#the exceptional voice acting and singing!!!

[raptorladylover6969]

I’m bored so I’m gonna yap abt my new JW OC who is also The Handler’s twin sister 😋😋

Her name is Vivian, here’s a silly doodle of her, I’ll make a proper refsheet soon.

She is also a raptor handler, just like her big sister, except she doesn’t work under Soyona, Soyona don’t even know who she is. Vivian works for BioSyn and BioSyn only. She’s apart of the Atrociraptor training program, but only handles 2, which I’ve shared in my last post, Muerte and Parca.

As I said before, Muerte and Parca are herding raptors, and they and Vivian reside in the dolomites to keep close eye on the dinosaurs there, and occasionally help herd them when theyre needed to.

Vivian’s training style works a little different though. She doesn’t use a laser, or a whistle, rather, she uses her own vocals. She was a choir kid, obv. She loves to sing, and like her sister, she never speaks, but the only way you’ll hear Vivian’s voice is when she’s singing, which is how she commands her raptors. Each note she belts acts as a specific command, and it also depends on the pitch she uses. She has a variety of commands, so her raptors are very very VERY skillfully trained, no one else could command them but her, unless they can sing soprano, but they know where their loyalties lie.

In terms of personality and her dynamic with The Handler, Vivian is like, pure evil 😭. Like yknow how The Handler kinda had that “misunderstood” and “coerced” thing going on, and she had somewhat of a moral compass? Yeah Vivian is the complete opposite she is an absolute menace. She has no moral compass. She still luvs her sister tho‼️ They arent on the bestttt terms because Vivian kinda sees The Handler as a little “weak” because she’s always letting her emotions and “morals” interfere with what needs to be done. I wouldn’t say Vivian is insane, because she’s always aware of what she’s doing, but she just doesn’t care. All that matters to her is herself. (And her sister, she loves her sister 😋)

Vivian is also almost always smiling, like how The Handler is always frowning. She has a little pep in her step and hums a tune while The Handler is deadpan, stoic, and marches. Vivian’s hair is long, oily, and unkempt, while The Handler’s is short, and almost never messy.

Cough cough, she may have a litttlleeee bit of a cannibalistic tendency but HEYYY she’s silly

(pls ask questions abt her im so bored 💔💔)

[moxie-girl]

when an indie studio makes a better disney princess than disney?????

almond blossom my beloved…

anyways go watch the art of murder on YouTube it’s rly good 👍

[widevibratobitch]

so what that i slept in for the exam. my voice teacher just called to talk about yesterdays concert and said some truly insane shit that made me cry again (but like. in a good way lol) so who even gives a shit lol

[slytherinshua]

I really hope rowoon will continue to sing in the future. I know he’s mainly pursuing acting at the moment, and while he’s an amazing actor and I love his acting, his voice is so special too. dancing may not be something he wants to continue with given his past injuries, but I hope he can still release covers or an album at some point. I think there are still so many options for him as a singer, not just as an actor. I’m really curious to see what he might do in the future concerning music, even though it will probably be a few years, given his military service coming up. if he ever releases a solo album, what vibe and sound he goes for will be really interesting to hear/see. I think hwiyoung’s solos are so different than sf9’s usual sound and fit him so perfectly. I always love seeing what idols can do apart from their group sound in a concept catered specifically to them and their voices and interests.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Sleepwalking

How I imagine the lads men handle a partner that sleepwalks. [requested by: anon & @nocturnaoasis]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

calmly watches you as you move around the house

knows not to wake you up ; tries to guide you back to bed without waking you

cleans up your messes behind you ; taking socks into the bathroom? he’s putting them away ; you left the fridge door open? don’t worry he's closing it ; opening the windows? he’s already on it

you tried to use a knife for something one time while you were asleep so now Zayne locks up any sharp utensils before bed

tells you in detail exactly what you did while you were sleepwalking

makes you whatever it was that you were trying to make while asleep “how did you know I wanted sliced fruit this morning?” “You took out all the fruit last night and stood in the kitchen saying ‘knives I need knives’ for ten minutes”

teases you sometimes ; he finds your antics cute

will hold anything you hand him

forbids you from eating foods that will trigger your sleepwalking close to bedtime ; you do it out of spite

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

the first thing he does is wake you up ; rookie mistake

won’t let you live down the fact that you made the funniest face when you were confused

baby proofs the house “why are all the outlets covered?!” “you can’t be trusted”

screamed bloody murder when he woke up one night and you were standing over him

you got outside once and he about had a heart attack

tries singing to you so you follow his voice ; it worked now this is how he gets you back in bed every time he catches you sleepwalking

asks if you’re awake and wholeheartedly believes you when you say yea even though you’re 1000% not awake

doesn’t mind when you indulge on foods that trigger your sleepwalking ; he knows he’ll keep you safe

if you ever say something unsettling he acts like it didnt scare him ; he’s scared af

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

wakes up when he feels you getting out of bed ; groggily follows you around at a distance to make sure you don’t hurt yourself

gently takes objects out of your hands

tries to block your paths in attempts to guide you back to bed

responds to your rambling as if you’re actually having a conversation

tuck you into bed and stays up for a while watching you sleep

wraps his arms around you so he can feel you get up

would follow you down the road if you decided to go for a walk outside

keeps his distance so you can get your bearings I you start to wake up “Hi starlight lets go to bed”

tries to get you to not eat foods that will trigger your sleepwalking, but one look of those puppy dog eyes and he’s folding

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

Sylus is probably the perfect man to sleepwalk with considering he sleeps during the day and you sleep at night.

advises you to not eat anything that will trigger it close to bed, but won’t stop you if you’re really craving it

he would already be up and about when he sees you walking to the bathroom with socks in hand ; he would use his evol to catch the socks when you try to drop them in the toilet

Meticulously guides you away from anything that you might walk into

knows better than to try and wake you up

finds your sleepwalking kind of amusing except when you stand over him and stare with dead eyes

first instinct is to guide you back to bed and he’d use his evol to do this and the second you become difficult he’d keep a close eye on you; has Mephisto follow you as well

Sylus has to hold the twins back from waking you up “She’s gonna get hurt!” “She’s fine” “What if she goes over the balcony?!” “She’s fine”

will always protect you and get you back in bed with no harm

from time to time will indulge in your sleep conversations “I only have five left” “but I need six sweetie” “I have five take it or leave it” ; he’s trying so hard not to die of laughter

the twins once left the kitchen a mess and tried to blame it on your sleepwalking ; he wasn't happy

𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋

records the whole thing ; shows you the videos and teases you “look even in your sleep you try to reach the top shelf” “delete it” “luckily for you I caught every dish in time” “shut up”

compiles the videos together and even has favorites

it was all fun and games until you got outside one night and he about lost his damn mind

baby proofs the house every night ; locks up sharp utensils ; deadbolt on the front door

holds you tight every night so he can feel you get up

cleans up behind you when/if you take anything out

shifts furniture slightly if you run into it so your mental map doesn’t get you hurt ; uses his hands or body as a barrier to keep you from running into walls or hitting your head on anything

has considered waking you up, but will never do it

sometimes responds to your sleep rambling “Pears are better than apples” “I like apples better” “……NO!”

forbids you from eating anything that triggers your sleepwalking close to bedtime ; you still eat it anyway

[pukefactory]

hey.... I would like a Deceit Trio+ Reader who has N(Murder Drones😈) personality. Looks like a cinnamon roll, would kill you. (Gelp)

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ DECEITFUL DROMEDA ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

⏾⋆ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring The Deceit Trio X Reader Who Looks Like A Sweet Person, But Would Actually Kill Others

⏾⋆ Character(s): Black Sapphire Cookie (Cookie Run), Candy Apple Cookie (Cookie Run), Shadow Milk Cookie (Cookie Run)

⏾⋆ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

⏾⋆ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

✶ Shadow Milk Cookie figured it out almost instantly. Oh, how fun! A darling Cookie with honeyed words and a giggle sweet enough to rot teeth—yet, beneath that, a predator in powdered sugar. “Ahh, you’re just like me,” he croons, eyes glinting like shattered glass. He sees through your deception, but does he mind? Oh, no. If anything, he revels in it. How delightful it is to spin a tale where no one suspects the wolf dressed in frosting!

✶ “You’re dangerous. I like that,” Black Sapphire Cookie hums, voice laced with amusement as he idly spins his microphone between his fingers. He doesn’t care for virtue, honesty, or justice—he only cares about a good show. And you? You’re a walking plot twist, the kind that leaves audiences gasping. He’ll whisper rumors about you just to see how the world reacts. The best part? No one will believe a single one. Who would suspect such a sweetheart?

✶ Candy Apple Cookie adores you. “You’re like a candy apple with a razor blade inside! Hee hee! Just like me!” she sings, clinging to your arm. She drags you into her mischief, delighting in the way you smile so kindly before striking without mercy. “Betcha taste even sweeter with a little bit of deception!” she teases, licking her lips. She’s convinced you’re soulmates—twins in trickery.

✶ Shadow Milk watches you like a cat with a trapped bird. Oh, the duality of your nature intrigues him! A lie within a lie, a darling assassin wrapped in bows and pleasantries. “Tell me, little one,” he muses, leaning in with a lazy smirk, “do you ever tire of pretending?” He already knows the answer, but he loves watching you act. After all, a performer can’t stop the show.

✶ The best rumors are the ones no one believes. And you? You’re the juiciest secret Black Sapphire has ever uncovered. He enjoys dropping hints, little breadcrumbs leading nowhere. “Did you hear? The sweetest Cookie in town is hiding something deliciously wicked…” But of course, who would take Black Sapphire Cookie seriously? Lies are his trade, and the best lies are the ones dressed as jokes.

✶ “You don’t have to pretend around me, you know,” Candy Apple chirps, eyes twinkling with something unreadable. She’s peeled back the sugary layers of your act, and she loves what’s underneath. “It’s sooo fun watching you work! You’re like a surprise inside a candy box—except, oopsie! Someone might lose a finger!” She adores playing your shadow, watching you charm others before turning the tables.

✶ Your deception is artful, elegant, nearly as beautiful as Shadow Milk’s own. He finds himself testing you, toying with you, tempting you. How far will you go? How deep do your secrets run? “Oh, what a wonderful, wicked little thing you are,” he coos, voice dripping with amusement. You’re one of his favorite stories—so, so deliciously twisted.

✶ “You’re unpredictable. That makes you dangerous.” Black Sapphire’s usual script is built on knowing the outcome, but you? You throw his rhythm off just enough to make him interested. Black Sapphire Cookie enjoys control, but he’s willing to let you take the stage. Just once. Just to see how you’ll perform. And if you impress him? Oh, he might just rewrite the whole show for you.

✶ “Let’s do something fun,” Candy Apple whispers, dragging you along with gleeful eyes. “Something really sweet. Really sticky.” She giggles, twirling around you as if she doesn’t notice the way your eyes gleam when you smile. The two of you are chaos incarnate, a pretty little disaster wrapped in ribbons and grins. Oh, the world has no idea what’s coming.

✶ Shadow Milk’s hands rest over yours, leading you in a slow, taunting waltz. “I wonder,” he muses, his tone lilting, “when will the mask slip?” He dips you low, watching the way you refuse to falter. “Or… do you even have a real face beneath it?” His laughter is soft, intoxicating, and yet—he knows. The best performers never reveal the truth.

[keyotosprompts]

sweet nothing ₊˚⊹♡

domestic prompts

⇴ person a being mad at person b, so person b gives them some alone time. only to find person a trying to drag them back to bed bc they miss person b’s presence.

⇴ ^ "i thought you wanted some space?" "i don't need space, i need you" (died)

⇴ going over to family dinner with either person a/b and their sibling/younger cousin is IN LOVE with their partner. like they follow them everywhere and get mad when you guys act like a couple.

⇴ "are you jealous?" "of a child? no way." and person a SMIRKS.

⇴ person a wakes up earlier than the other, but person b is latching on so tightly and their sleeping face is just so cute that person a just falls back asleep anyway.

⇴ that thing when you guys are in bed and your legs wrap around each other. but you're also so close that your head is resting on their bicep and you're caged in their body.

⇴ grocery shopping with their partner. "we do not need those." "but they're so good!!"

⇴ target shopping with their partner. there's something very domestic and sweet about just hanging out in target for an hour or two.

⇴ i'll do you one better: IKEA SHOPPING WITH YOUR PARTNER. the furniture shopping banter. "does this match our living room or do you think it's too much?" followed by "well if we get that coffee table we'll have to get that rug." holding hands throughout IKEA while looking for home decorations.

⇴ person a is blasting music in the shower and person b is singing to it outside the bathroom. person b is so used to it by now and they know all of person a's favorite songs by heart.

⇴ staying beside the other when one of them is doing something. person a is working relentlessly hard on this one task. person b is just sitting there next to them on the couch/bed holding their hand.

⇴ "do you think this looks reasonable or should i change it up a bit?" "maybe switch that up a bit babe" [followed by a kiss on the hand for moral support]

⇴ cooking a meal together in the kitchen with fun music in the back, with occasional messes on the other person's face. person a smears flour on person b's face and person b flicks water on person a's face.

⇴ reading a book together and person b is providing commentary while person a keeps shushing them. person b continues the commentary, because deep down person a enjoys their voice.

⇴ ^ "shh. it just got good." "which is why i have to gasp and voice my opinion!"

⇴ watching tiktoks while the other person is around. (is this niche?)

⇴ having a routine together. like, person a & b are brushing teeth together while person b wraps their arms around person a and leaning into the nape of their neck (they are tired and they want to go back to sleep with a).

⇴ ^ bonus points if person b is extra groggy and still has their sexy morning voice. "i think i'm already missing you," person b says while their head is literally resting on person a's neck. "you're literally right here with me."

⇴ OR alternatively... person a & b are both doing their skincare together, except person b's skincare routine is entirely based off of person a and person a was their "dermatologist"

⇴ sleeping in the same bed, except person a is a blanket hogger and person b is sick of it. so, as a solution, person b literally just holds person a so close to their body so that the blanket isn't stolen in the middle of the night.

⇴ trying to figure out how to defrost a car (i struggled my first time and i would have really enjoyed for someone to HELP)

[mellowwillowy]

I love how you portray self aware twst!

