#The table getting longer and larger as the family grows even if not there yet
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have a very early wip of a tea party :>
This is @phoenixcatch7 's Possessed Doll Au
#idk why but I was hit with the vivid image of the puppets holding a music box that guides whoever they're calling to down through the caves#Each song different yet the same for each of them#Behold Bruce's first time to the Dollhouse lol#Idk if it's canon to Phoenix's but honestly I like to think that the first doll Bruce encountered was the one that'd eventually be robin#Since he was a child when he fell down in the well and into the tunnels beneath#batman au#bruce wayne#possessed doll au#possessed puppet au#sketch#art#First time down there it's more cave like but as time goes on it shifts#Some of it from them working on stuff and others on its own#The table getting longer and larger as the family grows even if not there yet#The puppets know when to emerge from the shadows and join the others at the table#I like to think the patriarch puppet is damaged the first time Bruce goes down#maybe mimicking a certain father's wounds before he died but maybe not still debating that#god i love this au#Honestly their eyes are empty like sockets because they don't have the lights or glass yet#just darkness :)
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Sweetie, I know you're very busy, so I won't push you, you have a lot of requests that needed to be done, so I will let you take all the time in the world.
You know in the beginning of the story of Thomas Hewitt where he refuses to leave the slaughter house. Well I thought of a different twist. Instead of being told to leave or forced to in an insulted way, the boss called his S/O girlfriend to talk senses to Thomas and try to make him leave.
With her kind nature and understanding, she kindly talked him into leaving his work station without insults or force, and that she reassures Thomas that they will find a way to support the family.
Being called to bring Thomas Hewitt home when he refuses to leave on his last day of work:
Nothing could get through to Thomas, he wasn't listening. Not to the scoffed remarks from his co-workers as they left their last shift at the meat processing plant, nor to the demands from his boss that he just go home. The factory was closing down and today was everyone's last shift, at least for those who stuck around this long, but they had all left about an hour ago. Thomas, however, remained.
After growing frustrated with the larger man ignoring him, Thomas' boss headed back up to his office and made a phone call.
Barely any time passed before the doors opened again, you cautiously entering the building. You knew it wasn't exactly the safest of places to work, one of the many reasons it was shut down, so you decided to just be careful where you stepped.
Thomas didn't even see you enter, mindlessly doing his job instead, chopping meat. It wasn't until you placed your hand on his arm that he noticed he wasn't alone, pausing as he turned his head to look at you, some tension leaving his muscles when he saw your face.
"Hey Tommy, you alright?" your voice was soft and gentle, the complete opposite to how people spoke to him all day at work. "It's time to come home...me and Luda May made a pie, your favourite" you told him, hoping to entice him a little.
Your attempt to motivate him was met with a huff. You understood, Thomas was annoyed about the two of you 'wasting food' when he had just lost his job.
"You deserve a little treat, we know it's a tough day" you explained yourselves.
Still, Thomas barely seemed to be listening to you, sliding another hunk of meat along the table and bringing his cleaver down, cutting through it with ease.
"Hey, it's over, Tommy. They aren't going to pay you for hanging around..." you sighed, telling him what he already knew, gently stroking your hand up and down his arm.
With a silent sigh, Thomas hung his head. You knew how people thought of him, they never tried to hide it, often voicing their thoughts without shame. They probably thought Thomas was too dumb to understand that the place was closing, that he didn't have a job anymore, that he didn't have to keep showing up.
You, however, knew the truth. This was the family's only source of income, Thomas had supported the family since he became an adult, he couldn't stand the thought of no longer being about to support his family, to support you. He would feel guilty about things that were out of his control, including this, but it wasn't his fault in the slightest.
Thomas understood what was happening, and that's why he was struggling to accept it.
"We'll figure it out, okay? Whatever it takes, we'll figure out how to support the family. I know Hoyt refuses to leave but maybe we can find something in another town..." you thought out loud, trying to reassure him but also being aware of just how bad the situation was, "I haven't got it all figured out yet but we'll figure it out together...but you have to come home now."
Finally, Thomas turned to you, letting you see his eyes properly, also letting you see the tears brimming in them.
"This isn't your fault and it's not your fault that bad things happen to good people" you reassured him with a small smile. "We're going to figure it out, I promise" you knew it wouldn't be easy, but you meant every word.
Thomas sighed, placing the cleaver down finally. "I love you, Tommy. No matter what, we'll have each other, right?" you placed your hands on either one of his arms.
Thomas nodded, believing that you would all figure it out because he knew you wouldn't lie to him. He wished he had just a little bit of your optimism. With a sweet smile, you leant up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.
Stepping back, you took Thomas' hand in yours and started walking towards the door. Before you left, you looked up at the window of the supervisor's office that overlooked the floor. His boss was standing by the window, watching you both.
You just nodded up at him and he nodded in return. You weren't a fan of the man by any means, he hadn't been the kindest to Thomas either, but you were grateful that he had called you to handle the situation.
Nobody in town seemed to understand your relationship, just as they didn't understand Thomas, including his supervisor. However, a part of him began to understand as he watched you talking to your silent partner. You clearly loved him dearly, just as he loved you. You understood him when nobody else was willing to try.
And now, even with times getting harder with every passing day, you vowed that you and Thomas would figure it out together. The Hewitts weren't the kind to give up, they would figure it out.
