#it's cheap & annoying & takes away from the final project

[layla-carstairs]

Cassandra Clare writing the pre-tlh short stories and then forgetting about them & what they had established as canon when actually writing the last hours is my villain origin story. like it makes me so violent. and I get things change as the writing process goes on but imo as an author you have a responsibility to abide by what you previously wrote & published. you don't get to pretend that it just never happened.

#it's cheap & annoying & takes away from the final project #even just some acknowledgement would have fixed the problem! #like with James being the 'leader' of the Merry Thieves when in the short stories it was very well established that was Matthew #or how James was the one who really hated Alastair #and Thomas would always defend Alastair which meant having conversations about Alastair nearly impossible without upsetting someone #there's countless examples of this it makes me want to pull my hair out #as for something like the family tree. I would have rathered cc just explained the situation to us fans #like just *tell us* the family tree was written before tlh was really a thing & because of that it's not canon anymore #there wasn't really a need for an canonical explanation (especially since it was so random) #I doubt anyone but fans cared about it anyway #by fans I mean hardcore fans who don't just read causally. like ones who get her newsletter/follow her on tumblr and twitter etc #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron #chain of thorns #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #lucie herondale #matthew fairchild #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #christopher lightwood #anna lightwood #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc

[zmediaoutlet]

you look like trouble (but i guess i do too)

for @wincestwednesdays - reputation

A motel, halfway between Washington and Kansas, cowboy-themed—or rather, cowgirl, since she's sitting pretty on the neon sign tipping her hat up and winking at people who'd be dumb enough to drive past. Cute enough to get past the almost rent-by-the-hour vibes, though it's not like those are unfamiliar, and inside the room Dean picks it's clean enough, and certainly cleaner than a lot of the places Dean's been staying in the last few months. No smell of sulfur, for one. That puts it pretty high on the list.

Sam's in the shower. Dean cracks the bottle of JD they got when they pulled into town and sits on the bed, and by the time the water creaks off—a long shower, by Sam's standards—he's made a pretty sizeable dent in it, and also into his current project.

The door opens with a decent billow of steam and a vision of Sam with a cheap white towel wrapped low around his hips, which is good enough to help alleviate the embarrassing skin-crawl Dean's been dealing with, the last twenty minutes, if not dissipate it entirely. He whistles and Sam rolls his eyes, going to dig one-handed through his bag. "Don't blame me for enjoying the show," Dean says, and Sam huffs but doesn't smile.

"What are you doing," he says. Kinda just saying it to say it. From his bag he pulls his pajama pants, that shirt he wears to sleep in. Rolls his right arm, free of the sling, and stands there holding his elbow, his face even in profile tight and strained.

Dean drains his glass, and sets it on the bedside table, and drops his phone on the mattress. "Texting hunters," he says. Sam's brow furrows and he looks over, and Dean shrugs. "Going through the rolodex, you know? Figuring out who we can still talk to."

Sam's brow clears and he stands up straight. His fist clenched in the towel. Too bad—but then, those kinds of shows, they don't always let you drink. He watches Sam's jaw flex and then also watches Sam clearly decide not to say the first thing that comes to mind. "You don't have to clean up my messes," he says, finally. Very even. Like Dean can't see his shoulders twitch. Only person Dean's ever known to throw more punches inside his head than otherwise.

They're not fighting, though. Ever since Dean's whole body washed clear, all the roiling smoke and salt and pain draining out of him like someone pulled the plug on a bath, so he was left just with the guilt and misery and Sam, six inches away, watching, desperate—Dean hasn't wanted to pick a fight. No matter what drags at the very back of his hindbrain, scratching.

"First of all," he says, easy, "that ain't true. You think the WC in the bunker just gets all sparkly by magic? I've seen things, Sam. Horrors." Sam's face kind of flinches and Dean smiles at him in the most annoying way he can muster, but then he shrugs, relaxed back against the stacked pillows. "But you aren't the only one who makes messes. Not sure you heard, but I was a demon."

Like acid in the throat to say. It's never actually funny, no matter how many times they repeat it.

Sam takes a deep breath. "I didn't tell anyone," he says.

"Doesn't mean word didn't get out," Dean says, and Sam's eyes close. Like he really didn't think about it. Singleminded, where Dean's concerned. Sometimes Dean can't believe it, the cold shock of what it means that Sam loves him back—but sometimes it's worrying, too. Like whatever demons Dean met or that Crowley used would just clam up and keep it under lock and key, or wouldn't tell whoever had them in a trap ringed with salt and holy water any nasty, humiliating, evil thing that Dean did—that he'd chosen to do—that had come up out of him, some place he didn't look at, that he'd kept closed in a box and refused and never wanted to believe he could ever even think of, much less put into action. The things that could be done to a person. Things you could do to yourself.

"Hey," Sam says, and Dean blinks and looks up and Sam's—there, sitting on the side of the bed by Dean's hip. His hand heavy on Dean's thigh, hot through the denim. "No one will believe it, man."

Dean tips his head back against the headboard. "You remember Walt and Roy?" he says, and Sam's mouth gets thin and flat. "Or—that girl, Tracy? People can believe a lot, Sam. Especially when it's true."

Sam turns his head. His hair's already curling at the ends, around his ears and at the back of his neck. Damp down his back. Even like this, thin from the months Dean was gone and pale with working too long through the night and tired, Dean just—can't get tired of looking at him. Starved after the months without and he can't get his fill.

"Before I stopped drinking," Sam says. Careful. Dean refocuses and Sam's looking at the half-empty bottle of whiskey. "I mean, before I stopped getting drunk. When you'd been gone… three weeks, maybe. I couldn't get a line on Leroy Baldwin. Remember him?" Takes Dean a second, but yes: white guy, hunted mostly crossroads demons, mostly in the bible belt. Asshole but got the job done, and you couldn't expect much more of most hunters. "I went out and found him. Alabama. He was working a job and didn't want to talk. Told him I was trying to track down the demon who'd killed my brother, and he said if I was that cut up about it, maybe I should get someone else to fuck me."

Dean's whole body flinches. Sneaking through the dark until a floodlight snaps on and catches him in his tracks. Sam swallows. "He was one of the ones I punched," he says, after a second, and Dean sits up and gets his hand on Sam's face and Sam closes his eyes, and turns in, and ducks his head down against Dean's shoulder. All damp-warm and smelling like mint from the shower. The curve of his neck hot against Dean's lips.

Crowley joked about it. In bed. Sucking Dean's dick and then lifting up and saying, not quite the same without those down-home charms, hm? and laughed when Dean kicked his shoulder and demanded he get back to it. After the triplets, when the scuttling sycophant demons cleared the bodies away, Crowley covering his back and whispering pretend it's whoever you want, darling, and Dean hadn't been thinking about anything other than getting off one more time but then he couldn't help remembering, and it was worse because Crowley was good, he'd made very sure of that, but it wasn't the same, and even if Dean's heart had been scabbed over and discarded he sure as hell knew the difference. Wondered if Crowley did. Or could.

Sam's hand slides from Dean's thigh to his hip. "Okay, so maybe we won't call Leroy," Dean says, and Sam kind of laughs and then he picks his head up and he kisses Dean, no pussyfooting around, no second-guessing. Dean grabs Sam's shoulders and opens up for it, flipped over. He thought Sam was—freaked, or upset, but he should've known better. All these years of knowing his brother. In short order he's on his back, hauled down with jeans slicking against the polyester comforter, and then there's—Sam leaning over him, and then his mouth dragging down the side of Dean's throat, and then—teeth—

"Christ," Dean puffs out, and feels Sam smile against his skin before he bites again, harder. Makes it hurt. He spreads his knees and Sam settles heavy there—his hand sliding up under Dean's shirt, making his stomach shudder—and the towel's pretty well given up the ghost but Dean tugs it out from between them anyway, and feels Sam's dick thick and getting thicker up against the inseam of his jeans, and his nuts heavy in his sack. Palms them there, feeling. God, how much he loves them. Just how soft, and tender, and full. What he'll give up, under Dean's hand. Although—he drags his heels up, bracketing Sam's thighs between his, and gets his other hand in Sam's hair, and tugs, and asks, "Hey—hey—your arm—?" Not wanting it over before it starts.

Sam pushes up over him, his eyes dark and his hair half-dry and wild around his face and his teeth bared, almost, his grin looks so wild. Dean's dick aches in his jeans. "My arm's good," he says, and grips Dean's crotch whole-handed and tight, defiant. Makes Dean arch into him, proving how much he means it. How much he always has.

#wincest wednesday #wincest #my writing #lisa leblanc is extremely canadian and kinda banjo-y #but she knows how to write people in confusing love #particularly in this part of s10 #where it's rough and hard-won and they're doing it anyway

[feeling-grubby]

It's Just Business

Tikvah smiled as she opened the metal case containing her latest creation. She had invested a lot of time and effort into this prosthetic arm, and she was proud of the results. The arm was made out of fairly cheap parts mostly, but it worked just as well as any high-end prosthetic made for highbloods. Proving that you can make something out of non-costly materials, and it still be as good as the expensive things many on Alternia couldn't afford. The olive blood client who was waiting for her seemed just as excited, and Tikvah helped her put on the arm. As she did, she thought about how familiar this was. She refused to dwell on it, simply chalking it up to the numerous times she had done this. Yet, she felt that something was different about this one.

"Ɛ>]If I remember correctly, you said this will be the first time you've had an arm in sweeps ever since the injury?[<3"

"Oh yes! I am really happy about this, though it might be a big adjustment for me." The olive-blood spoke happily, with a hint of nervousness at the idea of having to adjust to having an arm once more after growing accustomed to a life without one.

Tikvah recognized it immediately and tried to form some kind of delicate response to lift the others' feelings. "Ɛ>]I know this is a 618 adjustment for you, but you've 335med to take any situation handed to you in life with grace. I'm sure this will be no different! Though I can understand how scary this can be, I assure you it'll be okay.[<3" Tikvah gave them a pat on the back to reassure them.

As Tikvah finished up the final adjustments, she stepped away to let the other try out their new arm. The olive blood stood rotating her arm from left to right, examining it thoroughly. The prosthetic was meant to replace her elbow and below, meaning her forearm and hand were now all metal.

The white matte-finished prosthetic was modern, lightweight, and durable. Its smooth movements were thanks to the motor that Tikvah had fitted. She had spent a long time convincing the customer to go with her more expensive suggestion, even though it was not what they had originally wanted. She remembered working hard to make the joints as flexible as possible, and also adding sensors to allow the customer to feel through the arm and interact with the world more safely. However, she was annoyed that the customer had chosen a matte finish, as she felt that it would not look as sleek.

That design choice was how she had learned that this client was more of the artistic kind and wanted to be able to paint and draw on her new limb. Personalize it if you will. Tikvah didn't always like the idea of people treating her company's work as art projects, but she understood why they wanted to do it. They wanted to make it feel like it was their own, and saw customizing it as an expression of themselves. She couldn't really fuss about her clients' choices and simply watched her examine it.

She watched the olive examine Tikvah's hard work, which only continued to tug at a memory in the back of her mind. As if she was trying to remember something. The white prosthetic on an olive blood made Tikvah hum as she thought what her mind was trying to have her recall. As if she was trying to remember a song. The olive-blood's eyes were full of wonder and excitement as she now admired the craftsmanship, no longer just examining it to be sure there was nothing wrong with it.

The olive blood flexed her new arm, then extended it out straight. "Man, talk about having arms of steel, am I right?" the olive joked, giving a small chuckle.

Tikvah's eyes widened at the words as she was struck by a memory. She had built a prosthetic arm for an olive blood slave before, as that was the order she was given. She worked on that arm diligently, but her work had been for naught. The slave had been killed shortly after Tikvah finished the arm, and she had been forced to clean up the mess. The only good thing that came from the affair was that Tikvah was able to salvage the arm and sell it. It may have been insensitive to the owner of it, but it bought Tikvah's freedom from her old cruel life.

Tikvah shook her head to clear the memory. She didn't want to think about that time. She had moved on from that life, and she was determined to build a better future for herself.

"Ɛ>]I'm glad you're happy with the arm,[<3" Tikvah said. "Ɛ>]I did my best.[<3"

"It's perfect," the olive blood said. "It's more than I could have ever asked for."

Tikvah smiled. "Ɛ>]I'm glad to hear that.[<3"

She watched the olive blood for a moment longer, her mind seeming not to be able to take her mind off her first ever client. She was quiet before an idea came to mind as she looked at the prosthetic arm that was so similar to the one that had become her golden ticket to this life.

"Ɛ>]I have an idea. I was thinking that maybe you could help me with my business. I'm always looking for new ways to make my prosthetics more appealing, and I think your artistic skills would be a great asset.[<3"

The olive blood's eyes lit up. "Wait really? You'd hire me to do art!"

"Ɛ>]Possibly,[<;3" Tikvah said, reaching out her fingers and brushing them against the metal. "Ɛ>]It could be good for business after all.[<3”

"And here I thought I was starting to grow on ya. That this was more personal." The olive joked.

"Ɛ>]It's not personal. It's just business.[<;3" She half-heartedly joked back, but she knew she actually meant it in a more serious manner. The other didn't have to know that though. They seemed more happy believing Tikvah saw them now as a friend.

“Whatever you say boss.” the olive blood continued to tease, sticking her hand out for Tikvah to shake.

She shook the olive blood's hand, then said, "Ɛ>]I’m sure it will be a pleasure working with you.[<3”

"Damn straight it will," the olive blood said. "Thank you again for the arm."

Tikvah watched the olive blood leave, then turned back to her work. Not sure why she felt prompted to hire her. Maybe it was nostalgia mixed with the idea of how she didn't like her, and her employees' work being scuffed up with subpar art.

She also knew that she would never forget the memory of the olive blood slave, she could only hope this one wouldn't meet the same fate as them. It would be a shame for her hard work to once again go to waste. She growled at the thoughts she was having and instead turned attention to her work that had to be attended to. She was determined to move on. She was going to build a better future for herself, and she wasn't going to let the past interfere with her plans.

#fan troll community #fantroll #tikvah #short story #homestuck #small writing #if you read this fully thank you #sorry for my horrid writing skills

[ellemany]

We are Young - Part 1

- Let's celebrate my immortality!

 Yoru chuckled. Really.

 The kid was a real crazy. While Yoru was unhappy as he had no way to escape his untimely death, Phoenix was celebrating the fact that he would live forever.

 Life was never fair.

Available on Wattpad in Portuguese

Available on Ao3

Part 1

Recommended Music: Tempo Perdido - Legião Urbana

 It was a dangerous combination, drinking and smoking. Yoru even thought it was funny. Potentiating his premature death by fouling his lungs and ruining his liver.

 As his throat burned from the cheap beer, he looked down. His neck ached after staring at the sky for so long, full of stars he would never dream of seeing in Tokyo. However, the constellations were already blurring in his alcohol-blurred vision, causing him to feel terribly dizzy. Yoru forced himself to focus on the ground several feet below him. He could distinguish some trees but everything looked empty. A void.

 Yoru was familiar with that. Every time he entered the other dimension he was reminded that the void existed within him. And that, at some point, it would consume him. Swallow him until there's nothing left of him. He would get lost in the other dimension or be as broken as Omen.

 Yoru climbed onto the parapet of the building, sitting there. His legs dangled high and he swung them, following the movement of the wind that beat against his body. He put the cigarette in his mouth, looking at the horizon.

 It was just an impulse and he would finish his life's project. He was born to die.

 He took a long drink. His throat was burning, his lungs were hot. He thought dying could be pleasantly cold.

 - There you are. - A voice he knew well spoke behind him. - I finally found you. - Yoru took the cigarette out of his mouth as Phoenix approached him, leaning on the parapet beside him. - We were worried.

 Yoru looked at Phoenix sideways. Had Sage talked about what had brought him here? His isolation had an obvious reason this time.

 - I just wanted to be alone. - He replied without ignorance. He was too tired to be annoying right now.

 - Gotcha… - Phoenix nodded slowly and pointed at his beer bottle. - Can I?

 Yoru found it disgusting to share food like that. But he was already too high to complain.

 He passed the bottle silently to Phoenix, slowly exhaling through his parted lips.

 - Thanks, bro... - The Brit drank from the bottle. He grimaced, looking at the label on it. - This sucks...

 - I know. - Yoru nodded slowly. - It's awful.

 - Why do you do this to yourself? - Phoenix asked, but drank again, returning the bottle to Yoru.

 The Japanese shrugged, bringing the bottle to his lips.

 - I don't have much to lose.

 They were silent, looking at the horizon. Phoenix climbed onto the parapet beside Yoru, balancing there.

 - We heard behind the door your diagnosis. - Phoenix admitted, looking down at his feet as he walked across the parapet.

 - It doesn't surprise me. - Yoru sighed. - Have you come to say that I won't die forever? - Yoru put his cigarette in his mouth, dragging some more. - Will Sage find a magical way to resurrect me when my body doesn't have the slightest condition to sustain itself?

 - No. You will die. That's the shit. - Phoenix shrugged, balancing on one foot on the ledge. - I came to celebrate.

 Yoru frowned. That one was new.

 - Let's celebrate what? That the radianite in my body is going to kill me? That every time I enter the other dimension I'm digging a little more of my grave? - Yoru took the cigarette out of his mouth and brought the bottle to his lips, but stopped in the middle of the movement. He looked at the two objects, as if unsure what to do. - That I'm useless trash? That of so many people who could be radiant, a shit like me ended up with powers that would kill me?

 Yoru decided to drink, taking two big gulps. Phoenix pulled the bottle away from him before he finished all that awful booze on his own. The Japanese turned to the other, grimacing.

 - Damn... - Phoenix gave a mischievous smile, playing with the bottle - I know you're egocentric, but megalomaniac? - He threw himself on the ground, sitting next to Yoru. - No, asshole. This is about me. - He drank the beer. He closed his eyes tightly, as if that would alleviate the bad taste.

 Yoru watched Phoenix, slowly bringing the cigarette to his lips. He wondered if there were still any functional neurons in that head.

 - That's even worse. - He commented, taking a drag and then taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

 Phoenix took the bottle away from his mouth, chuckling. He lowered his head, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Yoru blew out the smoke with a puff, not taking his eyes off Phoenix.

 - Because isn't it about you?

 - Because it's about you.

 The Brit laughed again, resting one hand on his chest. He threw his head back, looking up at the sky.

 - I'm the protagonist, bro. It's all about me.

 And he even had the audacity to tell Yoru that he was the megalomaniac.

 - Phoenix… - Yoru spoke with a sigh, as if explaining something to a child for the millionth time. - We are not in an fps game where you are the protagonist.

 - Umm... - The Brit shrugged, drinking the last of his beer. - That's what you say...

 Yoru raised his eyebrows and turned his gaze. He hated to admit he wanted to be as stupid as Phoenix. The Brit naturally believed his own words. He really thought he was the badass.

 Yoru... Well... Yoru wavered between thinking of himself as a god and hating himself completely. Sometimes he was on top of the world and sometimes he thought he was mediocre. He'd already kicked the inert bodies of his clones more than once out of sheer anger at himself in the moments when he hated himself.

 This was one of those moments.

 - I must be a pretty shitty character then... - Yoru muttered, looking at the treetops. - The ones nobody chooses... And nobody cares…- He rocked back and forth, his gaze dispersed. He was getting sleepy. She smirked, thinking it would at least be funny if he fell from that height because he'd taken a nap.

 Phoenix turned to the other, blinking. He leaned towards Yoru, watching him closely.

 - If you saw what I see in you... - Phoenix's tone of voice made Yoru turn to him. He struggled to focus on his face, even though he was close. - You wouldn't say that...

 Phoenix's intonation, along with his closeness, made the Japanese boy's ears get red. Yoru swallowed, lowering his eyes to Phoenix's hands next to him. Yoru took one of his hands, making him leave his palm up. He stubbed out the cigarette in Phoenix's palm. The Brit sighed, feeling the fire run through his skin. It was like a hot kiss. Phoenix had some weird fire-related quirks that Yoru just accepted. One of them was to serve as a cigarette extinguisher.

 - What are we going to celebrate? - Yoru tilted his head to the side, leaving the cigarette in Phoenix's hand.

 - Oh! - Phoenix smiled excitedly, squeezing the cigarette in his hand and keeping it on Yoru's leg. - Let's celebrate my immortality!

 Yoru chuckled. Really.

 The kid was a real crazy. While Yoru was unhappy as he had no way to escape his untimely death, Phoenix was celebrating the fact that he would live forever.

 Life was never fair.

 - Cool, right? - Phoenix smiled at the other, tilting his head to the side. - That is a reason to celebrate!

 Yoru gave the other a mocking smile. Phoenix's absurdity was enough for Yoru to regain some lucidity. It was a novelty.

