#the quickly scrolling bit does not work for several reasons

[nin-jay-go]

begging you ppl to PLEASE TAG your spoilers!!!! don't just put up a "this post has spoilers!" thing on the top and not tag it or put it under a readmore! this does not work, because you're requiring people to very quickly scroll without looking at the screen and that's not conducive to browsing the site!

[overtake]

a black lace bralette 💜

CW: Infidelity through unintentional but also definitely intentional sexting

Max doesn’t send Daniel the photo deliberately.

Kelly watched too many videos about minimalism, got inspired, and is doing a massive closet clean out. Their bedroom is littered with fabric. Max doesn’t even know how half these items even fit on a human body. They’re a confusing mess of zippers and strings.

Kelly gave up on asking his opinion about three dresses in — somehow, “you look beautiful,” is the wrong answer when you say it more than once, and she banished him to the sim.

“I’m going to drop some of these off with friends and get dinner with them,” she says, holding up a bag of clothes and giving him a quick kiss. “Would you mind just taking the rest of the clothes and putting them in a box?”

Max rolls his neck and shoulders, then dutifully stands up from his chair. “Of course.”

She thanks him with another kiss then floats out the door. Max probably won’t see her for at least a few hours, but he’d rather get this out of the way quickly so he can get back to gaming.

He grabs an abandoned cardboard box and begins recklessly throwing things in, paying no mind to his work until his fingers catch on the neat edges of lace tucked inside a silky pink dress.

He carefully picks the item out and examines it, trying to determine if this was included deliberately or not. It’s a delicate black bralette with a pretty little flower detail over the place nipples would sit. He’s never seen Kelly wear this, and for good reason. The band is visibly too wide for her small frame, which means he should definitely toss it in the box. There are tags on it and everything.

He swallows, then tosses it back on the bed. It doesn’t hurt to double check, just in case.

When the bed is clear, he carefully spreads the fine lace over the stark white sheets and takes a photo. He keeps the tag in the frame so she can see the size.

Max Verstappen: This was tucked inside a dress. Looks big enough to fit me 😂 Keep or donate?

He attaches the photo and clicks send, then very intentionally does not check his phone again until after he’s closed up the box and heated up some dinner.

Daniel Ricciardo: Well. If you’re asking me, keep.

Daniel Ricciardo: I’d have to see it on first. It is your size after all …

Daniel Ricciardo: Might look good under this year’s polos

Max drops his fork with a clang and scrolls up to see that yeah, he’d clicked into his text thread with Daniel instead of Kelly. Amazing. Beautiful.

With Daniel, acting embarrassed about it would only make the situation worse. The best move with him, 100% of the time, is to lean into it.

He checks the time, then Kelly’s location. They haven’t even made it to a restaurant yet. Her dot is still firmly inside her friend’s building. She doesn’t always get his friendship with Daniel and the kind of humour they share, and this one would be especially tough to explain if she walked in on it.

He cuts one last look to the front door then slithers back to the bedroom. He yanks out one of the several navy polos hanging on his sparse side of the closet and tosses it onto the bed alongside the wrinkled shirt he was just wearing.

He reaches out three fingers and scoops up the bralette with them, letting it dangle in the air as he tries to figure out how to put it on. There’s no clasp, just some kind of elastic, so he figures he just has to pull it on over his head.

He adjusts it in his hands so the small triangles face the front, then goes for it. He gets a little tangled up in it first try, has to pull it back up to successfully place a complicated x-shape across his back, but he gets it settled. It’s a bit too tight on him, but it fits.

He adjusts the bra so everything is settled correctly and sitting right, then tugs the polo on without daring to look down at the lace on its own.

He pulls up the thread with Daniel, opens the camera, and takes a picture with the shirt tugged open just enough to see the black straps peeking out.

Max Verstappen: What do you think? Will I be best-dressed?

Daniel sends something back almost immediately, which is unusual for him. He’s normally a slow texter.

Daniel Ricciardo: Think I have to see it without the polo to really decide. Very fashion-forward, though.

Max’s body is warm all over, small beads of sweat starting to collect in the pits of his shirt. He can’t explain what comes over him. He moves on instinct, no thought, no consideration of what the existence of a picture like this could do to him if it got leaked.

He props up his phone on the bed, pulls off the polo, and sits in front of the camera. He’s learned a few things in his years as an Instagram boyfriend, and the self-timer is one. He clicks the three-second option and leans his torso forward a little so the bralette takes up more of the frame.

He can see it now, the full effect. The bra being too tight means it pushes the extra fat on his pecs closer together. His arms are pressed against his side, which furthers the effect of his barely-there-but-definitely-there tits. The black lace is a harsh contrast to his pale skin, but the flushed pink on his neck and chest soften it a little. The band digs into his flesh, but it doesn’t look bad on camera.

His athletic shorts look dumb in comparison, he thinks. He crops the photo just below the soft curve of hips, enough to cut out the mesh but keep his full upper body in the frame. The photo doesn’t capture his face — he’s not totally stupid, even if this photo is only going to Daniel — but you can see the barest hint of his unshaven stubble.

Max Verstappen: So? Think the team will go for it?

He watches Daniel type, then stop, then type again. It goes on for one minute, two, three, before he finally gets a voice memo. It’s only four seconds long, but he drops his phone on the bed and lets it play from there.

Daniel clearly has his retainer in, his words slightly lisped in that distinct way they do when his tongue hits plastic.

“I think you should bring that to Baku,” he says. He sounds like he’s aiming for a joke, and is halfway there, but his voice is straining at the end of the sentence.

Max lets out one long, shuddering breath. The lace feels too restrictive, indenting his skin like damning proof instead of an elaborate joke. He pulls it off, then crumbles the material and stuffs it inside the polo on his bed so he doesn’t have to look at it any longer.

He has to answer. He can’t leave Daniel on read, with this half-serious thing sitting between them, but he also can’t play it off entirely. It’s not — he’s happy. He’s in a good, healthy relationship with someone he loves. He stopped letting himself wonder about Daniel years ago, gave into the reality that Daniel’s jokes would never mean as much as Max used to think they might.

Max Verstappen: Maybe I will, maybe I won’t

Max Verstappen: You’ll have to get my polo off on Thursday to see 😜

He searches the emoji keyboard for wink, selects one with extreme caution. He thinks it strikes the correct balance of joking and flirty.

Daniel types, then stops, then types all over again.

Daniel Ricciardo: I love a challenge. See you Thursday.

The conversation ends there. Max finishes his now-cold dinner, tapes up the box for donation, and joins his friends for a few quick rounds of FIFA. He doesn’t tell Kelly about the bra and doesn’t delete the photo from his phone. Instead, he takes the polo with the black lace inside, opens the corner of his already-packed suitcase, and stuffs it inside.

[instant-delusions]

OH MY GOSH are you a rafayel lover too 😭 i swear, i love him so much! and im happy that l&ds comnunity is growing here that a new ff of raffy is posted everyday when i refresh the tags! im glad u seem enthusiastic to accept requests 😔 my raffy brainrot is so bad i need my fix!

can i request? we know rafayel has some sort of "abandonment issues" and we know where it stems from and how it manifests (where he says mc can do what they want as long as they come back to him or let him know what they're doing 😭) and imagine that mc GENUINELY forgets bc she's tired from all the work as a hunter, and when she meets raffy again, he's quiet and she's trying to prod a word out of him but he won't budge cuz he's hurt 😭 and u can go on from there! aargh i love hurt/comfort so much.

happy valentines!! (in advance) 😔🎊🎂

YES rafa is my babygirl. my muse. my glubglubglub. my everything. HE'S SUPER RELATABLE TOO ??? HELP my abandonment issues are literally the same, I'm almost offended 😭😭💔 tysm for the request & happy early valentinesss 💓💓💓

ʟᴏ$ᴇʀ=ʟ♡ᴠᴇʀ !

rafayel x reader

cw: burn-out like symptoms, wounds/blood, arguing, cursing, hurt & comfort

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧𓇼

6:00 a.m., you skimmed over rafayel's last message and told yourself to reply later - of course, as fate does, a super strong wanderer appeared which occupied you for an excruciating, multiple hour long fight. it was night when you returned home, stripping off your uniform and throwing your gun on the kitchen counter. You barely made it to bed, soaking your sheets in a bit of blood before completely passing out.

it was noon when you woke up again and evening when you were done with your report and bandaging your wound. finally, you were able to check your phone, and it doomed on you. rafayel's message stayed unreplied. you scrolled down his other three texts.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

11am rafa: are u ok?

12am rafa: (y/n), can I come over?

1pm: are u serious? not this again.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

you furrowed your eyebrows in regret, but exhaled painfully right after. your wound opened again.

you were forced on another, quicker mission that night, but it still left you exhausted, your former wound nagging at you still. once again you came home late, passed out, and woke up around noon. opening your phone, there were no new messages.

quickly, you pressed the call button and were shocked to find the artist wasn't picking up.

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧𓇼

5:00 pm y/n: hey, sry rafayel. work has been a lot lately.

5:01 pm y/n: I'm rlly sorry

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧𓇼

wincing, you sat down, your heart beating anxiously for some reason. 'what if this is it? I broke his promise. there's no reason for him to stay. it's fair, but I need him around. because...'

because you like him. it's selfish, you want him around although you barely fill his needs. suddenly, a very familiar dark cloud forms in your stomach and you feel depressed. deeming another relationship ruined by your work, you open social media to drown out the silence.

several hours passed until a knock at your door ripped you out your daze. quickly, you got up and open it. "rafayel." you say, his name coming out almost like a sigh of relief before you could register it. he was dressed in his white shirt, and white pants adorned with an intricate silver belt - he looked put together as always. you, on the other hand, were in an oversized tee, messy hair and deep eyebags with chapped lips. "hi." he simply greeted, making his way into your apartment.

you followed him, breathing anxiously at his unreadable aura. "listen, rafayel - I'm sorry, I wanted to reply and text you but.."

"you forgot." he replied, crossing his arms. there was a look of hurt and disappointment in his face. "it's not that simple." you argued, breathing in to continue, but he emotionally cut you off. "it is, though. (y/n), if you'd like me enough, a simple task like keeping me updated would be easy."

"rafayel. I like you, I like you a lot but..." you breathed in deeply, the harshness of his words getting to you enough to make your eyes teary. defeated, you sat down on your couch, burying your face in your hands. "these past days have been a lot, I could barely take care of myself and most of the time I was either fighting, passed out or tending to my wounds..." you trailed off weakly - due to your eyes being covered, you couldn't see rafayel's eyebrows raising in shock at your reaction, his arms slowly sinking.

"I swear if I'd have a normal life, I'd text you regularly, but it's not." slowly, you raise your head to meet his eyes - yours were puffy and red, tears streamed down your face. rafayel stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.

"it'd be selfish of me to wish for you to stick by me while i don't fulfill your needs, i know i'm not a good...friend. I try to do my best, rafa. you mean a lot to me, but i understand if you want to leave. you deserve someone better."

at this point, tears were streaming down your face freely, and soft sobs escaped your throat. rafayel lowered his gaze, afraid he'd sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness instead. after a while, he sat next to you, slowly intertwining his fingers with yours and brushing his thumb across your hand as he watched your body move with your sobs. "(Y/N), there is not a single part of you that is selfish."

gently, he holds your cheek and makes you look at him. his hand remains there as he continues talking.

"rather, it is me who is selfish. i crave your attention and validation, and feel hurt if i don't receive it. i'm sorry for being petty, i should've come over sooner. and..."

rafayel moves his hand to wipe away your tears and softly kisses your forehead, he smiles as he hears you breathe out softly.

"i could never bring it over my heart to part from you."

you gaze into his rich, magenta eyes and feel your heartstrings pull towards him. it's as if there were a bridge between your chests. closing your eyes, you feel your love for him blooming in the valleys of your bloodstream and bubbling out of your skin, and it weirdly feels as old as millenia, as if you'd known this love all your life, and all the lives you lived before.

"i'm glad." you smiled wobbly, "i feel the same." with a sigh, you leaned your head on his shoulder and let your body relax.

"i dunno how to feel about you calling us 'friends', though."

[isleofdarkness]

Okay so I'm in love with your alternative universe and I'm scrolling through your blog to understand it more.

Okay so I just learned about Jenna and I am a bit confused. What war did Mal have yet to survive to solidify her trust in Harriet, etc? Like what was the war about or what was the reason for the war?

Okay, Maleficent had a kill order on her I guess because she took Jenna and left?

Now Maverick had seen what was about to happen but how does Harriet play into this? Was she with Maverick also how old are Harriet and Maverick atp?

I can also imagine how shocking it must have been to know Maleficent had a kill order on Mal, she's in hiding, and when someone finally sees her after days she's about to kill herself.

Also, I doubt Maleficent welcomed her daughter back home with open arms

Okay, so, The War refers to what happened when Mal was nine, when Maleficent partnered with a few other Villains and some now-defunct gangs. At first, it was just trying to kill Ginny over a very long story, but then the allied gangs, with help from Shan Yu, Facilier, Cassim, the Exiled Gods, Grandma Gert, and two of the Endless, managed to fight until Maleficent agreed to a ceasefire. Then, six months later, she attacked Diego’s territory- she'd been waiting until they were least expecting it. That one got a few more major players involved- Maverick, several gods, three more of the Endless, and Grandfather Time. That one led to a large decimation, heavy losses on both sides, but a surprise change of heart, the defection of Ace Hearts, second of the Underland Gang (Underland Gang is bad.) It and its sister, Rose, turned the tide of the war because they knew top-secret information. Plus Ace brutally murdered the Underland's leader.

Maleficent actually had a capture order, but yeah. No one else could have or would have snuck into the castle for an infant they didn't know was there. Besides, the guards said Mal had given them a fake order, probably to get them away from the door.

At that point, Maverick was sixteen and Harriet was twelve. The two had known each other for nearly a decade- sixteen was when Maverick started pulling away. Maverick, knowing Harriet was part mermaid and that the cliffs Mal was going to were close to Harriet’s territory, sent a telepathic message to Harriet that Mal was going to the cliffs. All context could wait. Harriet didn't know there was a baby involved until she saw the bundle in Mal's arms (and gods, she did some math very quickly to try and figure out what the fuck THAT was about,) and didn't know the rest until Mal was stabilized. Maverick lied to Maleficent, saying that she had forced Mal to do everything. She'd been doing a lot of work against Maleficent and Maleficent knew she was an extremely powerful charmspeak user, so Maleficent believed her. Maverick even sacrificed the secret above-ground Mile location, constructing a lie that she'd kidnapped Mal but Mal had managed to outwit her, escape, and bring her mother this huge information to further get her out of trouble. Mal was a local legend for a while- she'd done what was presented to the public as a deep-cover mission so well she'd impressed her mother and managed to outwit Maverick Mim. But it had all been Maleficent's idea, of course

[disast3rtransp0rt]

hi i was scrolling the tags on that carbs post & i saw u ask for advice for eating enough when u dont have good physical introspection -- so here i am!

i not only have terrible physical introspection, i also have not felt hunger in over a decade for Reasons. Here's my suggestions:

- find foods that are fast and easy for u to prepare & make sure u always stock those. that way when u do realize u need to eat Right Now, you can do so quickly and easily. vary the type of food if possible, i tend to keep an easy carb and an easy veggie on hand.

- on that note, bonus points for good snacks u can keep where u work -- having some nuts or whatever on hand right next to u makes it way easier to actually eat them when u should.

- don't be afraid to buy the foods that are easier for u to eat! whether thats microwavable meals or Good Bread, buying food u will actually eat is always better than buying food that u won't. meet urself where ur at! also if u buy food u are excited for then ur more likely to want to eat it for non-hunger fulfilling purposes, which makes it easier to eat when ur not Feeling Hungry.

- related, buy things that make it easier for u to make food u will eat. u can often find things like blenders or toaster ovens online second hand for cheap, if money is an issue.

- some people don't do well with 3 meals a day, if this is u then try more smaller meals! i do well with 3 medium-small meals with a big snack in between, my husband does best with 5 meals a day, everyone is different.

- alarms!!!! set alarms for ur meals & snack times. set several if u gotta. the time those alarms should happen is largely a personal thing & it'll likely take some trial and error, but when u get it down it makes it way easier bc u dont have to rely on ur non-existent internal clock for hunger signals.

- if u have a blender, smoothies are great as snacks between bigger meals and also are a good way to easily incorporate fruit into ur diet! i buy fresh fruit in bulk and freeze it but u can also buy bags of frozen fruit if that suits u better.

- u dont have to eat certain types of foods at certain times. eat pizza or mac and cheese or whatever for breakfast if u want. make pancakes or eggs or whatever for lunch if u want. none of it matters, food is food.

anyways, hopefully this is at least a bit helpful!!

I legitimately teared up reading through this, because it once again reinforced for me the idea that humanity's inherent compassion prevails. Thank you so much for this incredibly helpful, succinct advice that will be genuinely useful! These are all issues I've been dealing with and logical solutions!

I've seen a few of these floating around and tried them, but others are brand new and I really appreciate the time you took to share! You've done something very kind for a stranger.

If you'd like to come off anon in my inbox, I'd love to make you a tiny crocheted cryptid of your choice in genuine thanks for the help. I look forward to seeing how these solutions can be applied!

[paranormalmythos]

Same Place New Layout

It had been. A rather short stroll actually when Trilby swore he saw something in the distance, what almost looked like a portion of a city jutting out of the endless white expanse. Before he could point it out to his fellow investigator Charles spoke,

"Is that Oakmont??" He took off towards the city, and Trilby quickly followed.

The city was... Impressive for appearing out of nowhere in a void. Albeit mostly flooded and appearing to almost be in ruins.

"... This isn't the entire city." Charles realized quietly, followed by, "... And some things aren't where they should be. The hotel shouldn't be next to the library."

"Well it's convenient for us, isn't it? Research and rest in one place."

"It's weird though, it's like. You said there was a replica of your work building too, right? It's like these places were put here on purpose..." Charles frowned, "Keep your guard up, we don't know what else is here."

Trilby gave a curt nod, and the two entered the library first, to find-

"... What on earth is *that*?" Charles asked, staring at a perfectly normal, albeit blocky and old, computer, a bit to the side of the front desk.

"A computer? Haven't you seen one before?" The look he received answered his question for him, "... Charles, what's the year where you're from?"

"1924, what about you?"

"... 2014." The two stood for a moment in equally uncomfortable silence. 90 years between them. And now they were standing in the same bizarre place, with a computer from the late 90s sitting in a library from the 20s.

"... I am. So tired of things beyond my comprehension." Trilby couldn't help but agree with his companion's whispered sentiment.

He however, still needed to figure out what was going on. If it was possible these locations were here for a reason, then it was possible this computer was as well. He walked over, powering on the monitor and tower, and was... Slightly confused when he didn't have to manually connect it to the internet. Or that there even *was* internet, but the little icon in the bottom corner indicated a connection. And-

A window popped up.

A window with a file, seemingly a summary on one 'Specimen 14'.