Can i request a yan! Self aware twisted wonderland and player who just recently entered twst? Unaware that they're considered as a "god" (not cannibal pls)

Like, the player is shy and quiet at first but if they get comfortable enough with someone they'll be more talkative and a lil' extroverted?

The not cannibal pls had me laughing, I really turned the player into this man-eater huh lol. Can't really write that much about reader so I'll just feed you some irrelevant crumbs.

The whole campus is probably still in a mess despite your diet though. Students fight against each other out of jealousy to drag each other down so that you can focus more on them.

Riddle and Azul's rivalries are the funniest. Especially because Riddle finally notices how capable Azul is in doing better than him now (maybe not academically lol). Truly they both are almost like carbon copy in your eyes.

Leona and Vil walk side by side dissing each other while presenting themselves as a complete 180 to you.

Idia shaking in his boots trying to appear less giddy and anxious in your eyes while Kalim just sings songs as he hops his way to you with his gold jingling merrily.

Malleus is very straightforward about his wish to worshipping you, even going as far as to kneel down immediately upon you noticing him while Lilia just casually wraps his arm around you, acting all buddy-like while savoring the closeness between you two. Malleus is jealous, petty jealous of him.

In your eyes, you just feel like you are just some transmigrated protagonist in a romance game, unaware of how sinister their feelings are toward you, their player, their God.

But it turns out that their God is quite the humble one huh? They don't pride themselves on their holiness, they don't differentiate their treatment from one another (unless you are biased) and they are actually very quiet and collected!

It takes a lot of prying to finally see you pay attention to them and laugh at the jokes Ace and Deuce crack. It takes effort for the beastmen for you to finally feel how fluffy their ears are! Jack's tail is wagging so hard that Ruggie had to step on it.

It takes lots of convincing acts and guilt-tripping for Jade to make you visit Mostro Lounge and enjoy the drinks Floyd specifically makes for you, the prettiest and most delicious drinks you've ever had!

It takes a lot of effort for Cater to finally have you posing for the selfies he takes with you! It takes a lot of time for Trey to finally know which treats gain your attention and suits your liking after making shit tons of them.

It takes a lot of guilt-tripping from Jamil to make you finally attend one of the feasts Kalim throws for you and oh boy was it grand.

It's not hard for Epel to win your attention because of how cute he is lol. But it sure is hard for him to gain your trust that he's just a boy. Rook on the other hand creeps you out so much that you have to tell him to stop and that indirectly means you finally notice him!

It takes lots of convincing from Ortho to finally make you agree to play with him in the board game club that Idia and Azul are in. You finally know just how normal they are when they are playing, yes, normal (they are literally fighting teeth and nails to win it).

It takes a lot of effort for Sebek not to scream around you while Silver tries his best not to doze off on your shoulder. The first time being close to you instantly made him fall asleep soundly while Sebek had to sing praises for you in a voice that could shake the ground.

It was easy for Neige to warm into you because well, he's kind, sweet, and all but he has this protagonist aura to him unlike those NRC boys (except Silver and Kalim). He loves singing for you!

It was also easy for Chen'ya to get into your funny side by pulling countless harmless pranks on you (unlike Ace who has to try hard, again, RSA aura).

Rollo on the other hand worships you like there's no tomorrow. He's great at masking it as something far from obsession and not creeping you away unlike Malleus but he certainly has a shrine dedicated to you in his room too. A bit small if compared to the fae's.

Bonus: Fellow and Gideon scaring you because of how weird they are but Gideon manages to melt your heart so you decide to trust Fellow.

[moonstruckme]

Dizzy

summary: when your roommate James comes home after a night out with his friends, he's acting even more affectionate than usual

cw: alcohol

modern au

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 2.7k words

You can always hear when James’ friends come over. The door opens and the sound of them comes pouring through into your flat, the boys always in the middle of bickering or joking or telling some incredibly animated story. 

When you hear their noise late on a Friday night, you pause the movie on your laptop and head for the door, drawn towards their loudness. James’ friends are rowdier than anyone you hang out with, but it’s a happy sort of ruckus. They’re fun and hilarious and surprisingly kind, and you enjoy chatting when they come over. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” Sirius sing-songs, spotting you as soon as you emerge from your room. You laugh at his scratchy, worn-out voice. He sounds like he’s probably been singing at the top of his lungs all night. Dark eyeliner has transferred to the skin under his eyes, but Sirius is the only person you know with his particular ability to make dishevelment look rock-and-roll instead of slobbish. 

“Hi,” you say back, grinning at him. Your eyes search behind him to find Remus, just coming through the doorway. As always, he looks completely different from his other half; whereas Sirius has unmistakably just gotten home from a night out, Remus could just as easily have been at the library in his jeans and t-shirt, except for the faint black smudge where Sirius’ eyeliner has seemingly rubbed off on his cheek. Then you catch sight of James, drooping like an overwatered flower with his arm slung around Remus’ shoulder. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be alright,” Remus grunts, heaving your roommate through the entryway. He tries to send you a smile of greeting, but it’s more of a well-meaning grimace. “He just needs to drink some water.” 

“I won,” Sirius says giddily, stumbling over and grabbing your arm. “I outdrank James Potter.” 

There’s a nervous edge to the laugh that bubbles out of your throat. “That’s great, Sirius, congratulations.” You cast an alarmed look towards Remus. “You all had a competition?”

Remus shakes his head. “They had a competition.”

“I won,” James says suddenly, picking his head up as if revived from a deep sleep. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N, I’m the winner.”

Sirius makes a derisive sound. “You can’t even walk, Potter.” 

“I can,” James defends himself, and slips his arm from around Remus’ shoulder. Both you and Remus put your hands out cautiously like when a toddler takes its first steps, but James totters safely to the couch, leaning against it like he’s just finished a marathon and directing a smug smile towards Sirius. “Suck it, Pads.” 

Sirius’ lips curl impishly. His unsteady gaze settles on Remus, still hovering by the door. “Gotta get home to do that.” 

“Alright,” Remus says quickly, stepping forward to take his boyfriend by the shoulders and steering him towards the door. “We’re gonna go home and get to bed—to sleep.” He’s blushing something fierce, and you do your absolute best not to smile. “Prongs.” James looks up from where he’s been toying with the fabric of your couch throw. “Drink some water, and then go to sleep, yeah?” Remus raises his brows, waiting for confirmation, and James presses a solemn hand to his heart. 

“Your wish is my command, Moony-boy.” 

Remus rolls his eyes but turns to go, sending you a quick goodnight with an apology embedded in his voice before he shuts the door behind him. You lock it, and turn back around to find James performing a lazy somersault over the back of the couch and onto the cushions. 

“James,” you laugh, and he smiles up at you like he doesn’t know what’s so funny but is happy to be a part of it anyway, “do you want to come into the kitchen to have some water?”

James turns pensive. “Is that where you’re going?”

“Mhm.” 

“Then sure.” He hops up a bit too fast, and has to put his arms out in front of him to regain his balance. 

You take his forearm in your hand, knowing you won’t be able to support his weight if he really falls but hoping you can at least slow his descent, and begin walking him toward the kitchen. “Are you feeling dizzy?” you ask him.

James hums. “A bit. But in a good way, you know?”

You don’t, but you nod anyway. “Well,” you say with certainty you can’t feel, “that’s good. Chill here for a second, okay?” You prop him up against the counter, and James melts against it instantly in that easy way he has, leaning back on his elbows and crossing his ankles in front of him. The edge of the counter has to be digging into his back, but James makes it look like the most comfortable spot in the flat. 

You start to grab a glass from the cabinet but then think the better of it, opting for a less destructible plastic cup. You fill it with icy water from the tap. 

“Alright.” You pass it to him. “Don’t drink it too fast.” 

James takes the cup with a smile that’s really much sweeter than your tiny gesture warrants. Then he proceeds to slide the rest of the way down the counter, until he’s sitting with his legs spread out in front of him on the floor. After a moment, you decide to join him, crossing your legs under you and letting your back rest beside his. The floor just seems like the place to be right now. 

For the first time since you’ve known him, James seems content to sit in silence, sipping at his water. Neither of you are looking at each other, or really anywhere in particular. It’s definitely a Friday night, more of the noise of voices and traffic making their way up to your flat than you hear on most days of the week, but your home itself is quiet. The light in the kitchen is dim, coming in from the lamp you’ve left on in the living room, and your body relaxes instinctively in the peaceful dark. 

James has nearly emptied the cup when he says, “Hey,” as if he’s just remembered something important.

You look at him. “What?”

“There’s no ice in here.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did you want ice? I can put some in, I just thought you preferred drinks without ice.” 

Even in the dim light, you can make out enough of James’ eyes to see the brown in them go absolutely molten. He turns toward you more fully, his shoulder and cheek squished up against the cabinets. “Aww, you knew.”

You laugh at him, his smushed cheek pushing his glasses up on his face and his bottom lip jutting out slightly. The effect is that he looks both worryingly drunk and decidedly endearing. “Of course I know,” you say. “We’re roommates. I’m bound to pick up on things.” 

Your words do nothing to curb James’ adoration. “Still, you noticed,” he says, maudlin. “Thanks, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. The word resounds in your head like the happy chime of a bell. James is always calling you that, but usually it seems thrown away, a light little endearment he tacks onto his addresses without thinking. This feels different. It lingers on his tongue like caramel, soft and sticky sweet. Sweetheart. 

“Of course,” you say again, and you’re grateful for the poor lighting that’s hiding your blush. “Ready to go to bed?”

James looks at you like you’ve asked him to solve a calculus equation, thick brows knitting together. Maybe it’s the endearment still ringing in your head, but you really want to smooth the crease from between them with your thumb. You don’t. 

“I dunno,” he says after a moment. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” you admit. “Aren’t you?”

He shrugs. “I could be.” And then he’s hauling himself up, an overly complicated process that involves getting his feet underneath him while he’s already using the counter to pull himself off the floor. You have to bite back a smile as you watch, and when he’s done James extends a hand to you. As if you’re the one who needs help. 

You take it but don’t actually put any of your weight on him as you stand, grabbing his empty cup from the counter. James’ hand is big, engulfing yours easily, and the condensation from the cool water still lingers on his palm. He doesn’t let go as you start towards his bedroom. You tell yourself it’d be mean to pull away on your own. 

“Oh!” he exclaims, once again like he’s discovered something fascinating. “I haven’t even asked—how’s your night been?”

You laugh again. You can never seem to stop laughing around James. “It’s been good, thanks. Not as eventful as yours, I take it.” 

James hums in unhappy affirmation. “Lucky you.”

“Well, seems like you got the true night-out experience.” You bring him to sit on his bed, bending to untie his shoes for him and setting them by the door. “Do you wanna sleep in that or change into pajamas?” you ask, fighting the urge to tack on the honey that pushes at your lips. 

There’s no deliberation there. “Pajama pants, at least. I can’t wear jeans in bed, m’not a monster.”

You smile to yourself, locating a pair of pajama pants on the floor and holding them up for him to see. “These okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.” 

You toss them to him. James starts to strip, and you turn around quickly, going into the bathroom. “So, aside from the drinking contest, did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says lightly. You fill the cup with water from James’ sink and find a bottle of ibuprofen in the drawer underneath. “It wasn’t bad. Remus is so busy lately, it’s good to get to see him at all, and beating Sirius is always fun.” He gives a little laugh. “He’s such a sore loser.” 

“He seemed to think he’d won,” you say, your tone teasingly dubious. 

A harrumph. “If Remus doesn’t set him straight on that, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

You chuckle.

“You’ll tell ‘em, won’t you?”

“For sure. Do you have your pants on yet?”

“Oh. Yeah.” You go back into the bedroom to find James comfy under the covers, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me to tell you, sorry.” 

“No worries.” You smile. He looks so sweet like this, curls splayed out around his head on the pillow the way a kid draws rays around the sun. You set the cup and pill bottle on his nightstand, using your proximity to study his face. His pupils are huge and unfocussed, and the smile he’s aiming at you is a bit too dopey for your liking. “You said you were dizzy…do you think you’re going to be sick?”

“No.” James starts to push himself up as if to make his point, then decides against it, resting his head against the edge of the mattress with a tiny grimace. “Maybe.” 

“That’s okay,” you reassure him, grabbing a wastebasket from under his desk. “Here, I’m going to put this by the bed just in case, okay? And you’ve got water and ibuprofen on the nightstand.” 

James doesn’t respond. He’s looking at you dazedly. 

“James.” You tap his cheek lightly. “Do you understand? You need to use the wastebasket if you feel sick.”

His hand emerges from beneath the covers, fingers braceleting your wrist. “Stay with me,” he mumbles. You’re glad he’s definitely too out of it to feel the quick bumping of your pulse beneath his fingers. When you hesitate a second too long, James tightens his grip beseechingly. “Please, sweetheart?” 

There it is again. Your brain buzzes in response. 

“Alright,” you whisper, brushing a soothing touch against the inside of his forearm, and James releases you. “I was watching a movie before you got home. Want to finish it?”

He agrees, and you go across the hall, retrieving your laptop. You climb over him on the bed, pretending not to feel the brush of a big hand across your hip as though meant to steady you. You settle your laptop between the two of you and press play on the movie.

James leans over, resting his head on your shoulder. “You’re always watching this,” he murmurs. “You don’t get tired of it?”

“Not really,” you reply. “It’s my favorite. But if you are, I can change it.”

He makes a humming sound, and you feel the vibrations in your shoulder. “No, s’alright. Bet you can quote half the film, though, can’t you?” 

You grin. “I’m scared,” you say, in time with the actress on your screen. “I don’t wanna get hurt.” You can feel James smiling, his cheek smushing against your shoulder. You lower your voice into a gruff mockery of the male actor’s intonation. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

James makes a soft sound of amusement. “Cute,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. 

You fall into an easy silence, blue light cast over your features as the familiar scenes play out quietly on your laptop. You keep sneaking glances at James, thinking he’s either about to fall asleep or be sick, but he’s watching the movie contentedly, head a solid but welcome weight on your shoulder. He’s evidently decided to discard the shirt he’d worn to the bar, and the skin of his bare shoulder is warm where it presses against your arm. He adjusts his head a little, and his curls tickle the underside of your jaw. You don’t know how he gets them so soft. Not through any strict regimen or product, apparently. One good thing about having a guy for a roommate is that he’s never the one who runs out the hot water; he’s in and out of the shower in ten minutes every time. And yet, if you look closely enough, you can usually find at least two or three perfect coils in his hair. Genetics, you suppose. James was blessed with a good lot of them. 

