#ugh i hate the way capitalism has fucked us over

[alurite-l]

I hate when bitches try and feel guilty about resting ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY NEED IT

[dredshirtroberts]

it is not slacking off to write or create it is not slacking off to do things that are fun i am not slacking off or procrastinating right now i'm allowed to do things i enjoy doing for fun including playing games and writing and such

[nopointic]

really be on duolingo fighting for my life during the timed challenges knowing damn well it's not a good way of learning a damn thing for me

gamification of learning is honest to god one of the key reasons so many have been left behind in education in america but i'm not even opening up that convo again. millions before me had said it and millions after me will continue to say it.

as long as schools keep hinging "learning" on passing standardized tests and fucking over teachers who have to use games to install quick memorization in students so they can pass said tests so they can advance and get a simple diploma or move to the next grade, nothing will change about this entire set up.

nobody wins in this set up but the test makers and society that believes in money over people. and god forbid you're not good at memorization or games to learn. because then you're told well it's the BARE minimum already WHAT MORE CAN YOU ASK FOR. and then students are called lazy and dumb and told they're not worth it etc etc etc

so we have students obviously not learning. we know that. but everyone just blames the teachers not teaching. blames the students and their latest electronic device and social media site. and it's not that. those are factors yes, but it's not that.

it's the education system and learning. what form of learning is quickest, easiest, more "flashy and fun" so a test can be passed in the end.

i've felt sorry for children since i was a fucking child. i'm 31 now. it's fucking worst and i feel sorrier and i thought that wasn't possible. but my god does america know how to break you and lose faith you already thought you lost.

i guess if this was an essay i'd start the paper with a witty opening like capitalism, and why your child has contemplated suicide before, during, and after going to school in the 21st century

but like i said, i'm not writing another fucking paper. i'm tired. i use to tell kids and teens it gets better and i felt like a fucking liar every time i said it because it never got better.

so i don't say that anymore. i say i understand, it's not you, it's your school, it's the test, it's so many factors but it's not your fault. i say please eat that candy, eat that slice of cake, laugh with your friends in school, laugh at anything you can. i say don't cry over a failed grade. i say you're not just a fucking letter grade or gpa or any number. not a pants size or tshirt size or weight or hair length number or score for a team. a ranking in a class or ranking in anything. i say you're a person and your anger you have right now is valid. i say that fucking test you failed from that fucking review game you still did not get and you failing the information and someone is saying you were "spoon fed" the basic information to you, and you still failing a test means you are stupid? no. you're not stupid. and that person who said that? they're what we call a fucking asshole.

it's on the systems we live in. it's on that.

i guess i lied again cos this is an essay. but yeah. to students of any age, it's not you. i promise you that.

it's the format of style of teaching. money is always involved. who gets paid who doesn't get paid. who gets time and who doesn't get time.

it's not you being bad at games with learning tho. it's learning styles. so many. ugh. i fucking hate that one is prioritized over the other.

gamification is a tool that everyone cannot use. and yet so many education systems rely on it.

that's a fucking problem.

thank you teachers every where who are overlooked, underpaid, treated like those 10 products in 1 nifty machines we buy on the holidays while still being told they're not doing enough.

american teachers are asked to be parents, friends, guardians, nurses, fire fighters, medics, body guards, leaders, confidants, and yet told their job is not worth any form of funding or help. to just do it for the LOVE of the job. with no resources etc.

but hey! at least you might one day get a shout out from a sports player who remembers you one day right? or the paragraph of they loved their students so much when killed in school. you might even get your funeral paid for.

but working now, as a teacher, while alive, needing resources to teach your students now, needing a livable wage now to survive and have energy to keep teaching, you get nothing.

shits fucked up. so fucking fucked up.

i'd say vote in elections etc, but like i said, i'm 31. voted since i was 18. it has not gotten better... it's literally getting worse.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 348

Unity

Y’all (Mary (hi)), guess who has two thumbs and is forgoing the like four day break I had allowed myself because after last week, I can no longer fathom ever doing two episodes in one day. So. I AM still taking Christmas off, but every day other than that, I will be watching ONE episode (with the exception of NYE of course when I will watch over three hours of tv which will take me a stupid amount of time to talk about)

“Unity”

Plot Description: Chuck returns to Earth and debates with Amara about whether the world is worth preserving. As Jack faces a big test, Sam and Dean do not see eye to eye

Castiel BETTER BE IN THIS EPISODE. I will LOSE MY SHIT if the next time I see him is in THE episode, THE NOVEMBER 5, 2020 episode that out trended the United States presidential election

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I suppose no one died. All other universes were already killed off, and Chuck just returned to this one

Oh good. Castiel IS here. I hope this isn’t it for him for this episode

How many times has there only been one way to do something on this show and then they found another at the eleventh hour??

Dean. Dean, you know I love you, but for someone who’s hated living in another person’s story for so long, blindly following the orders in the death book Billie has on Chuck feels a lot like the same. It doesn’t MATTER how you feel, you say?? Boy…

You are one of his three dads, Dean. What, he’s not family because he came here later?? Come on…oooof, he heard you say he’s not family like Sam and Cas are (you’d think after however many months, my phone would have learned not to automatically capitalize the a in Cas)

Ugh, ew, Chuck is so fucking insufferable. He really only cares about himself.

Oh Amara. Oh sweet Amara (never thought I’d say that but here we are). You gave your brother so many outs, you brought him to a place where you could hold him captive til (I presume) Dean and Jack get there and then you’ll be betrayed for all your efforts. You deserve better

You know what would have been better than the entire British Men of Letters plot? Those twins where at least one was a witch, and one died and the other used necromancy to bring her back? What if something had happened with them after that??

Dean, you’ve met Eve. You think she’d still be hanging around Adam all these years if he’s like this?

EXCUSE ME WHAT?? Fine (not fine but we’ll go with fine), Jack passed your little test but that doesn’t mean you have to RIP OUT ONE OF ADAM’S RIBS IN FRONT OF THEM

Ugh…I hate that all Dean can say is thank you and you didn’t need to hear [Dean tell Sam that Jack’s not family] instead of ANY nice platitudes

Y’all are just gonna…FIND they Key of Death in all the shit in the bunker?? Do you even know how to use it. I understood a few of those words in Latin

It’s not a good sign to immediately see a—several dead reapers when visiting Death’s Library

Oh shit. The Empty is here.

You know, Castiel not being able to be on earth aside, Billie taking over as the new god is not the worst thing I ever heard

Chuck’s death book is so long comparative to everyone else’s

I’m so mad that Amara has to die if Chuck dies

Omg wtf. Like I know he’s omniscient and all but he orchestrated this whole Jack becomes a bomb to kill god and Amara?? To pit Sam and Dean against each other one final time, get the ending he wants

Oh it’s NOT just humans on earth, angels in heaven, demons in hell…people from other universes go back to places that no longer exist, Eileen just dies again…and what do you think would happen to the boys who should have been dead many many times over?

Just because you create new universes together in balance does not mean she’s gonna forget everything you’ve put her through, Chuck

I…hate that he just like…absorbed Amara

I can’t watch Jack die AGAIN. I feel like he’s just always doing that……..and Dean says he’s not family. That’s the most Winchester thing you can do

[w1tchm0ther]

The landscapers are pissing me off

Seriously, capitalism destroys everything. If it wasn't for making more money, the property management company for my road would not constantly mow grass and trim hedges and blow away NON EXISTING LEAVES!!! It's because the landlords (what a shit word and a thing that needs to be abolished!) here need a one-stop solution and clearly don't trust their tenants. I haven't even brought up the topic with mine (who is not an arsehole, I've won the landlord lottery!) because I know his Britishness will not allow him to raise anything with the company or trust me. Ugh.

Why does this piss me off so much? Well, for one, it is noisy as fuck. I can't bear it. It fucks with me for the whole three hours they're here. They also leave everything messy, so I have to clean up after them. Including my door, especially when it has rained before they mowed the grass.

It also keeps bees away. Just as the first dandelions and daisies are coming up, they cut it all down. Contributing to the death of bees. It may seem small to you. What can one road in London contribute to the climate crisis? But it's not just one road, is it? It is all the roads. So, so many of them. In London and in villages. I've seen it in many places. The constant landscaping, with fire and chemicals in the most extreme cases, doesn't do any good. It just makes it all look sterile.

What they don't do here? Provide us with recycling bins. They have finally removed fridges and some other bullshit that people (have I mentioned I hate people? Love humanity, though!) left in the rubbish shelters. Put the compost bins back up (which are never emptied; I've checked and it's been over 18 months) and now took one of the general waste bins out of order without replacing it. When I requested a recycling container from the Council, they told me to shove it because I live in a flat (maisonette, please! :P) and not in a house, so I have no business requesting one. What the ACTUAL fuck?

Oh, I feel like an old lady complaining about the everyday things because I have nothing else to worry about and need to get involved in other people's business. But it's not that. It's a genuine concern for the environment. This happening on such a small scale means that much larger things are happening on a grand scale. The oppression through capitalism knows no bounds and I'm done with it. I will find a way to get this bullshit changed in my local community. And then I'll find a way to lobby for the greater issues. My local MP is probably already quite annoyed with me for all those emails I'm sending her. But I'm about to get so much more annoying.

Anyway, can you tell it's my first day *offline* from social media and my phone and I have the capacity to think about these things again and articulate them? Yeah, feels good. I need more of this.

[sugar-petals]

🌹 Sub!SuperM 18+ HC: Riding Their Faces

↳ NOTE. These guys... I swear. Bringing some heat to the dash right here. Enjoy the SuperMadness 👀

word count. 3.7k | bullet points | ot7

WARNINGS. ⚠️  all explicit, cum play, latex, hair & sweat kink, bondage, spit, brat taming, toys, breath play, ass fixation going strong, dominant reader, femdom, degradation, hardcore, veins kink, graphic language, strap-ons, crying kink, clothed sex, some crack

⌜ 💋  byun baekhyun ⌟

▸ strength: energy

not for the faint of heart. baekhyun thoroughly enjoys you giving it to him roughly; it’s the leader being led, how sexy is that

i spy with my femdom eye, baekhyun likes the bossy dommes who bring him to his knees — quite literally.

case in point: hates seeing you hold back. tells you to just bounce on him how you want it. no fumbling around, it’s gotta be hot and proper.

whatever you’re insecure about he hasn’t even noticed. the more confidently you’re taking your designated seat, the better. this shit’s gotta make him all loud and squeaky, baekhyun can’t get enough of your wild and demanding side. “don’t you dare move your hands!” — he’s already hooked.

yep, he’s part of the feral squad. and louder than the bass in jopping for that matter

small as hell face but the jaw is sharp, you can literally feel it, he fits between your legs so well

endless breath. put your pussy all over that nose, grind on it, cum all over him. society will thank you for suffocating a millionaire

like seriously the breath play is off the charts. if he’s into asphyxiation you’d not be surprised

meanwile baek’s naughty hips keep on bucking, like hello there, giving you a cheeky 69 invitation

such a cocky little shit, whiny byun all the way from those ruined orgasms he’ll be getting cuz you might just touch him with two fingers at best, you know how to keep him on his toes

swallows everything he’s like whatever, almost chokes because he’s so messy and greedy to taste you. damn baekhyun

does a “mmhhhnnn...!” sound all the time, this guy has pussy all over his face and is still more vocal than you no matter what you do

eats ass, all day if he can, knows the most shocking techniques, wants to get crushed by booty he’ll end up admitting it. no matter how big or small yours is. because remember, that face is small, everything is big to him

the type to cum on his stomach way before you do. groans a lot, then goes on even more intensely, how the hell did he just leak out five ounces of semen and still manage a whole tongue workout

slobbery and all over the place, those are tongue movements you can’t even think of in your wildest dreams

baekhyun is never content just making you cum once or just really lowkey, much less hearing you being silent. he’s a moodmaker, he naturally wants to hear you, and see you twitch like the world ends for goodness sake

brattiest tongue ever, always pulls out the taunting puppy licks, tries to grope you all the time, he’ll get a rough spanking later believe me

also gets his payback from you being crazy wet, as beautiful and cute his face might be it’s gonna end up damn ruined

not gonna lie his voice acrobatics will turn you into a waterfall that’s coming down on him

you can punish him for teasing by going raw with your hips, mochi is in wonderland, seeing stars. put his wrists in a spreader bar and go off is what i’m saying, YOLO

since baekhyun annoys the members by being so hyper in the evening, they appreciate you knocking him out for sleep. and indeed baekhyun dozes like a baby, probably using your ass as a pillow or something

you’ve drained the shit out of him and um watered the flower that is his face, so

another cupcake down, mission success, baekhyun certainly had his fill not to mention lucky you having to deal with his wildly talented mouth ahem, moral of the story annihilate him with your ass

⌜ 💋  lee taemin ⌟

▸ strength: steaminess

you will come (heh) to discover that none of his lyrics were a lie

yeah he’s busy hot boy shit for his gal

taemin has an all-soft and plush tongue that’s super pinkish. it literally feels so good, how to ever get enough of it holy shit

it also happens to be very long so buckle up, he wants to be deep inside of you, serve and please you

probably the most slow and agile movement in the group, tantalizing is the right word for sure

prefers kissing and sucking over just licking because he’s sappy, good on him and good on you those lips are heaven and need to be used by all means

once you go on the pill, taemin will eat his own creampies straight out of you, maybe even two at once, it’s taemin c’mon he’s above-average horny lord knows how much sperm he’s hoarding

loves drowning it seems

raunchy stuff aside, he always dresses up nicely or wears the fluffy sweaters you like the most on him. what an exclusive ride, the scent of the clothing turns you on even more he’s pulling all the registers taemin is so docile and giggly

most sensual style in the group, will edge and give you goosebumps first before the main course even remotely goes down, taemin thinks in several stages hot damn he calculated this 

his face heats up so much it’s crazy, then again kkoongie capitalizes on all the warmth from the radiator so you might as well be taemin’s personal heating alright. it’s fun seeing him sweat like mad, see his neck veins bulge... ugh 

is gonna be a provocateur and try to nibble on your folds, man he just wants to get slapped around you can see right through this brat’s rowdy plan

might even want his ass played with while you ride his face so prepare for some intense contortions, fingering, butt plugs, prostate massage, the whole array, gladly taemin is flexible

always pulls it off hands-free because he’s a pro and well yeah he’s always tied up how um totally surprising

and any challenge he will meet that i guarantee you

he has immediately apparent shinee concert stamina, longevity like his career, taemin can lend his face to your purposes for the whole night he doesn’t care if he needs to chuck it in the freezer afterwards

bonus: if taemin doesn’t at some point wear one of his glittery masks for sexy time, somebody is probably impersonating him and it’s not the real lee taemin i’m afraid

so many orgasms you’ll stop counting, one blends into the other, even if you’re not moving much, how does he do it

that being said gee can we just appreciate how beautiful his face is, everything about him, it’s gonna be so sexy and soft to kiss him to sleep oh my god

⌜ 💋  kim jongin ⌟

▸ strength: escalating

just how industrious is he? dammit kai is the rent due or something, this shit is not a comeback stage cool down

jongin is needy as fuck, he’s desperate to taste you especially in the morning when his lips are all plump

since then he’s skipped his skin care routine you do the bulk of the moisturizing you see

jokes aside get ready for whimpery kai thrusting his face right into you because he can, should you need something to hold onto, his thighs are literally right there

constant high-pitched moans, some during quick pauses, others stifled, kai are you okay he’s really going all out 

so thirsty

if you don’t put a harness on him for this you’re missing out, also you need something to hold this wild slutty motherfucker in place

rock-hard throughout, harder than a goddamn superm choreography

also: sturdy chin that can take a lot, it’s made to be sat on

does a lot of the work, very active, main dancer vibes you know, you can be lazy and just enjoy

most continuous style in the group, gradually getting more and more passionate and nervous — the second you thought it gets boring he goes off, have fun losing your mind and seeing him basically K.O. himself

if he wants to make you cum, rapid tongue jabs deep into your clit, and his hard breath against it, no fair play in here

absolutely has a thing for your shaking thighs, like what the hell he’s blowing a huge load the more you tremble, and he’s goddamn crying from pleasure every time woah

those big ole lips are an absolute treat, yeah i’ll say it again his face is meant for this

wants to be called all kinds of names wow jongin, it just spurs him more

kai. is. so. good. 

you can most definitely film your own POV cam, jongin can put on one hell of a show. just this time it’s not his eyes flirting with the camera, it’s his tongue getting a nice rough treatment oh yum

don’t get me wrong he can deliver a romantic version of this, but kai just likes you being tough on his face he can’t deny it

uses his hands so you can ride him even harder, all his teddy bears will be falling off the bed like dominoes

might one day ascend to heaven while giving head, wouldn’t regret it

can do it until complete exhaustion you guys just pass out

being such an oral workaholic do i sense a masochist streak in him there? 

fucking typical capricorn

⌜ 💋  wong yukhei ⌟

▸ strength: appetite

first off yukhei is hilarious

it’s called eating out and that’s exactly what he does duh, he’s not nicknamed foodcas for no reason — the restaurant is open my dear, and he just served himself five courses (you)

gets super sweaty, forehead and down the neck, a 6′0 glazed bun can you imagine

giggles a lot, makes the atmosphere relaxed, loves banter before and after, an allround sweet experience

though beware, this guy is hungry. most prone to open his mouth super wide he wants to eat all of you at once

don’t tell kun how nasty he is, much less leader baekhyun, promise me that

and especially nosy kai should not hear about what sexy shit yukhei is doing in his freetime unless you want to trigger a war 

that being said the wayv dorm is still the safest place to sit on his face, so. it’s a lawless land there, nobody gives a fuck anymore at this point. yangyang would not even blink if ten murdered someone in cold blood on the balcony, that’s how the atmosphere there can be best described

lucas being a far more harmless himbo still ironically fits into the environment being so sexually insatiable, just how often are you going to fuck? it’s only natural to lose the overview

he loudly pouts and complains when it ends, wants to go on and on, you need a lotta stamina to get with this guy this is not a warning it’s a fact — yukhei really wants to tire himself out and give everything

if you lower your thighs just a little you can feel his dangly earrings. kinda sexy but also a safety concern i know i know, he’s not gonna wear them next time 

noisy as heck, wants to do well, always goes the extra mile to be sure you are all happy and satisfied with today’s dining

his tongue is... big...

we’re not gonna talk about that giant bulge either, such a huge tent in those pants it’s a whole camping ground. anyway

what we’ll talk about. his super soft blonde hair, we’re talking salon quality soft, that’s amazing to feel against your legs, it’s great to pull as well, or to twirl really playfully

though there’s not much playful going down when the initial inhibition drops

he’s not made of glass you can really get those hips going

sliding down his nose when you’re all wet... damn good stuff.

lucas is the kinda guy that has you grunting and gritting he loves your reactions, and how aggressive you can get. usually he’s the reaction king but like this? he can get used to it.

totally into having that kinda frog perspective it’s a whole new thing, he’s such a giant now he’s below you, the sight is just superb to him

less likely to have toys involved, but rather a bunch of rope for his chest, his arms, his long ass legs. yukhei is a bondage insider tip y’all

stable as a block of metal. if you go a little too wild on baekhyun he’s probably gonna break his mochi neck but lucas is a different calibre, this mf is made of giant muscles galore, i can only say one thing: finish him

⌜ 💋  mark lee ⌟

▸ strength: speed

talks a lot, even occasionally curses — instantly apologizing, but you curse right back, so this becomes the cussing olympics at some point, taeyong would bury his face in the ground all his parenting efforts have gone to waste

mark basically chokes himself

he can’t control his spit by all means jesus... in his own words: must be the drip then

next to taemin and baekhyun here we have the third drowning victim, mark is in serious need of multiple tissues or towels afterwards but that’s exactly what he likes

mark’s slutty side is not to be underestimated i’m warning you

that’s a healthy young man right here

loves to do quickies to get you off during daytime, if you’re horny just tell him and he’ll find a quiet spot, might do it on his knees rather than you riding him sometimes for practical reasons 

all options open, mark is flexible af. if someone can promote with nct dream and superm at the same time that’s the result

so yeah you’ll experiment with positions and even outfits, what’s the most comfortable to wear? 

few people even remotely think about this. mark himself stays in his signature sweater but the glasses come off, you know very well he’s a nerd without them he has nothing to prove lmao!

the clothes will be cozy but don’t let that fool you yet alright

this guy has watched too much porn to just keep it light and cute

don’t get me wrong you can baby him ad nauseam for the more gentle femdom moods

but at the end of the day mark loves some intense shit, he likes feisty girls who aren’t coy and subby, the more perverted you are the better, in fact he enjoys being shocked with brazen attitude and getting orders on what to do.

loves it when you to take it all out on him, rough is good. mark lee’s face is the rodeo range of super m alright, just don’t break his glorious jaw or anything, he still needs it okay

but yeah mark’s face is tempting to ride hard not gonna lie

his tongue can go so fast it’s at the speed of sound, no, the speed of fucking light. mark goes crazy on your clit, wait a few seconds, boom five orgasms rain down on you. 

it’s like an anime swordsman just lifting the sword hilt, walking off calmly, and one minute later things are in shambles like how? mark’s sword tech is just epic like that

he’s a leo what did we expect, show-off

in the meantime, RIP to mark lee’s pants. they’ll be soaked with cum, gonna be a bitch to hide your clothes from taeyong who’s always eager to wash everything by himself

that aside, mark really enjoys the position, he doesn’t need much else to be honest, he goes “oh my god oh shit” enough for you to know

thank god he’s a rapper, otherwise his dang technique would be dangerous, he doesn’t breathe for half a minute or so

enjoys you really doing shallow thrusts, super fast and sloppy, loves how much you enjoy it

needless to say: breaks a guinness world record for most licks per second, it’s that mark lee flow

long story short his face is your favorite spot he can prepare for a daily session

all that practice on water melons paid off good job markly

⌜ 💋  ten lee ⌟

▸ strength: allround skill

you know a pro by how he’s offering you a tall glass of water beforehand

and by the way he’s chugging one himself

champion, a keeper

you’re guaranteed to love it, ten is amazing

takes his time, gets to know your every inch, figures out your soft spots in a matter of minutes to seconds

everything for his sexy mama, service sub right here

take him on a leash, grind on his lips, make him kiss your clit, he’ll respond by circling his tongue around obediently

chittaphon might be a little fidgety at the beginning, but the atmosphere is not as tense anymore after doing it two or three times. 

ten is actually quite good cracking lighthearted jokes and showing his more extroverted side, he always gets like that with a partner. 

you have an easy time with build-up conversations and communicating in general, same with aftercare pillow talk

that being said the degree of professionalism this guy is heading for needs a lot of talk in the first place. 

ten likes doing advanced things that aren’t just intuitively understood, you need to exchange yourself a lot

through trial and error you figure out how to incorporate sex toys into the little routine you have going on

the pleasure will be so intense you’ll never want anything else fuck

ten is also down for a lot of moving around, some athletic shit

you’ll go from bouncing on his dick to smothering his face back and forth pretty much, let’s see how fast you’re gonna bust a huge nut like that my bet is five minutes

those like “oh... ah—” moans are just angelic

since he focuses so much on your erogenous zones and always keeps his hands involved, ten is always guaranteed to have you breaking a major sweat

ten does not like to eat any fruits, they say. well that’s true, because he’s too busy eating you that is. boy can basically retire from citizenhood, he’s that busy between your legs. 

enough fruit juice for an entire week impending, don’t worry about his nutrients, this is also a form of diet.

uses his chin, his cheeks, the nose especially, the damn nose it’s perfectly shaped

wants you to really ride him hard, and fast, no holds barred at all, going so feral he’ll be squeezing his eyes shut

sometimes his hair gets in the way, it’s just so damn long. the result: hair ties for face-sitting, always on his wrist

among all members, buries his face the deepest, turns him on so much

always makes sure you’re both washed up, no impromptu sessions. ten is a hygiene priest and he’s right

the mattress is kinda bouncy and he always uses his favorite soft pillow under his head so you can definitely take mister ten lee to pound town like work your hips give it to him

in case he survives i send my congrats, you got yourself the right guy, terrific choice queen

⌜ 💋  lee taeyong ⌟

▸ strength: ideas

how much more religiously can he eat you out, he treats this like the best reward he can get

as you can probably tell by now, all the lee surname members are definitely a certain brand and clan of highly distinguished pussy eaters like, these guys are a fucking gang like... well taeyong is no different

reckless abandon oral, eats you like it’s the last day, even death fears lee taeyong when he’s in giving head mode

you might be showering together beforehand and be all shy and kissy like it’s puppy love. but that is all for naught when the tongue of god is unleashed and taeyong gets himself as messed up as he can

yeah i like the thought of god being incarnated as kinky taeyong begging to have his mouth spit and cummed in it just makes sense

very deep mumbles, very hard breathing, those veiny hands on your waist, he wants to make you feel good so bad, fuck he’s so sexy

intense facial expressions, need i say more

also um... he likes to be... threatened. he’s the student you’re the teacher, strict as hell surveying his every move, the more you yell at him the harder he gets, jesus christ he has a thing for you acting mad and shit

taeyong doesn’t even need you to pull off your underwear, he’s gone get through any type of fabric with that leaking mouth

let’s just say he likes to experiment with innovative techniques... anyway, taeyong is a nasty fucking freak, he’s a grade A hoe, you never know what to expect

one time he just licks like a shy doe, the next second slurping explosion 5000

imagine whipping his thighs with a riding crop while sitting right on that ultra gorgeous elven prince face like

taeyong is almost always getting super emotional. he sheds even more tears than kai, like at some point you’ll develop a crying kink because of him SOS

nervous as hell, shaky hands. that can easily be fixed sir let’s tie em up

has you moaning nonstop, he’s so engaged and so dead-on with his movements. don’t be surprised if this damned man has your eyes almost falling out

beware, this guy is into full-on sensual deprivation as well. blindfolds are only the start. 

you might end up with a whole lotta black latex involved, who knows, a whole gimp on him he’s down for that, he learned from ten what it is blame chittaphon’s vast kinky knowledge

even better: while you’re grinding on him, taeyong likes you pumping his cock with a fleshlight with zero mercy until he yelps in tiny oops

hell he might ask you to roughly fuck his face with a strap and then ride it, the mister likes double treats huh

then again: wants it to be degrading and dirty and intense on some days, and really wholesome and romantic on others

especially aftercare will be sweet and dulcet, you take care of him, pepper him with kisses for being such a dutiful boy.

looks pretty no matter what. maybe he’s born with it maybe it’s tyongbelline. yeah just how handsome is that face and hair like... t’yongreal paris in full splendor

long story short he’s an oral deity. i rest my case howdy and goodbye see you next time aye

superm masterlist

© submissive-bangtan 2017-2021. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions fictional.

[stay-midnight]

Royals. I

Hyunjin x Male Reader

(Late Hyunjin Day Special)

a/n: Look at me and my late ass post again 💀, Anyways, this would be split up into two or tbree parts cause it’s gonna be a bit long than my other fics. So enjoy this for now 🤧 Smut would be on the second part which would be posted in a week or two (No promises though cuz 🤡)

Things to note: Royal AU!, Insult Fight, Implied Changsung (BinxSung), All of skz is here/mentioned, Implied Hookups, TXT is mentioned, Y/N’s a bit of a dick, Hyunjin is barely mentioned here yet, Minho is also a bit of dick, flirty Minho, Minho and Y/N tension, maybe some Seungmin x Y/N here and there too-. Prince! Felix, Jeongin, Changbin, Jisung, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Y/N and Knights! Minho and Chan. Y/N’s last name here is "Hyangsu"

W.C - 2.9K

A prince of the Hwang Kingdom is having their 21st birthday and you were invited, you were a bit salty about this since you really just wanted to relax after these past weeks of taking different lessons from your oh-so-called studious teacher.

As a prince of Hyangsu Kingdom, you were called to attend the Hwang Prince’s birthday ball, and attending this party was of your at most displeasure since you just wanted to have a relaxing break from your studies.

It was a 21st birthday after all, the age where you’re supposed to find a possible suitor and you just didn’t want to see girls fawning over someone.

You sighed in annoyance as your butler comes rushing with different clothes from your wardrobe, ranging from the royal-tailored attire, elegant clothing to a more casual one.

“Just pick me something that looks presentable as Prince, please.” you mumble to him as you glared him down causing him to tremble at your passive-aggressive tone.

You didn’t even know why they’re so serious about this, you’ve went to many royal banquet and events before, and none of them have ever got your parents or workers so.... worked up.

Is it because the Hwang Kingdom was one of the most powerful in the continent? You wanted to scoff at that thought but you may not be wrong.

In the end of playing a game of picking clothes with your butler, he picked a white suit with gold lines tattered over it, it had a gold plating at the shoulder, a red silk belt matching with the red silk long half-blouse, and white pants accompanied by white boots with a red sole.

After getting dressed you walked down to the lounge, waiting for the caravan to arrive.

You were a bit rude and snappy to people, you hated if they interrupted you one bit, not to mention you were sarcastic and people find it hard to win arguments about you. The only things people really liked about you are your looks and brains, you actually had a brain, unlike those snobby rich prince and princesses — who thinks they own the whole world, and the only aspect that are important to them are looks and money.

You sigh as you wait for the royal caravan to arrive.

. . . .

After minutes and minutes of waiting, “Sire?! The caravan is here, the carriage you are going to stay in is ready outside the palace gates.” your butler said fast, fixing his tie and cleaning his monocle afterwards.

You nodded and stood up to walk over to the gates, without command or words exchanged — the guards opened it as soon as they saw you walk down the path. Bowing respectfully at your presence which you answered with a simple “Thank you.”

You hum at the sight of the royal carriage — colored white with intricate designs and patterns made with real gold and of course, the family crest at the side of it.

A knight in a silver suddenly came out of the royal carriage, removing his helmet and smiling as he waved at you.

You let out a small smile back to him, Ah, the one and only Lee Minho, “Minho.” you spoke, reaching out to shake his hand, to which he gladly obliged.

“Y/N. Always a pleasure to see the prince. Well, if you were a bit more excited about this.” He teased, letting out a few snorts. Petting your head while constantly laughing amusedly.

“I’ll stick a fork in your eye one of these days, you stupid knight.” You gave him a death glare as a warning.

“Ah, Prince, you’re so kind~” he grinned, winking at you too, you rolled your eyes at his behaviour. He was always like this, flirty and sometimes egotistic. You didn’t mind it though since he is an amazing duelist and mentor. He isn’t a King’s guard for no reason.

But one day, his cocky attitude is gonna bite him in the ass.

You grumbled and moved forward to the royal carriage, “Lino, you should move, we can’t be late remember?” You tsked, giving Minho a smirk.

“Whatever.” He spoke up in an sassy tone, you snorted at him, to which he glared at you.

He entered inside the carriage, with you slowly following right after.

After entering inside, you sat down at one side while Minho sat near you. It was spacious inside as expected and a small window was also in place.

You had no interest in staying awake for 3 hours during the ride so you decided to take a nap.

~

“You could use my shoulder, you know?” He teased, patting his shoulder while smirking at you.

“Shut up.” you mumble as you shifted a bit so your head could rest more comfortably against the wall.

As much as you wanted to just sleep laying down at the long couch-like thingy where you’re sat at, you can’t because this stupid knight is watching you.

And the last thing you want is him, teasing you for being less than ‘formal’.

Slowly, the sounds around you seem to deafen itself out causing you to relax your shoulders and fall asleep regardless whether Minho is there watching your every move.

~

Opening your eyes as you felt someone poke your cheek, your eyes drifted slowly to the side. You were eye to eye with the knight, faces inches apart.

Your recently droopy eyes from sleeping — shot open in panic, “W-What are you doing!” you stuttered, leaning back from him which made him grin.

“We’re at the city, prince~” He pets your hair, running his hand through it softly.

You glowered and slapped his hand away, “Ugh, keep your hands to yourself, Lino.” you tried to glare the knight down.

“Ah, Feisty.” he smiled back at you to which you responded with a scowl making him laugh loudly.

“No need to be so aggressive~” Minho winked making you just look away and give up, you ignored him and looked out through the window, finding the surrounding endearing.

The loud chattering from the outside is muffled by the walls of the carriage, from at first glance, this was a very happy city.

It has a warm and vibrant tone to it.

. . .

The carriage comes to a sudden halt after riding in what seems to be a hill due to how it felt riding it earlier, the ground was sloped upwards.

The coachman driving the carriage suddenly spoke up, “We’re here, sire.” he spoke up, muffled by the wooden walls but you caught it.

With a sigh, you opened the door and slowly stepped down — your eyes widening at the sight of the towering castle.

It had a wonderful structure, the stone bricks perfectly fit into one another and of course the Hwang family crest adorned the flags that were raised.

Your kingdom’s castle was in no means small but it pales in comparison to that.

Looking around at the surroundings, you saw that a lot of royals were around, some you recognized and some that you had no idea where they came from.

You looked far and noticed the view of the capital at the city which you saw while taking a ride.

.

“...Prince Y/N.” After getting lost in a little bubble after staring at the refreshing view, Minho was nudging your shoulder.

“Hm? What is it?” you said, looking at him with raised eyebrows as you fixed the tie of your suit.

He rolled his eyes, “Did you even hear what I said?” he glared, tapping his foot on the ground multiple times.

“Would I be asking you if I did?” you shot back, clicking your tongue in annoyance as you waited for his answer.

He groaned at your attitude, “You have to sign up to enter the castle. Lose the attitude too, prince.” he said in a careless tone, looking at you with his icy glare.

“Who are you to talk like that to me, knight..?” you scowled at him as you stood your ground firmly.

What was happening now was in contrast to earlier, this was a more serious battle between you and Minho. These were times were usually one of the houseworkers back at your kingdom, steps in to stop both of you and succeeded most of the time.

To be honest though, this fight shouldn't escalate at all.

. . .

From the distance though, someone was watching both of you in amusement, “The party hasn’t even started and they’re bickering all ready.”

“Chan if you could stop them, please?” The man with long black hair commanded to the person next to him.

The knight fixed his posture and nodded, “Of course, my prince.”

“You can call me by my name, you know? We’ve been friends for a long time.” the long-haired man chuckled.

“Still need to use honorifics, sire.” the shorter smiled at the taller before leaving to stop the heated glare-down and exchange of insults at the entrance.

He took one last glance at the royal that was bickering with a knight, finding him amusing but at the same time, he found him interesting.

“Might need to keep an eye on that one.” he hummed to himself before going back inside the castle.

. . .

Minho just recently called you a brat and undeserving of being called a prince of your kingdom, he even mentioned your brother, the crown prince — next in line to the throne — he says of how your brother is just better than you in every way. This sends a devastating pang to your heart as this was not only hurtful to your pride but in a way, he also disregards all your hard work.

“Fuck you. You have no rights to tell me this. You are not my brother nor my parents. You are merely a fucking knight!” you said, shouting the last part.