"... Didn't the radio mention this?" Charles asked.

"I think so."

The photo was of a human(was it human? It had to be, right?) with red eyes that almost seemed to glow, even in a photo the intensity of that stare sent a shiver down Trilby's spine.

The file listed the type as active, total fatalities at 38, and the method as 'chopping', which made sense considering the axe in their hands.

"A human being with an axe. While it does not appear threatening at first, extended time in the mansion has led this specimen to a state of madness where it seems to have lost its morals and become a mindless killing machine. Anyone who approaches it is met with immediate aggression and violence, as several GL Labs personnel have found out the hard way. Proven effective, only slightly more than previous specimen, likely due to subjects lowering their guard when faced with another human, if this specimen can be called that anymore..." Trilby frowned as he read.

"... That's awful... What's. GL Labs?"

"No idea, hopefully we won't find out."

"Does the uhm-what did you call it?"

"Computer."

"Right, does it have anything else on it?" Charles was looking over Trilby's shoulder, clearly confused by this box that seemingly showed images and text from nowhere.

"... Let me see." Opening the files, on a hunch, Trilby went to the documents section.

His stomach dropped.

He recognized far too many of these as his own work. And there were others that, if he had to guess, were likely written by Chris. Nobody else would name a government file 'Stupid fucking paperwork'. Not to mention the amount of classified documents on the Ancients. As he scrolled further down he found copies of newspapers from Oakmont, and some place called Darkwater. After that were... More of those 'CAT-DOS' files, a PDF of a book titled 'Biography Of Caspian Bay', and several files of seemingly news articles, all titled as being written by one Miles Upshur.

"... There's so much here." Charles whispered.

"... It does give us a place to start, this all has to be connected somehow." Trilby was mainly trying to assure himself.

If it wasn't connected he would have no clue what to do from here.

That thought was terrifying.

"Okay. I'll find some paper and a pencil, and we'll start going through things and taking notes."

"Sounds like a plan." Trilby agreed, and watched Charles walk off to grab said items.

They had a lot of work to do.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xxv // By All Other Names

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

They set up camp in a small room adjacent to the doctor’s office, one that has a real bed for Conrad to lie in. Renee gets tasked with moving his feverish body from cot to bed, but is otherwise delegated to the sidelines as the black man sets up all the various equipment, hooking Conrad up to several IVs and giving him oxygen through a mask. The wheezing breaths seem to come a little easier after that, and Conrad’s sleep seems more restful, despite the occasional beeps and whirs from the machines that surround him.

Renee half expects Shaun to start protesting at any minute, to call the police and demand Renee and Davin leave his house. But even though he clearly recognized Conrad for who he is, for some reason, he never does.

One leg bouncing nervously, Renee sits in a chair to the side, scrolling through social media to occupy his time. It’s only when Shaun finishes setting Conrad up and leaves the room, and Renee and Davin are alone for good, that he puts his phone away.

Davin sits down in a chair on the opposite side of the room, crossing one leg over the other, hands folded across his lap.

Renee waits until he’s sure Shaun isn’t coming back, until he’s sure there are no footsteps outside the door to the small room.

“So,” he says after a while. “Kit.”

Eventually, and still clearly reluctant, he sighs deeply and looks at Renee. “What do you want to know?” he asks.

“Alright,” Renee says. “What’s your name?”

Davin chuckles a little, though it fades quickly. “It’s Davin,” he says. And then he adds, as if it’s an afterthought, “To you.”

Renee lets out a frustrated sound, running a hand through his hair. “Can you quit the bullshit for even half a second, dude? Quit with the fucking… half-truths and tell me who the fuck I’ve been working with all these months. Are you wanted or something? Is that it?”

Davin laughs bitterly, but he doesn’t say anything.

Renee sneers, running a hand over his mouth to bite off a curse of exasperation. He lets out a sigh, settling back in his chair. “What’s my name?”

Davin snorts.

“I’m serious. Answer my question. What’s my name?”

“Your name is Renee.”

“My full name.”

Davin rolls his eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Renee Vaughan,” he says finally.

“Mhm. And what’s my sister’s name?”

“This isn’t… It’s fucking complicated, Renee, it’s not comparable.”

“What is my sister’s name?”

Davin looks him in the eye. “Her name is Stephanie Vaughan.”

Renee grits his teeth, heart beating a little bit quicker. He didn’t know for sure, but it doesn’t come as a surprise to him that Davin has looked it up. He throws out his hands, staring at Davin with wide eyes. “See?”

Davin shakes his head, uncrossing his legs to lean forward, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“If you were me, would you be willing to work with yourself, huh? With someone you knew jack shit about? Someone who refused to tell you?”

Davin laughs again, shaking his head. “If I were you, I’d run for the hills.”

Renee nods enthusiastically. “Exactly. Exactly. So fucking… give me something to work with.”

For a long time, Davin is silent, idly staring at the floor, clearly contemplating what to say, or how much to say, or whether to say anything at all. Eventually, he straightens up. Nods at Renee. “I wasn’t in the mob, per se. I was a… a freelancer. Contract to contract. I used to do a lot of different work for a lot of different people.”

“What kind of work?” Renee swallows. “Did you like… kill people…?”

“Jesus Christ, Renee, no,” he says with a low chuckle. “No, I did some programming. Encrypted messaging, markets, shit like that.”

Renee raises a brow. “That’s it? What’s with the whole ‘Kit’ business, then?”

Davin shrugs a shoulder. “Precaution,” He says with a half-smile. Looks on the verge of saying something when he stops himself, shaking his head and looking down.

Renee waits.

After a while, Davin clears his throat, getting a distant look in his eyes. “I used to have my own market. With… someone else. You asked if I’d be stupid enough to work with someone I knew nothing about, well. I suppose I used to be.” He clears his throat. “They went as Spyder. I never actually met them. Man, woman, I had no idea. Still don’t. I figured the trust was mutual.” He takes a deep breath before he slowly continues. “It was pretty successful, especially in the south. No hitches. We ran it for five months. Never got caught, never had it taken down.” He pauses. “The turnaround was about a million a month towards the end, in crypto. Pretty good money stored in that site.”

The pause after that continues so long, Renee thinks Davin might have gotten lost in the memory.

A machine by Conrad’s bedside beeps once and is silent again.

“Spyder cashed out and vanished,” Davin says, smiling bitterly. “Doxxed me in the process, just for good measure. I still don’t know how they found my address, but they did.”

He looks at Renee.

“I have no intention of letting something like that happen again,” he says, and there’s a sharpness to his tone that wasn’t there before. “So I’m Davin to you. I’m Kit to Shaun and Imani. To some, I’m Jared, or Seth, or Caleb. I’m not giving you anything else, because in the end, it doesn’t fucking matter. By all other names, just as fucking sweet.”

“Alright,” Renee says, a little taken aback by the tensity.

Davin nods. Cocks his head to the side. “Anything else?” The question is posed almost like a challenge.

Renee sits with the revelations for a bit, chewing on his thumbnail. In its own right, it does explain a lot. Davin’s never-ending paranoia, his almost religious reluctance for self-disclosure.

“I didn’t want to pry,” Renee mutters, nail still between his front teeth. “You just have to know it’s… frustrating. Not to know, I mean.”

Davin waves him off. “I get it. And you’re not wrong for asking.” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe I should’ve told you all of this sooner.

Renee raises a brow. “You think?”

Davin laughs.

They sit in silence a bit, both of their gazes drifting to Conrad, who’s still sound asleep on the bed.

Two beeps from the machines pass before Davin speaks again. “It’s funny, you never considered giving a false name until now.”

Renee snorts. “What if I did?”

Davin chuckles. “Nice try, Vaughan.”

💵

Turns out there’s not much to do while you’re waiting for the guy you kidnapped to come out of his fever-induced coma. Renee is bored again. Bored with a capital B.

Three chairs next to each other have acted as a makeshift bed, which him and Davin have taken turns lying on throughout the night as the other kept watch. Accumulated, by the time the clock reads six thirty, Renee thinks he’s gotten about half an hour of genuine shut-eye in total. Mostly, he spent his time lying incredibly uncomfortably on the chairs, getting more and more annoyed at how the machines would beep, as if on cue, every time he even came close to finally dozing off.

Now that it’s his turn, Davin doesn’t seem to have the same issue. He doesn’t snore, but his breaths do slow down at one point, and they stay that way. Lucky bastard.

Tired of fiddling with useless games on his phone, and after as many smoking breaths as he can take without developing a crushing headache, Renee finds several old receipts in the pocket of his jacket, and spends the better part of an hour tearing small pieces from the paper, crumbling them between his fingers, and flicking them, sometimes at Conrad’s bed, sometimes at the sleeping form of Davin, to see if either will notice it and rouse. They don’t, and then he’s out of receipt pieces to throw. So that’s time well spent, Renee thinks grimly.

He stares himself blind in the colorful lines of the wallpaper, trying to name each color, which doesn’t yield more flamboyant language than red, yellow, white, red, yellow, red...

He paces around the room for a while. Stretches his legs a little. Sits back down. Stands back up. He snorts a line from the bathroom sink. Not that it’d help with his restlessness, he just can’t help himself. At least tweaking feels good.

On his way out the door to go for another smoke, he bumps into the woman, Imani. She’s already wearing full makeup, frizzy curls seeming to explode in all directions from a band bound tightly at the back of her head. “Oh,” she says with a friendly smile. “I didn’t know you’d be up so early. There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want, you just go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Renee says, trying not to sound too grumpy. He stands there a little awkwardly, somehow feeling he should say more. “Uh, nice house, by the way.”

It’s half-hearted, but Imani seems genuinely appreciative. “Thank you,” she says with a grin, stepping to the side to let him pass in the narrow hall.

With another nod, Renee leaves out the front door.

It’s still dark outside, but the city is already beginning to awaken. Several cars pass in the street while Renee smokes, commuters starting their journey to work from a parking lot farther down the street. The noise of more condensed traffic can be heard in the distance, engines revving and the occasional honk of a horn. Steam rises from a manhole cover close to the entrance of the Jackson garage, a larger smoke signal than anything Renee can produce with a cigarette. He warms himself up by the exhaust of an air conditioning unit.

Back inside, Renee stops in the hallway next to the entrance to the kitchen. Imani stands at the sink, filling cold water into a kettle. She looks over her shoulder when she hears him, gesturing wordlessly at the kettle.

Renee shrugs, then nods. “Sure,” he says. “Coffee.”

“Come sit down, then,” Imani says, starting the kettle and filing through cabinets to pull out clean mugs, instant coffee and

“Um, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just take it back to the room,” Renee mutters.

Imani looks a little disappointed at the loss of company, but then that friendly smile is back, and she waves him off. “Just put the mug by the sink when you’re done, I’ll wash it up for you.”

“Okay.”

They wait as the kettle slowly begins to boil, it’s roar the only plaster on the awkward silence.

Renee clears his throat carefully. “So… did Shaun tell you who we are, or…”

“Oh, no,” Imani says, shaking her head. “I don’t really pay much attention. A lot of people come and go in this house.”

That’d explain why she’s so nice to him. She doesn’t know. Renee nods. “I can imagine.” He rolls his heels on the threshold with his hands in his pockets. His eyes trail listlessly around the blue cabinets of the kitchen. Porcelain stacked on shelves, a French press, a shelf of cook books. Nothing really stands out as a conversation piece.  

Imani finishes pouring boiling water into two separate mugs, grabbing one and gesturing at the other with another smile. As Renee takes his hands out of his pockets to take the mug, there’s the soft thunk at his feet. He looks down, horrified to see his small zip-lock bag of cocaine on the floor.

“Shit,” he lets out, leaning down to pick it back up. For a moment, he thinks he might have palmed the bag quickly enough that it’s contents weren’t too obvious, it was only visible for a fraction of a second. He stuffs it into his pocket, gripping it tightly in his fist.

“Oh, honey,” Imani says quietly.

Renee meets her eyes, gritting his teeth. Why is he so nervous about it? What does he care if she knows?

She gives him an earnest look. “If you want,” she says,  “you should know that Shaun is always willing to help out those struggling with addiction.”

Renee swallows. “… what?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. There’s no such thing as a taboo in this house.”

“That’s great and all, but I’m not addicted,” he says, laughing a little.

Imani opens her mouth, then closes it again. “Alright. Just… if you feel a little lost, don’t be afraid to stop by, yeah? Promise me that, at least.”

“Yeah, got it,” Renee says, nodding along, nowhere close to meaning it, he just wants the conversation to end. He holds up his mug. “Thanks for coffee,” he says, nodding at her as he backs up out into the  hallway.

His teeth are on edge as he trots into the room, mug in hand, heart beating fast, although he’s not sure why. Is he angry? Why the fuck would he be angry? It doesn’t matter.

Davin is awake, sitting with one ankle on his knee, scrolling through his phone. “Morning,” he mutters unenthusiastically.

Renee lets out a low growl in response.

Davin sniffs lazily. “Why do I keep finding tiny pieces of paper in my hair?”

Shrugging, Renee takes a sip of his coffee. “Must’ve been something on the chairs.”

The next few hours pass uneventfully, much like all those previous hours did.

Semi-lying in the chair, Renee’s arms are crossed tightly in front of his chest to keep his hands from fiddling, although his leg bounces so vigorously, his shoe makes a continuous squeaking noise on the floor. He’s scowling at the wall. “How long are we supposed to stay here?”

“Until Conrad gets better,” Davin mutters absentmindedly. He seems perfectly well satisfied by his phone.

Renee lets out a grunt of disapproval.

Chuckling, Davin gestures at the door. “Go for a walk or something,” he says.

Renee shrugs indecisively, but he has to admit, it might not be a bad idea. Getting some fresh air, moving around a bit, instead of being stuck in one room for ages. The longer he thinks about it, the more appealing thought becomes.

Davin doesn’t comment when Renee finally gets up, shrugs on his jacket and heads out.

At first, the streets he traverses are mostly void of people, sporting the same warehouses and mechanics he saw on their drive in last night. It slowly changes. He walks in between the tall buildings of an apartment complex, snaking his way through the narrow streets. Approaching the city center, he lights up a cigarette when the buildings begin to house storefronts, everything from chain convenience stores to low-end clothes outlet stores and cheap junk food joints, where the smell of frying oil and shawarma is already starting to drift out into the street.

He briefly stops by a convenience store to get a pack of cigarettes. Asking to use their restroom, Renee sniffs a line off the porcelain sink just to keep his high going. He’s in a much too irritable mood to crash, he reasons, leaving the store with newfound energy and a bitter taste at the back of his tongue.

He tries not to think about the conversation with Imani, but has to admit it’s relatively difficult to get her earnest request out of his head when he’s currently chasing that high. Has he been ramping up his use, lately? He’s not addicted, but perhaps he ought to tone it down. These past few weeks have just been… extraordinary. They’ve required a new kind of attentiveness from him, one that’s been difficult to keep up with without the helping hand of chemicals. 

It’s not that he doesn’t know that the shit he puts into his body isn’t healthy in the long run. It’s more, well… The ever-present gut feeling that Renee will never have any such thing as a long run. Live fast, die young. Isn’t that the saying?

It’s almost ten when he comes upon the entrance of a park area. Given the lateness of the season, it looks sort of abysmal, skeletonized trees towering on either side of a dirt path, brown on brown on brown. The rotting leaves by their trunks fill the air with a musty sort of smell, as if it’s been raining, even though Renee is pretty sure it hasn’t.

It's a welcome change in scenery, though, so Renee sets on the dirt path, cheeks flushed against the cold, hands firmly tucked in his pockets.

Up ahead, a group of maybe five, six men his own age are taking up most of the path, headed in the opposite direction. They’re laughing, occasionally pushing each other around like little school boys on a field trip, yelling out crude punchlines in the otherwise silent park.

A man in a long coat towards the end of the group doesn’t move out of the way as Renee approaches, so their shoulders bump.

“Move, faggot,” the man hisses.

Feeling the hairs stand up at the back of his neck, Renee stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulder. “What the fuck did you just call me?” he says low.

Coat Guy turns around, walking a few steps backwards before he stops as well, looking Renee up and down. “What, you gonna get all offended now?”

Renee grits his teeth against the spike of anger at his core. He growls, spits on the ground. “What the fuck did you call me?”

He’s so focused on Coat Guy, he barely notices when the guy’s friends, realizing their parade has stopped, begin to fan out behind him.

“I called you a faggot,” the guy says with a tense laugh. “You fucking look like one, what can I say?”

If Renee could think past his high and his anger, maybe he would have considered the fact that they’re six on one and backed off. Maybe he would’ve taken his general situation into account and reasoned that getting into trouble now would be a bad idea. Maybe he would’ve realized he’s overreacting.

But he can’t think. His first punch is impulsive.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[rozinaaa]

I Relapsed...

Following on from this post, I realised that I made a bad decision by choosing to reactivate my account.

However, I should have not done that since I realise that Instagram is so boring yet so addictive at the same time, where I don't even enjoy using it anymore, since it's now just dumb content that goes by really quick for some reason, with all of this being something that is definitely going to mess up my attention span in the long run.

If I hadn't had that moment of weakness last week and decided to get my account back, today (8th April) would have been the day that it would have got deleted.

A quick scroll through my own profile (scarcely updated since 2021) showed me that it belonged to an old version of myself that no longer exists, and was potentially a lot more cringier than how I am now, so to be honest, having my old self on show in public definitely feels very embarrassing to me, since all of that stuff was from 5 years ago, and to be honest, I was a very different person back then.

I've also realised that some of my old art (specifically from that one time I did a group project about feminism for some reason, just before the pandemic) is borderline NSFW and very gay/other things associated with that, which I don't like at all, since that's basically the opposite of what I'm actually like as a person, so it does feel jarring to be one thing in real life (straight, modest, reserved) and to be viewed as the complete opposite online (queer (although I genuinely hate that word since it has bad connotations, is just downright filthy (I feel like censoring it), and makes me want to throw up), boastful, outgoing), which has definitely caused me a bit of an identity crisis about what I actually am like as a person.

I do think that my Instagram self was like that simply because of all the content that had been fed into my mind all throughout my teen years, which I realise was just a form of brainwashing that I now have to unlearn, since I'd never be like that in real life, and if I did get caught being like that in real life, there would be severe consequences, not to mention the sheer amount of embarrassment, guilt, and shame that I would feel if everyone found out about it, so at this point, the only option is to burn the whole thing down and never think of it ever again.

Sometimes, I cringe at the finsta that I had when I was 17 (which is something that's thankfully long gone, but still haunts me from the back of my mind from time to time), which started off like normal but eventually became super gay (due to all of the indirect brainwashing from the posts that kept showing up on my feed, even though I didn't explicitly ask for them, and even though I didn't feel the impact until I actually took a few steps back for a significant amount of time), not to mention the sheer amount of selfies I had on there, which definitely does feel weird now since I don't really like having my photo taken, so that account was quite literally a mirror for my cringy 17 year old self who desperately wanted to become an artist and illustrator in the purest sense.