The movie’s not half done before you’re yawning, your eyelids feeling like someone’s sewn fishing weights into them. You try not to shift, but your shoulders rise with the involuntary inhale, and James looks up at you. You yawn again, covering your mouth with one hand as a tear forms in the corner of your eye, squished out when you blink. You wipe it away. 

“Wait,” James says. You go still, looking over at him curiously as he adjusts against the headboard of his bed, pushing himself further upright. He tilts his head. The back of his index finger brushes gently under your lashes. “You always get teary at night,” he says softly. 

You know you should get out from under his touch, but you can’t make yourself. “I tear up a lot when I yawn.” 

Just thinking about it has you yawning again, and James takes your face in his hand, catching the tear that falls from one eye. 

“Don’t cry,” he begs you. “If you cry, I’ll cry.” 

You take his wrist in your hand, giving him a small smile. “I’m not crying, James. I’m just tired.” 

“Okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss, feather-light, just next to your eye. You freeze, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Okay, m’sorry. You’re tired? Wanna go to sleep?”

You have to clear your throat to make sure your voice comes out right. “Sure.” It’s still a bit hoarse. “Wake me if you need anything, okay?”

James takes your hand, a willing captive between two of his as he draws it into his lap. He settles his head back onto your shoulder. “Okay. You’re too nice to me.” 

“I’m not,” you say, before you can think the better of it. “You’re the nice one.” 

James only hums.

You swallow. “Goodnight.” 

You’re waiting for a response, the movie on your laptop just now getting to the scene where the love interests give in and confess their feelings for each other, when you feel a wet spot forming near the collar of your shirt. Slowly, careful not to jostle him, you tilt your head to look down at the source of the drool puddle. 

James already asleep.

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits. 

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country. 

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend. 

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly. 

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank). 

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored. 

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that. 

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was. 

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment. 

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage. 

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction. 

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?” 

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks. 

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding. 

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone. 

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still. 

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him. 

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident. 

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way. 

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture. 

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you. 

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you. 

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”? 

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot. 

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly. 

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute. 

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night. 

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?” 

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically. 

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying. 

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason. 

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching. 

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding. 

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly. 

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face. 

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you. 

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text. 

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time. 

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy. 

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense. 

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement. 

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him. 

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same. 

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray. 

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes. 

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him. 

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream. 

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name? 

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers. 

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform. 

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?” 

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful. 

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything. 

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight. 

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom. 

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through. 

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do? 

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought. 

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift. 

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance. 

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage. 

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology. 

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years. 

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug. 

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache. 

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor. 

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well. 

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song. 

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers. 

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten. 

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him. 

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him. 

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick. 

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses. 

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you. 

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears. 

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant. 

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder. 

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back. 

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky. 

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought. 

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster. 

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one. 

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook. 

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind. 

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you. 

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs. 

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again. 

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out. 

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you. 

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent. 

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix. 

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it. 

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow. 

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles. 

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter. 

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope. 

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that. 

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it. 

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears. 

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer. 

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too. 

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers. 

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare. 

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind. 

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class. 

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel. 

But you do know, the universe responds. 

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond? 

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing. 

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation. 

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat. 

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance? 

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.  

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you. 

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

[rhiannonsknife]

── CAMP COUNSELOR!JACKIE TAYLOR 🏕️

in honor of ella’s new movie and summer being right around the corner, here are some yj/jackie taylor summer camp counselor hcs

camp counselor!jackie who wasn’t exactly thrilled about spending her summer wrangling bug-bitten middle schoolers. truthfully, she only agreed because shauna said it would ‘look good on college applications’.

camp counselor!jackie who exclusively packed jean shorts and skirts, not realizing this wasn’t exactly the pace for that. by day three, she’s wearing shauna’s extra camp tee and rolled socks with bug spray on her ankles.

camp counselor!jackie who absolutely refuses to get in the lake on swim days the first few times but will sit on the dock with you for hours, toes skimming the water, laughing at your attempts to skip rocks.

camp counselor!jackie who gets assigned to co-lead arts & crafts with you and clearly didn’t read the activity binder. (if you tease her for it, she will go pink in the ears and mutter something about her “being better at improvising anyway”)

camp counselor!jackie who is not a morning person and still drags herself to the dining hall early every day just because she knows you’ll be there, sitting at the window with coffee and a hoodie you definitely stole from one of the boys’ cabins.

camp counselor!jackie who gets annoyed with herself for acting that way around you: suddenly she’s fiddling with her ponytail, smoothing it down and retightening the elastic every time she catches a glimpse of you walking. she gives you the good flashlight during night watch duty and starts doing her make up before counselor meetings, reapplying a tiny bit of lip balm in the mirror beforehand like it’s not painfully obvious she’s hoping you’ll sit next to her again.

camp counselor!jackie who lies awake in her bunk some nights, replaying the sound of your voice when you called her “jax” at lunch that day, biting the tip of her thumb and wondering why it made her feel this good.

camp counselor!jackie who hates losing and gets irrationally competitive during team color wars 😭😭

camp counselor!jackie who panics internally when you offer to reapply her sunscreen (“you’re burning, jax!”) and squirt a cold line of it down her back. she stares straight ahead while your hands smooth it in, not breathing.

camp counselor!jackie who definitely volunteers to do nighttime perimeter checks just to walk with you in the dark, flashlights swinging lazily between your hands (i just know she almost drops hers when you say something that subtly hints at you liking girls)

camp counselor!jackie who starts looking forward to counselor after-hours hangouts around the fire or in a cabin knowing you’ll be there.

camp counselor!jackie who gets dared to kiss you during a game of truth or dare or spin the bottle between the other counselors. someone’s left the screen door of the cabin open and van’s sitting cross-legged by it, fanning herself with a paper plate by tai’s side.

“alright,” melissa announces, swaying a little where she’s perched on a cooler. “spin the bottle!”

jackie rolls her eyes. “seriously?”

“it’s tradition,” nat grins. “you’re no fun.”

“i am plenty fun,” jackie fires back, which is exactly when the empty soda bottle lands on her after a lazy spin, then pivots, wobbling, until the mouth points straight at you.

“oh” tai chuckles. “interesting.”

jackie just crosses her arms. “i’m not- we’re not in middle school!”

“you said you’re fun,” van goads, sing-songy. “come on. move. seven minutes. supply closet. those are the rules!”

you’re already pushing to your feet, hand offered like a joke. “c’mon, counselor. i don’t bite!” she mutters something under her breath, taking your hand anyway.

inside the closet, it’s dark except for a sliver of moonlight filtering through the slats. the heavy scent of citronella candles and wet rope clings to the still air as jackie shifts her weight, suddenly very aware of how little space separates you. she can still hear the others, giggling just beyond the door. and then there’s you, standing too close.

“so,” you whisper. “seven minutes…”

that’s all it takes, some flicker between you in the shadows, and the heat is rising. you lean in, and she doesn’t back away. one kiss, barely a brush of lips in the dark. then another, this one hungrier. already, it is so much better than any boy she’s ever kissed.

your back hits the shelf and jackie follows, hands bracing on either side of your waist, lips still pressed to yours.

camp counselor!jackie who is so flustered the morning after the kiss that she barely speaks at breakfast.

camp counselor!jackie who sneaks off to the equipment shed by the lake under the excuse of “checking inventory,” only to end up with your hands in her hair and up against the wall, lips a little swollen by the time you finally stumble back out.

camp counselor!jackie who lets out the tiniest gasp when you slide your hands around her waist during kitchen duty to nudge her out of the way. “move over,” you grin. “i am over!” she protest. “you’re doing that on purpose!”

camp counselor!jackie who startles awake at the sound of light tapping against her cabin window in the middle of the night. she sits up, heart pounding, expecting a raccoon or one of the boys being a dumbass. instead, she sees you, standing barefoot in the grass in your oversized sleep shirt and motioning for her to follow.

jackie, despite herself, throws on her hoodie, slips out of bed, and tiptoes past shauna and out of the door. you’re already waiting by the edge of the trees, dragging her along.

when you both reach the lake, you drop her hand, pull your shirt over your head, and toss it in the grass. “you’re insane,” she whisper-yells, watching you wade in in just your underwear. you ignore her, walking in further.

jackie swears under her breath, and yet still follows. she peels off her hoodie and shorts, shivering the second the breeze hits her bare legs. the water bites at first, but you’re already up to your waist, so jackie has to catch up. mercifully, the water feels warmer the deeper she goes, and by the time she’s waist-deep too, her teeth have stopped chattering. you’re only inches away now, fingertips brushing her wrist underwater before they trace up the inside of her forearm. “hi,” you whisper.

“you dragged me out of bed for this,”

before you can answer, jackie leans forward and kisses you, her hands moving to your hips as you loop your arms around her neck.

camp counselor!jackie who sneaks back inside her cabin at dawn, like she wasn’t just making out with you under the dock for the past hour. she moves quietly, hair wet and cheeks red, trying not to wake shauna, who stirs anyway. “you’ve been out late a lot,” she points out sleepily.

jackie, halfway to her bunk, freezes. “uh…nature walk”

shauna squints at her through the darkness, lifting her head from the pillow. “at four in the morning?”

“the moon was nice!”

[revivemyreverie]

SKETCH SSR: WISHMASTER’S CONCERT 

CREDITS: Wishmaster's Concert Event : @tixdixl, Cyril Zeman (mentioned in story): @ramshacklerumble. I consider following both of them if you haven't already!!!

This event is crazy fun and I cannot believe I finished in under 3 days. anyhow! A short story is under read more :)

Groovification: Such frivolities–this kind voice, warm smile, and upturned brows– none of it has ever been real.

Set to Home Screen: Would you like to hear a tune?

Home Transition 1: Are we moving stages? I’ll follow as you desire. 

Home Transition 2: My past self would “love” being here, I’m sure. Even if I no longer hold the emotions that came with those memories, the knowledge of how many times he used this violin is logical proof. 

Home Transition: 3: These light choices are quite interesting. You usually expect something more refined when it comes to violin performances, but I suppose the inclusion of guitars and death metal muddles that. 

Home, after Login: Ashengrotto said this event is in the best interest for both of us, but I am very sure I heard him saying he’s finally rid of me the other day… Is that what you refer to as “disdain"?

Tap Home 1: These clothes are not very optimal, since I cannot move much except the sleeves. I do not mind any of it, however, since I can still make quick movements with my bowstring. 

Tap Home 2: I’ve heard it's good to deviate music choices every once in a while for experience, so perhaps adding a few songs into my usual classical music may be good for me. 

Tap Home 3: I try to avoid bumping into my bandmates when on stage, as it would be rather terrible if my magic activated mid-performance... A husk might end up singing on stage instead of a person.

Tap Home 4:  I’m quite shocked by the people who enjoyed my performance, seeing that I had failed to remember to smile. Those in the crowd even said I looked mysterious. Emotions are such an odd thing. 

Tap Home 5: Logically, none of this really matters. All these people do is sit through a bunch of flashy lights while listening to sounds mixed and mashed together through ear-damaging speakers. Still, I partake in it, for I want to understand the past “me”’s love for it. 

🎙️.

“I don’t care if it's to show off the school’s music prowess! My Abyssal Lover will not be working with the jerk that broke the head singer's and his boyfriend up!”

Such is the common complaint Allegra has been facing as of late by the head-singer of a little band made in Night Raven College, who the former had the delight of joining thanks to his dorm leader’s so-called recommendation (it was forced, but Allegra's not allowed to sa a word on it). 

In his eyes, he had done nothing of what he had been accused of. All Allegra Mahalath had done was help a client and pull a little bit of an emotional possession with his magic. How was it his fault if he revealed that someone was having second thoughts about their relationship? Logically speaking, the singer should have just discussed this nonsensical problem from the get-go.

He might get a punch for such words, however, so the man stayed silent with his usual smile. Their manager spoke in his place, “YOU’RE the one who said anyone would do for our sick violinist, and I’m already in good-standing with Azul! I’m just taking advantage of the situation, so how about you get over yourself and move on?! Do you really want to throw away the chance to impress THE Cyril Zeman?!!”

The Octavinelle student watched his new nemesis remain silent.

“Then stop complaining and start rehearsing! And Allegra,I know you’re good at the violin, but our set also has some more... dramatic... parts in it. Please try your best.”

The therapist kept his demeanor the same. “As you wish, manager.”

—-----

The singer wondered if Allegra had a best to begin with, or was just trying to piss him off. He was awful at acting entirely, his motions being so stiff and short that he looked like a robot compared to the whisking twirls and light steps everyone else had managed to do. His only saving grace was his violin, which somehow made Allegra look far more graceful than the mannequin he turned into when he wasn't playing. 

“If you can't bother to dance right, then how about taking off that tacky customer-service smile?” He complained after their 5th rehearsal and failure of an act.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Allegra speaks like one of Ignihyde's new robots. “but if it’s not up to par, I’ll change it.”

“Are you a human? I meant to use your real smile.”

Allegra pokes at his own cheeks, “But this is my real smile? It’s the same one I use everyday, even for my clients. I thought you would understand, seeing as you even had a previous session with me–”

The last sentence seemed to have switched something in the young man. With a aggressive yell, he gets up and grabs the spiral-eyed student's shirt

“Say a thing about my stupid session from that day and I’ll break your nose!" 

The other band members ran between them, splitting the two apart to avoid a big fight. The singer clicked his tongue in return, turning to the classroom's door.

“I need a damn break.”

Allegra watched as he walked out, his temporary band mates surrounding him. A silence filled the room, yet the smile on his face remained sweet as always.

—-------

“Do you have an issue with me?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

The vocalist and violinist sat alone in the makeup room, their group having already departed for set preparations and to avoid the ever-growing storm between the two students.

“You’ve shown a great amount of physical hostility towards me.” Allegra spoke with such niceties, “I would love to know why.” 

“Oh I’m sure you would.” Sarcasm came up like vomit. “You’re an ass who ruined my goddamn love life, and now I’m expected to work with you and your weirdo facade.”

“Facade?”