Your own eyes are tinted with anger, wanting to choke the life out of your escorting knight.

“What, isn’t what all I said was t—”

An applaud was heard from the near distance, cutting Lino off and causing your head to turn to the source of sound.

The man with the curly locks and a pretty face bowed to your direction, “The opening ceremony of the party is starting soon, Prince Hyangsu Y/N. I suggest you sign the guest book and head on inside.” he smiles at you, dimples shown causing you go soften your look.

“While you,” he said sighing after, pointing to Minho with a finger.

“...Fellow knight, let’s chit chat for a bit.” he coughed and grabbed Minho’s hand — dragging him away despites the struggling knight's protest.

You looked around and noticed some of the royals still outside, staring at you with a hint of disappointment probably because of your fight with Minho.

You grumbled, annoyed and angry at the disrespectful knight — you'll most likely have to talk with Minho after this god-forsaken party.

. . .

A yawn almost slipped out of your mouth as the host of the party or ball, at this point you question which is it. The speech lacked any entertainment of the sorts causing you to just listen with half-lidded eyes.

Then came the introduction of the Prince that is having their born day.

A tall man suddenly came out of the curtains, aura filled with confidence and pride, gleaming and filling the room. You inspected his face and not gonna lie, he was indeed pretty, prettier than most princes you have seen — Long black locks neatly tied up in a ponytail, alluring eyes, thick and kissable li— You snapped out of your little bubble after noticing that you were checking the Hwang, this is not good.

You turned away from the center of attention and looked for your small group of friends but felt as if someone was boring holes into your skull.

Turning back, only to see no one staring at you but instead just the continuous blah blah blah’s by the Hwang Prince.

Sighing, you continue to scout the palace room for any signs of a certain fox-eyed brat, someone who dressed too dark and a ray of sunshine.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance when you still haven’t spotted the trio.

. . .

The Prince finally stopped talking and just announced that the dance will start in about an hour, giving his guests — free time to converse with one another.

After going through a sea of screaming princesses that want to marry him, you sighed in relief and just wished to leave this place. That is, until you finally caught a glimpse of a familiar royal. Finally.

.

You poked the shoulder of the foxy prince which startled him, almost causing him to spill his red drink over his royal wear. “God, Y/N, couldn’t you just approach me like a normal person.” he tutted.

Then returned his dimpled smile, he hugged you with one hand unable to engulf with his arms due to the drink he was holding.

“I thought you didn’t go to this clownfest.” you sighed, your words having a sarcastic tone.

“Me? Yang Jeongin wouldn’t miss a ball, especially one that is hosted by one of the richest kingdoms.” he laughed, taking a sip of his drink.

“Is that wine or juice? Also, why are you talking in third person?” you stared at him with confusion.

“This is red water.” he sassed mockingly causing you to roll your eyes and flick his forehead a bit too hard with your index finger.

“Ow!” Jeongin squinted his eyes at you.

He pulls on your ear at payback which you took easily before yawning and looking at the clock impatiently. You wanted to return home and sleep, and also give Minho a lecture.

“Where’s Bin and Lix?” you piped up before taking a seat at the small seat near a pillar, curiously scouting the again for signs of them.

He sighed and sat down right next to you, “Felix-hyung is hunting for more exotic food, since he liked the Shark meat a bit too much and well...” he trailed off, taking a sip of his drink and clearing his throat.

“Bin-hyung is getting flirted slash hitted on again by Prince Jisung of the Han Kingdom. I thought the he already gave up but nope. He still pursuing the Bin booty.” Jeongin chuckled, calling over a roaming waiter for a refill to which the worker happily obliged

You laughed at that since Han has been shooting hearts at Changbin for a long time and always had flirted with him at different parties. Changbin had always rejected his advances though.

“Also they sent a new representative from the Kim kingdom. I’ve never seen him before. Looks cute though, might be your type.” Jeongin said, nudging your shoulders and pointing at a specific direction. Your eyes raked over the prince’s form, charming and handsome but at the same time cute — He was leaning back at the wall, also drinking something.

You grumbled though, this is once again Jeongin trying to hook you up with someone again. It didn’t end well last time — The last prince, Jeongin hooked you up was Prince Yeonjun — All he wanted was sex though, causing you to immediately cut off ties with said prince, leaving a bit heartbroken at that since he only said that he wanted sex after you already spent the night together.

“Not this again, Innie.” you tsked, crossing your arms around your chest.

“Come onnn~.. I thought Yeonjun liked you a lot, he stared at you a lot during Taehyun’s party” Jeongin mumbles since he knows, that you don't like fooling around with people who didn’t even have a single interest on being on an actual relationship.

He felt bad matching you up with him, since he thought that was time you actually would get out of the singles’ list.

He nudged you and tilted his head to the Kim prince’s direction, “He’s walking over here.”

Your head immediately snapped to him, “Did he notice me staring at him earlier?!” you whispered nervously.

He raised his shoulders as he doesn’t know but you could already hear his evil mind spouting not-so-good ideas when he let out a grim grin.

“Well.....~ Y/N, I have to go find Felix, I kinda wanna try the shark meat, Ok byeeeee~” he said as if he was in a rush but this was just a part of his scheme.

“Jeongin, wait, don’t lea—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he was out of sight, the man was already extremely near you, his eyes never leaving your own.

You gulp, not knowing what to do in this situation.

In a mere second, you were face to face with the unfamiliar prince. He looked down at you with a emotionless face before sitting down next to you.

“My name is Kim Seungmin, yours?” He spoke with a honey-laced voice crossing his legs as he looked at you with curious eyes.

A smirk was starting to form at the corner of his lips before you opened your mouth to speak.

But nothing came out

He was attractive but he had soft features and an aura that resonates well with his features. He had this cute puppy-look to him but by that smirk he isn’t all that rainbows and sunshines.

Now, this is totally not good.

Little did Y/N know someone was watching this interaction in the distance, a prince than seems to be allured to you ever since he saw you within the crowd. He doesn't seem happy though~

~ tbc

[daechwitatamicrecs]

Lmaooooooo the way the beginning TRIGGERED my mom anxiety!!!!!!! I legit had to take a breath and be like “its not YOUR mom, jo, settle down” ajskfkjasfhjafh are they universally this ridiculous?!

Mom is working on Christmas eve, huh, gee, I wonder if oc will need…. Someone else’s….. company…. >_>

Omg laser tag bdays…. You just unlocked a core memory…

An architect nooooooooooooooooooo whats what he wantedddddd

Not the super target fuck capitalism!!!!

Omg the fact that she got butterflies over his silhouette in the window

Oh god no not justice beaver

Ofc you made him blond you’re a MENACE hali a whole menace!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wondered about them late at night, when your ex was fast asleep next to you. – daaaaaaaaaamn I’m such a sucker for this ‘I still thought about you when I was with someone else’ shit ajsfhkjashfjahfhf

Jdsioahfasfh I love that as I’m reading her having her meltdown the first night my brain supplies, “she needs to take a hot shower, she’ll feel better” bc brain is like ‘that’s what helps us :)’ lmaooo good job brain, you did it

He nods and moves a cabinet, revealing the coffee maker. “Ta-da.” – he’s my entire dream

Lmaoooooooooooo this poor man is all happy to see her and the way she’s lashing out at him makes sense and I understand it but it’s also making me laugh because he’s soooo baffled by her jkadshkjasfha and he is an ANGEL for taking her bullshit in stride like that, my god

“Ugh, all of these movies are the same.”

And yet you make no move to turn it off or leave. 

Big fat mood

It also means you don’t have to audibly admit that you were being weird and embarrassing with him in your kitchen. – I am in this picture and I don’t like it!!!!!!!!

“Jin will kill us if we keep this damn door open.”

Just as you step into the restaurant in full,  the door clanging shut behind you, a familiar voice hollers behind the counter. “Yoongi, don’t keep that damn door open!”

Lmaooooooo I love them

The vinyl covering sticks to your jeans as you try to slide. You’re forced to hop your way into the booth – this is so rrrrrrrgh it’s your writing making me furious again like how you manage to grab these hyperspecific moments that we all know and recognize and just sprinkle them all over the place IM MAD HALI I’M MAD

I think a lot of things about you. – this again. I’m onto you, min yoongi.

“Does your insurance cover therapy?” -o iajfdoiasfkjafhkj haj ai SCREAMED nothing will ever be this amazing ever again oh my god

Yoongi is in a green sweater and jeans, the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his hands – literally how dare you

‘it has a cool tree on it’nk kjahskjfhjaksfh look shes a baby once shes done being a porcupine!

“You look just like your father!” – oooooooooooooooooof that made my stomach hurt

Lmaooooooooooooo someone save yoongi.

THE HAND HOLDING UNDER THT E TABLE HALI NOOOOOO I AM ROLLING AROUND MY FLOOR CLUTCHING MY FACE ANDAOISJFAOIJF NO NO NAUSFHUAO OMG

People whistle behind you and Yoongi throws a middle finger over his head – I’m fucking obsessed with him

“I mean, yeah” – I HATE HIM hgfvytdfytfgliuohiyguyfgt lmaoooooooo

“Come for me, then. Fucking show me.” – do nOT goddamn LOOK AT me rn jesus christ

I think this is the reader I relate to the most of yours and I am……… um reflecting a lot on what that says about me lmaoooo

This was soso good – the familial bits were intense, yoongi’s softness and understanding were infuriating because I’m in love with him and I can’t have him, oc’s entire headspace was lol um very eye-opening for me lmao, the smut was DElicious, the ending was NOT cheesy it was exactly right for them, and honestly I’d love this couple to become a holidays thing, let’s see how they’re doing for valentine’s day – now that she has a few months under her belt, how much progress has she made, how are they, whats the situation… and then the next holiday…. Etc… >_> you don’t have enough to write already, I know lmao

F*ck Christmas | myg (m)

❆ Paring: Yoongi x f. reader

❆ Summary: Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancé cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog.

❆ Genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

❆ Word Count: 23,466

❆ A part of A Hyung Holiday Collaboration

❆ Warnings: Reader is miserable to start this and isn't very nice to Yoongi because she has Feelings and unpacked issues, a lot of nostalgia, mentions of depression and depictions of anxiety, mentions of parent deaths (Yoonig's mom, readers dad), a lot of familial guilt, reader isn't always The Best, Yoongi's dad has some failing memory with old age, Yoongi and reader and their endless pining, cheesy and very contrived scenarios, explicit language, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content including, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving) fingering (f. receiving), Big Dick Yoongi, bodily fluids, established safeword, honestly emotional fucking ok, reader being a bit in subspace/overwhelmed during sex, cheesy as fuck ending

❆ Collab Masterlist

❆ faq | my masterlist

A/N: Holy shit this is finally done. It is days, late, about 10k more words than it was supposed to be because I couldn't shut the fuck up, and it is not my favorite thing I have ever written, but I hope that you enjoy it anyway, and that you find some comfort if you have a hard time during the holidays like I sure as shit do (which is why this fic is legit so late ijsdgkjng). Eternally grateful to M for being my mental crutch during this process, reading to make sure it doesn't suck and constantly assuring me I'm not writing a total car wreck. Super pleased to have been able to write with @here2bbtstrash @gimmethatagustd and @nabiolive so please please please make sure you check out their fics when they're posted (Jai's is posted now so GO READ!!!!)

The monotonous shuffle of feet, mechanical click of the baggage claim conveyor, and three-toned chime before a muffled and completely unintelligible airport announcement work together in tandem to make a grating symphony. 

You spot your neon green, plastic suitcase drifting through the black flaps of the conveyer. As it nears, a cluster of people block your access, huddling and waiting for their bags right up against it. With an angry sigh, you navigate around them, throwing a glare as you reach for your back and haul it off the conveyor. 

People who crowd baggage claim when their bags aren’t out are at the top of your travel intolerances, second only to people who clap when the plane lands. 

Wheeling your suitcase toward the entrance as fast as you can, you look at your lock screen to see that your mother has blown up your phone with text messages.

[Mom]: Gate G

[Mom]: I’m at gate G

[Mom]: I still have the white Macaran. Gate G I am waiting by it.

[Mom]: What are you wearing? I will try to pull up closer. 

[Mom]: They are asking me not to wait. Do you have your bags yet? Is it close to Gate G?

“For the love of Christ,” you mutter under your breath, shoving the device in your pocket. 

The airport doors open, making a stuttering suction sound as they do. Cold air hits you in the face, making you flinch and squint. 

Just near the column marked ‘G’ your mother waits in her white car, waving wildly when she sees you. Despite your temporary annoyance, you give her a tight-lipped grin as she climbs out of the car, running to you with hand motions signaling she wants your bag. 

“Hi, hi!” she cheers, grabbing you quickly for a brief hug before making grabbing motions toward your bag. “Here, let me! Let me!”

“It’s fine,” you assure, trying to wheel the heavy bag away from you. You both end up wheeling it together, your mom refusing to let go of the handle until she’s opening the trunk and you’re hauling it into the back. “Thanks.”

Inside the car, the leather seats are heated and the hot air is blasting enough to threaten a nosebleed. You close the vents as your mother gets in, saying something you can’t hear over the blaring horns, slamming of her door, and fumbling with her seatbelt.

“What?”

“How was your flight?”

Awful. Long. Filled with absolute dread of the finality of your one-way ticket. Wondering if the movers had successfully delivered your shit to storage and dropped your car off at your mother’s house.

Naturally, you say none of these things. You offer canned responses with forced happiness that your mother doesn’t detect. She’s just happy to see you. The thought makes you soften a little.

Outside the world is covered in sheets of white. You know the winding roads well. Your mother talks about how it’s just the two of you for Christmas morning, but that she is volunteering at the homeless shelter on Christmas Eve. You take this in with a soft hum, eyes watching as you pass Mulberry street.

If you drive down another mile and take a left, you’ll be at Plaza Center, the mecca of your childhood with a movie theater, a Blockbuster turned Mattress Firm, Lucky Strike bowling alley, and a combination grocery store and liquor store where you used to huddle outside in the cold while waiting for someone’s fake ID to work. 

Soft music plays in the background as the tires hum on the road. You pass by the newer additions to the town – Starbucks, Olive Garden, Longhorns – they’ve all replaced longtime restaurants and a laser tag place that you remember having three birthdays in a row at. 

“Tired?” your mom asks, drawing you from trying to draw up the red brick houses from memory instead of watching them blur by. You hum. “You can take a nap later, get that airplane yuck off of you. Yoongi is working on fixing those damned cabinets. He ripped out the whole thing-“

“What?” 

“What what?”

“Why is Yoongi in your house?”

Your mother blinks at you owlishly as she pulls up to the stop light. You realize suddenly that she’s in one of your father’s old sweatshirts from university. It cuts you like a knife as you readjust yourself in the seat, suddenly tense and griping the door. 

“Min Yoongi still lives here?”

“Of course he does,” she scoffs and turns when the light changes. “Do you not keep up with him? You guys used to be such good friends.”

“Why is he at the house?”

“I just told you, he’s re-doing those damn cabinets. They had mold in them.”

For a moment, you just slow-blink at your mother. Min Yoongi is in her house – your house, now. You haven’t seen him since college. You knew he had moved back after school to help move his dad into a home, but he was supposed to leave once his dad was settled. 

He was… well he was supposed to be a big-shot architect. You just assumed he was. It occurs to you that you can’t remember the last time you even looked at Yoongi’s social media, though that was more on purpose than you’d like to admit.

Who wants to see what their life-long crush is still up to after they’ve long stopped talking to you?

“So you had him do our cabinets? He’s an architect, not a contractor.” 

“You really don’t know shit,” your mom laughs. “Yoongi took over his dad’s shop down on Miriam. Home Depot keeps trying to run him out, but most of us still like the comfort of Min’s Hardware. Plus, he spends the entire last quarter of the year building toys and the like for the children’s home and new chairs and furniture for the old folks home.”

You pause. “Is Old Man Min-“

It’s hard to bring yourself to finish the sentence. You remember the bleak affair of summer 09’ when Yoongi’s mother passed away, but you feel like someone would have told you if his father had passed. 

Thankfully, your mother shakes her head. “Still kicking. Yoongi didn’t want to sell out to one of those land development companies, though. They kept trying to pressure him – they want to open up a Super Target – but he said no.”

“Huh.” You lean back in the seat as your mom turns down your street. There is a sense of trepidation as you pass rows of brick-and-mortar homes with nondescript cars in the drive. “Good for him. Fuck Target.”

“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t mind a target, but I certainly don’t want it to replace Min’s.” 

A dark blue truck sits in the drive of your home. It’s hard not to focus on it, your eyes drifting from the swan-shaped mailbox to the giant blow-up decorations still wiggling, even covered in snow. The wind chimes are frozen on the porch and there’s a tarp on the swing set in front of the kitchen window.

The kitchen window, where you vaguely make out a shape with his back turned.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. You have no reason to be nervous to see Min Yoongi and yet the thought of awkwardly walking into the kitchen like hey how are you threatens to make your demand your mom drive you back to the airport even though you have nowhere to go.

No home to go back to. No fiancé to-

Your mom shuts off the dark and slides out. She’s still rattling on about the developers buying up land and putting in condos and luxury apartments that no one can afford. You’re a beat behind her, slipping a little on the icy drive as you scramble out of the vehicle and retrieve your bag. 

Inside your chest, your heart pounds against your ribcage. You keep glancing out the window, wondering if you’ll suddenly see Yoongi’s soft, sweet face. Kicking ice off her boots on the porch, your mother opens the door as she talks on, breezing in and to the side to take off her boots.

You step in awkwardly. Unfamiliar. 

Everything in your view is the exact way you remember it, except suddenly… None of this feels like yours. Or like anything that has ever belonged to you. To your right, there is an open doorway that leads to the study – or the computer room as your dad chronically called it. It’s dark inside but you can see the indents on the carpet from the faded office chair, and the power-down Dell on the desk with multiple broken drawers. 

On the right is a cubby where you can kick your shoes off and hang your bag. You follow your mother’s example and take off your boots, feeling in a daze as your eyes drift down the hall. There’s a set of stairs that lead to the second floor just beyond the door to the computer room, and the living room and kitchen open up at the end of the hall.

Christmas music and the smell of cinnamon float down. There’s a lump in your throat as your mom walks toward the living room – and ultimately where the kitchen is. And Yoongi. Who is apparently hammering at something loudly, from the sounds of all the banging that drowns out the sound of Michael Bublé. 

“I’m gonna lay down,” you blurt before your mom can enter Yoongi’s line of vision. You’re frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, heart hammering. “The plane ride really exhausted me and I have a bit of a headache. Yoongi’s banging will make it worse.”

She frowns. “Well at least come to say hello.”

“I’ll see him later,” you assure her, moving toward the hardwood stairs and bending to pull up your bag. “It’s a small town, no big deal. Tell him I said hello.”

You’re halfway up the stairs when your mother says your name, irritation evident. You don’t respond, jogging the rest of the way. The bottom of your bag clips one of the stairs, making you stumble. You curse and recover before rushing down the right side of the hall, past the pictures on the wall and your open bathroom with the mermaid curtains straight into your room where you slam the door.

Leaning against it, you close your eyes and take a few breaths. In and out. In and out. Downstairs, the hammering pauses. You assume your mother is talking to Yoongi. Guilt eats away at you like a worm to an apple. You shove it down and walk into your room proper, trying not to think about how you want to avoid the man downstairs at all costs. 

Collapsing on your bed, you flinch and grab the mattress, forgetting how springy it is as they twang under the sudden weight. Your room is exactly how you left it. Aquamarine walls, a sea turtle lamp, a horrible collection of Justin Bieber memorabilia including a lunch box you can’t ever remember using, and an old box TV with a tiny DVD player. 

A broken lava lamp stands frozen in time on the white, paint-chipped dresser. You wonder if it even turns on anymore. The rolling closet door is open, empty save for extra sheets and towels and a couple of Vera Bradley duffle bags your mom never tossed out. 

Everything is the same and yet… you have never felt more like a stranger in your own home.

Pulling the scale pattern quilt from under you to wrap yourself in, you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, although the hammering downstairs starts once again.

-

A knock on the door and your mom’s voice telling you to come eat dinner pries you from sleep. Your limbs feel heavy and your back and neck ache with the unfamiliarity of the springy bed. Your thoughts are honey-thick as you try to remember that you’re not in your apartment – your old apartment that is no longer yours – and that your ex is not with you.

Mouth dry and limbs sluggish, you manage to trek down the stairs, footsteps heavy and awkward. There's still Christmas music playing somewhere in the living room, but it’s at a manageable volume now. You try not to think about it too much, finding Christmas music particularly grating this year.

The smell of dinner drifts from the kitchen and your stomach growls viciously, reminding you that you only had cheese and crackers for lunch. You rub your eyes, entering the open concept area with the kitchen facing the living room and the dining room tucked on the side of the kitchen against the glass-paned windows that look out into the yard.

Your mom sets something on the table and straightens, gesturing to something on the island countertop as she says, “Will you bring those potatoes over, Yoongi? I keep forgetting them on the counter.”

Two things happen at once. 

The first thing that happens is the slow-blink turning of your head, suddenly aware that a man is standing in your kitchen looking at you. Your feet glue themselves to the floor and your mouth parts a little in surprise and confusion that there is another human being in your house outside of you and your mother. 

The second thing that happens is the surge of panic and curiosity slamming into one another, two rogue waves at war as they unsteady the sleeping waters of your mind post-nap. You feel the urge to turn on your heel and run back up the stairs, but you’re stuck staring at Yoongi, both terrified to see him and... well you haven’t seen him in a while. You’re curious. 

Yoongi’s hair is blonde - a color he hasn’t had in years - with silky lowlights that look really good on him. Though most of it is tucked behind delicate, round ears that are decorated with his signature silver hoops, a few rogue strands fall endearingly over soft cat eyes. He’s broad in the shoulders, the material of his shirt pulled taught over the hint of biceps.

And Yoongi’s face – devastating as always. You always thought that he looked like a child of the moon goddess, smooth, milky skin with a rose-flushed mouth. His mouth as always looks soft, and as it breaks into a smile now when he sees you, it feels like the entire world might spin out of control. 

“Have a good nap?” Yoongi questions. His voice is so much deeper, raspy, and soft, and nothing at all like what you remember. But it’s been how long since you’ve seen him? At least four years. Maybe five. 

“Huh?” you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, your brain unable to connect the dots and form anything else.

Yoongi chuckles and ducks his head a bit, pink in the cheeks. He picks up the glass dish of potatoes that your mother asked for, rounding the island and putting it on the dining room table. He moves in your childhood home with ease, returning to the kitchen and popping up a drawer for a serving spoon.

“Jet lag, much?” that teasing tone of his is still there and you suddenly remember being in the ninth grade, hiding your face in your hands because he was poking fun at you for something innocent. “I don’t bite.”

“Why are you here?” Again, you’re unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth. This time, however, you have enough sense to realize how rude it sounds. Swallowing past the rapidly forming knot of anxiety, you move toward the table. “You don’t have a headache from all that hammering you’ve been doing?”

Yoongi shrugs and sits down at the table across from where your mother has seated herself, pouring a glass of red for herself. “You seem to have slept through it fine.”

“Yeah, well.” You sit down next to your mom, suddenly feeling defensive. “A five-hour flight will do that to you.”

Yoongi hums, agreeing as he glances up at you again. You’ve had dreams about those damn eyes, written about them in childhood diaries. Wondered about them late at night, when your ex was fast asleep next to you.

Thoughts and memories of Min Yoongi paint several parts of your life. Childhood crush. Close friend. The subject of your dreamy sighs. The crush had worn off around college, but there was always that something when you looked at him. Perhaps the acknowledgment that he was impossibly beautiful and charming. 

Or maybe the inescapable fact that you might always harbor something extra for him.

Averting your gaze, you clear your throat and grab the bottle of wine from your mom, pouring a healthy amount. “Why are you ripping out the cabinets anyway?”

“There was mold in the back of them.” He accepts a plate of meat from your mother. “I came over to help your mom pull down that bone china she keeps hidden away and found it.”

You glance at your mom. “You couldn’t use a ladder?”

“You try having old hips,” she huffs. “Yoongi isn’t that far. He’s a doll and he’s always a phone call away.” 

There is nothing wrong with Yoongi helping your aging mom. At least, that is what you tell yourself as she asks Yoongi about a TV show both of them have been watching. You fill your plate and listen to them, hovering on the edge of a conversation you can’t contribute to.

“And then she had the nerve to act like she was holier than thou,” your mother agrees, shaking her head. “The Greens are going to get theirs, now that Alicent was exposed for a snake.”

Yoongi snorts. “I don’t know, no one ever gets punished the way we want on that show.”

“Who is Alicent?” you ask, dubious.

Both of them look at you. Your mom waves you off with a roll of her eyes at Yoongi. “She doesn’t watch TV. I’ve been begging her to watch for weeks now. Thankfully you caved in.”

“I just don’t have time for TV.”

Your mom pats your hand delicately. It doesn’t feel comforting like it should. “I know. Thankfully I can gossip about it with Yoongi.”

They seem comfortable. Your mom laughs as Yoongi rants about some character arch you have never heard of. You watch as your mom cuts into her steak alongside him, handing him sauce for his diced pieces. He thanks her easily, not missing a beat as he uncaps it.

Suddenly, you feel like a stranger in your own house. All this time you’ve been living on the other side of the country, Yoongi has been here doing... whatever it is that he does. Making himself comfortable in your home. Filling a space for you. And now that you’re here, it’s like you don’t exist.

No one asks you how you’ve been. No one asks for a single detail about your life. Whether it’s out of pity because they know you’ve been left out in the cold with no home, no fiance, and leave from work because... well they felt bad that you were cheated on and booted from your apartment.

It's like you don’t exist anywhere. You don’t exist in your mom’s life. You don’t exist in Yoongi’s.

And it drives you mad.

You get up abruptly from the table, startling both of them. “I’m feeling ill,” you mutter tightly. You’re moving away from the table as your mother sputters, surprised. “I’ll try to eat later, I’m going to lie down.”

“Do you need help up the stairs?”

Yoongi’s question and concern seem genuine. It makes the sudden gnawing feeling inside of you even worse. “No,” you snap. “Enjoy your dinner and conversation.”

They both call after you as you turn and hightail it out of the kitchen and toward the steps. Everything feels blurry and the tightening of your threat is the only warning of sudden tears. It feels silly and pathetic, to suddenly be worked up into a frenzy over – well you’re not really sure over what. But it doesn’t sting any less, whatever this sense of feeling left out is.

Crawling into your bed, you pull the covers over your head just like you used to when you lived here last. The tears burn hot down your face and you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, as though you can grind the tear ducts to dust. 

You hate being home. You hate that it doesn’t feel like home. But most of all, you hate that at the height of your misery and embarrassing life, Min Yoongi now has front row tickets.

Somehow, you manage to sleep.

-

The sound of thunder wakes you up in the morning. No, it’s not thunder. Thunder comes and goes in slow rolls of sound, fading, and building in a gentle percussion. This is the constant booming of something bang bang banging in a repetitive pattern. 

Irritation drags you from sleep. You peel the covers from over your face, blinking and groaning in the morning light that filters through the curtain. Crust forms in the corner of your eye. You rub furiously until you see colors explode behind your lids.

Blinking until your room swims into view, you stare up at the ceiling a little longer until you remember that you’re in your childhood room. And that the loud banging sound coming from downstairs is probably Yoongi.

The sticky, nasty feeling from last night curls inside of you again. Less potent, but still there. Looking back on it, you feel a little dramatic. Watching Yoongi and your mom exist in a space so easily without you while you were there triggered a sliver of guilt you had been nursing since you decided to move home. 

Even now, you ignore the feeling as you slip down the stairs and toward the kitchen. The hunger is demanding and ever-present, and though you’re unsure you want to face Yoongi again after last night, you can’t ignore the dizziness from lack of food. 

Sunlight filters in through the kitchen window. Dust motes float in the air, suspended in gold light. There are pieces of wood and metal piles of hinges and knobs, screws rolling across the counter, and plastic-wrapped pieces of hinges and bolts, but it’s still your kitchen.

There’s still white backsplash against the sink with a yellow duck soap dispenser. There’s a black fridge with chip-clip magnets holding up pictures of your family, your graduation photos, and drawings that you created as a child. The island countertop is buried in Yoongi’s supplies, but you imagine that if it weren’t, there’d be fake fruit in a basket with mugs full of tea gone cold.

Today, Yoongi is in a black, oversized t-shirt, and a beanie. There’s a small speaker next to him, Michael Bublé singing clearly through the kitchen as Yoongi slides a shelf into one of the newly constructed cabinets. 

“You really like Bublé.”

Yoongi flinches, turning around to see you hovering and hesitating near the kitchen counter. He grins a little, wiping his hands on his pants. His blonde hair just barely peaks out from underneath the beanie and his face is flushed red as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the counter. There are dark circles under his eyes, but he otherwise looks beautiful first thing in the morning.

“I like Christmas music,” he offers with a shrug. “Tis the season.”

“Hmm.” Your eyes scan the kitchen. “Is there a way to make coffee in this mess?”

He nodes and moves a cabinet, revealing the coffee maker. “Ta-da.” You huff once in laughter before going to your fridge in search of creamer. You sense Yoongi’s dark gaze on you as you do. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm?”

“From last night? Feeling better?”

“Oh.” You shut the fridge and avoid his gaze. “Yeah.”

He hums. You flick the lid on the coffee and pause, looking around the kitchen for one of the pods to make the coffee. Yoongi leans over with a chuckle and pulls open a drawer, revealing rows of neatly placed Keurig cups.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. 

“Mhmm.” You pop it in and turn the machine on. “How long is your cabinet project going to take?”

“I’ll be finished by tomorrow. Why? Want me gone that bad?”

“You’re loud.”

“Comes with the nature of the job. Sorry, usually no one is here in the morning. Your mom is at the park.”

“Since when does she go on walks?”

He shrugs, dubious of your confusion. “She always goes on walks. Jeez, you have been gone a long time.”

“So what?” You snap, arms crossed. “You know everything about my mom now?”

“I spend a lot of time with her. I help her around the house and she brings me lunch and makes dinner sometimes. I keep her company.”

Tension creeps into your shoulders and neck. Pressing your mouth into a firm line, you turn your back to him, unable to make eye contact as the little sliver of guilt in you strikes at him, viper quick. “Cause I wasn’t here to do it, right?”

“That isn’t at all what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Your name leaves his mouth with a sigh. “Have I done something to upset you? You haven’t seemed keen on me being here since last night. I was excited to see you after all this time and catch up.”

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“I mean it’s been five years-”

“Sorry I left town because I had a life. I get it, I left home and left my parents here and my mom has been lonely since my dad passed. You’re a knight in shining armor, I get it.”

“What?” You ignore looking at him, despite shuffling closer to you as you pour creamer into your coffee. You feel a nasty tension in your throat. Somewhere, you know that you’ve launched a hate campaign against Yoongi within twenty-four hours of being home. And yet you don’t look at him. “I - wow. Okay, I didn’t think that of you at all. We seem to be on wildly different pages, why would I ever think that?”

Before you can answer, the front door opens and closes. Your mom's arrival has you slithering toward the kitchen’s exit, throwing Yoongi a glance. His frown is deep and genuine concern flickers in his eyes. “I don’t think that,” Yoongi ventures again, trying to keep you in the conversation. “I think a lot of things about you, but that isn’t one. This conversation has really gotten away from me, can we start over?”

“It’s fine,” you mutter. “Sorry for assuming.” 

Your mom waves, shrugging off ice-covered boots and a jacket at the door. You wave and rush out that you’re going up for a shower to wash off the airport funk. She waves you off and grins, heading down the hall and launching into a conversation with Yoongi. 

A nasty feeling trails you up the steps. You don’t even make it to the top of the stairs before you already know you’ve been irrational, emotional, and completely out of line. But seeing Yoongi after all this time, seeing the way he’s there for your mom in ways you aren’t, and nursing wounds of moving home against your will and plans… it’s a lot to swallow. 

In your room, you sit on the bed with your coffee on the nightstand, head dropped into your hands as you cry. It’s been coming all night. It’s been coming since you caught your ex in the apartment with another person. It’s been coming since you were no longer what they wanted in mind, body, and soul. It had been coming since you were asked to leave the apartments because you had moved in - not the other way around. 

The pain festering inside of you for the last two and a half weeks isn’t Yoongi’s fault. In fact, part of you is surprised that your grief and guilt at dedicating the last five years to someone who you didn’t even like that much and who has now cheated on you has surfaced in the face of Min Yoongi. 

It isn’t his fault that you rarely came home to start. It isn’t his fault that after Christmas two years ago, you didn’t want to come home at all. Didn’t want to be in a home without your dad. Didn’t want to be in a home that wasn’t in your new city, away from old failures, away from old hurts. Didn’t want to be in a home down the street from the Mins.

“Jeez,” you laugh at yourself, no mirth evident. “What better way to kick off seeing Yoongi again?”

-

Yoongi finishes the cabinets the next day and you manage to avoid seeing him again, unsure how to fix the weirdness. 

A few days later, you come down to see your mom on the couch, tucked into a flannel-patterned blanket, and watching Hallmark movies. You cringe at the thought of poorly budgeted, badly scripted movies. Your mom, however, has always loved them. And your dad always watched them with her.

Something softens inside of you. You can’t remember the last time your ex willingly watched anything they were uninterested in for your sake. Perhaps because they had long been fucking someone else. 

Shaking the thought from your mind, you trail to your mom, slipping wordlessly onto the couch and pulling an extra blanket over your legging and socks. Your mom shoots you a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the edges. She reaches over, patting your hand and squeezing it before settling in, keeping her hand on yours. 

Though you turn to the TV, your eyes sting as you try to focus on the plot of a newly single woman who has moved back to her sleepy hometown during the holidays. Naturally, there is a storied past with the beautiful but sensitive male lead who owns a failing bookshop. It’s unsurprising when the female lead takes a job there unwillingly, and you watch 

“These are very cheesy,” you observe, watching as the two leads fall in love over clumsily spilled coffees, one full of Christmas cheer and one that hates Christmas. “Why do you like them so much?”

Your mom shrugs. “They always have a happy ending, they’re easy to follow along, and they fuel that little hope that the holidays have something a little special.” She looks at you when you grunt and she sighs. “I know you haven’t had very good holidays the last few years. But you used to really enjoy them.”

“They’re just… too much. It’s just another day.”

“Hmm. They mean a lot to some people, though. Take Yoongi for example - he’s doing extra work at the shop selling wares, making pieces for Christmas, and trying to finish making toys for the children’s home this year. He hardly sleeps.”

You think about the dark circles under Yoongi’s eyes that morning. “That’s a lot.”

“He could use the help.” She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You know where the shop is.”

“Yeah.”

Morning fades into afternoon. You find yourself shaking your head around a mouthful of a sandwich with crunchy chips in the middle as your mom settles next to you, placing a glass of iced tea on the table. Your legs are crossed and you lean forward to press greasy, chip fingers into the paper towel you’re using as a napkin.