 - Of course it is! Just wait a few years and you'll finally get rid of us all. It will be fun as hell! - Yoru thought of a world without others. No Brimstone picking on him. No Jett bothering him. No Neon forcing him to watch cheesy doramas. A dream and a nightmare at the same time.

 - Yea. - Phoenix nodded, as if Yoru's irony didn't bother him at all. - You all will die and I will live. For many, many years. Oh man, it's going to be awesome. - He lifted his hand and opened it, letting the cigarette ash fly in the wind.

 Yoru watched Phoenix for a few seconds, his smile fading. He didn't know a heart could ache like that for something uttered with such enthusiasm. He had no idea Phoenix's words could cut more than razors.

 - Is this serious? - The Japanese spoke low, facing the other. 

 Phoenix bit his lower lip, eyeing Yoru with amusement.

 - Damn… - He sniffed, rubbing the back of his hand across his nose. - I love seeing your reaction when I say that shit.

 Yoru let out a breath, turning to face forward. He was feeling cheated and... Idiot.

 Phoenix was contagious.

 - I'm not happy about it, dummie. - Phoenix flicked Yoru's ear. The Japanese practically growled at the other. - I told you, I'm the protagonist. I'm not one to be sad about the "curse" - Phoenix made quotes with his hands. - of immortality. - The Brit smiled again. Yoru wrinkled his nose, trying to understand the other's reasoning. With the drunkenness caused by alcohol in conjunction with nicotine, that was no easy task. And when it was about Phoenix, understanding anything was even worse. - I... I thought a lot about what I was going to do, you know? - Phoenix's eyes became opaque for a moment and Yoru noticed him wither in his usual joy. It was strange to see Phoenix like that. As if he was out of place. - When the time of the others runs out... And I have all the time in the world... I mean... What would I do for so long? I'm not that creative, oddly enough. - Yoru took a deep breath. He was starting to get a headache. - Then, I was on Tumblr the other day...

 - Do you still use Tumblr? - Yoru interrupted him, looking at Phoenix in disbelief. - Who the hell still uses Tumblr?

 - I'm like a vampire. Of course I use Tumblr! - Phoenix looked at Yoru as if he was the idiot.

 - The concept of vampire… - Yoru started to speak, pinching the bridge of his nose, but Phoenix cut him.

 - Shut up and whatever. I was on Tumblr... - Yoru took a deep breath again, resting his chin on his fist, trying to focus his gaze and his thoughts on that crazy guy. - Then I saw one of those lists of things to do before I die. So I thought "Wow, that's it! I'm going to make all these lists!". - Phoenix smiled excitedly, happy to explain his idea. - But then I realized that those things... Those dreams... They didn't mean anything to me... They just meant so much to the people who wanted that. Then, I had a better idea.

 - Help people finish their lists? - Yoru tried to guess the end of the story, already wanting to get out of it.

 - Heavens, no. - Phoenix grimaced, looking Yoru up and down. - You think I'm that cliché?

 - Actually...

 - You don't have to answer. - Yoru pressed his lips together, resting his chin on his fist, looking at Phoenix. - I will steal the childhood dreams of the people I like.

 Yoru raised his eyebrows. He didn't know which was worse. Semi-drunk Phoenix with freak talk or Philosopher Drunk Killjoy. Well... He was the guy who got sad when drunk, so there wasn't much to complain about.

 - Just what I need... - Yoru grumbled, looking for his beer bottle. He was disappointed to realize that it was over. He needed something else to get him drunk besides talking to Phoenix.

 - Cool, huh? - Phoenix smiled, super proud of himself. - I already have Jett, Neon, Sova, Sage, Breach, Reyna... - Phoenix counted the people he remembered on his fingers, frowning in concentration. - Oh yeah, Raze too. Brim and Viper didn't want to tell me, but I'll bore them until they do.

 - Yeah... - Yoru stopped mid-sentence, looking at Phoenix. Damn, he was serious.

 - Let's celebrate today. Because you will die and I will live your dream. - Phoenix smiled, approaching Yoru. - Tell me, what is your dream?

 Yoru felt his ears heat up at the proximity of Phoenix. The brown eyes gleamed like a child's, full of hope and energy. The smile on the Brit's lips was that of someone playing at being serious.

 Yoru looked away, pulling away a little. He wanted to be like Phoenix. And he would die before admitting it to himself.

 - I don't have one. - He spoke dryly. He reached into his pants pocket, looking for a pack of cigarettes.

 - Well man, everyone has one! - Phoenix rested his cheek on his hand, looking at Yoru. - Let's try again. What did you want to do when you grew up? 

 Yoru thought about his childhood. It was like something far away, a landscape on the hazy horizon. He forced himself to search for a memory. The memory of when he had the same look as Phoenix and a pure mischievous smile. He liked to play...

 Yoru shrugged, reaching for a cigarette.

 - You were a boy who lived locked up at home. - Phoenix rolled his eyes. - I can't tell you about the others. I'll tell you mine.

 - Why does everything have to be about you? - Yoru raised an eyebrow, putting the cigarette in his mouth and handing it to Phoenix.

 - Because it's all about me. - The Brit smiled excitedly, creating a flame on the tip of his index finger. He lit Yoru's cigarette, waving his hand to put out the flame. The small kindness helped Yoru not roll his eyes at Phoenix's arrogance. - I wanted to be famous.

 - Congratulations. - Yoru grumbled, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and letting out the smoke as he spoke. - You got what you wanted.

 - Right? - Phoenix spoke with animation. - It's better than I imagined!

 Yoru recalled that Phoenix became famous worldwide for allegedly being one of the culprits for making an entire city literally blow up in the air. He was still amazed at how he tried to find some logic in Phoenix's thinking.

 - And when the applause ends? - He glanced at the horizon, feeling melancholy at the sight of the stars. He was looking at a space graveyard. - You don't think it will stay... Vain?

 Phoenix chuckled. He was infectious enough to make Yoru smirk, as if he'd just told a joke.

 - No. Bro! - Phoenix pushed Yoru lightly, shaking his head. - I'm amazing and I have a…family… - The smile Phoenix flashed was a smile of contentment, as if he was grateful that he could only use the word. - As incredible as… - Phoenix nodded as if he'd come to a conclusion. - You are going to die. And I'll keep everyone alive with me. Right here. - He placed a hand on his chest, making his jacket glow a little.

 Yoru put the cigarette in his mouth, taking a long drag. He remembered his Butsudan in his apartment in Tokyo. Where he carefully kept photos of his parents and made sure of always talking to them when he got home. He remembered the many funerals he had attended as a boy and how he had been told that death was a continuation of life. Phoenix, a somewhat clueless Brit, knew how to honor him when he died. In such a touching way that Yoru couldn't feel anything but gratitude. The heat of happiness in his chest overcame the nicotine burn.

 Yoru took the cigarette out of his mouth, puffing out smoke as he spoke.

 - I wanted to be the best thief in the world. - He spoke sincerely, giving a nostalgic smile at the end of the sentence. He liked to play cops and thieves. With him being the thief generally.

 - Really? - Flames danced in Phoenix's eyes with obvious interest. - Why?

 Yoru pursed his lips a little, feeling his ears heat up. Saying that would seem so silly...

 - I liked crime stories. I liked the style of thieves, with those nice suits and fancy cars... - He smirked. - They looked at others as if they were smarter than everyone else. And they were. They made perfect crimes... - Yoru put the cigarette in his mouth, taking a drag. - I wanted to be like that. The smartest, most stylish guy in the room, without being the good one. - He rolled his eyes, giving a slight smile. - I wanted to commit a perfect crime. A big one. That everyone wonders how it happened, but they never find out... Or who did it. - Yoru looked at Phoenix, giving a shy smile. - When I finished the work, I would go back to my house as if nothing had happened. I would go to the corner store. There would be two guys at the cashier talking about how the crime happened, while it was all on TV. And I'm glad because I know how it happened.

 - Damn... Crazy, bruv.

 Yoru broke the smile, turning around and putting one hand in his jacket pocket. He stubbed out his cigarette on the ledge between them, crushing it against his palm.

 - It's silly. I know.

 - I loved it.

 Yoru turned to the other, wrinkling his nose suspiciously.

 - Yeah... Really? - He spoke cautiously, looking at Phoenix.

 - Yea! - Phoenix shook his head quickly, his smile contagious enough for Yoru's lips to twitch in a smile as well. - You are so cool, bruv! Only you who can't see! - He punched the other's shoulder, tilting his head to the side. - I will do what I can to make your dream come true.

 Yoru blinked a few times, feeling his chest burning. He felt warm, in a good way. For a moment, he thought Phoenix was his sun. He warmed him from the inside out, rather than allowing him to survive.

 Phoenix made him want to live.

 - That's… - Phoenix continued, as if he'd thought of something. - If you don't do it first.

 Yoru shook his head, thinking about what he had confided in Phoenix.

 - It's going to be complicated.

 - It’s easy! - The Brit jumped from the parapet of the building, standing on the ground behind Yoru. - Just start small. - He extended his hand to Yoru, giving him an inviting smile. - As Nathan Drake would say, Sic Parvis Magna.

 Yoru smirked, taking Phoenix's hand and stepping down from the ledge with him. He remembered the game they'd ended together, alternating the times each would have control.

 - Greatness from small beginnings. - He let himself be pulled by Phoenix.

 - Will we be prosecuted for this? - Phoenix made a thoughtful face, walking with Yoru. - Our company shouldn't be Sony... Not even Valve... Could it be EA?

 Yoru sighed. Not that again.

 - What do you want to do anyway?

 Phoenix grinning mischievously, opening the door for Yoru.

 - You'll see, little thief.

>>> Next Part

#valorant #valorant yoru #valorant phoenix #We are young #Part 1 #valorant fanfiction #me trying #Yoru needs a hug

[crockettmarcel]

there are over 50 aus here (bc I'm insane) so everything's under the cut! all moodboards are linked, and those with an asterisk * next to them feature Lolly at some point. please do not talk to me about how many have the asterisk because trust me. I know. also if you've noticed how many of these involve Sarah moving to a small town and starting a new life, please keep that to yourself. can an annoying person not project their desires onto fictional characters?

4000 miles*

Unable to cope in Chicago (and later New Orleans) after Crockett's death, Sarah moves with her daughters to a small seaside town in the Netherlands, where she meets and befriends Ava

Birthright*

Sarah is just like her father. who'd have thought (serial killer!Sarah)

Black water

1930s Cornwall, England. Sarah's a lighthouse keeper, and Ava's a rich London socialite. she was only visiting the village to see her grandmother before she passed, but it was enough time for her to fall in love with Sarah

Bloodline

Sarah and Ava's daughter Piper has leukaemia

Brain freeze*

Crockett has a summer fling with Sarah, the cute girl who works at the ice cream parlour in the town he's staying in

Burnt espresso*

Crockett files for divorce. Sarah finds out she's pregnant (and Crockett wants nothing to do with it). then to top it all off, she quits her residency and takes a job at a coffee shop near her apartment while she works out what she's going to do with her life. thank god for Ava Bekker

Circus

in which teenage Sarah ran away to join the circus! set in the 1960s, when she's in her twenties

Close encounter

Sarah knows what happened to her, it's everyone else that has doubts. so what better to do than to quit your residency and move to the other side of the country to find other people who know the truth (alien/paranormal investigation)

College (chaotic academia)

Ava's a straight-A pre-med student at college on a swimming scholarship. Sarah's her roommate, another pre-med student who lives off red bull, exclusively reads books in russian, french or german, and seems to never sleep. a match made in heaven :)

Cottagecore*

Crockett and Sarah bought a farm together &lt;3

Cult (The Farm)*

Ava's kidnapped one day after work by a religious doomsday cult. Sarah, who's been there since she was seven, takes her under her wing and teaches her the rules and how to survive. six months later, The Farm is raided and shut down by the FBI, and suddenly Sarah's the one in a society she doesn't understand

Cult (Village of Light)*

Sarah's visit was only so she could give Crockett some news, but then one night turned to two, turned to a week, and a week turned to months. and who could blame her, when someone as charming as Ava Bekker is suddenly taking an interest in her? no one else gets this level of attention from their leader (1970s)

Dallas

a look at Sarah's life after she left Chicago

Disorder

Sarah's high school eating disorder makes a comeback

Eidetic

as close to canon as physically possible, but with a "Sarah has an eidetic memory" filter. more of a headcanon tbh

Experiment*

Sarah, Ava, April, Lanik and Crockett were all born and raised in an underground lab, as part of an experiment to develop "super soldiers" with innate powers

Fading

Sarah's depressed and nothing seems to be getting better

Final girl

Sarah lived through her very own slasher movie as a teenager, and now the horrors have followed her to Chicago

Firefighter*

firefighter!sockett. need I say more? probably, but I can't think of anything else

Forest*

after Dr Charles was shot, Sarah goes back to Connecticut to try and find out the truth about her life, and why she was found wandering alone in the forest when she was five

Ghost

Ava gets a great deal on her new apartment in Chicago - perfect location, beautiful building, and cheap rent. the problem? Sarah, her ghostly roommate, who's desperate for Ava to help her solve her murder

Hideaway*

Missing beach au. a few years into Sarah's captivity, Crockett purchases a tiny beach house, and when he moves from Florida to Chicago, he leaves Sarah behind in it, with a small allowance and one rule: don't talk to people unless it's absolutely necessary

Homesick*

instead of going to Dallas, Sarah moves back to Austin after she leaves Med, where she reunites with her childhood best friend Carlos Reyes

Last light

Sarah and Crockett having simultaneous breakdowns about their respective dead daughters

Long-distance*

Sarah left Lolly and Crockett behind in New Orleans when she went to medical school, but they're still trying to do the co-parenting thing (even though they're not officially together anymore, and Sarah has a thing for someone else)

Mafia*

mafia boss Sarah and her hot wife Ava :) I'm sure there's plot somewhere

(Unnamed) Mafia*

inspired by med 7x20 - Ava ends up being recruited by Sarah Reese, a mafia boss, to treat her infant daughter's heart condition, whatever the cost may be. and if she can come back later when her older daughter gets sick, or her husband is stabbed, well surely that couldn't hurt

Melancholia

despite living in a city of almost three million, Sarah's never felt more alone (vent au lol)

Mermaid*

Ava swims up north and finds a new pod off the coast of Florida. Sarah's on the verge of leaving it

Missing*

Sarah disappears after work, and with little evidence, the case quickly goes cold. four years later, she's rescued from Crockett's basement with two children in tow

Missing/NCIS crossover*

after giving a talk at a high school on Quantico naval base, the MCRT gets a call about a child wandering around alone nearby. it's not their typical case, but they're the closest, so they head over there with the intention of sorting it all out quickly and then heading back to NCIS. however, it soon becomes obvious that this isn't just a kid who's walked away from her mom, and it's up to them to work out where this child came from and where her parents are

Model

model Sarah x designer Ava. that's all I've got bc I've decided I don't like the old idea anymore lol

Motherhood

in which Emily Prentiss is a mom :)

Nervosa*

very similar to disorder, but with sockett instead of reesker

Painless*

Nothing like finding out your daughter can't feel pain

Pediatric surgeon!Crockett

pretty self-explanatory I think

Picket fences*

Sarah's tired of being a celebrity and everything that comes with it. she wants out

Pride

Sarah refuses to accept that she's a lesbian. Ava shows her that there's nothing to be ashamed of

Punk*

Sarah, April, Connor, and Crockett are punks living together in Sarah's house. when Crockett leaves to make music (and doesn't come back or contact anyone for over a year), Ava takes his room, and a romance quickly flourishes between her and Sarah. when Crockett comes back, he's not pleased to find out that he and Sarah have a baby now, and that she's raising her with Ava

Restoration

after Sarah's marriage falls apart, she decides to finally do something with the house she inherited from her great aunt a few years back. she packs up and leaves Chicago, then moves into the house in Connecticut, far away from everything that went wrong in her old life. as she fixes up the house, she builds relationships with the people in the town, and slowly begins to heal from everything

Roommate*

Ava's neighbours are awful and she's desperate to find somewhere else to live. Sarah's landlord just upped the rent, and now she needs to find a roommate. Connor, sick of hearing them both complain, suggests that Ava move in with Sarah. what's the worst that could happen?

Rosehall Estate*

Ava starts a job as a governess for Owen Manning, which means moving into Rosehall Estate, a manor house that's been in his stepfather Crockett's family for years. it's all going well, until Ava starts noticing strange things happening - weird sounds at night, things not being where she left them, and a woman in a white dress who wanders the grounds in the dark

Royalty*

Queens Sarah and Ava and little princess Lolly :)

Seven*

after surviving a serial killer when she was seventeen, Sarah joins the FBI, working with the BAU, the very people that helped her all those years ago

Showbiz

Sarah's a child star who has even more fame now that she's an adult, and Ava's one of the light technicians working on the set of Sarah's latest movie. she doesn't even think Sarah noticed her, until the end of filming when she gets a huge bouquet of flowers and a handwritten thank-you note from the star herself. and, well, the rest is history

Single dad!Crockett*

by the time Sarah realised she didn't actually want to be a mom, it was too late to do anything about it. when Lolly was born, she gladly signed all of her parental rights over to Crockett, and she didn't object when he said he was moving the two of them back down to New Orleans. it hurt, but Crockett wanted to be there for his daughter, and he could think of worse things than being a single dad with his parents around the corner

Skating*

figure skater!Sarah x ice hockey player!Ava <3 until Sarah's injury that is, and then it's med student!Sarah x ice hockey Ava :)

Summer camp*

instead of going back to South Africa for the summer between her junior and senior years of college, Ava decides to work at a summer camp. what could be more American? it's fun, and if summer camp veteran Sarah Reese is more than a little easy on the eyes, that's not Ava's fault

Tattoo/flower shop

no idea what's happening with this one sorry (but there's a lot of gay behaviours)

Teacher*

she was a science teacher. she was an English teacher. can I make it any more obvious?

Tiny love*

um. if u don't know this then what are you doing on my blog. read this fic and maybe if you ask nicely I'll finish it

Trinity Beach

Ava's a travel journalist working on a project about the best hidden gems around the US, and her latest focus is on a small Californian town called Trinity Beach. it's a beautiful place, the type where everyone knows everyone, but it doesn't take long for her to earn people's trust. she talks to lots of people, but the one person she's interested in - Sarah, an artist who lives right by the beach - doesn't talk to anyone except for Crockett. but Ava's a journalist, and it's her job to find stories and dig for the truth, so that's exactly what she does

Trophy wife*

Sarah didn't just marry Crockett for his money - there were feelings there that she couldn't deny - but it quickly becomes obvious that he loves her more than she loves him. he spoils her with gifts and vacations and parties and anything else she could want, but she just grows to resent him and herself for not loving him back

Trust fund!Sarah*

she's always had everything she's ever wanted or needed, and there's enough money in her trust fund that with her part-time modelling job she can afford a penthouse in Chicago, but even with all that, Sarah's life since college has still been one disaster after another. she's trying her best, but then suddenly she finds herself in hospital with a heart condition and the possibility of surgery, and she's not sure how she'll be able to get out of this one

Unexpected*

watch an episode of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant but imagine that it's Sarah. boom that's the whole au

Wild west

Ava's fleeing an abusive marriage in Chicago, so she heads west until she reaches a small town in Wyoming. Sarah's a cowboy, back in town after disappearing for months following the death of her daughter. been a long time since I've thought about this one but they fall in love I think :)

Yoga

Ava has no interest in yoga, but after being approached by an over-confident, slightly eccentric yoga instructor in a juice bar, she decides to give it a try (mostly because her therapist tells her to). it's a simple plan - go to one session, say it's not her thing, then never go back. or at least, it would be simple, if Sarah wasn't so charming and beautiful

Youth

based on my headcanon about Sarah being a teen mom :)

Unnamed #1

trying to escape her past, Sarah moves across the country to live with her friend Hannah in the Northern California town she's been residing in for the last few years. she wants things to be different now, so she does everything she can to make a change - she gets a job at one of the convenience stores, keeps track of the debt she owes Hannah, and does her best to make friends with the people in the town

Unnamed #2

follows Sarah's eating disorder recovery. after being discharged from yet another ED clinic, Sarah decides to take things into her own hands and try recovering her own way. she packs up the few belongings that mean something to her, then leaves Chicago for a small town in central Illinois. she keeps to herself for the most part, but always makes sure to head to the local bakery after her therapy sessions, even if all she does is buy a bagel and stare at it. (similar to nervosa and disorder but with a more positive twist !!)