The vocalist slammed his hands on the table, tired of dealing with him for the past 3 weeks. “Yes! Facade! You think everyone just takes your little goody-two-shoes employee act as fact? Everyone in the band knows it's all either a cover for you being a creep or that you just hate everyone in the world!”

Allegra turned away from him, looking outside the door’s window. “I don’t hate anyone.” 

“Cut the crap! That’s a lie itself!”

“Would you like to hear the truth about me then?” Allegra says, his voice suddenly ice cold.

He turns back to the lead-singer, his face lacking all signs of emotion.

“Such frivolities–this kind voice, warm smile, and upturned brows– none of it has ever been real.” 

This is the true Allegra Mahalath, the one who put no effort into any relationships he was expected to care for. The vocalist looked into those empty, spiraling eyes, which grow closer with every step the brunette takes towards him. 

“You’re correct, as I am simply playing the part of a false me. In my eyes, anything and everything holds no meaning; Allegra Mahalath doesn’t care for this event, nor its people, or its problems. The same can be said for my clients and their relationships, especially yours." He stated it all so matter-of-factly, as if there truly was nothing inside his heart. "It's most fitting to say that I can't seem to care about anything.”

A shiver ran down the singer’s spine. “...Then why are you even here?"

“Because I want to understand why the past ‘me’ did.”

The announcer’s voice could be heard through the loudspeaker, cutting off their confrontation with the calling of their band's name.

"Next up, from the dark corners of Night Raven College itself, is My Abyssal Lover!"

Allegra’s monotone demeanor remained as cheers could be heard echoing from the crowd. “It’s officially stage time, I kindly suggest you hurry up.” 

—-----

“Look! We got put in the event’s article!” The team’s manager exclaimed, showing off his phone to the group. “They even got a photo of you, Mahalath!”

The brunette takes a look at the article presented in front of him, reading the text with a feigned interest.

“Oh. Oops.”

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

“It appears I forgot to smile during the set.”

For the rest of the band, it seemed like a well-timed joke. They laughed at another one of Allegra's supposed oddities. Only the vocalist remained silent in the classroom’s corner, understanding exactly what the Octavinelle student meant.

[konigofmyheart]

long way down ᥫ᭡ pt 4 (end)

MDNI!!!

part 1 ᥫ᭡ part 2 ᥫ᭡ part 3

you took the long way down, but you’ve found love with könig…

(virgin fem!reader, implied age gap: reader is mid 20’s, reader’s ex is drunk + reckless, mentions of blood and light injuries; he gets dealt with then SMUT)

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

people always say time slows down in intense situations, and you can definitely attest to that now. your breath catches in your throat, your knees grow a bit weak as stevens takes another step towards you. he’s drunk off his ass, you can tell by the way he stumbles before you even catch the glint of the beer bottle in his hand. the world narrows to this single alley, the sound of the crowds fading away as you foolishly hope against hope he won't even notice you, that he’ll just throw up in this random alley and carry on to the base, but-

“it’s all your fault”, he hiccups, bleary eyes fighting to focus on you as he takes another step forward.

you open your mouth to… what? respond? warn him away? it doesn't matter because not a sound even comes out. it’s like the night air that refreshed you so nicely mere minutes ago has now stolen your voice. it helps that he’s always been able to talk at you, not needing a response before rambling on. 

“do you see how i am? …because of you. i’m like this because of you and that-” he mumbles something unintelligible, bracing a hand on the wall to regain his balance. 

this would usually be the point you run, but run where, exactly? even drunk as he is, you’re sure it’d only be too easy for him to catch at you and stop your escape. further down the alley isn’t an option either, you see a faded wall closing that end off. it’d be thoroughly trapping yourself if you head deeper in. it comes down to calming him enough so he’ll let his guard down, just enough for you to slip past. 

“you really don’t look okay. are your friends around?” you ask, your voice tight with fear, praying they’re just around the corner and they’ll come collect him.

“those dickheads… they’re just like everyone else. always laughing at me, never staying-”

smart guys. they caught on to what type of person stevens is quicker than you did. it makes sense, their judgement wouldn’t be clouded by any affection for him, no flashes of the boy you grew up with, of the way he sometimes would regret his outbursts, even if his apologies never really fixed anything. 

he’s within arms reach now, the sharp scent of his many drinks stinging your nose. too close for comfort, yet the second you take a step back, he takes one forward. 

“you should head inside, get some water… or i can go get it for you-” just let me out. 

“so you can go running to your man?” he takes a shuddering breath, his bloodshot eyes flaring with anger. “why do you have to do all this shit? why’d you have to bring him in between us?”

okay, now this is familiar. the blaming, the washing his hands of any wrongdoing to act hurt. 

“that has nothing to do with this. just go back to base, you need water, sleep-” just like before, redirect. make it about him, about how worried you are for him, stroke his ego. 

“shut up!” he shouts, tossing the bottle aside. you flinch at the crash of the glass, practically squeaking as he closes in, your back against the wall you admired the stars from, except this time nothing feels like it’ll be okay. 

“baby, come on… i hate seeing that fucker’s hands all over what’s mine” he slurs, his hands snaking around your waist. 

“benjamin, let go.”

he laughs, a short, raspy sound, tilting his head as he looks down at you. “oh, i’m benjamin now? your man makes you call me that? what happened to benji?” he ends with a sing song voice, actual tears welling in his eyes. 

he’s fully unwell. you’re here, trapped with this unstable guy, the stars just blinking down as if to say they wish they could help, but they’re miles too far. you could cry too, rather you’re the only one here who has the right to cry, but that won’t help a thing. you grit your teeth as he leans closer, burying his nose in your hair, still rambling on about the past, about how good things were, about how you’re such a bitch for moving on. the minute you feel his skin against yours, just his nose brushing against your cheek as he clumsily tries to kiss you, something inside you snaps.  

you shove at him with all your might, wanting him away from you, away from your life, from memory itself-

he snarls- actually snarls like some animal- and then he’s moving quick at you, his entire body tensed for action. 

stiletto’s lessons, her advice and tips run through your mind like a film reel, and before you know it, you’ve landed a punch against stevens’s jaw. it was a clumsy punch, and for a fraction of a second you believe it hurt you more than it hurt him, but when he cups at his face, a look of absolute shock across his features, you know he’s feeling the same throbbing pain you feel in your knuckles. stiletto’s voice rings through your head, reminding you to “strike fast, the moment you stop is the moment you give up your turn”. you sure don’t want to see what he’d do when it’s his turn. the one thing that’s kept him from being a full monster is he’s never physically hurt you, but the unsteady shake to his hands tells you that could change right now if you aren’t quick enough. you’re thanking all the stars for letting you meet stiletto, for having her be so kind as to teach you how to defend yourself, for now you’re elbowing him in the nose, buying yourself time with that blooming pain in his face to strike right under his ribs, knocking the breath from him. 

though he’s been at this longer than you have, it's obvious he never expected you to actually fight back. that was his mistake, his shock and disbelief making him hesitate, giving you the perfect opening. your breath comes in sharp gasps, your own hands shaking as you watch him touch at his upper lip, his fingers coming away shining with his own warm blood. 

something in you wants to curl up now, to hide somewhere- anywhere- but there’s nowhere to go as his face contorts, the blood only adding to the nightmarish effect. at least they won’t be able to say you didn’t go down without a fight, right?

the next seconds seem like a dream, your shuddering breath as you see him launch himself at you again, his arms positioned in preparation to block any attack now, but he doesn’t have to worry about that. you did your part, said your peace, sometimes things just go south like this-

you flinch against the wall as a sudden flash of someone else- könig- intercepts stevens, a grunt leaving the latter as he falls onto his ass on the concrete.

könig looks bigger than he ever has before, drawn up to his full height as he stands in front of you, looking as immovable as a wall. “leave. this is your only warning”, he says, his voice so eerily steady and at odds with the way his hands are shaking, as if it's taking every ounce of his self control to not tear stevens apart. 

you startle as you feel two hands wrap around your shoulders, stiletto now hugging you to her, and you gratefully lean in to her warmth, wishing you could curl up in her arms and forget everything, but stevens’ growl brings you back to this cold, dark alley, to the blood on his face and the ache in your hand-

stevens has always been headstrong, downright stubborn, even when it’s clear his boldness will only yield disastrous results. it doesn’t surprise you one bit when he springs back to his feet and lunges forward again, like he’ll draw könig’s blood, like he won’t end up a mess on the concrete- permanently this time. you blink, and könig has him entirely pinned to the floor, stevens looking like a child compared to könig’s imposing figure- so righteous and solid he could be mistaken for some mythical god. stevens is struggling, all insults and groans, his hands and feet scrabbling at the ground, trying to find purchase to shove könig off, and könig-

könig is so still it’s eerie, his only movement a tilt to his head as he regards stevens, as if he has all the time in the world to weigh his life in his hands. 

stiletto gently takes your hand- the one you landed the first punch with- into hers, her wincing on your behalf as you watch the two men with a numb detachment. “ay, that’s gotta sting, huh, tesoro?” 

könig’s head snaps up at that, his expression instantly softening as it zeros in on you, the tight expression of shock on your face crushing his heart. 

“schatzi-” he begins, his voice so worried and sorry- for what you don’t know- but then horangi is joining this gathering, rubbing at his jaw as he takes in the scene, piecing the story together from your split knuckles to the way könig is pinning stevens to the floor with barely restrained rage. 

years working together make it easy for könig to nod at horangi, horangi giving a terse nod back, communicating silently before he goes to secure stevens as könig shoves off of him, all of könig’s attention now focused on you. 

it's like night and day, the man that was pinning stevens down gone now as he gently takes your hand from stiletto, quietly tutting under his breath, his brows crinkling together under his hood.

“meine liebe- are you- what happened?” he asks, your heart clenching at the way he’s fumbling for words, like it's physically hurting him to see you so scared. 

you manage a shaky “i’m okay”, before stevens protests as horangi pulls him to his feet interrupt. 

“you bitch,” he spits at you, his eyes practically shooting daggers. “you broke my fucking nose.”

“be thankful that’s all that’s broken. were it up to me…” stiletto shoots back with a harsh laugh, her grip on your shoulders tightening. 

könig strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, very carefully avoiding getting his touch too close to your knuckles, his warmth seeping into your hand and over to your very soul. 

“gather your things from base. you’re done,” he says cooly, not even bothering to raise his voice at stevens.

stevens splutters, squirming in horangi’s hold. “what?! you cant-”

“you just assaulted a civilian, and then attempted to assault your superior”, könig cuts in. “i've wanted you gone months ago, yet i tried to be professional. you’ve just given me justification for firing you, nicely wrapped up with witnesses and everything.”

now stevens really loses it, thrashing wildly in horangi’s hold as he curses everything, down to the very stars themselves. 

stiletto kisses the top of your head, giving you a small smile and a “well done, bella” before she's moving to help horangi lead stevens away. 

“we’ll have him off base and banned asap. he won’t bother you anymore, königin,” horangi calls from the entrance of the alley. you nod, even laughing a little as you watch stiletto demonstrate all the ways she would have beaten stevens up as they escort him away. 

“i wish i was as spunky as her” you say quietly, hugging könig’s jacket around yourself, a constant shaking taking over you now that you’re truly spent. könig opens his arms, leaning back a little to give you more than enough space to reject it, to not push you further than you've been pushed tonight, but you gratefully bury yourself against his chest, feeling your heart piece itself back together bit by bit. 

“you did great, schatzi. you did exactly what you should have. i’m so proud of you” he murmurs into your hair, and though it’s must make his back sore to be hunched down like this, you two don’t move for what feels like eons, your watering eyes blurring the stars into a smeared painting as you finally let yourself feel everything that’s happened tonight.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

“you look like a racoon”, you tease, smiling as you catch sight of könig sitting on the edge of the bed without his mask. his eye black smudged across his eyes really does make him look like one of those fuzzy little guys. 

he watches as you towel your hair off, having showered as soon as you returned to base. 

“do i at least look like a cool racoon?” he asks, his voice soothingly filling the room. 

you nod, draping the now damp towel over the back of a chair as you take his cue- his hand held out, waiting for yours- and walk over to him. you place your hand in his, him quietly tutting again at the sight of your split skin over your knuckles. the smell of aloe fills your nose as he unscrews a little container, scooping some ointment out with a cotton swab before bringing it to your knuckles. könig gently rubs the back of your hand with his thumb when he feels you tense, quietly assuring you it won’t burn, and as always, he speaks the truth. the ointment feels so cooling, soothing the sting of your split knuckles perfectly. 

you smile to yourself as you watch him dutifully wrap a thin bandage around your hand, his hands as steady as if he were performing surgery. he’s always so gentle, so careful, even when he proposed you stay the night at base again, for fear stevens might show at your apartment. he instantly added on that he could stay in horangi’s room after you agreed to his idea, but you grabbed his hand, telling him you’d feel better if he was with you. he quietly shushed you when you said it was silly to still be scared, assuring you it was entirely reasonable considering everything, and that he’d be more than happy to be on guard duty if it made you feel safer. 

it really did, his mere presence helped you relax quicker. you kept your hand in his a little after he finished securing the bandage, debating on whether you should or shouldn’t break the comfortable silence, but you had to say it.

“sorry for going off on my own like that. none of that would have happened if i’d stayed inside with all of you,” you said quietly, feeling a bit guilty that the fun night ended up this way. 

könig gently guided you to meet his eyes, the blue like a slow stream on a summer afternoon. 

“none of what happened was your fault. tell me you understand that, schatzi”, he said, his voice the gentlest you’d ever heard it.

you nod, leaning in to his touch instinctively. his warmth feels like a balm for your very heart, and you can’t help but smile as he shifts his hand to cup your face, cooing a quiet endearment under his breath. the way his thumb strokes your cheek makes you feel so fragile, in the best way possible. like you’re some beautiful, priceless treasure he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch. that’s who he is. someone who’s so noble and caring with those he loves. you’ve been a witness to what a good friend he is, to how he’s never the type to take advantage of a situation even if everything has lined up perfectly for him. you wouldn’t believe someone like him actually existed if it wasn’t for the very real warmth blooming in your chest because of the way he’s looking at you. 

“what is it?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he answers your smile with one of his own. 

the worst that could happen already did, didn’t it? what’s there left to lose?

you take a deep breath, shifting on your feet, bracing yourself. 