“She is so stupid if she doesn’t believe him,” you mumble around your mouth full of food. “Like hello? He has no reason to lie to her.”

Your mom's laughter fills the room and she shrugs. Somehow, you’re on your third Hallmark movie, and you haven’t managed to move or do anything productive with your day, like unpacking your bags or looking at the computer room full of the shit that the movers delivered to your mother’s house now that you don’t have a house. 

“If she believed him,” your mom says with a sip of tea, “Then there wouldn’t be any drama. And without drama, there would be no movie.”

“Ugh, all of these movies are the same.”

And yet you make no move to turn it off or leave. 

When you finish your sandwich and settle back, full and bloated, you realize that you’re rather enjoying just a day watching cheesy movies with your mom. Even if they hit a little close to home on the narrative of your current situation. 

But no - you’re different. Your life is real, and you’re stuck without a home and without a place to go. Clenching your jaw, you force the memories and the words to leave. You don’t want to think about the way your ex gently asked if you had somewhere else to go. You don’t want to think about the words I’m sorry. I love you but I’m not in love with you anymore. 

I mean, you weren’t either but… marriage still seemed like an okay option. A good social move. Something you’d be content with, even if you weren’t head over heels in love.

“Here,” you hold your hand to her for her empty plates. “I’ll do the dishes.” 

Getting away from the TV gives you a second to breathe. The rush of the faucet drowns out the sound of the TV, warm water rushing over your fingers as you run the plates underwater.

Outside, the world is a blanket of snow. You can see Mr. Park across the street shoveling the drive as his wife gets into the car, the taillights kicking on. The grass is frozen, a sea of ice and frozen Christmas decorations.

In the drive, your car is parked next to your mom’s sedan. She hadn’t mentioned that it was delivered, but you don’t know where you would go anyway. You don’t really have any friends to visit. At least, not anyone you’ve kept in touch with enough to call up and go to lunch.

The absence of Yoongi’s truck reminds you that he had been working on the cabinets, drawing your eyes to his craftsmanship as you flip the sink off. With dried hands, you brush your fingers over the lightly stained wood. It’s smooth and cool to the touch, the curves and indents artfully done. 

Yoongi had always been an exceptional artist. His passion has been in buildings and even interior design, but you’re not surprised to see that he’s as easily a handyman and woodworker as he is anything else. 

You think back to what your mom said about him, alone for the holidays and working hard. A sour taste sits heavy on your tongue as you think about your barbed words. 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you lean against the counter and pull your phone out, flipping through social media until you find his page. There isn’t much in the way of family and friends, but there are plenty of photos of new projects and a beautiful black cat. 

I was excited to see you after all this time and catch up. 

Heaving a sigh, you push off the counter and announce that you’re going to get dressed to run a few places, telling your mom to make you a list if she needs anything. 

Getting dressed is harder than you expect. The urge to crawl back into bed and go to sleep almost wins out, but you somehow manage to pull on the jeans and thick sweater, followed by a scarf and jacket.

There is something empty and strange about the motions. It feels like you’ve forgotten the movement, the slide of clothes foreign to your skin. After two weeks of making phone calls and arrangements for an over-priced hotel bed, you supposed you haven’t gotten dressed much recently. 

Picking up the list from your mom and giving her a kiss, you’re out of the door, glancing down at her slanted script. You huff, laughter cut short by the bite of cold wind. Of course everything she needs is from Min’s Hardware, though you had been planning to go by there anyway.

With a deep breath and squared shoulders, you get in the car and think about how the hell to apologize to Yoongi.

-

Min’s Hardware had its first building expansion when you were in tenth grade. You remember how excited you were when Yoongi told you that his parents bought out the recently emptied arcade next door to add a lumber department. Even in tenth grade, Yoongi had sketched out aisles and systems for the store, layout after layout of the most functional way to accommodate the expansion. 

Before opening day, the two of you and some other kids in the neighborhood had run through the aisles, the smell of cedar and pine and fresh sawdust so wonderfully potent it made you dizzy. Yoongi specifically had shown you the different types of wood and pliability, explaining what he would use each for. 

By then, it was summer heading into eleventh grade and he had already decided he wanted to be an architect. He had insane drawings for new shopping centers the next city over, and wild renderings of his dream buildings full of avant-garde but functional structures. 

From the parking lot, you can see that Yoongi still occupies the same two spaces Min’s has stood in since tenth grade. Except now it shares a parking lot with a Starbucks and Chipotle building, melded together. The line for coffee snakes around the building into the empty parking lot in front of Min’s, a mismatched creature of metal and purring engines. 

Icy ground makes you slip a bit before you steady yourself on the door handle, gasp stuck in your chest before you can breathe out slowly, confident that you won’t slide and bust your ass. 

From the outside, Min’s looks both the same and different. There is a new sign above the store, now with its own light humming in the dark, gray winter sky. Tinted windows prevent you from seeing inside entirely, but you can see the faint outline of racks as you approach. 

Standing in front of the double doors, you suddenly feel the urge to spin on your heel and run in the other direction. If the inside still looks the same, though, the counter is right next to the door, which means if Yoongi is there, he can see you.

Standing. Staring. Looking at the cold, metal handle of the door and not doing anything. 

“Rip the bandaid off,” you mutter to yourself. 

Yanking the door open startles you, the bell on the door chiming wildly with the force of your pull. It’s the same bell that was here when you were a teen, and a tingle slithers down your back at the memory. 

It's warm. The smell of mixed wood hits you, soothing and fresh. To your left is a counter with an elderly gentleman reading a book. He looks up behind the POS system, grinning at you. He’s dressed in a long sleeve shirt with a festive sweater to match the Christmas soundtrack playing over the speakers. 

Your eyes flicker to his badge and you fold your lips to stop the giggle that threatens to escape when you look at his name tag: Elf Ian. 

“Good afternoon, miss!” he greets, shuffling behind the counter. There’s no one else in the store as you crane your head away from the register, looking at the rows and rows of hardware and things for sale. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi?”

“Mr. Min is back in the carpentry section. I can take you there.”

You wave him off with a smile. “No, that's okay, I know the way.” 

“Really? You’ve been here before? You look like a new face.”

“It’s been a while,” you admit, admiring the layout of the store, each of the towering metal shelves marked with aisle numbers and departments: electrical, flooring, lighting, hardware, paint, heating and cooling, and so on. It’s not as comprehensive as a Home Depot or a Lowe’s, but Min’s has everything that a small town needs. “Back and to the right?” 

He nods with a smile. 

The Rockettes play overhead as you wander toward the back of the store. You take the paint aisle, admiring all of the colorful paint swatch papers. Your shoes scuff on the floor, speckled with some paint splatter near the spray section as though some kids got into the supply. 

You distinctly remember Yoongi accidentally spraying a bright pink into the air once. 

All of the pricing is written in neat, slanted handwriting on thick brown pieces of paper. You pause at the end of an aisle, reaching out to press a finger against one to trace the letters. You recognize the font from years worth of scribbled and pressed flat architecture designs. 

The carpentry section has rows and rows of wood of different shapes, sizes, and variety. Behind all of that is a sizable desk for specialty services, and you know that the door leads to a room that houses Yoongi’s woodworking shop. It had once been the bowling alley section of the arcade before Old Man Min bought out the unit. 

No one mans the tall, L-shaped desk. There are several binders with types of wood, types of stains, project ideas, samples, and frames. You smile when you see some you recognize, the peeling plastic of the front evidence of old age. 

A large counter behind the desk has a few wrapped items that Yoongi must have to be shipped or picked up. There’s a cup of coffee that looks like it’s gone cold, a jar full of wrapped mints for the taking, and a small button that says ‘push for service’ next to the POS system. 

Swallowing thickly, you press the button. An automated chime echoes from behind the wooden swing door that leads to the woodshop. Before Yoongi took over, his father used to make furniture, fill custom orders and make repairs. It’s no surprise that Yoongi has opted to take over this portion, especially if he’s making custom orders for the children’s home. 

The door swings open, breaking your trance. Yoongi pulls up short, eyebrows raise as he wipes sawdust from his apron. He’s in a sweater and jeans today, the sleeves pushed up to his elbow to help him work and his blonde hair shaggy and a little unruly. The pink sheen on his cheeks and nose is all you need to know he had been working pretty hard.

“Hi,” he offers tentatively, looking you up and down. You hate that he looks so guarded. “Coming to custom order a rocking horse?”

You grin. “Actually I was wondering if you did chairs?”

“Hmmm.” He shuffles toward the counter, dropping his hesitance as he leans on his elbows, a sideways smirk on his face. Despite everything, it makes your stomach flip. “We do all kinds of chairs. Rocking, dining, bar stools, even church pews.”

“Wow, Min’s really is the best and where expectations are beyond the Minimum.”

Yoongi groans and covers his face with his hands, flushed pink as you laugh at him. “That’s not even our jingle anymore, okay? I was a kid when I came up with it.”

“I thought it was cute!”

“Yeah, you thought Jackson was cute in the fifth grade too.”

“Isn’t he on his third kid?”

Yoongi gives a loud laugh. “Sixth, Miss I Failed Algebra Twice. He and Jiah have their hands full, I just dropped off a new crib yesterday.”

You whistle, crossing your arms over your chest. Yoongi looks at you, eyes glittering as he smiles. It does something to you, to see your childhood crush here and happy. It’s at such odds with where you are in your life that you don’t know what to make of it. Even Jackson is married and happy with kids. 

“Impressive. You do a lot.”

He hums in agreement and stands up to stretch. “Holidays are always a demand. I’m just trying to keep up to make everyone’s Christmas magical.” You scrunch your nose at that and he frowns. “What?”

“Why does Christmas have to be extra special? It’s just another day.”

He beckons you to come around the counter and to the back as he turns to head for the swinging door. “Come on, Scrooge. Let me spread the magic of Christmas and lead you on your journey to redemption.”

Ignoring the ‘employees only’ sign on the waist-tall swing door that leads to behind the counter, you scoff and roll your eyes. Yoongi stands in the doorway leading to the back, propping it open with a foot for you. As you pass him, the bright light of his shop and the smell of wood stain and chemicals hits you instantly. 

“What do I need to redeem myself for?”

He lets the door swing shut and follows you in, taking the lead as he heads towards a table filled with goods. “For whatever you feel like you need it for.”

Yoongi’s words feel ominous and tug at your heartstrings. You suppose you do feel the need to make up for picking a fight with him. Which is why you ended up here in the first place, despite your mother’s list. 

The shop is a little different than you remember it, but some things are the same. There are giant slabs of wood to choose from in neat shelving, massive wood-cutting machines and saws with warning labels and plastic cards over serrated metal, tubs of chemicals to cleanse wood and shelves of bottles of different liquids for all of Yoongi’s processes. 

At a young age, you were never allowed back in the woodshop. The first day Old Man Min had finally let you come around the corner was just as magical as it feels now. It’s large and daunting, with all of the unfamiliar machinery and the loud hum of an air compressor near the back of the shop. 

A wireless speaker stands on a cluttered counter, blaring holiday tunes over the whine of the compressor until the machine kicks off and it’s just the echo of Grandma Got Ran Over by A Reindeer. 

“It’s weird being back here again,” you murmur, eyes sweeping the toys and pieces of furniture Yoongi has on a table with a laminated sign: children’s home. “You’re really making all of this yourself?”

“Mhmm.” He leans against the table, crossing his arms. “Someone has to. They needed extra toys this year but specifically, some serious upgrades to the rooms of the residents. I’m doing what I can, free of charge, of course.”

“You’re a saint.”

He puts his hands together in mock prayer and bats his eyes before you break out into laughter. He shrugs and murmurs, “Just someone who wants to help. They deserve good furniture year-round, but especially on the holidays.”

“Since when do you like the holidays so much?”

“Since I’ve started spending them alone.”

The answer hits you in the gut. Hard. You stop admiring the shop to look at Yoongi. There’s a soft openness to his face that unnerves you. Brutal honesty offered in exchange for nothing. No expectation for you to share, but proof that he has enough trust for you - however unearned - to just admit what he feels out loud.

That kind of introspection and understanding of self terrifies you. So instead of sharing something of yourself or offering a gentle word to communicate that you get it, or you’re sorry, you gesture to the table where he has carving knives and pieces of wood. “What are you working on?”

If your shift in conversation bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Yoongi rolls with your stilted punches, turning and walking to the table. “Working on carving some designs into the drawer faces for these nightstands I made.” 

“They’re beautiful.”

And they are. Flowers and vines curl on the edges of the wood, perfectly placed in the four corners of the slab. You reach out a hand and hesitate, looking at him to ask permission. He nods and you press your fingers along the grooves he’s carved, following the rough cuts, careful not to get a splinter. 

“You’re still artistic as hell.”

“Thanks. It’s hard on my hands and then I have to sand them all with paper to get into the small details which is hell.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. His words about redemption echo in your head: for whatever you feel like you need it for. 

“Need help?” He looks at you, surprised by your offer. You’re a little surprised too, but the way that you snapped at Yoongi haunts you and there’s something… else that is gnawing at you and has been since you saw him in your kitchen that first night on your return. “I’m serious.”

“If you want to sand some of these down…” 

You nod. “I think I remember how. Do you still keep the sandpaper in that Husky drawer?”

He gives you a crooked grin and nods. “Oooo she remembers. I’m honored.”

You feel warmth in your cheeks. “Tell me what needs to be sanded. I’ll do my best.” 

With a smile larger than what you probably deserve, Yoongi quickly rehashes how to hold the sanding paper, the technique he wants you to use, and assigns you a pile of drawer faces. With your project in front of you, Yoongi goes back to his own thing, the steady hammer against his carving tools drowning out any thoughts swirling in your mind.

At first, it’s slow going. Your shoulders are tense and you keep glancing at Yoongi, a little nervous and wondering why you offered to help. It wasn’t what you had intended to do when you walked into the store, but it feels like the best way to say sorry.

It also means you don’t have to audibly admit that you were being weird and embarrassing with him in your kitchen. 

Time passes and the tension in your shoulders begins to bleed out. The scritch scritch scritch of the sandpaper in your hands is soothing, the repetitive motions creating a soft buzz in your ears as you zone out on your task. 

Focusing on small things has always been a good thing for you. Even when you were little, having something that you could throw yourself into and let your anxieties and thoughts drift away to somewhere far away where they could not hurt you was paramount. 

Now, as the time passes without you noticing, thoughts of your cheating ex-fiance and old apartment melt away like ice on a snow drive. it’s just the pressure in your fingertips, manipulating the sandpaper into different folds to get into the creases of the design. 

Yoongi’s presence stirs your stomach and heart as you look up. He looks over your shoulder at your work before leaning in close to pick up one of the slabs of wood. He’s removed his gloves and runs his fingers over the designs. 

A shiver brushes up your spine as you zero in on Yoongi’s fingers. You have no idea if it’s your newly single status or the fact that it’s Yoongi that makes you stare open-mouthed and hypnotized. His fingers look a little callused from working wood, but you wonder how they’d feel if-

“Not bad,” he hums, giving you a grin before setting down the wood. “I’m pretty impressed. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Please,” you mutter, looking down at the table and picking at splinters. “I helped you for hours when we were kids.”

“That’s cause I helped you with your math. It’s getting late and I’m a little tired. You hungry?”

You realize that you are. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you flip it over to see a few texts from your mom and realize that it’s almost seven at night. A sound of surprise escapes you and Yoongi laughs, tapping your elbow gently before walking away.

“Come on,” he insists. “We close early on Sundays. Help me turn all this shit off and close up and we can get food. My treat for helping out.”

“Yes to food, but you don’t have to-”

He waves you off. “Let me do something nice for you, yeah?”

Closing the store feels oddly familiar. While you have never watched Yoongi do it as the owner and operator, there were times as a kid when you finished your homework at the woodshop counter with Yoongi while you waited for his dad to get off and take you home after school. 

The Min’s don’t live far from your home and based on your mom calling Yoongi for every little thing, you assume that he lives in his childhood home now that his dad is in a home for elders. 

Outside, the world is winter-dark and bitter cold. it’s not snowing, but it’s that dreary in-between that makes everything feel heavy and cold-wet. Yoongi shuffles you toward his truck, both of you shivering and cursing as you slide into the cab and he turns it on, cranking the heat and turning on the seat warmers.

“Nice truck,” you comment. And it is nice. “New?”

“New-ish. Being the owner of Min’s Hardware really has its perks.”

You hum. “So you do own it? Just you?”

He nods, putting the car in drive and heading toward an unknown destination. Yoongi keeps his dark eyes on the road as he says, “Bought it from the Old Man when he decided to go into a senior living facility. He’s up at Retger’s - he loves it - but he wanted to put everything in my name before his mind started slipping.”

“I see.” You pick at the hem of your jacket, something heavy settling in your stomach. “How is he?”

“Happy. They have a great staff and a lot for him to do. His memory is on the downside of things. He always remembers me but he gets confused about his days and when I last saw him or what we talked about.”

“Is that hard?”

You almost kick yourself for the question. It slips out before you can ask, and you think of course it’s fucking hard. It’s his dad.

“It is,” Yoongi admits with a drawn-out sigh. Dead air hangs between the two of you as he navigates the backroads of your home, little streets and turns stitching into your very being. “Not sure what’s worse, though,” he adds, glancing at you. “Knowing that the days are numbered and being able to prepare, or losing him suddenly.”

It’s like a constrictor squeezes your windpipe as you look out the window. You can’t see the stars through the tops of the trees, but you get a glimpse of a swollen moon for a second. It’s beautiful and bright, your new point of focus as you nod. 

“I think we can agree that losing a parent is hard,” you offer. “Doesn’t matter how much notice you had.” You hesitate, then go for it. “I haven’t really figured out how to navigate life post-dad. It’s part of why I never come home. I think… I think my mom suffers from it a little.”

For a few moments, Yoongi is silent. You sink further into the seat. Though the admission weighs heavy on you, pressing you down down down into the leather seat, it also feels… good to admit it. Like running a burn under freezing cold water, the sting poignant but soothing at the same time. 

“I think that it’s okay to have your own life.” His voice is very quiet and he looks at you sideways. “And that we all deal with grief in a manner of ways. No one begrudges you for it, least of all your mom. I think you should cut yourself some slack.”

“Hmm,” is your only reply. 

Orange parking lot lights come into view. You chuckle a bit when Yoongi turns into Mars Diner. It’s something out of a Jetson’s episode, with large metal pieces like Saturn’s tilted rings arching over the building and a sun-bleached rocket blasting into the sky.

The lot is full and through frosted windows, you can make out shapes of people in booths. A few kids hang around outside, leaning against their cars and sitting on tailgates, breath misting in the cold. 

Yoongi parks the truck and hops out. You’re quick to follow, shutting the door with a firm click and hiding your hands from the cold in your jacket pockets. The door opens and the bell dings, sound pouring out as a family deposits themself onto the sidewalk.

“Hey there Yoongi,” one of the men says, backing up to hold the door open as the two of you approach. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Scott, it’s going well. How are those new stairs treating you?”

“Sturdy as can be. Thanks again for swinging by to help out.” The man - Scott Ledgfield, you realize - looks at you and squints before he says, “Holy shit kiddo, I haven’t seen you since you were a teenager.”

You look at the town’s local pharmacist with a tight grin, immediately feeling the eyes of his family and friends turn on you, ears pricked by the sound of someone old-but-new returning to the neighborhood. You give a small wave to the people you know.

“Uh,” you stammer. “Just got back. It’s nice to see you, Mr. Ledgefield.”

Your mom’s friend opens his mouth to perhaps ask more but Yoongi shuffles you toward the door and throws a hand in a farewell wave. “Jin will kill us if we keep this damn door open.”

Just as you step into the restaurant in full,  the door clanging shut behind you, a familiar voice hollers behind the counter. “Yoongi, don’t keep that damn door open!”

Inside the diner is exactly how you remember it. A round kitchen sits at the core of the building with two large serving windows facing the door. A full, 360-serving counter circles the kitchen with red vinyl stools in front of them, and booths with planet chandeliers over them are full of people looking over laminated menus.

At the helm of it all is Kim Seokjin standing at the register as he rips a receipt out of the machine, grinning as he hands it over to the woman he’s ringing out. There’s a chrome-color apron tied around his waist and he has a rocket ship name tag that says: Captain Kim.

“Wow,” you mutter as Yoongi waits patiently for the couple in front of him to pay. “Jin running this place with his parents now?”

“Mhmm. Kim Senior is in the back still making everything and his mom does all the billing and admin now. Jin does… well, what doesn’t he do?”

“Yes,” Seokjin agrees as the couple leaves and he leans on the counter, a plastic grin on his face. “What don’t I do?” His eyes slide to you. “Huh. I heard you were coming back to town and thought they were bullshitting me.”

“Who is they?” 

He waves his hand, before telling another server to jump on the register before he opens a swinging piece of counter open with his hip. “You know, the collective they everyone uses when they’re referencing the entire town.”

“I see.”

Seokjin looks the same as he did in college - broad shoulders, narrow waist, beautiful face and dark eyes that shine with trouble or mirth, depending on who you ask. He gestures to you and Yoongi to follow and you do, heading to the back corner near a frosted window that still has plates and baskets on the table.

“How have you been?” Seokjin asks as he begins collecting the previous diners' things. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you back here.”

“I’m okay. I think it’s just temporary, I haven't worked it out yet.”

“Hmm, we always say it’s temporary and now look at us - Yoongi is running Min’s and I’m one burnt hash brown from being spatula’d by a customer.” 

The vinyl covering sticks to your jeans as you try to slide. You’re forced to hop your way into the booth as Seokjin places the dirty plates and dishes on a round platter and grabs a bottle of cleaner from behind Yoongi’s side of the booth.

“Well,” you venture awkwardly. “There’s nothing wrong with being home, right?”

“No,” he agrees and gives you a look that you can’t read. “There’s not.”

Awkward silence hangs in the air at his tone. You chew on your lip and can’t help but feel like somehow you’ve offended him. You weren’t really friends with Seokjin growing up, but he was a friend of friends, and you knew him well enough to attend birthday parties growing up.

Now, you reach for a menu and busy yourself with it as Yoongi clears his throat and asks how business has been with the holiday only a few days away. Seokjin’s tone with you melts away as he answers Yoongi’s question, slinging a towel over his shoulder while chatting. 

A girl who looks in her late teens comes over with an order sheet and pen, sending Seokjin back toward the register where someone has a gift card that no one knows how to ring up. He leaves with a roll of his eyes as the server takes your order before scurrying away.

“Don’t let Jin make you feel weird,” Yoongi says airly, looking over the menu. The dim light from Saturn and Uranus reflect in his dark eyes when you peek at him over your menu. “He thinks you have a chip on your shoulder.”

You smack the table with your menu. “Why on earth does he think that?”

“Have some respect for the decor. We’re not on earth, we’re in space.”

“Yoongi.” 

“Look,” he sighs, putting his menu down. “When you graduated, you were very hellbent on letting everyone know that you didn’t want to come back. Then you got a very nice job in the city, and did just that and never turned back. Which is fine, I respect the hell out of you for it. But you didn’t talk to anyone, and now that you’re back under… whatever circumstances, you act like being here is going to hurt your reputation.”

“I’ve barely seen anyone while I’ve been here.”

“It’s… the posture and the way you look at everyone.” You frown and he grins, reaching over the table to poke the space between your eyebrows. “It’s that,” He insists. “You look at everyone with a very intense scowl and like you have better things to do. That’s all.”

“Do you think that?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

He looks up at you, expression soft. “I think a lot of things about you. Having a chip on your shoulder isn’t one of them.”

Before you can unravel the weight of his words and the rush of something you feel in response, the server returns with your glass of hard cider and Yoongi’s dark beer. You mull over his thoughts while he places his order and you rattle off your favorite, which you’re pleased to see is still on the menu. 

Quiet settles over the booth as you sip your drink, averting your gaze. He thinks you have a chip on your shoulder. 

When you think about it, you realize that you sort of do. 

Back when you had graduated high school and went to college just an hour away, you swore you wouldn’t go back and take up a job just to stay close to family and what you always knew. Coming from a small town, you felt like you had yet to see the world or experience anything real.

Even in college, it always felt like you were too close. All the same kids you went to high school with became your apartment neighbors and your university classmates, and everyone went to the same parties and fucked the same people.

It was like watching high school repeat all over again. Bringing home drama from college to the holidays, and then hearing what so-and-so did while they were home from school. 

The thought of ever coming back was suffocating. So you took the first job you found that felt like it was lightyears away, stuck right in the middle of corporate America in a screaming city that you could hardly sleep in for the first few months because you were overwhelmed and a little afraid.

City life had become addicting though, and seeing all your little hometown friends go back to mom-and-pop jobs while you climbed the corporate ladder, got engaged and sent really nice presents home as an apology for going to Aspen for Christmas instead of seeing your parents felt powerful and liberating. 

And then your dad died on Christmas. While you were out with friends at a resort. That had been the first blow, the first reason to start thinking that the holidays weren’t for being cheerful, or for celebrating or for… anything, really. 

With that mindset, you spent the next Christmas with your fiance tucked away in your apartment, just the two of you. It had been your anti-Christmas, doing everything that was the opposite. You watched horror movies and ate popsicles, you decorated your house for Halloween and Valentine's day, you did everything possible to forget that you weren’t home opening presents with your parents - no just your mom now - and it worked. 

Now, you’re sitting in your hometown diner across the table from the one person who has always been the exception to the rule, with Christmas music blaring over the speakers and every person wishing you a happy holiday that walks by the table. 

A pit opens up inside of your stomach as you stare at the bubbles rushing to the top of your cider. The same, nasty feeling that made you snap at Yoongi in the kitchen rises up instead of you, a hydra ready to grow more heads and become an untamable beast.

“Where did you wander off to?” Yoongi’s question startles you from your thoughts and you look up at him. “You were so caught up I thought you might make your cider explode like Professor X.”

You laugh, surprising yourself. “Did you just make an X-Men reference?”

“Yeah, I still like comics, okay?”

You hum. “I was thinking that…” You take a large swig of your cider to press the tightness in your throat back. “I was thinking that maybe I do have a chip on my shoulder. I just… the holidays honestly bring out the worst in me, and I think I was already sour about being home.”

Like your admission of guilt on the way over, you feel lighter admitting your thoughts to Yoongi. There’s a pause in the conversation as your server puts down a burger in front of him and your chicken sandwich in front of you. 

“I think,” Yoongi says slowly as he pops a fry in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “That it’s really easy for the people here to write off anyone who dares to do a little bit better than what they grew up with. For people like Jin, he always knew he’d come back home. I think it’s equal parts jealousy and wanting respect.”

“I don’t mean to make anyone feel disrespected,” you murmur. “Honestly, my distaste for coming home is more to do with the time of year than anything.”

“How so?”

Between bites of your dinner, you tell Yoongi about how your holidays have been over the last few years. How you stopped going home for them because it felt suffocating to be in a house with parents who didn’t understand anything about your love for being somewhere far away. How you stopped going home because if you stayed away with your friends and coworkers, you didn’t have to see how much they missed you.

All this time, you’d been running from guilt. Especially after the passing of your father. Even the sound of holiday music and the pressure to make plans to visit and buy gifts for people you were now somewhat unfamiliar with was enough anxiety to make the thought of Christmas and all of its bullshit unbearable. 

Once your dad died, the thought of the holiday season was even worse. It meant going home and crying on Christmas because it was just you and your mom. It meant getting thinking of your pity text messages instead of well wishes and happy holidays. It meant forgetting a pair of scissors to open gifts because that was your dad’s job, and it meant that there was an inescapable void in your home. 

Yoongi settles against the booth, looking at you with sad eyes. But what’s more, there is empathy there. Understanding. You don’t feel pitied or judged by Yoongi and the relief that washes over you as you spill your guts out at your favorite dinner is overwhelming.

You get another round of cider and you tell him about your cheating ex. How you were kicked from the apartment that hadn’t been yours from the start. How it’s one more negative feeling associated with Christmas, and how it was forcing you to go back to a place you wanted to see least of all, during a time you hated. How you… didn’t even care so much that the relationship was over. That you were just angry about having to find somewhere else to live and a little embarrassed that everyone saw it coming but you.

Sipping his beer, Yoongi sighs. “I’m going to say something that I want you to consider, and not take personally.”

You push around a cold french fry on your plate. “No promises.”

His smile is fleeting. “The holidays didn’t steal these things from you.” 

The words hang heavy in the air between the two of you. 

Elsewhere, the music has turned down a bit. It’s getting later and the dinner rush has faded to a soft hum in the background. The bell on the door chimes less and there are more empty booths than there are full. Seokjin disappears to the back for a much-earned break. 

It’s a simple concept that Yoongi has given you and yet you want to fight him on it. 

The holidays didn’t steal these things from you. Well no, they hadn’t. But it seemed that your bad luck was recurring, cycling back at the same time every year. Doomed to make your dread stronger and stronger with each passing Christmas. 

“That might be true,” you admit. “But it’s not like I’m the only person who hates the holidays. I mean, at least I have a reason and it’s not some sort of anti-corporate America speel.” He opens his mouth but you cut him off. “Which, by the way, is a very valid point. Hallmark makes all of its money on being a Christmas vampire feeding off the people like me who have trouble going home for the holidays. Except I reject it.”

“There is another alternative.” 

“And what’s that?”

“Embrace that life fucking sucks but eventually we can figure it out. If we want to and if we have the means.”

“What if we don’t have the means?”

Yoongi gives you a severe look. “Does your insurance cover therapy?” You nod. “Good, you have the means. If healing from this anxiety and guilt is something you’re interested in. Come on, I want dessert.” 

-

Later that night, when you have had an overwhelming amount of fudge and talked to Yoongi about anything and everything that doesn’t involve Christmas or any of the horrible feelings you’ve spilled to him all day long, you lay in bed flicking through your phone on one hand while you hold a thin, plastic card in another.

Squinting as the phone brightness increases when a new webpage is loaded, you manage to find what you’re looking for, typing in your insurance information and answering a few questions before you hit send. 

Once done, you set the phone on the nightstand and settle in your bed, heart pounding as you stare up at the ceiling and wonder how fast you’ll hear back on a request for a therapy consultation. 

All the while, Yoongi’s words circle round and round in your mind: Embrace the fact that life fucking sucks, but eventually we can figure it out. 

You roll on your side and squeeze your eyes shut and dare to hope that maybe Yoongi is right.

-

A routine nestles its way into your life before you’re aware of it. You get up and go downstairs for breakfast.

Once in the dining room, you have breakfast with your mom, trying not to get queasy over the fact that your dad’s chair remains empty at the head of the table. Sometimes, Yoongi is there in the morning and has breakfast with the two of you. Those days are much easier to fill the silence.

After breakfast, you shower and pick through your belongings, trying to rearrange your old room and make it somewhat adaptable to the lifestyle you had at your apartment. Adjusting to the fact that your mom is up at six in the morning on the dot and is ready for lunch by eleven nearly drives you to the edge, but you manage.

Most days you find yourself wandering to the back of Min’s Hardware and asking if Yoongi needs help. He always seems surprised to see you back, no matter how many days in a row you find yourself there, chewing on the corner of your lip. 

The silence that comes with helping Yoongi has become an addiction. You notice that he no longer plays Christmas music in the shop when you’re around, opting for just general pop. You’re both thankful and a little embarrassed, but you say nothing as he gives you projects to sand or stain. 

When you’re both tired and your fingers are cramping and worse for wear, you break for lunch. Sometimes you go to your house where your mom has fixed you both a meal. Other times, you pop by the diner where Seokjin gives you lunch on the house.

Seokjin comes around, the more he sees you with Yoongi. You’re still a little extra nice around him, trying to prove that you don’t think you’re better than him. You just… don’t know how to be him. Don’t know how to settle into life like everyone else so easily has. 

It’s two weeks in that Yoongi upends your carefully crafted routine by leaning against your workstation - you don’t know when it became yours - and says, “What are you doing for Christmas Eve? I know your mom is volunteering and she said you weren’t but I don’t want to assume you’re… not doing anything.”

Today, Yoongi is in a green sweater and jeans, the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his hands as he works. His hair is unstyled, showing just how long it’s gotten. It’s darker at the root where his natural color grows in, but even so, he looks beautiful as ever. Unsettlingly beautiful. The kind that makes you a little shy when he puts his full attention on you these days, especially when he shows you how to do something by gently touching your elbow or your wrist. 

“Ummm.” You race to think of a response, but the words are sticky in your brain with his proximity. Usually, he does his own things, but every time Yoongi comes close these days, your brain gets a little out of sorts. “I was going to do like my little anti-Christmas thing and watch Halloweentown, I guess.”

“Maybe one day I’ll join you on that. For now, I wanted to see if you wanted to um - join me.”

“Join you what?”

He presses his lips flat and raises his brow at the poorly articulated question. “For Christmas Eve. It isn’t very exciting or anything, but I usually have dinner at the home with my dad. They make a great honey ham and then Seokjin has a party at his house after everyone leaves their family dinners. Alcohol is encouraged.”

“Oh.” You blink once. Twice. “You want me to have dinner with you and your dad?”

Blossom-pink blush spreads over Yoongi’s cheek and nose. You chew your bottom lip as you watch him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he picks at stray splinters on the table. “I just thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone.”

Yoongi’s words from a few days ago echo in your mind when you asked when he started being such a fan of the holidays: when I started spending them alone. 

The thought of spending time with Yoongi with his dad, tucked into a corner of an elderly home with cheesy holiday decorations and staff that talks too gently, and putting on a show for those who feel alone and sad is dizzying. It terrifies you. It makes you want to run. 

Which is why you swallow past the stone in your throat and say, “Um. Sure. Yes. I would like to go with you.” 

He bites his bottom lip, trying to fight a smile. You clench all over, seizing up at how cute he is when he does that. “Really?”

“Yeah, Min. Really.”

“Wow, you haven’t called me Min in… a min.”

“God that was so cheesy.”

“Mhmm. We’re closed tomorrow because I’m helping out at the children’s home but I’ll pick you up at five Saturday. They serve dinner really early there.”

“Okay.” 

Yoongi grins, all gums and round cheeks and shining eyes and for a moment, you forget that you’re supposed to be heartbroken and sour and pitiful. His smile stops everything and you immediately want to say something clever to make him do it again.

Instead, you just nod awkwardly and say, “Okay.”

-

Piles and piles of clothes litter your floor as you yank on an oversized peacoat and rush to the bathroom to check your outfit. You’ve been through at least fifteen different combinations and messed up your neatly place hair, and you still are unsure what the fuck you’re supposed to wear to a Christmas Eve dinner at an elderly home with the Mins.

You are very out of your depth.

When your phone dings and you see that Yoongi has arrived to get you, you scream in frustration and decide that wide-leg jeans paired with black combat boots, a black turtleneck and an oversized coat will have to do. It’s something you would have worn back in the city, but you’re unsure if it’s a little too casual for this.