I do believe that over time, being fed (perhaps force fed) certain types of content will make you become someone that you'd never normally be, and will make you act in ways that you'd never normally act, so I'd say that Instagram itself is one dangerous tool and one hell of a drug, so hopefully this time, I get to get rid of it for good instead of letting a moment of weakness quickly change my thinking, which will inevitably make me stuck with a version of myself that I don't actually identify with.

What initially started out as a way to share my work (most of which I now cringe at) quickly became something worse to the point where it slowly started to morph into a guilt and shame inducing gay nightclub for me, where the only options were to live my "best life" (according to other people, even if it does go against my actual personality and values in real life) or get the hell out of there without looking back, perhaps dousing the place in gasoline, striking a match, and watching it burn from afar.

I've tried living my "best life" on Instagram (spoiler alert, it wasn't cracked up to be), so now, I just get the hell out of there and watch it burn, since I think that's the much better option for me.

[peachycheol]

| lost in translation |

➸ summary: jeonghan asks you to translate some of his fans’ comments, but you hadn’t expected them to be so... dirty.  ➸ genre: pwp  ➸ pairing: idol!jeonghan x english-speaking friend!reader ➸ warning: dirty talk, oral sex (m. and fem. receiving), face fucking, deep throating, cum swallowing <333, **the italicized comments are in english**  ➸ w.c: 2.6k

➸ author’s note: hi i’m alive!! i’m so sorry to have kept you all waiting for so long, but i kinda just lost my mojo for a little bit 😔  but worry not- i have experienced a reawakening and i am now more of a whore than ever so hopefully i can get back to posting more. i have a lot i have planned out, but i wanted to get a quick fic out to y’all as a BIG THANK YOU bc i reached so many milestones while i was gone 🥺 🥰 💕  i love you guys and i’m really glad ppl are reading my fics haha

this fic is based on the infamous jeonghan gym video, y’all know the one (thank you to @haechanblr​ for reminding me of it and helping me with this fic i love u so much!!). i was actually in the middle of writing this when hoshi decided to post his own gym video and PHEW. JEEZ. I’M STILL RECOVERING. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this one bc i really enjoyed writing it 💖 🍑 

[ foreversvt ] commented: I AM ON MY KNEES  [ yoon1004 ] commented: is it jeonghan’s birthday or is it mine [ happy bday angel! ] commented: YOON JEONGHAN ???? [ twinkluvr69 ] commented: grrr wanna slurp those noodle arms like spaghetti 

You continue scrolling through the comments left underneath the video, trying to keep your face composed as you come across more and more explicit reactions from fans all over the world. Seokmin had uploaded the video to Weverse as an innocent birthday prank for Jeonghan, but he probably had not anticipated just how horny their fans could get over a seemingly harmless video of Jeonghan doing some leg presses. To be fair to the fans though, you yourself had watched the clip several times and you would be lying if you didn’t say you were… affected. 

“Well? What are they saying?” Jeonghan leans over to watch you scroll, and you are acutely aware of the warmth of his arm pressing against yours. The two of you are sitting on the floor of  your living room with your backs resting against your couch, hanging out after a small birthday dinner with some of his other friends. As one of Jeonghan’s english-speaking friends, he had asked you to help him translate some of his birthday wishes before his day ended, though you’re not sure how to tell him that his fans are not exactly sending in wholesome professions of love. 

Instead, you decide to try giving him some tamer versions in the hopes of satisfying him before you get to anything too blunt. “This user says you have noodle arms, but I think they like it so it’s okay.” 

“Hey! I’ve been trying my best to get thicker, but not all of us can be born beefed up like Seungcheol.” 

“You asked me what they said!” you laugh. “Most of these are just birthday messages anyway-- I’m sure you don’t need me to translate ‘Happy birthday, I love you!’ a thousand times.” 

“Yeah, obviously I understand the more common phrases, but there’s so many that I don’t understand today for some reason!” Jeonghan huffs, then points to a comment that you had purposefully hid under your thumb. “Like okay, what’s that one say?” 

[ seungcheolswife ] commented: wow the way this video made my pussy clench,,,, 

“Uh,” you start, already feeling your ears go warm. Should you just lie? It’s not like he would be able to tell, right? You and Jeonghan are close, but not so close that you can just say these things to him. Especially when this comment may be hitting a little too close to home for you. Even now, you remember the bolt of arousal that shot to your pussy the moment you  heard Jeonghan’s first grunt of effort. You bite your lip. No, Jeonghan really didn’t need to know about that. “I-it says something like ‘you made their heart flutter’.”

“Wait.” Jeonghan takes a moment to scan your face before his eyes narrow at you suspiciously. You give him your best innocent smile, but you already know he’s caught you. You had always been a shitty liar. “What does it really say? Is it bad?”

You sigh. Of course he hadn’t bought it. “No, it’s not bad. I just don’t know if you want to hear stuff like this…” 

“Well now I have to know. Tell me exactly what it says.” 

“E-exactly?” You meet Jeonghan’s stern gaze and you know that there’s no convincing him otherwise. What Jeonghan wants, Jeonghan gets. “I-it says that the video made their p-pussy clench.”

After several beats of silence, you look over to Jeonghan to see he is completely unaffected by the comment. Or maybe he is. His eyes glint mischievously in the light when he responds.  “I said exactly, baby. Try again.” 

Your whole body feels hot under his smug, expectant gaze; you should be surprised by the sudden pet name, but it only makes your mind fuzzy with the beginnings of arousal. You swallow thickly, unable to disobey him. “T-this video made m-my pussy clench.” 

“So naughty… Just this short clip has your cute little pussy all needy,” Jeonghan clicks his tongue, but a knowing grin spreads on his lips. His words have you shifting in your seat in an attempt to relieve the dull ache setting in between your legs, though you don’t dare let it on. It’s clear Jeonghan is playing a game with you, and although you know you’re going to lose, you’ll be damned if you let him win so easily. “Let’s read some more, hm? Translate this one for me.”

[ daddy_hannie ] commented: omg i bet jeonghan makes the hottest sounds when he’s fucking 

The comment he scrolls to nearly makes you whimper. It’s embarrassing how clearly you can recall the sound of each of his low groans coming through the screen, how sexy he sounded. Images of Jeonghan on top of you, his eyebrows furrowed as he grits out desperate groans of pleasure, leave you in a daze while your panties quickly dampen with your arousal. 

“Go on.” Jeonghan’s firm tone only makes you squirm more, and this time he takes note of the way your breathing has gone shallow and how your eyes are already hazy. 

“I bet Jeonghan makes the hottest sounds when he’s fucking,” you say softly. 

Jeonghan chuckles, his breath tickling against your neck. “Now you’re just making me blush, sweetheart. I bet you’d make some pretty noises when I’m fucking into you too,” he muses casually. You finally let out a soft whine, tired of holding your breath as he moves to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“J-jeonghan…” 

“Hm, I think we should read a couple more,” the boy says, ignoring you and scrolling through more of the comments. You pout - your wetness has already soaked through your panties, your cunt just aching for his attention, but of course Jeonghan isn’t done teasing you. 

You’re wondering how long it will take for him to finally push your back to the floor and fuck you senseless when you spot a comment that might help you get you what you want quicker. ”I want to read this one,” you tell him, already rubbing your thighs together in anticipation. 

[ ~hanniehae!~ ] commented: god i KNOW your dick is big like PLEASE I WANNA SUCK UR DICK SO BAD

He raises an amused eyebrow at you, and you wait for him to stop you, biting back a smile when he doesn’t. You make sure to look him in the eyes when you say it, his own dark eyes telling you that he’s impatient for you too, and you nearly let it out in a whine from how much you mean it. “Please Jeonghan… I want to suck your dick so bad.” 

For a sliver of a  moment, Jeonghan goes rigid. Then, his smug smile returns as he brings up a thumb to tug on your bottom lip. “Mmm, such a pretty mouth saying such filthy words,” he sighs, shaking his head. “If you wanted to put it to good use, all you had to do was ask, baby.” 

Jeonghan chuckles at how eagerly you follow him as he moves to sit on the couch behind you, keeping his hold on your chin so that you keep your eyes on his. He has you kneel between his legs and you don’t waste any time in reaching for the button and zipper on his jeans. 

The man helps you tug his pants and boxers down to his ankles, and your mouth waters at the sight of his hard cock springing back against his stomach. Of course it’s pretty just like the rest of him. “You’ve been teasing me all this time, but you’re already this hard?” you whisper tauntingly as you lean forward to ghost your lips over the base of his shaft. 

Jeonghan’s shaky exhale does not go unnoticed by you, but his response comes out smooth as ever. “Could you blame me? You just looked so cute getting all worked up from saying all those dirty things about me. I bet your little panties are soaked through by now-- guh!” He lets out a surprised groan when you suddenly flatten your tongue against him, letting it drag slowly up to his tip. 

“You talk too much.” You look up at him with a smile before you wrap your lips around his leaking tip, savoring the taste of him on your tongue. Teasingly, you swirl your tongue against his slit until you feel his hand thread through your hair, as though he’s begging you for more. You decide to be nice, lowering your mouth further down his cock, letting him feel the slide of your wet tongue on his sensitive skin. 

A soft sigh leaves his lips at the sensation, pleasantly carding his fingers through your hair as you take as much of him as you can. “That’s it. Good girl.”

His praise has you clenching around nothing, and you whine as you steadily begin to bob your head along his hard cock, reveling in how he would let out small whimpers whenever you would lightly suckle on it. 

Just as he gets used to the feeling of your mouth on him, you suddenly take him as deep as you can into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks tightly around his cock. “Oh, f-fuck!” Jeonghan lets out a strangled moan, his hips lifting from the couch to fuck further into your mouth. 

You feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, but it only spurs you on even more as you swallow around him, causing him to throw his head back in ecstasy. At this point, a dull ache starts setting in your jaw and drool begins to messily slip from the corners of your mouth as you return to sucking him at a more steady pace, and you feel your pussy throb from how dirty it all felt. Though you and Jeonghan did flirt occasionally, he had always felt off-limits to you-- he’s an idol and you’re just one of his normal-person friends. But here you are with his cock in your mouth, all thanks to the horny thoughts of his fans no less. 

To their credit, they were right. Jeonghan does make the hottest sounds while fucking. He lets out another throaty groan from above you and, unexpectedly, he pulls you off his cock. His pupils are blown wide with desire, his chest heaving slightly as he looks at the state you’re in with your swollen lips and the drool on your chin. “Can I fuck your mouth?” he asks breathlessly. 

“Yes please,” you reply, voice already a little hoarse from your efforts. You shift back on your knees to make room for Jeonghan when he stands, opening your mouth obediently when he moves to slide his cock back onto your tongue. Jeonghan tightens his grip on your hair, keeping you still as he starts to fuck into your mouth with quick, shallow thrusts. “Mmh!”

“Fuck, your mouth feels so fucking good, baby,” Jeonghan sighs appreciatively. You bring your hands up to grip at the backs of his thighs to keep yourself steady when his thrusts become a little more erratic, causing you to gag around him as his cock continues to hit the back of your throat. Still, all your focus remains on hearing more of Jeonghan’s pleasured groans, on seeing his face scrunch up in absolute bliss, so you keep your mouth open wide despite the tears that prick at your eyes. When Jeonghan looks down at you taking his cock, eyes glazed over and fucked out, he curses loudly. “Shit-- can I come in your mouth?” 

Unable to speak with your mouth stuffed full, you cutely give him a thumbs up. Jeonghan would have laughed if he wasn’t so close to cumming. With several more thrusts, he cries out a strained warning before his hot release fills your mouth. He rides out his orgasm, twitching in your hold as his pleasure bleeds into oversensitivity. Once he’s pulled out, you make sure to stick your tongue out so he can see how his cum coats your tongue right before you swallow it all down; all he can do is smile thinking about how he really should have fucked you sooner. 

“So good for me,” Jeonghan says to you softly, helping you up to your feet so that he can pull you into a heated kiss full of tongue and whimpers. You desperately grip onto Jeoghan’s shirt, pressing your body against him in search for some sort of relief for the arousal that is pumping through you and straight to your neglected pussy. He can’t help but smile against your lips. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you now.” 

You let him lead you to sit on the couch-- this time you are the one sitting on the edge of the cushions with Jeonghan’s head between your legs. He slides a hand over your clothed core, humming when he finds that you really have soaked straight through your panties. Just as you begin to squirm underneath his teasing fingers, he strips you of both your leggings and underwear in one swift movement, leaving you bare before him. 

The sight of him pushing your legs apart is enough to leave you in a daze. Your breath catches when you feel cool air brushing against your inner thighs, slick with your wetness, then it all comes out in a whine when you feel Jeonghan’s velvet tongue swipes at the spot for a taste. “O-oh!” a cry slips from your lips once his tongue finally slides through your folds. “Mmh!” 

“Does it feel good?” Jeonghan whispers, not bothering to wait for a proper answer because your broken moans tell him to keep going. He spreads your lips open with his fingers, eating you out slowly and deliberately as though he is savoring his favorite meal.

The room is filled with your soft whimpers and the lewd sounds of Jeonghan’s mouth working against your pussy and it only tightens the pressure in your stomach, causing your toes to curl. “P-please-- please let me cum,” you rasp out, and your eyes roll to the back, your hand clutching tightly at the back of Jeonghan’s head, at the feeling of his tongue flattening against your clit. “Ngh! Y-yes!” 

He skillfully flicks his tongue on your bud, shaking his head back and forth until his chin is absolutely covered in your juices. When your hips begin to move of their own accord, he lets you ride his face as you please, his cock twitching at how desperate you are for him. “S-so good,” you sob, only able to mutter unintelligible nonsense in your delirium. Then, he wraps his mouth around your clit, and you’re left squealing as your legs begin to shake from how obscenely good it feels. “Shit, I-- I’m--!” 

You come undone with a loud cry of Jeonghan’s name, your body going rigid from how hard your orgasm hits you. Jeonghan takes it all, his eyes closed as he works you through your release, only letting up when you slump away from him.

The both of you finally look at each other properly in the aftermath, chests heaving and hair wild. Suddenly you’re both erupting in giggles at the realization of what you two had just done. “What are you looking at?” Jeonghan asks, eyes bright as he smiles handsomely up at you. 

You reach down to swipe your thumb against his chin, which is still shining with your cum, barely able to contain your giggles. “Who’s got the dirty mouth now?”

[punkgrogg]

Doorway Duo pt.3

Pairing: Hybrid!Taehyung x Reader, Hybrid!Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Hybrid!BTS, Non idol AU, fluff

Warnings: Pregnancy

Summary: Y/n was abandoned by her long time boyfriend and moves back home to help prepare for the baby. She’s surprised to find two unfamiliar hybrids at her house.

Length: 3,074

Notes: Sorry I took so long! I had to split this update into several parts because I ended up typing out over 6,000 words so another part will be posted in a couple days hopefully I can fix my laptop by then.

Date Posted: 9/4/2021

“Share the heat,” Hoseok complained, tugging the blanket from my cocooned form.

October ‘s days were chilly but as soon as the sun set, it was freezing. I was propped up on the couch, surrounded by pillows and a king sized blanket tucked around me. Mom sat on the recliner to my left, the reason behind my assortment of pillows, and Hoseok was shoving his way into the occupied seat on my right. Well, my legs were occupying it.

“There’s a while couch right there ass hat.” I whined as he lifted my legs and placed them on his lap. This wasn’t so bad- he was warm- but the sibling bond between us made sure to complain.

“I don’t want to sit next to dad, he’s way too excited over the game.” Hobi pulled out his phone and scrolled aimlessly.

“When’s Namjoon gonna be here? His team is kicking ass.`` Dad was lively when it came to soccer. It was cute though and I loved how animated he’d get with each goal. But the kicker is that he and Namjoon rooted for other teams. Hobi, Jin, and I all sided with dad on the sports front but Joonie picked a shitty team that’s been coming up in the last couple of years. Maybe the heart attack he nearly gave dad ten years ago was worth it- if the pride in my dad’s eyes were anything to go by.

Joonie was our wild card, he seemed to pick the most difficult path just because he liked the challenge. He’d always do the opposite of what we expected, whether it was the sudden law school decision or boycotting Christmas one year. But today was probably the most surprising.

Jungkook apparently wasn’t a sports fan until this season started, my dad’s enthusiasm rubbed off onto him and now it was funny to see him white-knuckling a sprite over a bad call. Taehyung was taking a nap upstairs and mom was idly reading some seedy romance novel if the blush on her face was anything to go by. Well it was probably the shirtless man emblazoned on the cover that truly gave it away.

Hobi sighed and tossed his phone over onto the side table, he closed his eyes and melodramatically threw his arm over his face as he rested against the back of the loveseat. I rolled my eyes, “what’s it now buttercup?”

He huffed at my nickname, “Jimin isn’t responding.” He dropped his arm to pout at me as if I could help the situation at all.

“You know he’s probably working right now?” I nudged his arm with one of my feet.

His pout turned into a full blown frown as he made puppy eyes at me. “Yeah but that doesn’t mean i can’t miss him.”

“OH, so you’re going to finally admit that you’re dating him?” The delighted smile that ripped it’s way across my face made the frown completely fall off of his.

“Oh shit.”

His shock made me full bellied laugh, “Mom! Hobi finally sa-”

“Shut up! You tricked me!” he hissed as he covered my mouth, I smiled evilly as I licked the back of his hand to deter him.

“The baby.” Jungkook snapped, ripping Hobi's hand off my face. How did he manage to get across the room so quickly? Beyond me. There was a cloudy sort of anger in his face, one where he knew he shouldn’t be angry but couldn’t help it.

“Kookie, I'm fine.” I reached up to hold his wrist as he let go of Hobi's hand. He looked down on me tersely, his eyes colder than usual.

“Hoseok, how many times do your mother and I have to say to be gentler with your sister? You two are honestly getting too old for this.” Dad scolded, his hand on Hobi’s shoulder. I could see him curling into himself and suddenly I felt small.

“Dad, I'm okay, Hoseok and I were just playing. You know he’d never hurt me or the baby.`` I let go of Jungkook's wrist and tried to sit myself up more. It was hard this late into the pregnancy.

“You need to be more careful too, you’re way too rowdy these days.” he chastised me and I could feel the anger at being talked down to. I’m not a child anymore.

“No, this is my baby and my body, I get to decide when it’s too rowdy. We weren’t wrestling or fighting and I could easily breathe. We were doing nothing wrong, why are you acting like this?” My tone was cold and I forced myself up into a standing position. Jungkook stepped away from the couch so i could have enough room.

“y/n baby, you know i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings-” i cut him off; i was fuming.

“Well you did. You basically said that either my big brother is going to hurt me or that I'm incapable of judging how much energy I can exert. We’re all adults in this room, why did you two have to intervene?” my glare turned to Jungkook, he hardened his gaze.

“The baby’s hormones are-”

“No more baby excuses,” I cut him off. “I know he’s fine, he’s twisting and kicking just as he’s always been.”