“the reason i stepped out like that was because i realized this had become real to me… that i wanted you to hold me like that because you wanted to, that i wanted you to call me those names and really mean it, to actually be yours…”

könig hesitates a second, his thumb pausing its steady rhythm on your cheek. 

“schatzi, tonight was very… emotion-packed… you might not mean any of this in the morning-”

“i’m fully aware, but this has nothing to do with what happened. i’ve never meant anything more in my life,” you assure könig, the absolute sincerity in your eyes and voice giving him pause.

time slows again, but this time it’s more than welcome as you two regard each other. he hasn’t given you a verbal response, but könig is sure the look his face is telling you all you need to know. he feels like this is some sick dream, life is dangling the thing he wants most- for someone to see him and still want him- right in front of him, just to snatch it away when he wakes from this fantasy. everyday since knowing you has been a wonderful fantasy, having someone who wants to hear his stories, someone who laughs at his lame jokes, someone who trusts him with her deepest secrets…and somehow wants more? it’s almost too good to be true.

könig’s ever more sure it’s a dream as you take initiative, leaning forward to kiss him. he’d be embarrassed about the sound he makes- like he’s been wounded- if he wasn’t living the best moment of his entire life. your kiss is careful, soft, perfectly fitting the delicate atmosphere. his hands actually shake as the other comes up to cup your face too, könig barely managing to restrain from kissing you the way he’s been wanting to for so long. he could die happy just like this, holding his whole world in his hands, but you did go through something very alarming today, you need rest, time to think everything through properly. könig has half a mind to fight himself as he pulls away from the kiss, your warmth clinging to his lips like it knows it belongs there. 

your face falls a little as you open your eyes, a light blush on your cheeks. “ah, did i read that wrong? i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have-”   

könig stops you, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before letting his hands fall away from your face, already missing the feeling of your skin against his palms as your apology trails off.

“of course not, schatzi. that was the best kiss of my entire life…i just don’t want to take advantage of tonight. i don’t want you to regret it. how about we talk about it in the morning, when you’ve had time to think?”

you smile at his words, nodding, and then he’s tucking you into bed, telling you he won’t be long. you slowly begin to doze off to the soundtrack of könig’s bedtime routine, the sound of the shower lulling you into a relaxed state. when he joins you in bed, you only have enough energy to reach out and hold his hand before you fall asleep.  

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

your head feels fuzzy when you finally come to the next day, a glance at your phone sending a jolt through you. it’s already well past midday… your disorientation only growing whenyou see könig’s side of the bed already empty, and hear another voice at the door. 

horangi’s quietly telling könig to let him know if you two need anything else, and you hear könig instantly answer. 

“thanks, man, i owe you one…”

“nah, anything for your girl,” horangi teases. “you should eat before it gets cold, though!” he says a bit louder, earning a harsh shushing from könig.  

you tug the covers up to your face, unable to stop the way your face heats at the sound of that. 

könig’s girl…

you could get used to that.

when you pop your head out of the blanket again, you’re greeted with könig’s back as he quietly sets the bag down on his desk, his face lighting up when he turns and sees you awake. 

“guten tag, schatzi… you up for eating? we got your favorite.”

you smile, sitting up in bed and thanking him, you stomach growling to back up your answer. you move to the edge of the bed, laying napkins across the bedspread to catch any crumbs as könig brings the desk chair over, and the two of you eat, könig telling you of his and horangi’s running favor tally. you’re sworn to secrecy about that time horangi got stuck in a vent because of all his gear, könig being the only one on the team able to reach high enough to yank him down, but you two are laughing together, today already a thousand times better than last night. 

you’ve just finished your last bite when horangi’s whispered “hey!” filters through the door. könig playfully groans, finishing up the last bite of his double portion before getting up to answer the door. 

“i’m already awake!” you call out, and horangi now confidently strides into the room, smiling at you. 

“oh good! i’m gonna have to take your man for a little- mission gone south, now they need to make some last minute plans. you don’t mind, right?” 

you shake your head, smiling at the way horangi’s purposely ignoring könig like he’s asking you if he can take your pet out for a bit. 

“go, it’s cleary important. i’ll be fine,” you assure them, and horangi nods at you, plucking up one of the many snacks könig requested for you. to könig’s dismay, it’s his favorite chocolate bar, something horangi clearly knows as he parades it across könig’s view as he makes his way back out. 

“the others are already in the meeting room. let’s go!” he calls, his voice fading as he heads down the hall. 

you set to cleaning, picking up the empty food containers before könig approaches the bed again. 

“leave it, schatzi, please. i’ll pick up when i get back”

“it’ll do me good. it’s relaxing”, you assured him, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. könig smiles at you, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, promising to return as soon as he’s no longer needed at the meeting. 

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

you potter around the room, playing music from your phone and smiling at each little könig thing you find. when you change the bed sheets and go to put the dirty ones in the hamper in the corner, you notice a pile of haphazardly folded t-shirts on the clean side. you scoop the pile up, sorting through them on the bed before opening up his closet and finding the hangers. one of the t shirts is so well loved, the design of that old band he likes all cracked and faded on the front, with a list of dates going down the back. figures he’d have gone to that tour, you’d only heard a couple of their songs but they really did fit his vibe so well. you make sure to add those songs to your playlist queue, humming along to them when you move on to the bedside tables, clearing your glass from your side, wiping down the surface, then moving to his side. you clear his glass as well, also picking up a couple snack wrappers from breakfast yesterday, the brands and flavors already filed away in your mind as “könig’s favorites”.

you return two pens and a stack of post its to his desk across the room, opening the drawers to find where they belong. you set them with the others, smiling at the way they’re perfectly organized. he’s pretty tidy overall, he just gets the tiniest bit careless when he’s busy with work- and now you. a flash of pink catches your eyes as you’re about to close the drawer, and you feel your face heat as you recognize the envelope of your letter… it feels like ages since you sent that letter to stevens, a last ditch, misguided effort to get him back, to appease him over something that wasn’t your fault. 

you find yourself laughing a little as you settle on the edge of könig’s bed to reread your words, cringing at just how lost you were. the pictures set your face ablaze, the thought of könig seeing them making butterflies form in your stomach. you knew he’d seen the letter, he told you as much when you first spoke, but you didn’t think he’d keep it. you have half a mind to frame the envelope, to treat it as some magical token, for it led you to könig, someone actually worth the effort and love that you’d been offering to the wrong person. 

it’s funny, but you can’t help but be a little thankful towards stevens. if he hadn’t been such a dick, you wouldn’t know a good thing when you saw it. everyday knowing könig has felt like a dream, his attentiveness, his gentle consideration, his care making you feel like a princess. you finally know what it feels like to be loved, and to truly love him as well. the very thought makes a gentle warmth, like a slowly crackling fire, light in your chest, and you hold it close, practically dancing around the room as you tidy up some more. 

you’re finishing up wiping down the bathroom counter when you hear the door and his voice at the same time, könig’s keys jingling as he hangs them on a little hook on the wall alongside his mask, and shuts the door behind him. 

“schatzi? are you- ah,” he smiles as you poke your head out of the bathroom. 

he looks around the room, taking in every little change your cleaning accomplished, the room finally looking how it does when he has time to focus on putting everything where it belongs. 

“you are magic. everything looks perfect, liebe, thank you,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead again.

you hum in response, one of your hands coming up to rest on his arm.

“it’s the least i could do, i’ve been taking up so much of your time, könig. it was very relaxing, actually. how was your meeting?”

“all good, we sorted out a new evac route for the team on the ground. everything’s going smoothly again,” he replies. “but i didn’t come to bore you with my work…how about we go to the cafe for dinner? only if you want to, of course- i can also just make something for us.”

“the cafe sounds great! i’ve been wanting more pie, but…we should talk, no?” you take his hand, leading him to join you in sitting on the edge of the bed. 

you hold up the pink envelope, könig’s eyes widening at the sight, the look on his face matching that of a dog being scolded. 

“so, this letter-”

“i’m so sorry for keeping it, schatzi. i know it wasn’t for me, but i also couldn’t just toss it somewhere and let your number or pictures fall into the wrong hands-”

you smile at his carefulness, the sincerity in his apology making your heart swell.

“let me finish, or i’ll forget the phrasing i practiced!” you giggle, and he visibly relaxes upon realizing you aren’t upset. 

“okay, so- this letter wasn’t originally addressed to you, but i am forever thankful you found it. without this, i wouldn’t have found you. i wouldn’t know how nice it feels to have someone actually care for me, to think about my feelings, to always put me first. i now know what i was living before was a fake fantasy; you taught me what real love is. you taught me that love isn’t walking on eggshells around someone to not upset them, that it’s not putting up with hurtful things for the sake of the other-” you take a breath, emotion making your voice waver a little, and könig reaches out to gently rub your back, giving you the strength you need to continue. “- you are truly the best man i have ever known. i meant it yesterday- the kiss, and that i like you, so much it feels like its gonna make me burst,” you finish, blushing as you force yourself to look könig in the eyes. those butterflies in your stomach now feel like a frenzied swarm, the way your hands tremble matching the way könig’s hands shake as he takes yours. 

for a second, you two just stare at each other, suspended in this dreamlike haze where anything feels possible.

“from the second i read your letter, i fell for you. your very soul was on this page,” könig taps the letter with his free hand, a smile tugging at his lips. “you are unlike anyone i’ve ever known, that’s why i reached out that first time. it was like a voice whispered in my ear that i’d never come across another soul like yours, that i had to secure a connection to you before i lost my chance, and i’m so glad i did. i’m not going to lie, it was… difficult watching you go after him so determinedly, both because of my feelings, and because of who he is, but i just don’t think i can ever say no to you. not with those eyes of yours” he reaches up to cup your face again, and you’re sure he can feel the way your face is burning with each word he says, but he doesn’t let on. “last night- pulling away from your kiss was the hardest thing i’ve done in my life. it’s been on repeat in my head all day, making it damn near impossible for me to even think in the meeting. i’ve never felt this way for anyone, schatzi, i never thought i could- never in my wildest dreams did i imagine i’d love someone as much as i love you, or that the feeling would be reciprocated,” he said, his voice cracking a little as he finished up.

what a picture the two of you must be, both your faces flushed and eyes sparkling with tears at the enormity of your feelings, but any embarrassment has no place here, not with how he’s looking at you like you’re the most precious treasure he’s ever seen. 

this time, he leans in to kiss you, giving you more than enough time to pull away, but why would you do that when you’ve also been replaying the feeling of his lips on yours since last night? this kiss feels like it’s piecing you back together, every brush of your lips against his like a salve to that burning fire in your chest, shaping it until it’s a steady glow, illuminating you from the inside out, stealing your breath as he deepens the kiss, or maybe it’s you, but you two are clutching at each other like your the other’s last hope for life itself. this is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, now you finally understand what all the books and movies and songs were going on and on about. you’ve gone your whole life craving this, and now that you’ve gotten a taste, you need more. 

you loop your arms behind his neck, pulling him down on top of you as you lay back on the bed. könig, ever so carefully keeps his weight entirely off of you, gently coaxing your mouth open with his tongue. he groans into the kiss as you tangle your fingers in his hair and give a tentative suck to his tongue, and now he’s practically folding into you, his very warm, very firm body enveloping you as he braces his forearms on either side of your head. he pulls away just the slightest from your kiss, the two of you catching your breath as you admire each other, and you wonder if he can somehow sense the fire in your belly, desire stirring awake inside you. 

“könig, i want you.”

“you have me, schatzi, for as long as you wish,” he responds with a light peck to your lips, his eyes practically sparkling as he looks at you. 

“no, i mean… i want you.” 

his eyes widen at your words, at the determination in your voice. he holds himself up on one arm, his free hand coming to smooth your hair away from your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek as his hand shakes a little. 

“liebe… are you sure?” he asks, even his voice is unsteady. 

there’s such softness in his gaze, such love, that you know he’d practically leap across the room if you said no, but he is everything you’ve ever wanted nicely wrapped up in a ribbon the same shade of blue as his eyes.

you respond with a breathless “yes”, the word hanging between this shared space, your breath mixing with his when you reach up to stroke his cheek. he shudders, an expression of such longing and affection on his face when he nuzzles into your touch. each little kiss, from the one he places on your palm to the ones he trails down your arm feel like strokes from a glowing paint brush, like each of his touches will leave a permanent mark.

every single inch of your skin is a masterpiece to him, one he worships with a kiss as he ever so slowly pushes your shirt up. he smiles as you giggle a little with each brush of his lips on your stomach, relishing in the way you’re so relaxed beneath him, trusting him with your very being, something that he will never take lightly. 

you’ve never been more sure of anything in your life than you are right now, each of könig’s touches pleading, asking, and thanking all at the same time, stoking that fire in your belly in the most delicious way. the way könig freezes before uncovering more of you until you nod has you feeling the safest you’ve ever been. it feels like everything’s clicked into place, every sense is heightened in the best way, and you know that life will never be the same after this, this sentiment echoed by the look in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you lying entirely bare on his bed.

könig’s sure he’s died and gone to heaven, he must have, because how else can such a miracle be explained? someone like you loves him, wants him, is looking at him like that… it’s clearly not a dream, though. your pulse beating against his lips as he kissed your neck, your scent flooding his senses, and the way you look now has him feeling like his mind is shutting down. his entire world comes down to just you, to the curve of your breasts, the way your fingers absentmindedly flex on the comforter, to the way your kiss-swollen lips part are all things he wants to commit to memory, to have it permanently emblazoned in his mind, to think of nothing else ever again except you, only you-

your breathless laugh coaxes him back to his senses, your “it’s not fair only you get a show, kö,” coupled with the way you tug at his shirt has him blushing hard. in an instant he’s helping you, tugging his shirt over his head as you paw at his pants, undoing them for him before he pushes them down, baring himself to you body and soul. 

you fare no better than he did in terms of short circuiting at the sight of him. sure, you’d gotten little peeks when he’d lift his shirt in training, or the times he’d emerge from the shower shirtless, but this was a personal display just for you. your eyes greedily trace every dip and curve of his body, the way his muscles twitch as if your stare is actually a touch instead mesmerizes you. he’s covered in scars, reasonably so, this is no easy job, but that just makes you want him more. he’s always seemed bigger than life, and that’s backed up with the sheer size of him. you try not to drool at the sight of his length, the way it droops from its weight despite being entirely hard, the leaking tip matching the slickness between your thighs… you feel not a shred of fear at his size, knowing without a doubt that he’ll do everything to care for you, that he’d never hurt you. you just feel need, need to become one with him, to share your love as you shared your breath after that first kiss-

“i’m sorry about the scars, schatzi… i can leave my shirt on if it makes you feel more comf-” könig‘s breath hitches as you reach out to trace a faded scar slashed over his chest, right where his heart is, and you lean forward and kiss it. 