Outside, the wind snaps against your face, stinging your nose and lips. You fight the urge to lick your lips and remove the very faint, pink lip stain there as you rush to the truck where Yoongi waves enthusiastically. 

Yoongi’s gummy grin warms you more than the heated interior of the cab when you jump into the passenger seat, shuffling the crinkling gift back in your lap as you shiver and stick your hands in front of the air vents to warm them. 

“You look nice,” Yoongi says as a greeting, putting the truck in reverse and looking in his mirrors. “What’s the gift?”

“Um-” Embarrassment heats your cheeks immediately. “I uh, got your dad something? I felt sort of weird showing up without a gift. I don’t know. Is that stupid? I can leave it-”

Your name is soft on his lips as he pauses in the middle of the street to look at you. You stop your rambling, staring at him. His eyes are dark pools, glittering in the dying afternoon sun as he smiles at you. His hair is shaggy again today like he air-dried it and the tawny colored coat makes his hair even more vibrant. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Yoongi says gently, smiling. His lips look soft and pink today - well they always look like that, but you notice a little extra today. “That’s not stupid. It’s incredibly kind.”

“It’s - um - I know he used to really love reading all those mythology books and he was fond of the stuff with Odin and Thor? So I got him a Norse mythology one? It had a cool tree on it.”

For a few moments, Yoongi stares at you, unblinking. The truck is in drive, but he has his foot on the brake so it just sits in front of your house collecting little bits of snow. The weight of his gaze threatens to make you melt into the seat. You drop your gaze to the red and green package in your lap, trying to figure out how to explain that the idea was dumb.

“You are incredibly thoughtful.” Yoongi’s voice is so soft you’re almost sure you imagined him speaking at all. You glance up and he has a look you can’t unpack on his face, but it’s something like fondness, perhaps. “He will absolutely love that. I got him an Egyptian one.” 

“Are you sure?”

Yoongi takes a hand off the wheel and reaches over the center console to squeeze your hand where it’s gripped tight on the present. His fingers are calloused and rough from the years in the shop, but his touch is soft. Reverent. Your hand feels like it’s tingling even after he lets go and says, “I promise. Thank you. It’ll mean a lot to him, but it means even more to me.”

Still a little nervous and dizzy from the simple touch of his hand, you nod. 

Finally, Yoongi pulls into the road and starts driving, quiet as his eyes focus on navigating to the center of town. Music plays softly in the background and you glance out the slightly frosted window. 

Outside, families unpack themselves from cars, hurrying in bundles of jackets and loaded with presents to the doorsteps that are cast open for other family members and friends to help them in. Your heart squeezes at the thought and you look away from all of the houses and lights, instead focusing on the lines painted on the road. 

It feels like forever ago it was your family casting open your doors to house Christmas Eve with your extended family. But your uncle and his wife had long since moved away, and their kids had their own kids to celebrate with, and though the invitation was probably there for you and your mom to visit, it felt weird being with your dad's family when your dad was… not around. 

“Dad may or may not remember you,” Yoongi hums as he drives. “I think he will because he’s good about people from the past, but he might not get your name right. I don’t correct him because it can confuse and frustrate him, so just go with whatever if you can.”

“Of course. I’ll just follow your lead.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he drives with one hand on the wheel, one hand hanging off the center console where he leans on his elbow. “He has a little trouble with train of thought, just let him get it out. He hates when you try and finish sentences for him.”

You smile. “He’s always hated that. You were the most impatient son ever.” 

“Well, practice has made perfect. I’m a changed man.”

“Uh-huh.”

The home is covered in holiday decor as you expected. Cars line the lot of what would look like apartment buildings if the sign out front didn’t indicate that it was a senior living center. Honestly, they look better than most of the apartments you’ve had in the city, a single reminder that everything is so much more affordable when you step out of your self-made comfort zone.

Ice and snow crunch beneath your boots in the parking lot. The two of you hurry along, shivering and laughing in the cold. Yoongi surprises you when he pulls you in by the waist, pressing you to his side to walk in a quick, albeit warmer, huddle to the main building. 

Warmth hits you in the face and melts back the cold as you step inside, a shiver racking up your spine. There’s a massive Christmas tree in the lobby with a ‘donated’ sign in the front thanking a local company for the tree, and there are hand-crafted ornaments that from another sign, inform you they were made by the children in the orphanage on the other side of town.

Christmas music tinkles lightly overhead as Yoongi leads you to a counter where a woman with a Christmas vest and a bright smile greets him enthusiastically. It’s obvious that she’s familiar with him as she rattles off how his dad has been doing, scribbling his name on a tag with a candy cane heart and handing it over to him. 

Tag in hand, Yoongi awkwardly shuffles to the side to reveal you to the woman behind the desk, whose name tag says Esther. Her eyes go round and her mouth forms a small ‘o’ when she sees you, surprised that Yoongi has brought a guest. You hate to admit that you feel a little pleased if it’s not common for him to bring other people here. 

Ignoring that, you give her your name and she hesitates, glancing at Yoongi. He nods his head with a tiny frown before she scribbles your name onto the tag and hands it over to you, an unreadable expression now on her face. 

“Enjoy.”

Sticking the tag on your jacket, you glance at Yoongi as he leads the way toward the common room where they’re having dinner. “Well, I don’t think she likes me.”

He hums noncommittally and you say nothing more, following his twists and turns until you’re in a large common area nearly bursting at the seams with Feliz Navidad and tinsel. There are people of varying ages inside sitting around pop-up round tables and folding chairs. Red and green plastic table clothes cover the tables, little gift-wrapped boxes act as centerpieces. There’s another tree donated in the corner by Min’s, making you poke Yoongi’s side and gesture to the tree.

Shy, Yoongi shrugs and scurries away from you, spotting his dad sitting on a sectional looking up at the glittering tree. You hesitate to follow, a little lost as you watch Yoongi call his dad’s name gently, catching his attention. They look so much alike that it’s dizzying to watch as his dad stands up, bringing Yoongi into a tight hug.

You clench your jaw, willing the sudden burning in your eyes to go away. You feel your palms sweat and your throat constricts, making you look away from them as they hold each other by the shoulders, exchanging greetings that you can’t hear from the middle of the room.

All around you are people with their moms and dads. The room is crushed with holiday cheer, held hands, kisses on cheeks and tight hugs. You start to realize this was a terrible idea, excuses and ways to leave flipping through your mind like a Rolodex when Yoongi calls your name. 

Turning to face them, you feel like a deer in headlights. Eyes wide, mouth agape, frame tense. Yoongi gives you a nod as he leads his dad to you. Old Man Min walks well enough, and is a little shorter than Yoongi with peppered hair, kind eyes and a knitted scarf that looks like something perhaps your mom made. 

“You look just like your father!” His dad greets, throwing open his arms when he sees you. Your stomach drops to your ass at the declaration, but you force a smile, bending down a bit to hug him quickly. “I haven’t seen you since… I last saw you!”

That makes you laugh. “It’s nice to see you.”

“I’m just glad Yoongi finally brought you! I’ve been asking to see his girlfriend for two weeks!”

“Dad,” Yoongi admonishes giving you an apologetic look. “She’s… not.” 

Old Man Min waves him off as he heads towards the serving line where there is an array of holiday-themed catered food. “I’m starving. I’ve been waiting here all damned afternoon!”

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispers as he goes by you, upping his pace to keep up with his dad who has his sights set on food. “He does remember you very well, by the way.”

Ignoring hot coal burning in the pit of your stomach at the comparison to your father, you shuffle in line behind Yoongi. All of the workers behind the table serving recognize him immediately, brightening and greeting him with dazzling smiles and heart eyes. 

Next to him, you raise your brows and watch as he shyly interacts with them all, answering the same questions over and over and thanking them for putting on a wonderful dinner. They bask in the shower of his praise until he leans over to you and insists you get the mac and cheese. Yoongi doesn’t notice the shift, but you do, the staff immediately stiffens and goes quiet when they see you interact.

At a table tucked in the corner for just the three of you, you dig into your meal, answering all of Old Man Min’s questions he throws your way. They’re easy to answer: what do you do now, how is your mom, when did you come back. Some of the questions he repeats on accident or drifts off when asking, but you don’t mind, chewing around mac and cheese and waiting for him to get it out, or repeating your answer with the same vigor as before.

Yoongi seems nervous at first, neglecting his food to look back and forth between the two of you. You nudge him gently under the table and his dark eyes fall on you. You give him a face, trying to convey that you’re okay and he grins sheepishly, looking down at his meal and deciding it’s safe enough to start eating. 

“So how did my son finally start dating you?” his dad demands, sipping his sweet tea. “I thought he would finally ask you out in high school and then… uh college, but he never did!”

“Dad,” Yoongi starts gently, but you’re quick to cut him off, touching Yoongi’s arm gently as you smile at his dad. “Recently,” you explain. You glance at Yoongi with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t know he had a crush on me in high school, though.”

“Ha! Of course he did! Why do you think he always wanted you over at the shop? Sure were over there than uh… what’s that girl's name? Jan’s daughter.”

“Jessa,” Yoongi offers softly, not meeting anyone’s eye as he becomes interested in pushing honeyed ham around his plate. “Dad you’re embarrassing me.”

“Yeah, Jenna! She was never at the shop nearly as much as you. Nice girl, not you though.” He stabs a piece of ham and shakes his head. “Always knew you’d be the one. Your dad and I were always sure of it.” 

Yoongi tenses but you smile at Old Man Min. “Really?” 

“Mhmm. Your dad was a hell of a guy! I remember back when we were in high school…”

Yoongi’s dad launches into a tale of when he and your father were kids and you’re shocked to discover that the unsettling feeling in your stomach starts to fade. You listen, chin in your palm and elbow propped on the table as you sip on cider to the adventures of your dad in his youth. 

The wound stings a little but… it’s bearable. And it’s nice, to see Yoongi’s dad come alive and recall so many things from his own childhood. The color on Yoongi’s face and the way he keeps trying to hide his smile in the collar of his jacket says everything about how pleased he is to see his dad happy and healthy. 

Almost without thinking, you reach over under the table and take Yoongi’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He looks up at you, brows raised. You can’t help but smile, really glad that he brought you here. Somehow, it is exactly what you needed. 

Yoongi squeezes your hand back, making your heart pick up. As you start to pull away, he snatches your hand back, lacing your fingers and squeezing. You stare at him, surprised and flustered and feeling a little breathless as he settles in his chair, refusing to look at you as he holds your hand in his lap, engrossed in the tale his father is weaving. 

With a nervous exhale, you lean back in your chair, content with the warmth of his hand and whatever the hell sparks with his touch.

-

Seokjin is very drunk and very happy to see you when he throws open the front door to his incredibly nice home in the new, gated community just beyond your old high school. The two-story home is full of warmth, people from your high school and college, and a lot of booze. 

Immediately you’re uneasy, smiling awkwardly at the shocked faces of your old peers. Yoongi is heedless, though, keeping a hand on yours as he leads you through the party. You’re distracted by the firmness of his hold on you, the way it makes your head spin, the way that you don’t know what holding his hand means, but it’s nice. 

And then you’re in the kitchen, pressed close to his side as you field questions from old friends that aren’t as much friends as they are nosy people from your past. No one asks about your handholding, but the way they glance down to where Yoongi has your fingers laced with his is enough to know it’s all anyone is going to talk about in whispered circles and for the next two weeks. 

If Yoongi is bothered by this, he doesn’t show it. You however, are very in your head. The loose, happy feeling you had at dinner with his dad is replaced with stiff movements, quiet murmurs of hellos and asking how are you to people you don’t really care about, and cringing when a group of people pass by caroling room to room.

Yoongi senses the way you freeze up, the way you press yourself into the pantry as though you could melt into the wood and remain unseen. He tugs you toward a glass sliding door where there is a patio filled with smokers, all of them shivering and breathing smoke and steamed breath into the string lighting. 

Going past them, Yoongi tugs you down into the back of the yard and to a gate. People whistle behind you and Yoongi throws a middle finger over his head, uncaring. He throws the latch and squeezes through the gate, so you follow. 

Behind Seokjin’s house is a lake with a lit fountain, frozen and off for the winter season. He trudges toward it and sits down on damp grass, patting the spot next to him. Tentatively, you sit down and look over at him. 

“Sorry.” His breath fogs in the cold. “I didn’t think about how shitty that might feel for you before inviting you.”

“It’s okay. I just… don’t really know how to answer their questions.”

“What do you mean?”

You pull at frozen grass to distract yourself from having to look at him. “I mean, I just broke up with my fiance a few weeks ago because I caught them cheating and now I show up to a party where everyone thinks I’m a stuck up holding your hand.”

“Not everyone thinks that.” You give him a look and he amends, “Okay, a lot of people do but not everyone.” 

“Great.”

“If they saw you the way I do, they definitely wouldn’t think that.” You shoot him a questioning look as your heart beats a little bit faster. Your nerves start to tingle as you watch him figure out how to phrase what comes next. “You have no idea how nice it was to have you with me tonight. I’ve been doing that alone for years and I love spending time with my dad, but having someone else there to take the pressure off and to see him happy was… fuck it was really nice.”

The icy core around your heart that began to scrape itself together once you entered the party melts just a little bit. You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure what to say. Thankfully, Yoongi continues. “I know you don’t like the holidays because it reminds you of being home and everything you want to get away from, and of the bad things that happened to you. I didn’t like them for… fuck, for years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They sucked without my mom, but it wasn’t so bad because we’d come to spend time with you guys or go over to the Kims. My dad made it work, and even though it felt like a fucking gut punch those first few years after my mom died, I sort of adjusted.”

“And then?”

He sighs heavily, looking up at the moon. “And then dad’s old age happened. The man you got tonight was… man, it was good. He was great tonight, happy and present and vibrant. It’s not always like that though - it’s usually not. There are a lot of times when he might forget my mom is gone or might forget that he sold the shop to me and thinks he has to go to work and… it was really hard at first. Trying to make that adjustment.”

“You’re so patient, though.”

“I wasn’t always. Around the holidays I was trying to run the shop and visit him so he wouldn’t feel alone and deal with my own grief about how fucking alone everything felt. There wasn’t anyone to relate to and I was just…” Yoongi shrugs and runs a hand over his brow. “Honestly, I wasn’t very nice for a bit. It was really frustrating to learn new ways to talk to him and I just… hated everyone.”

Fuck you know how it feels. You look at Yoongi as he stares out at the frozen lake. You would never guess that Yoongi, who makes so many different things in his spare time for the holidays could be mean. Yoongi, who eats something different every time you go to Jin’s diner. Yoongi, who chased a stray cat around your backyard until he could bring it in and warm it up inside before taking it over to the shelter. Yoongi who has been unwaveringly kind, and invited you to Christmas Eve dinner so you wouldn’t be alone. 

When you were teens, you could have bought that story. He had always been a little standoffish and hard around the edges. You were always in his inner circle, a rare witness to the way that he could melt for the people that he cared about. But the Yoongi of now does not seem like someone who hates the world like Yoongi of then had the potential to - and did.

It doesn’t make sense, this Yoongi that he talks about in the past and the Yoongi that you see in front of you. The Yoongi in front of you is gentle, kind, and soft with those around him. He never raises his voice, he is gentle with customers, and he often pulls more weight than he should at his own store to take the pressure off his employees.

“What changed, then?” you ask, desperately seeking an answer. In him, you see what you want to be. The calmness, the confidence in who he is and what he’s doing. He’s not drowning in his grief, or trying to reconcile a cacophony of feelings. At least, it doesn’t seem like it. 

“Therapy, for starters,” he laughs and gives you a look as he lays back in the grass. You join him, feeling the cold sink into your coat, but you don’t care. You like laying here with him under a blanket of frozen stars with the muted sounds of the party just beyond the wooden gate.

He continues, “But also a lot of introspection and a lot of self-hate. This version you have of me now? It’s gone through a lot of pain and suffering and reconciling with myself. It’s not an easy process, but it is worth it. And it started with me not blaming Christmas for things  that were just… beyond my control.”

“Fuck, so I have to apologize to Santa? I’m not even religious.”

Yoongi’s breath turns to fog as he laughs. You watch the way his eyes crinkle, shining with mirth under the gray light of the moon. He glows under the night sky – cheeks frozen-blush, lips chapped a little from the winter wind, nose cherry read. Droplets of dew cling to his long hair, a crown of diamonds on a prince spun from moonbeams.

At least, that’s what it feels like as you watch his laughter settle. Yoongi smiles up at the sky and that tight feeling constricts in your chest again. This version of him is so much softer than the teenager you remember. Warm at the edges, melted with a lifetime of experiences that have thawed that hard exterior.

Something like envy slithers through you. Envy that Yoongi has long healed from his hurts. That he seems to have settled here he is now, in happiness and knowing his path. He doesn’t have everything but he has enough, and as he turns to look at you, dark eyes sparkling, you can’t help but avert your gaze.

You don’t want him to see the inside of you.

“It’s more about Christmas as a concept,” Yoongi sighs, looking back up at the sky. Marshmallow clouds drift across a midnight canvas. You can only make out the brightest of stars here, the light pollution dimming the effect. “I’m not religious either, but the effect that the holidays can have on people is touching. Heartwarming. People love others a little extra.”

“Yeah, well they should do that year-round.”

“Small steps, small steps. Maybe it’s an open conversation at a dinner, or maybe it’s someone seeing family they haven't seen in a while. There are so many opportunities for love and warmth and chances to open your heart.”

“You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Make fun of me all you want,” he chuckles. “I know it sounds idealistic and a little bit naïve. But I’ve experienced too much sadness to keep thinking that’s all there is, and I’ve seen people’s lives change around the holidays. It’s special.”

You hum. “Why wait until the end of the year for all of that so-called happiness, then?”

“Life is hard - like really fucking hard. Sometimes when the end of the year is staring you right in the face, or when you're realizing it may be your last Christmas with an aging loved one is the push people need to brave that first step to being happy.”

“You’re celebrating procrastination.”

Yoongi sighs. He rolls over on his side and props his head up with his hand. You feel a flush of warmth curl through you under the weight of his full attention. Suddenly the cold hard ground you’ve opted to lay on doesn’t feel so bad.

“I’m celebrating people being moved to do something.” His tone is gentle. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He seems thoughtful, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “I’m celebrating that sometimes the holidays are the worst time for people. But something small will happen to make them feel even a moment of happiness. Just one small second of relief from the fucking madness.”

You think about everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. A tightness constricts your throat and you try to swallow past it. It takes you a few moments, but you imagine what it would be like to have just a fucking second to catch your breath. To have a moment of pure, unfiltered happiness.

“I just…” Yoongi’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I want people to be happy. And it feels like maybe this time of year has more potential than most. So that’s what I celebrate. Not the gift and the capitalism and the hypocrisy of it all. But the little seconds in between.”

A long, slow breath of air leaves you. You watch it steam and curl toward the sky before fading. “Well, Yoongi. I wish I was nearly as optimistic.”

“Maybe you can be.” You glance at him and see him smiling. “Just give me a chance to persuade you, yeah? My work seems to be paying off so far.”

“It is. I have an appointment to talk to a therapist in three weeks. It’s just an introductory thing, but…”

“That’s great, honestly. I don’t want to say I’m proud of you because that’s pretentious and you’re not doing this for me, but I really hope it helps.” Silence settles between you. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you are cold, despite the warmth that blooms when he studies your face. “Wanna go inside and drink a fuck ton of wine and then Irish exit?”

“Fuck yeah,” you laugh, letting him help you to your feet. 

Back inside of the party, you do just that. Yoongi plies you with sweet, red wine until there’s a cotton-soft buzz in your body. You’re a little bit nicer to people who still whisper when you walk by, and you even let Seokjin drag you into a single karaoke performance of Baby It’s Cold Outside. 

It’s already embarrassing to show how horrible you are at singing, but to make matters worse, you cannot stop glancing over at Yoongi who leans against the wall of the living room, a plastic wine up in his hand, dark eyes focused only on you. 

Heat pools in your lower stomach at his gaze, watching it darken by the minute. You do not miss when Jessa - who Old Man Min has dubbed Jenna - approaches Yoongi tentatively. And yet he is dismissive, the overly-warm and kind exterior replaced with something sharper. Hungrier. 

And his focus is entirely on you.

When you finish the song and wander over to him, breathless, he keeps his eyes pinned on you. Fathomless pools that draw you in until you feel like you’re falling falling falling, weightless and breathless. No one has ever looked at you like that. Not even your fiance. 

“What?” you ask, voice shaking as you lean against the wall, face tilted up toward him. You feel warm and wine-slow all over, limbs heavy and comfortable. Your lashes flutter when you slow blink at him. His lips are stained red from wine. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What way?”

Embolden by sweet wine, your talk on the lawn and your innocent hand holding, you huff. “In a way that makes me want to be stupid and kiss you.”

“That would make you stupid?”

You drop your gaze and press the rim of your plastic cup to your lips. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I kind of want to do it, but I don’t… know?”

His voice is lower and deeper, soft against your sense as he leans in a little. “So you want to kiss me?” You nod. “But you don’t know if you want to kiss me?”

“I don’t want you to think it’s… I haven’t been single for long. I don’t want you to think that of me. It isn’t because of that. I’ve wanted to for like years and - yeah.”

“I already told you. I think a lot of things of you. That isn’t one.” His gaze flickers around the party. You don’t realize how close he is until he turns back to you, warm breath fanning against your head. “How about we do our exit now and talk about that kiss where there’s not so many eyes, hmm?”

Mutely, you nod at him. Now you definitely want to kiss Yoongi. He’s gone from the soft, gummy-grin man full of holiday cheer to a darker, calm version of himself that is new. Confident. And quite frankly toe-curling. 

Yoongi wraps his fingers around yours and leads you to the exit, saying nothing to anyone that you pass by. Then you’re out in the cold and he’s unlocking the truck, popping open your door and pulling you toward it.

“Are you okay to drive?”

“Very,” he promises, voice raspy. “I only live across the stoplight, remember?” 

“Ohhh.” You get into the passenger seat, leaning your head on it and looking at Yoongi, who is momentarily propped against your door. “You’re taking me home?”

He leans forward, eyes dropping to your mouth as he mutters, “Uh-huh.”

And then he’s kissing you and the entire world fades into the background.

Yoongi’s lips are just as soft as you imagined. You sink into the kiss, leaning forward into the heavenly press of his mouth. Everything shifts, the dizziness of the wine mulling into dizziness of Yoongi - the way he smells like cedar and rose, the way he presses your mouth open with his, the way he tastes like sweet notes of wine. 

The soft brush of his tongue against yours makes your thighs squeeze together. He’s slow as he kisses you, taking his time to suck your tongue into his mouth, rolling his over yours languidly and fuck you’re going to die from just a kiss. 

Yoongi pulls back and you whine, hands going to the collar of his jacket and pulling him back, missing the warmth of his mouth, the gentle pull of your lip between his teeth. “More,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his.

His chuckle buzzes through your mouth, a gentle tingle as you pull at his bottom lip with your teeth playfully. He groans as he kisses you, a little sloppier, with a little more tangled tongues and spit. The wet smack of his mouth against yours is interrupted when someone’s dog starts barking in one of the yards, startling you. 

“Fuck,” he laughs, voice husky. “In your seat, come on. Let’s go.”

“Meh.”

He grins and pushes your leg back into the cab of the truck. “Greedy.”

Yoongi shuts the door and rounds the hood. Your eyes are glued to him as he gets in, your heart pounding in your chest as he starts the car. It occurs to you that you just kissed Yoongi. Min Yoongi, the one person you’ve been spending time with since you got back. The one person who you thought about late at night when your fiance was asleep and you were chasing thoughts of your past. 

The one person who seemed to be willing to look a little deeper. To see that the poison inside of you wasn’t because you didn’t like anyone, or because you thought that you were better. It was because you were afraid and sad and didn’t know how to deal with anything. 

Wordlessly, he reaches over the center console, placing his hand on your thigh and giving it a squeeze. You shut your legs, stomach clenching at the feeling of his fingers brushing gently over your jeans. When you look at him, there’s a sideways smirk on his face and you know he knows that your stomach is flipping over the simple touch. 

It feels like the drive lasts a thousand years. You’re squirming in the seat as Yoongi’s thumb brushes back and forth, giving you a squeeze now and again accompanied by a grin. You can’t help but smile back, heart in your fucking throat as you see all of the familiar houses pass you by. 

The Min home is exactly like you remember it but with less cars. Yoongi parks in the drive, popping open the garage with the press of a button to reveal a workshop of tools, shelves for storage and a flickering overhead light that has been faulty since you were in middle school. 

Outside, Yoongi reaches for your hand, pulling you close as you pass under the garage and toward the door that opens up into a white-tiled kitchen. The hum of the closing door follows you in as he flicks on a light, revealing a large kitchen with oak cabinets and a counter full of mail, a catch all, and various containers of sugar, and coffee and other items. 

Yoongi chucks his keys and shuffles out of his jacket, tossing it on the counter and turning to you. He gives you a cunning smile and beckons you. There’s no denying his summons, your feet pulling you toward him automatically as he catches you by the waist, pulling you into his chest as he brushes his mouth against yours again. 

Somehow, it feels normal to be doing this. To press your palms against his chest as he lounges lazily against his kitchen counter, one hand on your waist and one hand on the side of your neck as he tilts your mouth to his, kissing you hungrily. Like he’s waited an entire lifetime to do this. 

The thought makes you pull away suddenly. You look up at him, his face flush and lips kiss-bitten and spit-slicked. His eyes flutter open, looking down at you half-lidded and dazed. “Hmm?”

“Did you really have a crush on me?” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes, tilting his head backward until it hits a cabinet. The hand on your neck is firm, a steady weight that sends your thoughts wild when his thumb brushes back and forth across the skin of your over-warmed throat. 

“Of course I did. You paint so much of my life, you have no idea.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Cause I was terrified. I wasn’t very honest with myself back then, there was no way I could be honest with you. Then after college you got that nice ass job and I realized I was coming back home and I couldn’t go with you.”

“Even in college?”

“Yeah,” he whispers to the ceiling. “Even in college. I had this big idea to maybe tell you when we graduated. I was going to work at that new startup I told you about - it was only thirty minutes away from you. And then that didn’t happen and…” He shrugs. “I realized we weren’t on the same path. It seemed pointless.”

You stare at him for a few moments, thoughts flicking through your mind at a blinding pace. Yoongi had liked you in high school. In college. Had put off telling you because he didn’t think you’d be interested enough to stay, or to figure it out or to-

“I’d have dated you anyway,” you murmur. Carefully, you move a strand of blonde hair from his eyes when he looks down at you in surprise. “Yeah,” you laugh when you see his face. “Yoongi, I was totally head over heels for you in high school and in college. And then you dated Jessa and I just figured it would be embarrassing to tell you later so I just didn’t say anything.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Those first few months when you never texted me that you had settled in at your new job I figured you had new friends or just didn’t have time for me. I didn’t even…” You sigh. “I didn’t realize you didn’t move there. I was too nervous to look at your social media.”

“I barely update it anyways.”

“I know. It’s all your cat.” That piques your interest and you pull away from him, looking around. “Where is your kitty? I want to see.”

“I love that you are excited about my cat, but I would like to request that we look for him later. I have other things I wanna do.”

“Oh?”

Yoongi’s gaze is dark when you look back at him. Your fingers tighten in his shirt, going still under the razor-sharp look he gives you. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I want to show you how fucking bad I wanted you - do want you. And I don’t want you to think I’m just saying all this, or that I’m using a moment of weakness. Since you walked into the kitchen that night, I have not been able to stop thinking about every second of my life that I liked you. That I wanted to kiss you. That I wanted to fuck you until all you could think about was the way I felt.”

“Yoongi.”

“Hmm?”

“I would like that very much.”

Yoongi’s smile is dazzling, completely at ends with how he just said he wants to fuck you but you don’t care.

Especially when he gives you a chaste kiss to the mouth. Once. Twice. And leads you through the home that you already know. His bedroom is on the opposite side of where his parents slept, and when he opens the door to reveal a room lit by a single salt lamp, you almost expect it to be covered in drawings of buildings and filled with canvas prints of famous buildings around the world and sheets designed like graph paper.

Instead, you’re surprised to see an elevated room with newly painted, limewash walls, a heavy desk tucked into the corner with leather portfolios and neatly stacked papers, dark linen sheets folded neatly on the bed with several pillows - including decorative - against a beautiful headboard with a keen design you know is his.

The room looks lived in and elegant, and it smells like the sage and jasmine reed diffuser in the corner. 

“You’re fucking hot,” you blurt, startling yourself and Yoongi. “Like your room is - adult. And you made that desk and headboard right? Fucking-” You look up at him and shake your head. “It’s really hot that you do all of these things.”

“Wow. Just the room does it for you, huh?”

You shove him playfully and he falls back on his bed, sitting with a soft bounce. He opens his legs and leans back on his palms, eyes drifting up and down your frame. He smirks, cool confidence making your hands shake as you take a step forward, suddenly feeling far more nervous than you ever have around him.

“Come here,” he purrs, lifting a hand and patting his thigh.

In a trance, you compy. Carefully you crawl into his lap, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his waist as you settle your ass between his legs. His hands wrap behind you, pressed into the small of your back as he leans forward, catching your mouth with his. He pulls your coat from your shoulders, dropping it to the floor as you settle your hand around his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair.

Kissing Yoongi makes the world stop. Here, in his bedroom, in his lap, nothing else matters. It doesn’t matter that you’re living in your mom’s house again. It doesn’t matter that you have to figure out what to do about a new place to live. It doesn’t matter that a teeny-tiny part of you was relieved to find your fiance cheating. It doesn’t matter that you were more mad about being kicked out of the apartment than anything else.

All that matters is that something slides into place when Yoongi leans back, letting you fall onto his chest. You giggle into his mouth, letting the slide of your tongues and lips lull you into a sense of longing that you’ve harbored for years without realizing it. 

You’re drowning in Yoongi. Your lungs are full of him, sending you gasping into his mouth when he rolls your hips against his, the friction sparking a fire in you. You’re completely lost in him, drifting further and further his mouth places hot, wet kisses on your jaw and neck.

It never occurred to you that you could want someone - Yoongi - this badly. You tremble on top of him as his fingers pull your shirt from the waistband of your jeans, fingers seeking the warmth of your skin. 

Breathing becomes difficult, your lips ghosting across the tender skin of his neck, nipping lightly as his calloused fingers brush across your hips, digging in as he rocks you against him. You can’t help but shiver at the feeling of arousal in your stomach, fingers quaking as he lets out a soft moan next to your ear. 

Gently, Yoongi rolls the two of you over, slotting himself between your legs and pressing his clothed hard-on where you want him most. You look up at him as he pushes his hair out of his eyes, skin flushed and full of warmth and want. He is beautiful.

Something in you blooms, hungry and feral. You grab his hands and pull them to your chest, squeezing his palms under yours. He grins, getting the hint as he gives your tits a gentle squeeze, working a light moan from you. 

“You always had great tits,” Yoongi admits, thumbs circling the gentle hint of nipples through your shirt and bralette. You squirm under his touch and his grin grows wider. “Yeah? Sensitive, hmm?”

“Yes.”

With a pleased hum, Yoongi removes your shirt. It’s cold in his room, but he’s quick to bend down, his hands rubbing up and down your sides, chasing away the goosebumps as he looks up at you, mouth hovering over a peaked nipple. 

Slowly, Yoongi flicks his tongue over your nipple. The sensation makes you kick against the mattress, the stimulation something but not nearly enough. You want more, your hands shooting to his forearms and digging your nails in. 

Yoongi huffs, warm air gusting over your skin as he gives you what you want, lowering his mouth and wrapping it around your nipple, soaking the fabric of your bralette. Your eyelids flutter shut, one of his hands holding himself up and the other ghosting along your ribs back and forth, making you shiver repeatedly. 

Pulling away, Yoongi plucks your nipple playfully with his teeth, making you squeal from a pinch of pain but a flood of pleasure. You feel lightheaded, teetering on the border between present and somewhere far away and he’s barely even touched you. 

“You okay?” Yoongi asks. You realize his lips are ghosting against your chin. “You look a little dazed. We can stop.”

“No.” You shake your head, trying to dispel the fog and blinking down at him. “No it’s - it feels good. It’s hard to think when you touch me I just-” The words are stuck in your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut.

He kisses your nose gently. “You just what?”

“I’m just really into it and it makes me feel all floaty and out of it but present. I don’t know. It’s overwhelming but good.”

“Do you want to keep going?” You nod. “Okay. You can stop at any time, okay? You ever used safe words?”

“No.”

He kisses you sweetly on the forehead, mouth drifting south until he’s nosing you lightly. His next words come out mumbled against your mouth, the hum sending a soft buzz through your lips. “Tell me a word we can use if you need to stop. No matter what we’re doing, the moment you feel uncomfortable, you use the word.”

“Christmas?”

He snickers and presses his forehead against you. “Fine, Christmas is fine.” He pecks your lips. “Okay.” He pulls your hand from your face, giving you a gentle, innocent kiss to the lips. It helps settle you a little. “Tell me what you like.”

“Umm.” Yoongi places butterfly kisses along your jaw, teeth nipping you lightly. You curse and feel your eyes roll back in your head as he sucks at your skin greedily, one of his hands coming up to brush a thumb back and forth over a nipple. “I don’t know.”

“No?” He pinches your right nipple and you moan loudly, earning a smile against your kiss-slicked neck. “You must like something. Do you like it slow? Rough? Messy? Do you like being choked? Hands above your head? Or in control?”

You shake your head. “Want me in control?” You nod. “Got it.” His hand drifts up to your neck and gives the sides a gentle squeeze. A thrill shoots through you and you lean up into him, nodding. “Yeah? Like having my hand around your throat?”

“Yes. I like…” Your words trail off for a moment as you think through the haze of Yoongi’s rasping voice and mouth. “Umm hard but sort of slow?” 

“Mhmm.”

“And messy. Messy is good.” 

Yoongi gives a satisfied hum. His hand leaves your nipple, brushing down your heated skin toward the apex of your thighs. He presses his fingers firmly over your clothed pussy, not nearly enough friction with underwear and jeans in the way. “And what about being eaten out? Do you like that?”

“Yes.”

You feel his smile against your throat. “Thank fuck. I’ve been dying to taste this fucking pussy.”

Suddenly you’re glad you have a safe word. Yoongi’s words send a fresh wave of arousal straight to your core, a moan leaving your lips as he worships your skin with his mouth. It feels like you could fall headfirst into him and never stop falling. The tension in your stomach is so tight you nearly snap when he unbuttons your jeans, everything he does is so overwhelming that there is almost an urge to cry. 

It’s hard to piece together why you feel like this. Why there is an inferno screaming inside of you, begging to be let out. Why the press of Yoongi’s fingers over your damp panties nearly sends you into a blackout, why when he circles your clit through the fabric you let out a strangled noise.