“The baby’s hormones are-”

“Stop Jungkook.” I held up a hand, the anger bubbling up to the surface. I needed to cool down before I lashed out. I could feel the heat coursing through my arms and filling my chest.

“No, Y/n he’s right I didn't notice it till you stood up but the baby’s hormones have gotten really strong all of a sudden.” Hoseok chimed in. still seated, he reached out and touched my stomach. Mom crossed the room and shoved her way through Jungkook and dad to kneel in front of my stomach, accessing my state.

“What? What does that mean?” I cradled my bump, the fear seeping into my words. He felt normal there, my doctor told me if anything were to feel wrong then to trust my instincts and immediately go to the hospital. But this was different, nothing felt wrong.

Taehyung thundered down the stairs, “Y/n? What’s going on down here? I can smell the stress from upstairs,” he took a backseat to the worry on my mind.

“Is something wrong with him? Nothing feels wrong.” I turned to Jungkook, the worry overpowering the shame of the argument we had just had. He was the first to notice so maybe he knew what was wrong.

“I was wrong, holy shit, we should make a doctor’s appointment.” Hoseok suddenly exclaimed, he jumped up and held me at arms length by the shoulders. He looked down to my stomach with a shocked expression.

“Honey, get the keys we’re going to the hospital.” mom barked out. I didn’t even notice her leaving the huddle but she was back at the recliner as she tugged on some tennis shoes.

“No! It's okay! The pheromones are showing that she’s okay too.” Jungkook finally spoke up, he threw an arm around me and pointed at the baby.

“She?” The confusion in my father’s voice was only a mirror to the rest of the room.

“Yeah, the pheromones got so strong because there’s two.” Hobi explained as he crossed the room and relieved mom of her purse. He placed a calming hand on her shoulders. Shoulders that seemed to be leveled with her ears with the abrupt stress.

“You mean twins? It's a bit late to find that out don’t you think?” she all but hissed at her third son. Mom was visibly anxious right now, something I had never seen before. She was usually so calm and cheerful around us.

“Mom, you’ve said it yourself, y/n is bigger than most pregnancies.”

“I mean yeah but we’ve gone to the doctor twenty times over the summer and I think he’d find another baby in there.” I chimed in, coming to mom’s other side. I think it helped with calming her down because her shoulders lowered a bit.

“I can smell both, I can smell her all of a sudden alongside him.” Taehyung wrapped his arms around me, his head burrowing into my shoulder. His grip on me was tighter than usual.

“But Tae that doesn’t make sense.” I turned in his grasp, facing the snow leopard hybrid, my disbelief written across my face.

“He’s had a very strong scent and a very strong heartbeat, maybe he just masked hers.” Jungkook stepped into my bubble once again. He was on the other side of Tae but seemed to block off any others from joining in the clique.

“But the ultrasounds only show one baby.” I reasoned out, my right hand reaching behind me to rest on my mother’s shoulder. Accepting there was a second was terrifying, I was barely holding myself together for the one pregnancy. Adding on another? Was I eating enough? Taking enough precautions? Maybe dad was right in intervening today.

“Back in the day they couldn’t find Seokjin’s penis and told us we’d be having a girl. It was a bit of a shock when he came out.” Dad. Of course, I've heard this story before, ultrasounds weren’t always perfect.

“What should i do?” I was scared and it was evident in the shake of my voice, Taehyung only hugged me harder.

“Hey guys, what's going on here?” Namjoon’s voice shattered the tension of the room. Seeing him and the dark haired male next to him gave me a chance to breathe.

Hoseok flitted across the room, his excitement at seeing our older brother evident in the wagging of his feather duster of a tail. “Joon, you're going to be an aunt and an uncle.”

“What?”

“Hobi that’s not how it works and you know it.” Mom chastised with a small shake of her head. Hoseok was a blessing to us all when tensions were high. “Who’s this?”

Namjoon seemed to freeze up a bit before throwing an arm around the guy hovering behind him a bit. Said man flushed lightly at the attention turning to him and in the soft light of the living room I could barely make out a pair of silky black ears atop his head. “This is Min Yoongi, he’s my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” I sputtered out, breaking the moment of silence that enveloped the living room. I could see dad from my peripheral making his way to the doorway with a smile.

“Yeah, problem?” Joonie’s eyes were narrowed at me but eased up at the grin I was sporting.

Pulling away from Taehyung a bit, I sneered at Hobi. “Hoseok- he told us about his boyfriend before you could. How does that feel?”

Hoseok groaned before stomping over to me to grind out: “Oh my god you're annoying and technically i said it first.”

“But you didn’t tell mom and dad.” I taunted, the faux misery on my brother’s face would fuel me for months. Taehyung sat on the loveseat behind him and tugged at the hem of my shirt for me to join him.

“They’ve met Jimin before though and according to you i’m not subtle.” Hobi argued, his hand on his hip. Jungkook followed Tae and I down to the seat and I was wedged between the two with my legs in Kook’s lap. He gently rubbed circles into my swollen ankles as Hobi and I glared at each other.

“Anyway, what's this about me being an aunt now?” Joonie interrupted the stare down with Yoongi by his side, our parents must have finally let them out of their interrogation.

“These three are suddenly claiming I'm pregnant with twins.” I explained with a flick of my wrist, the stress of the situation (that was only a few minutes ago) seemed as if it were twelve years in the past.

“Um, I can smell two scents too.” Yoongi’s soft spoken words brought back the fear.

“Holy shit, mom! What am I supposed to do? Should we go to the hospital?” I tried to push myself up into a sitting position but Taehyung held me gently to his chest.

“The babies are happy, I don't think they’re in danger. “He hummed softly into my ear. I could feel the sincerity behind his words. He rubbed a hand up my arm gently and started to purr. An attempt to ease my anxiety.

“Danger or not- we still need to confirm if there are actually twins. That’s a nightmare in itself. That’s double of everything I was sort of ready for. Wait, what if I give birth prematurely- don’t twins come early?” there was panic rising in my chest.

“Mom and Dad went to their room, they’re recovering from the unexpected news but Y/n it’s going to be okay. We’ll go to the doctor’s tomorrow, together,” Hoseok reminded me, he softly ruffled my hair as he leaned down to kiss the top of my forehead. Still I looked around the room for my mother. The one who holds all the answers to my pregnancy fears. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi, all stood above us three, all showing a different expression. Namjoon looked apprehensive, which was normal for him. Hoseok looked as if he were trying to tame a wild animal. Yoongi thought he looked stunned, his eyes blown wide.

“Hobi you’re banned from my ultrasound appointments. You almost broke the equipment.” I reminded him with a forced smile. I could still feel the panic but it was ebbing away. I wasn’t dying, I was safe. The babies were safe. Everything will be okay.

“That’s so rude, I apologized and everything.” he crossed his arms, generously taking the bait. Knowing that Joonie would laugh at his expense.

“We’ll go with you, we haven’t been able to go since Hoseok has been.” Taehyung declared, way too happy for me to decline, and I smiled softly at him. I was held up against his torso, his head just a few inches above my own. He leaned down and rubbed his forehead against my own.

“You’re going to scent mark my sister in front of me?” Namjoon sputtered indignantly, causing Tae to freeze all of a sudden.

“Namjoon, that’s not scent marking.” Hoseok laughed and shoved at his shoulder playfully.

“Actually, we feline hybrids scent mark like that instead of that mess you canine hybrids do. I scent marked Namjoon earlier in the same way.” Yoongi crossed his arms and seemed to glare down at Tae. I was a bit shocked to say the least.

Hoseok had explained it to me when we were younger, scent marking was a hybrid instinct, and it had two different connotations. There was a familial way and a romantic way to cover another person in their pheromones. Hoseok would hug us and hold our hands growing up to rub just enough of himself on us to comfort himself that we were his family. Especially when we were younger and playing with larger groups of children or when there was a big event. The familial way would only last a few hours and was more of a comforting thing for family and very close friends to help with bonding.

Hoseok had explained the more romantic way was to imbue another’s scent for a much longer time and it was done by stimulation to the scent glands which meant that they would lick each other’s scent glands. He had been tomato red explaining this to me when he had found another hybrid’s scent on me that was much stronger than his own. When I explained that I was just playing with a hybrid at recess and they hugged me he seemed to melt into the floor in embarrassment.

Taehyung was staring up at Namjoon with an indecipherable expression. The massage on my ankles had stopped at Namjoon's exclamation and my glance at Jungkook showed him to be in the same emotionless stare down but instead he was staring down Yoongi. He knew too, but why hadn’t he told me?

“She’s part of our pack, of course I would scent her.” Taehyung had no emotions in his words, the monotonous response seemed to aggravate my brother.

“Wait,” I held my hand up to the seething man before turning to his boyfriend. “I’m confused. Hobi said that licking my neck would be romantic scent marking and hugging was familial scent marking. Which would this be?”

My question caused all four hybrids to freeze up, Hobi’s face once again lighting up in embarrassment.

“Uh, he said that? Well, uh, that’s wrong.” Yoongi forced out, his face turning a light shade of pink.

“Hybrids themselves decide what the type of scent marking it is when they release the pheromones, and there’s a lot of different meanings that could exist. Typically a more familial scenting would be a hug- so that part is right- but also kissing the top of your head could work. Licking your scent glands isn’t a romantic way for scent marking, it’s more sexual.” Yoongi's face almost matched Hoseok’s at this point. “Romantically speaking there’s a lot of ways you can scent someone- like rubbing your necks against each other which is common amongst the canine hybrids. For us feline hybrids we rub our faces against the person, like he had done to you. The pheromones typically let us know, but he’s not releasing heavy enough pheromones for us other hybrids to notice, but rubbing his face against yours is claiming you as his in feline standards.”

“Oh,” I could feel the hybrid underneath me tense up as Yoongi's explanation came to an end. I glanced up at him to see him still staring down my brothers.

“I’m still a little confused but thank you Yoongi. Namjoon, Hoseok, I’ll take it from here, I don't need you hovering over us for this conversation. In fact, I think I'll take this conversation elsewhere, you three have fun watching the game. Joonie, dad recorded this and last week’s matches for you.” I worked my way into a standing position with Taehyung’s help and made my way to the stairs, both Taehyung and Jungkook glued to my sides.

“It was really nice meeting you Yoongi,” I smiled at him and waved my goodbyes as I made my way up. We made our way into my room, the two hovering in the doorway. Just like I had met them. I took a deep breath and settled onto the bed.

[princessofcurses]

[2] Struggling Sweetly

Part 1

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader & Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader Preface: Part 2. You’re devastated after your darling has cheated on you but an old friend has come to cheer you up. Unfortunately, it's never that easy. content warning: out of character, college AU, infidelity, alcohol, angst, sexy time, size kink, cigarette smoking, toxic relationships, blood, depression Word Count: 6.2k If you like it, please leave a like and/or reblog ♡

The next morning, you woke up with your cheek still squished to Satoru's chest and your leg draped over him. He was asleep and lightly snoring. You marveled at him: his soft and fair skin, his silky and messy hair, and oh god his toned body. The way you felt looking at him right now reminded you of the first time you met him and were captivated by him. It was your first year at Jujutsu High and Satoru was a third year. He was assigned to be your mentor and look out for you, the main reason being that the higher-ups had an eye on you, suspicious of your inexplicable strength. You were meeting in the courtyard and your impression as he walked towards you was that he was a giant; he's well over six feet! As you came to face each other, he had to look down to make eye contact with you which made you pout.

"Wow, Y/N! You're like a foot shorter than me."

The choppy laugh he let out annoyed you a bit and you stood there, staring at him in silence.

"Gojo Satoru. I'll be your mentor and guardian from now on!"

He reached out his hand for you to shake. You took his in yours and firmly gripped it, feeling his calluses and thinking this man works hard. His thumb lightly rubbed over the back of your hand and you quickly retracted yours, putting it back to your side, feeling a bit flustered.

"Gojo-san-"

"Call me Senpai."

You rolled your eyes, adding to your unamused expression while he snickered. You called him by the honorific with a bit of a hiss.

"Senpai, I don't need a guardian. I can take care of myself."

He shook his head and leaned forward to be at eye-level with you, putting his hands on your shoulders. A small vein on your forehead popped out from your irritation because of his patronizing behavior but then you caught a glimpse of his eyes above his pitch-black lenses. You had already known of the Six Eyes but they were even more beautiful and intense in person. They held the sparkling ocean, or maybe it's the sky, and thin clouds passed through them. You turned to ice, feeling mesmerized by him and his presence.

"I'm sure you can but it isn't just cursed spirits you need to be wary of. There are sorcerers that don't have good intentions for you too."

Noticing that you were in a bit of a daze, assumedly from his presence, he chuckled and put his arm around you and began walking.

"Well, don't worry. I'll be the best mentor and guardian. Ora. I'll show you around the campus."

That marked the beginning of a crush that lasted 4 1/2 years. It would've been 5 and maybe longer, but six months ago when you started your second year in college and Satoru started his fourth and last year, you met Sukuna who was in his last year as well.

Your reminiscing was cut short when Satoru began to stir, transitioning from dreaming to awakening. A groggy and throaty noise escaped from his mouth when he outstretched his arms and legs. Slowly opening his empyrean eyes, you perked up when his met yours. He smiled and spoke with a deep and sleepy voice that you found erotic.

"Hm? Have you been waiting for me to wake up?"

"No, no. I woke up not too long ago."

You stammered, not wanting him to know you spent the last several minutes ogling him in his sleep. You both sat up and Satoru began looking for his phone.

"What time is it?"

You unlocked your phone and held it up to his face so he could see the time.

"SHIT! 9 AM!? I was supposed to be in Osaka at 8 for a mission. Yaga's going to kill me."

Satoru hopped out of bed and frantically looked for his clothes, tearing the sheets up and looking under the bed. He found them and hurriedly put them on. You spotted his phone on the floor and picked it up to hand it to him.

"What's the mission?"

"Exorcising curses responsible for the many incomplete domains and missing people in the area."

"Sounds like fun! Can I come?"

"Sorry, sweets. I have to go alone since it's a field assignment for class. I'll be back in a few days. Wait for me?"

He gave you a peck on the cheek and patted the top of your head. You looked puzzled, pondering what he meant by 'wait for me' but before you got the chance to ask or even say goodbye, he had warped away.

Does he want me to wait in my room until he gets back? No, that can't be it. Ugh. I don't get it.

You went back under the covers and stared at the ceiling, sighing as you began to feel lonely. You opened up your contacts list on your phone and scrolled through the names, wondering who you should hit up to hang out with. You winced as you slowly passed by Sukuna's name; you pressed on his contact and was about to hit BLOCK but then an incoming call with his name on it took over your screen. The screen became blurry and your heart began to beat against your chest. Not knowing what to do, you waited there until the call went to voicemail but a few seconds after the ringing had stopped, he was calling again.

Don't answer it. There's nothing important he has to say to you.

Your hand holding your phone was shaking and you gave yourself a pep talk to be strong but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to talk to him. If you answered, you hoped he would grovel at your feet and beg you for your forgiveness. But then what would you do? What would you want to happen afterward? You rid your head of the hypothetical situation and blocked his number after his second call went to voicemail. He had left one this time.

"Y/N, I know you don't want to talk to me or see me but I'm begging you, please give me a chance to explain. If you're truly done with me, can't we at least talk so I can get closure? Call me back. I love you."

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard him say he loves you. He had only said it a handful of times when you were still together. You tossed your phone to the other side of the room and brought the covers over your face.

“You love me, but you cheated on me? Why do you need closure, you idiot?”

You huffed in annoyance but then tears were escaping from the corners of your eyes. You grabbed the pillow Satoru used and buried your face in it, holding it to your chest tightly. His lingering scent made you feel a little better but you still sobbed into the pillow until you fell asleep.

The next week, after doing nothing except sleeping and sulking, you decided to go out to the club tonight for a few drinks and music so loud you wouldn't be able to hear your thoughts. You didn't have club attire so you pulled up in black cargo pants, a black tube top, and black platform boots and luckily, it barely made the dress code and the bouncer let you in. As soon as you stepped inside, you felt the stale air from all of the people crowded together. You squished in between some and pushed your way through others to get to the bar. Once you finally made it, you took a seat and ordered a strawberry margarita. Every so often, someone took a seat beside you to try and talk to you but you rebuffed each one with just a wave of your hand without even giving them a glance.

Three margaritas later and you were feeling tipsy, thinking now is a good time for a cigarette. Stepping out of the stuffy club into fresh air, you pulled out a fresh pack and checked your purse and all of your pockets for a lighter, sighing when you didn't have one. You timidly began to ask the people around you but were out of luck because they either didn't have one or they wanted something in return for it. Unsuccessful in your pursuit, you took a seat at one of the tables with your unlit cigarette between your lips. You sighed, your elbow on the table and your hand supporting your head up, using your other one to scroll through your phone.

"Do you need a light?"

You stiffened knowing whose voice it was and you slowly turned your head up to see Sukuna standing before you, a smile with a hint of mal intent on his face. Shaken up and unsure of what to say, he used the pause to take a seat in front of you and he pulled out a lighter. You leaned in and your eyes locked onto each other’s as he lit your cigarette. Seeing your doe eyes ignited something in him and you saw a mischievous glint in his. Feeling uneasy, you closed your eyes and took a deep drag.

So unlucky.

"You're the last person I thought I'd see at the club. And alone too?"

"I was bored and needed to get out of my apartment. That's all."

"You look beautiful tonight."

Caught off guard by his compliment, you bit your lip to keep yourself from smiling, reminding yourself why you two aren't together anymore in the first place. His hand moved towards your face and you flinched a bit, but he gently brushed some strands of your hair behind your ear. You looked down feeling disconcerted, his slight touch sending a chill through you. You inhaled deeply, taking another drag and beginning to feel lightheaded from the alcohol you drank earlier even more.

"Thanks."

That was all you were able to mutter out. You felt awkward and didn't want to say anything at all. The feeling was intensified when Sukuna put his knee between your legs, rubbing it against your thigh. He loved teasing you in public places. He held his hand out over the table for you to grab. You apprehensively took it and he brought your hand close to his face and kissed the back of it. He then set your hand on the table, putting his over yours. You stared at him as blush formed across your cheeks, overwhelmed by his presence. He smirked at your docility.

"You haven't been answering my calls or texts. Did you block me?"

You quietly answered.

"I did."

He shook his head in dissatisfaction.

"That's mean, princess. You don't know how much I've missed you."

He moved his knee farther in between your legs so it was lightly brushing against your cunt. He hummed in amusement when he felt your warmth, the desire in his eyes tempting you. You focused on keeping your cool but you were slowly losing your inhibitions. You hadn't seen him in a couple of weeks and for a little while, you forgot what he looked like. But even in the dim light, you could see his features perfectly: his pink hair and undercut that you loved ruffling, his tattoos that you would trace over with your fingertips, his build under your small hands, and his aura that hypnotizes you. He cheated on you but that doesn't mean a hook-up was out of the question, right? You took a drag and puffed the smoke out, deciding to shift away from him and your rash ideas. You were brought back from your thoughts when a woman approached you two.