Unnamed #3

four years after Sarah left med, Crockett's called to Goodwin's office, and finds himself face to face with a social worker from DCFS and a little girl with dark curly hair and big brown eyes. Sarah, he's told, is dead, and this is her daughter Olivia. his daughter. Sarah never told him about her, so now without any warning or chance to prepare, he's a father again

Unnamed #4

after Connor's death, Ava decides that the best thing for her and her daughter is to leave Chicago and get away from Cornelius. their road trip lands them in a small town just outside of Illinois. it's supposed to be a quick stop - find somewhere for Cora to go to the bathroom, then get back on their way - but it's getting dark and Sarah, the nice woman who runs the motel, offers to let them stay. just one night, of course. but one night turns into two, then three, then a week. Sarah's ex, Crockett, runs the diner next door, and he's just as welcoming as she is. things are looking up, until Cornelius makes an appearance, demanding to know if anyone in the town has seen his granddaughter

Unnamed #5

Sarah and Crockett (and occasionally Ava and Connor and Noah) explore abandoned buildings together. sometimes Lolly goes with them. Dr Charles is Sarah's adoptive father, and he steps in to look after Lolly whenever needed (which is more often than not)

#chicago med #masterpost #au masterpost

[dmwrites]

DocM77 was a man of many titles. Goat Father. Redstone God. And now he had another one to add to the list: Boatem Destroyer.

He’d done it, he’d actually done it. Built his lag bomb and annihilated Boatem, finally. They’d had it coming. The combination of Mumbo, Grian, Impulse, Pearl, and Scar was just too annoying. The rest of the sever, Doc assumed, was probably thanking him right now. Putting the Boatem members in their place for once.

Doc finished laughing and sighed in contentment. He’d leave the bomb going for a few more hours, maybe, and then he’d turn it off. A few hours was plenty of punishment for the five idiots. He carefully exited his spot in the machine and turned to fly away, back to the Octagon. But something caught his eye and he froze, rockets in hand.

There was a swaggon on the hill. All gold and red and wooden. Doc could hear the tinkling of the stupid music the thing was equipped with. And someone was waving at him.

There were two things Doc knew for sure. One: he had cleared the area around boatem of all living beings, and that swaggon had not been there half an hour ago. Two: he had made sure that all five members of Boatem were in the bomb radius when he had set it off. That included Scar. The Scar who was currently waving for him to come down.

“Well hello there Doc! What a surprise to see you out and about! Still handsome and shirtless as ever, I see!” Scar said as soon as Doc landed.

Now, Doc considered himself a veteran of weird and terrifying things. The amount of times he’d been seconds away from breaking the sever, or dying horribly, was more then he could count. He’d seen feats that sent fear striking into his heart. But this, this was really disturbing.

It was Scar’s swaggon, the one he’d stood on to be smooth-talked into selling an island that one time. The donkey was here and everything. But Scar was the thing that really made him uncomfortable. Because it was Scar. Like, actually Scar. With the ever present smile and ever pleasant seductive voice. And his stupid hat.

“…Hi.” Doc said hesitantly.

“Doc, let me roll out the red carpet for you” Scar said, turning to do just that. He lay a pristine red carpet on the ground and waved Doc in. Doc complied, dumbfounded. “Now, DocM, what can the Swaggon do for you today, hmm?”

Doc ran his hand over the railing. Definitely real. “Uh, you know, actually, I think I’m all good.”

“Nonsense!” Scar said, smiling bigger. “I mean, clearly you just used a lot of resources on that build right there- what’s it called again? The Big Nasty?”

“Lag Bomb.” Doc murmured.

“Lag Bomb, that’s it! Now Doc, a machine of that size could not have been cheap, not at all. And I don’t think you want to go home to Ren without replacement parts, or you’ll be the one in the doghouse!” Scar chuckled at his own joke. “So, Doc, if you could just open this first chest here, take a look inside…”

“You were in there.” Doc interrupted, pointing behind him at the bomb, knowing better then to look at it. “I made sure of it.”

Scar looked over Doc’s shoulder, at the bomb, and shrugged. Doc sputtered in disbelief. “You- you can’t do that. How?”

Scar chuckled, looking back at Doc. “Oh Doc, when there are sales to be made, nothing can stop the swaggon from a-rolling down the street. Now, about chest number one…” He nodded at the chest again. “I think you’ll find all the redstone devices you need for any other…” Scar’s eyes roamed to the lag bomb again, “cute little project you may find yourself doing.” He smiled at Doc, and it was not friendly. Doc stumbled backwards and out of the Swaggon. “Now, I think Boatem has been punished quite enough, don’t you?”

Doc nodded rapidly, and scrambled to fly back up to his platform. He shut it down, hands shaky but confident in their movements. The bomb stopped. There was silence once more.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Scar was behind him again, balanced on top of the now deactivated bomb with a chest in hand. He gave Doc a wink. “So about chest number one…”

#April 19 2022 #fic #hermitcraft #s8 #docm77 #goodtimeswithscar #long post

[spacebarnes]

TWO YEARS

SUMMARY: "accidentally" during an interview you and Chris reveal that you're dating.

A/N: sooo, this is my first post and also, english it's not my first language so i hope this is good. let me know what you think! take care of yourself pls <3 (not my gif)

Chris and you had decided to keep your relationship as secret as possible, because you wanted to avoid the paparazzi and the countless notes that would have their names as a title.

after the endgame tapes, the two were thankful that people thought they hadn't seen each other anymore and that each was in their respective home. although, obviously there were fans who noticed every little detail about some photo or instagram story.

the quarantine had taken everyone by surprise, but what surprised and even alarmed them the most was that James Corden wanted to do an online interview with several of the cast and obviously with you and Chris included.

"morning, my love" Chris said as soon as he got up and saw that you were already awake.

"hi, baby" you smiled at him and leaned a little closer to leave a short kiss on his lips.

"what is it? the interview?" he asked as soon as he saw that you stopped smiling as you parted from the kiss. you nodded as you closed your eyes for a moment "don't worry, darling. everything will be fine."

"i don't know, Chris. i think we should stay in bed and say we got sick." Chris laughed at your comment and ran one of his hands around your waist.

"that would attract more attention, don't you think?" he asked and that made you smile again. "look, this is what we're going to do. i'll be in the kitchen and you can be outside sitting on the wooden chair we have there. no one will suspect anything, i promise."

"i will trust you for the first time in my life" you said with a smile, provoking one in him.

"rude" was the last thing he said before reconnecting his lips with yours.

finally it was time for the interview, as they had said, you were in the backyard and chris was in the kitchen, each one with their airpods so that the noise would not give them away.

"once again, thank you so much for being here." James thanked all the members who were connected.

"don't worry James. it's our pleasure to be here again." Zoe said kindly with a big smile.

"who told you that? i'd rather be in bed right now watching any Marvel movie, except Spider-Man, without offending you Tom." most of your friends smiled when they heard your comment, especially Sebastian and Anthony.

"i see what's going on here." Tom said quickly and pointed one of his fingers at you. "you're making alliances with Mackie and Stan to annoy me, that's a cheap shot."

"ugh, I hope the quarantine never ends so I don't have to see them again." Robert said sarcastically and rolled his eyes as he sipped from the coffee in his cup.

the interview started to move forward and it was soon your turn to answer some questions James had for you.

"the fans want to know, do you have any upcoming projects or are you taking a break like everyone else?" he asked while reading one of his letters.

"well, this is actually a secret if Stan will allow me to reveal it." you spoke up and quickly sought approval from your partner. when it was given, you kept talking: "Stan and I are in a new movie out of the entire superhero universe." you responded with great emotion.

"that's true." Sebastian added a comment. "i've been seeing [Y/N] for a few weeks now. when it was the meeting where we read the script and I saw her there, i really felt a relief that I wouldn't have to make any new friends." he confessed and raised his eyebrows.

"i have to admit I thought so-." you stopped talking as soon as Dodger started barking.

"is that a dog? i didn't know you had a dog." Hemswort quickly asked and leaned a little closer to the camera.

you could see how Chris also froze a bit when he heard the other Chris' comment. they both knew that he was only doing it to annoy the two of you, well, all his companions knew that you two were together.

"no, I'm at my parents' house and they recently adopted a dog." you tried to hide it with a smile.

by the time Chris was answering some questions, you couldn't help but look at him with great tenderness and love from your small screen, causing several of your friends to notice this.

"alright, back to [Y/N]" James talks again. "how have you been coping with the quarantine?"

"honestly, it took me a bit..." you sighed when you heard Dodger bark again. "i have found some hobbies, but, it is not the same as being on a set or in a restaurant." you answered with a grimace and closed your microphone.

"what are those hobbies? tell us." the guy encouraged you.

"one of those better be learning to skateboard because you're lousy, [Y/N], lousy." Anthony commented a laugh.

you had already opened the microphone and were ready to defend yourself from the actor, however, a "shut it, Dodger" from Chris from the kitchen slipped into your audio, leaving everyone surprised.

"is that the voice of Chris Evans?" James asked in total surprise.

"What? Of course not-" you were going to deny everything, however, Chris quickly run from the kitchen to your side.

"yes, it's me." the actor responded with a smile, and quickly the open mouths of all the other actors were present.

"are you two dating?" Corden asked as he sucked in air with his left hand.

"we are, yes." you answered while smiling broadly.

"in fact, they have been for two years." Scarlett added. "that's right! they have been lying to you for two years."

"thank goodness they said so!" Tom said with some relief. "as soon as I heard Dodger barking I didn't know if I was going to be able to hold it back any longer and it was probably going to escape my mouth."

"well, kid, you've managed to keep the secret for two and a half years. i think that's a great achievement" your boyfriend congratulated him and the laughs were not long in coming.

#chris evans #captain america #steve rogers #fanfic #oneshot #chris evans x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel #chris evans smut

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

blitz reacting to y/n getting kidnapped/tricked by someone pretending to be him after a fight they had?

Blitzø's reaction to his S/O kidnapped by a fraudster.

You and Blitzø rarely had a serious fight, but when you did, you went of the fucking rails.

The two of you would scream at each other until one of you went too far. And more often then not, it was Blitzø, causing you to run out of the apartment.

It had been a bad fight, the two of you going back and forth until Blitzø said something he he really shouldn't have, and instantly regretted it.

But instead of storming out like you normally did, you stared at him coldly, tears forming in your eyes before walked away, quietly closing the door behind you.

Blitzø was frozen stiff, cold dread filled his chest as he had a internal war to decide if he should go after you.

Normally when you'd have a fight like this, you'd run to Millie, the Fem-fetal being your closest friend, other then him of course. Where you'd spend a few days at there place until Blitzø would inevitably come for you, apologising profusely and begging for your forgiveness.

But the next day, when he went to work and found Millie & Moxxie he asked about you, but... they hadn't seen you.

That sent Blitzø into a full blown panick fuelled frenzy, freaking the fuck out.

It was only with the full I.M.P did he manage to calm down, his family promising to help him find you.

But before they could figure out where to start, he got a call.

It was your number, the Imp filling with releaf. He answered the call, already apologising and asking you to forgive him.

But he was quickly cut off, by... himself?

It was someone who sounded just like him.

They taunted him, telling him how he must be nervous, panicking about missing you.

Blitzø snapped at the guy, demanding to know where you were. Only to get snapped back at by the phony, the fake telling him you weren't his, he wasn't even him and he'd prove it.

He gave Blitzø a time and place, telling him to be there quickly or he'd never see you again.

So he rushed his ass to that location, running his ass off to the location. He arrived, only to find a Hellphone sitting on the ground, getting a call upon arrival.

It was his phony, telling him another location and time.

So Blitzø rushed too it again, this time finding a worn out payphone. It took a minute, but he got a call, the phony telling him another location.

This time however he demanded to know you were alright, saying he wouldn't take another step until he heard your voice.

There was a long pause before he heard your voice, "B-Blitzø." You stuttered, sounding terrified. "I-I don't know what's going on"

"Baby, I'm so sorry, I swear I'll get you back." He told you, but before he could continue the phony came back, telling him the time and location again, telling him he should hurry up.

He got to it as fast as possible, this time not finding anything off note, he search around for anything.

But as he heard something, he was attacked from behind, being knocked unconscious.

He awoke in an old where house, realising he was bound, looking around before he found you strapped to a chair.

He tried to free himself, desperately trying to get to you. But as he did so, he felt someone grab him by the horns, throwing him away away from you.

"You don't get to look at him, you fake!" They yelled at him.

Getting his bearings, he looked up, finding an Imp that looked like a cheap knock-off, of well... Him!

The knock-off began raving on and on about how he'd finally prove himself, how he was the original.

Sitting up he tried to interrogate the knock-off, asking him why he was doing this.

The knock-off looked deranged, telling him to Shut Up!

He told Blitzø he was just a fake, a phony, someone trying to steal what was his. And that's when he approached you. You didn't seem hurt, but were clearly unconscious as the phony approached.

He pet your cheek, telling him you were meant to be with him, but he had stolen you by pretending to be him.

By this point it was clear the guy was a total fucking nut job, and he didn't really have a grasp on reality.

He went on about how you were his and Blitzø had stolen you by pretending to be him. How he'd tried to get your attention for so long, and now he had his chance to prove he was true.

The Not-Blitzø turned to him, knife brandished as he went off on him like a fucking nut bag.

And then you woke up, letting out a gentle mumble.

You took a while to wake up, looking around you clearly freaked out.

The Not-Blitzø turned to you, and Blitzø snapped telling him to stay away from you.

But stay away he did not, moving in close he gently stroked your cheek. He told you "He was your one true love" and Blitzø was a fraud, a fake and he'd "saved you from."

He told you about how he knew all about how the 'fake' Blitzø had said those terrible things to you.

He brought up an intimate list of things you had fought over, the things you found annoying about Blitzø.

But he assured you, he would never be like that. He was the true Blitzø and he would never, ever treat you like that.

You just stared at the phony for a moment, looking between him and the Not-Blitzø. Then staring at him for a long moment, Blitzø just staring back.

Looking up at the Not-Blitzø, you... smiled?!

You smiled up at him, thanking him for saving you from the 'Fake' Blitzø.

The phony was overjoyed as you got the Not-Blitzø to let you free. Pulling him close you kissed him gently, the Imp clearly desperate for your affection.

Asking for the knife, you told him you'd end your little 'problem' for the both of them, turning to him.

He pleaded with you, desperately telling you he was sorry, sorry for everything he said. Sorry for always being such an ass, but he loved you.

You told him it really hurt when he said what he said. And you really questioned your relationship after that.

But as much as it hurt, you still loved him. And with that you turned and planted the knife in Not-Blitzøs neck.

The Not-Blitzø sputtered up blood, desperately clinging to you, releasing a string of rather pathetic whimpers before he finally died.

Standing up, you walked over and undid his bindings.

The Imp instantly pulled you close, holding you close as he desperately apologised for everything, for being such an asshole.

You were quiet for a minute, looking rather cold before a gentle smile crossed your lips, pulling him close and kissing him.

You told him you forgave him, telling him it was alright.

You spent a moment to look over the phony.

You told him as crazy as the phony was... he was so desperate to prove he belonged together, the Imp was so... alone. So desperate for comfort or affection.

If he hadn't kidnapped you, you actually felt sorry for him.

After a moment, you walked out of the little where house he'd kept you in.

You telling him you were happy to be stuck with the usual crazy Blitzø, over the Really Crazy Blitzø.

That made Blitzø laugh, pulling you close and giving you a kiss.

Unfortunately, after all that, you had nightmares for the next few months.

Each one always about Blitzø & the Not-Blitzø. You always waking up before thoroughly searching his whole body to prove he was the real Blitzø.

They were random, sometimes going for weeks without an incident, before having a few in a week.

But each time Blitzø held you close, assuring you he was himself, each time you always calming down, comforted by your loves gentle kisses and assurances of love, until you drifted back to sleep.

And true to his word, Blitzø really did his best to fix the little issues that most often spawned your conflicts, you always made sure to show your appreciation with little gestures like a kiss or hug, whispering little thank yous.

Hey Hey, early post. I'll be working on my side project for a while, so thought I'd put this out now. Hope you enjoyed the story. Bye Bye.

#helluva boss #headcanon #x reader #helluva boss headcanon #helluva boss x reader #helluva blitzo #helluva boss blitzo #blitzo #blitzø #blitzo x reader #sweet blitzo #blitzo would do anything for you

[kellinrk800]

my thoughts on episode 11 of wonder egg priority

tw// neglect, possible abuse, murder, human experimentation

holy SHIT is there a lot to unpack.

first of all, everyone except ai and neiru have now experienced the truth of what happens when you complete the total amount of people to save. at the end of episode ten we saw momoe’s breakdown and panic’s death and at the beginning today’s episode we saw rika find out and mannen’s death. (i previously wrote that neiru and pinky had experienced it but after someone kindly let me know after a rewatch that it was in fact momoe, not neiru. sorry for the error)

however, ai is now the only one who knows about frill and what happened to her. speaking of, there are a RIDICULOUS amount of parallels between the two. i’ll be reblogging some posts that explain it a lot better than i ever could right after i post this.

what i really want to focus on is frill. despite her fairly questionable and downright evil actions, i can’t help but feel a shred of pity for her.

born out of quite literal boredom and under strict surveillance, she was almost destined to be unloved. she was not made to be a human, but simply something for acca and ura acca to love. in the way you might buy a doll for a small child. their mistake was adding such severe jealousy and stubbornness to something they had created to be perfection.

stuck at the age of 14 permanently, it’s no surprise her mental state was damaged. imagine the jealousy, the intense emotions, everything you go through at that age.

she is at least somewhat aware that she is artificial intelligence considering how open those who are around her seem to be about it. however, she does not seem to be keen on accepting it or believing it. after all, she is not programmed to. she is programmed to sense things in the way a human would. and that opens a whole world of other doors about how anyone could be an ai and not know it but i doubt wonder egg priority would get that meta this close to the end.

time to tie up all these loose ends. around midway through the episode we are introduced to a love interest (who i have forgotten the name of, apologies) who causes a split in acca and ura acca’s relationship (marriage), and she soon becomes pregnant with a child. a human child.

frill was programmed to be able to understand her parents in the way a daughter would. she begins to taunt ura acca about his husband cheating on him with the woman he loves and once she finally finds out that the baby is a girl, she decides to kill the mother.

the motivation behind frill’s mental deterioration is slowly becoming clearer and clearer. i strongly suspect that she felt she was being replaced with a human child and realised the inherent inferiority she was going to have once the child was born, and became overcome with jealousy. not only would she now have to take on the role to be a big sister (which she was not programmed to accept or do. she was programmed to be stubborn and jealous in the way a 14 year old girl would be) but she would lose the ability she had to be perceived as a human daughter by the parents who raised her.

imagine being created for the sole purpose of being the perfect daughter for somebody to love, and then being replaced. i am by no means excusing murder, but it’s hard not to see her motivation.

as punishment and as relief of acca’s grief, frill was then locked away with nothing but her ai machinery for anywhere between 12 and 15 years*.

enter himari, the child that survived despite frill’s attempt at murder of both mother and child. she is described as having “saved” ura acca and acca from their state after the mother’s murder and the abandonment of their artificial daughter. when we see her able to talk, she is shown asking ura acca to marry her once she is older to make up for the pain of the loss of her mother. she is stated as being in junior high at the time (*my timespan reasoning for the time frill was locked away). while this scene made me greatly uncomfortable, it might be to show frill’s impact and influence on himari. if they had come into contact, frill would arguably do anything in her power to gain back control of her parents.

perhaps himari asked this purposefully to anger frill, which is supported further by the fact himari was found dead (cause of death suicide) the night later.

suicide. what’s the entire theme OF the eggs? i don’t know about you but i can hear lightbulbs beginning to flicker.

ura acca and acca began research into girls suicides at that age, and found a steady surge around the same time as himari’s death.

acca and ura acca are trying to bring back himari, possibly their wife, and maybe, maybe just maybe frill as well. i think that is the real purpose of the wonder egg project.

we also finally have our answer as to why girls and boys suicides are different with wonder eggs! acca and ura acca are indeed sexists, just not about suicide.

i’ll let you do the rest of the theorising.

now for the loose ends that i don’t think can be tied up.

why are hyphen and dot named after punctuation? is their goal to bring frill back to life?

what was neiru’s family’s involvement in the wonder eggs? in fact, where is neiru?

is frill alive or dead? is there even a way to distinguish with someone in her state?

what happened to acca and ura acca to make them.. well, to make them like that? last i checked, turning into mannequins isn’t a symptom of grief. are they even alive?