But you think… maybe you know what it is. 

Instead of thinking too hard about it, you focus on the way you’re short of breath. The way that your entire body is vibrating with energy. You look down to where Yoongi is on his knees between your legs, dark eyes looking up at you intently. His hands skate up and down the soft flesh of your inner thighs, squeezing periodically. 

Way back when, you were always nervous letting people between your legs, letting them see the most intimate parts of you up close. It was anxiety-filled and you were constantly nervous about being wrong - or just. Anything. 

But when Yoongi drops his gaze down to where your underwear sticks to your folds and lets out an appreciative curse, there’s no anxiety at all. Just a desire for Yoongi to make you his. For you to dig your fingers into him and make him yours.

Flashing you a wicked grin, he leans forward and gives a slow, wet lick over your panties. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, back arching and thighs twitching shut a little. The stimulation is more, but not enough. “Please don’t tease me.”

“Hmm, no? Want my mouth on this perfect pussy?”

“Please.”

He tucks his fingers under your underwear and pulls them down slowly, pressing a kiss to your knee absently. “You’re so much more pliant than I expected. Just want to be taken care of?”

Something inside you squeezes sharply and you shut your eyes, nodding. Realizing he can’t see you nodding, you whisper, “Yes.”

Firmly but slowly, Yoongi presses his palms into your thighs, spreading you wide. The stretch pulls your muscles but it’s a pleasant burn that is immediately forgotten when you feel his hot breath skate over your aching hole. 

You have never wanted someone’s goddamn mouth this bad. Yoongi laughs and you realize that you’re squirming, wiggling your hips a little toward his mouth. You immediately stop, hands covering your face as you groan, realizing that you are pliant for him. 

Embarrassment morphs into surprise and white hot pleasure when Yoongi licks you slowly from dripping hole to clit. Your breath gets stuck in your chest at the sensation, his tongue languidly rolling around your clit before he slow-drags it back down, dipping into your hole teasingly. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasp as he repeats the motion, the flat of his tongue dragging upward. “Fuck, Yoongi.”

He hums contentedly, flicking his tongue back and forth over your clit playfully. Your thighs tighten and shake, and you’re only able to let out the breath you’ve been holding when he pulls away and gives a soft chuckle.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, shuffling and sliding his hands under your ass. His fingers grip you firmly and he pulls you to his mouth, using the grip on your ass to anchor you to him. “Can you look at me, baby?” 

The new endearment makes your fingers clench in the sheets. It’s dizzying when you shift to your elbows, barely able to prop yourself up. The room tilts as he grins between your legs, lips glossed with your arousal. 

“Want you to watch,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. It leaves a sticky mouth print. “Such a sweet little cunt.”

Yoongi’s words have no time to land. He leans forward and you watch with acute fascination as he sucks your clit gently between his lips. Your nerves turn to molten lava and though he wants you to watch, your head falls back and you feel your eyes roll, a whimper escaping your mouth as he suckles greedily. 

Everything Yoongi does has always been art. He eats you out no different, alternately between eagerly tonguing every inch of you and sucking gently on your clit. You somehow manage to lift your heavy head, swimming with no thoughts but Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi to watch as he closes his eyes, humming delightedly as his greedy tongue slips into your clenching hole.

“Holy fuck,” you squeak. Your legs threaten to close as the knot in your stomach tightens. You know you’re going to come soon, knees squeezing his shoulders as he hums and sucks and licks, not letting a drop go to waste. “I’m gonnnaaa-” 

You can’t finish the sentence. He knows you’re going to come, his tongue firmer, his mouth hungrier. His mouth is loud and wet against you, which might gross you out if you weren’t babbling, twisting your hips under him as the pressure in your stomach shot upward. You’re panting and nearly delirious when one hand slides from your ass to your hole, his thumb applying just enough pressure to relieve a bit of the ache. 

“Fuck,” you squeak.

You come hard, eyes squeezed shut, Yoongi sucking your clit harshly and humming, the hum of his mouth sending you over and his thumb dipping into your hole to apply pressure. Under the force of your orgasm, you collapse to the bed, full-body twitching as his gluttonous mouth sucks at you, not letting up.

A numb-like tingle settles into your veins. You feel drunk, and not from the wine. Something headier that makes your thoughts white noise and your limbs heavy-soft. Yoongi gives your clit a kiss before squeezing your ass playfully, kissing his way up your stomach to your chest. 

“How are you doing?” he asks gently. 

“I think I just saw god,” you croak, voice hoarse from overuse. “Fuck. Fuck.”

He hums and licks into your mouth. You taste yourself on him, sticky-sweet and heady. He moans, dropping his hips to press against your slick thighs and still-dripping cunt. “Let me,” you mumble against his mouth, hand dropping between you and squeezing him over his jeans. Fuck. Your eyes flutter open, your hand feeling the full size of Yoongi’s cock. “Oh my god, do you have a big dick?”

Yoongi bursts into laughter, groaning and burying his head in your neck. He busies his mouth with placing sloppy kisses, more tongue than anything, against your pulse point. “I mean, yeah.” 

“I mean, yeah,” you mimic in a high-pitched voice. He laughs and you squirm. Even his laugh is hot. “Well show me. I wanna suck you off.”

“Can I be honest?”

“You just made me come from tongue alone, so yeah.”

“If your mouth comes near my dick I might come. I was close to busting in my fucking jeans like a teenager just now. I’d love for you to suck me off another time, but I am living my dream right now and I might bust a nut immediately.” 

You look at him owlishly. “Living your dream, huh?”

“Shut up,” he growls playfully. “Roll over on your stomach for me and put that perfect ass into the air, hmm?” 

With sluggish limbs and your head spinning, you do what he asks. He snaps the back of your bralette and you let it fall down your arms before tossing it aside. Leaning on your elbows, you put your ass in the air, wiggling it for effect. He huffs out a laugh behind you and you turn your head to watch him pull his shirt off.

Underneath his clothes, Yoongi is flushed pink and smooth. You watch, dazed and appreciative as he undoes his jeans swiftly. There is something alluring about watching the way his hands work his pants off. His strong thighs flex when he straightens, tucking his thumbs underneath the waistband of his briefs to slide them down and -

“Holy fuck,” you blurt. Yoongi looks up at you, blonde hair sticking to his forehead and cock bobbing heavily against his stomach. He does have a big dick - thick and long with a flushed tip leaking precum that makes your mouth water. “You’re joking.”

For a moment, the confident Yoongi from a second ago wavers, face red as he shyly gets on the bed. “If we have to stop we can-”

“Please fuck me,” you beg. You don’t even hesitate, shuffling your knees so that your ass is higher. “I don’t care if it hurts. Please.” 

His hands are on your ass, making your heart hammer in your chest. You think it might give out as Yoongi shuffles behind you, his thighs brushing against the back of yours. You feel the sticky crown of his cock against an asscheek, making you press backward to apply pressure. A sharp smack lands on your ass, earning both a cry and a moan from you. 

“Don’t fucking start,” Yoongi growls. Both of his hands grip your ass as he slides his shaft between your sticky folds. Your forehead rests on sweaty sheets as you pant, feeling how hard and long he is. “Gonna fuck you open with my fingers a little.”

“Yoongi.” 

“You said you wanted me to fuck you, baby. So let me.”

Yoongi’s hands drift from the apples of your ass to your fluttering hole. There’s a pit in your stomach, butterflies going wild as his fingers brush around your ring of muscles, hole twitching. His cock is pressed against your ass as he slides a finger in, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as he presses against your front wall, the smooth glide of his fingers addicting. 

“More,” you whisper. “Please.”

He hums in agreement, sliding in another finger. It’s a stretch, but it’s good. Pleasure whites out everything else. There’s just the tight glide of his fingers, pressing against that soft spot in you. Everything he does, your stomach lurches, the pleasure turning you boneless as you continue to melt into the mattress, letting Yoongi slow-fuck you with his fingers until he decides you can take him. 

Slowly, he removes his fingers, a line of arousal sticking to your ass as he uses both hands to spread you open. He moans, shuffling so that his cockhead catches your entrance, holding the blunt tip there for a second, letting your hole clench and unclench at the pressure. 

“Holy fuck, please.”

“What was that?”

“Min Yoongi, plea-”

Your words turn into an embarrassing sound as he sinks deep into your pussy, so wet that he slides almost to the hilt. The wind gets knocked out of you and for a second, you lay there in white light, unable to think about anything but the painful stretch of his cock reaching deep deep. 

There’s nothing else but the feel of him, hips pressed to your ass, hands rubbing up and down your back, letting your walls flutter around him as you adjust to the girth. And you do have to adjust, remembering to breathe through it. When the slight sting fades, you swivel your hips, making both of you sigh. 

Taking the hint, Yoongi pulls out, using his hands on your ass to control both of your movements before he sinks back in, finding a smooth, steady rhythm that has stars exploding behind your eyelids. You’re gone in seconds, thoughts replaced by the livewire feeling in your stomach and the way Yoongi fucks you hard and deep, though his movements are slow. 

Yoongi makes sounds behind you that make you fall apart that much faster. His hands are reverent and careful as he pulls you onto his cock, fucking you like you asked. Slow. With purpose. Every thrust is weighted, Yoongi putting his entire frame into each stroke as he fucks you into the mattress, punctuated by his stilted breaths. 

“Fuck,” he swears. “You have no fucking idea the way I dreamed about this. Fucking-” he breaks off with a growl, fingers gripping you with bone-shattering strength. “Wanted to do everything with you. For years.” 

Something inside of you snaps and you let out a muffled cry, realizing that you're near tears. Because yeah. You know what he means. You knew it when you saw him standing in the kitchen making a home with your mom. You knew it when you saw him carving rocking chairs and brushing sawdust out of your hair. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasp as he adjusts the angle, hitting your spot on the upstroke. It nearly sends you into space. “But me too.”

He smacks your ass, the sting almost sending you headfirst into your orgasm. “Yeah? Thought of me even when you weren’t here, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Thought of me even when you were lying awake at night in a city without me?”

“Yes.”

He slaps your ass again and you feel your orgasm, so tight and intense that you think you might die if the pressure doesn’t pop. “Come on,” he grunts, a hand sliding around your waist and reading down to press tight circles on your clit. Your vision goes white. “Come for me, then. Fucking show me.”

It’s all you need. You come around Yoongi, squeezing him so tight and screaming viciously into his sheets. He grabs you tight and curses loudly behind you, immediately coming deep in your cunt, shivering against you as he pants through it. You’re barely aware that his weight is on top of you, your entire being somewhere else far away.

For a while, there is just gasping breaths and tangled limbs. You’re unsure how to string together words, your mind and bones melted. Your body twitching with post-orgasm tremors. 

Strings of thoughts begin to pull together. The twine to make coherent ideas. Memories. Things. You feel the weight of Yoongi, who is only half on top of you as he tries to catch his breath. Tries to piece himself together, both of you collapsed and tangled in something beyond just bodies. 

Whatever it is that just happened is more than just fucking and you know it. Know that Yoongi knows it. You’ve been dancing around an inevitable thought for weeks, while watching him hunched over his workstation, painting stain on a cabinet with his sweater sleeves pulled over his hand. Watching him shuffle boxes of dreidels that he hand-carved for the synagogue down the street. 

The dread of coming home during the holidays was always about the association to your family. To your dad being gone. To the guilt gnawing at you for leaving your mom. But now, as he pulls the rest of himself off of you and rolls onto his back, hands grabbing you and pulling you to his sweaty side, you think that maybe being afraid of home was a little bit about him too. About the memory of him. About the little inkling of a crush that you never got over. 

“Your mom is gonna give us so much shit in the morning,” he mumbles, words a little slurred. You curl into his side, tucking your face in his neck. He smells a little like cedar, a little like sex and sweat. “She might never let me in the house again.”

“Untrue. She loves you.”

“Hmm. It’s a start.”  He sighs, words drifting off. “And no safe word needed. I could barely choke you out if I wanted. I thought I was gonna come as soon as I put it in. Holy fuck.”

“Fuck Christmas,” you laugh. “I want you to do that again. However you want to.” He snorts. “Also, I want to suck your dick in the morning. I didn’t get you a gift.” 

“Fine,” he mumbles. “Sleep, yeah?”

You hum. “Yeah.” 

[justoneday-namjoonii]

Quarters. | 9

☼1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 

prompt: “I don’t know why I’m crying, I just-...I really love you, like, just staring at you really fucks me up.” — soul-gazing

pairing: Jungkook x reader

warnings/au: please keep warnings in mind—dysfunctional relationship with a capital D, toxic relationship themes, but they’re attempting to get better, probably inaccurate therapy but i tried, m-ish, humor(i try), mentions of drug usage, cheater cheater pumpkin eater?, fluff, angst, boxer!au, iceskater!au. 

authors note: Hello!!💖it’s been a while since the last update but here we are. ✨This chapter is pretty long✨. Unlike some of the other parts, it is following the timeline of the previous part(pt. 8) so just keep that in mind. See m.list for other parts. Enjoy!🥰

“Do it again, you need to stop relying on your right leg so much!”

Your coach yells for the third time in the last hour, she’s being a tyrant today. Your poor ankles are about to break off, your legs are straining and the cold air is starting to feel like vengeful needles. It’s been about two months since the incident with your leg and the doctor at your last check up granted you freedom to skate again. You’re glad it did to because you were about to go crazy. After the scandal came out about you and your ex-coach judge, she asked you if you wanted to get back into pairs. She went on about how Lucas was open to joining pairs again and that maybe you could get back with him—tempting offer. You’ve thought about it, though you still haven’t made a decision. It has been months since your injury, you can no longer use it as an excuse to take things easy. 

Determined to get it right, you skate back to your starting point and try it again. You skate forward, bending your knees just slightly to gain more momentum and once you turn, you take off into a triple salchow. Perfect.

”Finally,” You mutter, skating over to the edge of the rink where your coach is just getting off a phone call.

“Okay, Lucas will be here on Thursday to practice with you,” She smiles, tucking her phone in her pocket, “there’s a competition in two months and I think you two should sign up for it.”

“Coach, I haven’t decided if I want to get back into that,” You put on your blade guards and walk over to the lockers, “I just don’t know yet.”

“Think about it,” She leans against the lockers as you untie your skates and put them in your bag, “if you’re seriously pursuing this career, you have to be flexible. You’re not getting any younger. I hate it just as much as you do but you’ll get positive exposure with him and maybe even pick up a sponsor for the season.”

“Fine,” You zip up your duffel bag and slip your hoodie on, deciding to leave the yoga pants on, “but I need a break. I worked a night shift last night so I’m only standing because I took three espresso shots and I’m about to take another one, I’m exhausted.”

“I know you are, try to get some rest this weekend. You’ll be at the ballet studio for half of next week so you won’t be on the ice,” She says that, hoping it’ll give you some relief, “just don’t forget to soak your feet tonight.”

You gather your stuff and walk out of the center, waving at Carrie the desk clerk like a zombie. It’s only 8 o’clock but you’ve been here for two hours, you feel like you’re in a time loop. An eternal warp created to keep you totally spent. When you hop in your car, you crank it up and turn the heat on. Not long after, your eyelids begin to feel heavy so you drive over to the closest coffee shop. When you look down at your phone, you see a missed call from Jeon Jungkook. All prior emojis have been removed from his contact.

His call will stay missed, just like the other five. You’re not in the mood for his sob story. About two weeks ago, you decided that you two needed to take a break but he took it hard. You remember sitting on your couch with crossed arms and staring at him as he twisted and squirmed uncomfortably.

“What kind of break?”

Are there different kinds?

“The kind where we stop seeing each other all the time, I don’t know what kind that is, Jungkook. But I can’t deal with this right now, it’s causing me major stress and anxiety...”

“You can’t deal with me?” He sounds hurt.

“Not with you Jungkook, with your crap. I have a ice skating career to try to work out, a job, school, the last thing I need to worry about is whether you can control yourself,” You frown, “you were just at my house with my niece and next thing I know you’re out getting high and fooling around with other girls.”

“You’re still upset about the photo,” He concludes, “baby, I told you, it didn’t go anywhere with that girl, I pushed her off. I wasn’t completely sober but I know I didn’t let her-”

“That’s exactly my point, you were doing drugs. And for what? You don’t need it. I understand a little bit of smoking every now and then but I can’t handle when you do that other stuff. That night was a disaster. I got stabbed, how does that even happen? But of course, it would happen to me,” You massage the sides of your temples. “I’m just over it, I’m tired.”

“You want to give up on us? Just like that? I’ve apologized a thousand times, I don’t know how to prove to you that I’m sorry,” He twiddles his fingers and bites at his bottom lip, “I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m not giving up,” You defend, “we need some space to work on our selves.”

“Why can’t we work on ourselves together?”

“We’ve been doing that and it doesn’t work.”

The conversation continued on until you two ended up arguing for a good hour before you lied, saying you had to go to class. He left and you haven’t heard from him since, not a a call, a text, a call, not even a like on any of your recent posts. He’s taking this well.

*

“Why did you do that!? She’s gonna think I called her,” Jungkook snatches the phone from Jimin, “fuck, are you trying to get me killed?”

“Come on,” Jimin roles his eyes with a grin, putting his boxing gloves back on, “you guys can’t stay away from each other, you expect me to believe you two aren’t talking-”

“I’m serious, we haven’t talked for weeks,” Jungkook locks his phone with a frown, tucking it in his gym bag, “she’s done with me.”

“Oh, aw man,” He is serious, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you guys broke up.” 

He had been by you and Jungkook for the entirety of the relationship, it always seemed like you preferred things to be spontaneous. Admittedly, he knew Jungkook would do something that pushed you over the edge one day but he didn’t think it would be so soon. 

“We didn’t break up,” Jungkook mumbles, tying his hair back with a head band, “we’re just taking a break, that’s what she told me at least.”

“Aw, that sucks,” Jimin has to contain his amusement, it’s not funny but the fact that Jungkook is giving you full control over the relationship is unusual to him.

“Every time I think about trying to talk to her, I just remember that face she makes and that tone she uses. That’s when I know she does not give a single fuck, it’s scary.” 

“Is there a reason she’s being so hard on you? Don’t get me wrong, you were in the wrong. You shouldn’t have been there but it’s been weeks.”

“Her past relationship was rough on her mentally and emotionally. When she was young she had some things happen to her that causes her to have a hard time trusting others.”

“If you knew that then why did you do what you did?”

“I don’t know, okay? Everyone's been beating me up about it but I just don’t have an answer for you. I said I was sorry,” Jungkook shakes his head, fists making brunt contact with the punching bag, “I just I miss her,”

“It’ll be alright, she’ll come around,” Jimin holds the bag, keeping it still for the lovesick boy, “just give it some time. Hey, I’m taking my niece to the ice-skating rink in town, you should come!”

Jungkook, dramatically collapses to the ground, laying back on the ground with his boxing gloves on his face. “Ice-skating, why would you suggest ice-skating!?” He whines. “That’s literally what she does, it’s just going to remind me of her...”

“Aw Kook, I know,” Jimin can’t help but giggle at Jungkook’s overreaction, “that’s okay, you’ll be fine, and besides,” He pulls him up from the ground and pushes his shaggy hair back, “you can’t stay away from each other forever..”

“What about this one?” You step out of the dressing room, turning from side-to-side to let her see, “I like the color.”

“That’s the one,” Harmony scrolls through her phone, eyes going between you and the screen, “perfect.”

“Harmony, you’re just saying that!” You whine, turning to look into the mirror again with a frown.

“Y/n, this is the 11th dress you’ve tried on, it looks great. I’m serious.”

“Okay, I’ll go with this one then,” You smile, going back in the dressing room to change back into your clothes. Yuna’s having a party for the charity she works with. All of the money donated goes to buying toys and clothes for kids in foster care and orphanages, you attend every year. 

“You know, I heard Jungkook might come with Taehyung,”

Ugh, you forgot that your groups of friends are also friends. Jeon Jungkook, you still consider him your boyfriend in some aspects, but you don’t want to face him right now. Maybe you’re dragging this out too far but honestly, you don’t care. You love him but right now, you’re doing too well to let him crawl himself back into your life. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t creeping on his social media every now and then, you do care enough to see how he’s doing on there. 

“Hm,” 

“That’s all you have to say?” She giggles.

“Yup.”

“Did you officially dump his ass yet?”

You step out of the dressing room, rolling your eyes harder than necessary.

“Look, what happened to you was terrible. You couldn’t skate because of him. You caught him with another girl and you still let him take you home,” She was still bitter about Jungkook taking you away the way he did, she still thinks she should have insisted more.

You clear your throat, “I rather not talk about it.” 

It’s been admittedly awkward every time one of your friends bring that night up. On one hand, you understand why they bash him so hard but on the other hand, it’s hard to hear. You two leave the mall and grab lunch to eat in the comfort of your car..

During this break, you’ve decided to try and take things slow, relax. Admittedly, it would be nice to have Jungkook around again, to run errands with, to cuddle with. It’s hard not to miss him, you knew it would be. 

“We should go to the pop-up ice-skating rink on campus today, it’s a family thing I think,” Harmony squeezes ketchup onto her fries with a thoughtful him, “it sounds fun.”

“It’s funny you say that, Lucas invited me to go ther. He was going to go with his family, I told him I probably wouldn’t be able to.” You sigh.

“Oh, that’s right! The prince is back in town,” Harmony always had a thing for Lucas, even in high school. When you two were partners years ago, she still had a crush on him, “then we definitely should go. Are you getting back into pairs with him?

“Yeah, we’ll do one season together next year.” You have to admit, you are excited to get back into the practice with one of your best friends. 

“I’ll definitely have to brush up on my ballet lessons and I was always a bit too shaky during lifts. Our instructions used to say if I don’t look comfortable during lifts on the stable ground, I can’t expect to look good while I’m being lifted and Lucas is still skating. I trust Lucas a lot more now so I think it’ll go well,”

“Jungkook will love that.”

You take a bite of your chicken sandwich with a heavy sigh, “He’ll live...”

“Uncle,” Yona sits with her little brother in the back seat while they wait for Jungkook to finish pumping the gas, “why does your friend look so grumpy? Doesn’t he want to go skating with us?”

Jimin glances back at Yona and smiles, thinking of how he should explain Jungkook’s situation. “He’s just upset, he’s fine.”

“What is he upset about?” Jimin hesitates for a moment but Jungkook signals that he’s running inside for something.

“Well,” He turns to face her, “can you keep a secret?” She eagerly nods. “Kookie is a little sad because he misses his girlfriend.”

“Oh, what happened to her?” Yona frowns, fearing what Jimin might say.

“Nothing happened to her, he’s okay, they just haven’t seen each other in a long time,” He rakes his brain, trying not to say too much about Jungkook’s love life, “but it’s okay, he’s alright. Just try to understand, he’s not trying to be a grump, he’s just a big teddy bear who pretends to be tough when he’s sad,” He grins, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

“Oh,” She nods adorably, pitying Jungkook, “I won’t,”

in the nick of time, Jungkook comes back with a receipt and mumbles something about the poor management in the convenience store. Jimin notices how Yona looks at him with sympathetic eyes but Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too wrapped up in his phone to see that a 9-year-old is pitying his dysfunctional love-life.

It doesn’t take long before the four of them arrive at the skating rink and Jimin is helping, Juda, Yona’s sleepy 5-year-old brother out of the car. Yona takes the liberty of escorting her self out and walking over to Jungkook.

“Hi,” She looks up at him, not even a little intimidated by his towering stature over herself.

Jungkook looks around, as if she’s talking to someone else. “Hi,” He gives her a small wave, “it’s Yona, right?”

“Yes,” She nods, walking by his side, “uncle said your girlfriend skates, do you skate too?” 

Jungkook mentally cringes, bracing himself for whatever Jimin told this little girl about his personal life. “No, I’m a boxer, she’s the skater.”

“Ahh, ice skating is prettier than boxing, you should ice skate too,” She looks back at Jimin and Juda walking side by side, wondering if she should walk with them or stay with Jungkook. Just when she was about to further judge Jungkook’s life choices, Jimin and Juda catch up. Jimin leads the four of them to the skate rental booth where Jungkook avoids eye contact with the girls behind the counter. It’s hard enough to be in your environment, let alone be surrounded by couples and families skating to their hearts content. It’s not the same without you, it doesn’t feel like he should even be trying to enjoy himself after what he did to you.

Jimin and the kids get their skates on, but Jungkook tells them to go ahead without him. The more he sits here, the less he wants to be here.

*

“We decided to come and skate for a little bit, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to take your invitation, I didn’t think I’d be able to come.” You and Harmony skate out onto the ice.

Lucas stands at the edge of the rink, smiling. “It’s okay, I’m here with my family so don’t sweat it, hey! You wanna practice a routine, for old time sake?”

“There are way too many people to be practicing a routine. Besides, I’m already sore from practice yesterday.”

“Where’s your boyfriend? I thought you told me he skates with you sometimes,” He skates a circle around you, a toothy grin on his face, “I want to meet him.”

“He was busy,” You lie. You don’t know where Jungkook is or what he’s doing, “It’s just us.″

Somehow, he believes you and skates off with his family while you breathe.

“You lie,” Harmony shakes her head as if to say shame on you.

“What was I supposed to say? I’m not gonna burden him with my personal problems.”

You two go back and forth until she surrenders, claiming she’ll leave you a Jungkook’s relationship out of her mouth for the rest of the day. You highly doubt she can but you appreciate the effort. 

Nononononono—why is he here? And blonde. Your eyes widen, your palms get sweaty, just seeing him affects you. You’ve missed him. Judging by the way he’s sitting on the bench with his skates beside him, he looks sad. Who is he here with? 

”Y/n, Harmony, hey!” Jimin skates over to you with two little kids by his side, they’re so cute. “What’re you two doing here?”

”Jimin? Hi, fancy meeting you here, we decided to come last minute,” You’ve connect the dots now, “who are these two cuties?”

“I’m babysitting my niece and nephew,” He holds both of your hands and the both of them say a shy little greeting, “say hello guys,”

“Hi,” Yona waves at you two and you greet her with a bright smile.

Jimin glances back at Jungkook who has yet to notice you. “Y/n, can I talk to you for a minute?” You nod.

“Harmony can you please watch them for a second?”  “Me? Um, I guess but-”

You skate to the edge of the rink and Jimin follows, you already anticipating what this conversation is about.

“Jungkook is here.”

“I know, I saw him,” You deadpan.

“Look, I know what happened between you guys and he probably doesn’t want me to say this, but he’s been the biggest bitch since you two split, I’ve never seen him so at odds with himself.”

“What am I supposed to do about that? That’s not my fault.” You frown.

“I’m not saying that you need to do anything,” Now he understands what Jungkook meant about your infamous tone. “I just wanted to let you know, I figured you haven’t talked.”

“I’m sorry,” You hold your face in your hands, “I’m not trying to be mean, I just have a lot on my mind and I wasn’t expecting to have to deal with him today.”

“Maybe you two can talk, I’m not saying you should get back together but maybe talking face to face will help you find common ground?”

That’s advice that you know you should take but the thought of talking to him makes your stomach uneasy. It’s easier to ignore him, erase him from your life while you figure out what you want. You’re very childish in the aspect of talking things out, he is too.

“Here he comes,” Jimin looks over at Jungkook who is slowly approaching you two, “I’ll give you two some space-”

“Jimin, I swear, if you did this on purpose!-” Your threat is cut short when he skates away and Jungkook skates up to you. As if you don’t even see him, you quickly skate away, uninterested in anything he might have to say.

Jungkook knows he can’t possibly out-skate you. He mumbles a few curses before skating over to Jimin and the kids as frustrated as ever. For a moment, he almost changed course because Harmony, his biggest hater, is with them and she is one of the last people he wants to see.

“Jungkook, hey,” Jimin sighs, dreading the angry frown in Jungkook’s brows, “I’m glad you decided to-”

“Did you know she was here?” Jungkook cuts straight to the punch, not paying any mind to Harmony whose staring at him as if he’s a mass murderer.

“No,” Jimin shrugs, voice low in order not to alarm the kids who are skating near by, “you know I would have told you.”

“I’ll be in the car.” He skates off, anxious to get off the ice but he’s stopped when another skater bumps into his shoulder.

“Sorry!-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook shrugs, but just when Jungkook was about to leave the guy gives him a weird look. 

“Wait, what’s your name? You look so familiar,”

“Jungkook,” He responds with a bit of impatience, “I don’t think I know you from anywhere, sorry-”

“You’re Y/n’s boyfriend! She showed me some of her pictures pictures,” Lucas smiles but Jungkook’s eyes darken, “I’m Lucas, we’re competing in pairs again next season, I’m sure she’s told you.”

“Oh, I didn’t know, probably slipped her mind,” You haven’t mentioned it on purpose. Then again, how could you? You haven’t talked in weeks.

Just when he thought this day couldn’t get any worse, he meets your partner, and he’s not ugly,

“She said you couldn’t come because you were busy, did you come to surprise her?”

“Something like that- I’m sorry, I gotta go.”

“Okay, well...nice to meet you,” Lucas waves him off but Jungkook doesn’t pay him any mind. 

He thought this might go differently, why did he think that? As soon as he saw you, that tug in his heart came back, that desire to be around you came back. When you walked away, it made him feel like crap, you didn’t even want to look at him.

While he’s skating off to the side to leave the rink, he sees you taking off your personal skates and putting them in their bag. Of course, your caddie is right next to where his heavy black boots are. He enters the room opens the caddie with the little pass-code they gave him when he rented the skates. You spare him a glance as you tie your sneakers and he sits to get his shoes on.

“Did you have to ignore me like that?” He decides to speak up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You frown, “I don’t even know why you’re here.”

“Since when did you start caring where I go?” He bites back. “You’ve been ghosting me for fucking weeks and suddenly I’m not allowed to go out?”

“I didn’t want to see you...I was doing so good, I was forgetting about you.” You lean back, not giving him eye contact.

”Wow, just what I wanted to hear,” He thought you would say something like that but he didn’t expect you to be so blunt. 

“You can’t say you’re surprised, can you?”

“No, but the least you can do is talk to me.”

”Fine, that’s fair. What do you have to say?” You stand to your feet, your bag tight in your hand/

”Believe it or not,” He gets up to lean on the wall behind him, “I love you, so I'm letting you drag me along and make all of the rules but I’m just asking that you communicate with me, I need to know what you want,” He tends to ask this question when he’s most desperate for your good side to emerge.

“Why don’t you tell me what you want? I’m not the one going around making decisions that hurt our relationship, not recently anyway.” You throw a jab at him, you couldn’t contain it anymore.

“If you’re trying to make me feel like shit, you’ve succeeded. You’ve been succeeding for weeks now, it’s actually starting to get to me, mentally.” As he says that, an unsuspecting few individuals come in to get there things.

“Can-” You pause and walk over to him to eliminate the awkward distance, “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

His spirits brighten a little because at least you’re interested in continuing the conversation, you haven’t even attempted to do that until now. So when he stutters out an “okay”, his feet move as soon as yours do. He’s walking right next to you and you find yourself keeping your arms crossed, away from his hands that you would normally be holding. By the time you walk out to the rink, Jimin is still with the kids and Harmony is gone, probably in the restroom. You find a secluded area near the concession area and take a seat, he does the same right across from you. 

“Do you want to break up?” 

He puts it out there. He’s never been the one to hesitate, especially when his heart is on the line.

“What do you mean?” You swallow, not expecting to be confronted with that question.

He almost scoffs because you’re having a similar reaction to his reaction to you telling him you wanted to take a break.

“Do you not want to be in a relationship anymore? If this isn’t something you’re willing to do anymore, I need you to tell me so I can grieve in peace...I feel really lost right now.”

“Grieve? I’m not going to die if we break up, Jungkook, and I never said I wanted to break up—I never said I didn’t love you either. That’s not what this is about, it’s not about whether we love each anymore, it’s about trust.” 

“How can I gain your trust?”

You look around, making sure no one is listening in on you two before mumbling out your answer. “I don’t know...I just don’t trust you, I can’t tell you how to make it up to me because people who screw me over, I normally stay as far away from them as I can.”

All you can think about is the lies from your birth-mother, the betrayal and humiliation that came over you when you found out about your ex. Situations like that always come to mind when the subject of trust is mentioned. You’ve been hurt and Jungkook knows that, he knows when you feel like you can’t trust someone, you shut down. You want nothing to do with that person, your pain blinds you—its your character flaw.

“You’re lucky I’m even talking to you right now,” You mumble, nibbling at your bottom lip.

“Yeah, I know.” He scoffs, a look of disbelief that turns into an understandable shrug of his shoulders. 

“I’ve always thought of you as someone I didn’t deserve, you know that,” He glances down at his twiddling fingers, “when we got together, you changed me and I’m so grateful for that...I was such a shitty person before I met you- I mean, I’m sure you think I’m shitty now but I was way worse.” It surprises you when you see tears welling at his eyes that he quickly wipes away, tattooed fingers getting a bit wet.

“Jungkook,” You lay a hand over his with sympathetic eyes, “I still love you.”

“Seriously?” He glances up at you, surprised. 

“Yes...You hurt me, you made me feel stupid and I’m not over it...But I never forget those times where I made life difficult for you, you never made me feel irredeemable. No matter how awful I acted, you never made me feel like a burden. That’s more than I can say about a lot of people in my life.”

The more you talk this out with him, the more you realize how harshly you’ve been treating him. It doesn’t change how you feel about your relationship, but it does open your eyes to the standard you’ve been holding him to. You don’t know if you’re ready to start again.

“Well, I have to be honest with you,” He looks at you through his dirty blonde locks, “it still hurts like hell to have you treat me like a stranger. That shit is painful, even for me.”

“I’m sorry,” You murmur out an apology before you can really think about it, “I’m just upset at you is all...” Slowly, you take your hand off of his and your eyes wander back to his dear-like eyes. 

“Everyone’s telling me I should let you go but I don’t want to. I just need to know that you’re willing to wait for me, and to work on yourself...”

“I’ll do anything, I’ll do whatever it takes for us,”

Shortly after that day, you found yourself thinking more and more about your future. It made you cringe at one point, what were you planning to do with the rest of your life? Whatever you planned to do, you always imagined Jungkook would be by your side. Now, you’re coming to terms with the fact that things may not go as planned.

“Y/n, are you ready?” Lucas calls your name from outside of the dressing room.

”What are you doing in here? This is the woman’s locker room,” You open the door, now fully dressed in your new leotard.

”We’re the only ones here,” Lucas stands with a matching outfit, far less sparkly as yours.

”Why does she always pick these leotards for me? You always get the toned down looks-” You walk over to the mirror, furrowing your brows, “Oh, actually, this one is kinda nice.”

“She knows you’re the most dramatic out of the two of us, maybe that’s why,” He shrugs his shoulders before quickly running back out into the ballet studio. Your least favorite part of your career is the ballet lessons, it’s the most grueling.