“you’re beautiful,” you whisper, your eyes practically sparkling as you look up at him. 

könig makes a mental note to write up a list of all the gods he’ll have to thank for you, a boyish grin tugging at his mouth as he guides you to lay back down. he captures your lips in another kiss, pouring all the love he’s kept in these past months, finally getting it off his chest. 

“you are absolutely everything i have ever wanted, meine liebe” he murmurs between the hot, open mouthed kisses he trails from the base of neck down the middle of your chest, pausing to kiss each of your perked nipples before continuing his path to your tummy. 

you instinctively let your thighs fall open at the sensation of his warm breath raising goosebumps on your skin before your mind catches up, your face heating as you realize what he’s about to do.

“oh, you don’t have to-”

he soothes you with a kiss to your inner thigh, his eyes locked onto yours as he settles between your legs. 

“do you want me to, schatzi?” his tone like gasoline to the flame of desire that ignited inside you since you first kissed. 

“...yes. i’ve always wondered what it would feel like,” you admit, unable to lie to him when he’s looking at you with pure devotion like that.

“good girl,” he rewards you with a kiss to the top of your pussy, his smile making you even wetter. “you are to tell me any way i can serve you, any way i can make you feel good and happy. this is a privilege for me, understand?” 

you nod, feeling like your brain is melting out of your ears with the sincerity in his words, in his touch as he licks a slow stripe up your dripping slit, gathering your slick on his tongue. you answer his groan with a whimper, a shiver of pleasure running through your entire body. 

könig’s never been the type to let things slip from between his fingers. everything from targets to promotions are guaranteed his when he sinks his metaphorical teeth in, and this is no different. he wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you spread as he loses himself in your taste, in the angelic moans you bless him with as he laps at your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, because it is. nothing will ever compare to your taste, he’ll spend every second away from you just wishing he’d be smothered in you like this. könig would be embarrassed at the way he’s groaning, and practically whimpering as he eats you out so desperately, if he’d be able to have any coherent thoughts right now. your hands tangling in his hair must have drained his mind until only you are left, and he sucks on your clit appreciatively, a thanks for realigning his priorities to what truly matters. 

your vocabulary is whittled down to only könig’s name, “yes”, and “more”, your breath hitching on that last one once his determined tongue dips at your entrance while the tip of his crooked nose bumps your clit. you answer his unspoken question with a tug of his hair, bucking your hips to grind against his face, begging him to keep going, the barest worry of being too demanding quickly quashed by the muffled “that’s it, schatzi,” groaned against your pussy by the giant of a man. any response you were considering falls flat on your tongue, replaced by a downright debauched moan as his tongue slips inside you, your slick and his saliva mixing to ease its journey. you could cry at how your fingers will never satisfy you again if you weren’t so occupied with trying to hold on to the last fragment of composure you have left when he begins to slowly thrust his tongue in and out of you, working you open with such heavenly licks until you’re writhing on his bed. 

only your breathy request for more after a moment has könig sliding his tongue out from you, replacing it with his fingers at your entrance, cursing his tongue for not being able to magically expand to fill you up the way you need, the way your clenching entrance betrays. at least his tongue can make itself useful swirling and flicking at your clit as he slowly works a thick finger inside you, his eyes locked onto you, watching for any signs of discomfort, but you just wiggle your hips, moaning so sweetly and welcoming the light stretch as your walls clench around it greedily. 

his own need is a distant, dull throb somewhere against the comforter, instantly having taken a backseat to your comfort and pleasure, to focusing on not overwhelming you as he carefully adds another finger, light little kisses to your clit turning the faint sting to nothing when he pumps them in and out of you, as careful as if he were disarming a bomb. the little glances you reward him with when you look down have his heart clenching, the pure trust and love in your eyes reinforcing that this is what he was made for, caring for you, pleasing you, loving you-

“want another, please,” comes from your lips, your eyes gleaming with determination, with the need to be able to take his length, have him obeying instantly.

he gently adds a third finger, only his tongue moving against your clit until you nod and tug his hair, signaling he can move his hand again, his fingers resuming molding your walls apart with each steady thrust. your eyes widen in surprise, a breathy whine slipping from you when his fingers brush against a special spot inside you that has you seeing stars. 

he raises his eyebrows, his baby blues sparking when you stutter a “t-there, kö- right there” between your moans. 

“of course, schatzi- anything for you- so good, liebe,” his praises sprinkled between insistent sucks to your clit work in tandem with the delicious strokes of his fingers against that sweet spot have your back arching off the bed, reduced to a melted mess, moans of his name slipping from your lips like a chant.

könig could spend the entire rest of his life just like this, hearing you moan his name, watching you use his mouth and fingers, your hips bucking to meet his movements, to get more of his touch, but the need to have you cum all over his face wins out, and he doubles his efforts, groaning at the way you tremble on his bed, a squeaked “i’m gonna cum, kö!” making his mind white out. 

his mouth latches to your pussy, greedily licking up every drop of your nectar as you soak his chin and fingers with your release, the vibration of his groans only prolonging your high. you might have actually seen the light for a minute there, your vision slowly unblurring as you finally open your eyes, whining as you look down at könig practically making out with your pussy, his baby blues rolling back as he licks at your entrance. you release your tight grip on his hair, only to have to tug it again when your breathless whisper of his name falls on deaf ears. he blushes as he reluctantly pulls away from your sensitive pussy, blinking up at you like his mind is buffering. 

the minute you hold your arms out, he’s crawling back up, a little surprised sound leaving him when you tug him in for a kiss again, more panting than anything as the two of you catch your breath, the taste of yourself on his tongue adding fuel to the still simmering desire in your very core. 

“that was amazing, kö,” you laugh breathlessly, gently wiping könig’s face dry as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“you are amazing, schatzi,” he corrects you, pressing another soft kiss to your lips, you pulling back when you feel his hard length brush against your thigh. 

“here, let me-”

he shudders at your delicate touch to his length, his cock twitching in the air as he hovers over you

“liebe, that can wait, rest more-”

you grin at the strangled groan that leaves him when you wrap your soft hand around his length, his eyes rolling back slightly. 

“what was that, kö?” you ask teasingly, your heart clenching at the little whine he replies to you with as he bucks into your touch. 

his precum aids your movements, beads of it slicking his tip as you smear it over his skin. you’re marveling at the heavy warmth that is his length, your fingers feeling out the difference between the thin skin sheathing is cock versus the taut, slippery skin that is his tip, so focused on your exploration you gasp when he suddenly flips the two of you, you now seated on his lap as he leans against his headboard. 

“i’m sorry, schatzi, but i was worried i might smush you,” he bashfully explains, even the tips of his ears pink as he takes in the sight of you on his lap, your pretty hand looking so out of place around his length. he’s always considered it a brutish thing like the rest of him, so big and long, practically bending under its own weight, but the way you look at it, pure want on your face, makes him feel like the luckiest man in the universe. 

könig did say to be upfront about your needs, so-

“can i put it in? please?” you ask softly, biting your lip as you try to wrap your fingers around the girth of his length, your pussy clenching when you see how your fingers don’t meet. 

“of course, schatzi,” he rewards you with a soft kiss, pure reverence in the way he cups your face as if he’d be more than happy just staying like this forever. könig pulls away after a moment, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as you scoot forward on his lap to press your pussy against his hard cock. “it’s yours, all yours, just go slow-” 

you gasp at the same time he groans, his hands shooting to your hips to hold you steady as you tremble from your hasty attempt to sink down on his length. need made you a touch too overeager, so desperate to feel him inside. 

“careful, liebe!” könig gently warns, rubbing soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs, the sensation giving you something else to focus on other than the stretch. “we’ll go slow, okay? i don’t want you getting hurt.” 

you nod quickly, laughing softly at the way you really thought you could take it that easily. 

“sounds like a plan”. you rest your hands on his shoulders, his own holding your hips steady and stopping you from accidentally taking more before you’re ready. “that’s just the tip, isn’t it?” you ask, your voice tight with awe and wonder.

könig can’t help the little smirk that forms on his face as you look up at him when he nods. you curse under your breath, biting your lip as your entrance clenches around the bulbous tip of his thick cock.

“promise you won’t push yourself too far, schatzi,” he says, looking at you expectantly. only once you promise does he relax his arms to free you to sink further down, taking a couple inches more, your breathy moan making him grit his teeth to keep his hips from bucking up. 

it’s slow moving for a moment, something könig is thankful for because it gives him time to exercise his self control, using all the mental exercises he knows to simply admire the way your pulse almost imperceptibly jumps at the base of your neck, the way your breathing steadies after each inch you take, his eyes lingering on the sight of your delicate fingers working your clit after he instructed you to, each little tremble of your body making his heart clench as he helps you hold steady to adjust, cooing an endless stream of praises and sweet nothings at you. 

each “that’s my girl”, “so brave, schatzi”, and “that’s it, almost there, liebe” honeys your ears so wonderfully you’re not surprised at the way your slick drips down his length, easing the stretch until you’re little gasps turn to moans of pleasure, your eyes fluttering as you take yet another inch- your hips finally pressed against his. your fingers slip from your clit down to where you’re joined, feeling how little of him is left outside you. 

“i did it!” you gasp, your eyes sparkling as you look up at him. 

könig looks like he’s trying to keep from passing out, in a good way, but he grins, giving your hips a little squeeze as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “told you you’re amazing, schatzi,” before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

how people don’t go mad from this, from having someone so close you practically become one, is a mystery to you. the mere thought of going back to being empty has you clenching around his length, and you eagerly swallow his groans when you experimentally roll your hips and nip at könig’s bottom lip at the same time, digging your nails into his shoulders as he shudders. 

“shieße, liebling” his broken moans are music to your ears when you finally pull apart, panting softly as he helps you rise until just the tip of his cock is inside you, before you oh so slowly sink back down, his length nestling inside you, making a home for itself, your walls eagerly welcoming it. 

könig absentmindedly wonders if he’s actually dreaming, if he’s been dreaming since before he met you or hallucinated you whilst in some coma, but the way you moan and clench around his length when he cups one of your tits with his rough hand is clearly real, as is the blush that tints your face as you realize you were a bit too loud there, but the rest of the world can fall away for all he cares. “you sound like an angel, liebe” he groans against your tits before taking one into his mouth, sucking eagerly, making you whimper even louder.

your moaned “harder”, and the way your nails dig into his shoulders, is like an activation code for him, his grip on your hips tightening. he pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, the slick skin prickling in the cool air of the room. before he can even verbalize the question, you’re nodding, lifting off his cock and sinking down quicker than before, showing him you can take it. 

the two of you set a steady rhythm, könig helping you lift up before bringing you back down effortlessly, both because of his strength, and because of how wet you are. you’d blush at the wet, lewd noises filling the room, but that’s the last thing on your mind with the absolute masterpiece in front of you. the way his jaw tenses as he groans each time you sink down, the way his eyes flutter when you clench around his length, even the way the muscles in his arm shift as he bounces you on his cock has you moaning louder. you have half a mind to be worried about becoming addicted to this, but then his tip hits that special spot inside you, and suddenly nothing matters but feeling that again and again. 

könig praises you for each bounce, telling you you’re being so good, so strong, even though he’s the one doing most of the work now, but he doesn’t mind one bit. not when you’re making such pretty noises for him, when you’re looking at him with that fuzzy, dazed expression as you tremble in his hold, when you moan his name louder as his length finds your sweet spot. 

“there, schatzi? does that feel good?” he asks softly, pride in his tone at being able to make you moan like that. he doesn’t let up one bit, purposely angling his hips so his tip relentlessly hits that spot, enjoying the way you answer in a string of “yes”s and “don’t stop”s, as if that thought would ever even cross his mind- 

if cumming on his fingers and tongue felt good, this is going to be a whole other level. you bite your lip, practically slumping forward against him as your pussy spasms around his cock, every fibre of your being narrowing down to that intense building pleasure in your belly, the flames now a wild blaze. könig coos at you, helping you support yourself so he can see the way your pretty face twists with pleasure with each of his insistent thrusts.

“are you going to cum, liebe? you want to cum on my cock?” he asks, his own breath hitching with each flutter of your walls around him. 

“please- i’m gonna-” you cut yourself off with a loud moan of his name, your eyes rolling back in your head as you cum all over his length. your mind has gone static, pure white pleasure blinding you as your juices drip down könig’s cock, his groaned praises reaching your ears as if from a great distance, but he’s got you, just like always, gently moving you up and down his length, prolonging your orgasm as you slowly come down. you blink up at him in a daze, your body trembling as you’re now fully slumped against his chest, könig smiling so lovingly at you. 

“that was beautiful, schatzi, thank you” he murmurs softly, pressing soft little kisses to your sticky temple, his tone reverent. “thank you.”

well he did say bringing you pleasure was a privilege, but- “what about you, kö?” you ask softly, shifting your hips to feel his still very hard cock twitch inside you. you sit up, blushing at the squelch of your juices around his cock, and his hands instantly go to support your still trembling body. 

“i’ll take care of it later, liebe, just lay back down-” he gaps a little as you roll your hips, his cock twitching inside your tight heat. 

“let me make you feel good too. i want to,” you add that last bit on at the same time he went to say something, cutting off his selflessness at the root, your heart clenching at the way he looks at you, like he quite can’t believe you’re really there, really wanting him like this. it’s that thought that reinvigorates you, and you decide to prove it to him, getting back into the rhythm of bouncing on his length, his groans making your still sensitive walls flutter around him. 