MOMOE. WHERE THE FUCK IS MOMOE. GIVE ME MOMOE OR GIVE ME DEATH.

there are a shit ton of new, unspecified entities we’re learning about. what actually are hyphen and dot? are they AIs like frill? perhaps not fully formed? and thanatos and eros?

where do the girls go once they’ve been freed? is “freed” even the right term?

what did mr sawaki say to ai about koito? why did koito die? is mr sawaki going to have a bigger role than a consistently fucking annoying red herring after all?

rika’s father? why have that as a big factor in an episode conflict if it’s never going to be addressed again?

the sketchy lesbian representation compared to the consistent positive trans ftm and gay representation? why have the only canonically wlw character be a product of a harmful stereotype after treating everything else so respectfully?

and most importantly, how the FUCK is this going to get cleared up in one episode?

i don’t even think that’s possible. if it is, i’m really disappointed. after consistent excellent pacing, writing, storytelling, and everything else, cramming everything into the last couple of episodes is just cheap and annoying. if i wanted to drone on for an entire series before an explosion of poor plot points for shock factor, i’d just go watch the second season of the promised neverland (/hj).

the only somewhat reasonable explanation would be a second season, but it is a terrible media decision and i can’t imagine much, if any, good coming from it.

in conclusion, what the fuck. how the hell is this going to salvage itself in one episode?

also i wrote this entire thing while on my sleep meds. if there’s logical, grammatical, spelling or just general errors i apologise and i’ll fix them when i’m not half conscious.

#wonder egg priority #how the fuck are they going to salvage this #wonder egg priority spoilers #wep project #wep #i really don’t know how to feel about frill #wep frill #a moment of silence for mannen and panic

[ediths]

here’s to us

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies To Lovers (with a twist)

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You hate Harry more than you’ve ever hated anyone else, and he feels the same (or does he?). The people around you see the interactions that the two of you have and believe that you’re a match made in heaven, but you can’t see it, and you doubt he can either. When he’s the last option to help you with a project that you’re working on, things are either going to go very well, or they're going to crash and burn.

Warning(s): alcohol, cursing, kink talk, angst, sadness, innuendos, tension, a set of lovers trying to convince two people that they’re meant for one another, fluff

A/N: this was originally a piece written for a writing challenge but that’s been cancelled (i love u liv take your time i will still participate in any and every wc you ever do bb) so this is now just another piece haha!! Thank you to @tbslenthusiast​ and @harrysclementines​ for letting me know that this piece wasn’t as bad as i thought it was (literally forever ago like.... i wrote this a long time ago lmao)!!! Also thank you to @kiwismoon​ for letting me send you parts of the fic and scream about how much i hate myself for writing things like i did!!!

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*

Relaxing.

That’s what you were supposed to be doing tonight. You’ve been stressed out about the article that was due in less than a week and you were in need of a night out with your friends. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find the inspiration to write the piece. Plus, you had been completely swamped with your school work. Even though you were still in college, you had gotten a job as a writer and chosen to take online classes. 

Sarah had suggested that you and her go out and have a few drinks. That had quickly developed into you, her, and Mitch. Then your ‘friend’ Michelle was added into the mix.

Now, you’re standing at the bar, waiting for your next shot of tequila and wondering how you let Sarah talk you into this. You hate bars. In all honesty, you only hate them because someone always seemed to mess up your nights when they were drunk. Luckily, that someone isn’t here tonight. You had made it abundantly clear to Sarah that if she were to invite anyone, it better not include him. 

As the bartender hands you your shot, you down it and place the glass down on the bar. You wait for him to retrieve it before turning to walk back to the table that Sarah, Mitch, and Michelle are occupying. Right before you sit down next to Sarah, you catch a glimpse of a very particular head of curls. Your stomach drops at the sight, and you immediately feel the urge to exit the building. There’s no way that you could mistake that for anyone else but Harry. He’s the only person that has curls as seemingly perfect as that. Plus, he’s the only broad shouldered, muscular, tattooed man that you’d ever seen around here with hair that’s grown out to the point where it passes his shoulders. 

Fighting the instinct to be as far away from him as possible, you sit down next to Sarah and do your best to ignore his presence.

That lasts all of three seconds. It’s as if something is pulling your focus towards him, and you can’t stand that, so you quickly tell Sarah that you’re going to head out. Grabbing your coat, you give her a story about suddenly having inspiration and not wanting to lose it before offering to take her almost empty cup back to the bar. She nods, wishing you a farewell.

As you’re making your way over to the bar, someone knocks into you and the small amount of liquid left in Sarah’s cup splashes onto your chest. You scoff, turning to tell whoever bumped into you to watch where they’re going. You’re met with a pair of piercing green eyes, and suddenly your words get caught in your throat. All you manage is a scoff and a quick “fuck you” before handing him the cup and walking out. 

You stand outside of the bar, leaning up against the brick wall of the building as you order an Uber for the ride home. The stench of alcohol is radiating from your shirt, and you almost gag at the smell. Beer has never been your favorite, and you have absolutely no clue how Sarah can drink it.

You place the order and go to stand on the sidewalk to wait for the car to pull up. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” The voice seems to carry through the entire street.

“What the fuck do you want, Harry?” you snap. The chuckle that he releases at your words makes your blood boil.

“Just wondering why you’re avoiding me, love.” You don’t have to turn to know that he has a smirk plastered on his face.

“Do you have a degradation kink or something?” Your words have their desired effect as he all but chokes on the air. 

“Um, no. Why? You trying to turn me on, darling?” You roll your eyes.

“Absolutely not.” How can he be so fucking annoying all the time? “I’m just wondering why you continuously pester me after I tell you how much of a dick you are and that I absolutely cannot fucking stand you.”

“Because normally when you do that, you find some way to compliment me. And I think it’s funny how flustered you get when you realize what you said.” You hear him walk closer to you, but you keep your eyes locked straight ahead of you.

“So you have a praise kink.”

When he speaks, his breath hits your ear. Fuck, you didn’t know he had gotten that close. You have to fight the shiver that’s threatening to run down your spine. You can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s having any kind of effect on you. “Do you want to test it out?”

You scoff, stepping away from him. “You fucking wish, Harry.”

He hums. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You finally turn to him. After seeing him, though, you begin to regret your decision. Seeing him like this, in a white t-shirt and black skinny jeans, hair forming his face in the most perfect way, isn’t doing you any good.

“I’m not going to be your temporary fix, Harry. Go find someone else to give you a good time.” He puts on an exaggerated pout. “I don’t even like you as a friend, so stop fucking around like that. It pisses me off.”

Before he can say anything else, your Uber arrives and you check the plates before getting in the backseat and shutting the door, effectively blocking him out.

What he would have said if your Uber hadn’t pulled up, though, is something that Harry decides you’ll never get to know. Because just when he was about to say, “I’d want you to be more than temporary,” you found a way to break his heart yet again.

*

The Uber driver has continuously given you looks since you got into the car. His nose scrunched up the moment that you closed the door, and honestly, you can’t blame him. You smell like cheap beer and probably look like an absolute mess. He’s most likely just checking to make sure that you don’t look like you’re about to throw up all over his backseat. 

You roll your eyes, trying your best to ignore him. It’s not even your fault that you’re like this right now, it’s Harry’s.

Harry, who you absolutely despise with every bit of your being. He’s been an arrogant, selfish dick since the very day that you met. He only cares about things when they include them,  constantly dropping comments about his success, and always finding a way to insert himself into any and every situation. You can’t seem to get away from him. He seems to be around no matter what you try (at first, you thought it was a coincidence, but now you’re convinced that he just does it to get on your nerves).

Harry, who’s so fucking annoying and unbearable but also so hot that he makes your mouth all but water. He can draw a reaction from you without even trying. Harry, who you’re so fucking attracted to despite hating him, and that fact makes you hate him even more.

It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be attracted to someone that makes your blood boil. 

I’m just drunk, you repeat to yourself as you push the thought of Harry as far out of your mind as you possibly can.

*

You groan as you walk out of the kitchen. 

“Y/N you know I’m right!” Sarah yells after you. “Stop trying to avoid it.”

Plopping down on Sarah’s black faux leather couch, you roll your eyes even though she can’t see it. “You’re delusional, Sarah!”

She doesn’t say anything until she comes into the living room and sits on the couch next to you. She has a bowl of chips in her hands. When you go to grab one, she pulls the bowl from your reach. 

“Admit it, you and Harry would be absolutely great together.” You could scream. She’s so adamant about the idea, but there’s no way that she could be right.

“Dude, we hate each other. What do you mean? What do you expect from us in a relationship if we can’t even be in the same room together for more than a few minutes without arguing.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“I know, I know! But Y/N, come on. The two of you are so compatible.” You laugh at her words. How could she possibly think that when she sees the way the two of you interact.

“How so?” you ask, just to entertain her theory and let her get her thoughts out.

“Okay, hear me out. You both like music, right? He sings, you write songs. That’s literally perfect right there, even if you were just friends.” You nod, not saying anything. “You’re always talking about how you want to do hair and nails and stuff for your friends and I know that he’d let you paint his nails and play with his hair.” You had in fact been telling her these things, but you weren’t aware that she would choose to use them to try and set you up with Harry. “You’re both really funny and smart. You guys talk about a lot of the same things, too. It’s just never when you’re around each other.”

“Alright, yeah, that makes some sense.” She perks up slightly but you hold a finger up, motioning for her to wait a moment before getting her hopes up. “It makes sense, but you’re forgetting a few things. I couldn’t write songs for, or even with, Harry. He’d find something wrong with him just like he does now. He’d nitpick them until there was nothing that I could find about the song that he didn’t hate.” You sigh, thinking back to what she had just said. “We’d have to be too close to each other for me to mess around with his hair or nails and you know that every time we get within a few feet of each other, there’s some kind of fight that always gets started,” you trail off, giving her a chance to speak.

“Are you going to give me a reason why the last example of why you’re perfect for each other is incorrect?” She groans when you nod.

“Yeah, actually. We may like the same things and be funny and smart or whatever, but there’s no way that we’d be able to talk to each other.” 

“Why?” 

“His communication issues.” She throws her head back and obnoxiously groans.

“He doesn’t have communication issues.”

You burst out laughing. “He’s an Aquarius. Of course he does, right on top of those commitment issues.”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever, Y/N. One of these days you’re going to understand that the two of you are quite literally a match made in Heaven.”

“Not likely,” you mumble before reaching for the remote and finding a movie to put on.

*

“Wait, what?” Mitch is looking at Harry like he’s grown a second head.

“You guys were right. Always have been, really, I just couldn’t say it before now.” Harry gulps, waiting for the ‘I told you so.’ It doesn’t come, though.

“Fuck, dude, I’m so sorry.” Harry shrugs it off.

“Not letting it get to me anymore. I’m tired of letting her break my heart.” He curses himself when tears begin to line his eyes.

“If I had known you really felt that way I would have backed off.” Harry nods at his words. “Sarah would’ve too.”

“It’s fine, Mitch, really. I just, I’m just tired, you know? It’s like there’s a magnetic force pulling me to her but every time I try to get close she shows me, yet again, that she can’t stand me.” He’s never been ashamed to show his feelings, and right now isn’t when he’s going to start. He lets his tears fall down his face as he leans back against the chair he’s sitting in.

“I really didn’t know, H. Normally I can tell when you like someone but it wasn’t like that this time.” Harry nods at him.

“You get pretty good at hiding your feelings when you’re hiding heartbreak after heartbreak.” He’s silent for a moment. “Should I cut off my hair?”

“If you want. But don’t do it just because you’re sad or you’ll regret it.” Harry closes his eyes as he debates the decision. A part of him wants to do it anyway, make the sadness go away for a moment as the exhilaration of a new haircut sinks in, but the rational part of him knows that Mitch is right.

As he sits there with tear stained cheeks, new droplets wetting his face every few seconds, he really wishes that he could hate you. He wishes that he could find anything to hate about you. But when he searches his brain for a reason to dislike you, he comes up empty. It’s frustrating, really. You seem to hate everything about him while he can’t hate a single thing when it comes to you.

He hears Mitch get up, presumably to go get something to eat, but he doesn’t open his eyes. There are a million memories with you flashing through his mind and it hurts him even more to know that every single one of them have been bad.

*

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Your voice is high pitched, some would even say a little whiny. “Sarah, you promised me that you’d sing the song for me.”

“I know, Y/N. But something urgent came up with Mitch’s family and I have to be there.” Even over the phone, you can hear how worried that she is, so you can’t really bring yourself to be upset with her.

“It’s fine, Sarah. Really, I understand.” You hear her sigh of relief and a small smile graces your face, glad that she now has one less thing to worry about. “I’ll just find someone else to do it.”

“Ask Harry.” She suggests.

“Why would I do that?” The way your mood changed was immediate and it’s almost sad, how fast he gets you worked up.

“Because, Y/N, this project is due in like two days and he’s available.” She says in her duh voice. “Plus, he can sing really well, so just ask him. The worst thing he can say is no.”

“That’s a lie. The worst thing he can say is yes.” Sarah laughs before wishing you good luck and hanging up.

You groan, thinking about what Sarah said. She’s right, honestly. There’s nobody else that you’re going to find on such short notice, especially not one that can sing as good as Harry can. Admitting to yourself that you need him (which is something you never thought you’d say), you pick up your phone and click on his contact.

“Y/N?” His voice sounds deeper than usual, a little raspier, too. Almost like he just got out of bed. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t have an effect on you, the way your name sounds coming out of his mouth when he sounds like that.

“I need your help.” You grimace at the words.

“Alright. What do you need.” Your mind races, trying to figure out why he didn’t have a sarcastic comment or a snarky remark to throw at you. You ignore it for now, though.

“I need you to sing a song that I wrote for a project.” He hums, and you can picture him pulling his bottom lip between his fingers and then running his hand through his curls.

“Okay, when do you need me?” 

“Does tomorrow work? Around noon?” You hold your breath as you hope for the best.

“Yeah, I’ll be at your place then.”

You thank him and hang up, letting your phone fall from your hand down onto the couch. Harry Styles, the man that you swear you hate, is coming to your house tomorrow. 

*

When he arrives the next day, you almost immediately hand him the song and let him read over it, not necessarily wanting to spend any more time with him than needed. When he says he has a few suggestions, you’re terrified that he’s going to tell you how awful he is, but he actually only has a few suggestions to help with the flow of things. Besides that, he promises that it’s a really good song. 

You go to grab your camera and set it up while he strums on the guitar that he brought. Once you’re ready to begin filming, he sets the paper with the lyrics on it to the side and nods.

He begins singing after the camera has started recording and you get entranced by him almost immediately. His eyes close as soon as the first word leaves him mouth and with them shut you feel much more comfortable while looking at him. His hair is flowing all around him and you have the intense urge to tuck the strands behind his ears. There’s a small crease between his brows, that of which she wants to smooth out with a kiss to his forehead. He seems so concentrated, and something about it pulls at her heartstrings.

You shake your head. He’s your enemy, remember? you think to yourself as you divert your eyes to somewhere else in the room. 

After you’ve looked away you find yourself wondering why. Why do you hate Harry so much, really? Yeah he can be arrogant and cocky and rude but who isn’t? Yeah he talks about his famous life and his awards and chart placements a lot, but you would do the same in his shoes.

Plus, he really is pretty funny now that you stop to really think about it. He’s all the things that Sarah had told you over the past few months, and you can’t believe that you didn’t realize until now. You don’t hate Harry, you’ve been convincing yourself that you do to hide the way that you really feel about him.

You’re broken from your thoughts when he clears his throat. Once you turn to him, there’s a smirk on his face. “Could feel you watching me, love.”

Your cheeks burn at the statement. Regardless of the truth in it, you’re still not very keen on admitting that you were ogling him only minutes prior. 

“It’s alright, I find myself looking at you sometimes, too.” You don’t say anything to that, and the room falls quiet. 

With that stupid smirk, that’s way too hot for it to natural and fair, he picks up his keys and his coat and walks to your front door. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You raise your hand in a pathetic half wave goodbye and try your best to smile. As he opens the door, cold air sweeps through the room and you can see the snowflakes falling outside. “Great, there’s a storm.” He groans, but still continues to walk out the door.

“Harry, wait!” He stops, turning to face you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Um… leaving?” He gestures towards his car that’s most likely covered in snow by now.

“Not in this weather you’re not.” Your voice grows hard as you glare at him. You know that he’d most likely rather not be around you, but there’s not a chance in hell that you’re going to allow him to risk his life by driving home.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t put up a fight, he just shuts the door and shrugs his coat back off. He hesitantly comes back over to take a seat on the couch. You stay silent, struggling to find the words to say.

“So, um, do you want to watch something?” He asks after a few minutes of nearly unbearable silence.

“Yeah, I’ve been watching Lucifer on Netflix, but if you don’t want to watch that, we can watch a movie or something.” You offer, looking over at him.

“Yeah, we can watch that.” You grab the remote from the table and walk over to sit next to him on the couch. 

Pulling up Netflix and starting Lucifer, you let your eyes wander to Harry for a split second before noticing that he’s already looking at you. You immediately divert your gaze. Your cheeks begin to heat up, but you try your best to ignore it.

*

After watching almost an entire season of Lucifer, you’re just about ready to go to bed. You’ve gotten increasingly more comfortable beside Harry and you’ve even started to lean into him slightly. Not a single part of your body is touching yours, but you can tell that you’ve gotten closer.

You’re about to get up and brush your teeth when the lights go out. You groan, throwing your head back against the back of the couch. “Great, power’s out.”

He doesn’t say anything, just hums in response. 

“Stay where you are. I know where the candles and the flashlight is, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to get around.” You stand up, feeling your way through the living room towards the kitchen. Opening the cabinet closest to the wall, you pull out the three candles and the flashlight. Fuck, you forgot that there are only two candles. That’s not enough for there to be one in the hallway on the table, in the bathroom, and in the living room for Harry. And fuck, your extra blankets are in the washer.

You shake your head, lighting the candles and walking to the bathroom to place one down, and then through to the hallway to do the same. Making your way back to the kitchen, you pick up the flashlight and switch it on.

Once you reach the living room again, you clear your throat. “Okay, bad news. There were only two candles, and they need to be in the hallway and the bathroom.” You cough awkwardly. “Also, my extra blankets are dirty and I don’t want you to lay out here in the dark and freeze to death so,” your voice gets quieter, “do you maybe wanna come lay with me?”

He chokes on his spit and then clears his throat. “Um, yeah, yeah, sure. If that’s okay with you, of course. Remember, I can always go home.” You shake your head as his words.

“Nonsense, come on.”

Once the two of you are in your room, you climb into your bed and wait for Harry to do the same. Neither of you say a word as you get comfortable as you try to get to sleep. Without the heater working and there only being one blanket, though, it’s a little hard to stay warm and comfortable. “Um, Harry, I- can I- you- can we maybe… fuck I don’t know.”

You feel him turn towards you. “Are you cold, love?”

“Yeah.”

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, letting you lay your head on his chest and wrap yourself up in his embrace. His arms come to wrap around you and one hand finds its way to your hair as the other rests on your hip.

As you bask in his warmth, you try your best to not let yourself think about the way that you feel so perfectly comfortable in his arms. About how he smells so divine and he’s so warm that you’d be content with never leaving his embrace. About how, without even realizing it, you’ve been letting yourself believe that you hate Harry when really you’re in love with him. However, you’ll never tell him that. Not a chance. If there’s one thing that you absolutely will not do, it’s let Harry Styles break your heart.

*

When you open your eyes the next morning, you’re still in Harry’s arms. He isn’t awake yet, so you let yourself appreciate the way that his hair is tickling your face and the way that his arms are holding you tightly to his body. You let yourself enjoy the way that he’s got ahold of you like he can’t bear to lose you. 

You know that when he opens his eyes, everything is going to go back to normal. You’ll have to hate him again and he’ll pretend that none of this ever happened. That thought shouldn’t hurt you as much as it does.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by his voice. “Mornin’, love. Did you sleep well?”

You nod, all but entranced in the way that his voice is so much raspier when he first wakes up. “Sorry for being all over you, it was cold last night.” 

You go to move away from him, but he keeps you hugged to him. “Don’t apologize, like having you here, dove.” The words confuse you, but you don’t question them. Instead, you let yourself relax back into him.

Everything is silent for a few minutes, but the air is comfortable this time. “Do you wanna go get some coffee if the roads aren’t bad?” Harry whispers.

“Yeah, sure.”

The two of you climb out of bed and get ready for the day. You let him use an extra toothbrush and once you brush through your hair, you hand the tool to him. He gives a small “thanks” and gets to work on taming his hair as you walk out of the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he’s walking towards the living room with his keys and then he’s leading you out the door to his car.

The ride to the coffee shop is silent besides the hum of the radio, neither of you really knowing what to say.

Once the two of you slide into a booth at the little diner that he drove you to, you order a coffee and something as he does the same.

“So, tell me about yourself, Y/N. I don’t really know much about you.”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out what to tell him.

“I write. My job is to write articles for this company. But I’m still in school technically, so I’m taking online classes to finish getting my degree. I like songwriting. Um, I think that’s about it.” Your cheeks heat up as you tell him about yourself, although none of the things that you’re listing are embarrassing.

“Why haven’t you ever talked about your songwriting before?” He ponders, placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand.

“Um, you hate me. Or.. hated me? I don’t know. I don’t want you to tear it apart just because you’re some hotshot writer. Or because you hate me.”

He pulls back, looking down. “Never hated you.”

“What?” You had to have heard that wrong.

“Ever stop to think why I was only rude when you got rude first?”