"Hi, baby!"

You tensed up hearing the woman speaking sweetly to Sukuna. She wore a white off-the-shoulder dress and looked elegant, contrasting the full-on black streetwear you had on. Feeling a tad jealous, you wondered if she was more his type than you were. They exchanged a kiss and you turned your head discreetly and cringed. You had a look of disappointment on your face that changed to a more friendly expression when she greeted you. Sukuna introduced you to each other but your cloudy thoughts didn’t let you catch her name. You tried your best to wear a polite smile though you really wanted to scream in anger or cry in dejection.

"You go ahead inside. I'll be there in a little bit."

He gave her a kiss on the cheek and then she scurried away, waving goodbye to the both of you. Sukuna then slowly turned to face you and you squinted at him with disgust. Before he got the chance to speak, you stood up to leave.

"I have to go."

"Wait, Y/N. She's no one."

Your thoughts were in a flurry, wondering how he could even say that after they had just kissed in front of you. Feeling disrespected, you scoffed at his absurd statement.

"Looks like I'm interrupting something. You don't have to lie to me anymore. We're done, remember?"

"You're the love of my life, Y/N. I'm only hanging out with her because I'm lonely and I don't have you around."

Tired of his nonsense, you took one last, long drag, finishing the cigarette and blowing the smoke in his face. You dropped the stoge to the floor, extinguishing the flame by rubbing it into the ground with your foot. Your face was hot with fury and intensity lined your voice.

"You missed me so you started seeing someone else? Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. I don't want anything to do with you. Okay? You cheated on me. You hurt me. You replaced me. We're finished."

You made a sound of disgust and turned your back to him, beginning to walk away. But he stood up after you and roughly caught your wrist, pulling you to his Herculean chest. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating and the warmth he radiated made you want to close the distance between you two but you reminded yourself he was already here with someone. Regardless of what he feels, his actions say something entirely different. You wanted to push him away but he spoke with a harsh tone that stopped you in your tracks.

"No, princess. Don't you know how much that hurts me?"

Sukuna looked down on you, scrutinizing you. He didn't want to get aggressive but he had lost his patience and he hated not getting his way. His dark stare brought a bit of fear to your eyes but you were enticed as well. The energy around him exuded sinful intentions and though your fight or flight response triggered, it exhilarated you more than anything. He leaned over to whisper in your ear, his voice deep and breathy.

"It's cute how defiant you're being but I think what you really want is to be taken for it in the back of my car right now."

His crass words were provoking you into submission. He leaned back and took hold of your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head towards him and wearing a malevolent grin for you. His demeanor made you feel small and he knew it aroused you. He lightly pressed his lips against yours and hummed in contentment as you didn’t resist.

"I missed my little girl."

Stunned by the dominating air around him, you didn't kiss him back but you mindlessly followed him as he led you out of the patio area and to his car, his grip on your wrist still rough.

"Let's make up for lost time."

As you neared the vehicle, your thoughts began to flood. You knew this was a bad idea; your soul willed to reject him but your flesh was weak. You hadn't stopped missing Sukuna since you broke up and you wanted him so badly in this moment. You tried to justify it by telling yourself this was the last time for old time's sake and then you would really be finished with him. Your contemplation then transitioned to a vision of his date and you began to feel guilty, wondering how she would feel if she knew how low Sukuna could get. You almost brushed the thought off thinking Sukuna was yours in the first place but once he was about to open the door for you, Satoru's voice echoed in your head.

"Wait for me?"

Awakening from your stupor, you gasped and snatched your wrist back from Sukuna, Satoru's words finally making sense. You were dismayed at yourself as you almost traded your dignity for a little fling. You exhaled deeply and covered your face, tears collecting in your eyes. Ignoring the heartache in your chest, you steeled your resolve.

"I can't do this. If you really love me, you'd want what's best for me. And you're just not that. Not anymore."

His domineering presence disappeared and a bit of desperation was laced in his voice as he realized that you were no longer under his spell.

"Princess, please. I’ll do anything to atone."

"Save it for your next love."

You said it sharply but your chest ached as if you had just stabbed yourself with your own words. Tears ran down your face as you gave him a parting hug, cherishing for a few seconds the comfort you felt in his arms. You fit perfectly with him, his embrace on you snug yet tight and his chin resting on the top of your head. Not able to handle another second with him without sobbing, you teleported away. Sukuna stood there speechless, your warmth had left him and the rejection defeated him.

Once Satoru came back from his mission, he took you out to eat. He sat across from you at the maid cafe he suggested you both go to, though he insisted it wasn't because of the outfits, rather it was because of their delicious desserts. He ordered a crepe filled with strawberries and bananas, topped with chocolate sauce and powdered sugar, and strawberry and vanilla ice cream on the side. Your eyes grew in size at the sickly sugary and loaded confection and your sweet tooth ached for it.

"Why couldn't you have gotten me my own crepe?"

"I got the biggest size so we could share! You wouldn't have been able to finish one on your own anyway, sweets."

You shrugged and quieted your protests. Eating a spoonful of the sweet course, you closed your eyes and hummed in delight. Satoru smiled warmly watching you eat and then followed suit.

"How was the mission?"

“A cakewalk. I thought it’d be a little challenging because of the volume of incomplete domains but a first-grade sorcerer would’ve been sufficient. What’d you do while I was gone?”

You were in awe at his coolness and confidence he effortlessly exuded. But at his question, you let out a long exhale and rested your chin on your knuckles.

“I went to a club and saw Sukuna with a girl. She called him baby and they kissed right in front of me."

"Ouch."

He made a straight face and pursed his lips. You were apprehensive to tell him what happened next, but you weren’t one to lie or keep things from others. You sighed again, anxiously moving fruit around the plate with your fork.

"Worst of all, he tried to seduce me and it almost worked."

He leaned forward in interest, raising his eyebrow and looking at you intently. You nervously met his gaze, unsure of what he thought about the situation.

"Almost?"

"My mind was all over the place debating whether I should or not but I decided not to because I remembered you telling me to wait for you."

He chuckled haughtily and patted you on the head endearingly. You winced at his reaction, his unpredictability confusing you as usual.

"I said wait for me? I meant that I'd be back soon. I'm flattered you thought I didn't want you having sex with anyone else. Though that isn't my decision to make, is it?"

Your palm met your forehead, feeling a little foolish at your misinterpretation of his words. Though you couldn’t be sure that that was what he really meant. Regardless, you didn't want to seem desperate for him.

"Well, whatever. Hooking up with him would've been a mistake."

He nodded, taking a spoonful of crepe, fruit, and ice cream and holding it up to your mouth to feed you. You gladly accepted it, looking up at him and making eye contact as your lips slipped off of the spoon. He returned your lusty stare, telling you that he knew what was on your mind.

"Is this… a date?"

You innocently asked him, not wanting to get the wrong idea of his company.

"Yeah, it is."

You were surprised at the seriousness of his tone. Usually, he teased you by skirting around these kinds of questions.

"And I want to ask you out on another date tonight. Suguru is throwing a party! Everyone will be there. Let's go together."

"That sounds like a lot of fun, but you should go without me. I'm assuming 'everyone' includes Sukuna too."

A look of disapproval was shown on your face at his proposition and he pouted, voicing his objection.

"He might be there but what does it matter? Are you scared of him?"

You sighed in exasperation, knowing this was a bad idea. But you had already stood up to him twice now. Surely you could do it again if a confrontation happened. Though you would prefer not to put yourself in a situation like that at all, you didn’t want his mere presence to influence your actions. You pushed the plate of dessert towards Satoru to signal you were full and done eating. He happily ate the rest. You conceded to him.

"Fine."

"Yay! I'll pick you up at 9 then."

Later that night, Satoru arrived at your apartment an hour behind schedule. You were laying on your bed, hanging off the edge of it upside down when he walked in. He was wearing a fitted white dress shirt that you could easily see his muscular figure in and he had the first couple of buttons undone. Your eyes widened at his attractive appearance and you felt completely underdressed in your colorful shirt, baggy corduroy pants, and platform converse.

"Oh. It's that kind of party?"

His eyes lowered at your outfit and he frowned.

"I had a feeling you didn't have the right clothes for the occasion so I bought you something."

He handed you a black mini dress with spaghetti straps for you to wear. You took it and examined it, trying to decide if you liked it or not.

"You didn’t need to do that. It's not really something I'd buy for myself."

"At least try it on. Please? You can wear your platform boots with them."

You compromised and asked him to look away while you changed but he pretended not to hear you.

"Oh and Y/N? Don't wear a bra."

Your eyebrows scrunched and you pouted at him but you undressed down to your panties anyway. Satoru was obviously checking you out and you saw him lick his lips from the corner of your eye. He scanned you up and down, taking a bit more time viewing your breasts and ass that your panties couldn’t fully cover. You slipped on the dress and it fit a little too well, accentuating your curves and falling right at mid-thigh. After putting your platforms on, you looked at yourself in the mirror, content that you had at least one piece of clothing you were comfortable in.

Satoru came up behind you and hugged you, admiring your figure in the garment he had purchased just for you. His hands trailed the curve of your waist to your hips slowly while he pressed his lips against your ear, lightly licking your earlobe.

"You look delicious, sweets."

Taking one last look at yourself in the dress, and in his arms, you closed your eyes in satisfaction, your heart fluttering. He then grabbed your hand and led you out of the apartment to his car. After putting the key in the ignition, he drove fast, speeding recklessly towards Suguru’s residence. His driving unsettled you, but you were comforted when his hand moved to your thigh, giving it a squeeze. The drive was short and once you got there, you were on edge knowing Sukuna would see you tonight and would undoubtedly approach you. Your thoughts were interrupted when Satoru opened the car door for you and put his hand out for you to grab.

"You're welcome for the dress, by the way."

You turned your head and made a ‘hmph’ sound but then you batted your eyelashes at him and blushed, taking his hand and following his lead. Once you were inside and in view of your friends, you and Satoru unclasped hands, in silent agreement that you didn't want them to think anything was going on between you two yet.

"Fashionably late as usual. And Y/N! We haven't seen you in forever."

Suguru said as he lightly shoved Satoru. Suguru then embraced you tightly, picking you up and twirling you around. You yelped and Shoko came to your rescue, picking you out of his arms and giving you a tight hug as well. They both became straight-faced and asked how you were doing after the breakup. You chuckled nervously, putting your hand behind your head.

"I'm doing fine. Is Sukuna here already?"

"I haven't seen him yet. But wow! I've never seen you in a dress before. You look great."

Shoko nodded in agreement but then snickered after she surveyed you in the dress.

"Is it cold in here?"

Pointing to your nipples that were poking through your garment. Satoru and Suguru’s eyes fell to your chest and they both grinned. You instantly reddened and put your head down, calling them out.

"Stop looking!"

The three of them laughed endearingly while you crossed your arms over your chest to cover it. Shoko pulled you to the side while Suguru and Satoru began conversing with each other about their last missions.

"Seriously, Y/N. Are you okay? I heard Sukuna cheated on you and he's been seeing someone else already."

You sighed, a bit upset that your business was probably known by everyone by now.

"I saw them together at the club last week. It was terrible. Sukuna came with her but we almost hooked up in the back of his car while she was at the bar."

Shoko grimaced at the awkward situation. She put her arm around you to comfort you and you leaned into her.

"I just wanted to warn you that he'll probably show up with her tonight. And what about Satoru? You two are hanging out again?"

"Yeah, I'm slowly trying to reconnect with everyone I disappeared on when I started dating Sukuna."

She smiled knowing she'd be seeing you more often. Satoru and Suguru argued about who knows what but they resolved it quickly and rejoined your conversation.

"Well, you two should go grab a drink! Let's catch up later."

Suguru nudged you both in the direction of the alcohol. They had almost every kind but the only hard liquor you could keep down was tequila. Satoru knew that and had already poured you a shot.

"I'm only having a couple of drinks since I'm driving. I'll take care of you though."

"I can handle my alcohol, thank you very much."

You both said cheers and clinked shot cups. Downing the bitter drink, you made a face of disgust, wanting to cough it up. He then skillfully made two margaritas for both of you to sip on. You chugged it instead and Satoru furrowed his eyebrows at you, thinking he would definitely need to look out for you tonight despite your earlier protest.

"Do you wanna dance?"

You nodded and he led you into the dark room only dimly lit by red LED lights on the ceiling though you could see his intense eyes holding the heavens clearly. The faint light made the atmosphere erotic. He pulled you closer to him, his hand on the small of your back, and you awkwardly did a two-step dance. The unsynchronized movement didn’t fit with the music so he turned you around so your ass was on his crotch. He had to bend his knees a considerable amount because of your height difference. Regardless, he held you close and led your hips to grind on him. The slow swaying and the tequila setting in made you rid yourself of whatever awkwardness that was left.

"This dress looks a little too good on you."

He whispered in your ear as he began to get more frisky, one of his hands cupping your breast while the other crossed over your torso and rested on your hip. He held you close to him tightly, leaving no room between you two and wanting to get even closer. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, lightly kissing down it. You shivered a bit under his touch, sighing in gratification. Your hand found the nape of his neck and you held onto it, giving in to your lust as you felt his erection forming.

"Let's go somewhere else."

Grabbing your wrist, he eagerly led you out into the hallway where he pushed you against the wall, caging you between his arms. He kissed you feverishly, his lips smacking against yours and his tongue finding its way into your mouth where he brushed along your wet muscle. He lightly bit your bottom lip and you let out a soft moan, your body feeling loose and ready for more. Your hand trailed down his torso and over his groin, where you lightly grabbed his hard cock. He was a bit startled but then he smiled, kissing into you even more roughly, his hands cupping your face. You pulled away from his lips to lean over and whisper in his ear.

"Can we get out of here? I want you."

Your doe eyes and sweet voice feigning innocence made him drag you out of the house with a quickness.

As soon as you got outside, he gave you another impassioned kiss and grabbed your ass with both of his hands. You two were about to head over to Satoru's car when you heard a thunderous voice.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Satoru?"

Sukuna stomped his way over to you two and placed his hand on Satoru's shoulder. Satoru made a sound of disgust and brushed his hand off, turning to face him. He leaned over to look at the woman standing beside Sukuna and he scoffed.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your new girlfriend, Sukuna?"

Satoru spoke his name with a hiss and had the smuggest smile on his face seeing Sukuna seething with anger.

"She's not my girlfriend and what the fuck are you doing with Y/N? You're always getting your hands on my sloppy seconds."

You and Sukuna's date both winced at different parts of his harsh comments. This was probably the worst-case scenario.

"Don't be so full of yourself. Not a fan of your type, besides Y/N of course. And how could you cheat on the sweet girl? Let me guess, is it because you couldn't have the fucked up sex you want with her?"

The girl’s eyes widened, realizing Sukuna had cheated on you with her. You cringed at Satoru’s unintentional insult towards her, seeing how hurt and confused she was already. Your eyebrow raised at Satoru's comment and you inserted yourself into the conversation.

"What are you talking about, Satoru?"

Sukuna crossed his arms and shook his head. Satoru chuckled arrogantly and looked at you with darkened eyes.

"Why don't you tell her why you cheated, Suku?"

He mockingly called Sukuna by the nickname you had given to him. Sukuna sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead with his index finger and thumb in frustration. He didn’t want you to find out like this but he was caught and couldn’t lie anymore.

"I have some kinks I didn't think you'd be into. I got drunk and couldn't control myself when I met someone with similar quirks."

Sukuna spoke as if his date wasn't even there. She glanced at you with embarrassment and dipped her head down so none of us could see her face. You huffed in disbelief and you shot him a dirty look, glaring at him.

"That's why you cheated on me? You didn't trust me enough to tell me what you desired? You didn't even give me a chance to decide whether I did or not?"

"Y/N, what are you even doing with Satoru? Was looking like a pathetic puppy following him around for years not enough indication of how he feels about you? How hopeless everyone thought you were until you started dating me?"

He deflected your questions and you balled your fists in anger, feeling like you were close to your boiling point and about to explode.

"Pathetic, huh?"

"Yes, pathetic. Running back to Satoru as soon as we're over? You don't think it's odd he went after you as soon as he found out we broke up?"

You slapped Sukuna straight across his face, his head turning and your eyes glowing red at him with rage. Your cursed energy changed the air around you hostilely and the three of them shuddered feeling it. Sukuna placed his hand over his cheek where you had hit him and he scowled. His date trembled at your actions and she tugged on his sleeve to ask if he was okay, to which he shrugged her off insensitively.

"I don't give a damn what you think of what I'm doing, Sukuna. You cheated on me for an asinine reason and then you berate me for actions that have nothing to do with you. I never want to see you again."

You spoke jeeringly. Satoru tried to grab your hand to comfort you but you plucked it away from him. He began to plead with you. Sukuna smiled slightly seeing that he successfully pitted you against Satoru.

"Y/N, I told you I'd make everything right. And I will, slowly and steadily."

You rolled your eyes and shook your head in resentment. You were done with all of this and everyone, ready to leave it all behind.

"The both of you can go fuck yourselves."

Satoru looked at you with pained eyes while Sukuna couldn't even face you. You turned to Sukuna's date and sighed, putting your hand on her shoulder in an act of comfort. You were both completely humiliated and she was on the verge of tears. You had a similar feeling but anger was the more prominent emotion.

"I'm sorry about all of this. You really don't deserve it."

She was mortified and began to cry, unable to speak. You turned your back to the three of them and began walking away.

"Don't follow me. I mean it. You two disgust me. I don't know who or what you think I am but I'm not a fucking toy."

"Y/N, please…"

Satoru's voice trailed as the distance increased between you two. You released your balled fists and one of your palms was red and stinging from the vicious slap you gave Sukuna. You then put your hands over your face, groaning loudly.

"What the fuck was all that?"

The walk home was miserable. You trudged back to your apartment, walking uncomfortably as the cold bit at your skin harshly and the dress hiked up your thighs. You constantly pulled the piece of clothing down to an almost modest length for the entire thirty-minute walk. The scene between you four replayed in your mind relentlessly. You wished you could just forget the past six months.

As soon as you stepped into your apartment, you fell down to your knees in front of the mirror. You examined yourself, thinking that you didn't like who you were or anyone very much at this moment. You banged on the mirror with the side of your fist, shattering the glass and distorting your reflection. Your hand began bleeding, shards of glass still embedded in it. And then, you began to sob hard, trying to catch your breath. Your chest felt heavy and your heart ached beneath it. Your phone hadn't stopped ringing since you left, mostly from calls and texts from Satoru, a few from Suguru and Shoko, and a couple from an unknown number which you assumed was Sukuna. You doubted yourself and the people closest to you.

"Am I not deserving of the love I give to others? Am I really just a pitiful person?"

You laid face down on the floor in despair. Exhaling deeply, you were unbearably exhausted and the confidence in yourself had completely dissipated. The depression began to settle in and you fell asleep in absolute defeat.