“Come on out, Y/n, we only have the studio for the morning so we need to use our time wisely.”

“Sorry,” You walk out with an urgency, “the costume fits okay, a little snug but it’s doable.”

Coach gives you a knowing look, she’s been floating the idea of a diet around. As committed as you are to your craft, dieting is one thing you don’t think you need to do well. You try to stay fit but sometimes you’re more concerned about your dwindling love life than you dress size. The ballet instructor emerges from around the corner and you cringe, the next few hours are about to be painful. 

Yet, as the class progresses, your thoughts drift farther from the positions and you find yourself zoning out completely.

*

*

At one point in time, you couldn’t imagine being without Jungkook. Out of all of the people who’ve come and gone out of your life, he stayed. He became your best friend and your first love.

“I don’t want to be here anymore, please, just let me go home,” You sat on the hotel room floor, hair pin in your hands and a painfully cold ice bag on your ankle, “...I can’t go back out there.”

She stands with crossed arms, her unchanging expression not doing anything for your emotional state.”Y/n, you are a professional, and do you know what professionals do?”

”No.”

“They finish the competition, no matter what. You need to stay for the judging, “

“Why? I fell on my biggest jump on live television. Cindy. I look like an amateur...There’s no way in hell they’ll even consider placing me. That means I’m done for, I might as well kiss nationals goodbye.”

”That was the last program, you still have a chance-“

”Not after Charlotte’s routine! You said it yourself, I had to be flawless or Charlotte would take my spot in the qualifying team, there was no room for error. This is the one time it had to be perfect...” You use the bed to help you up and you sit down n the edge of it.

”It won’t be perfect every time. You work harder than any girl I know, and not just in this sport, you work hard at whatever you do and you support yourself, you’re the only girl I know who’s parents aren’t paying for you to be here. You deserve to be here, you made one mistake, one. It’s not the end of the world, sweetheart,” Cindy takes a seat beside you, a comforting hand going to your shoulder, “these things happen.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm down and think rationally. Cindy is trying her best to talk you off of the ledge but you’re very much still there. She says you work so hard, but what do you have to show for it? You’re doing this alone a majority of the time. Your family only comes to support you sometimes, they don’t have a lot of free time to spend on your hobby. Your iceskating is a glorified hobby to them, they won’t say it but it’s true. After they told you to pick a major and find a good paying 9-5, they stopped paying for your iceskating. They’re paying for school but that’s it, you’re supporting yourself in every other aspect. That gave you all the reason to try to prove to them that you were an exceptional athlete. To prove to them that you did it all on your own, that’s your only goal. Yet, the more you reach for that, the farther you get from it.

”Listen, I need to check on the other girls, alright? I hope you reconsider.” She pecks your forehead, a motherly affection that you’ve come to appreciate from her. She is like a mom in some ways. She cares for the entire team, and she would never say it, but she has a particular soft spot for you. She can see how much you want this, how the ice can take you to a different place.

You were meant to do this, she always tells you that. She saw the fire in you as soon as she accepted you on her team. Your passion attracted her to you, you never stopped, you had so much drive. Some people are meant to fight tooth and nail for what they want, sometimes you have to ask yourself, why do I have be one of those people?

Ignoring your better judgment, you packed your bags and took the 2-hour drive back to your apartment. All while you were fleeing the city to seek refuge at home, you received multiple phone calls from Jungkook but you couldn’t bring yourself to call him back. When you got home, you took off your tracksuit and sank face first into your coach. 

As much as you wanted Jungkook to come to the competition, you insisted that he stay and take that job. He hasn’t been boxing as much so any extra art job he can take, you encourage him to take it. He told you he’d streamed the competition while working on the mural at a nearby bar. His heart sank when you took that fall.  You put hours of practice into that routine and perfected it, he had seen you do it flawlessly several times. 

All he wanted to do was hug you and tell you that you did well but all he could do was hope that you weren’t beating yourself up. He could only imagine how devastated you were and to not be able to be there for you, he couldn’t stand it. He finished up the mural and you had finally texted him saying, ‘I came home early.’ He went straight to your apartment with the big pink bunny he bought for you, you need it even more now.

”Hey, it’s me,” He opened the front door and announced himself softly and walks further inside. 

The television barely illuminates the living room but he sees you laying on the couch. He sits the bunny down behind the couch so you can’t see them before walking around to greet you in your depressing state.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, baby,” He rests a hand on thigh and kisses your cheek, “you must’ve known how much I was missing you,” His attempt to make you smile goes painfully unnoticed. 

He bites at his bottom lip in thought. “Did something happen?...”

You swallow the lump in your throat and finally look him in the eyes, “Did you watch my second program?” 

“I did, you looked beautiful-”

“I’m quitting.”

He turns his whole body to you, brows deeply furrowed like a cartoon character. “What?”

You cover your face with a pillow, successfully hiding your tears, “I’m calling Cindy to tell her I don’t want to do it anymore, I quit.”

“Woah, wait, why?” He takes the pillow from you to see your face, “Y/n, calm down, what’s going on? Tell me what happened.”

“I- I didn’t make the national team, that was my only chance until next year. All my hard work went down the drain and everyone saw me screw up..” You wipe your tears with your sleeve.

“Hey, it’s okay, you cry if you need to,” He pulls you into a hug, cradling your head to his chest, “I know this is tough for you but it’s not the end of the world, it’ll get better.”

You pull away from him as if he were suddenly hot to the touch and bury your face into the arm of the couch. “You wouldn’t understand, the pique of my career was riding on this, and I blew it. It feels like the end of my world, okay?” 

You know your words are muffled by the couch, that’s probably for the better anyway. “T- that’s just how I feel...” 

He doesn’t pry any further after that. He knows there’s not much he can say to change your mind right now. Instead, he scoots closer to your side and places a comforting hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles as he waits for you to continue.

“I have nothing if I lose this, there’s all this pressure on my shoulders and its tearing me apart...” You turn to wipe your face and sit up. “I love skating, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do...if I stop, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

You’ll never forget that night. 

He lifted you into his lap and kept his arms tight around you. “You’re so much more than just your skating. You’re so good at but it’s not all that you are.” Jungkook has a way of talking you off of the edge but that night, you were especially down on yourself.

“Yes it is...” 

“No it’s not,” He sighs, “look, I know what it feels like to find your identity in something and then all of a sudden, that something is gone...When my portfolio got rejected, I felt like a failure. My family never got behind the boxing thing, so I’ve always tried to find another way to support myself just in case for whatever reason it doesn’t work out...I didn’t start realizing that until recently. I’m constantly torn between giving up one dream for the other but I want to do both, you actually inspire me to do both.” You furrow your brows, briefly abandoning your own issues to listen to him. 

“You work so hard and you’re showing your family that you can do this, you just have to believe in yourself, and you know what? You’re doing amazing. Tonight was just a bad night, it happens.” He squeezes you tight and you do the same, arms fastened around his neck as if it would kill you to let go.

You didn’t need to say anything after that. You settled your mind and you were no longer at the edge, you were still close, but not there. With your head resting over his shoulder, you try to peek over the couch to see what he dropped back there when he walked in.

“Hey, what’d you think you’re doing?” Jungkook leans forward and your grip around him is loosened so you can no longer look back there. “You think I got something for you?”

You look down a bit embarrassed that he caught you, “Well, yeah...you did,  didn’t you?” You smile for the first time tonight and he breathes a sigh of relief. Finally.

He was going to tease you for wanting your gifts even though you just had a meltdown. But how could he? He wants to keep this smile on your face for as long as possible.

“Sit,” He lifts you off his lip and back to your previous seat on the couch, “no peeking.”

You hold your hands over your eyes, excited even thought have no idea what it might be.

“Okay, open.”

When you move your hands to see you squeal in excitement. “Oh, Jungkook! It’s so cute!” You stand up to take the pink bunny that’s almost more than half your size. “Thank you,” You lean into him with the bunny between you two, “it’s so big and soft, like you.”

“Yeah I know,” He sways from side-to-side with you in his arms, “you feeling better?”

You muffle your sigh into the stuffed animal, “I still wanna quit.”

“Oh stop,” He pulls the from your grip and tosses it onto the couch, “you’re just being bratty now,”

“No I’m not,” You whine, the issue still very fresh, “I’m still sad...I just really like my gift and I’m happy to see you...But I am still upset.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” He lays on the couch and beckons you into his arms to lay on his chest, “let’s cuddle you until you feel better then, will that help?” 

“Maybe...”  

You’d be lying if you said you could live without that side of him.

*

A few days later, you’re surprised you hadn’t heard from him. But when you get back from the gym with a missed call from him and a solemn text to  ‘call back when you can’, you actually call him back.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothings wrong. Thank you for calling me back.” 

His voice sounds relaxed but a bit anxious.

“Did you need something?” You sigh, pouring your boiling water in your mug.

“Are you free to go with me somewhere at 11? And then maybe, we could grab dinner? Just-...Don’t be mad, please.”

Anxiety bubbles in your chest.

“What’re you talking about?”

“I signed us up for couples therapy.”

“You did what?” Somewhere in your mind, you had wanted him to bring this up—you never imagined that he actually would.

”You said we don’t know how to work on ourselves together, I read that therapy helps with that. Will you go with me? If you don’t like it, you never have to do it again I swear.”

“Jungkook...I appreciate the effort, I really do, but how did you find this therapist? Do you trust them?”

”Of course. He has great reviews online and my-...Well, my mom found him actually.”

You pause, a bit taken aback. He talked to his mom about your relationship and he took her advice about seeing a therapist? He must have really taken your words to heart about getting help.

“Can you pick me up?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in 20.”

When he picked you up, you were reminded just how well he could clean up. Sure, he always dresses so well and smells amazing, but he’s different today—you can tell he put in a lot of effort. You’re glad you decided to do your makeup and where a nice sundress, you would have felt terribly under-dressed.

“Hi, how can I help you?

“Hi, we have an appointment for Jeon at 5, with Seojoon.”

You stand next to Jungkook at the front desk, your hands tightly clutching your purse. It’s hard to not think the woman is judging you and Jungkook for being here. She’s probably seen hundreds of people come into this office but something in you can’t shake the feeling. She directs you two to the waiting room and says he’ll come get you two in a few minutes.

“So,” You begin, glancing at Jungkook, “I’m nervous...” 

“Me too.” This is new for the both of you. In only a few seconds, who you assume to be Seojoon emerges from the hallway and you look at him a bit wide-eyed. 

“Hi, Jungkook, Y/n, are you two ready?” 

“Oh, um, yes.” You stand up in sync with Jungkook, already wanting to run out of here but you resist.

You have to admit that the office is really nice, not stiff and sterile looking, the energy is very calming. Seojoon opens the door to a cozy-looking room with tons of natural sun light. There’s warm-rose colored couch that you assume is for ‘the couple.’

“Alright, you can take a seat right there, make yourselves comfortable.” He smiles, taking a seat and you two do the same.

“So let’s get right into it. What brought you two here today? If you could both tell me your separate answers, that would be great.” Despite Seojoon looking at you directly to presumably go first, you divert your eyes and look at Jungkook to say something first.

“Well, we’re- I think we’re going through a lot right now and I just want to save our relationship.” Jungkook sits back, resting against the arm of the couch as he gazes at you to give your answer.

“What about you, Y/n?”

You glance down at your lap, feeling very out of your comfort zone and not confident enough to verbalize what you would like to say. Alas, you try.

“I feel the same way, we’re not in a good place and I’m confused about what to do-...I just want what we used to have.” You confess a bit of your true feelings but ignore the longing look Jungkook gives you.

“When did you start feeling like the relationship was changing?”

“Fairly recently. We were fine, at least I thought we were until I saw him with another girl back in an old lifestyle that I thought he gave up...”

Seojoon diverts his attention away from you and to Jungkook. “Jungkook, do you want to share a little bit about that?”

“Not really,” He answers honestly at least.

“Why not?”

“To be honest, I don’t know why she keeps throwing the same jab at me. I’ve told her the truth but she doesn’t want to hear it. I went out that night,” He almost glares at you, “I didn’t plan to. I ran into an old friend and I just-...I thought it was harmless and I got caught up...” 

Seojoon scribbles something down. “Okay, so can you fill me in a little bit. Are we talking about unfaithfulness? Addiction?”

“Unfaithfulness,” You interject. “he said he didn’t cheat on me but...” You mumble, your confidence faltering for some reason. “It’s hard to believe that.”

“But you think he did so you have some distrust. Were you unfaithful, Jungkook?”

“It doesn’t matter if I say I did or I didn’t, she thinks I did.” He shrugs.

”Y/n,” Seojoon puts an end to the death stare you had on Jungkook, “can you tell Jungkook what cheating looks like to you?”

”Not sleeping with her doesn’t mean you didn’t cheat on me. Letting her put her hands on you- And I don’t care if it was just a kiss! You shouldn’t have been in that situation, and for me to have to see it on social media? I could have killed you I was so mad. You should ask Jungkook what cheating is to him. We obviously have different standards for defining it...”

”What does cheating look like to you, Jungkook?” He heeds your suggestion without any push-back.

”To me,” He hesitates, feeling a bit scrutinized, “it’s when a person violates the intimacy of the relationship by giving it to someone else.”

“What kind of intimacy?”

“Emotional, physical, every kind,” He turns to you, “I wouldn’t do thingst that I do with Y/n with anyone else, not by choice-”

“Yes you would! You did...Are you trying to tell me that you were assaulted? That she forced her way on you?”

“I was blitzed! I don’t fucking know. All I do know is that she got on top of me and I pushed her off. That’s it. I swear, if anything else happened, I don’t remember it.”

“I don’t care. You know what I’ve been through, to even allow another girl to even get close to touching you like that...It was a slap in the face.”

Seojoon’s ears perk up at the mention of your past. “Did you have to go through a similar situation in a previous relationship?” 

“Yes and he knows this. I was being cheated on before and the guy had a literal baby on the way throughout our entire relationship...It was traumatizing.” It stings his ears to hear you say that. But it’s true, he knows your past and he didn’t let it stop him. 

“What happened must have triggered you,” You nod to yourself, “but you’re here to try to work through forgiveness and build trust. If you two are comfortable with it, I’d like you do do two exercises; one here and one when you’re alone. The first one that you’ll do here, I need you to face each other, preferably close, and I have some questions for you two to ask each other.”

“Like this?” Jungkook answers instantly and turns to you, getting closer to you than he has in weeks. You face him slowly, eyes wavering a bit. His face has always been a soft-spot for you, staring at him makes you feel weak.

“Actually,” Seojoon stands up, gesturing for you to do the same, “two chairs might be more comfortable, yeah? Let’s go to my other room.”

You follow Seojoon to a small room with three chairs a small table in front of them. Jungkooks pulls seat out so they’re facing each other. When you look up to acknowledge him with deliberate eye-contact, for a moment he thinks you might be softening. 

“I want you all to start with ‘I’ statements, tell your partner how you feel or how you felt in this case. Try to maintain eye-contact and truly listen to each other.”

“I’ll go first,” You volunteer because you want to get this over with.

“I feel alone and helpless when you go back to your old habits, I feel like you’re hiding things from me...” You find a way to keep your eyes-locked to his. 

“I’m not asking you to be perfect but I just want you to make me feel special to you...Like you wouldn’t dream of being with someone else. Because I don’t think of loving anyone else, and trust me I’ve tried to imagine it but I can’t,” You bite your cheek to keep from crying, “you make it so hard to trust you. You don’t listen and you don’t change until it’s too late.” 

Being emotionally inept is something you are both too good at. It’s difficult for you to share your true feelings with a clear mind, but when you do, you can never guess what will happen next. 

“I feel trapped by you. I know I fucked everything up, okay? You don’t have to keep reminding me.” His tone is harsher than you anticipated. 

“I’m trying to put in the fucking effort to help us, and I’m giving you time. But when you tell me you still want me but you won’t even let me come around, it’s confusing. You’re confusing, that’s just how I feel.” His brows furrow and you notice Seojoon watches the exchange intently.

“But I miss you and I want you back, I don’t want to take a break,” He leans forward with his hands firmly gripping your knees over your dress, “I know you think I’m an asshole but I try to change, I’m trying, you know I wouldn't bring you to this if I could think of any other way to prove that to you.” The strain in his voice only stirs more emotions inside of you. 

“Jungkook,” Seojoon calls his name softly and Jungkook looks over as if he forgot he was there, “try not to engage in any physical, okay? It can be overwhelming.”

“Sorry,” He takes his hands from you and sits back, “that’s all I want to say.” 

“Alright, well, um,” Seojoon clears his throat, eager to break the tension up a little bit, “unfortunately our session is up but I want to give you two a list of exercises and talking points. I know this was a consultation appointment but I want to give you some things to work on at home. I’ll have Kelly type up your homework, alright?”

“Okay, thank you,” you both thank the therapist but you get up with an urgency and leave the room before Jungkook can follow you. When you make it out to the waiting room, you spot the bathroom and you bolt to it. Before you have to spend a car ride with him, you need to get your emotions together. 

“Mr. Jeon,” The receptionist calls him from the hall, “this is for you, you can bring it back to the next appointment for a discount.” Jungkook halfheartedly thanks her before going to the car. He doesn’t even know if there will be another session. He needs to smoke before you come out and you’ll freak if he smokes while you’re in the car. 

“Why did I come here...” You look at the mirror and frown, you look so rough. It was nice to get everything out in the open but you knew he’d get intense eventually. Only when the toilet flushed did you remember that there were multiple stalls in here. When you look away from the mirror to fumble through your purse, just trying to avoid talking to her. 

”Hi, how are you?”

“I’m okay, how are you?”

“Oh god, nervous, I’m nervous. Me and my husband, we’re newly weds, our appointment is in five minutes and I really don’t know what to expect. Did you have an appointment with your partner?”

“I did,” You sigh, “it was-...It was fine, don’t be nervous.” In your attempt to comfort her, you find your self in a highly hypocritical position. “Me and my boyfriend, we’re different so ours was a little- A little chaotic but I think it helped a little,” You hesitate, “I don’t know.”

“That makes me feel a little better, hopefully my husband behaves himself,” She tosses her wavy brown hair over her shoulder and smiles, “well, it was nice meeting you.”

It takes you a moment but you gather the strength to wave goodbye and go face your boyfriend.

”Excuse me, Miss, I think your husband forgot to grab this.” The receptionist waves you over and hands you a little folder.

”Oh,” You try to hide the blush forming on your cheeks.  he’s not my- We’re not married.” 

”Oh, I’m sorry! He only put his last name on the appointment so I thought it was your name as well. Sorry about that, have a great rest of your day.” She bids you farewell with a flustered smile.

When you walk outside, you see Jungkook leaning against the car. You thought he might’ve been smoking but you can’t detect any small. That’s a relief.

”You feeling okay?” He questions gently. 

You nod, hopping in the car with the desire to be home already. He gets in the car and glances at you from the corner of his eye, he worries that this might have been too much for you. 

“Where do you want to eat?” 

“There’s a ramen place down the street, that’s fine with me.” You suggest, eyes trained on your phone.

The air in the car isn’t tense or stiff, its just quiet. There’s a lot to unpack from the session and you figured Jungkook was thinking through it too. That’s why when you two arrived at the ramen shop, took your seats, and placed your orders, the silence was getting to be a bit too awkward for you.

“I like the new hair, you’ve never gone this blonde before,” You glance up at him, trying to start a conversation, “it looks good.”

“Thanks, it was an impulsive thing. I heard you decided to get back into pairs,” He brings the coke to his lips, “I was surprised to hear that.”

“Oh, yeah,” You figured he would find out soon, “I’m back with Lucas for the season.”

“Good for you,” That’s not a reaction you were expecting from anti-pairs-skating Jungkook. Then again, you know him well enough to know that he’s probably keeping his true opinion to himself.

“The receptionist gave this to me,” You pull the paper out of your purse and show it to him, “I think it has additional information.”

“Let me see,” You hand it to him, “hm, soul-gazing? What the hell is that...” He reads over the description and it makes him giggle. “Nonverbal communication between lovers, allows couples to explore intimate places in the relationship. We do this already, but it’s a little more than eye contact,” He recalls those dreamy moments that he used to share with you so often, gazing at you with a smile.

“We can try that later maybe,” You avoid his smile with a glance out the window.

“Okay. So, about the session today, I hope you understood where I was coming from...I didn’t expect to say all that, I’m sorry if it was too much.”

“Don’t apologize, I wanted to hear how you felt.”

“I’m sorry,” He extends a hand out on the table, hoping you’ll take it, “I’ve thought about what I’ve done and I’ve tried to repent for it. But at the end of the day, it’s up to you. But just tell this once, you miss us, don’t you?”

“I do, Jungkook...It’s just, I’m in a tough spot and I don’t- I don’t want to disappoint anyone or myself.”

“You’re talking about your friends or your family?” He frowns at the thought of either party trying to discourage you.

“My family doesn’t know anything about this, it’s my friends who are concerned for me. They saw me get hurt and they don’t want to see it happen again, they want me to be happy.”

“Don’t listen to them, all they do is talk shit about me and try to tell you what you need. The only people who have a say in this relationship is you and me. We choose what makes us happy, not them.”

“But I’m not happy,” And it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still being judged, “I’ve actually been depressed when I think about us, when I think about what we used to have and what we have now, how did this happen?”

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” He sighs when you finally reach out to take his hand, “I never mean to hurt you,”

“I want you back so bad sometimes,” You break, letting your true feelings out to him, “but just because I want it doesn’t mean I should, it’s always been hard for me to separate the two.”

“That never stopped you before,” He flashes that smile, the one you fell so hard for on the roof of his car. 

“Now look where I’m at,” You take your hand back, “going to therapy with you.”

*

*

Jungkook took you home and sunset had passed, it was already dark. You found yourself inviting him in, hugging him longer than you should have when he was on his way out. Why were you holding on to him so tight? His bomber jacket lands on the floor and you relish in his arms, you haven’t felt like this in a long time. Maybe it won’t hurt to let him in, indulge. It doesn’t take long before you let him kiss you for the first time in weeks. It feels new, it can happen a thousand times and it’ll always feel new. 

But then your phone begins to ring and reality washes over you like a cold shower.

“Wait,” You pull away from the kiss and slide off of the counter to his dismay, “I need to get that-”

“Ignore it,” Jungkook cups your jaw, trying to persuade you with longing eyes, “please ignore it-”

“I can’t, it’s my mom, something might be wrong,” You quickly answer the phone and walk into the living room. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at home, is something wrong?”

“You forgot, didn’t you? Your brother Leo, you were supposed to pick him up so he could stay with you for the night. me and your dad had to take Milo to his Taekwondo tournament for the weekend.” Your mother stresses over the phone.

“I’m so sorry! Mom, seriously, I totally forgot,” This is the worst possible timing, “doesn’t Leo have his license, he can drive here, can’t he?”

“We have the car. Don’t worry about it, it’s handled now, his friend came by and he’s staying with him.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how that crossed my mind,” You can’t help but feel as if you’ve disappointed her by forgetting such a simple thing, “I’ve been busy, I’m prepping for the next season, I’m working and in school, it’s a lot right now-”

The conversation  ends with a cold lecture from her and a solemn goodbye when she hangs up. You massage your temples, and look at Jungkook who’s coping with the best part of his day being ruined by a phone call.

“Everything okay?”

“I forgot to pick up my brother, my mom asked if he could crash here but I forgot all about it..”

“When have any of your siblings actually visited you? Except for your sister when she needs a babysitter.” Jungkook always sports a defensive tone when your family comes into the conversation.

“He’s only come over a few times. But he has friends who live over here so that’s normally why,” You take a deep breath. “She sounded frustrated so I know she’s upset.”

”Don’t stress about that,” He comes in close, wrapping his arms around your waist. “your mom shouldn’t beat you up about that, especially since she knows how much you have on your plate.” He smooths down your hair and kisses your forehead gently. That innocent forehead kiss quickly migrated down to your neck and you bite your tongue.

”Jungkook, please,” You get out of his embrace and leave him longing.

"Why do you keep pushing me away? I know you, this isn’t like you. You push me away but never for this long,” He follows you to your bedroom where you kick off your shoes and take off you cardigan. ”If you’re serious about making this work again, you’ve gotta help me out a little here.” 

You feel him looming behind you, so close that you feel the warmth of him on your lower-back, or is that his hand?

“You’re here, aren’t you? I’m being really nice right now,” You step away from him, “but you need to stop.”

“Stop what?” He feigns ignorance.

“If that’s what you were hoping for you should just go,” You pick up his jacket and hand it to him, “it’s not happening.”

“Ok, but do you mind if I stay the night?” 

You stare at him in disbelief for a moment, debating whether or not that’s a good idea.

“Why? It’s not even that late yet.”

“I don’t want to make the drive home, I’ll leave first thing in the morning.” He pleads, those big round eyes helping his case immensely.

“Fine. But you’re on the couch,” He looks a bit disappointed but he was expecting that, “I’m gonna shower, you can wait for me or use the guest bathroom if you want.”

With that, you walk off into your bedroom to get your clothes and then into the bathroom in the hall. Though you hesitated to let him stay, it’s really not a big deal now that you think of it. He’s stayed over more times than you can count so you feel no need to punish him by saying no.

Baby steps. 

Jungkook falls into the couch, relieved and anxious—but mostly relieved. He was sure you were going to throw him out. When he hears the shower turn on, he begins to wonder what you might be thinking about, do you want him the way he wants you right now? If so, you’re hiding it pretty well. Just being in your home makes him feel comfortable and happy, that and your presence. You’ll be a while in the shower so he figures a few moments of relaxation on the balcony won’t hurt. 

*

When you step out of the steamy bathroom, you hug your robe tightly to your body. Curious to see what he’s doing you peek out of the hall and see him on the balcony, shirt nowhere to be seen and smoke wafting from the little stick in his finger. Jungkook has always been a temptation, a forbidden fruit so to speak. You had one bite, and that’s all it took. 

It’s a warm night, that’s probably why he’s showing all of the neighbors his tattooed glory, you giggle to your self at the thought. You run to your room to slip a t-shirt and shorts on so you can join him, you can indulge him in conversation at least.

“Hey, I was going to get a snack,” You open the sliding door and he looks back at you as he exhales a a cloud, “are you hungry?”

“I’m okay,” He puts it out in the ashtray, “thanks,” 

“You didn’t have to put it out for me,” You step onto the patio and close the door behind you.

“I was done anyway,” He says that but he clearly wasn’t, he’s just being sweet, “how was your shower?”

“Good,” You sit beside him, “you can go ahead and shower if you want to, you know where your clothes are.”

“I will in a minute,” He looks out, enjoying the view of the city, “it’s beautiful out here...”

“Yeah,” You smile, reminiscing on the many moments you two have shared together on the balcony.

“So,” Jungkook sighs, probably reminiscing on the same thing, “do you want to do that exercise?...”

“Exercise?- Oh, the eye-contact thing, we can...” You turn to him and he does the same, “so, do we-”

“Shh,” He holds a finger to his lips, “we’re not supposed to talk,” 

You swallow, eyes locked on his and his on yours. His eyes are so dreamy and mesmerizing, they always have been. This eye-contact is giving you a great excuse to analyze his face. The little mole under his lip, his cute nose and cheeks—you’re trying not to look at his body but it’s hard to do that right now. 

He’s doing the same thing to you. Your eyes, nose, lips, he’s just taking it all in as if your a sculpture at a museum. Looking at each other like this reminds you both to see each other, to really see the human you both decided to love.

“Jungkook,” You know you’re not supposed to talk, “don’t cry...” You thumb the tears away from his cheeks, your motherly habits kicking in.

“Shit,” He wipes his cheeks, “I don’t know why I’m crying, I just-...I really love you, like, just staring at you really fucks me up.” He’s so emotional, it’s more endearing than anything.

You cup his jaw and kiss the apple of his cheek, then his lips. His hands are almost shaky when he reaches up to hold your face, you lead his hand to your face to let him know that you don’t mind.

“I love you too,” You breath, your head in the nape of his neck, “but I can’t do this, I shouldn’t...”

Once you realize you’re no longer in your own chair but in his, it’s too late to pretend you’re not equally as desperate. It escalates and the best and worst happens. 

[fandom-monium]

I JUST READ KITCHEN CATASTROPHES OMG ITS SOOO CUTE UGH MY HEART SO SOFT CAN YOU PLSSS DO A PART 2? THANK YOU KEEP DOING WHAT YOU DO

AN: thank you, anon! i dont plan to make a sequel to KC. But if i did:

For Valentine’s Day

Summary: In which you throw a wrench in Spencer’s plans: you don’t like Valentine’s Day. “If it’s with you, I guess it’s not so bad.”

WC: 2.9k (whoops)

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, semi anti-valentines day, Spencer tears up but dont worry were there to fix that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, post-For the Holidays

Fuck cooking, Spencer thinks one day.

It's an irrational thought. The kind that strikes through his mind in a flash of irritation like a scrape of the knee as he is perusing the internet. Yes, he is using a computer willingly. He has to because he's desperate.

Cooking is stupid. Who really needs it, right?

…

He needs it. God, he needs it so bad.

His need to learn cooking wasn't as incessant until recently. Until you came along.

Spencer is a meticulous person and a romantic if you'd ever met one. Makes sense considering how he grew up, reading the classics and all that. He's read all the gooey literary shit old people write and while he never understood those meanings it all dawned on him one day. Quotes written like 'the stars in their eyes' and 'sunshine glowing off them like a halo', suddenly makes sense once he meets you. Or at least, after coming to know you, months into your newfound friendship.

It's because of this he plans accordingly the weeks leading up to Valentine's day! Because again he's meticulous and a romantic and a genius so he plans every step and makes a back up plan in case A, B, and C fall through.

Is he going overboard? 

… Nah. No way. Not when it comes to you.

But fuck with a capital F, man.

It's your third date. Or what is supposed to be your third date if you would just stop being you for a second.

Then again, he loves you a lot and he wouldn't love you if you weren't, well, you.

Although—pardon his french—what the fuck. 

Spencer knows he needs to learn to cook. You've tried plenty of times to teach him and he loves learning and he especially loves it when you are the teacher (wait, does he have a teacher/student fantasy? Maybe. That’s something he'll look into later. Preferably with you). 

Unfortunately, he's terrible at it.

He's made progress and he knows it's true because you said so but the miniscule progress he's made is. Not. Enough. And it's all your fault! Because he gets so distracted by you during your lessons, like when you put your hands over his to show him proper slicing techniques—holy fuck, he wanted to combust right there—or just watching your deft hands at work, lips and brow scrunched in concentration in that adorable way. And you smell like cooking oil or whatever you're making and you're hot.

He's so into you it physically hurts. Ugh. How is he so lucky? 

You're also the first person he's been this into since Maeve. And everyone knows how well that turned out.

So he tries to dial it down for Valentine’s Day. Morgan told him once he tends to throw himself into everything he does, including love. And when you two got together, he promised the universe he will not fuck this up. He ends up combining Morgan’s advice with Luke’s, trying to be casual like Luke says because apparently you're just as into him as he is of you. 

The thought makes him grin uncontrollably. Luke says it makes him look like a clown but a lovesick clown. A lovefool, Luke hehs.

Spencer doesn’t get the joke, but it does nothing to deter him.

As Luke advised, Spencer does “not” make a dozen back up plans and does “not" plan weeks in advance. Because that wouldn't be casual, would it?

But now the day’s come and as Valentine’s Day turns to Valentine’s Night, Spencer wants to pull his hair, rub his frustratedly stinging eyes but he can't because he's in the middle of work, in the middle of the bullpen, in the middle of his desk and he refuses to be that guy. Not again.

Why does he feel like sobbing? Like a loser? 

Because you don't like Valentine’s Day. No, you abhor it.

It happens in the middle of the work day. It's like he tried to open a door only for a bucket of ice water to be dumped on him and now he looks like a drowned rat. He definitely feels like one.

You're talking with Garcia about her Valentine’s Day plans as you multitask, switching between putting together packets and stacking them aside. Then taking them under the hole-puncher and stapling them together because the BAU isn't all kicking down doors and catching freaks. 

It makes sense that you’re chatting with Garcia during your break. The two of you have become two peas in a pod after you came out of your shell. Now you're inseparable. Only you make Garcia leave her batcave as much as she does now.

Out of sight, he catches tidbits of your conversation when he hears distinctively: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

Okay, you didn't say that verbatim but you might as well have, grimacing as you three hole-punch a packet and his heart. Then a nail on his coffin only it’s with a stapler. 

Thump. Chick.

Spencer winces; there goes your his Valentine’s Day plans. 

It shouldn't sting as much as it does. You've been dating for over a month and Valentine’s Day is definitely not his favorite holiday either. It's not even top 3. And as you rant he can’t help but silently nod in agreement, all the facts straight: yes, it's an eyesore. Yes, it's a capitalistic holiday. Yes, people should do nice things for their significant others no matter the time and not because it's expected on a specific day. Yes, it doesn't compare to Halloween—

The thing is, you two aren't that “couple-y”, at least in a traditional sense. Not like Will and JJ who got a babysitter so they could go out or like Luke and Garcia as they plan to go to a special Valentine’s Day event she wants to check out (she vehemently denies anything going on between them but he doesn't need to be a genius to see the affection they have for one another. Just kiss already, damn).

So yeah, Spencer hoped to spend the romantic holiday with you. For once, he'd have Valentine’s Day plans, aside from exchanging cards with the team and his mother.

But apparently you hate Valentine’s Day! So there goes plan A, B, C, and D!

Spencer feels the tears spring at the corner of his eyes. He sniffs as subtly as he can, raising an open case file to his face. Of all the plans he hadn't thought through this was not one of them. IQ 187, his ass.

He should've known. Or at least ask your thoughts on Valentine’s Day. That was inconsiderate on his part. He blinks back tears, withdrawing into himself despite his hurt because he is a lovefool and only for you. He just wants to impress you, make you happy even if that means canceling your first Valentine’s Day together.

Now if you'll excuse him, he has to call off a few reservations and make some returns. Several actually.

Can you return a dozen donuts in the shape of hearts?

… Yeah, he better ask Emily for the rest of the day off.

—

"Hey Newb, have you seen Spencer? I haven't seen him since his break," You ask, resting your chin in your hand as you squint at another form. Your eyes are beginning to tire. 

Spencer asked you several times over the course of the last week, checking to see if you were free today. You are, so you planned to hang with him after work, but he hasn't returned from his break and he wasn't answering your calls or texts. Not unusual but still odd for your boyfriend (you still can’t believe you get to say that).

Luke sighs, his smooth voice reaching over your shared divider, "You know at some point I'm just not going to respond. You guys can’t call me Newbie forever."

"Keep telling yourself that," You snort without looking up.

Another sigh and you smirk: you win.

"For your information," Luke grumbles, words punctuated with sass, "Doc went home."

You pause. "Home?" He didn't tell you.

"Yeah, probably to get ready for your date."

"Our date?" You frown and stand up, leaning over the divider to see if Luke’s fucking with you.