Your jaw drops as you think it over. “No, um, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, well. I never hated you.”

“So, you’re telling me that I hated you and you just… never hated me?” He grimaces.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He offers you a soft smile. “It’s fine.”

Throughout the next few hours, you sit there with Harry and talk about any and everything that comes to your mind. He pays for the bill, although you insist on letting you help. As you’re walking out to his car and he’s about to drive you home, he stops. “Um, hey would you maybe want to hang out some more?”

The question takes you by surprise, but you agree nonetheless. “Yeah, I actually would really like that.”

He nods, climbing into the car as you smile to yourself.

*

It’s been six months since you made Harry stay over at your house because of that pesky snowstorm, and you’ve never been more thankful for the weather.

You’ve spent the majority of your time together, going out to eat when possible and staying over at your house most nights. His is too big, as you’ve always said, so for the simple sleepovers, you insisted that he came over to yours. You’ve grown closer and closer to him, and now you can confidently say that he’s your best friend.

Along with the growing friendship, your feelings have gotten deeper. There’s not a single part of you can deny that you’re absolutely, head over heels in love with Harry. And you don’t want to anymore. You still don’t want to tell him, but you’re no longer lying to yourself in the slightest.

Today is the only day thus far that you’ve even slightly regretted how close that you’ve become with Harry. And that’s because you’re currently standing at the airport, head buried into his chest as you try to find a way to say goodbye for the next six months. 

“Don’t want you to go.” You whine as you hold him as close as you possibly can.

He murmurs a “fuck it” before pulling away from you.

“Come with me.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “I know, it sounds crazy. Absolutely ridiculous. But listen, we’ll go home, back to your place and we’ll pack your bags and then we’ll go. I’ll reschedule my flight. I- I can’t do this without you, Y/N.” He reaches up and runs a hand through his curls (which you’d begged him to let you braid, but he said it was easier to have it down for flights). “Listen, you’re my rock. I- I feel like I can breathe when you’re around me. Fuck, Y/N, I’m in love with you.” 

You freeze, completely shocked by the words that fell from his mouth.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that. That was stupid. Forget I ever said anything.” He���s rambling because he thinks there’s no way that you can feel the same but you do.

“I’m in love with you, H. Have been for a long time.” Before he can respond, you surge forward and grab his face in your hands. Bringing his face closer, you slot your lips with his and allow the kiss to envelop you. After a few moments, you pull back. “Let’s go home and get my bags packed.”

*

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #okay yeehaw tell me what you think #here's to us

[messedupfan]

Should've Told You (Danny Short)

Summary: Anon request to see more of Danny and R's relationship in Should've Told You

A/N: This was certainly interesting to write, hopefully y'all like it. Also, physical fighting it implied and since R's gender isn't specified it's readers choice on whether this is cannon to STY or not. Enjoy!

Masterlist | All Chapters

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“Y/n,” Danny sighs and slumps his shoulders as he opens the door. “Again.”

“Something wrong, Danny?” You ask as you step into Matt’s dorm room. He texted you about being bored and invited you to hang out. Since you didn’t have anything better to do and Leigh was still stuck doing a group project, you showed up.

Danny shrugs, “Nope. Just thought I was going to get some brother time.”

“C’mon, all you want to do is hit up some club and leave with some girl. Meanwhile I have to find my own way home,” Matt says as he finishes getting ready.

“You didn’t tell me we were going out,” you say as you fall into the beanbag seat that Matt’s roommate has told you time and time again not to sit on. He apologizes and says that they can swing by your house and wait for you to change. You thank him.

“Matt! I needed a wingman tonight. Not to be upstaged by Y/n!” Danny says annoyed.

You roll your eyes, you had done some hot scenes in a student film that was popular with the girls around campus which meant that many girls at the college parties would ignore or approach Danny and Matt to get to you. Matt was seeing someone at the moment so he didn’t really mind. But Danny was so frustrated with you. “Danny, we’re not going to some lame college party. I highly doubt anyone will recognize Y/n where we’re going. Just chill out.”

“Yeah, I’m not even looking to get laid tonight pal. I just thought I was going to be chilling with my buddy Matt. But I guess, anything is better than Matt’s cheap beer and skunk weed,” you tease your friend and Danny can’t help but laugh. Matt makes a comment about probably regretting inviting you which makes you laugh but Danny bites his tongue.

A few hours later, once the three of you were finally able to get inside of the club, you and Matt followed Danny around until he was able to set his sights on some poor girl. Luckily, she was there with friends and the three of you walked to the bar to get some drinks and come up with a game plan that wouldn’t freak the girls out. When Danny was finally ready to approach, after a half hour of you and Matt telling him that he can do it, the girl taps your shoulder and you turn around. You smile kindly at the girl but hold your breath as you wait to hear what she has to say.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but my friends over there are convinced that they saw you in some film. Are you Y/n Y/l/n?” She asks and Danny nods slowly as he drops his drink down on the bar and walks away. Matt excuses himself to follow his brother and you sigh as you look down into your drink. “Was it something I said?” The girl asks, validly confused.

You smile at her and apologize for your rude friend and wish the girl and her friends a fun night before downing the rest of your beverage and covering the tab for the guys. You couldn’t really afford to do that at the moment but you trusted Matt to pay you back. You walk around the club searching for your friends in the direction that they had left and find them as they exit the club. “Danny! What the fuck? Why didn’t you stay to try and get to know her? She was probably being a wingwoman for one of her friends!” You shout once you’re finally able to catch up to him on the sidewalk.

“No she wasn’t! And you know it! I’m so sick of you taking girls from me just because you’re a fucking pornstar!” He shouts angrily.

“Oh fuck you!” You were sick of him being pissed at you over a dumb student film that was online, so you punched him. Matt tried to step between the two of you but Danny lunged at you, pushing his brother out of the way. You managed to dodge him and though you should have left, you weren’t going to stand down from a fight. Next thing you knew, you and Danny were being put in handcuffs. Both of you were worked up messes, with Matt yelling about how he won’t bail either of you out.

“Hey Lollipop,” you sigh apologetically into the receiver.

“Y/n? Why are you calling me from a police station?” She sounds tired and you feel even worse asking for her help.

“I got into it with some asshat outside of some club. Do you think you can come and pick me up?” You explain vaguely. “I’m not being charged with anything, they’re letting us go with a warning. I just need a ride home.”

Leigh sighs, “I’ll be there soon and I want the full story.” It takes her a half hour to get there and Danny is glaring at you the entire time. It’s taking everything in you to not pick another fight with him but the last thing you needed was to have a record because of him and a stupid student film. “I swear, between you and Jules I’m going to age faster than a president,” Leigh says as you are brought out to her. Despite the situation, you can’t help the grin that spreads on your face at the sight of her. She was exhausted and annoyed that you were smiling but when you greeted her she couldn’t prevent the blush on her cheeks but she did fight the smile of her own. “Let’s get you home you trouble maker.”

“Yes, ma’am!” You solute her and follow her out of the precinct. Bumping into Matt on the way out but you were still upset with him so you treated him like a stranger. Once you got to Leigh’s house, she took care of the scrapes you got in the fight and the two of you went to bed. “I’m sorry I disrupted your sleep over something so dumb,” you whisper to her.

“Hmm, it’s okay,” she scoots closer and kisses your cheek. “Just don’t make a habit out of it, Gumdrop. It scares me when you get angry like that,” she mutters tiredly. Out of guilt, you promise that you’ll get better control of your temper and that she won’t ever have to pick you up from the police station again nor will she ever have to witness another one of your fights. She embraces you and snuggles into your side, “Go to sleep, it’s late.”

You were unable to keep those promises.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Poor Y/n, that must’ve been brutal,” Jade mutters into her glass of champagne.

Danny frowns and turns to the girl he has been hitting on since the reception started. “Sorry, what did you say about Y/n?” He is a little annoyed that he still can’t have a single conversation without you being mentioned but he was more intrigued why this girl felt bad for you.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. So what were you saying?” She tries to distract him with his bad flirting but Danny doesn’t want to let it go. So he kept pressing to get her to talk. Jade rolled her eyes, “What does it matter anymore?” She mumbles. “Y/n shouldn’t have been the one officiating the wedding.”

Danny is confused, “Why not? What do you know about Y/n?”

“I used to date them,” she says simply. “I know a lot about them.”

He gives her a mischievous smirk, “Please, don’t hold back.” Jade asks him to grab her another drink and he dutifully does. While she spills the dirty details to him, you are trying to coax your girlfriend to stay through the reception but she is adamant in leaving. You try to get her to talk to you and continuously ask what is wrong because you can tell that she is very upset but she refuses to tell you. Throwing your hands up, you let her leave and ask the bartender for a few shots of the strongest thing that he has behind the counter.

Matt finds you when you are being handed a glass of a strong scotch, several shots later. “Can you believe it? I’m a married man! Did you think this day would ever come?” He asks excitedly. You give him the biggest smile that you can muster up as you tell him how proud you are of him. Then Danny comes out of nowhere to join the conversation.

“Hey Matt, I was going to wait to give this to you at the end but…” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fat blunt. “I figured now is as good a time as any. What do you say?” You stare at the blunt knowing that it would be a terrible idea for either of you to indulge.

“Do you think Leigh will be upset?” Matt asks you.

“Man, why are you asking Y/n? They can’t possibly know your wife better than you! She’s your wife not their wife.” Danny’s words stab you in the heart and he is sure to twist the knife. Matt shrugs and asks that the two of you follow him. You tell him that you’re fine. You tell them to enjoy it and Matt points out that it’s his wedding and that you have to. “The groom has spoken,” Danny says. “I’m pretty sure you have to now.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Danny is no stranger to your temper when you mix alcohol with marijuana and he hardly ever wants you to be part of a moment that he could spend entirely alone with his brother. Something was telling you that he was up to no good. “I’m pretty sure I only have to do what the bride asks of me,” you point out. “And there’s no way in hell the bride would let me near that after how much I’ve been drinking.”

“Then I dare you to,” Matt speaks up.

“Do you guys want me to ruin the wedding?”

“I just want to share a smoke with my best friend and my brother. It’s my wedding day too, y’know? It can’t all be about Leigh,” he says and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything. “Come on, Y/n! Let’s go! Trust me, I won’t let you get into a fight,” he says, pulling you away from the bar. You begrudgingly go and Danny nods to Jade, who is starting to regret telling him anything.

After a few puffs and passes Matt excuses himself back inside and thanks you and Danny for the laughs. “When are you going to stop being so fake with my brother?” Danny says as he puts out the last of the blunt.

You scowl, “What are you talking about?”

“When are you going to stop pretending like you don’t want to fuck his bitch?”

“Don’t you fucking call her that again!” You aggressively shove him to the wall but catch yourself and almost instantly back away to try and center yourself. You could not cause a scene at Leigh’s wedding. If her special day was going to be ruined, it wasn’t going to be by you. “Stay the fuck away from me,” you warn him as you struggle to collect yourself.

“So you do want to fuck her?” Danny presses.

“Where the fuck is this coming from?”

“You’re not denying it,” this time when you push him, he pushes back, only making it even more difficult to keep your composure. So you shove him harder as a warning. Hoping that he would take it and stop pushing your buttons before you lost complete control.

“I’m fucking serious, Daniel. Leave me the fuck alone or you’ll be leaving in an ambulance.” You tell him as calmly as possible before turning around to settle down. You knew that you needed to leave but your ride already left and your phone was inside. It would take a lot of effort to find it and Danny would probably follow you around inside. It wouldn’t be good to bring this inside. Then you see Jade come out of the venue and you have to shut and rub your eyes, blinking a few times to be sure that she is really there. “What are you doing here?” You bitterly ask. Danny takes the moment to swoop in next to her and make a bad situation worse by stating that she is his plus one. Jade tries to tell you that isn’t true but your head is cloudy and things that shouldn’t be connecting start to and it pisses you off. “What have you been telling him?” You say angrily.

“Nothing, I promise. I don’t even know who he is,” Jade speaks frantically and nervously as she separates herself from him. “I don’t even know why he would say we’re together! We’re not, I swear!”

“She told me how you’ve always wanted to fuck your slutty Lollipop. And how you were too much of a pussy to say anything,” Danny taunts. Those were the last words you heard before your vision went red with rage and you lost complete control over yourself. Next thing you know, a couple police officers are pulling you off of an unconscious Danny. As you’re being dragged away into the back of a squad car, you look around frantically to see who else has witnessed the scene and when you spot Leigh running towards you, relief fills you for a moment that is quickly replaced by shame and guilt. She is stopped by the officers once you’re seated but that doesn’t stop Leigh. It takes a bit of convincing but the officers allow her a few minutes to talk to you.

“What happened?” Leigh asks with concern and a few napkins to try and clean up your face some. Her question and delicate tone makes you burst into tears like a child that got caught doing something bad and they don’t know how to talk their way out of it. “Shh, just tell me what happened,” she tries to soothe you by combing her fingers through your hair. You start apologizing for ruining her day and that you really tried not to. You tell her that you didn’t mean it and that Danny kept saying things. You promise that it’ll never happen again. You promise her that you’ll get help for your temper and that you’ll do anything not to lose her. “Hey, you’re not going to lose me. Okay? Matt feels terrible. He says that he knew Danny was picking on you and that he might’ve been up to something. We’ll get this taken care of, okay?” She tries to get you to look at her but you are filled with too much shame to look her in the eye. After some coaxing you eventually do. “I do think that you should get that temper of yours under control. Only if you’re ready to do it for yourself, otherwise it won’t happen.” You nod and Leigh says her goodbyes before the officers tell her that the time is up.

As the car pulls away, you see Danny being lifted by a few people. During the drive to the police station you once again swear to yourself that Leigh will never have to see you like that ever again. You make plans to limit yourself around Leigh until you get to the station and are reminded by the group of paparazzi that you’re a public figure now. You really needed to clean up your act.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Special Deleted Scene From Chapter 12)

You were sitting in your home office doing research for the character you were getting ready to play in your upcoming project when your doorbell startles you. Confused, because you don’t know why anyone should be ringing your doorbell, you check the security monitor in your office and frown when you see Danny. He rings the doorbell again and you sigh, getting out of your desk and walking to the front door. Before you can even get a word in, Danny steps through and starts with, “Can you get Leigh to leave me alone?”

“No, good afternoon? What ever happened to hello? Or how are you?”

“Cut it out, alright? Are you going to get Leigh to leave me alone or what?”

“Would you mind taking the time to enlighten me about whatever the fuck you are talking about?” He shook his head as he pulled his phone out and muttered obscenities while unlocking the screen and tapping at it. Danny thrusted the phone in your direction and scrolled down the loads of text messages that Leigh had left. He told you that wasn’t all and went into his emails and call logs. “She’s just trying to keep her connection to Matt. You’re one of the few people she has left to help with that. You know things about him that neither of us do.” You excuse her actions with the first thing that came to mind. It had to be about Matt, otherwise she would have told you about this. Right?

“Well then tell her to go see my mom and to stay out of my life. I already told her I can't hang out with her anymore. It's too hard for me. I don’t want her in my life. Especially not right now. All she wants is to remember the good things about him and I don’t want that. There’s nothing I can tell her that she will like to hear. I just want to move on with my life because that's what's healthy for me.”

“Is that what she wants? To start hanging out again?” You weren’t sure how well you masked the isecurity that you were feeling at the moment but he didn’t show any sign of noticing.

“No. She just wants to keep in touch.”

“Okay, then what's the problem?” You asked as if you didn't already know why he was upset. He would never tell you anyway.

“I shouldn't have to. We were barely friends before this! I didn’t like her when they were dating, I didn’t want them to get married. She has always hated me and you can’t deny that! Then we were in-laws and it sucked. But now the only thing that kept us in each other’s lives is gone! We don’t have to play nice anymore. There’s no reason I should have to give a shit about what she is feeling right now. Besides, he was my brother! She can replace him and I can’t!" He raised his voice and spoke with his hands.

You watched him to see if he was going to fall apart but he just seemed angry and you weren’t sure at who. From what you could gather he was angry at Leigh for being around too much, at Matt for dying, and possibly at you for… well who knew at this point? It could be anything. He could still be holding a grudge for you being MIA last year. For constantly being at and/or taking Leigh’s side. For Matt preferring your company to his. Because you have feelings for Leigh and so does he… There was no way to know unless he told you himself, but that was a longshot. “Why does ‘before’ even matter now? A lot of shit has gone down this year. Stuff that most people would see as a wake up call to be kind to and appreciate the people we still have around us. Realize that though life can be really long it can also be incredibly short. Why are you pushing away people that care about you? What's so wrong with Leigh just making sure that you're okay?”

“See? I don't even know why I bothered talking to you. I should've known you would be on her side. You're always taking her side, even when she isn't around to witness it. No wonder she doesn't return your feelings, Gumdrop. It's like she's your whole personality. I lost my brother and you don’t even care about my feelings. All you care about is her! Always protecting her! No one can love a person that desperate," he made the space between the two of you smaller as he tried to intimidate you by getting in your face and mocking your nickname. It took everything not to physically react. As much as you want to, you can’t so you have to put him in his place with words instead of physical violence. You step back to make space between the two of you and clench your fists tightly as you remind yourself that ending up in the back of a police car would not look good.

“You're always talking shit about Leigh, that's why I defend her. If you really wanted me to care about how you've been feeling since Matt died you wouldn't have made it about her. You’d invite me out for a drink or something to talk about our mutual loss. Or even ask about what I've been going through with losing my brother. I have to hear about your brother all the damn time and you don't hear me being all, 'Oh I can't help you because I lost my big brother!' No, instead I use my struggles and emotions to relate to the other person. Who is also hurting and helping them know they aren't alone. Y'know you throw around the dead brother card a lot but you seem to forget that I lost mine too. Before you lost yours, in fact. You don't see me being an asshat to his friends or pushing away the boyfriend he had before he died. Then going around claiming that his death is the reason why I suddenly forgot how to act like a decent fucking person! Think about that the next time you want to be an ass and use him as an excuse for your shitty behavior. Okay, momma's boy?” You patted his back as you walked away from him. “You know the way out!”

“Go fuck yourself, Y/n!” He shouts behind you.

Don't worry, I have Leigh for that. You smugly think to yourself. “Will do, Daniel!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding dong!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

You turn on the hall lights and clench your eyes shut before slowly opening them and letting them adjust to the brightness of the glaring light. Blinking rapidly you’re finally able to clear your vision and continue to make your way through until you reach the source of the incessant noise. “Are you fucking serious?” you mumble when you see who it is on the security monitor. You open the door once he stops hitting the wooden surface. “Daniel, what the fuck are you doing here? Do you have any idea what time it is?” You glare at him with tired eyes.

“I was watching the news,” he slurs as he stumbles into your house. This causes you to drop your face into your hands out of exhaustion. “So you’re finally fucking Leigh. Finally getting to lick that lollipop.” He laughs, claps, and starts to do a lazy dance as he sings, “Shawty wanna lick, lick, lick, lick, lick me like a lollipop! Shawty wanna lick, lick, lick, lick, lick me like a lollipop!” He is loud and you try to quiet him down so he doesn’t disturb your girlfriend but Leigh walks out to the foyer as disgruntled as you were. She calls out to you to see what is going on and when she does it catches Danny’s attention. He points to her and moves onto another part of the song. “Shawty want a thug! Bottles in the club! Shawty wanna hump!” He sticks his tongue out as he starts to thrust his hips in her direction. Danny falls over in laughter, amused by his own behavior. Leigh throws her hands up, shaking her head, announcing that she’s going back to bed and disappears.

You grab Danny to get him back on his feet but he aggressively pushes you away, testing your patience. “Get the fuck out of my house Daniel,” you say as the irritation continues to rise in you. This time around, you might actually hit him and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to stop.

Danny rolls to his back on the floor as his laughter dies out. “Were you two fucking behind Matt’s back?” He asks as he stares at the high ceiling.

“No. We loved Matt, we never did anything behind his back,” you answer plainly.

Danny scoffs, “We.” He shakes his head, “I don’t know if I believe you.”

You shrug, “You don’t have to, but it’s the truth. Leigh and I didn’t become a couple until well after Matt passed.” You watch him closely as you try to empathize with him. Danny was still struggling over the loss of his only brother. Then you remember that he was with Leigh for a period of time, however short, and the ire returns. “Get the fuck up and get the fuck off of my property!” You shout as you approach him.

“Call the cops then bitch ‘cause I ain’t goin’ nowhere!” He shouts back. “Fuck the police!” He shouts to the ceiling and pulls a flask out of his pocket. Annoyed, you wait for him to open it before kicking it out of his hand, making a good amount of the beverage inside spill out onto him and the floor. “Hey! You’re wasting it!” He says drunkenly but he doesn’t make an aggressive move towards you, just stares and blinks his eyes slowly. “I love her, you know.”