Note: Watch out for fluff next chapter <3

master list

MIGRATING TO A NEW BLOG @baji-san

[kiwi--bot]

Patterns

Rating: T Words: 2,872 Warnings: Blood, Injuries, Al-An doesn’t understand emotions very well. Summary: Al-An prefers when things fall into an easily recognizable pattern. It’s how data forms, it’s easier to work with, and less surprises make it easier to remain efficient. Robin is a rogue bit of code in the set sequence.

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Indeed, it had been quite some time since Al-An was allowed to exist in any dimensions outside of their temporary isolation. And truly, Robin had done well in the fabrication of an Architect form that would suit their needs to relocate the pair off the planet, and return to their home with the remedy for the Kharaa Bacterium; for the Architects of their home world.

Unfortunately, following the reconstruction of their new form, Al-An is hit with the immediate problem that their supposed mode of transportation has... degraded over time; and they are quite lacking really on the resources department. Countless amounts of bits and bobs, here and there, that simply corroded over the years, or just did not operate further. And every small tick of a list of issues added up to an inoperable phase gate. Yet Robin-- ever so helpful Robin-- offers to help collect whatever Al-an could need to repair their ship.

“Always together, even if you’re not stuck upstairs anymore,” She had joked, tapping the side of her head in an emphasized way. How Al-An could only think of how true that statement was...

And so, life on 4546B settled into somewhat of a steady, even pace for Robin and Al-An.

Robin relocates her primary base to the facility where Al-An prepares for convenience’s sake. She wakes up late in the morning, and Al-An’s learned to get a cup of coffee steaming hot and settled at her nightstand at precisely 13:29. This in turn helps her wake up and become functional no later than 13:50-14:00, depending on how late she was up the previous night.

Following that, Al-An fabricates a nutritious meal of her choosing, and it’s set onto a table-- or, a section of the facility that’s been repurposed into a table-- and she eats before she heads out for the day to find the resources needed. (And always, Al-An makes sure that there’s a fabricated meal packed away in a thermally-controlled container for her to take along.) And like clockwork, Robin is back at 22:22 with her Seatruck stuffed to the brim with all the supplies she could find.

And usually Al-An has to check her for injuries or parasites and she just grins when they comment on how inefficient her resource-gathering is if she must hurt herself every single time. “Awww, you just like to fret over me, Al-An,” she coos as they utilize their on-hand medical devices to knit up skin from a rather nasty bite.

“I do not fret, I observe,” Al-An states plainly, and Robin rolls her eyes, only wincing a little when Al-an has to wipe over another puncture with that strange antiseptic gel, and the skin closes under the heat of that magic little tool that Robin has yet to scan. “And I know that humans are one of the most fragile things that get in more trouble compared to any living creature I have yet to meet.”

“I’m gonna talk that as a compliment, Al-An.” Robin flexes out her wrist once the wound is all sealed up, the only reminder a faint scar left in the wake. She flashes a grin at the Architect, who would promptly turn back to what they had been working on prior before they needed to patch her up.

At 27:00 or 28:00, Al-An ceases working for a short period-- one Robin requested so that they don’t overwork themselves. Of course, an Architect cannot really do such a thing as ‘overwork,’ but Al-An humors her. And Robin’s meal is fabricated and settled on the table no later than 28:50. She used to always request Al-An eat dinner with her-- and although they do not eat like she does, they sit nonetheless at her side.

And Robin will scroll through her PDA and read the day’s logs once again, chewing hear and there and really making an inefficient use of her time as she often does. But humans like to be that way-- leisurely, as Robin once corrected them-- and so Al-An will not question it again.

She always leans back against the stone of the her temporary seat, shrugging and shuffling and making a good amount of noise that could startle even the most focused Architect from their endeavors. Over time, she would unconsciously lay against Al-An’s side, and that often settled her, so they would not comment.

If they had to admit something, the pressure therapy from her body weight was a welcome one, given they did not have the proper tools to recreate such things.

Robin turns into bed anywhere from 1:00-3:00; it will depend on what areas she visited, and what the day’s events involved. And she will bid Al-An goodnight with a smile and pat on their arm, before she retreats to her bed. Although, she doesn’t really go anywhere, because her ‘room’ is just a small section of the facility adjacent to where Al-An primarily works.

She’s fabricated herself a bed, some storage, and even hung up some curtains to block out the steady glow of the facility. It’s a small little space that reminds Al-An of how Architects would furnish the habitats of subjects they used for research.

Peculiar.

And this is how their pattern would fall into, resetting each day at 13:29 with the first coffee of the day. Al-An finds the repeating pattern of each day, as Robin would put it.... soothing. Did Architects even need to be soothed? Historically?

No. And yet Al-An could not help but find this... calm, inside the promise of the known. Perhaps it was a way for them to deal with the fact that they might not know what would await them on the other side of the phase gate, where they would have to face their people, and answer for their mistakes. Perhaps that reason is why they can now find solace and even comfort in something as simple as a daily pattern.

How the other Architects would be baffled at the thought. The very notion of it was so unlike them all. Al-An would have to blame Robin for this, at the very least.

Merging with her cerebral cortex must have changed something in their emotional status....

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And with the promise of a steady pattern, Al-An could find each day predictable enough to not impede any portion of their work. They worked quickly to repair what needed repairs, to adjust what needed adjusting, to alter what needed altering.

Steady. Steady. Steady. Repeat.

The illusion of this pattern gets shattered when 22:42 arrives one evening, and Robin is not yet home. Al-An, logistically, should be business as normal. She could have gone farther, she could have had a small set-back, she could have gotten distracted. But when 23:22 arrives, and Robin is still not home, Al-An finds they cannot work.

The data rolls in front of their vision as normal, the facility is operating at 100%, and they have spent the better part of this week weaving data in such a way that it is second-nature. But their hands do not move, their gaze is transfixed on the door, and the progress of their work is stunted.

She should be back by now. She should have been back exactly 60 minutes ago.

Al-An cannot work. They shut off their normal programs and instead set up a long-range scan. It puts them off schedule immensely, but they, for once, cannot find it in them to care about inefficiency. It takes 20 minutes for the scan to prepare, and the entire time, Al-An keeps their gaze on the door. Like Robin will burst in any second, with a couple new wounds, yes, but here, and alive.

Robin does not enter the door by the time the scan is online at 23:42.

Robin does not enter the door as the scanner searches at 23:43.

Robin does not enter the door as the scanner searches at 23:44.

Robin does not enter the door as the scanner searches at 23:45.

Robin is not home as the scanner searches at 23:46.

Robin is not home safe as the scanner searches at 23:47.

Robin is not home safe as the scanner searches at 23:48.

Robin is not home safe as the scanner searches at 23:49.

Robin must not be safe as the scanner finds her at 23:50.

Al-An must prepare for the worst, even as they wish to leave as soon as the scanner reads her biosignature in the Arctic. No good in retrieving her if they do not have food, medical supplies, warmer clothing, an extra hair tie-- she always complained when her current one would break-- and anything else humans needed when they were potentially in distress--

No.

Robin is not in distress. The very thought has the Architect frozen to the spot, a flicker of something so unfamiliar buzzing through them. She is fine, just delayed. Off-schedule, off-pattern. No matter, Al-An will locate her and then they will both repair that.

They finish collecting everything needed into a neat pack, and just as they prepare to put the facility into lockdown, there’s a familiar faint splashing, and then footsteps padding across a stone floor.

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It is 24:17 when Robin Ayou enters the Architect facility she calls home with her arm crudely wrapped in a sling and her leg leaving a trail of blood. But nonetheless, she’s got the same grin on her face, and carries something sharp in her uninjured hand. She’s limping.

“Al-An!” She calls, her voice loud and full of excitement. She’s stumbling over her own feet, and Al-An blinks to her side to catch her with the beam of their mechanical arm, lifting her right off the ground. She doesn’t notice how their posture is tight and tense, instead waving the sharp object in her hand. “Al-An I did it! I fought off one of those Shadow Leviathans and I freaking won!”

Al-An does not reply.

“It tried to eat me, Al-An!” Robin’s arm waves wildly in her excitement, and she doesn’t protest when Al-An brings her to the empty table to seat her, once again getting to work on mending what is broken. Her injured arm has several gashes in it: some down to the bone, and covered messily with plant matter. Al-An removes those and starts on sterilization.

“It yanked me by the arm, but I was quick-- I stabbed him right in the eye, and I held on, because he was pulling me towards his mouth!” She grins wider, adrenaline masking any pain from the antiseptics, or how the beam begins to knit the skin and muscle back to one piece. “I lost my grip on my knife, but I grabbed his spine-- or whatever those glowing things on his belly are-- and I held on and kicked him right in the stomach!”

Al-An silently redirects attention to her leg, where acidic liquid had eaten through her suit and burned the skin-- not too horribly, but bloody. That is treated next.

“And then I must of hurt him bad, because he let me go, but not before I yanked and yanked on those spine things-- And look! I got it, I ripped one clean off!” She’s talking quickly, her body thrumming at the thrilling tale, and feeling so alive. “I felt bad at first, but then I remembered that he tried to eat me, so I shrugged it off, and he backed off after I ripped off this. I won, Al-An! Against a freaking Shadow Leviathan!”

Robin laughs, slapping her now healed hand against her forehead and grinning wildly. “God, I thought for sure I was a goner when I didn’t take the prawn suit down--”

“And why didn’t you, Robin?”

They are both startled by the tone of Al-An’s voice. And Robin finally realizes that Al-An is stiff, mechanical in how they treat her-- so different from the almost caring way they usually do. And they are glowing a sickly yellow color, their gaze transfixed on her wounds as the mechanical arm fixes up the burns on her leg.

“I-I.....” Robin is at a loss, her eyes now locked onto them. “I.... don’t know.”

An uncomfortable silence falls between them. Al-An finishes up work on her leg, and then does a general scan over her to make sure they didn’t miss any other wounds. Processing, methodical, even.

Something is wrong, Robin thinks. Even now, as they seem to pull away from the situation, the same sickly color tinges the edge of her vision. Robin catches their arm as they turn to assess her findings, and she doesn’t miss how they tense.

“Al-An....” She begins, but stops. She can’t find the right thing to say. It all feels wrong. Like anything she says next won’t be the right thing to say. But she tries with, “Are you okay?”

“That is hardly a question you should ask me, Robin.” Al-An’s voice has gone back to the same, even tone as when they first met, but it’s all off. Too even, too tight. Like there is something beneath the surface, just hiding and waiting to strike like an Ice Worm. “You should ask yourself that. You were the one who was injured. Sustaining traumatic injuries is detrimental to the overall health of--”

“Did I scare you?” She asks, and Al-An falters.

“Fear is not a concept we feel,” They state, and yet they now feel the sinking familiarity of it nonetheless. Fear. They were afraid, they had been afraid when Robin was not home at the right time. They were scared when Robin returned injured. They were scared when she recounted her harrowing tale, and they were scared that she’s going to do it again and they would not be there to pick up the pieces--

“Al-An...” Robin’s voice cuts through the swirling data inside their head, and her eyes are soft as she reaches and touches their chest gently. She feels.... awful. Physically and emotionally. How could she not realize that they were upset? How could she have been so blind when she’s normally so in tune with the Architect? “Al-An, I’m really sorry.”

“You have done nothing that warrants an apology,” Al-An states; but their lights flicker pink for the briefest moment. “You were simply acting inefficiently and radically in a way that could have resulted in several versions of a potential death, which is not uncommon for your species.”

Robin smiles. That unintentional insult was 100% all Al-An. She shifts closer to them, and then her arms wrap around them, and she leans her head against their chest, and she imagines she can hear their heartbeat through their thick, armored body. “I know, I was being an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m hugging you, Al-An. Never had a hug before?”

“Architects do not partake in this sort of behavior,” Al-an tells her. But, nonetheless, they mimic her movements, and their organic arms encircle her smaller frame, and having her close to them like so reminds them just of how tiny and delicate she is. “....Touching one another was not commonplace.”

“Then I’m gonna make it commonplace, and I’m gonna give you a hug everyday until I catch up on the hugs you’ve missed out on your whole life,” Robin hums as she closes her eyes, yawning.

“That would be impossible, given the length of your human lifespan,” Al-An corrects her, but they find the idea of one of these each day not entirely unpleasant. Robin laughs, and she just smiles. And their lights shift to a light pink as she falls asleep against them, and they return her to her bed: asleep too early for the schedule.

But it was alright to be a little off-pattern.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

And so, life on 4546B settled into somewhat of a general routine for Robin and Al-An.

Al-An has her coffee ready at 13:29 and she drinks it as she wakes up and rolls out of bed by 14:00. Al-An fabricates breakfast, packs her a lunch, and she’s out the door for the day’s work. And if she returns at 21:57 or 23:37, Al-An is not worried. After all, she’s returning with less injuries, and that is good enough for them.

Together they sit when Robin has her dinner and Al-An has their break around 28:42, and Robin reads aloud her PDA entries to Al-An-- even though they could easily scan and upload the documents themself, it makes her feel happy, so they indulge. And Robin leans back against Al-An without hesitation once she’s done eating, and they find the pressure nice.

And when 1:00 or 2:00 rolls around, just before she turns in for bed, Robin will throw her arms around Al-An for their daily hug, and she will hold on tight for a good few minutes, and Al-An learns to hold her in return. Perhaps if they held long enough, tight enough, she would never be in danger again.

And they find that perhaps, maybe... they like hugs.

And Robin fashions the Leviathan fragment into a necklace, that she gifts Al-An.

And Al-An wears it everyday.

[theyoutubedork]

“I’m always gonna worry about you, I love you too much not too,”

Masterlist

The one where you get the vaccine, and boyfriend!Harry comforts you when you get really bad side effects.

Trigger warning: COVID times, pain, mentions of needles, and LOTS AND LOTS OF FLUFF

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

A/N: ok, so I haven’t written anything for tumblr in a while, I’ve been writing on wattpad a little, but I’m lacking inspiration on that front, so I’ve been flocking to Tumblr once again. Instead of finding inspiration for the story I’m writing on wattpad, I’m gonna just completely procrastinate and write something entirely new instead. Obviously my brain has the best ideas so here we are.

WARNING: (PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING)

this is based off of my personal experience with getting the jenssen (Johnson and Johnson) vaccine, which is what inspired me to write this story. I had a very tough go with the side effects of the vaccine. I’m fine now and I am not saying that you shouldn’t get this vaccine. Obviously this is a slightly dramatized version so that it is easier for you guys to understand. These side effects only lasted for a few hours within the first 24 hour period of getting this vaccine, which is very common and likely to happen. It just knocked me for a bit of a loop, that’s all. The amount of pain I experienced was something that I was willing to go through so I can get vaccinated. It is was very much worth it. Please get vaccinated, and please be safe.

——————————————————————————

As soon as you walk through the door, you see Harry’s head spring up from behind the couch. His hair is slightly messy, evidence of one of his random, mid-day naps. His eyes immediately soften, looking at your face, which is twisted from the small discomfort you felt in your arm. You had to go alone because the vaccination site had told you so, and you didn’t want Harry to wait for you in the heat for god knows how long. Harry immediately gets up and gives you a tight embrace as soon as you put your belongings onto the kitchen counter. He lets out a quick sigh of content, being a bit more touch-starved lately, which he doesn’t really know the reason for. He finally brings his head from the crook of your neck, and melts at the sight of your adorable puppy-eyed stare.

“How did it go? I was so worried about you love, wish I could’ve been there to hold your hand,” he coos. His hand pets your head, trying to soothe you from any remaining nervousness, which admittedly, you still were. He knew that you severely disliked needles, especially when getting shots. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a flu shot or blood work, you always had to have your head turned away. Thankfully you aren’t nearly as bad as you used to be. When your were younger, you would scream and cry. There was even one time when you were super young, that an extra nurse had to hold you down like a stereotypical psycho-medical horror film. Screaming bloody murder just for protection against measles. Eventually you grew out of that phase, only having to have your mother rub her hand on your back to try and distract you.

Your mother did that a lot actually. Whenever you were upset, she would always give some sort of physical contact to remind you that she was there. Her most common ways of this type of affection was either rubbing your back or circling her thumb on the back of your palm. However, if you would get hysterical, she would even put her hand on your head and scratch your scalp or even run her finger along the bridge of your nose. She learned this from one of you day-care teachers, who used this tactic to make you finally fall sleep during nap time. Upon reflection, it definitely could seem strange to others, but for some reason your mother always calmed you down with these methods, even when you became an adult. Obviously she doesn’t do this nearly as often, given that you can control your emotions better than you could when you were a kid, and the fact you didn’t live with her anymore.

You are pulled out of your thoughts when Harry wraps his arm around your side to bring you closer. You immediately wince as his arm wrapped around your left arm, squeezing it tightly, making the arm already more sore.

“Harry, my arm,” you mutter, and he quickly lets go, scanning over your features quickly to make sure you weren’t in pain. After you give him a goofy smile, he chuckles and gives you a small peck on the lips.

“Sorry love, didn’t mean to hurt you.” He murmurs, pinching your cheek before grabbing your hand.

“Well now that you’re home, we can finally start that show you wanted to watch. I already went to the store and got you some stuff, just in case you get any side effects.” He rambles excitedly, plopping onto the couch before dragging you down towards him, your limbs already entangled with his. He adjusts slowly, making sure your left arm isn’t pressing up against anything too harshly. He pulls a blanket hanging on the backside of the couch over the two of you. You don’t let this distract you from giving him a narrow-eyed look due to his last statement. He sighs, noticing this,

“I know-“ he starts but you interrupt him,

“It’s very sweet that you went out and got stuff for me, but you know I don’t like if when you go out by yourself.” You say, tracing your fingers over his anchor tattoo as you continue, “But, you are an independent young man, who can do whatever he wants, so just text me before you go out and do that stuff ok? Don’t want anything bad happening to you,” you say softly, looking up at him with a worried look. He lets out a small “aww” as he grabs your hand, bringing it up to his lips, peppering small kisses on your knuckles before he looks at you with loving eyes.

“I know, you’re right, but you don’t have to worry about me love,” he says, wrapping his hand lightly around your neck, pulling your head closer so he could give you a small kiss on the forehead. You rest your head on his chest, facing towards the tv. You pick up the remote off the coffee table, turning on the TV to start scrolling though Netflix.

“I’m always gonna worry about you, I love you too much not to,” you say somewhat absentmindedly, since this was something you say to Harry all the time. He constantly begged you not to worry about him, and you always say there is no possible way you could not worry about him. Not just because he’s your celebrity boyfriend, but because obviously you will always worry about the people you love. People may see that as a bad thing, but it just means that you always want the best for the people you care about, and that you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them.

You feel Harry’s ring-less hand, (he must’ve taken them off when he went out so he wouldn’t face any more risk of recognition; people are way too observant for their own good) find it’s way into your hair, lightly sifting through it.

‘Harry’s hands are surprisingly soft for someone who plays instruments as often as he does,’ you thought.

Ever since he found out about your mom playing with your hair, and other types of physical affection whenever you got upset, which he found adorable by the way, he had started to do the same, except at any given moment, not just when you got upset. You didn’t comment on it, but you secretly revel in it. He always was touchy-feely, but this was much more personal and intimate, and the way he pays extra attention to you makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you.