He isn't. Luke shrugs, humming wistfully as he rests his cheek in his hand, "You should've seen how excited he was, being it your first Valentine's Day and all. I told him to chill out because you'll love whatever it is no matter what but I'm sure he ignored that and planned something spectacular for you guys." Sitting back, he twirls around in his chair.

You grimace, recalling your earlier conversation with Garcia. 

Shit.

"Meanwhile, I have to spend Galentine's Day with Garcia because all the ladies of the BAU are taken and I have nothing better to do—" Luke comes to a full 720, catching the tail end of your coat as you whip it on and make for the door. "—um, excuse you?"

"If Emily asks, I had an emergency!" You manage to call back, throwing open the glass door.

"Okay?"

"Thanks, Newb!"

As the elevator door dings shut with you inside, leg jumping because you have a sneaking suspicion you fucked up, Luke slouches in his chair and grumbles.

He's not a newb. Or a newbie.

—

You rush over to Spencer's, catching your breath as you stumble to his front door. There's shuffling from inside, the faint sound of clanking and crashing and your heart swells because this is the man you’ve fallen for, the first one you've ever felt this way for. Here he is, being all considerate and romantic. And here you are, fucking it up when your relationship’s barely even started.

God, you're an asshole, you berate yourself as you turn the doorknob and push open the door. You're an asshole you're an asshole you’re an asshole—

Then your eyes widen and your jaw goes slack. 

Immediately, you slap a hand over your mouth and nose as your favorite scented candles hit you like someone shoved a bouquet in your face. The description isn't too far off considering there's a lovely bouquet of your favorite flowers still in its wrapping, haphazardly set next to a dozen donuts on the coffee table like no one's business. Its petals are strewn across the floor, a few in tiny piles like they were hastily swept to the side. Red and pink and dark green fill your vision.

Who gutted Cupid and tossed his organs around, holy fu-

"(Your name)?"

Startled, you crane your head to find Spencer, beautiful hair askew and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows as he clutches flowers to his chest. In his other hand, he grips the colored strings of several shiny red and pink balloons in the shape of hearts and—fuck—your heart might actually float up from your chest and into your eyes.

This is your man. Your partner. Your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend panics, fumbling for a second before stuffing the balloons and trimmed flowers back into the room behind him and slamming the door shut. He turns back to you, eyes wide.

"What-what are you doing here?" Spencer stammers, wringing his hands together.

You blink at him, dumbly holding up your phone. "You-uh-you left early and didn't return my calls."

"I'm sorry. I think I left my phone at work," Probably because he left in such a rush, Spencer groans, looking anywhere but you. The petals scattered over his floor are quite pretty in this light. "And I was a bit busy."

"I'm sure you were," You gawk openly at the strings of fairy lights hung around his living room. It's a clash of aesthetics. Spencer always rocked dark academia, but despite how ugly the combination of red and pink decorations with his nature green walls and dark wood is, it leaves his apartment a little brighter, a little cozier, and you love it.

You love everything about this.

But as you take in the ugly beauty of it all, Spencer fidgets at the doorway, mistaking your awe as shock and disgust. Wiping sweaty palms on his trousers, his eyes dart around, trying to focus on something, but every place he lays his eyes on makes him cringe. He catches all the things he couldn't clean up or put away in time. No doubt you do too. All the leftover flower petals, the donuts he can’t return, candles that haven’t blown out because he has the lungs of an 8-year old asthmatic. 

Spencer can't imagine how appalled you are.

And the longer your silence stretches on, the more nervous he gets so he blurts out, "I'm so sorry, (Your Name)!"

Your brow shoots up as he begins to ramble.

"You must hate this. I'll put everything away."

"You really don't have to—" You stop him, and your heart nearly crumbles as Spencer's does when he finally meets your worried gaze. 

His eyes gleam with unshed tears. He swallows, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Doc—"

"At least not without asking you—"

"Doctor—"

"I understand if you want to break up—" His voice cracks, as if the idea itself will destroy him (it definitely will). 

"Spencer—" His voice, wobbly and dripping with unnecessary guilt, draws you to him.

"But I want you to know that I—"

With an exasperated sigh, you grab his hand as yours finds the nape of his neck, pulling him into a soft kiss. 

For a second, Spencer doesn't respond because who kisses the person they're about to break up with? Strange, really. But then he kisses you back. His hands remain frozen, unsure of where he stands, but he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. He figures this is a new social cue he has yet to learn. And if this is the last time you kiss him, he'll treasure every second of it, take whatever you'll give him because again he's a lovefool for you. 

And when you pull back, he's too dazed he nearly misses the look you give him. Suddenly, he can’t breathe.

You look at him like he hung the stars instead of cheap fairy lights around his apartment. 

Spencer’s confused. "I-I... Wha—"

"I'm not breaking up with you," You chuckle, and you nearly burst out laughing as genuine puzzlement takes over his face. You tug him behind you, plopping yourselves on his couch. You smile, appreciating the way he organized the cushions and throw-pillows; there's now space for two people to lay down.

You take a breath. "You wanna know why I don't like Valentine’s Day?"

Spencer slouches, though his body is angled towards you so you suppose that's good. He sighs, "Because it's a capitalistic holiday that reinforces the idea of doing the bare minimum…"

He begins listing your reasons, and your eyes soften. Of course he listened and remembered even if you mentioned it offhandedly.

You nod once he finishes. "Yes but before that—and I can't believe I'm telling you this—back when I was a little kid, I didn’t get any Valentines."

Spencer's brow furrows at the newfound information. You continue, "I'd get some from my friends and stuff but that's not what Valentine's Day is about. At least not when you're a kid. When you’re a dumb kid, it’s about couples and romantic shit, and I didn't really have any of that growing up." You purse your lips and glance away, face flushed with embarrassment. It's really not that big a deal, but putting it into words makes the idea seem more intimate and personal.

It takes a moment for your words to sink in as Spencer can't believe his ears. How could you not have been showered with love and affection and presents on Valentines Day? It's like water doesn't make things wet or fire doesn't produce heat; it just doesn't make sense. Because you deserve that much and more.

"So every Valentine's Day, I lowered my expectations and eventually I stopped caring. I'd tell myself those things and I started to believe them," You bite your lip, eyes crinkling as you give Spencer a sheepish smile. "But now I have you."

At that, Spencer returns your smile, letting you take his hand. Any tears he had seem to evaporate instantly.

“So, I'm sorry that I hurt you. I stand by what I said before, Valentine’s Day sucks. But if it’s with you,” Blushing deeply, you play with Spencer's hand, large and veins defined compared to yours, shrugging, “I guess it’s not so bad.”

Spencer’s smile broadens, and he intertwines your fingers together. "So what you’re saying is, you don’t hate this?” He looks around his living room.

You shake your head, unable to stop the grin crossing your lips. “No. In fact, very much the opposite. Honestly, thank you for this, it’s beautiful. I have no words.” You breathe it all in; the candles, the flowers, the— Your nose wrinkles and you snort, “Did you burn something?”

Bashfully looking down, he scratches his chin. “I-uh-tried to make your favorite dishes. Though, I was hoping the candles and flowers would mask it.”

You giggle and pull him into you, snuggling into his side. “That’s okay. I’d much rather have you anyway.”

With Spencer a blushing, stuttering mess in your arms, head resting on your chest, you press a kiss to his hair and conclude; yeah, you don’t like Valentine’s Day. 

But you sure as hell love Spencer more.

—

AN:  FtH status: finished - 7/5. yes 7.

I realize this was not what anon requested but oh well i wrote this at 2 am 

I’m not that anti v day but i stand by the capitalistic aspect.

yes this takes place after For the Holidays.

also included luke bc hes my bro and i honestly think he deserves so much more than what the show gave also garvez ftw

happy post valentine’s day!!

Song: Lovefool by The Cardigans

[magioftheseas]

Oumota Week Ficlets #7

For @oumota-events

DAY 7: Insecurities & Antagonist & Interview + free prompt!

Well...there aren’t any warnings I can think of, but...

It’s a Mastermind (Accomplice) AU.

He was the kind of man who went for the long game.

An easy grin, a puffed out chest, an exuberant confidence—the role of the heroic dumbass was an easy one to play. Just a couple easy nothings and even stupid so-called assassins and stupider so-called detectives both melted like butter. It felt nice even if it was despairing too just how fucking easy it all was.

Shirogane was working so diligently, but it was just...kind of boring, honestly? He really needed to liven things up and fast because his shitty body was really insisting on being a pain lately.

Unfortunately, the so-called supreme leader was being a fucking pain, too. Saying shit about taking control of the game and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Shirogane failed to dumb him down.

Ouma was always much too clever for his own good. All puppy eyes and quivering lips, acting sweet and unassuming one second and stabbing you in the back the next.

This Ouma was...different.

“What did you say during your interview?” he had asked.

“It’s noooone of your business!” Ouma smiled up at him.

“Aw, come on. You already know what I said.”

“Because you’re predictable! Unlike you, I try not to be predictable.”

“Yeah?”

...yeah. Unpredictable was right.

Why had the idiot kidnapped him? What the hell?

Well, it won’t be too hard to convince some of the extras to help him out. Even with Ouma keeping an eye on him, he can’t be two places at once and Shirogane’s sure to be fussing up a fucking storm.

Ouma has been staring at him for a while though. He musters up a glare back but it’s getting more and more exhausting to keep it up. And...honestly, it’s not his Ouma. But it’s still his Ouma’s silver-tongued face.

And that sweet, charming, childish smile that he puts on is enough like the original to tug at him.

Aah. I want to make him squirm.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” he says instead because it’s the stock heroic thing to say. Ouma’s villainous grin only brightens.

“With what, Momota-chan?” he purrs. “Whatever could you be talking about?”

Yeah. A villain alright.

Ouma was always destined for villainy with his personality. Obviously Shirogane would capitalize it and...I wonder what I was hoping for? Certainly not him being a good, hopeful person. Gross.

“You know what,” Momota snarled, still playing along.

Ouma giggles at him, and then, that smile drops. Rather than retort, he stays quiet. Keeps his mouth shut.

Ugh.

I’m so fucking bored.

“Shuuichi’s going to see through you,” he went on, even though he fucking doubted it. If he didn’t get this Ouma and if Shirogane couldn’t keep her own tacky creation under control, Shuuichi was downright hopeless. Hell, Shuuichi couldn’t even see through his stupid dumb hero act.

...if anyone could...

He stares at Ouma. Ouma stares back.

They both stare and stare.

...it’s the only guy that no one’s ever going to believe.

And ah, what the hell? If he ends up dying in this shithole, it wouldn’t be so bad to see Ouma make an interesting face first.

“Something to say, Momota-chan?” Ouma asks, and yeah, Ouma’s immediately on his guard. Ouma immediately senses something’s up. Such a cautious, paranoid fucker. Shirogane didn’t toss that—and maybe she couldn’t have even if she wanted to.

“Even if Shuuichi doesn’t—and he won’t because he’s a fucking needy idiot,” he drawls. “This is a story where the villains aren’t allowed to win. The mastermind will make sure of that.”

Ouma doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stiffen. Remains on guard. Lowers those surprisingly long eyelashes. Feigns an unimpressed face.

Momota sees that face and wants to fucking strangle him for it.

“No matter what you do, you’re gonna lose, Kokichi. It’s already been decided.”

Come on. At least feign some fucking shock. Don’t tell me—

“Did you already know? Is this desperation? Hope? Is that it?” He can’t help but laugh even as it’s harsh and painful on his throat. “Wait, wait, no. It’s to get back at me, isn’t it? How much of a fucking petty bitch are you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ouma said. “You were just in the way.”

“Oh fuck off with that!” he exclaimed. “I know you—I know you well enough to piss you the fuck off even under these circumstances. I know you better than anyone and let me tell ya, you’re not that fucking complicated. You just don’t like being told what to do or being told no.”

That’s a lie. There’s more to ya than that, but I don’t know how much of it Shirogane tore out before stuffing you with this cliché bullshit. The cackling, the cheerful misdirects, the antagonism—you used to be so careful and meticulous.

I really loved and admired that about ya.

And Ouma—his expression twists. Like he’s sniffed something rancid.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.” He can’t stop himself now. “If you really fucking wanted people to do as you wished, you could’ve just not been a fucking asshole. Could’ve buttered them up with bullshit and useless feel good sentiments. Do you have any idea how fucking easy it is? A smile and a thumbs-up and those idiots fall over their own feet. People aren’t that hard to control if you just tell them what they want to hear.”

And Ouma—

“I hate liars. I’d never lie like that.”

“What? You’re saying you’re too fucking noble?” Momota shook his head, incredulous. “God, how fucking stubborn did...”

...did Shirogane make you...?

He almost wants to tear his own jaw off. Instead he bites down, tastes his blood again, and ends up seething.

This was supposed to be my moment. Damn you, Shirogane. The second I get out of here, I’ll just fucking kill you. The studio is not going to care.

“Aw, Momota-chan,” Ouma gushes at him. “You look so sad!”

“Do you just like pissing people off?” he grumbled, annoyed. “Seriously—at least fucking act surprised that I’m not a good person. You said it yourself. No one could possibly be as stupid as I was.”

Ouma laughs, but it’s a wispy little thing. It’s...strange. Actually, he hasn’t heard that kind of laugh before. From either version.

Momota looks at him, and Ouma looks back.

Nothing is reflected in his stare. Nothing is even brimming from it. And he can’t even tell if it’s despair or not.

“I’ve always really liked you.” Rather pathetically, this is what comes out next. “I really, really wanted you to see right through me like how I see you.”

Ouma’s smile can only be called rueful.

“I’d rather just surprise you.”

   (...and he really fucking did, didn’t he?

Because... When stupid, needy, desperate for love killer girl swooped in and poisoned them both—

Ouma still gave him the fucking antidote.)

[thekitschdiet]

the kitsch diet part II

part one alr posted!! this chunk is about 3,000~ words long... let me know what u think :-) thank u all for all the luv already!!! looks like I really will hit 31 followers by easter!!!!!!!!

  Who is the Kitsch Girl? 

 I think this is more loosely defined, but The Chic Diet did a truly admirable way of reducing a girl to her YSL bag and her really skinny legs. Now, that implies an archetype, or a population in a specific location. I think kitschness is kind of the niche you fill when you’re not really much of anything else, sort of your own conglomerate of mainstream-specific. One major requirement, though, is being a little too into something somewhat uncool. And the whole illusion falls apart if you have any sort of outward insecurity. See, the Kitsch Girl is somewhat undefinable because she is so much of everything. She exists in multitudes, in a way that is also quite simple to understand; think of a list of axioms, or principles to live by. And now add a section to each one that says “but…” to make a collection of verified exceptions. Say, the kitsch girl will never wear jeans. But she thrifted this pair of vintage flares she just loves. She doesn’t reply to texts efficiently, but sometimes she will within a couple seconds. No mascara, no dinner forks, candles are to be collected not burned; but that was a gift, or something. It’s not personal, of course, those are just the contradictions she exists in. Don’t try to understand it, the enigma is essential to the facade. Or maybe she just lives like this, and her character is so homogenous with her inner world there’s no sense in trying to separate it. You have to have a little bit of an individuality complex about the whole ordeal, which is normally so eugh, but if you’re kitschy enough it works on you. Trust!The Kitsch girl is not someone unlikeable, but amiable and well heeled. I double checked that last one, assuming it meant liked by most, but apparently means affluent. I suppose that is an aspect of the kitsch girl too, having seemingly endless frivolous expenses with no real strain, but that’s not important right now. People that don’t like her think so out of jealousy, or something. Envious that her clothes are all kind of shake-it-up-esque and her highlights desperately need touching up, but she still seems so enthralled with the whole of life… How does she enjoy her own company so much when other people want to know her better? Doesn’t she feel weird about blowing people off to make a joke about reading Kafka in the bath? Why would she document her cluttered, unexciting life on Instagram so delicately, so vibrantly? Of course, no one would say this to her face because they are really baseless claims. She’s nice, generous, and valuable to have as a friend. Trade-offs exist, as they do with anyone. But I like thinking it’s easier to overlook a forgotten birthday when your kitschy best friend gave you a multi strand pearl necklace to celebrate the welcome breeze of June. Or some other made-up holiday. She is so unassuming if you’re not really looking. Girls want in on her inner circle. Or they just don’t care. Nothing wrong with being liked or thought of naught, for the most part. Boys are either enthralled or repulsed by her. Her doctor knows her as something of a hypochondriac, but only minorly. It’s just carpal tunnel, don’t worry… The sales staff at CVS turn a blind eye when she slips an eyeliner pencil into her tote bag. She shoplifts on occasion, just to see if she still knows how. But she is not a shoplifter. $9 here and $6.45 there doesn’t really add up to much. Everywhere she goes, she makes a tertiary friend or two. The term of friend is loosely used here, of course. But it is nice to tell a stranger you like her earrings. Or her phone case is so fun, is it Wildflower? The kitsch girl has an eye for this kind of detail. Simply put, she is sort of unspectacular. But in a way that makes you sort of wish you knew her better.

Phone cases

The phone case is, like, religious for the kitsch girl. Sorry, but there’s just no other accessory as flippant and expensive and single-purpose as a trendy little iPhone case with some semitacky stickers plastered over the design. I used to have an iPhone XS- extrasmall-  with like, 18 phone cases. It was kind of a sordid affair. I jest, but really… owning that many phone cases was kind of sick. We get it, you are frivolous and spontaneous and sooo stylish! Stop posting mirror selfies on your Instagram story, your crush isn’t going to see it. Kidding again. Having an extensive collection of phone cases is just so fun because while attainable, most people just simply do not partake in it. That makes you kitschy and unique. I really thought I had more to say about the IDEA of the phone case, but I guess in practice it is all very, very simple. You can slide your driver’s license in the back of a clear case. At what point does it stop being cool to have legal operational control of a vehicle? I don’t display mine because I don’t really like the photo. I look round. In the eyes but also just in general, swollen, unglamorous. Whatever. Not like I drive a Nissan or anything. I drive my *Mom’s* Nissan. Playing Bladee in the car seems sacrilegious. She would hate it.Back to phone cases. Sonix ones are cute but kind of overpriced retail- unless you have like, an iPhone 12 Pro Max or whatever the fuck is new this year, just go to Winner’s. They always have Xs and 11 cases. I had a cherry one for my previous phone, like the exact one Lana Del Rey had? Thank god I sold it before she got outed as a copfucker or whatever. Casetify is for an inadvertent flex. Flexing your lame, lame taste. Sorry, I know you bought it because you liked it, but what you failed to consider is just how un-Kitsch they are. SO common, and they advertise on Instagram. Sorry, I just can’t get into it! Kind of how I just never liked the Brandy Amara tanks. Or lowtop converse. Otterbox is just distressing. Like, if my boyfriend gave me an otterbox phone case I would probably break up with him because somebody clearly isn’t paying attention- one of my favorite, potentially overused joke is how Otterbox cases are the equivalent of orthopedic insoles. Sorry but if you have poor arch support or whatever, but no pain is worth giving up a good pair of Margiela slingback tabi heels. Obviously I couldn’t afford that right now because all loose income goes directly to Wildflower and my cig boy. But like, one day. I hope you want to punch me in the face a little bit after reading that.  If Wildflower isn’t your thing, at least have the decency to get a beaded phone strap. But not from String Ting. Pray tell you aren’t keeping score, but they are one of my several parasocial enemies. That should have been ME collaborating with Wildflower! Should have been ME mailing shit to Caroline Calloway (more on her later, but she is the only blue check I follow. I adore her! I was on her patreon for a bit I thinkl!!) …. Side note. Phone cases are cute but there is no way to properly protect your laptop without looking just absurd or colossally lame. The foam sleeves… ick.

Having the shittiest music taste ever

So like, here’s the thing. I’m an Apple Music user, which sort of reinstates my status as an unironic My Bloody Valentine Hyperpop Death Grips kinda gal. Read; volcel. My most recent conquest ended up being a huge L on my part, but also… I totally dodged a bullet. The guy had an iPhone 11 (female trait) and didn’t know who Rei Brown was, which just seemed suspicious given his Niche. I just know he had a “making out playlist” comprising entirely of like, Joji. Which isn’t a bad thing I guess but so unembarrassing it horseshoes back to being humiliating.Like I said. Having the worst music taste. It’s nice how subjective and deeply personal your music taste can be; no one really Needs to know you’re a die hard drainer. But there’s also no point in being a die-hard drainer and Not capitalizing off it somehow. I added it up and I have well over 150 hours of just Bladee and Yung Lean. Which is so yass? The more I write, using myself as a case study, I realize just how desperately jobless I am. And Yogenfruz isn’t even hiring! UGH!I think there is something very kitschy about liking hyperpop in the least ironic, least obnoxious way. Sort of feeds into a “I’m not like other girls” thing, but I mean… That’s kind of the idea of kitsch, isn’t it? Be a little different but also the very same as your lipgloss brethren?!Side note. If you make monthly playlists I am genuinely kind of afraid of you. That is just so organized!! I just make playlists with esoteric titles and then make a new one when I’m sick of the stuff on the last. I have exhausted most genres but I think my favorite is the “I’m wearing f****ng air forces and my teeth are SO white”. Guess what genre it is. Or don’t, but it’s probably what you think is. Okay, moving on….

Curating a scent

I like thinking I smell like mango and peach, Glossier you, whatever citrus is in that Lush shower jelly and mint 5Gum. But of course it is probably less distinct and just kind of generally fruit-floral-mint. Anyway. I think Glossier You is the perfect scent for anyone with a rather elementary understanding of the whole.. Perfume business. Every bottle of intentional fragrance I own was made via aesthetic choices… it really helps that Glossier You is so cute And so universal. Now, Glossier is kind of interesting to me because it really is at the intersection of cheugy and kitsch. Kind of basic, overplayed, unspectacular. But also…. Often popular things are popular because they are good. Glossier has excellent customer suurv, they ship SO fast (and no import duties! W!) and their stuff is just so sweet and nice if not unoriginal, in kind of the same way strawberry ice cream is. Which is still my favorite, of course, especially if there’s a vegan option. I was talking about Glossier. What the hell! It’s really worth trying out. A huge principle of kitsch is just… having as many possible layers and appendages to your composure as possible. And adding a signature scent just really completes that! When curating your own, I say this as a complete amateur, know-nothing; make it something that comes kind of naturally to Your Character. Like, I’m just not a Chanel No 5 kind of girl. Odds are you aren’t either. My bottle (before she asked for it back when I told her I didn’t use it, in exchange for a Nordstrom’s gift card) was from my grandmother. Ummm.. Yeah, I really have no expertise in curating a scent. But it is nice to have a signature. And having a bottle displayed on your dresser next to your aughties McDonald milkshake themed beanie baby and a handful of lip products is just way too fun! This is the kind of girl I am, everyone! Cluttered, but prioritizing pretty-delicate things!

Cheugyism

Cheugy is a relatively new word that has unfortunately wormed into my vocabulary to replace “uncouth”. Which I use to mean graceless or tacky, but if that isn’t what it means…. Don’t tell me. That would hurt more than weighing myself after a “feast” slash pastry binge at my dear Grandmothe’s house. Like I was saying. Cheugy. It’s sort of a fucked up concept to me because it is a critique on consumption, but not the pace or volume or magnitude of it. But rather… the idea of not being “good” enough at engaging in microtrends, or involvement in the fast paced fashion cycle. Don’t get me started on TikTok, or do, but… yeah,. No. That will require a cigarette because I’m so sorry, but writing a thinkpiece on social media is so lowbrow I would need to find about six ways to aesthetically counteract it…. Moving on.  I think the idea of cheugy is good, we really do need a word to simply and efficiently define “out of date/uninspired/lame”. But the way it is used to shame others for not liking the same trends or whatever is kind of gross. If you use cheugyism to put other people down and not as a neutral identifier umm… you will become what you fear. Sorry, that’s what happens. Some things that I think are cheugy or embarrassing, or just not part of my stylistic lexicon are… 1. Hooded or zip up clothing, or things with a large graphic on the back. Bingo if it's all three! I just can’t get behind it. Side note, my summer home outfit is brandy sweats and a tube top (Urban Outfitters tank I ripped the straps off) and a large cardigan that should have belonged to a stoner, but probably didn’t. I can dunk on bulky, uninspired clothes because I would honest to God NEVER be caught DEAD out of the house wearing any of it. I’m so serious. Next segment should be about the kitsch girl’s inadvertent affinity for diuretics. Remind me….. One of the ports of my laptop is dead. Not really sure what to do about that.

Eye makeup and what it means to me….

Personally, I am one of those people who never wears foundation and kind of has a complex about it. The kitsch girl wears fluffy eyelashes and owns a plethora of sparkly eyeliner. Or maybe she doesn’t, but she has something distinct and a little ritzy, if not haphazard. We all saw Euphoria and it like, totally imprinted on us. The way glitter sits on your face after a long day is so resplendent. When it’s shining and a little bit melted off from your long, semi-productive day… ugh! Just made for film. Pictures on film. But not the Prequel app. I keep getting fucking ads for it. But it’s so embarrassing. Like, isn’t the whole point of film the authenticity of the moment? The texture of the afternoon? Why would you fabricate that? Prequel is just so cheugy. More on that later. But anyhow. Wearing a ton of eye makeup kind of fits with the idea of film too I think. Like, look at you, in the moment. With your strip lash falling off! It’s all so tres-chic. Plus, for whatever reason, it’s kind of unique or notably dedicated to ~Pull up to the function~ with more eye makeup on than everyone else. Sorry, but it really doesn’t take that long! But yes I will gracefully accept your praise… it’s kind of like the dropshipping of complements if you think about it. Easy to source with little to no effort in the curating. Side note, lashes are like $20 for 40 weeks if you cut them in half and use each pair about 5 times. You could probably do more but I lose track. How the fuck is it almost June? I was trudging through the snow to check the mail for my Online Ceramics shirt just last week, I swear. The trick to cutting your lashes (the way I do it anyway) is pretty simple. Get out two lashes that are symmetrical. Find the middle and cut one slightly to the left and one slightly to the right. This means you have two sets (one set is a little more dramatic than the other but at least they are symmetrical) with longer outer edges. Glue this to the outer corner of your eye and you will look so Composed… obsessed with how this layers with three eyeliner tails (one traditional one pointing up and one pointing down directly below it, sort of like the tail light on a 2019 Lexus UX) and one below your eye, like a clown. Fun, irrelevant fact, is the first time I added this third tail to my eye makeup, my dad had just gotten home from the hospital because he was sure he had like appendicitis or something and it was actually.. Not that. Typical indie hypochondriac. He made me bring him cottage cheese on a plate with a teaspoon that evening. I put black pepper on it for flair, which he hated. Walking up and down stairs with a plate of cottage cheese is much more imprinting than most of the multiplication tables. Don’t forget to use a bright shimmer eyeshadow in your inner corner. It really opens up your eyes. I recommend Too Faced.  One time I got a little bit too high and tried to film an “editorial” makeup tutorial. You will never, ever, ever see that video. But I essentially covered my whole eyelid in the ABH shadow “palermo” and smudged out the edges with a tan Tartelette Toasted shade, coupled with my long-expired Milk Makeup holographic stick. Lopsided lashes and near-blinding eyeliner experience aside, it was kind of cool. My point is, you really cannot go wrong with an arsenal of shimmers, taupey mattes and a good eyeliner pen.

[hasquetzorkukudoneanythingwrong]

Pretty lies, ugly truths

The control room had detected a new singularity. This one was located in the spanish capital of Madrid in modern day.

Da Vinci: we can't detect much about the singularity itself, it seems that there's a powerful magical field around the whole thing.

Rex: well fuck... will we be able to even communicate?

Sion: we'll work on making communications work while you're out there but for the beginning you'll be on your own.

Rex: ugh...

Gordy: you'll be able to handle it, can't be that bad of a singularity right?

Rex: I feel like you're jinxing us.

Da Vinci: regardless, this one's a big one. It needs to be handled soon!

Rex: we'll handle it!

Chaldea was sending in Rex, Quetzalcoatl, and Mash Kyrielight into the Madrid singularity to handle things. Soon the three got into their coffins and rayshifting commenced.

3...2...1!

Once they were inside the singularity, they noticed something odd... it was snowing heavily.

Rex: holy crap... that's a heavy snow...

Mash: yes, maybe the snow is what's interfering with the signal.

Quetz: does that mean it's a magical snow? Like in sca- Ugh!

Out of nowhere Quetz doubles over in pain

Rex: Quetz!

Rex runs over to help but before he can something interrupts them.

???: Weigh Anchor!

Out of nowhere a huge ship appears in the streets of the city, heading towards the group

Mash: Senpai!

Mash moves to shield Rex and Quetz from the ship but ends up knocked away along with Rex

Rex: fuck!

Then coming from the ship, chains appear binding Quetzalcoatl, who was too weakened to be able to break free

Quetz: que?! What's going on?!

Rex: Hey! Let her go!

???: finally! We've been waiting for you for a long time!

Quetz: huh?!

When the group looked up at the ship, they recognized it. It was the Santa Maria that Columbus captained. But the man on top looked different.

Columbus?: I'm so sorry Missy, but the boss needs your spirit origin. And what the boss wants, he gets.

The man dressed similar to Columbus but looked much younger and less sinister.

Rex: who the hell are you?! Let go of my wife!

Columbus?: you don't know who I am? Well... then again... I guess you've become accustomed to the real me. Alright! Listen up laddy! Because this will probably be the last name you hear about before die!

Rex and Mash looked up at the man, both angry at the bastard.

Columbus: I am Christopher Columbus! But specifically I'm the Columbus you were told about in your schools! The heroic traveler who against all odds managed to discover America! I'm not the horrible schemer and slaver you're accustom to!

Rex: so you're the lie we were fed as children to justify your farce of a holiday?!

Columbus: rude way to put it but yes! Now if you'll excuse me!

The man snapped his fingers and out came an army of men clad in red appeared.

Rex: what the-

Mash: senpai! That's the spanish inquisition!

Rex: seriously!?

Mash: looks like them!

Columbus: that's right lil lady! Anyways, I'll be leaving you to them while I take this lady back to the base! Seeya!

The boat leaves, with Quetzalcoatl inside, unable to do much.

Rex: DAMN YOU!!!!

Rex wanted to make chase but the inquisition members blocked him off

Soldier: give it up master of chaldea! You do not stand a chance against the inquisition!

Rex: fuck off asshats!

In all his Fury Rex blasts fire at the soldiers, while Mash fights them off with her shield.

Mash: senpai! There's too many!

Rex: to hell with that! We've faced worse odds and came out fine! I'll be damned if I let them get away with my wife!

But the odds really were looking grim, until suddenly the snow intensified around them, mostly focusing on the soldiers.

Soldier 1: ack! The snow! What's happening!

Soldier 2: must be that damned ice queen!

Rex: ice queen?

Then from behind Rex and Mash, another servant comes in to get them out of there, Shakespeare.

Shakespeare: come on you two! We need to get you to safety!

Rex: but I need to save Quetz!

Shakespeare: that can wait! You need to be alive to do so anyway!

Rex: alright fine!

Then the two follow Shakespeare towards safety.

Soldier: where'd the two go!?

The group came out of the storm and were taken into what looked to be a book store. Inside were the two other authors Rex was familiar with.

Anderson: how'd it go Shakespeare?

Shakespeare: not amazing, they got to her.

Murasaki: how unfortunate.

Rex: can someone tell me what's going on?

Mash: yes, I'd appreciate that too.

Murasaki: this is a very unique singularity, it was intended as a trap.

Rex: a trap!? For Quetz?!

Anderson: yes, for whatever reason some mastermind wants her spirit origin. We're not sure why or who, but we do know it can't be good.

Rex: then we have to save her!

Murasaki: you're not in a condition to fight right now, and besides that mastermind won't won't able to do anything as of yet.

Mash: how can you be certain.

Shakespeare: we've been summoned here for a while and we've observed that the man in charge isn't here. There's someone in charge of the singularity but they're taking orders from someone else, somewhere else.

Anderson: and I've stopped their communications with said boss with my Ice Queen's blizzard.

Mash: you're responsible for the snow?

Rex: how can you make such a powerful snowstorm with a fictional character?

Murasaki: that's the nature of this singularity. Somehow authorial works have far more power. We assume who ever made this trap of a singularity is responsible.

Mash: have any guesses as to who it is?

Shakespeare: oh do we!

Anderson: we're pretty sure it's Miguel de Cervantes.

Mash: what makes you so sure?

Murasaki: because one of his most famous creations is also one of the greatest threats here: Don Quixote.

Rex: Don Quixote? But he was just some old delusional fool who thought he lived in a knight story!

Anderson: yeah, normally. But it seems his delusions became a noble phantasm! That turns fantasy into reality.

Mash: could that be why stories are becoming real all in this singularity?

Murasaki: we believe so...

Mash: fantasy to reality... so that makes you three the perfect allies... but what's the plan...

But Rex was getting antsy, wandering the shelves of the book store. He hated being without his wife, it'd been a long time since they were separated like this.

Mash: senpai...

Shakespeare: he can't handle it...

Rex looked through the books, eventually coming to the comics section...

Rex: hey... if you can turn fantasy into reality... how about pulling a Moriarty on me...

Mash: huh? Senpai what are you talking about?

Rex: Moriarty has that gun from that one German story... if the authors can do something similar to help me... I can save her.

Murasaki: that doesn't sound outside the realm of possibility.

Anderson: what did you have in mind?

Rex: lemme see If I can find it...

He looked through the comics, until he found what he was looking for.

Rex: ah ha! This here!

He pulled out a book, and opened to a particular page. In it was planet, a planet made of a dark colored ooze. The inhabit creepy looking slime monsters.

Rex: this! Symbiotes from marvel.

Shakespeare: interesting...

Anderson: not sure how I feel adapting a modern work like that...

Rex: just do it! I'll be able to save her with these powers.

Rex already had some servant abilities, with a small amount of authority from Quetz and the leftover spirit from Cipatli. But they weren't much, with this he hoped to complete it to make a proper spirit origin, or something akin to one.

Mash: senpai... is this really a good idea?

Rex: I Need to save her... I hate being without her... and I want to skewer the fools who took her away...

Murasaki: I can see the pain he's feeling... we should help...

Anderson: fine, we'll turn you into an alien monster. But it likely won't stick when this singularity's fixed.

Rex: so long as I get my wife back I'm fine with it.

The three authors put to use their abilities to infuse Rex with the alien symbiote. Slowly an ooze formed onto his body, colored dark blue, black and red. Then his body was complete engulfed in the slime. It formed something akin to a tight fitting costume with a mask not far off from a lucha mask.

Rex: ...feels weird...

Mash: at least it looks to have worked... what can you do?

First Rex changed his hand to form a large blade.

Rex: that... I can slice a bitch.

After changing it back, he was then able to form flames from his hands, dark blue in color.

Rex: oh!