“Do you now?” You say, blatantly falsifying your surprise. “Is that why you came here?”

Danny scowls at you before he tries to sit up. “I came here to tell you that you don’t deserve her,” he grumbles as he fails to sit up on his own. You wonder how much this guy drank and worry about how he got here. Now you know that you can’t kick him out until a car gets here. You might hate his guts but you didn’t want his mother to have to bury another son.

“I know,” you retort as you think about the beautiful woman sleeping in your bed right now. It is going to take a long time to believe you deserve to be lucky enough to be waking up to her in the mornings. “But neither do you. Look at you! You’re a wreck! Is this what you think she deserves?”

“There you go again, thinking you’re so much better than me.” You roll your eyes at his statement. “You think you’re going to make her happy? You’re not. That miserable bitch wouldn’t know happiness if it bit her in the ass!” It takes everything in you not to hit him for his negative words towards your girlfriend. “I made her happier than you ever will. At least I was there,” he tries to use his words to stab you but because he was drunk they were sloppy and misses you on every jab. The only thing pissing you off at the moment is that he was still in your house.

“Daniel, if that were true, she would be with you right now. Wouldn’t she?” You sigh.

By some miracle he is able to stand from the floor on his own. The two of you stand at a distance, glaring at each other. “You ain’t worth shit, Y/n.” Danny mutters and pokes your shoulder which makes him slightly sway back. You tiredly comb your fingers through your hair. “Good luck trying to please her in bed. She’ll be thinking of me and Matt every time you fuck her and you aren’ doin’ it the way she likes it. Y’know that right?” You have to suppress your amusement from his words because she had told you that she kept having to show Danny how to do things for her and he assumed that it was Matt that would do those things for her and she didn’t correct him. But Matt never took the time to learn her body the way you had, and she made sure that you knew that.

“Daniel, you punched a hole in her mother’s house. The two of you weren’t going to end up together for good. People that are in a good and healthy relationship don’t put their fist in the walls of someone's house! They just don’t. So quit lying to yourself and move on. You gave it a shot and it didn’t work out. At least have the decency to hold onto whatever shred of dignity you have left and walk away. If you truly love her then you would let her be happy.”

“You’re only saying this because you won her! If you were in my shoes you would be doing the exact fucking thing! You wouldn’t let her go without a fight!” Danny shoves you with both of his hands this time but you barely budge.

You scoff at his words, “This isn’t about winning and losing. She is a person, her own person. I didn’t do anything to make her leave you and choose me. So you can fight with me all you want, that isn’t going to make her choose you. She chose me. It was her own choice. Please, respect her choice. Don’t disrespect her by turning her into some sort of object or prize. Okay?” You argue on behalf of your girlfriend. If she was up, you’re almost certain that she would be telling him this herself.

Danny flares out his nostrils before backing down. You make him take the downstairs guest bedroom because he is in no shape to leave your house. In the morning, Leigh hands him a bottle of painkillers and water and tells him to have a safe trip home. He gives you a glare but you focus on the breakfast that you’re preparing for Leigh.

Danny leaves and not another word is shared between the two of you.

#sorry for your loss #should've told you #leigh shaw imagine #leigh shaw x reader #sorry for your loss imagine #leigh shaw x you #fanfic fanfiction #leigh shaw x y/n #fanfiction #leigh shaw #danny greer #matt greer #thanks anon! #anon request #messedupfan

[baepsaetan]

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Jungkook

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

Ao3 Link: here 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, side Namgi

Length: 17.6k

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

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

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

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

---

“You’re not coming home now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jungkook!"

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

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

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

"So unsanitary...?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you love it all so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey Y/N."

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

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

"..."

"Y/N? Are you -"

"How much longer?"

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

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

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

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

"No, that's not -"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N..."

"Merry Christmas." You hang up.

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

Why did I have to say that to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he gets home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Y/N! Merry Christmas!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…not here?” you ask, dismayed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did - did he say why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It decides you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you barely asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But no Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook. It’s Jungkook!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could I not have known?

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

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

Is this your fault?

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

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

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

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

What do I do?

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what car? you saw Y/N today?

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

at the gallery?? when?

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

Straight into Jungkook.

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

For just a second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you start crying.

“Y/N? How’re you feeling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right next to your mortification, as it happens.

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

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

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

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

“Helping you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should have,” you insist.

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

Perfect enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your response is firm, albeit playful. “So, it makes perfect sense that they’re having you join! Kookie, you’re gonna fit in so well, because you’re one of the best, too.” And honestly, you’re not even just shovelling empty praise; Jungkook is a truly talented artist in his medium.

His smile grows, eyes thinning with happiness. “And – you’re okay with it? There aren’t any guarantees that it will work out, with it being a new company.”

The trials of the day – mostly made from your own mind, though no less difficult for all of that – pass through your head. The loneliness and anger and sadness. All of it dimmed if not gone entirely, simply because here you are in his arms, speaking to each other instead of covering your hurt up. “Jungkook, one of the few guarantees I have of anything is that I love you, and you love me. If you’ll be happy working with Namjoon, with moving companies, then that’s all I need to hear.”

With a low hum, Jungkook sweeps you into another hug, and you’re glad to give up what space is between you two. Enfolded in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, is about the securest place you can imagine being. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with the truth of what he’s saying.

“I love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”

“I haven’t even given you your presents yet. Here –” And you’re breaking apart again – although not really, because you can still feel the connection as a thin warmth snuggled beneath your ribs – and Jungkook bends down, picks up the item sandwiched between you two. “Feel up to opening it?”

“The mystery gift that almost broke our relationship? Yeah, I’m up to it.”

Nose scrunching, he hands it over, and in your haste to see what’s inside, you make short work of the brown packaging. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised with the first glimpse of the mahogany frame – you expected a painting – but as more of the brown rips away, you feel shivery awe cascading down your spine. Once the painting is completely uncovered, you clutch it with sweaty palms, well aware of how precious a gift you’ve been given. You’d recognize the style anywhere.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, “oh my God, Jungkook, this is one of Ayeong’s, isn’t it? You – you actually got one of her paintings!?”

The quality is unmistakable. It’s a detailed piece, zoomed in on a small, dilapidated house. Almost everything about the house is bleak; the colours are all dull greys, blacks and browns, the porch is crumbling, and the shutters over the windows are chipped and cracked in places. However, right in the center of the house, taking up a good portion of the painting, is a door flung wide open, and the inside is flooded with warm colours and details in stark contrast with the exterior. There are people inside, crowded around the entrance, laughing and vibrant, and they dominate the doorway with their collective presence. One person, the only one who is looking outward, has her hand raised in greeting, as though inviting the viewers in.

“It’s called Homecoming.”

Soft and reverent, the name feels like an echo, a reverberation of your hopes and fears, and against a suddenly blurry vision, you smile. “It’s beautiful! It’s so, so beautiful. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Do you feel like opening the rest of our presents? Or should we wait until tomorrow? We can grab your phone in the morning, too.”

Your fatigue drags at you, overwhelming even your hunger, but you try to rally, lifting your chin up. “What do you want to do? Do you want to open a present?”

His head tilts as he looks you over, a quick assessment. “I don’t have to. It’ll be nice to look forward to it later.” You’re absolutely positive he’s saying that for your sake, and it makes you just that closer to crying in gratitude for what’s in front of you.

Swallowing hard, you suggest, “How about tomorrow, then? We can…” You pause, scrambling for the memory, and then grin tiredly. “We can reset. Start over tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s laugh washes over you in cozy tides of amusement. “Now there’s a great idea. Whoever thought of it is a genius.”

With a chuckle, you carefully set the painting to the side, planning on figuring out where to put it tomorrow. As soon as it leaves your hands, Jungkook is there again, claiming the free territory. His grip firm and warm, he asks you, “Do you wanna eat? Or maybe nap for a bit?”

Your panic attacks always leave you drained, and the fact that Jungkook remembers is just another fond ache to add to the collection in your chest. “Nap,” you reply gratefully. “But… do you wanna lie down with me? Just for a bit?”

He couldn’t have looked any more solemn, or any more beautiful, if he’d tried. Squeezing your hand, he says, “I’d lie with you forever, if I could get away with it.” A second later the somber façade breaks apart, leaving a blush and a squirming, quietly giggly Jungkook.

With a snort, you pull him along with you, into the bedroom, a tightness across your chest that has everything to do with just how much you love the man next to you. “Now I know you were with Taehyung.” That makes you remember, and as you both walk to the bed, you glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Taehyung almost kissing you had to do with helping you out?”

As expected, his blush grows, painting his cheeks with a pale pink, but he surprises you by pulling you closer. With a hand under your chin, the other arm wrapped around your waist, he tilts your head up. Meeting your eyes with a tenderness that floods you with reassurance, he brushes a thumb along your lips, leaving a tingling trail. When it comes, his voice is hoarser than before, firmer. “He was trying to teach me something I already know.”

And then his mouth is on yours, steady and certain. Your lips soften against him, and time becomes languid, moving by the count of each breath that flutters against your lips. Jungkook isn’t demanding, not tonight; he kisses you sweetly, gently, conveying everything that he hasn’t managed to put into words. His body has a gravitational pull all its own, drawing you closer, and you skim your hands against his back, relishing the powerful certainty of his shoulders and the intimate confidence of his mouth on yours.

A second later, he sweeps you off your feet, and you gasp in surprise, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook places you on the bed, stands looking down at you with unmasked adoration. You open your arms, a wordless invitation that unwittingly bares the front of your top. His eyes fix on it, and if anything, they soften.

“I like your sweater,” he comments quietly, and as you laugh, he climbs onto the bed with you.

You take off the sweater in question, and your jeans and bra, easy and unhesitant in his presence. He follows suit, and then grabs your pajamas, placed as they always are at the foot of the bed. You wiggle into them, and for his part, Jungkook just throws on a pair of loose pants. The feeling of familiarity sinks into your system like a sigh of contentment, and when he pulls you against his chest, you snuggle into the embrace.

Wrapped in his arms, the smooth warmth of his skin pressed against your cheek, you let the drowsy bliss sweep over your body, and you relax, sinking against the sheets even as you curl closer to him.

Jungkook’s voice ripples against your mind, a soothing undercurrent taking you closer to sleep. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas,” you mumble. With one last faltering effort, you say, “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?” You feel the inquiring murmur just as much as you hear it, a smooth hum on your cheek.    

“Thank you for coming home.”

#thebtswritersclub #networkbangtan #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fic #bts fanfiction #my fic

[theultimateultimateweapon]

Kirby: Meta Knight and the Knight of Hades (Chapter 3)

Kirby, King Dedede, and Waddle Dee boarded the battleship Halberd.

After hearing the story, they were surprised.

“Eh!? The Galaxia has been stolen!?”

“Troublesome, Meta Knight. I guess you weren’t careful…”

Dedede was going to laugh, but when he saw Meta Knight’s enraged mood, he quickly shut his mouth.

“Then, the Meta Knight I found was a fake but his sword was real. This is terrible!” Kirby said with a furious face.

“I hope no one else was hurt with the Galaxia. If it had a heart, I think it would be sad. I’m sorry for the Galaxia!” Waddle Dee was worried.

“He may be doing bad things on other stars. Maybe he’s going to disguise himself as Meta Knight, rampage, and damage Meta Knight’s reputation…”

Captain Vul nodded. “Well, I’m worried about that too. He may be trying to destroy Meta Knight’s honor. We need to act quickly…”

At that time, the communications desk rang.

When Axe Knight hit the switch, a surprising face was projected on the screen.

Captain Vul.

Everyone was shocked, seeing Captain Vul sitting next to Meta Knight.

Taken aback, the eagle stared at his face on the screen.

The Captain Vul on the screen said with a serious look, “Meta Knight, it’s a disaster! I was kidnapped by a bad guy and locked up. That eagle next to you is a fake and is aiming for your life!”

“What did you say!?”

The Meta Knights, upset, compared the two Captain Vuls.

Sword Knight said, stunned, “The voice is the same… which is the real one!?”

Captain Vul, sitting in his seat, shook his fists and shouted. “No, I am real! Don’t be fooled~!”

Captain Vul on the screen also shouted. “Believe me, Meta Knight! I’m the real Vul…”

“Stop this nonsense.” Meta Knight said in a cold voice to the screen. “I know the real Captain Vul is here. What do you want?”

“...”

The Captain Vul on the screen suddenly gave a fearless laugh.

“Hmm, I can’t help it. As you can guess, I’m not Captain Vul. I am the best disguise master in the universe, I can transform into anyone I’ve seen before. I am Beryl.”

“I don’t care about your name. Tell me what you want.”

“It’s about this,” Beryl showed off the Galaxia. “It’s a great sword, just like the legend says. Just swing it lightly and one thing will cut in two!”

Beryl shook the Galaxia and laughed. “If you want this guy to be returned, prepare 10,000 point stars.”

“What?”

“Isn’t this your favorite sword? Compared, 10,000 point stars should be cheap.”

Captain Vul burst into anger and shouted, “You’re asking for a ransom! Monster!”

“Hmm! Don’t you want me to return it? If not, I guess this is mine.”

“Bastard!”

Captain Vul was about to hit the screen until the Meta Knights stopped him in a hurry.

Meta Knight said, “I want the Galaxia back. Tell me where to meet you.”

“Hehehe, you’re different from your subordinates. You seem to understand. The place is the planet Magnus. Come to the southern plains of the largest volcano. Ten thousand point stars, don’t forget.”

The communication was cut.

Kirby spoke. “I can’t believe it! It looked just like Captain Vul, but I couldn’t tell which one was real!”

Captain Vul looked up and said to Meta Knight, “You saw the real eagle without any hesitation! I am deeply moved by this! Thank you, sir!”

Meta Knight nodded silently. 

The knights all whispered.

(There was a fake, but he could tell them apart!)

(That was the coolest thing!)

“Meta Knight,” King Dedede spoke. “Are you really willing to pay all those point stars to that guy?”

“No way,” he replied. “We will regain the Galaxia by any honorable means.”

“In other words, you’re going to take it back with force?”

“It belongs to me!” Behind the mask, the swordsman’s eyes were shining with a strong light.

Planet Magnus.

It’s a rough star with many volcanoes. There are a few inhabitants, and the vegetation is scattered.

The Meta Knights came to the plains on the south side of the largest volcano.

What was waiting there was a sword fighter who looked just like Meta Knight holding the Galaxia.

“He disguised himself as Meta Knight again…!” Blade Knight screamed in anger.

Beryl spoke in Meta Knight’s voice. “There you are. First of all, let’s get the promised 10,000 point stars.”

“Promised? You’re a real rotten guy, you know that?” King Dedede said with a moody face. “You monster, while pretending to be Meta Knight, you rampaged through Dreamland. You should have left us alone. As Dreamland’s ruler, I’m going to make you pay, be prepared…”

“Before you attack, your majesty,” Meta Knight said.

King Dedede raised his hammer and replied. “Just leave this to me.”

“This is my fight. There is no need for you to get involved.”

“But you don’t even have a weapon.”

“I may not have the Galaxia, but this will be enough.” Meta Knight held a regular sword sold at any weapons store.

“With such a puny weapon…”

King Dedede looked dissatisfied, but Captain Vul spoke.

“For Meta Knight, any weapon is powerful. He could even use his bare hands.”

Meta Knight walked towards Beryl.

Kirby and Waddle Dee cheered aloud.

“Go for it, Meta Knight!”

“Rally, rally, Meta Knight!”

Meta Knight was full of rage. Even Kirby and Waddle Dee stopped cheering and took a breath.

However, Beryl did not seem to flinch and held tight the Galaxia.

King Dedede muttered, “He seems to have confidence in his grip, it’s not a bad grip either.”

Sword Knight, annoyed, replied, “That’s just a pose. It just looks strong because he’s imitating Meta Knight!”

While everyone was watching, Meta Knight started.

“Let’s go!” He shouted and leapt at Beryl. He lifted his sword and tried to slash at that moment.

Meta Knight disappeared.

Kirby and the other screamed involuntarily.

“What!? Meta Knight…!”

“He disappeared!?”

Beryl burst into laughter as if he had won. “Fufufu! Hahaha, it was a trap!”

“Wanna… see?”

Kirby and his friends rushed to the points where Meta Knight disappeared. 

There was a deep hole there. It seems there was a thin plate placed on the hole and covered with soil so that it could not be seen. Meta Knight hadn’t noticed and fell in.

“Oh no! Looks like your precious swordsman fell into a pitfall!”

“Meta Knight! Are you okay!?” Captain Vul called to the bottom of the hole, but there was no reply.

Sword Knight shouted, “Pitfalls don’t work for Meta Knight. You may not know, but Meta Knight can fly in the air!”

Beryl laughed louder and louder. “Fufufu! You don’t know anything!”

“What…!?”

“This hole is called ‘Magnus Hades Hole’. It’s so deep that there is a legend that it continues to Hades. Moreover, the hole is filled with poisonous gas.”

“Poisonous gas…!?”

“If you inhale it, your whole body will quickly become numb and you will not be able to move.”

“What did you say…!?”

Kirby and the others were stunned.

The immobile Meta Knight has no choice but to fall to the bottom of the deep, deep hold. And if he keeps breathing the poisonous gas…

“I’ll help him!”

Kirby was absorbed in trying to jump into the hole, but was stopped by King Dedede.

“Knucklehead! The poisonous gas could kill you!”

“But if he stays in there, Meta Knight…!”

“Fufufufu… hahahaha!” Beryl laughed. “Don’t you see? I didn’t come here for some point stars. I want to replace Meta Knight as the number one sword fighter in the galaxy!”

“Monster!”

King Dedede swung his hammer up and attacked Beryl.

Beryl quickly jumped and ran away.

“Wait-!”

Kirby tried to chase after them, but Beryl escaped quickly. He soon lost sight of them.

Captain Vul said, “Kirby, leave them alone. Now, the first thing to do is rescue Meta Knight.”

“Uh, yeah, but how…?”

“Hmm… if only there was a way to get into the hole without inhaling the gas…!”

Captain Vul pondered with his head in his hand.

Axe Knight shouted, “Captain, there’s a hose used for deck cleaning in the warehouse of the Halberd! If it’s long enough, do you think it’ll be useful!?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea!” Captain Vul clapped his hands. “Get the hose right away! Hurry up!”

Kirby and Dedede can both hover in the air. Unfortunately, King Dedede got hungry so Kirby decided to go down into the hole.

“Be careful, Kirby.”

Waddle Dee seemed uneasy, but Kirby cheerfully replied.

“It’s okay! I’ll bring Meta Knight home.”

Captain Vul shouted. “Hurry up, Kirby! We don’t have much time!”

“Alright!”

Kirby grabbed the hose and jumped into the hole.

The inside of the hole was dark and difficult to see.

Kirby went down into the dark at full speed.

He wanted to call to Meta Knight, but he couldn’t speak with the hose in his mouth. In his heart, he kept screaming.

(I’m coming! Hold on Meta Knight!)

As the name Hades Hole suggests, the hole was horribly deep.

There seemed to be no end in sight.

As he went down the rocky interior, the air felt thinner.

(How long does this last… The hose, I wonder if it’s long enough… I might really fall into Hades…)

At that moment, Kirby’s hand finally touched something hard.

(Ah! Meta Knight!)

He reached the bottom of the hole that seemed to continue forever.

Meta Knight was out cold. Even if Kirby shook him, there was no reaction.

(Firmly now…!)

Kirby held the body of Meta Knight tightly with both hands.

He was hovering as hard as he could! He was approaching the light above where everyone was waiting. Kirby sped up.

Rescued by his friend, Meta Knight was immediately brought to the Battleship Halberd.

“Meta Knight! Meta Knight-!”

Captain Vul and his men continued to speak, but Meta Knight’s consciousness did not return. His body temperature was getting lower and lower. He was hardly breathing.

King Dedede said wildly, “Hey, Meta Knight! Buddy, how long are you gonna sleep? Hey, I’ll wake you up!”

Meta Knight’s subordinates rushed to stop him when he raised his hammer.

Captain Vul said. “Calm down, your majesty. You can’t use your hammer, we need a doctor. Find the best doctor in the universe!”

The Meta Knights ran off and began to look in the database.

Kirby and Waddle Dee were sitting in the corner of the lobby drowning in worry.

“...It’s okay, Kirby. Meta Knight will be fine, right…?”

“He’ll be alright. Meta Knight is… strong.” Kirby replied, but his voice was weak.

Sword Knight and Blade Knight called out to him.

“Kirby. Let’s leave this to Captain Vul, we’re going out.”

“Eh? Where are you going?”

“We’ve decided. We’re going to catch this disguise master!”

Their voices were powerful.

Kirby stood up in a heartbeat. “That’s right. We can’t let them get away!”

“I’m going too!” King Dedede interrupted. “I’m not doing this for Meta Knight, I just don’t like that disguise guy! I’m gonna have to hit him with my hammer. And…”

Dedede was quiet.