“You still shouldn’t worry about me so much,” he says, knowing full well that he will never be able to stop you. He knows that you worry about him for the obvious reasons, and that you would honestly be a bad girlfriend if you didn’t. He is one of the most famous people in the world, at least according to famousbirthdays.com.

After a few minutes of silence you hear Harry speak again,

“You know you’re the best girlfriend in the world right?” Harry says cutely, curling a strand of your hair around his fingers.

You let out a small laugh. He asked you this all the time, as if he never asked you the question before. You always brush off this comment, and this time is no different.

“No I am not,” you scoff, selecting play on the screen, the Netflix logo filling the screen. You feel Harry tug on your hair enough so he could make you look at him. This action makes your face heat up like the surface of the sun, making you try to look away from him.

“Look at me, love,” he whispers and you reluctantly comply. You see him with a tight lipped smile that rested below the apples in his cheeks. His eyes were slightly closed from how much he was smiling.

“I mean it, I know I tell you all the time, but you really are the best girlfriend in the world, you’re always so worried about me, making sure I’m ok,” he firmly states, scooping your stray baby hairs out of your face, “you’re like my bodyguard,” he chuckles. You raise a teasing eyebrow and he begins to laugh a little harder at your expression.

“Hey! You are like, the cutest bodyguard I’ve ever had,” you let out a small giggle at this, making Harry smile even wider.

“Damn right, I’ll kick everybody’s ass just for you babe,” you chuckle, air-punching the air aimlessly. Harry laughs loudly at this, giving you a peck on the head.

“I know you will, lovie,”

*

*

*

Later on in the evening, Harry had finished making dinner, and you were sprawled out on the couch. You usually would be in the kitchen with him, but for some reason you just didn’t want to move. Harry didn’t pay any mind, knowing that the vaccine you got was a single shot, meaning it was going to be a more potent dose. This also meant that you would probably be experiencing more severe symptoms than he did when he had gotten his two shot vaccine. He wanted you to get the same one as him, but he knew that the place you were setting up your appointment only had the single shot doses, and that you didn’t want to have to go through two rounds of needles.

He was only away for 25 minutes, so when he rounded the corner to enter the living room, to say that he was concerned was an understatement. He saw you, sprawled on the couch, your face scrunched together in pain as you tried to get comfortable. Your chest was heaving up and down at a not so steady pace. He set the plates in his hands on the coffee table before crouching down to make his face level with yours.

“You ok lovie? Dinner’s ready,” he said in a hushed tone, placing his hand on your forehead to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. However, when his hand reached your forehead, he noticed that the hair was glued to it, your forehead slightly slick with sweat. You let out a small groan of pain as your response. He immediately placed the back of his palm against your skin, not caring about your sweat. Not a fever, but not too far from one.

“Baby why didn’t you change into something a bit lighter?”

“I was going to but then I just didn’t want to get up. Or...move.” You whined. Harry’s face softened when he saw your cute little pout that you do whenever you get lazy or tired. Or both.

“Okay well do you wanna have dinner then get changed, or get changed and then have dinner?” He says.

“I wanna move as little as possible, so let’s eat dinner and then I’ll change.”

“Ok lovie...now eat before it gets cold.”

*

You were barely able to keep yourself up by the time you finished eating, and Harry immediately sprung into action. He quickly cleaned up the kitchen and put everything somewhat away before he rushed back to you. He had to catch you slightly since you were trying to make it to the bedroom before he came back.

He gingerly helped you out of your clothes and tucked you into your bed. Quickly shedding his clothes, and slowly getting into bed, trying not to dip the bed drastically. You immediately curled into his arms after he turn out the lights, and you let out small groans every once and a while.

“It’s alright angel, you probably won’t sleep super well tonight but I’ll be right next to you if you need anything. Okay lovie?” He murmurs, bringing his left arm around your waist to slowly trace circles at the bottom of your spine, soothing you greatly. You let out a small hum of understanding before nuzzling into his chest more, letting out a small sigh.

“You know you’re the best boyfriend in the world right?”

[kaistarus]

Caught In The Act

Pairing: HinataxReader

Words: 3K

Summary: You don’t really plan out the consequences of hooking up with your roommates best friend until she walks in on the aftermath and everything spirals into disaster

A/N: I don’t think this is NSFW, but it’s heavily implied/referred to throughout? It does however have Yamaguchi being a little shit which is *chefs kiss* my favorite kind of Yamaguchi

Masterlist

The worst melody you’d ever heard sounded throughout your room, dragging you from a peaceful dream you’d already forgotten. Groaning, you attempted to block out the sharp ringing with your comforter, but scowled when your tugs were made useless by an unusual weight. You blearily peeked down in search of the problem and froze, your heart's acceleration jolted your brain into alertness.

What you discovered to be holding your blanket down was a whole ass arm across your stomach with a whole ass person attached to it sleeping beside you.

You tried to keep your breathing even as you grasped the reality of your situation-disheveled autumn hair brushed lightly against your shoulder and soft breaths tickled your arm. It’d be easier to admire Hinata’s content features if you weren’t having numerous flashbacks involving embarrassing noises, words you didn’t think possible coming out of your mouth, and several explanations for why your legs were so sore. Your face burned as you stared at Hinata’s peaceful expression in horror and jumped when the back-up alarm began ringing.

At your sudden movement Hinata’s nose wrinkled and he began squirming uncomfortably. He furrowed his brow, opening his enough to peek at you holding your breath beneath his arm. You could see the cogs turning behind his amber eyes as they darted around the room and took everything in past their sleepy haze.

Finally, they landed back on you and he gave you a lazy smile, “hey.”

Your heart picked up its pace at his morning voice’s low rasp, and rather than having any normal reaction to your situation you flung your limbs at him to shove him as far away as possible. Hinata yelped as he tumbled over the side of your bed, hitting the hardwood floor with a solid thump.

“What the hell?” He poked his head over the side of your mattress with a half-assed glare, punctuating his question with a deep yawn. It was hard to take him seriously with his wild bed head and half-lidded eyes.

“Your alarm keeps going off,” you answered lamely, trying to fight down the amusement at how even after he combed his fingers through his hair it remained a chaotic mess.

“Oh,” he used your bed to push himself up, stumbling a bit as he began searching for where his pants ended up. Your eyes widened when all of him was in sight and you pulled the comforter up to shield your eyes. “Sorry, I forgot that I have to-what’s wrong?”

“You’re not wearing clothes.”

“Obviously,” you heard the creaking of your dorm’s shitty floorboards as Hinata moved around the room. “Is that bad? I feel like at some point you saw my-”

“But now we’re in the daytime,” you looked at the floor around you and sighed in relief when you found a t-shirt nearby to put on. Now you just needed pants… “Everything is completely different when the sun is out.”

Hinata was silent for a while and if it wasn’t for the hardwood flooring giving him away you would’ve thought he snuck out. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s hard to explain,” you said, coming up for air after you heard Hinata stand beside your bed. He held out his sweatpants to you with a lopsided grin that made your heart do a weird flip. “Thanks.”

He shrugged it off, sitting beside you on the mattress as you wiggled into his sweatpants. “I have to practice with Kageyama in an hour. Do you wanna go to the dining hall or something?”

You raised a brow at his nonchalance, sitting beside you just scrolling his phone like things were completely normal. “You want to go get food?”

“Yeah, I’m hungry.” He gave you a quick once-over and smirked. “Why did you wanna do something else?”

“No,” you put your hands in front of you and ignored the slight pout on his face. “I just figured you would want to talk or something.”

“Oh,” he fiddled with his cellphone and stared at anything that wasn’t your eyes. “No, we don’t have to make it a huge thing if you don’t want to.”

“Okay,” you nodded to yourself. “I mean, it isn’t a big deal anyway. We’re friends and this stuff just happens sometimes.”

Hinata now faced you completely and he was giving you his classic sunshine smile. “Exactly, this is definitely normal for friends.”

“Right, so why even waste energy worrying about something that meant absolutely nothing.”

Hinata’s smile faltered a bit and you were too aware of how his eyes had drifted to your lips. “Uh-huh, totally nothing.”

“It’s probably best if no one finds out though,” you nodded to yourself, warmth creeping up your neck from the growing intensity of his stare. “Just because it would be annoying explaining this to everyone.”

Hinata hummed, tilting his head with a curious look that had you fisting your comforter. “So, hypothetically, if it all means nothing and no one even knows about it…” Hinata had at some point scooted himself a little too close for your liking, his face inches from yours. “There would be nothing wrong with doing it again, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at his challenging smirk, “I feel like there’s some logic missing there.”

“But the end result is pretty good,” he said, barely above a whisper, pressing his forehead against yours. You couldn’t argue that. Not with how your heart was beating sporadically in your chest and your fingers were already itching to be tangled in his hair.

“Careful,” you whispered, trying to match his overconfidence, “keep acting like this and I might just start thinking it means something.”

Hinata rubbed his nose against yours lazily while forcing down a smile, “is that a no?”

You answered by placing a hand against his cheek and slotting your lips together. The pace he set was much more languid than last night and you felt a soft smile grace his lips as he cradled the back of your head, beginning to lower your head on to the mattress. The moment Hinata decided to hover over you was when you heard the door to your dorm creak open.

“Hey, sorry I’m back so early. I forgot about our exam tomorrow.” Yachi shouldered passed the door with her back facing you carrying a hefty duffle. You and Hinata reacted in the only logical way-staying completely frozen and hoping for some reason she wouldn’t see you. “Did you and Hinata actually study without me or did you… forget…”

When she looked over her shoulder, eyes finally locking onto the comical scene you’d presented, her jaw went slack and face turned a deep red.

“Wait, Yachi,” you tried stopping her before she dropped her bag and quickly hurried out the door. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Hinata looked taken aback by your statement, “what else could it possibly be?”

You glared at him, kicking him off you and chasing after Yachi-before leaving the room you heard a faint ‘again?’ shouted from the opposite side of your bed. Yachi hadn’t sped-walked too far and you thankfully managed to catch her at the end of the hall.

“Yachi, wait,” you tugged her hand to slow her down. “I swear it wasn’t what it looked like.”

That made her pause. She looked at you dumbfounded with both hands on her hips, “what else could it possibly be?”

“That’s what I said!”

You spun around to find Hinata, standing in the center of the hallway with arms crossed and staring at you quizzically as if you were the weird one in this situation. You gave him a quick once-over to confirm that yes, he was still wearing nothing but boxers.

“What are you doing?” You asked him frantically.

“Helping.”

“Why would you think-” You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a calming breath. “At least put some clothes on, Hinata.”

“You’re wearing all of my clothes,” he said, gesturing to all of you.

You pulled your t-shirt out while glancing down with a raised brow. Huh, well look at that.

“I really don’t care if you guys are dating,” Yachi put her hands up defensively. “It’s not a big deal and it’s really none of my business any-”

“That’s just it,” you pointed at her. “We aren’t dating. Not even close. I would never date Hinata.”

“What?” Hinata looked down at you annoyed. “Why not?”

“Because you’re…” You furrowed your brow, trying to search for any of the reasons that normally would be easy to find, but for some reason your mind was blank. “Because you’re Hinata.”

“If anything that’s more reason to date me,” Hinata gestured to himself. “Look at me. I’m the whole package.”

Yachi’s eyes flickered between you before she hid a sly smile behind her hand, “oh, I see.”

Hinata cocked his head to the side, “what do you see?”

Your cheeks warmed. “You don’t see anything. You put that face away right now.”

Hinata began prying Yachi for answers while she continuously turned away from him with a mischievous smile. You let out a relieved sigh that it was basically over when a door at the opposite end of the hall creaked open and you were faced with a yawning Yamaguchi.

He carried his toothbrush and toothpaste loosely in one hand while the other rubbed sleep from his eyes. He raised a brow at you three, slowly working to process the scene before him in his still foggy state. Yamaguchi’s head tilted idly as his eyes darted between everyone, eventually lifting his toothbrush and pointing it in Hinata’s direction.

“Why is Hinata wearing boxers in the middle of our dorm building?” He narrowed his eyes further and moved the toothbrush to point at you, “and why are you wearing Hinata’s clothes?” Yamaguchi aimed the toothbrush slowly toward your door that still hung wide open and you could practically see the lightbulb go off in his mind before the devious smirk crossed his lips. “Holy shit. Did you guys actually f-”

“Shut up,” you slammed your hands over your ears. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Ouch,” Yamaguchi mockingly grimaced at Hinata. “That’s not a good reaction dude.”

“What do you-that’s not what-” Hinata stomped his foot. “It was a great time. Probably one of the best ones ever.”

“Whoa, let’s not get crazy.” You rolled your eyes. “You were alright, but definitely not-”

“Wha-alright?” Hinata threw his arms up. “The hell do you mean ‘alright’?”

“I think she means mediocre,” Yachi piped up from behind you with her hands still covering her smile.

“A little above mediocre, but…” you weighed your hands back and forth to signal that mediocre was just about right and Hinata stared at you completely baffled.

“Ouch,” Yamaguchi snickered.

“I can’t believe you thought I was mediocre,” Hinata furrowed his brow with a half-assed glare.

“Well, do you want me to lie to you?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Hinata, you almost came in your pa-”

He slapped a hand over your mouth with pinkening cheeks, “you know what? I think we all are mediocre sometimes at things, but with practice… uh… we get better.”

Yamaguchi raised an amused brow before another lightbulb went off. “Holy shit, so that means you guys were the ones who-oh my god, Tsuki’s going to be pissed when he finds out.”

“Pissed about what?” You asked after prying Hinata’s hand off your mouth.

“I woke up to a bunch of texts about how he couldn’t study because people were banging too loud,” Yamaguchi shrugged. “I’m a heavy sleeper, so I didn’t notice but he was not happy.”

“Holy shit, are you serious?” Hinata asked, sounding borderline giddy at the discovery. You scowled, smacking on the stomach to knock him down a peg.

“Hinata, that’s humiliating.”

“Oh, right.” Hinata forced a frown. “I am so embarrassed.”

“Think about it,” Yachi tapped her chin. “Doesn’t Tsukishima always wear headphones too?”

Yachi and Yamaguchi stared at you both quietly with wicked smiles before you groaned dramatically into your hands, your face was on fire while Hinata just laughed beside you, planting a hand not so comfortingly on your head. You knew in that moment your life could not get any worse.

Which was why that was the moment Tsukishima stepped out of his room a few doors away with his backpack slung over his shoulder. You almost thought you’d be lucky enough that he wouldn’t notice you, but luck wasn’t on your side as he glanced up, doing a double take at your group in the center of the hall.

It took him seconds to dissect the scene before his glare became piercing, “you mother fuckers.”

“What are the chances we all just pretend this never happened?” Hinata chuckled awkwardly while Tsukishima stomped menacingly toward him.

“What are the chances I get the sound of you moaning out of my head without someone killing me?”

“Slim?” Hinata squeaked.

“Do you think I wanted that bull shit taking up useful space in my brain?” He asked, towering over Hinata as he gulped and shook his head no. Tsukishima turned to you and you stiffened, immediately shooting your stare to your feet, “and you, forcing me to learn every one of Hinata’s kinks. I should take both of you outback and-”

“I don’t have kinks,” Hinata scoffed, turning to you to back him up, but you just looked away. “Oh fuck, do I have kinks?”

“That is not the point of our discussion, you pint-sized-”

“But aren’t kinks like a psychology thing?” Hinata looked back at you concerned. “It’s not pee, is it?”

“Why would that-I don’t know,” you looked at him warily. “Did you want to pee on me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean ‘i don’t think so’.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re peeing on each other,” Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just do it at Hinata’s dorm building next time.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty confident it’s not pee.” Hinata nodded to himself. “I really like volleyball… is that a kink? I don’t know if that’s how it works. Wait, can you combine sex and volleyball? That sounds like a kink. I want that one. Can that be it?”

“I would love to study your mind, dude.” Yamaguchi nodded in approval and Hinata just smiled back as if he’d been given a huge compliment.

“That’s not what I-” You took a calming breath. Hinata was going to be the death of you. “I mean, me and Hinata aren’t happening again, so no one has to worry about anything.”

“Wait, you guys aren’t secretly dating?” Yamaguchi gestured between you both with a raised brow.

“No, they’re hooking up.” Yachi rolled her eyes.

“Oh, fuck off.” Tsukishima scoffed. “Hinata keep your volleyball sex out of my dorm buiding. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Hinata saluted before a melodious tune came ringing from your dorm room. His eyes darted to a wall clock and his body stiffened. “Shit, I was supposed to be at the gym already.”

“I should probably give you-” Before you could finish Hinata was jogging down the hall. He returned with his backpack and you opened your mouth to point out you were still wearing all of his clothes, but he already had his lips smashed against yours in a chaste kiss. You had your eyes wide, staring at him dumbfounded before he pulled away with a sunshine smile.

The moment he processed what he’d done you saw his brain shut down as he stared blankly-Yachi’s giggling made a perfect background noise for his malfunction.

“What the hell was-”

“We’ll talk about that later,” he chuckled awkwardly, giving you finger guns while walking backwards down the hall. “I’ll text you or call you or something.”

“I won’t answer,” you called after.

“You will,” he said before he turned away. “Because I’m gonna offer you food and you love free food.”

Dammit. He had you there. You were a sucker for anything that wasn’t dining hall food. “Well, I won’t be happy about it!”

You heard his laughter chime before the closing of a heavy door told you he was too far to keep up the argument. You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring down the hall.

“How long till he realizes he’s in his boxers?” Yamaguchi piped up.

“He’s probably more nervous of (Y/N) than walking around campus in his underwear,” Yachi reasoned with a hand on her cheek.

“He should be,” you snorted.

“You guys wanna get breakfast?” Yamaguchi asked, “all this making fun of Hinata has made me hungry.”

“I’m going to the library.” Tsukishima left down the hall without a glance back at you and your shoulders sagged.

“He’ll get over it,” Yachi placed a comforting hand on your shoulder while pushing you forward. “Just give him time.”

“Okay,” you murmured.

“Hey, so what is Hinata’s kink?” Yamaguchi asked, leaning into your vision.

You rolled your eyes, “praise.”

“That makes too much sense,” Yachi hummed.

“Hinata would get off on being told he’s great,” Yamaguchi shook his head, throwing the door open at the end of the hall and welcoming the fresh air. “Well, next time you get to have volleyball-sex. Whatever the fuck that is.”

“I don’t think even Hinata knows that.” Yachi giggled.

As you tried to keep up with Yamaguchi and Yachi combining the actual logistics of volleyball to sex you found yourself admitting in the back of your mind that you really were all talk. You kind of liked that people knew about you and Hinata and maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if spending time with him became a regular thing.

Unless it involved whatever this volleyball-sex thing was, then you’d be fine without him.

[startanewdream]

Quidditch prodigy

Banner by awesome @the-dream-team​.