“you are always so sweet, so good to me, kö, but you have to understand that i want to do the same for you, okay? will you let me do that?” you say softly, grinding down on his cock to punctuate your words. 

you take his strained whine and the way his length pulses inside you as a yes, his grip on your hips tightening. you place your hands over his, giving him the go-ahead to go faster, to tell him you want him to use you as he lets you use him, and he obliges instantly, ever obedient just for you. you moan as he picks up the pace, his fingers digging into your hips as he holds you up just enough for him to thrust up into your fluttering pussy. you didn’t bargain for another orgasm so quickly, but you can feel that familiar pressure building again, könig’s babbled “thank you”s and “so good”s only fanning that flame. 

your nails dig into his shoulders again as he thrusts up into you relentlessly, your back arching at the way his length has practically molded your walls to the shape of him. you nuzzle into könig’s neck, panting softly as your tits smush up against his chest. his hands shift to grip your ass, using it as leverage to keep up the delicious pace, tightening their grip on your skin when you whisper in his ear. 

“kö, i’m gonna cum again-” 

his pace falters, a strained moan leaving him as he responds “ah, schatzi, i don’t think i can- sheiße- don’t think i can hold it”

it takes your pleasure-addled mind a second to catch up, to turn over what he’s saying before you realize his concern, your breath hitching as he gives a particularly hard thrust up into you. 

“i’m on the pill- it’s okay, you can-” 

in an instant he’s groaning into your hair, thrusting up into you at a pace that makes your very toes curl. 

könig’s moaned “cum for me, liebe,” is all it takes before you’re making a bigger mess on his length, your slick dripping down his length as he spills inside you with a strained shout of your name. 

you two cling to each other, könig’s big hand soothingly rubbing circles on your back as your walls milk his length. you fully lay on his chest now, könig having slumped down the bed when he came, and you stay like this, both panting softly as you come down from your highs with his length slowly softening inside you. you rest your chin on his chest, smiling up at him before placing a little kiss over that same scar on his heart, and he gently cups your face, looking at you like you’ve hung the very stars in the sky. 

könig speaks first, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “i love you, schatzi,” he murmurs as his thumb gently strokes the apple of your cheek, your own face heating in response to the sincerity in his voice, his words burrowing their way right to your heart. there isn’t an ounce of expectation on his face, as if he’d be perfectly content just letting his words slowly settle over the two of you like a warm blanket, but you also must speak your mind. 

“i love you, too, könig. this has been the best day of my life,” you respond with a soft smile, your heart clenching as you wish you could stay like this forever, just you and him, just this quiet love and fullness, and you tell him as much. 

“we’ll stay like this as long as you’d like; we’ll be like this anytime you want.” könig promises, bringing your hand to his mouth and pressing soft kisses to each of your fingers. 

“anytime?” you laugh softly, playfully raising an eyebrow at him. “that’s a big promise, kö”.

“i mean it. your wishes are my commands, liebe,” könig says solemnly, but the way a smile tugs at his lips betrays him, as does the way his length twitches to attention inside you in response to the way your walls clenched around him at the thought.   

you spend the rest of the day exchanging kisses, sappy smiles, and “i love you”s like you have all the time in the world, because you do. now that könig has found you, now that you’ve said you want him, he’s never letting go. he makes a silent vow, pressing his words into your skin with each soft kiss. he’ll be yours forever and always, and even after that. 

the end.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

taglist <3: @practicalgauntlet @captain-ofmusic @darkangel4121 @laduenadelswing @galactict3a @nexthyperfix @distinguishedprincesstrash @an0nym0u5au7h0r @venuzdaugther

[author-ssi]

Singing in the Shower ~JJK

➜Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

➜Genre: Smut, One-Shot

Warnings: Description of Jungkook's body (and yeah that deserves a warning!), reader is feral for Jungkook (and who can blame her?), Jungkook is more than happy to indulge her (both orally and sexually). if you've taken all the hints in the warnings, then you're more than ready to start reading! [MDNI 18+]

➜Word Count: 2k

➜Summary: Post-workout Jungkook takes too long in the shower since he's apparently too carried away with singing rather than washing up. At the start, you have all the patience to wait for him; until you get frustrated... sexually.

"I'm done. I'm gonna get a shower", a shirtless Jungkook leans against the doorframe of your shared bedroom.

You glance up from your phone, your eyes immediately transfixing on his bare chest for a good minute before trailing down to his low-waisted jeans, the CK underwear waistband peeking through.

Thank God for that collab...

"Why did you work out while wearing jeans? You have a closet full of sweatpants".

When he answers that it was because he decided to work out on impulse, you simply shake your head in disbelief.

Classic Jungkook doing things on a whim.

"Alright, go. I'll wait for you so we can sleep together", you shoo him away, a soft smile gracing your lips nonetheless.

Jungkook chuckles before he slowly strides up to you.

You don't miss the way his bicep flexes when he presses his one hand on the bed, leaning over to lay a short but somewhat promising kiss on your lips.

"Mm, I'll be quick", he hums playing with his lip piercing, not drawing away from your lips just yet.

"You better", you whisper leaving another, equally promising kiss on his lips seizing the opportunity to briefly touch his broad chest, in the guise of playfully shoving him away from you.

He chuckles as he walks backwards, slightly cracking his knuckles, which causes his biceps to flex - a sight your eyes don't fail to miss yet again.

Except this time, he catches you in the act...

