundled up the blankets and ushered you off the bed, gently pushing you towards the bathroom with a kiss to your forehead so you could go take a shower, and cleaned up the bed hella quick

• When you came back, he’d gave you a bunch of kitheth all over your face except your lips and slipped a hand under your shirt to gently rub/pat your tummy while you relaxed into his chest cuz he knew you still felt groggy (I’m gonna start crying, bro..)

Yunho ♡:

• Freaked the fuck out when you stumbled out of the bed and into the bathroom

• Though, since that bitch was sleep, it looked kinda like 😵 

• “____..?”

• Followed you haphazardly out of pure worry, and was like “Oh! 😧” when he saw you bent over the toilet and just adujadhbauidbuaqbduw into it

• The sounds also made him feel worse

• Nasty as hell, why do you sound like you’re throwing buckets of water into a kitty pool and burp right before it splashes

• Anyways

• It was hell for you :)

• While the ceramic of the toilet’s sides as well as the cold tile floor helped cool your feverish body and hands down, the smell of the water made your nausea worse. You could feel the sweat gather at your forehead as you banged your hand down on the lid out of strain and need to get bearings, gorl, you looked a literal mess

• You’re lucky Yunho doesn’t judge since he’s sweetness :D)

• Was genuinely really concerned; eyebrows knit in regard and a hand rubbing your back with each retch you made

• “It’s ok.. It’s ok,” He’d repeat, not really knowing any other way to comfort you

• When you were done, he’d kiss your temple and help wash your mouth out, praising you for getting to the bathroom in time and being so strong

• Scared puppy eyes the entire time [insert a crowd of awes]

Yeosang ♡:

• Had no idea what was going on when he opened his eyes upon the sound of your staggering footsteps in the hallway

• Then he heard you vomiting

• Was like ‘word? I know they did not just...’ and got up to peek his head out from the doorway

• Saw you bent over, only a couple feet from the bathroom, and holding onto the wall for dear life as you spewed ALL OVER the floor

• Couldn’t help but make a ‘😬’ face

• Like, you’re his baby, dawg

• He doesn’t wanna see you like that 😔

• Nervously laughed before moving over to step around the puddle, coming back with cleaning supplies, a cold rag, and a bucket

• “And here I was, telling you that you had a stomach bug and should get a bucket just in case”

• “I don’t need your bullshit right now, Yeosang,” You flipped him the bird but still smiled at his teasing, then cleaned up the mess with him 

• He’d tucked you into bed and put the rag on your forehead (kithed your eyelid for good luck UwU), and was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he realized the face you were making

• You looked kinda sad bro :(

• “What’s wrong?”

• “I feel kinda guilty. You were right, I should’ve gotten a bucket so I didn’t have our hallway all nast-”

• “I was just kidding, baby,” He grinned and put an arm above your head as he turned on his side to face you, caressing your cheek, “It wasn’t your fault. Plus, it was a... bonding moment?”

• “You literally got puke on your big toe, Yeosang-”

San ♡:

• When he felt the bed dip as you stood up from it, he cracked an eye open at first, but then he heard you gag and the sound of you spilling your fucking stomach out

• Shot up from his original position with wide eyes

• Now he was fully awake lol

• “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me..,” You said to yourself, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve and looking back at San with an expression that apologized before he could ask if you threw up

• “Did you...?”

• “Yeah.. Just go back to sleep, I’ll clean it up,” You didn’t give him time to reply before you already left the room to go get napkins and a cleaning agent

• In the end, he still helped with wiping it up :)

• Gave you some pepto bismol before you both laid down

• “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling bad... I could’ve gotten you medicine..”

• “WHY ARE YOU CRYING-”

Mingi ♡:

• Panicky ;(

• He was wondering where you were when he woke up because he was thirsty

• So on his way to the kitchen, he got his answer

• Bitch- you’re so loud and for what lmao

• I get it, I get it. You’re going through a horrible experience by literally regorging both stomach acid and everything you’ve eaten the day before, but like, why do you sound like you’re dying

• Shit, maybe you are, nvm

• Pushed the already ajar bathroom door open the rest of the way and got an unwanted eyefull of you hurling into the toilet bowl

• Bb was so worried about youuuu *sobs*

• Didn’t know what to do with himself for a sec, so he kinda just bounced in place and messed with his fingernails until he finally realised that it’d be helpful if he got you some medicine

• “I got you something for your stomach,” He stood beside you by the sink counter, where you were rinsing your mouth out, and held out the round pink tablets for you to sit on the surface of your tongue and wash down with some water

• “Thanks, babe,” You mustered a weak smile, ruffling his hair in adoration for the boy

• “Oh, you look like a zombie, ____!” 

• A crybaby

• Literally flung himself onto you and squeezed you half to death, nuzzling his cheek against your own and ready to cry for you when you put a hand on his chest and let out an exhausted groan

• “You’re gonna make me throw up again, Mingi...”

Wooyoung ♡:

• Omgomgomg it’s my favorite gang member 😍 

• Disqusted

• Was woken up by you shaking his shoulder

• “Huh...?”

• Sat up from his side, then saw the huge puddle of puke in the center of the covers

• Was like “Dawg.... I loved this comforter 😞,” and took a moment of silence to weep on the inside

• Then he clowned you about it :D

• “Ewww, dude!” He whined, pushing your arm slightly and looked towards you, a shit-eating grin on his face as he waited for your reaction

• “I can’t help it, asshole!” 

• You were ready to rip his head off lol

• The auDACity of this wench 🙄💅🏽

• Teased you, yet still helped clean everything up

• Two-faced ass

• Be’d make fun of the situation a lil bit, but he understands :)

Jongho ♡:

• Ah, he looks so soft in this gif UwU

• No judging from bb

• He understands you’re not feeling good, and that’s ok ;(

• So when he opens his eyes at the sound of you know, BLAKBURGHWHAGABLEGH 🤮, he’s already figured that you got sick

• You’re next to the bedroom door, holding onto the wall for leverage and clutching at your stomach, still shaking from the sudden action

• “Uh-oh, did you throw up?” He mumbles as he slides off the bed and makes his ways towards you, rubbing his eyes

• “Yeah...”

• “Go sit near the toilet for a bit just in case more comes, I can clean this up”

• You sigh and frown, appreciating the offer but not wanting your boyfriend to fix a mess that you made. Especially a gross one.

• “Jongho, you don’t have to...”

• He presses a kiss to your forehead and doesn’t answer, instead, placing his hands on your hips as he pushes you out the door and to the bathroom before heading to the kitchen

• “You don’t need to worry about me, just make sure you’re ok”

• The absolute sweetest ;((