Summary: This time, when she tells Harry he will be the new Seeker, Minerva McGonagall says: “Your father will be proud. He is an excellent player himself” (and Harry knows it’s true because he spent years watching his father fly).

For @alec-lightwood-bane, who asked for a bit of James getting to be proud with his Quidditch prodigy. The only plot here is fulfilling your request :)

Now on AO3.

________________

From the first time that Harry mounted the little broomstick that Sirius gave him for his first anniversary, James knew his son would be a Quidditch player (sometimes he’d tell Lily that he knew that ever since he felt Harry kicking inside her, but Lily tells him all babies kick; it was not a signal, no matter how at that moment James was talking about Quidditch).

He is not surprised when brooms are Harry’s favourite gifts and, as his godfather, Sirius is more than willing to replace his brooms as Harry grows up, until, finally, for his eleventh birthday, Harry gets a Nimbus 2000. It is his first professional broomstick and Harry can’t stop talking about it all day, promising he will be a Gryffindor player in no time, discussing with Sirius how unfair it is that First Years don’t get to have their own broom nor play in their house team.

That afternoon, after the sunset when the temperature gets milder, they play a kind of five-person Quidditch, which makes no sense and have no rules other than Sirius and Lily are a team, James and Harry is another, and everyone needs to score a goal against Remus, who is a moderately good Keeper.

Harry spends most of the time trying to learn how to ride the broom, so very different from the juvenile models he trained before, mostly intercepting the passes between his mother and Sirius than actually scoring goals. It’s not his son’s best performance, but James says nothing, only ruffling Harry’s hair and making it even more messy than flying already did it.

Harry flies well, naturally, but as a Chaser he always seemed to lack something. He works twice because of it, and James supports him.

The next morning, James awakes at dawn for no good reason. He plans to go downstairs only to drink some water before going back to bed and just laying there, but when he arrives at the kitchen, he finds the backdoor opened.

His wand is at ready at once, but it’s only Harry flying at dawn. He stops at the doorway, watching his son. He really flies perfectly — and boldly, he notices, training movements that James is sure he didn’t teach him and that Lily would have a fit if she saw, long dives that end with him recovering from it at the least possible moment, loops in the air that make him stand thirty feet in the air hanging on his broom only with one hand.

It is like watching him doing an extremely dangerous dance, and James makes sure his wand is ready, just in case, though he feels it’s not the first time Harry is doing this. It looks too well practiced for it. 

And it’s not the usual Chaser movements either.

This thought comes for him at the same time that Harry picks up a Golden Snitch from his pocket. He closes his eyes and lets the Snitch fly away, waiting a few seconds until he opens his eyes and flies upward, standing very still fifty feet up, only his eyes moving, concentrated. James can’t see anything different, but after one minute, Harry dives suddenly. When he recovers from the flight, the Golden Snitch is secure in his hand, its wings flying pointless in his closed hand.

His laugh fills the silence of the morning.

When James starts applauding, Harry’s laugh dies. He turns to his father’s direction, his face reddening and a mortified expression arising there.

‘Dad — I — I can explain —’

It feels as if his son is confessing a sin, rather than showing his talents, and James doesn’t understand.

‘What?’

‘This, I —’

‘Well, I must admit I’m upset’, James says, his voice teasingly, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice this. ‘Next time, you should tell me’.

‘I didn’t want — I mean, this is just for fun, I don’t really —’

‘Flying without inviting me? I am so disappointed’.

Harry pauses, dismounting his broom and holding it unsurely. ‘You are not mad because I was playing Seeker?’

James blinks, confused. ‘Why should I? You are natural!’

Harry looks at his feet. ‘We always trained chasing. You are a Chaser’.

‘Yeah, I was, so?’

‘So I should be one. Like you. Everyone tells me I fly like you, and... I didn’t want to disappoint you’.

James shakes his head, baffled that Harry could come up with that conclusion. Well, there is only way to show him. ‘Mount your broom. Go on’. 

Harry’s eyes are big, not understanding him, but he does as his father says. James keeps motioning for him to go up in the air and, when Harry is fairly high, he transforms the basket of apples in the kitchen into a basket of golf balls, going to the middle of their backyard.

Then he starts throwing one golf ball in the air after another, and Harry understands at once, flying around and catching each one before they fall in the ground, even when James throws more than one at a time. His son is rather breathless when he lands next to his father.

James can only beam. ‘See? You could never disappoint me’.

‘Even if I don’t try for a spot at the team as a Chaser?’

‘Any team will miss much more if you don’t play as Seeker’. Harry lets out a laugh that is undeniably relieved. James watches his son as they sit in the middle of the garden. ‘I mean it, Harry. Even if you didn’t play at all, I would never be disappointed with you’.

Harry raises his eyebrows, eyes glinting with mischief. ‘Even if I hated Quidditch?’

‘Well, you are right, then I would have to disinherit you’, he says seriously, but Harry’s chuckles in answer tells him that Harry understands his father is only joking. ‘Since when do you practice as a Seeker?’

Harry throws him a sideway look. ‘Two years now’, he says, smirking when James looks surprised. It’s not easy to hide anything from his parents, and yet Harry seemed to have perfected that. ‘Ever since I found this old Snitch in the attic’.

He picks up the Snitch again from his pocket. The Snitch tries to fly away, but when Harry hands it to James, the wings calm suddenly, the Snitch resting peacefully on his father’s hand.

‘Oh, what’s that?’

‘Flesh memories’, James explains, smiling. ‘This is the Snitch I nicked a long time ago at Hogwarts. It was never used before, so since I was the first to catch it…’

‘It remembers you’, Harry finishes, amazed.

‘And I remember it’, James murmurs, letting the Snitch fly and grabbing it easily. Even after all these years, his reflexes are still good, he thinks smugly. ‘I used to try to impress your mother with it, you know’.

‘Did it work?’

James runs his hand through his hair. ‘None at all. I hope you have better luck showing off with the Snitch than I did’.

______________________

Harry writes home twice a week at least, and every one of his letters mention how he misses flying and then that he at least is counting the days for the first flying lesson, so he can be in the air even for a little.

James expects his letter as usual the day after the flying lesson is scheduled, but instead he wakes up to find a grey owl waiting for him at breakfast, watching him severely. Only Minerva McGonagall would have an owl that looks as stern as her, but then again James always remembers how McGonagall’s patronus is herself, so he shouldn’t be so surprised.

What surprises him is her request that he comes to meet her as soon as possible that morning, informing the Floo Network to her office will be opened.

It seems serious and he can’t help but think of something happening to Harry. His son’s owl is nowhere at sight, though.

He scribbles a note to Lily informing he will be out for a chat with McGonagall — it shouldn’t be news to her since they met at least once a month to talk about the updates in the Transfigurations field — and quickly vanishes inside the green flames.

She is expecting him when he arrives, looking over a few scrolls.

‘James’, she says, the weirdest of the expressions on her face. She seems satisfied. ‘Have a seat’.

‘Hello, Professor’, he says, slipping into the old formality without even noticing. He usually meets her at the Three Broomsticks, rarely coming into her office. It always brings him memories of his years at school, and he almost expects to find the Head Boy badge pinned to his clothes.

‘You seem tense’, she notes, watching him over her glasses. ‘Take a biscuit’.

He does. Her biscuits are really tasty, but sitting in front of her, waiting for her to talk, makes him feel like he has just done a prank and is about to get a detention.

‘You must be wondering why I called you here’.

That makes him grin. Jokes were always his remedy to diffuse any situation. ‘I reckon you missed me’.

‘Hardly, when I see a copy of you everyday in the halls’, she replies easily, almost smiling. ‘Your son is less loud, though’.

‘Well, he did get a lot of Lily’.

‘Unfortunately not her disposition to follow rules’, Minerva notes, sipping her tea calmly.

‘Uh’, James hesitates, unsure. It’s not normal to call a parent for any misconduct (or else his parents would never leave McGonagall’s office), so if she called him here… ‘What happened?’

‘You know we have some rules that are stricter than others. For instance, this year the third floor corridor is absolutely forbidden’.

Years of ignoring rules make James want to ask what’s there, or else go discover for himself, but he just nods.

‘And one of the rules we always follow is to expressly forbid First Years of owning a broom’.

‘Hum’, he mumbles, still unsure. Harry knows that rule (he certainly complained a lot), and James is sure he saw the Nimbus 2000 waiting patiently in their broomshed, so he doesn’t get what’s her point.

‘Your son is bound to break that rule this year’.

‘He brought his broom?’, James asks before he can think through it, his mind trying to understand how Harry got to replace his broom with a fake copy so he could smuggle it to the castle. There is a mild impression, but if Harry did it, he would be in serious trouble…

‘No, not yet, I was hoping you could send it. He told me has a Nimbus 2000, is that correct?’

Feeling like he is missing the point still, James nods.

‘Good. If you could send it next week, it would be perfect. I am still getting the board’s signature of approval, but it’s only a formality, Albus already authorized it’.

‘Minerva’, he interrupts her. ‘What is happening?’

‘Oh’, she stops, looking simply delighted. ‘Yesterday during his first flying lesson, your son took to the skies after some silly gibbering with the Malfoy boy. As you may know, Rolanda is quite loud about how any First Year that flies unsupervised gets expelled. Or, well, a detention at least, but we don’t tell them that. First Years are so inclined to follow the rules… present company excepted, of course’.

James smiles guiltily now. But even he, desperate as he was to join the team, followed that rule at least. Madame Hooch really imposed fear.

‘What happened then?’

‘I saw him through my window’, Minerva tells him, pointing to the window next to her, that provides a nice view of the grounds. ‘Fifty-foot dive, recovered without a single scratch. Did you teach him that?’

James raises his eyebrows. ‘No, actually, he taught himself’.

‘Well, he is a natural, that I can’t deny. So I made him the new Seeker’.

‘Hum, what?’

‘Seeker’, she replies, not bothering to hide her smirk now. ‘I know you’ve been long gone from the Quidditch field, but you do remember what a Seeker is, I am sure’.

Later he will appreciate the fact that Minerva McGonagall is teasing him. For now there is only bewilderment.

‘But — seeker — no First Year — he must be the youngest Quidditch player in decades —’

‘A century, actually’, she corrects him. ‘I checked the records’.

‘That’s — that’s amazing! I am so —’, he stops, staring at her. ‘He broke a rule and you are awarding him?’

Minerva looks moderately embarrassed. ‘It’s not an award. I expect him to train harder to compensate for the years the other Seekers have of advantage, and if he doesn’t seem to take this seriously, I will reconsider not punishing him — oh, stop smirking, Potter’.

She looks suddenly stern again, but James can’t help himself.

‘You have a soft spot for him!’, he declares, grinning. 

‘I certainly do not play favourites’, she answers, voice full of dignity. ‘I only think of what’s best for Gryffindor and —’, she drops all pretenses suddenly. ‘— you should have seen the try outs! Wood, that’s the captain, Oliver Wood, was crying at the end because no one was able to even find the Golden Snitch. And after last year…’ She shakes her head. ‘If it means we won’t get flatten out by Slytherin ever again — that annoying smirk on Snape’s face —, oh, well, I would buy your son a broom myself!’

James smiles proudly now. There was always a fanatical Quidditch enthusiast in Minerva and he adores when it shows. And from all he knows of Snape, he will hate the fact that James Potter’s son is in the team in his First Year, which is only a bonus (though that is a thing he won’t admit out loud).

‘No need. I will make sure he is dedicating himself, but knowing Harry, he is just too marvelled at being part of the team. It’s what he most wanted’.

She sighs, somberer now.

‘And that’s why I called you, actually. Considering your long history of disregarding rules, this Seeker position is not to mean that your son will get away with everything. I’d rather have him go through his school years without too many detentions’.

‘Only a few?’, James teases.

‘Let’s aim for one third of yours and I will call it a success. He is a Potter after all’.

James nods, trying for a serious expression that’s broken by the fact he can’t stop beaming. His son. First Year Seeker! He can’t wait until he tells Sirius.

‘Oh, I will talk to him’, he assures her. ‘We can’t let detentions get in the way of Quidditch’.

____________________

[baepsaetan]

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Jungkook

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

Ao3 Link: here 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, side Namgi

Length: 17.6k

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

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

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

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

---

“You’re not coming home now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jungkook!"

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

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

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

"So unsanitary...?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you love it all so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey Y/N."

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

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

"..."

"Y/N? Are you -"

"How much longer?"

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

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

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

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

"No, that's not -"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N..."

"Merry Christmas." You hang up.

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

Why did I have to say that to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he gets home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Y/N! Merry Christmas!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…not here?” you ask, dismayed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did - did he say why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It decides you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you barely asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But no Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook. It’s Jungkook!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could I not have known?

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

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

Is this your fault?

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

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

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

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

What do I do?

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what car? you saw Y/N today?

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

at the gallery?? when?

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

Straight into Jungkook.

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

For just a second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you start crying.

“Y/N? How’re you feeling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right next to your mortification, as it happens.

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

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

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

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

“Helping you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should have,” you insist.

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

Perfect enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your response is firm, albeit playful. “So, it makes perfect sense that they’re having you join! Kookie, you’re gonna fit in so well, because you’re one of the best, too.” And honestly, you’re not even just shovelling empty praise; Jungkook is a truly talented artist in his medium.

His smile grows, eyes thinning with happiness. “And – you’re okay with it? There aren’t any guarantees that it will work out, with it being a new company.”

The trials of the day – mostly made from your own mind, though no less difficult for all of that – pass through your head. The loneliness and anger and sadness. All of it dimmed if not gone entirely, simply because here you are in his arms, speaking to each other instead of covering your hurt up. “Jungkook, one of the few guarantees I have of anything is that I love you, and you love me. If you’ll be happy working with Namjoon, with moving companies, then that’s all I need to hear.”

With a low hum, Jungkook sweeps you into another hug, and you’re glad to give up what space is between you two. Enfolded in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, is about the securest place you can imagine being. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with the truth of what he’s saying.

“I love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”

“I haven’t even given you your presents yet. Here –” And you’re breaking apart again – although not really, because you can still feel the connection as a thin warmth snuggled beneath your ribs – and Jungkook bends down, picks up the item sandwiched between you two. “Feel up to opening it?”

“The mystery gift that almost broke our relationship? Yeah, I’m up to it.”

Nose scrunching, he hands it over, and in your haste to see what’s inside, you make short work of the brown packaging. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised with the first glimpse of the mahogany frame – you expected a painting – but as more of the brown rips away, you feel shivery awe cascading down your spine. Once the painting is completely uncovered, you clutch it with sweaty palms, well aware of how precious a gift you’ve been given. You’d recognize the style anywhere.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, “oh my God, Jungkook, this is one of Ayeong’s, isn’t it? You – you actually got one of her paintings!?”

The quality is unmistakable. It’s a detailed piece, zoomed in on a small, dilapidated house. Almost everything about the house is bleak; the colours are all dull greys, blacks and browns, the porch is crumbling, and the shutters over the windows are chipped and cracked in places. However, right in the center of the house, taking up a good portion of the painting, is a door flung wide open, and the inside is flooded with warm colours and details in stark contrast with the exterior. There are people inside, crowded around the entrance, laughing and vibrant, and they dominate the doorway with their collective presence. One person, the only one who is looking outward, has her hand raised in greeting, as though inviting the viewers in.

“It’s called Homecoming.”

Soft and reverent, the name feels like an echo, a reverberation of your hopes and fears, and against a suddenly blurry vision, you smile. “It’s beautiful! It’s so, so beautiful. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Do you feel like opening the rest of our presents? Or should we wait until tomorrow? We can grab your phone in the morning, too.”

Your fatigue drags at you, overwhelming even your hunger, but you try to rally, lifting your chin up. “What do you want to do? Do you want to open a present?”

His head tilts as he looks you over, a quick assessment. “I don’t have to. It’ll be nice to look forward to it later.” You’re absolutely positive he’s saying that for your sake, and it makes you just that closer to crying in gratitude for what’s in front of you.

Swallowing hard, you suggest, “How about tomorrow, then? We can…” You pause, scrambling for the memory, and then grin tiredly. “We can reset. Start over tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s laugh washes over you in cozy tides of amusement. “Now there’s a great idea. Whoever thought of it is a genius.”

With a chuckle, you carefully set the painting to the side, planning on figuring out where to put it tomorrow. As soon as it leaves your hands, Jungkook is there again, claiming the free territory. His grip firm and warm, he asks you, “Do you wanna eat? Or maybe nap for a bit?”

Your panic attacks always leave you drained, and the fact that Jungkook remembers is just another fond ache to add to the collection in your chest. “Nap,” you reply gratefully. “But… do you wanna lie down with me? Just for a bit?”

He couldn’t have looked any more solemn, or any more beautiful, if he’d tried. Squeezing your hand, he says, “I’d lie with you forever, if I could get away with it.” A second later the somber façade breaks apart, leaving a blush and a squirming, quietly giggly Jungkook.

With a snort, you pull him along with you, into the bedroom, a tightness across your chest that has everything to do with just how much you love the man next to you. “Now I know you were with Taehyung.” That makes you remember, and as you both walk to the bed, you glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Taehyung almost kissing you had to do with helping you out?”

As expected, his blush grows, painting his cheeks with a pale pink, but he surprises you by pulling you closer. With a hand under your chin, the other arm wrapped around your waist, he tilts your head up. Meeting your eyes with a tenderness that floods you with reassurance, he brushes a thumb along your lips, leaving a tingling trail. When it comes, his voice is hoarser than before, firmer. “He was trying to teach me something I already know.”

And then his mouth is on yours, steady and certain. Your lips soften against him, and time becomes languid, moving by the count of each breath that flutters against your lips. Jungkook isn’t demanding, not tonight; he kisses you sweetly, gently, conveying everything that he hasn’t managed to put into words. His body has a gravitational pull all its own, drawing you closer, and you skim your hands against his back, relishing the powerful certainty of his shoulders and the intimate confidence of his mouth on yours.

A second later, he sweeps you off your feet, and you gasp in surprise, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook places you on the bed, stands looking down at you with unmasked adoration. You open your arms, a wordless invitation that unwittingly bares the front of your top. His eyes fix on it, and if anything, they soften.

“I like your sweater,” he comments quietly, and as you laugh, he climbs onto the bed with you.

You take off the sweater in question, and your jeans and bra, easy and unhesitant in his presence. He follows suit, and then grabs your pajamas, placed as they always are at the foot of the bed. You wiggle into them, and for his part, Jungkook just throws on a pair of loose pants. The feeling of familiarity sinks into your system like a sigh of contentment, and when he pulls you against his chest, you snuggle into the embrace.

Wrapped in his arms, the smooth warmth of his skin pressed against your cheek, you let the drowsy bliss sweep over your body, and you relax, sinking against the sheets even as you curl closer to him.

Jungkook’s voice ripples against your mind, a soothing undercurrent taking you closer to sleep. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas,” you mumble. With one last faltering effort, you say, “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?” You feel the inquiring murmur just as much as you hear it, a smooth hum on your cheek.    

“Thank you for coming home.”