Smirking smugly, he winks at you before disappearing from the doorframe. You swear the teasing of this man will be the end of you!

~~~~

Alas, what you expected to be a few minutes of waiting, soon turned into a whole hour!

Honestly, you should have known by now that when the sound of the water running is accompanied by Jungkook's singing of various songs, his short shower session is bound to turn into an hour-long bathroom concert.

Most times, you just leave him to it; simply enjoying the sound of his melodic voice echoing through the bathroom walls and eventually reaching your ears.

However, his previous teasing has significantly lessened your patience making you daring enough to become a bit shameless.

Getting out of bed, you start to discard every item of clothing off your body while you make a beeline for your stalling boyfriend.

Upon entering the bathroom, you bite your lip at the sight of his bulky silhouette showing through the steamed-up shower glass doors.

"Mommy don't know Daddy's getting hot... at the body shop... doing something unholy".

Jungkook's too lost in his singing to notice you sliding into the shower.

What a coincidence; the title of the song totally matches your current thoughts about him.

You barely stifle a cheeky giggle at that, before you extend your hand towards him, grazing your fingertips over his shoulder blades and then sliding them down his spine.

Jungkook instantly halts his singing as if he suddenly forgot all the following lyrics, but still, he doesn't turn to face you.

Instead, he closes his eyes as he relishes the feeling of your hands running up and down his bare back, noticing how your breath gets heavier with each move.

When he finally turns around, what he comes to witness has his unrestrained cock instantly hardened.

You look absolutely erotic.

Your naked body has been decorated with water droplets from the shower that's still running behind him.

Your eyes have darkened - gaze so heated it sends blood right down his cock.

You were never the type of girlfriend to hide just how much you lusted over your boyfriend and that's one of the things he adores about you. In private (and sometimes in public too) you never attempted to conceal your thirst over his body and even if he'd tease you endlessly for it, in the end, he always indulged you.

Even now, he's almost tempted to make you beg for it and watch you slowly give yourself up to him.

Almost is the keyword here, because honestly right now, he is too horny for that...

His lips devour your own.

God, this man really knows how to kiss...

Your lips weave together perfectly in sync.

Jungkook's large hand slides from your neck to the side of your face, ultimately nestling in your damp hair.

Your arms snake under his own latching onto his massive back, dragging your fingers over the prominent muscles.

He hums against your mouth pressing his lips harder against your own, causing you to let out a breathless whine.

Hearing your voice seems to spur him on to slowly probe his tongue into your mouth.

One hand still tangled up in your hair, he presses his other on the small of your back finally pulling you flash against him.

You shiver at the contact, triggered not just by his wet skin but also by the intimate closeness you two suddenly share.

Too lost in the kiss, your legs step closer to him, your body pushing further up against him.

As a result, his own body moves back to the point where his back comes into contact with the bathroom tiles.

Their coolness causes him to grunt against your lips, his grip on you tightening, yet he refuses to break off your deep kiss.

By the time your mouth reluctantly parts from his, you're both breathless.

Jungkook's eyes trail down your heaving chest, a smirk playing over his lips at the way your perked nipples are rubbing against him.

"Come here, baby", he beckons with a low voice before he switches places with you so that you're the one whose back is currently pressed up against the bathroom tiles.

"Let me appreciate you", he hums eagerly laying a small, wet kiss on your jaw. He then leans over to your neck, starting to leave open-mouthed kisses and gentle nibbles on the skin.

Endless moans start spilling out of your mouth as he continues to ravish you, moving lower and lower until you realise that he's now kneeled in front of your pelvis.

With bated breath, you gaze down at him awaiting his next move; your bedroom eyes are more than enough for him to know exactly what you want him to do to you.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips suggestively and your thighs quiver impatiently, in desperate need of his face between them.

"Jungkook", you whine swaying your hips towards him, practically pleading for him.

"I know baby, I know", he coos at you pressing a wet kiss on each of your thighs, enjoying the way they once again quiver in need.

Finally heeding your plea, he flattens his tongue before sliding it over your folds, groaning contentedly at the sweet taste of your arousal.

You gasp, muscles going taut, as the pleasure spreads throughout your whole body.

"Let me hear you, baby", he rasps against your pussy, now starting to properly eat you out.

You don't need to be asked twice.

Your fingers tangled in his short hair, you lean your head back letting soft moans spill from your lips again.

Jungkook touches the blade of his tongue on your clit before starting to suck on it, earning the sweetest, little cry from you.

His eyes set on you, the intensity of his gaze being the testament to his fervour in pleasing you.

It's not until he starts rapidly lapping at your folds, like a man starved, that you feel the pulsation of your approaching orgasm.

"Jungkook, I'm about to-", you attempt to warn him but he seems to already know what you're about to say.

"Mm, yeah I know you love this, baby. I know this will make you cum".

He quirks his pierced eyebrow at you, giving your thighs a tight squeeze before getting back into it.

Your hips heatedly stutter when your entire body finally dissolves into pleasure, Jungkook gripping your thighs tightly to keep you in place so he can help you ride out your orgasm.

He swears he could gaze at your beautiful blissed-out face forever.

But he's not done with you yet...

"Why don't you turn around for me, baby?", he smacks his lips sloppily against your flushed pussy, making you jump at the sensitivity still too dazed by that orgasm.

And yet, unsteady as you are, you comply as you turn to face the bathroom wall.

Meanwhile, Jungkook has stood back up to position you properly; guiding your palms to rest against the white tiles and your back to arch towards them.

Oh, you're in such capable hands...

Soon, the sound of hips snapping against hips starts to resonate in the bathroom.

Jungkook grips your love handles tightly to keep you steady as your breasts are now pushed up against the bathroom wall.

"Fuck baby, you feel so good".

A loud whine is the only response he gets from you in return as you rest your cheek against the cold tiles, keeping your back arched for him.

Removing one hand from gripping you, he runs his fingers down the length of your back making you shudder.

But you know this serene stimulation isn't meant to last for long.

After all, Jungkook isn't known to be a patient man...

The sound of a slap echoes through the bathroom and the pleasurable sting on the skin of your ass signals the first signs of Jungkook's impatience.

Still, it catches you off guard.

Instinctively, you push yourself off the wall, your back now up against his chest.

"Didn't see that coming, huh baby?", he teases you before burying his entire length inside your pussy.

Gasping, you latch onto his shoulders in an attempt to keep your balance.

He immediately notices, wrapping one of his strong arms around your waist.

"Jungkook, kiss me", you pant angling your face to find his mouth.

Both your lips and bodies now joined as one, the two of you relish in the shared intimacy.

However, your current position soon alerts you of how uncomfortable it actually is.

Once again, reading into your discomfort, Jungkook draws the kiss to an end before slowly pulling out of you as well.

You whine in spite of yourself, bothered by the sudden feeling of emptiness, and quickly turn around to latch yourself onto him again.

Jungkook lets out an amused chuckle and grabs onto your hips, easily lifting you up against him and trapping you between himself and the wall.

You're about to wrap your legs around his waist, but the moment he fills you with his cock, you let out a hum feeling them go limp.

"Hold onto me, baby, yeah?", he urges you as his grip, now on your thighs, tightens and you wrap your arms around his shoulders instead.

When he starts thrusting into you again, setting a rhythmic pace, this time you rest your forehead on his, your soft moans mingling with his light groans.

"You'll give me one more, won't you baby? Such a good girl for me".

If you weren't already close by his cock rocking into you, you'd surely come undone just by those words of his.

"Yes, I'm gonna cum, Jungkook-", you gasp feeling the familiar waves of pleasure wash over you, bringing your orgasm ashore.

It feels as if your body melts against him and you relax yourself against him, gently hugging him.

"I'm not done yet", he states picking your almost limp body up and carrying you out of the bathroom.

His statement barely registers in your hazy post-orgasm mind, so your gullible self chooses to ignore it as you wrap your arms and legs against him, nuzzling your face against his neck.

He grabs a towel, one hand remaining around you to support your weight, and then heads back to your bedroom.

Spreading the towel over your sheets, Jungkook lays you on them and climbs over above you, eagerly guiding his cock to your entrance.

Your eyes, droopy from the previous pleasure, now widen in surprise.

"Jungkook, you can't mean-", you're about to protest when his eyes laser into yours, a predatory instinct shining in them.

"I said I'm not done yet".

[oceansmotion]

Welcome to Gaudy Shore!

Power, fame, wealth— for decades, Sims have come to Gaudy Shore seeking fortune. On the outside, the glitz and glamour are dazzling, but the dark, seedy underbelly of the city casts a long shadow. Will these families shine bright, or will the shadow swallow them up?

Featuring 12 households, Gaudy Shore sees the return of some much beloved and missed families from Sims 1! Set 25 years in the future, this hood can be played as a companion hood to Pleasantview, or on its own.

Every family has their own storytelling album so make sure to check them out!

Keeping reading to learn about the families in Gaudy Shore!

Returning families:

The Mashuga Family

Content to dance the night away, - every night, for decades, - Frankie and Sylvia Marie have taken a hands-off approach to raising their children. Now that they're in their twilight years, what are their kids willing to do to get what they believe is owed to them?

The Hick-Charming Family

Elden only ever wanted what was best for his family, but somehow got himself involved in shady dealings. Charleigh is young and full of life, but will that get her into trouble with the boys? And will Clarke ever leave her bedroom?

The Jones-Smith Family

The Jones-Smith family has been a pillar of the community for decades, and the death of Chris has sent everyone reeling. Nick has vowed to honor his mother by setting his career aside to focus on his family, but that's easier said than done.

Michelle loves to dance, sing, and drink the night away, especially after the death of Mama Chris. Is her new interest in the town magnate genuine, or just another way to extend the party?

New Families:

The Banks Family

Rich, powerful, beautiful— the Banks family is known throughout town for everything beauty-related. Obsessed with only herself, will Arie uncover her husband's secrets? Lux thinks of himself as a good man, but is he really? Will Benjamin choose to follow his heart or his mind?

The Ramoz Family

Nora has always dreamt of being a famous movie star but has found mild success in the writing and voice acting world. Can that be enough for her, or will she strive for bigger and better things? Julien had his heart broken by his two best friends in the world. Can he ever forgive them? And will Carlos find himself involved in the shady underbelly of Gaudy Shore?

The Ermírio de Moraes Family

Wealthy, powerful, lonely, José has it all… except love. Is he blind to reality, or is this new relationship the real deal?

The Jenkins Family

Naive, sheltered Alyssa has lived her life under the strict thumb of her mother, Miriam. Will she be willing to ruin someone else's life to get the love and affection she's always desperately craved?

The Nelle Family

Quiet and reclusive, only a few Sims in town really know the Nelle family, but it doesn't take a genius to notice that something isn't quite right with them.

The Waltzman Family

Ever the partier, Wesley finally grew up and changed his outlook on life, but this has left him a little over protective of his sister, Wilma. Will he ruin her chances at happiness? And will he find love despite his ties to another?

Heartbroken for years, Wilma has finally gotten over her first love… or has she? She just met Donovan, but will her wandering eye lead her to her family's demise?

Four strangers living under one roof and a fresh divorce. Can Walda and Walter Waltzman get along after their divorce, or will they disrupt the perfect harmony Ines and Fernando Ermírio de Moraes have enjoyed for decades?

______________________________________________________________

Gaudy Shore features 12 playable households, 20 community lots, 3 apartment buildings, and 10 empty houses all built by me , except for Cafe Petit, a lot bin cafe (I like to think of it as a chain). Terrain also made by me. The hood comes with its own unique townies and strays; a few townies even own and work at some of the business around town!

This hood is not CC free but it isn't a lot

CC that I didn't use a lot of and the hood is fine without:

Wire Fencing by Cyclonesue on TSR

Stair Wall Fix by JRW on MTS

Photos & Plaques Hide with Walls Down by Numenor on MTS I used A LOT OF PICTURES taken with the career reward camera and the walls are very cluttered with photos, so I do recommend this mod.

Diagonal 3t2 Bungalow Windows by Nysha on MTS

Natural De Fences by Rosebine on MTS

CEP by Numenor on MTS

CC that will alter the hood significantly:

Bespoke Build Set by Bespoke on MTS

Shiftable Everything by Lamare on MTS

______________________________________________________________

I've been working on this hood on and off for a long time now, and I'm so happy that it's finally finished. It is definitely a labor of love and I hope you enjoy it <3 While Gaudy Shore was originally intended to be a subhood to complement Pleasantview, there are no ties to PV at all and can be played on its own. Please make sure to check out all the story images I included, I had a lot of fun taking them! For those adding the hood as a subhood, José, Michelle, and the Waltzman kids have which apartments they are supposed to be in at the end of their bios. And for the retirement home, I left it as a normal residential lot, but can also be converted into an apartment lot, or you can maybe use dorm doors, or mods to set each apartment to the correct Sim.

I have also gone through every Sim to set their intended names across all languages, so if your game is not in English, the Sims should still have the names I gave them!

Thank you to everyone that helped me along the way and play tested the hood for me, I really appreciate you <3

Download Mainhood || Mediafire Box

Download Subhood || Mediafire Box

Terrain Only || Mediafire Box

If the names got scrambled, you can use this program from MTS to fix them, it's really easy! Can also be used to fix any other neighborhoods that get messed up :)

Please let me know if the subhood version works as intended and does not yeet itself out of the game, test on a testhood!

Edit: Only download ONE version at a time.

another edit: Unfortunately it seems I had the super duper hug bug in this hood, but as long as you have the fixes for it, it's absolutely not a big deal. Simply google "sims 2 super duper hug bug" to read about it and get the fixes and you're good to go. If you already have the fixes, this will not affect you :)

[mikashisus]

❛ ── BETWIXT TIRESOME WAR ❜

⤷ synopsis. it was a poet's job to string tales of heroes, yet you weren't quite expecting for kremnos' crown prince to be your muse.

mydei x gn!reader. 2k. ( contents : silly goobers being silly, that's it ) ╱ taglist. @wystiix @pneumosia @st6rly @luvether @kazuinvocation @pixelcafe-network ( art creds : quinii09 )

The off-key note rang in the hurried air of Marmoreal Market as you sat on a street corner, tuning your lute. The overpopulated holy city was bustling at this time of day. You watched carefully as men and women roamed the streets, carrying baskets of fruits and bread. 

A smile pulled at your lips as you hopped to your feet— your lute now fully tuned and ready to be played —and strummed a chord.

The heads of passersby turned at the sound, their curiosity piqued. You strummed another chord, slowly falling into a familiar rhythm that you’ve played countless times all over the lands. 

“Gather ‘round, for I shall string you the tale of the almighty Huntress— they who tore down the banners of Kremnos and slayed a beast with naught but their own bare hands!” 

The people flocked like birds, gathering around at the sound of your voice and the prospect of a divine tale. Fixing your footing, you let the winds caress your form. Your eyes fell closed and you exhaled softly, letting the music guide you as the lyrics to a song you’ve sung countless times flowed from your mouth. 

“The Dissembled Poet of Okhema” was a title known throughout the entirety of the holy city. You’ve paraded the streets of Marmoreal Market an indefinite amount of times, carrying nothing on your person except for the lute in your hands. 

As far as anyone was concerned, you had always been present in the holy city. There were numerous bards throughout the land. However, those with keen eyes had seen through your innocent act. They knew you showed up one day out of nowhere, acting as if you had always resided in Okhema. 

That was the case with the Crown Prince of Kremnos, Mydeimos. This hadn’t been your first meeting, nor was it the first time he’d seen you lingering on street corners. Bards were flamboyant and harmless, singing the tales of heroes and gods alike. He paid no mind to them, but when it came to you— the Dissembled Poet —he couldn’t help but watch your every move. Like a lion stalking its prey, he watched from afar. 

Twirling a cup of pomegranate juice in his palm, he listened to the tale you were entertaining your crowd with. It was the infamous tale of a Huntress from Kremnos, a warrior who was feared by both the people of Kremnos and the gods alike. With their bare hands, they had slain a gigantic beast— just like the founder of Kremnos had done all those years ago. The Huntress was a renowned figure, worshipped by all Kremnoans before the city fell to the black tide. 

Now, their tale was no more than a legend. Rumors had spread years ago when the Huntress mysteriously disappeared. A few rumors told of how the Huntress was displeased with the royal family and therefore made the choice to leave Kremnos. Another told of how they angered Nikador in some way, and were banished from the city-state. The most popular rumor had been that they had given up living the life of a warrior and fled to a land unknown and untouched, away from mortal eyes. 

They were nothing but brainless rumors, dishonoring the life the warrior had once lived. Why focus so much on something so insignificant instead of focusing on the legacy they left behind? 

All warriors with reasonable hearts and tenacious spirits were respected in Mydei’s eyes. Good warriors were those who upheld their ideals and fought justly instead of blindly. Tarnishing one’s legacy with imprudent rumors was a crime of the highest degree. 

The song ended, and you took a dramatic bow as the crowd roared with praise and applause. Your cheeks burned as the rush of adrenaline fled your body. It dissipated slowly, your heart hammering in your chest as your fingers tingled. You’d never get tired of the thrill that accompanied your performances. 

Performing for others was your passion. The care you put into your songs and your poems was the kind of care a loving mother showed her children. With another, less dramatic bow, you spilled your thanks and eagerly took the money the crowd tossed you. 

With a tip of your hat, you bid them all farewell. Some lingered, singing your praises as they complimented your work. You chatted idly with them, acutely aware of the piercing honey eyes staring at you from afar. 

You noticed his presence a while ago. You’ve sensed it at every one of your performances. It was a weight that pressed down on your shoulders, pushing you towards the earth. A sort of wrath swirled underneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the perfect chance to pounce on its prey. However, you were far from prey. 

The last person left, bidding you farewell with a bright smile. As soon as they left your field of vision, your easygoing smile dropped, and you turned your attention to the prince who had made it his mission to stalk you the last few weeks. 

With a playful smirk, you met him halfway, slipping into an alley. Swinging your lute onto your back with a certain flair you knew he was incapable of, you leaned against the hard stone wall. 

“You know, if you were so impressed by my performances, you could’ve just said so,” you began, gauging his reaction, “a prince so enthralled by my poetic charm is a great honor, Your Highness—” 

You took a bow, and he held up a hand to stop you. His eyes were calculating, never leaving your form for a moment. 

“We both know you’re not a mere bard.” He said coolly. 

“Whatever could you mean? I’m ‘fraid I don’t quite follow.” 

“Don’t play dumb. Your songs are from eons ago. The others may be blind, but I see right through you.” 

A soft laugh escaped your lips. You sent him a tight-lipped smile. “My, do you have a fascination for music, dear Prince. To know all my songs, you must be a connoisseur! Tell you what, I’ll string you your own tale! One that tells of an Undying Prince who’s legacy lies in the blood of his enemies.” 

His eye twitched, and you knew you had successfully gotten under his skin. Whatever it was that irked him, you didn’t know. You grabbed the end of your cape and tossed it in a flourish, leaving the alley before he could say anything else. 

“It’ll be an epic for the ages! Murals painted in honor of my works, a tale passed down generations!” 

You laughed as you ran down the streets, ignoring the yells of shopkeepers as you parkoured over their stalls and made your escape from the fierce lion chasing you down. 

Although writing a song for the infamous Prince of Kremnos had been a joke in the moment, you considered after long hours of deliberation that you had to make it a reality. A song that described the Prince’s feats in war, his loyalty to his homeland, and his deep rooted care for others was going to be a challenge. 

You’ve written countless songs about heroes. You wrote one dedicated to another Chrysos Heir, Phainon. The man himself had found out quite quickly, and you got to chat with him once after performing it in the marketplace. The shine in his eyes as he gushed over the song was comparable to that of a thousand suns. 

How would Kremnos’ Prince react to his own epic? Flattered? Humored, perhaps? Resigned? 

The excitement of seeing his reaction was great, and you got straight to work. You put everything aside, shoving scrolls off your desk and making room for the first draft of your new project. A fire of determination coursed through you. The words seemed to come naturally, as if they had appeared on the parchment themselves. 

Your hand had cramped up, but you paid no mind. You spent days and nights working on the song, tugging at your hair in frustration or smiling subconsciously because of a witty line. 

For hours, you’d stay hunched over the parchment on your desk, fighting the urge to give in to sleep. The marketplace lay uncharacteristically silent those days, mourning the absence of the poet they revered so much. 

It was only when an attack from Nikador’s titankin breached the holy city that you finally finished the song you had spent one long and grueling week over. Usually, it’d take you much longer to write such a tale, but the Prince of Kremnos had given you a burst of inspiration you never knew you needed. 

Scrambling to fix yourself up, you hummed a tune under your breath. You’d return to the marketplace today with your new song ready to be sung and a new thrill coursing through your veins that you’ve never felt before. 

The markets were bustling just like any other day, even though the recent attack on the city had garnered a widespread panic. With purpose in your steps and the desire to rouse the hearts of the people in your veins, you found an empty spot on the street. Without uttering a word to them, people stopped to listen to your magnificent voice. 

You took a deep breath and began to strum the upbeat tune. The music stole you away, drifting you along in the wind to days of yore— a time before you had decided to endlessly wander the world. 

The lyrics took you back to the past when you had been a warrior revered by the people of Kremnos. You had been held in such high regard, you were worshipped among the people. Not only as a warrior, but as a Huntress. 

The familiar sensation of burning in your cheeks returned as your heart thrummed loudly in your chest. Your fingers tingled, on the brink of going numb from your passionate strumming. The ringing in your ears drowned out anything else, trapping you in the feverish memories of a past life you wished you could forget. 

There was a reason you fled Kremnos.

The song ended with a rasp scream. Your shoulders heaved as you huffed. Your whole body felt numb, and you slowly returned to the present— the ringing in your ears ceasing, revealing the tense silence of the square. 

You hesitantly looked up, measuring the expressions of the crowd. In an instant, they bellowed with cheers. Among the piercing yells and tightly packed crowd, you spotted the very person you had written the song for. 

He was watching you carefully, like he always did, except now he was clapping along with the rest of the people around him. Pride welled within you as you took a bow. 

You entertained the citizens who approached you, excitedly telling them the details of your new song. When they all dispersed, you tipped your hat to the Prince, who sauntered up to you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“That… wasn’t half bad.” He told you. 

You hummed. “Well, I spent a whole week slumped over my desk working on it. I sure hope I—” 

“I know you’re from Kremnos, you can drop the innocent act.” 

Ah… so he did catch on. You knew your act of innocence would come to an end eventually. You sighed heavily. “Indeed. What gave it away?”

The way you had written his feats in the song were from a glorified standpoint. Only someone from Kremnos would describe battle in such a celebratory way. You might’ve fooled everyone around you, but you couldn’t fool the Crown Prince of Kremnos. 

Your question was left unanswered, though you didn’t mind. He let out a soft sigh. “Thank you… for the glory you brought Kremnos in your words.” 

You certainly weren’t expecting a ‘thank you,’ nor a compliment, but the Prince— although appearing apathetic —was grateful and honored to be your muse. You could see it in the way his expression softened. 

With a smile, you bowed. “Of course, my Prince—”

“Enough with that. It’s Mydei.” 

“Hm. Well then, the honor is mine, Mydei.”

notes. this fic is very dear to me bc it's self indulgent, like the mc is LITERALLY my s/i LMAO. i had sm fun writing the mc cause they're such a goober. also, they're supposed to be pretty masc in appearance, while their title of 'huntress' is feminine! androgynous king <3 i struggled a lot with mydei’s dialogue so im sorry if he sounded off TT also the title of this is the name of the song the mc wrote for mydei !!

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