“If he’s still disguised as Meta Knight, making him bruised will feel all the much better.”

“...Sheesh, what a guy.” Sword Knight was disappointed, but regardless, the goal was set.

Captain Vul came in. “Meta Knight will be saved. You guys go take care of this business! Go on!”

“Leave it to us!” Kirby nodded loudly.

(Chapter 2 - Table of Contents - Chapter 4)

#kirby novels #kirby #kirby of the stars #kirby light novels #translation #kirby light novel translation #waddle dee #king dedede #meta knight #captain vul #the meta knights #Kirby: Meta Knight and the Knight of Hades #I'm keeping it as Hades but I really wish it was translated to Hell instead because the Magnus Hell Hole sounds so much funnier to me

[awakening5]

Prompt: I think I’m in love with you but your sibling/best friend is my nemesis AU

Jess tysm for these prompts for which I don't actually have to write fics. This is so much fun for me. And this is a delightful AU. I considered taking it a Spidey direction. But went with a dumb teenage direction instead cuz I love the young dummies.

Peter doesn't believe in love at first sight

But he might believe in love at first extended conversation

So it's really not his fault that he falls for MJ before finding out that her best friend is Harry Osborn

Regional AcaDec championship introduces Peter to MJ. They meet at one of the lunch events, and it takes about 12 minutes for Peter to realize she is the funniest and most brilliant girl he's ever met. And even if she goes to a different school, he learns she only lives a couple blocks from him

They're likely going to face off in the tournament in the next couple of days, and he only hopes he's not too distracted by her to compete on a passable level

He's not optimistic, because he was clearly too distracted by her to realize the school she says she's from is the same school that Harry Osborne goes to

Harry and Peter have clashed several times over the last few years in various competitions like this. And Harry is everything Peter is not

His father is something of a scientist himself, and Harry has had every privilege growing up that Peter only recently gained in Tony's mentorship--but can an upgraded suit and ignored texts really compare to having a father with those resources

(Peter doesn't realize, but the answer is yes. Norm Osborne is a dick of a father)

But Peter has powers in part because of Harry--he never would have been on a spider-infested field trip to Oscorp if not for the grand battles between them--so when his rival joins MJ and Peter at the table with his expensive Vanilla Bean Mocha Frappuccino, Peter manages to stay cordial

All while falling harder and harder for one Michelle Jones

The air is tense. There's a weird possessiveness to Harry. Or maybe Peter's projecting. Maybe he's the one being possessive even though he's only known MJ for all of 30 minutes

· Still, it's so satisfying to see Harry's shock when Peter calls her MJ, and he asks, aghast, how Peter knows her nickname

Michelle tucks her hair nervously behind her ear and shrugs. "He's my friend," she says. Peter's heart is close to bursting with affection for her

After another tense five minutes, MJ finally cuts through their terse replies and (barely) veiled digs

"So what's the history here?" she asks, sounding almost bored as she waves her hand between the pair

"No history," Harry says while Peter shakes his head, "Nothing."

She looks thoroughly unimpressed, and Peter liked it better when he had been impressing her. Without Harry present

So he shrugs. In half an hour, Peter has already learned that this girl doesn't suffer bullshit. "Three years of photo-finishes at this competition."

MJ smirks. "Oh, so who has won more?"

Harry grumbles. "It would've been me if Parker didn't cheat."

"Buzzing in before you isn't cheating, Osborne," Peter replies sharply, and he doesn't miss the twinkle in MJ's eyes as she watches them. He hates that this matters so much to him, and finds it rather charming that MJ is merely amused by it

He finds everything about her charming

Except that she is somehow friends with Harry fucking Osborne

"Nobody has those fast of reflexes. You somehow rigged it to always register your beeper first"

MJ huffs, and for the first time seems more annoyed than amused. "Now that's just being a sore loser, Hair"

"Yeah, Hair," Peter bites out, but there's no satisfaction there. Because he feels a little guilty that his Spider abilities mighthave given him an edge. But he can't give up AcaDec! Isn't it enough that he didn't join the football team after leveling up?

MJ turns her unamused look to Peter, and now he feels reallybad.

"Sorry," he mumbles to her.

The conversation doesn't really evolve from there. Peter's terrified he's ruined any chance at a friendship (or more) with MJ by the way she closes herself off.

The lunch event ends soon after. And the three wish each other good luck for the rest of the competition

(Peter and Harry's exchange is so laced with sarcasm, it's clear to anyone within earshot that "good luck" means "I hope you get violently sick and spend the competition vomiting into the school-funded hotel toilet. Peter doubts Harry Osborne is staying at the same cheap motel as everyone else anyway)

Michelle shoos Harry away, and Peter's heart leaps that she lingers to talk to him.

"I did not expect to see a side of you like this," MJ tells him, eyes narrowed.

"Sorry," Peter apologizes. Not necessarily for his hatred of Harry, but that it made MJ's day worse. "Something about him that just...I don't know."

"For what it's worth," she says, "I never see him like this, either. I actually think you'd get along in normal circumstances."

Peter snorts. "I doubt that." Then he hesitates. "Or at least...I would have. But if you're friends with him, then maybe there's more to him."

She gives him a half smile. "What is it that you hate about him?"

Peter thinks about it for a moment. He can come up with some rather quick, surface-level answers. But MJ isn't a surface-level human, he's sure of it. "Probably jealous," he says, looking away. "He's got the nice car, he goes to the better school, he has every resource available to him." Peter looks back to her and shrugs. "And now I find out he gets to spend every day with you?"

MJ snorts and shakes her head at him. "Dork," she says, but Peter thinks it's a term of endearment. Fondness. "After today's competitions, you can come hang out if you want. Room 317."

"You trying to get Harry and me to like each other?" Peter asks, dubious again. "Because I seriously doubt that's going to happen in the middle of the tournament."

"No," she shakes her head. She tucks her hair back, shy. "It'll just be me."

She pecks him on the cheek, and turns, and leaves without looking back.

After staring after her in shock for a few seconds, Peter hastily writes down the number 317 on his arm, puts it in his note app, and texts it to himself.

#spideychelle #spideychelle shorts #I don't write fics anymore #just bulleted summaries and scl fics thanks

[1kook]

subdued

— good boy joon on his bday x fem reader

summary; He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way. tags; birthday boy joon, solo rapper joon, college student reader (unspecified year/age lol), this entire fic is based off THIS joon everyone look and never forget him warnings; kissing, blowjobs, grinding, unprotected, birthday sex, sub!joon word count; 5k

notes; hoooo boy, if you think my other fics were self-indulgent, this one is straight from my 3 am thoughts... anyway. i actually have the same birthday as joon so this fantasy plays off very different in daydream universe no. 794 lol but i understand not everyone is as lucky as us sept 12 babies so i adjusted it 😌

The stoplight down the street from his building takes the longest. He had warned you of its faulty mechanics the very first time you visited. It lingered on red a beat too long, wasted precious seconds you could be spending with him. It’s been the sole challenger to your patience this past year. Every time you wanted to visit him, it was this same stoplight that held you up— made the sugar in his coffee cup settle, the food in its container go cold. It absolutely dampened your mood.

Today, it’s from the back of an Uber that you watch the red glow of the light, gaze fading in and out of focus. It’s raining, the rhythmic pattering of raindrops against the wind shield hypnotizing you. There’s a styrofoam box of takeout beside you falling into the same fate as all its predecessors, tucked inside a plastic bag. It’s his favorite today, the black bean noodles down the street from your university paired with a sickeningly sweet fizzy drink. (There’s a cheap bottle of wine too, but he was never one for getting shitfaced so it had a slim chance of consumption.)

The longer the light stalls, the more nervous you become. One glance at your phone tells you it’s nearing eleven forty-nine, your last message to him just a few minutes before. It was a slew of sad faces as you apologized for the fifth time that night. Another minute ticks by and you’re suddenly hit with the overwhelming fear that you won’t make it on time.

It was Namjoon’s birthday.

At least it would be for the next ten minutes.

You hadn’t seen him all day, your usual Saturday morning brunch postponed by your conflicting schedules. You had a huge group project coming up, and the other students in your group all had lives of their own, jobs, sports, dates, that made their schedules hard to work around. Namjoon, too, was busy gearing up for the release of his mixtape, a collection of songs he had worked hard on for the better half of the year.

He had been planning for this since you first met, around this time the previous year. It was all he ever spoke about these days, which was both endearing and worrisome. Regardless of how you felt about his avid dedication towards his mixtape, you would continue to support him through it all.

You were supposed to drop by after your last class, but one thing led to another and suddenly you were babysitting your neighbor’s kids as she ran off to the hospital. You had felt bad for her, something about a relative in an accident, and had said yes without thinking through what exactly that meant. Two overexcited children and a kitchen lined in cake batter, is what it meant. Your neighbor had returned a little before eleven, and by then you were really cutting it close.

The order you placed had been ready when you got to the little restaurant, and, deciding to forgo bus stop waiting times, the Uber came quickly enough. Because things can never go your way, there was a small accident on one of the major streets that set you back, leading to your driver taking an abrupt detour that you doubt was helpful, and now you were here.

You bite down on your lower lip for probably the umpteenth time, flipping your phone around to check the time. 11:52.

The light changes a second later, your chauffeur for the evening slowly easing his foot off the break and sending the two of you one step closer to your boyfriend. The movement doesn’t ease your nerves in the slightest, foot tapping wildly against the carpeted flooring of the backseat as you think of that creaky elevator. Will it be on your side today? Or will it force you to run four flights of stairs up to his floor?

You won’t know until you get there, absentmindedly tipping the poor soul who bore witness to the rolling waves of tension that had swamped your body tonight. You can only hope it’s an appropriate bill, taking off toward the front doors of his building. The water on the sidewalk splashes beneath your frantic footsteps, tickling your bare ankles. The black boots you wore that day did nothing to save you, a small gust of cold air trying to sweep up beneath the thin material of your dress, luckily to no avail.

The front area is as empty as it usually is, though you doubt the late hour would change that. Knuckle jammed harshly against the flickering elevator button, you wait impatiently for it to descend. His small label takes up the entirety of the fourth floor, studios squeezed beside meeting rooms and offices. It was by no means a monster record label, but it had gained enough fame from the quality soloists it produced over the years; Namjoon was quickly becoming one of those. The carriage is on the fifth floor, right above his, the digital panel beside you says. It passes his floor, passes the fourth, and then… nothing.

You curse every deity in the universe as you watch it freeze on the second floor. You had been so close, you groan, kicking the tip of your shoe against the metal doors. It does nothing to fix the broken elevator, and with one heavy sigh, you turn to the flight of stairs. It was 11:54 now.

The stairway is silent, off-grey concrete walls mocking you as the time continues to tick down. Holding the plastic bag to your chest, you start up the stairs in a hurry. The rustling of the bag grows annoying quickly, your thighs aching half way up. The platforms between floors provide nearly no reprieve before you ascend the next level of stairs, heaving for air as you turn onto the final platform before his floor. Your hair sticks uncomfortably to the back of your neck.

You can’t fling the door open fast enough, heart hammering between your rib cage. The hallway is filled with blissful air conditioning, nothing like the stuffy air of the staircase. You relish in it for a second before taking down the winding halls, torpedoing straight into the room your boyfriend’s in.

“Happy birthday,” you gasp, only hoping you made it in on time. Your sudden appearance has him whirling around in surprise, dark eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets at his surprise intruder. The digital clock above one of his speakers blinks back at you. 11:59.

The surprise wears off soon enough. Namjoon melts back into his puffy chair, easy going smile taking over his features as he regards your ruffled appearance. “Jesus, what’ve you been up to?” he teases playfully, standing up to relieve you of the bag in your hand, still warm against your chest.

He brushes a kiss against your forehead, placing the plastic bag somewhere off behind him before enveloping you in your arms. “Thank you, baby,” he hums, strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. Almost immediately the tension in your body melts away, oozes out of your skin as you bury yourself against his chest. It feels good to be there, the faint cologne from that morning clinging to his white zip-up.

“Sorry I’m so late,” you murmur. Feeling comforted enough, you pull away from your hiding spot against his chest. The arms hanging loosely around your waist don’t let you get too far, low-lidded eyes staring down at you over the straight angle of his nose. “So much happened today— I’m sorry.”

Namjoon waves your apologies off as he guides you towards his computer chair. He plops down first, pulling you over to sit on his thigh. The clock ticks by, and suddenly his birthday is over. The scent of the noodles fills his dark studio, and you become acutely aware of the soft melody drifting from his speakers. Nothing too developed yet, just a simple piano with a bass drum kicking in.

“Another year, another grey hair,” he sighs, leaning back against his seat. You laugh at his dramatics, running a finger through the head full of silver hairs he’s rocking this time around.

“I fail to see the issue,” you muse, shifting about until you can loop your arms around his neck, pulling his face close enough to yours to kiss. He lets you, opening his mouth when your tongue prods against his plush, doll lips. He tastes of that energy drink you know is bad for him, the one that keeps him up way past his nonexistent bedtime. You should scold him for it, but there’s something about the way he molds his mouth against yours that makes it difficult to pull away and do so. You kiss him for a few minutes, lips casually molding against each other.

The enticing scent of the food you brought over has you pulling away with a soft smack of your lips, lazily grinning down at him. “You should eat,” you encourage, attempting to move out of his grip. If anything, the hands on the small of your back stiffen, keeping you comfortably pressed against him.

“Don’t want to,” he whines, half-lidded eyes gazing at you with that tender look. He leans back in, nudges his nose against yours until you’re moving to accommodate him again. His lips catch yours a second time, a soft sigh released on his end. His body feels like a furnace, swaddled up in that nice white tracksuit, some fancy brand he’s an ambassador for. There’s something about him that’s different today, cherry lips catching you in a daze. He seems totally aware of the pull he has over you, moving his mouth against yours like he knows he’s won you over and was now ready to dedicate the rest of the night to you.

You weren’t having any of that, at least not tonight.

Knitting your hands in his hair, you tug. You tug and tug until he’s releasing you with a whine, swollen red lips shiny from your lip gloss. It’s certainly a look on him, and as he pants beneath you, you’re left wondering why he’s chosen to be an elusive rapper when his doll-like face could easily blend into the idol world.

Another mystery you’ll never solve.

“Missed you today,” he admits bashfully, lips pulling into a shy smile he tries to hide from you. You reward his confession with a soft peck against his cheek, hands cupping his soft cheeks between your palms. Despite how easily you’d been forgiven before, there’s a tinge of a whine curling around his next words. “Who blows someone off on their birthday?” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut.

You chuckle, tracing your thumbs over his skin. They just barely brush against the corners of his mouth, the soft flesh begging to be touched. “Who spends their birthday cooped up in a tiny room?” you reply teasingly, leaning in to kiss the mole beneath his plump lips.

Namjoon inhales softly, head lolling backwards as you kiss down his chin, over his pulse point. “Was inspired,” he weakly defends, the grip around your waist growing tight. “There was a pretty girl in my dreams last night.”

“Oh?” You hum, slithering off his lap. The floor mat he has beneath his rolling chair to protect his hardwood floors is cold. There’s ridges on it that press uncomfortably into your knees. But all that is forgotten when you roll your hands over his shoulders, kiss his neck tenderly, and he groans. “How pretty?”

Your back is straining from being awkwardly stretched over him in a desperate attempt to kiss the entire column of his neck. He doesn’t make it easier, hips wiggling before you as you nip against the side of his neck. “Joon?” you coo, sliding your hands down his chest. The muscles jump beneath his zip-up, one shuddering exhale escaping him.

“R-Real fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mumbles, hands circling your shoulders. He wants to pull you close like he always does, but you can tell he’s equally as conflicted by the need to push you down onto his cock.

The front zip of his sweater gives with one tug, the clicks of the teeth coming apart following your hand down. He’s wearing a plain white shirt underneath, the beginnings of sweat clinging to the flimsy material. You place your hands around his waist, let the fabric catch over your knuckles as you glide them upwards. The sinewy muscle quivers under your touch, Namjoon’s breath catching in your throat.

When you reach his pecs, he barely contains the whimper in his throat, hands releasing you in favor of clutching at the armrest. “Please,” he huffs, the white zip-up halting you from pushing any further. “Off.”

“Of course,” you purr, pushing it over his deltoids. He doesn’t shake the sweater off completely, the sleeves catching over each other in his haste to feel you closer against his body. The t-shirt remains tugged up to his chest, held up by your wandering hands. “Relax for me, okay?” you croon, leaning forward to nip at his lower lip. The plush skin bounces back, redder than ever. He nods shakily, chest rising and falling.

You place a kiss directly on his sternum, his heart fluttering wildly just a few inches away. You feel it beneath your palm, the way it beats wildly out of rhythm for you. The music loops back around, the same melodious tune mixing with his airy sounds. You trail your mouth lower, letting it mold against the faint ridges over his abdomen.

He’s been putting on muscle these last few months. It’s a sight you only get to appreciate in moments like these. Namjoon wasn’t a flashy performer; he was too shy to wear revealing outfits, not that they particularly fit his onstage aesthetic anyway. He liked it simple and dark, wanting his words to capture people more than his looks.

It was a humble approach, really, because you don’t doubt for a second someone with looks of his caliber couldn’t pull fans with that alone. But as you said before, Namjoon didn’t like that sort of thing, and you suppose that’s why he’s declined invitations to join rookie boy groups time and again. He had worked hard to make himself known on his own, frequenting various hip hop scenes until he picked up steam. By the time you’d met him, he had his own contract, with this same company you’re currently in.

Now he was freshly twenty-six, on the cusp of releasing his first full mixtape, completely of his own creativity. His first mini-album had done extraordinarily well, but there had been a lot of outside partners and producers that pushed it along. This mixtape was one hundred percent him, a fact you couldn’t be more proud of.

What better way to treat him than to shower him in attention like this?

You press a soft kiss to his belly button, glancing up just in time to see those plush lips pull into a smile, pearly white teeth appearing in between, eyes fluttered shut. The waistband of his matching bottoms stretches easily enough, giving you a brief view of the dark underwear he’s got underneath. You let it snap back into place, relishing in the tiny gasp he gives. “You’re acting extra sweet for me today, aren’t you?” you smirk, running a palm over the bulge beneath his pants. His knuckles tighten dangerously against his armrests.

“I’m the same,” he chokes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you give his outline a teasing squeeze. “Just… lower please.”

His statement is followed with one hand on the back of your head, tentatively urging you closer to his stiff member just an inch. He’s so polite and shy tonight, cheeks tinted a nice rosy color as he looks away from your lewd expression practically salivating over the prize hidden beneath his clothes. His bottoms come down around his thighs, throbbing cock bouncing up to tap his stomach.

“Oooh,” you say appreciatively, taking him in your hand. Namjoon flinches, a groan catching in his throat as you trail your fingers over his cock. They end at the tip, swollen and red; you can’t help yourself as you duck down, kissing the tip softly. Namjoon full on shivers, hips bucking against your touch.

“Please, just... touch,” he begs, wiggling around underneath you.

You nod, pulling away to plant your hands against his hips. “Have to sit still for me, big boy,” you remind him, pushing down until his bottom glues itself firmly to the leather padding of his chair again. He does so with a huff. Clouded eyes meet yours, so beautifully framed by the blood that rushes to his face.

Despite calming him just moments before, the first kiss against his tip makes him squirm and buck like a wild stallion, your name falling from his lips like a mantra. Eventually he calms down, labored breath fanning across his chest as he watches you lower your mouth down around his cock. It twitches in your hand, one perfect pearl of cum oozing from the tip. It’s barely rolled down past his head when you strike, the tip of your tongue scooping it up quickly.

A little on the salty side, but it still makes you shudder. Above you, Namjoon isn't faring that well either. He groans, hands clenched over the armrest as he tries his best to be good for you. “More,” he says hoarsely, silver hair dangling over his eyes. It creates a curtain between you two, his beautiful expression hidden from your view.

You ease his cock down your mouth. It feels just as good as you remembered. Your knees ache from being on the ground, but you wouldn’t trade places with anyone in the world right now. An inaudible moan resonates from above you, his back going stiff the further down you swallow him. You could practically feel yourself drooling, excess saliva making his entrance into your mouth so much easier. You get about two thirds down before it becomes difficult, lips pulled taut around his swollen member. The tip is reaching dangerous territory now, nudging against the soft spot in the back of your throat.

You could gag, but that would only startle him away, make him worry about you. You don’t want that, not when he’s melting into his seat with every inch you swallow. So you push the discomfort away, focus on feeling the entirety of his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whines, shaking his silvery locks away from his eyes when he leans forward to look at you. You take extra care to bat your lashes up at him; he obviously likes the sight, his lower lip catching between his teeth for the umpteenth time that night.