Anderson: how the hell?

Mash: he did have some of Quetzalcoatl's authority. Maybe it's been enhanced.

Rex: hahahaha! Now let's go! Where the hell could they have taken her!

Shakespeare: not exactly sure where they operate, but Columbus should now.

Rex: you think he'll be out there?

Murasaki: yes, him and his inquisition have been hunting us ever since they found out about us.

Anderson: as authors not aligned with Miguel we pose a great threat here.

Rex: yeah, I can tell why.

Then Rex's communicator started up.

Da Vinci: hello?! Is this thing working?

Rex: we hear ya!

Da Vinci: finally! How's everything?

Mash: not so great.

Da Vinci: what happened?

Rex: the enemy took Quetz!

Da Vinci: what!? And what's with the getup? And why do you have an avenger class spirit origin?

Rex: long story, I'm a monster now. Going to save Quetz!

With that Rex leaps into the air to hunt down Columbus.

Da Vinci: Mash, can you explain?

Mash: somehow, fantasy can become reality and senpai used that to become a monster to save Quetzalcoatl. And he's currently hunting down Columbus for information.

Da Vinci: ah...

Mash: now I'll go catch up with him!

Mash runs off to follow Rex, seemingly forgetting the authors.

Anderson: well... should we leave them to it?

Murasaki: we really should follow, to help make things go smoothly.

Shakespeare: and I can't miss out on the story this will be.

Anderson: *sigh* ok then

Off with Rex he's found the Santa Maria and immediately rushes to fight the captain, leaping into the air with hand blades to kill the captain.

Rex: COLUMBUS!!!

Columbus: what the-? Is that the master of Chaldea?

Seeing the threat Rex was posing Columbus prepared to unleash his noble phantasm but before he could Rex manages to slice at him, injuring him severely.

Columbus: fuck!

The captain falls over, already too weakened to fight much.

Rex: Where is She?! Where'd you take her!?

Columbus: how'd you get so strong?

Rex: Tell Me!

Columbus: you're not getting any info from me...

Rex: we'll see about that

Rex grabs the captain by the arm and slowly stabs into his side, with the shape-shifted blade burning with divine fire.

Columbus, in pain: Aaahhh!

Rex: tell me what I need to know.

Columbus: aaahh! Fine! She's at the capital building!

Rex drops the fool, satisfied by the info. Finally Mash comes in, having caught up with Rex.

Mash: senpai! Did you find out where Quetzalcoatl is?

Rex: the capital building!

Mash: great!

As they finish Columbus starts to fade, tho now looking more like the one we're all familiar with.

Rex leaps off the boat and joins Mash as the boat fades along with it's master.

Mash: we're likely to run into Don Quixote there

Rex: doesn't matter.

The two leave towards the capital building. Having to fight off inquisition soldiers who got in their way. Eventually they find the capital building, a knight clad in sparkling armor with a strong looking horse stands guard.

Rex: that's him isn't it?

Mash: more then likely

Quixote: ho! You two! What brings you here?

Rex: I'm here to get my wife back!

Quixote: ah! You're the man I was told about! You look far more monstrous then I thought.

Rex: good! Now prepare to die!

Immediately the two clash, Rex's blades against Quixote's spear.

Mash attempts to help but is quickly surrounded by more inquisitors, having to fight them off before helping.

*slash*

Quixote: quite an interesting power you've got there! But you'll fall regardless monster!

Rex: Shut Up! I'll kill you! And then I'll get my wife back!

The two clash even more, Rex also having to fight off soldiers at the same time. Eventually another man comes out of the building.

???: Don! What goes on?

Quixote: the enemy master has come my lord!

Miguel: oh! He's come to save that goddess has he?

Rex: give her back!

Rex says this as he continues to clash with the knight.

Miguel: unfortunately I cannot, my master has requested her capture and I must follow his orders!

Rex: Fuck You!

Quixote: how vulgar!

Then, just as before the snow intensified, blinding the enemies.

Miguel: of all the times for this to ha- urk!

The spanish author feels a sharp pain in his chest, he looks in front of him and beyond the falling snow he sees the pissed off Rex.

Rex: I. Said. Give. Her. Back!

Rex then slices straight up, cutting the author in half.

The snow was still intense and the knight was now clashing with Mash, unaware of his master's death but also unaffected by it.

Rex runs into the capital building, the slimy symbiote receding into him to appear normal still. He then finds Quetzalcoatl inside a box similar to the coffins used for rayshifting.

Rex: mi corazon!

He goes over and busts it open and picks her up out of it.

Rex: are you ok?

She's only semi-conscious and isn't able to say much

Quetz: mi amor...?

Rex: I'm here! You're safe!

Outside Mash continues to fight Quixote, in the clash she manages to break his spear.

Mash: yes!

Now the spear appears far more old and damaged then it did before she damaged it. Quixote looks at it, and seems distraught.

Quixote: it's a lie... isn't it?

Mash: huh?

Quixote: it's all just a story... chivalry... it's all a lie...

Out of nowhere Quixote's armor becomes old and worn, his horse weak and also old. Then the snow stops entirely.

Mash: what happened?

???: you broke his trance.

Mash looks over and sees Shakespeare and the others.

Anderson: with Miguel dead, he was weakened and him seeing his spear I'm it's tru form broke his delusions. Now the fantasies are fading.

Mash: so it's over?

Murasaki: looks like it

Don Quixote then fades away himself. Then Rex is seen coming out of the building carrying Quetz.

Mash: Senpai! Is she ok?!

Rex: she'll be fine. Just need to get back.

Da Vinci: so you saved her? That's great to hear! Now let's get you two back before the singularity fades.

Rex: but who the hell was their master?

Da Vinci: not here, so we'll handle it when we get there.

Rayshifting in 3...2...1!

A/N: there's the story I've been planning for a bit. There's going to be a small epilog soon enough but for now there's that.

Tags

@hasishtardoneanythingwrong @hasereshdoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @hasbbdoneanythingwrong @haskamadoneanythingwrong @hasabbydoneanythingwrong @renmeo @kazmetic @grievouslyxorvia @valiantstrawberrymilk

[jojotichakorn]

“ if only we could follow our passions ... “ WHY CAN’T WE ? WHY FUCKING CAN’T WE MISTER , EXPLAIN ??? STOP FUCKING GARDENING IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT , WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU FORCING YOURSELF TO DO SOMETHING YOU DISLIKE FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON ??? 

i want to point out that i 110% understand that unfortunately most of us have to do something we just have to do instead of following our passions . that’s what it’s like to live under capitalism . but that’s not what they are saying here . it’s not “oh you want to be an artist , but your stuff isn’t selling , so do something to put food on the table and stop drawing” (tho i have A LOT of questions to people who think this is a valid way of looking at things) and it’s definitely not an understanding “ah yes , sometimes we have to quit our passions , because life is hard” . 

instead it’s some kind of nonsensical 2012-tumblr-quote-esque bullshit , where for some reason we are crying about how people just can’t follow their passions in life . motherfucker , you can stop gardening . you literally don’t have to give a shit about your garden if you hate it so much . and tian sure as hell doesn’t have to go to university and take over his family business if that’s not something he wants and is passionate about . 

you know , the reason i’m probably so angry about this is because i ACTUALLY can’t follow my passions . i’d like to write and travel the world , but instead i have to get a degree and go work a fucking 9-to-5 because i don’t have a choice . i don’t have the money and i don’t have the opportunities . tian does . tian has every opportunity to just fucking go back to the village . he did it once ! just fucking go , literally NOTHING is stopping you . N O T H I N G . stop pretending like this is some fucking deep commentary on how life actually is or whatever . ugh .

[in-tua-deep]

Vanya is so tired of all the bullshit at this point in unviable au and like just Vanya being a tad bit p snarky is great

honestly if you hang around Klaus long enough you have to develop snark in sheer self defense. ESPECIALLY a Klaus who talks to not one but TWO ghosts so you only get like, a whole half to a third of the conversation and have to fill in the blanks yourself smh

And Vanya?? she protective where it counts. In the show itself, Leonard gets there first and when Allison questions him, Vanya gets defensive. In the unviable au, Klaus gets there first and makes Vanya feel included. So even though he’s an absolute pain in the ass she comes down resolutely on his side

And Klaus, who is used to having none of his (living) siblings on his side... it’s nice. When Allison accuses him of just wanting to grift Vanya for drug money... she defends him.

Even Diego, who also loves Klaus, would probably just gruffly say that that’s his problem.

So Vanya and Klaus get pretty close in this au actually, and you know what that means???

It’s Klaus who technically stops the apocalypse. Just by being there for her.

Actually now that I think about it, this might genuinely be an everyone lives au?? Except Five ofc, but like. Leonard Peabody hasn’t been able to get close to Vanya yet, so he probably doesn’t kill Helen Cho so that Vanya can be first chair. Wow like, so far no one except Five and Ben has died what a wild ride.

So they get team apocalypse together and recruit two more (hello boyfriend Dave, who is going to help Klaus keep clean!!) and then... what?

With all the stress and everything going on, Vanya probably... forgets to take her pills. She doesn’t even think about it in between trying to figure out what they’re supposed to be doing to prevent the apocalypse when their only clue is that someone related to Vanya might cause the apocalypse? And even then, could be a chain effect so the number of people who could end the world is like... weirdly high. 

And hey, Vanya has other things to worry about than her pills anyway. Klaus keeps trying to raid the fridge, if Diego puts a hole in her walls with one of his knives she’s actually going to commit murder, Dave keeps politely asking where she keeps various things so that he can make everyone tea. Five keeps rattling things to prove that he’s there (and he really needs to stop because being physical with items takes energy he needs to conserve)

Anyway, since Hazel and Cha-Cha were asking questions about Vanya, they realize that Vanya’s place... probably isn’t the safest? So they all end up going to the library to camp out because lets be real the library is an excellent public resource, and lots of libraries have private rooms - nowhere better to brainstorm

“If they know about my apartment, then they know about the mansion.” Vanya points out, absently rolling a marker across the table. 

(The room came with a whiteboard, presumably to help students or something, that Five has already capitalized as his own personal writing surface since Klaus tends to prefer paraphrase over direct translation.)

“The mansion?” Dave asks politely, because he really has no idea what the fuck he’s in for.

“Where we grew up.” Vanya informs him, because she’s a nice person and figures he doesn’t deserve to flounder considering he’s literally out of time here. 

“I told you about how dad sucked.” Klaus says offhandedly as he swipes a purple marker from thin air so that he can continue doodling flowers on the whiteboard.

“Okay okay,” Dave says, waving his hands, “Slow down. Was everything you told me true? Because I will be honest I thought most of it was like. Your uh, vivid imagination.”

“Probably true,” Diego says over Klaus’s outraged squawk, “But very... embellished. Klaus has that effect.”

“I resemble that remark!” Klaus pulls himself together admirably.

“I know you do, babe.” Dave says, leaning over to take Klaus’s hand in his own, smiling fondly. Klaus absolutely melts and a large E W is written across the whiteboard in bright red ink. 

“Mind your business, junior.” Klaus says, sticking his tongue out in the direction everyone assumes Five to be. Immediately after this comment, Klaus gets beaned in the head by said red marker.

“Children, children.” Vanya rolls her eyes, “Can we get along for five minutes?”

“In this family?” Diego snorts dismissively. And then starts because Vanya smacks him on the arm for being an ass.

In the last few days, Vanya has attended the funeral of the man who emotionally fucked her up, found out that her two dead brothers were hanging around, found out the apocalypse was incoming, is being stalked by time traveling assassins because she is somehow related to the apocalypse happening, lied to people to get info on an eye, bailed on practice, crawled out a bathroom window, rescued her kidnapped brother only to watch him vanish before her eyes. Honestly she is all out of fucks to give. She’s tired, cranky, and more than a little stressed.

“Can you order pizza to a library?” Klaus muses absently, head turned in a way that means he’s probably talking to Ben. 

“No, Klaus. Stop.” Vanya all but begs.

“Not that I don’t love the library.” Dave observes, looking around. He looks around a lot, constantly marveling at the differences between the world back in his day and now. “But if Vanya’s apartment and uh, ‘the mansion’ aren’t options. Where are we supposed to be staying?”

Bless Dave for keeping them on topic.

Vanya and Klaus look at each other. And then as one they look at Diego.

“No. Absolutely not.” Diego protests, crossing his arms. “I live in a boiler room. That doesn’t even count. It can’t have four people staying in it.”

“Six people.” Klaus emphasizes, gesturing at thin air. Diego mumbles apologies, which is in self preservation really because Five really does have fantastic aim and doesn’t give a fuck about manners. 

“We can have a sleepover!” Klaus cheers, clapping his hands like he’s at a one man party. 

“No.” Diego emphasizes.

They all end up in Diego’s boiler room. 

“Five says he wants the bed.” Klaus claims as soon as they walk in.

“Five is dead.” Diego growls, “He’s not getting the bed.”

“Ben says that’s dead-ist.” Klaus accuses pointing a finger at Diego, who slaps it away. 

“Well I suppose the youngest should get the bed.” Vanya muses out loud, which just makes Klaus burst into laughter. This in turn means that the pillow on Diego’s bed seems to move on its own in an attempt to smother the lanky man.

“I’m fine with the floor.” Dave offers, “Used to way worse in the jungle. This’ll actually be pretty nice. No bugs at least.”

Klaus pauses in wrestling with the pillow, “Aw, babe. That’s so sweet. I’m on the floor, too!”

Diego sighs deeply, “Ugh. Fucking. Fine. Vanya can have the bed.”

“Thank you.” Vanya says gracefully, picking her way through Diego’s... place is a generous word, to sit on the bed. 

“Do you have any movies?” Klaus asks, and has has somehow transitioned to being sprawled across the floor kicking his feet in the air with his face in his hands, “Oh! Or popcorn! Nail polish?”

“This is not a sleepover.” Diego growls, “This is... this is a tactical base.”

“I have some hairties in my pocket?” Vanya offers, fishing out one and tossing to towards a squealing Klaus. 

“Yes!” Klaus cheers, holding up his prize with great victory, “Vanya, can I do you hair?”

“Sure.” Vanya says shrugging, scooching over to allow for Klaus to scrabble onto the bed to sit behind her. 

“Hey Diego do you own a hairbrush?” Klaus asks, pulling Vanya’s hair out of her ponytail and running his fingers through it. Diego scowls. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Klaus scooches over enough so that Dave can sit behind him and they manage to cram three adults onto the bed as Dave starts ruffling at Klaus’s hair, humming thoughtfully. 

“I hate all of you.” Diego growls, crossing his arms and definitely not pouting. 

“I love team apocalypse.” Klaus says as cheerfully as possible.

“Don’t you have two other siblings?” Dave asks, brow furrowed in slight confusion. Klaus probably told him all about his fucked up family while they were in Vietnam together, to pass the time. At the time Dave hadn’t actually believed Klaus (body of a monkey? teleportation? tentacle powers? but you know what he’s in the future and he’s either having the worst acid trip, he’s dead, or this is real and why not roll with it).

Vanya, Klaus, and Diego all grimace as one.

“Luther and Allison... have their own issues they’re working on right now.” Vanya says diplomatically.

“Hold up.” Klaus says, craning his head around to look at Diego, “Is Luther still on that ‘dad was murdered’ bullshit?”

“Your dad was murdered?” Dave asks, looking a little shocked.

“What is Allison even doing?” Diego tilts his head a little bit, ignoring Dave’s question entirely.

“Judging my life choices.” Vanya mutters reproachfully. Klaus, as the terrible life choice in question, pats her shoulder sympathetically. 

“In all fairness, if it weren’t for. You know. Everything. I probably would have robbed you for money.” Klaus admits with a simple shrug, and gets a pat on the shoulder from Dave in return.

“I know she cares or whatever.” Vanya says sighing, “But like. The way she goes about it. Like she knows everything and has to impart her wisdom on us lesser beings. Like she didn’t ruin her own life.”

“Wow.” Klaus hums, tugging on the end on Vanya’s new braid, “I didn’t realize we were onto the shit talking portion of the sleepover.”

“This isn’t a sleepover.” Diego’s protest falls on deaf ears.

“I’m open to building a relationship.” Vanya says firmly, “But that’s what it needs to be. Building a relationship. Because quite frankly, we don’t have one. She acts like, I don’t know, the fact that we’re sisters should trump the fact that she ignored me at best for like, the last twenty-nine years of my life.”

“Go off, queen.” Klaus says gleefully, running his fingers through Vanya’s hair and undoing the braid he just finished entirely. “Where have you been hiding all our lives?”

“In my room, mostly.” Vanya deadpans, “Sequestered away like all of Dad’s boring treasures.”

“If your dad was still alive I’d fight him for all of you.” Dave says very seriously. Seriously enough that it makes Vanya snort, and Klaus burst into giggles, and even Diego shakes his head. 

“I love you so much, Dave.” Klaus says seriously, and then looks over Dave’s shoulder, “No I don’t - it’s a different sort of love Ben. You’re still my favorite brother! Wait, no Five - actually yes Five because Ben is everyone’s favorite brother - ”

“Confirmed.” Diego immediately says, which makes Klaus whirl around, his hand at his chest and gasping like a Victorian maiden. 

“Sorry Five.” Vanya says, nodding along mock seriously. “Ben never lost my violin bow and tried to blame it on the monster under the bed.”

“Hold up, hold up hold up.” Klaus says immediately, eyes pingponging between Vanya and someone the rest of them can’t see, “I smell a story. Pray tell, Vanya. Do you have a tale that paints the illustrious Five in a... less than pristine light?”

“Oh Klaus.” Vanya practically purrs, mischief lighting up her eyes, “I was Five’s favorite sibling. I know all the dirty little secrets.”

And that’s the moment when Diego’s shitty bed flips and dumps Vanya, Klaus, and Dave onto the floor.

“Five!” 

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 3 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Several more weeks and hookups later, Annabeth thinks she should probably come clean. Some people might bury it deep, and for sure, Annabeth’s considered it, but, well. It is kind of embarrassing that she didn’t know Percy’s name at first. Stuff like that doesn’t usually bother her--she’s had nameless one night stands in the past, and despite Thalia’s ribbing, she knows that Thalia doesn’t really care either. It’s just that, you know, he’s Thalia’s family, and they’ve seen each other a few more times, and they are planning to continue to see each other a few more times in the future. Or more than a few times. 

Anyway, she kind of feels like she owes it to him. Like he deserves this small nugget of truth, payment for all the times he’s fucked her blind. It’s nagging at her, and she hates feeling like she owes anyone anything. 

Piper certainly seemed to think so, when Annabeth had told her over their monthly brunch date.

“It’s just common courtesy at this point,” she said. “Like, what if you guys end up married and then sell your story to Hollywood, they cast my dad as the male lead, and it comes out in interviews that you didn’t know his name for like a month? He’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure which part was more ridiculous: the movie, Piper’s dad being involved, or them being married.

Anyway, sharing some of her avocado fries, Piper had reminded her that being mean wasn't very punk rock, shutting her up effectively.

She’s out on site in the Lower East Side, taking measurements for plots of land, writing down sun angles and measuring the wind velocity between the brick buildings, when she gets a text from him. 

I’m on a break and I’m starving 😩 Want to grab something to eat?

It’s 2pm on a Thursday and he wants to grab something to eat. If Annabeth didn’t know any better, she’d say that that sounds like a real, honest-to-goodness, bona fide date. (Meeting up at and subsequently leaving bars together does not count as a date, she’s pretty sure. Neither do the booty calls.) He’s been getting a little free with his texts, that boy, sending her selfies and memes and questions about her day, and now this? An invitation to their first, actual date? She should block him on principle, just for the sheer audacity.

sure, wya

520 8th, text me when you get here 😁

That’s another thing: Percy loves his emojis. If this is going to continue, they’re going to need to have a serious talk about that. 

She doesn’t need to text him when she gets there; he’s already outside, leaning on the stone edifice of the building like a particularly jacked rent boy in his tight t-shirt and broody look, cigarette between his fingers. The sweatpants sort of ruin the image, though. He looks particularly comfortable in a way that warms Annabeth right from the inside out. “You know, when Nico said you smoked, I honestly didn’t believe it.” she says, not even bothering to say hi. 

He looks up from his phone and smiles, the sun behind his teeth. “Hey!” 

“Hey, yourself.” She doesn’t even hesitate--she plucks the cigarette out of his hand, taking a drag off it herself. “You been smoking for a long time?”

“Who do you think taught Thalia how?” He raises an eyebrow, bemused. “Is that a problem?”

It is, but it’s not like she can tell him that without losing some of her credibility. “Wouldn’t smoking fuck with your cardio?”

Percy shrugs, conceding. “A little. I used to be a lot worse, but I just can’t quite kick the habit. It’s mostly a stress thing, anyway.” 

“Rough practice?” she asks, putting just enough effort into her lip wobble to make it abundantly clear that she’s making fun of him. “Were the other boys being mean to you because of your tights?”

He grins at her, saucy. “Annabeth Chase, do you really think that NYCB rehearses here? In the Garment District?” But he laughs before she can stammer out an answer (and thank God, she’s lived here three years and can barely keep the boroughs straight, let alone the neighborhoods). “I just wrapped up teaching a class. I don’t have to be at rehearsal until 5, I was thinking we could hang out? Bryant Park?”

A first date at the New York Public Library. She almost hates to admit it, but Percy Jackson might be kind of her dream man. “I believe I was promised food,” she sniffs, but she does hold out her hand, and when he takes it, lacing his fingers through hers, she’s sure that he can feel her heart beating, palm to palm. 

Twenty minutes later they’re settled on a bench in the corner of the green, Annabeth halfway into a ham sandwich and Percy juggling a salad and an iced coffee. He’s been regaling her with tales from the more exciting side of ballet, a side she hadn’t even imagined could actually exist. “So by the time I land in Paris,” he says, taking a sip of coffee, “the guy’s foot has swollen up to, like, twice its original size, and when I finally managed to find some wifi to check my phone, there’s, like, eight missed calls from my mom and my agent, and an email from her that just says ‘READ THIS,’ in all caps, and of course the article is in French, which I didn’t really speak at the time, and I was so stressed that my ADHD made it so I couldn’t even read the Google translation, and I had to ask someone to translate it for me.”

“Oh my god,” she says, struggling to keep it in.

“And that’s how I found out that I’d been moved up to first cast in Le Corsaire, from the poor barista at a coffee shop in Charles de Gaule!” He laughs. 

“That’s insane,” Annabeth says. “And the show was the next day?”

“It was that night! I had to haul ass to the opera house and get warmed up, because I was going on in about four hours. You should have seen the looks on everyone’s faces when I stumbled in, I’m sure that they all wanted to kill me.” Percy chuckles, taking a bite of leafy greens. “Now I wasn’t just the twenty-year-old upstart American, I was the twenty-year-old upstart American who skipped town when I wasn’t supposed to.”

“How did it go?”

“Killed it, of course,” he says, deservedly smug. 

Despite her best efforts, she’s absolutely entranced; he’s a great storyteller. “I bet you break that story out at parties all the time, don’t you.”

He laughs. “Whatever gets the donors to open their checkbooks, right?”

“I can’t believe you lived in Paris. I’ve always wanted to see it.” She’d had a few chances to when she was in college, the semester she’d studied abroad in Rome, but she just never got around to it. Just another item on her long, long list of regrets, placed somewhere between the sketchy burrito from last week and not telling her mom to fuck off earlier when she’d had the chance. “If I were you, I’d never leave.”

Percy shrugs. “It was amazing, I won’t lie. But towards the end I just really, really missed it here. All my family is in NYC, you know? My mom, step-dad, and my sister live here, and Thalia and Nico and Hazel, too. I tried to come back and visit whenever I could, but being away from them was really hard.” There’s something soft and inviting in his expression when he says, “I’m really happy to be back home.”

“What are they like?” Annabeth asks. “Your family. Your non-mob family, I mean.”

He rolls his eyes, but he grins another one of those blinding grins, too. “My mom is the most amazing person you will ever meet. Not only did she support my dance habit, she did it as a single working mother who had to raise an angry, ADHD asshole of a son who didn’t always appreciate her. I don’t even want to know how many hours she had to work or how many scholarships and grants she had to track down in order to pay for me to go to SAB, but somehow she made it work, and managed to write her novel at the same time. She married my step-dad the summer I turned sixteen, and my baby sister was born the next year.” 

Even Annabeth, cynical and black-hearted as she is, has to smile back. The love he has for his mom is so palpable, so tangible, she can practically see him glowing. “And the…” What had Thalia called them? “The ‘Cousin Consortium’?” 

At that, Percy laughs, full-bellied, unrestrained. “The name was Nico’s idea. I didn’t really have many close friends when I was a kid, apart from my buddy Grover--he had to wear this really gnarly leg brace and I liked to dance, so you can imagine how much we got picked on--but we were all really close growing up, since our dads were all assholes. They may have left us emotionally scarred, but at least we had each other’s backs the whole time.”

This is a very Percy thing, she’s starting to realize: he can not and will not hold back on his feelings. He simply refuses to. Where most guys might try to hide or downplay their affection for their friends, Percy’s is written all over his face. Maybe it’s a byproduct of doing ballet, but he’s so unashamed of his love for his friends and his family and his art, that maybe Annabeth kind of wishes she could be included in that love too, if it always feels this warm and joyful. 

“I think it’s amazing that you guys are so close. I only had the one cousin when I was growing up, and we didn’t really talk all that much,” Annabeth says, almost without her permission. Something about him, it’s just so easy to talk to him. He makes it safe to open up.

“The med school guy, right?” 

Annabeth nods. “Magnus. Fifth generation Harvard student. We’re all very proud.” 

Ugh. Even she has to wince at the false cheer in her voice. Percy gives her a half-smile, sympathetic and soft. “Harvard not really for you, then?” he asks, picking up the threads of a long and complicated story, and one that she absolutely does not want to get into right now. Or ever, if she can help it. 

“More like I wasn’t really for Harvard.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. She had been good enough for the university in Cambridge, Mass--good enough for two degrees and graduation with honors--but she had never been good enough for her mother’s capital-H Harvard. Never good enough for her mother at all, really. 

Percy takes her hand. His fingers are cold from his iced coffee. “Hey. It’s their loss,” he says, with a sincerity and an intensity that makes her blush.

Every part of her wants to pull away. His thumb is rubbing against the joint of her finger, soothing and sweet, and she thinks she may break out in hives from it. “Damn right it is,” she mumbles. 

He is so nice. So nice and hot and sweet. Objectively, what she’s about to do is a terrible idea, and might torpedo a really good thing that they have, but if she doesn’t come clean now her own guilt is going to drive her insane.

“Okay, I have a confession to make.” Percy raises his eyebrows, slurping the last dregs of his drink. “When we met… and then when we hooked up the first time… I may have… thoughtyouwereJason.”

He blinks. “Pardon?” he asks, mumbled around the straw.

Annabeth buries her head in her hands. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“You… thought I was Jason?”

“Well,” she sputters, glaring at him through her fingers, “you were being all bro-y with Thalia!”

He is valiantly trying to hold in a smile. “You know, I distinctly remember telling you my name that morning.”

“I was really hungover,” she whines, “and you were shirtless and making breakfast so I wasn’t really… paying attention.”

“For a whole week?”

This is so embarrassing, why couldn’t she just keep her stupid mouth shut? “Yeah.” She slumps her shoulders, stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely sure what she expected: at best a couple of weird looks and a tentative promise to meet up later that would end up not working out, at worst she thinks he’ll just get up and leave her here at Bryant Park. Either way, they’d be doomed to months of awkward interactions, until eventually they wouldn’t be able to be around each other, and Thalia would have to pick a side--and Annabeth’s seen what Thalia does to people who cross her family. She’s seen Thalia beat a dude to pulp for calling Nico the f-slur. Picking Percy over Annabeth? That’s nothing.

So when he starts laughing, Annabeth is completely at a loss. Slowly, at first, then all at once, he’s laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking, and he has to put down his salad so it doesn’t topple over onto the grass. His head is tilted back in joy, the grey, late afternoon light adamant that Annabeth can see all of his features clearly, from his screwed up eyes to his bright, white teeth to the single dimple in his cheek.

Of course, even his laughter is hot. Asshole. 

“You thought I was Jason!” He shrieks.

Annabeth crosses her arms, scowling. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he giggles. Annabeth can feel her own giggle rising in response, and she ruthlessly quashes it. “I can definitely say I’ve never heard that one before. You do know Jason is blond, right?”

“As a matter of fact, I did not. Besides, you and Thalia look exactly alike.”

He scoffs. “No we don’t.”

“Uh, yeah you do. You, Thalia, and Nico are all basically clones of each other.” 

“Okay, Captain Glasses, whatever you say.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth feels like she has to say again.

He cocks his head. “For what? For thinking I was Jason? He’s a pretty cool guy.”

“No, for,” she blushes again. All this blood rushing to her head can’t be good for her. “For sleeping with you when I still thought you were Jason.”

Percy scoots closer to her, throwing her a grin and slinging his arm over her shoulders. Without even realizing that she’s doing it, she settles in beside him like she’s been doing it her whole life, slotted up against his torso, tucking her booted feet beneath her legs. “I am choosing to take that as a compliment,” he says, smirking. “You couldn’t resist my charms, even when you thought I was a brogrammer.” 

Annabeth can’t help herself. She kisses him, wiping that smug grin right off his face, and when she finally retreats, after what feels like hours, he looks so dazed she could probably keep calling him by any name she wanted and he wouldn’t even realize it.

After their lunch, they meander for hours, headed in a vaguely southerly direction, holding hands the whole time, a steady, uninterrupted flow that took them all the way from Midtown to Greenwich Village. He tells her about his first day at ballet school; she tells him about her favorite monuments. “There are two architectural environments in America,” she says, ranting, speaking with enough force that she might forget the feeling of his hand in hers, “endless dead suburbia, or cities where every single building is either a concrete or a glass block--and not even Brutalist concrete, just shitty, poorly designed, paint-by-numbers concrete. It is an absolute travesty of modern government that they don’t fund any public works projects anymore.”

“That’s why all the gardens and stuff?” he asks.

“Nowadays everything is built by the lowest bidder. At least I get to add some beauty back into the city.”

“I know what you mean,” Percy says. “Paris is practically overflowing with public works, you almost forget about it sometimes.”

She sighs. “You’re so fucking lucky. Paris is so beautiful and everything in New York is just hideous.”

“Aw, come on,” he says. “Not everything. What about the Empire State Building, or Central Park?”

“Well, obviously, those,” she says, just a teensy bit flustered, but she’s not about to give up the argument without a fight. “I just mean like, normal, every day buildings: offices and apartments and stuff. It’s all so samey and boring.”

He looks to her right, pointing at the building they are passing. “What about this one?”

She turns.

If she had known they were headed this way, she never would have taken them past here.

“It’s… okay, I guess,” she mumbles, staring up at the arched windows, pedimented doors, and Rococo details of Miss Minerva’s Private Pre-College Prep School. A shudder goes down her spine, like someone walking over her grave. “There are better Beaux-Arts buildings.”

Sensing her discomfort, he picks up the pace, and changes the subject.

Finally, he stops outside a nondescript building, turning to face her. “This is me,” he says, a little bit mournfully, squeezing her hand. “Are you okay to get home safely?”

This man is ridiculous; it’s not even dark out. “I think I can manage a few blocks,” she says, lightly swatting him. “Isn’t it kind of early for you, though? It’s only four o’clock.”

He flushes faintly, one hand coming up to rub at his neck. “Uh, well, I always give myself a little extra time--you know, time blindness and everything.”

“You baked in extra time in case I wanted you to walk me home, didn’t you?” She mock-gasps, secretly delighted. “Scandal!”

“Guilty,” he grins. “You’ve been to mine so many times, I was curious.”

She just barely stops herself from laughing out loud at the very idea of Percy coming to her apartment--as if. Thalia hasn’t even been to her apartment. Nobody knows where she lives, none of her neighbors know who she is, and this is entirely by design. “Cut me some slack; a girl’s gotta have some mystery. Can’t make it too easy for you, can I?”

“I have a feeling you’ll never make things easy for me,” he says, white teeth gleaming.

“You better believe it,” she smiles back. “Now that I’ve foiled your plans, are you going to be too bored?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” he shrugs. “I’m very resourceful when it comes to boredom.”

Inspiration strikes, and she grasps his hand, pulling him down the alleyway. She almost hates to admit it, but she has something of a Pavlovian response when it comes to hanging out with Percy. Annabeth has come to expect some really excellent sex whenever the two of them meet up, and maybe spending all afternoon with him has made her a little bit horny. 

She presses him up against the brick wall, hidden from the street by the long afternoon shadows, and kisses him. His hands flounder for a second, before coming up to rest on her shoulders, this thumbs tapping against the base of her neck, fingers fluttering on her jacket. It’s an intimate touch, kind of chaste and very respectful, and he holds her with precision and grace. He wouldn’t do anything she wouldn’t want to. This is a date with no expectation of sex on his part. But Annabeth does not want grace right now, spooked by the ghost of her old school. She does not want precision. She just wants him. She just wants to keep him on his toes, keep him interested, blow his mind a little. 

She just wants to blow him, to be honest. 

He squeaks into her mouth as her hands fly to his belt, deft fingers practically ripping it off of him in an increasingly familiar motion. “H-hey,” he says, squeezing her shoulders, “this is--”

“Do you not want me to?” she asks, one hand playing at the top line of his underwear. 

“No--I mean, are you sure? I’m-I’m okay with this, I just want to--”

“I know.” She kisses his cheek, then drops to her knees. “But we’ve got some time to kill, don’t we.” 

Afterwards, when she’s finished with him, Annabeth wipes her mouth, and he whimpers. 

“Ho… holy shit,” he pants, flushed and trembling. 

She tucks him back into his boxers, doing up his fly. “There we go. That was better than being bored, right?”

He nods wordlessly, swallowing, shaking. His eyes are glassy and glazed, stupid like he’s just shot out his brain through his dick.

In the short time they’ve been together (though, honestly, this might be the longest relationship she’s ever been in before… and they haven’t even broached the “dating” conversation yet) Annabeth has been on the receiving end of several different Percy looks. His face will light up with joy when he first lays his eyes on her, so happy to see her (though she can’t really fathom why), glinting like the sun on the water. His eyes will narrow, glaring, even as he furiously tamps down on his growing smile when they start arguing over something stupid, like Annabeth’s affinity for olives. He’ll grin at her, knife sharp and slanted, licking his lips and looming over her after she comes down from yet another orgasm via his mouth or his hands.

Percy looks at her now like someone took a bat to his head, and instead of seeing stars, he sees little miniature Annabeths flying around. 

He pulls her to him and kisses her, entirely too sweet for what she’s just done to him, but that is also a very Percy thing. And when she leaves him with a final kiss on his cheek and squeeze of his ass, she can feel that look burning a hole through her jacket, following her down the alley and around the corner, and she finds that she doesn’t mind the weight of it at all.