When you finally surpass that initial discomfort, his cock wonderfully resting in your mouth and throat, everything becomes so much better. The drag against your lips feels almost heavenly, never mind the fact it would certainly leave the skin around there soft and tender tomorrow. It’s something you’re willing to overlook, running the flat length of your tongue against the underside of his cock to distract him.

You make one hand busy, reaching down to cup his balls. The skin is soft, but tight, like it’s taking everything in him not to bust right now. The other situates itself loosely against his hip, thumb drawing slow circles against the skin. He’s grown hotter since you’ve gotten here, like your own personal furnace.

He’s a good boy, through and through.

It had admittedly taken a while to tame his wildness; there had been a time where he would push your head down his cock the second your lips touched his mouth. Now, he fared pretty well against his own carnal instincts, blunt nails digging into the armrests in order to stop himself. Thanks to this, you’re able to pick up a comfortable pace against his cock, bobbing up and down between his thighs.

“M-More,” he pants, muscles trembling from the exertion it takes for him to hold himself back. “Please,” he throws in.

You appease him, letting go of his balls to grip the base of his cock. He hisses at the touch, hips unconsciously jumping. You hold him tight, squeezing his cock between your palm until his thighs are quivering too. The descent down his cock is easier too, no longer trying to swallow him up whole every time.

It only calms him for so long before that same plea is falling from his lips again. This time, you pull off completely, lazily jerking him off as you rest an elbow on his thigh, chin falling into your open palm as you analyze his figure. “Always need more,” you sigh, the slippery sound of your hand mingling with his little moans.

Namjoon’s jaw tightens, head falling forward until his chin touches his chest. “Would like to fuck now,” he seethes, his t-shirt growing damp at the collar from all the sweating he’s been doing.

“Is that so?” You smile. As you say this, you loosen your grip, letting your hand fall away much to his dismay. “Your clothes, Joon,” you explain, using his thighs as leverage to push yourself to your feet again. There’s creases on the skin over your knees, skin and joints tender from the position. That gets pushed to the back burner as you watch Namjoon finally fight his way out of his clothing, hands stuck in the sleeves of his zip-up.

“Off, off,” he huffs, eventually tugging it off all inside out. The shirt is next, neck hole stretched huge as he peels it away from his body.

You muffle a giggle behind your palm, placing a hand on his bare shoulder when he’s done. He’s looking at you with those same, desperate eyes, stealing your heart without even realizing. “Adorable,” you tease only to watch the blood crawl over his ears and down his neck. You throw a leg over him, his thigh pressing against yours. Before you can mount him you’re tugging off the thin jacket you’d worn that day, pawing it off until only the thin barrier of your dress is between the two of you.

With both knees pressed to either side of him, you finally show him what he wants to see. The sundress you’d worn that day makes everything so accessible. The flimsy material stretches over your ass, sits pretty around your waist to reveal your sheer panties. The sight makes Namjoon groan, eyes downcast as he fights to see your pussy. You return his gaze with a hand against his jaw. “Look at me, sweetheart,” you murmur, looping your hands around his head, finding their place on the nape of his neck first. Your fingers instinctively run through his locks, drawing an airy gasp from him.

“Yes,” he breathes, lower lip brushing against yours from such close proximity. You smile down at him, easing your core down on him. His cock pressed against your clothed panties, leaving a wet trail against the exterior side of them.

He fits snugly between your folds, hesitant hands resting at your hips like he wants to grind you down but knows better than to attempt such a bold move. You reward his behavior with a faint kiss against his cheek. “Good boy, Joonie,” you praise, barely containing your own gasp as you wiggle over his cock. “Being so nice for me today,” you sigh, grinding down against him.

Namjoon shivers, cock throbbing against your soiled panties. “Always good for you,” he groans, a trail of sweat running down from his hairline.

Another kiss is pressed against his face, this time against his cheekbone as you begin grinding back and forth. “That’s right,” you confirm, hugging him tight to your chest, until his face is practically buried between your breasts. “Even on your birthday,” you sigh, stretching a hand behind you to tug your panties to the side. The first glide of his cock against your folds has him bucking against you, a choked gasp escaping both your lips.

“I-Yes,” he cries, hands wrapped tight around you.

You bite down a whimper, his length running over every inch of your folds. It makes your toes curl when he stimulates your clit. Your attention had been solely on making him feel good tonight, that the barest amounts of pleasure to your own body was enough to make you shake. “Tell me,” you pant, moving back to grab him by the shoulders as you run against his length. “What you would do if you weren’t my good boy.”

Namjoon cries at your sudden pace, head lolling back as he fights every instinct in his body telling him to just fuck right into your inviting heat. “Can’t,” he sobs, eyes squeezed shut.

“Joon,” you growl, snapping your hips forward roughly. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head with another whimper, thigh muscles jolting beneath you. It makes you shift forward, clit running hard along his cock. “No, you’ll—“ he wheezes, fingers digging deep into your sides now. “You’ll… think I’m bad. Dirty.”

You lean forward, shove your tongue into his mouth with no warning. He moans, letting you push his tongue around until yours is halfway down his throat, licking and slurping every inch of him you can reach. You yank his head back by the hair, catching those watery eyes. “Tell me all your dirty thoughts,” you croon, lips trailing down his jaw. “Tell me them and maybe we’ll make them come true.”

Namjoon moans. “You,” he hesitates. While he does that, you reach down to align his cock with your hole, throbbing to be filled. His tip brushes along the tightened lips surrounding your entrance, reducing him to a stuttering mess. “You tell me I’m dirty,” he cries, “dirty and messy, and-and you make me beg for forgiveness just to cum, s-sometimes you don’t like it and make me d-do it again,” he babbles. “I-if you’re feeling mean y-you just edge me. Until I cry.”

You sink down on his cock, your shared arousal making the glide slippery and so wet. It’s almost too easy how he fits inside of you, your back arching as the head of his cock runs deliciously against your walls. The sensation of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock has him gasping for air.

“Until you cry?” You repeat through clenched teeth. “Like you are now?”

Namjoon trembles, hips and thighs twitching every few minutes. He nods his head, but he’s become overwhelmed by his thoughts and your touches, so the movement ends up looking more dazed. There’s a couple tears that escaped and painted pretty trails down his cheeks, one catching on the corner of that pout of his. The rest pool in the corner of his eyes, glassy just like his sweat-soaked skin.

“Happy birthday,” you mumble, brushing his hair away from his face to press a kiss against his forehead. Namjoon groans. “Fuck me, baby,” you purr, wrapping your hands around his neck again. “You deserve it.”

Namjoon lets out a loud cry at your permission, hands tightening around your hips. He wastes no time, bucking into you like a wild animal that’s desperate to cum. You don’t blame him; he’d been close to cumming down your throat, and recounting his demeaning fantasies while stuffed deep inside you certainly didn’t help.

You let him jostle you to and fro, dick slipping in and out of your pussy with an unreal amount of force. He was grunting all kinds of sounds against your shoulder, biting down on the skin like it would calm him. It doesn’t, and you already know there will be a big bruise to attend to tomorrow.

With every thrust, the head of his cock rubs against that sensitive spot in your pussy, back arching at the angle he pushes in at. It makes every hair on your body stand, the animalistic sounds he’s releasing reaching deep into your core.

It’s a brief reminder of what this man was truly capable of, buff arms and thick thighs lifting you around like you’re nothing. He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way.

Well, you liked it that way too, especially if it meant having this big strong man so pliant under your touch.

“Fuck,” you moan, holding the back of his head closer to where he’s seemingly set on bruising your entire shoulder. “Just like that.”

Your walls clench around his length, squeezing him so tight that it becomes difficult for him to move. A wail catches in his throat, his body beginning to burn out from the initial burst of energy he’d received when you gave him the go ahead. “I-I,” he pants, weakly and unevenly bucking into you. You know he’s close from the cute wavering of his speech, his usual eloquent speaking style reduced to a stuttering mess. You take pity on him, gearing your muscles up again to see him to completion.

It doesn’t take long. A few slow rolls of your hips later and he’s spasming beneath you, your name rolling off his tongue in a series of soft whimpers. He continues groaning even afterwards, hands falling limply to his sides as you finish yourself off.

The thing about this big strong body was that it burned out extremely fast, his head rolling back to give you a clear view of his fucked out features. He was tired, absolutely drained from your little moment, and such was exhibited on his lax frame. Your orgasm rolls around right after, stomach clenching. Despite the shock of pleasure that swallows you up, you can’t help the endeared smile that takes over your features at the sight beneath you as you cum.

“So proud of you,” you murmur afterwards, cupping his face in your hands to deliver a brigade of kisses against his skin. He groans in faux annoyance, letting you turn him this way and that as you shower him in affection. “My baby did so well today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, though the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “What’s there to eat?”

You snort, pushing yourself off of him. You wiggle your panties and dress back into place, tossing him his discarded shirt as you make toward the noodles. They’ve probably gone cold by now, neglected in favor of fucking like two bunnies in heat. Still, you give them a poke. Just as you’d predicted, they’re way too cold to be edible, a fact which greatly saddens Namjoon.

You weren’t having any of that, especially not on his birthday (it was 12:49 now, but technically, it’s still his birthday until he goes to sleep), which is why you make him pack everything up right away. “I’ll heat them up at my place,” you assure him, patting his bum as he whines at the sudden relocation. He’s tugging his zip-up on, the collar tugged all the way up for him to hide the lower half of his face behind.

It doesn’t stop you from pressing a kiss over where you know his mouth is.

“Come on,” you grin, waiting for him to lock up his studio. He falls into step beside you, grudgingly throwing a hand around your shoulders. You beam up at him, leaning onto your toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make you cry at my place,” you promise, relishing in the dark flush that floods the apples of his cheeks.

Copyright © July 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#ksmutclub #networkbangtan #kim namjoon smut #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #rm smut #bts smut #kim namjoon fic #mine

[some-dr-writings]

v3 girls x SHSL Toy Maker

Kaede Akamatsu:

·       Your girlfriend loved your toys. She’d always gush over them and would so happily watch as you worked away on any project without a care in the world. Her favorites though were the wooden ones, just seeing how you chiseled, sanded and worked with the wood was just so interesting to her.

·       Obviously, you gave her a toy piano for her birthday once, and it immediately was her most cherished possession. It was tiny, just big enough to be played with one hand, so Kaede took it wherever she went, keeping it close as a reminder of you and her most favorite thing in the world. It actually took her quite a bit of time to get used to it, but once she had mastered it, she’d play it whenever she wanted should there not be a piano around.

·       “Hey, how’s my pianist do- oh?” As you entered the dressing room you found Kaede playing you little toy piano. “Ah, Y/N! I thought no one aside from the performers were allowed backstage.” “Yeah… but who ever said I wouldn’t break the rules. I just had to come see you before the recital!” You eagerly sat beside her, just needing to get closer to that entrancing smile. “Getting in some extra practice before the big performance?” “Actually, no.” “Hmm?” She sheepishly laughed, holding your little piano close. “Just calming my nerves. Since I thought I couldn’t have you by my side, I started playing your piano. It’s helped a lot.” It became a tradition for Kaede to play you piano before any performance. It was able to calm her no matter what song she played on it.

·       Whenever it was out of tune, even just a little she’d immediately take it to you for repairs. It was usually a quick fix, but she still loved watching you work away on repairing it.

·       You also began making little music boxes for yourself. Though not pianos, you placed in Kaede’s favorite songs and before going to sleep, would wind one and have it play should the pair of you be apart. Sometime you’d even send her one so she’d know you were thinking of her.

    Kirumi Tojo:

·       Like for everyone else, she wanted to be our maid and assist you in whatever way she could and help you become even greater than you already were. “Oh, uh… Sorry, but I don’t need anything. I won’t want much either. I’ve heard how people you work for become amazing and stuff, but… I’m happy with my simply life. I don’t want it to get any greater than this. Honestly, only reason I came to Hope’s Peak is so I’d have an excuse to make more toys without my guardians telling me to study more. I’d be happy to be your friend though! Are there any toys you liked as a kid, I know I could make a nice one for you!” On occasion you’d amuse Kirumi and accept her assistance, but for the most part you’d simply decline and ask if you could make anything for her.

·       Kirumi truly just enjoyed helping others, there was nothing else she wanted so it seemed no toy would be of satisfaction to her, only after getting together did you finally come up with something. “A doll?” “Yeah! If somehow you can’t find anything to do for anyone, you can serve the doll. Its pockets are filled with requests for you to do for it, and if this doesn’t feel like real requests to do for you, I request that you care for the doll when you have nothing else to take care of!” “I will do my utmost to fulfill your wish.” You didn’t think Kirumi would actually play with the doll, but the smile on her face at finally receiving a request from you was enough to make you know it was worth it.

·       Surprisingly on occasion you would see Kirumi entertaining the doll, whether it be it be having tea parties, or one of the many other requests you had written down. You eventually found out that no matter where Kirumi went, she took the doll with her in case she had a moment of free time she could dedicate to it. You were her partner after all, though she did so for everyone, for you especially she wanted to complete your requests to the best of her abilities. And thought it never came up in conversation, she always had it around because she liked having something you had placed so much time and effort into just for her nearby.

   Himiko Yumeno:

·       Both being entertainers of sorts you both immediately clicked, you both loved making others smile and bringing joy to them through your work.

·       Not only did you and Himiko become romantic partners but business partners as well, you making and selling various toys based off of Himiko, her magic, and of her ‘familiar’ as well. They were a big hit with both children and adults. Sometimes you and Himiko would have long discussions bouncing ideas off one another about what toys to make next. An action figure? A wand? Perhaps some stuffies or a magic broom stick? On occasion one of you would start to go more abstract like suggest something like a pinball machine or soundboard, maybe even a skateboard. Sometimes it became a sort of competition for who could come up with the most outlandish, yet realistic and feasible items to make and sell.

·       Often you’d spend your time whittling away making toys for Himiko, she rather enjoyed them, no matter what they may be. She also liked watching you make them. You were so skilled with those fingers and many other things like woodworking, sewing, painting, and other such things. Sometimes she’d toy with the idea of you being her assistant.

·       You always had Himiko test your toys to make sure they worked properly if they were more electronic in nature or some such.

·       You both liked doing whatever you could to support one another through your own pursuits, you were simply great partners for one another.

   Maki Harukawa:

·       Being with you always felt… nostalgic to her, especially when you made toys for younger children. How you were so tender, kind, and respectful to them, you reminded her of how many of the older kids at the orphanage acted when they weren’t tired and annoyed at having to be babysitters all the time.

·       You had taken to making and donating toys to orphanages, mostly to the one Maki was from though. You were only one person so you couldn’t make many too quickly, but what you did make was durable and could last for several generations while still being fun and not needing too much maintenance.

·       You also gave Maki toys on occasion and would play with them with her. Since she had to spend most of her childhood training you wanted to give her a little something to let her indulge in just being carefree for a time. She cherished these gifts and moments almost more than anything else. Being with you was always just so nice and peaceful.

·       You taught Maki a few things like how to sew. It took a long time, there were many failed attempts and bleeding fingers, but she eventually got the hang of it. She’d sometimes help you with your projects or even repair some of the kids’ clothes, it started with simple things like you asking her to connect two basic pieces or her adding a patch to some pants, eventually though she was able to do more complicated things. She made a doll for you and a few for the kids. In return for all that you had taught her, Maki would teach you self-defense. Though unlikely it was not impossible for a person to attack you one day so she wanted you to be safe. In her line of work, she couldn’t be attached to anyone, but now you and Kaito and Shuichi and others were in your life, she had connections to people she wanted to be around, so even if it wasn’t much, even if it wasn’t enough to save you should you become an assassin’s target, you could at least not be too troubled by our average crook.

·       You were her irreplaceable partner, she adored you, and for as long as she could, she’d keep you as close as she could, just making little toys with you.

   Tenko Chabashira:

·       She adored everything you made, gushing over how adorable it all was. And she showed every last toy off, much to your embarrassment at times. She was rather loud with her affection, making it so that the whole world knew. Even complete strangers would know the pair of you were partners and that according to your girlfriend, you made the best toys the world had ever known.

·       Often Tenko would drag Himiko into testing your latest creations in order to make sure they worked correctly.

·       Tenko insisted that you teach her how to make toys and she teach you Neo Akkido. She’d say that learning her form of Akkido would help you be a better toy maker, and her learning how to make toys would help her improve her Neo Akkido.  You had no idea how in the world this could work, but just about any excuse to spend more time with your girlfriend was a good excuse in your book, so you eagerly agreed…

·       The training was much more than you expected. She didn’t teach you anything and just went straight to fighting you full force, and you just had to make up your own form to keep up and avoid getting too injured, but you did learn how to fight so her training did work.

·       You were much more gentle when it came to teaching her though her energy and enthusiasm could cause problems at times like accidentally knocking over items and the like. At least it was still fun.

·       Being together could be rather chaotic at times, but it was well worth it.

   Tsumugi Shirogane:

·       Your friendship began with a bet and through it a more romantic relationship bloomed. Tsumugi was showing off a very expensive, limited edition figure she had just gotten in the mail. “Wait, how expensive? But it’s so cheap! You should get your money back, or at least at a discounted price.” Obviously, this comment ticked off the girl, and a bet was made, if you could make a figure of the same character of higher quality that could simultaneously be less expensive from the cost of materials, you prove your point, if not you’d have to apologize to Tsumugi.

·       Not only did you win the bet, Tsumugi absolutely loving your figure, but you had also accidentally won her heart in the process.

·       Tsumugi still bought merchandise of her favorite anime and you always made such things for her despite that, though she did teach you why the official merchandise was so important to her. Often you’d end up analyzing the items whether they still be in the package or not, differing what it’s true price would be without the brand association. If it didn’t match you’d make your own version for Tsumugi which happened more often than not, but the few times you deemed the product worth the price it was a pleasant surprise.

·       Being deft at sewing and many other skills you often assisted Tsumugi in making her cosplays! She even convinced you to indulge in her passion as well. You much preferred making them, and seeing others wear them, but play-acting as the characters could be fun.

·       Sometimes when Tsumugi was at cons or other such similar events, she’d send you toy she found that you might like or might inspire your work. She’d also send you materials for your work, maybe even have you keep some for her own work.

·       Sometimes you’d watch whatever anime Tsumugi was most recently obsessed with when she was away. It was something to remind you of her in particularly lonely moments. Tsumugi would do something similar, play with the toys you had given her.

·       Though things could be rocky on occasion, you were able to work things out and you couldn’t want for another partner.

   Angie Yonaga:

·       “Oh my, how divine! I’m sure Atua has blessed you for such wondrous art!”

·       Angie completely adored and whole heartedly loved your toys, always calling them your art. Whenever she found you working, she always left you be as to not distract you, knowing she’d want you to do the same if she were working on her art. She’d even go out of her way to get more materials for you if she had noticed if you were starting to run low or if you were using one particular material a lot for a time. If any of your tools broke or needed repair, she already knew just the place to get another one of high quality.

·       As one ‘blessed by Atua’ you were the only person she allowed to be in the same room with her as she worked, as long as you were working as well. This was for two reasons, one, to not distract her and two, so that Atua may take possession of you too and help make your creations even more wonderful!

·       Though she never needed inspiration, because she had Atua, she would go walking around town with you to do whatever, giving you a new change of pace, which would hopefully help you get out of your rut and be filled with new creativity to create more!

·       Even with her colorful background, she understood you more than most others ever could when it came to your work. She would do anything to assist you, because aside from her god, you were the person she loved most.

   Miu Iruma:

·       “Hey, you’re the toy maker, right?” “Yes?” “You can make adult toys, right?” “What do you take me for!?... Of course I can!” “Oh ho ho, This’ll be fun!”

·       Miu was certainly an interesting client turned partner. Whatever you made, she wanted to add improvements to it, no matter how off the wall it may be. She was in inventor after all so tinkering with toys likely just came naturally to her.

·       What you did find surprising though is that she never wanted you to make anything sexual for her. She never admitted it directly, but she always just wanted normal toys. Model train sets, bouncy balls, remote control cars, simple things like those. Often, she’d end up ‘enhancing’ them in her own way, yet still, she wouldn’t ask for anything else. For as lewd and crude as she could be there was something about her that was also young at heart in a way, in fact that could be why she was so loud and overconfident much of the time. But then you’d remember that you’re teenagers and you were sounding like an older person with this line of thinking and would stop yourself.

·       Miu would insist on working in her lab so she could make tweaks to your designs as you were making them. Things usually got out of hand like making a toy robot that could turn into a cannon and shoot fireworks, or it’d have rocket fists powerful enough to knock out a full grown, healthy adult. Not long after making such items Kokichi would pop up, asking to borrow your toys, and who were you to deny him, toys were meant to be played with, and inevitably not long later you’d hear of Kokichi’s latest prank involving whatever toy Kokichi had borrowed from you and Miu, often getting a laugh out of her.

·       Things usually got out of hand rather quickly when you were with one another, but it was a fun, calm sort of chaos

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