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i'll just give you one request because you might be stressing and i don't wanna disturb someone
Jack the ripper or maybe poseidon or any ror character you like (if you want) adopts a child reader that is apathetic or lacks many things in their life (like sympathy from poseidon)
maybe angst and comfort
Walls
𖥔 Poseidon x Gn!Child!Reader
𖥔 Synopsis: Poseidon don't know how to comfort the child
𖥔 What's in the web: familial, hurt/comfort, unedited
Nothing eating at your head, there was always something missing. Every time you held his rough hands, there was something missing, when he brought you to the maid. She was gentle to the touch while he was an edge to be messed with.
As a child of misfortune, Poseidon didn't relieve the pain in anyway causing your discomfort to grow as the days flew past. Bitter days flashed anew as you waited in his quarters to take you to the maid. He knew really knew what to do with you, it was a simple guessing game that he continuously failed.
He truly wanted to try even after being convinced to have a child of his own. It was purely on impulse, but he really wanted to try. So maybe today will be different, maybe you can hold his hand longer than the three minutes it takes to leave you with the maid.
The odd staring of his blue eyes and the tapping of his finger against the table were the only thing heard in the room. His mind wandered somewhere else as you shifted in the uncomfortable gaze. Honestly, he doesn't know what to do.
At this point, he's willing to go to Zeus, of all people, to help him with the problem being you. He didn't want to, but he's the closest person he knows who has kids of their own. Even after asking for his advice, he didn't think he was up to it. A clawing at his heart at something so easy to do, yet failure reaching in.
Patience.
He brought his hands together and squeezed them until his knuckles turned white. How was he supposed to do something as hard as that when he barely knows what to do with you. Another piece of advice from his brother just popped in.
Spend time together.
Poseidon hated going out if it didn't have any importance beside work and he's not about to go out for a child. A sigh left his lips. Maybe this is important. A child is important no matter how he looked at it and he couldn't ignore you for too long.
Everything rushed back to him, back to the depths of his childhood. Seeing his brothers smile so happily and enjoy his presence gave him life. You didn't feel that way, no parents, no siblings. He just couldn't understand. He was thinking that maybe this was a selfish idea but he had no other desire.
"(Y/n)?" He called.
You looked at him, spoon held up and wide doe eyes stared into his soul. He can't fathom that soulless stare, one that could know all his feelings and memories.
"What would you like to do today?"
There it was. Your beady eyes rose in excitement as you dropped the spoon once the words came to be. He swallowed the saliva sitting in his mouth too scared to even move an inch. He watched as you got off the wooden chair and made your way to him.
Your tiny little hands reached for his larger ones, soft caresses you gave to him once they reached. You lead him away to your room, his eyes darting to childish room filled with different colors. His eyes landing back to you as books accompanied the space between you two.
"You want me to...read?"
You nodded your head in excitement. A smile adorned his lips once he fully recognized what just happened. You were a child with since childish wants that he couldn't help but see you as an adult. But don't get me wrong, he's not going to treat you that way forever.
He sat in a little purple chair while you sat beside him. His voice filling the room as you held onto every word that slipped past his tongue. And finally, a smile then adorned that face of yours. One he couldn't help but appreciate.
#zodiac's web#ror x reader#snv x reader#scenarios#record of ragnarok poseidon#shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon#poseidon#ror poseidon#poseidon x reader#ror poseidon x reader#snv poseidon#snv poseidon x reader#gn reader#gender neutral reader
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Signed, Viktor | 11/18
Transcript:
Resident impromptu marine biologist,
The flowers are thriving, you can see them from even the sidewalk below your balcony! I didn’t doubt you could grow them from just cuttings, but I’m still a bit relieved because, to be honest, I picked the types solely on their names. Fuchsia is simply too interesting of a word for me to dismiss.
Speaking of thriving, I’m sure the “mermaid” is doing just as well. Perhaps you shouldn’t have convinced that child the manatee was really a lost species, but I suppose that’s what he deserves for pounding on the glass so much - he should prototype inventions of the Talis family.
As you know, I lived near a river in the Undercity, but our visit was the first time I had seen anything larger than a minnow or crawfish. It was simply magical, though we probably shouldn’t have gotten candy floss before the whale show - after the splash, it seemed more like a disappearing act. I wasn’t aware creatures could grow that large! Rio was already a spectacle to me, though it was most likely because of how small I was at the time.
I’m sorry for cutting this reflection short - I realize our visit was already a week ago anyway, yet that doesn’t stop it from rebounding around my head like you did from glass pane to glass pane. I understand you were excited, but that won’t stop me from reminding you that you identified staff members inside the tanks cleaning as different species of fish twice.
Instead, I wanted to speak of last night, hopefully while seeming as much as like I am directly talking to you as I can. Ironic when I could quite literally do so by simply knocking on the door to your quarters, I know, but I thought it would be the most fitting in a letter - at least, the most sentimental. (Not to mention that I am tremendously anxious, but I’d rather not think of it at the moment.)
Speaking of sentimental, did you know that the café - the one we had our first meeting off school grounds at - has closed down? I could hardly believe it when I saw it this morning since I wanted to surprise you with a drink, but I've heard they're merely moving, so it should still be nearby.
Also, do you happen to remember the sachet of herbs you gave me? I know you told me it was only an old wive's tale that it helps with allergies, but I genuinely feel that my sinuses are clearer. If only all ailments could be cured so easily.
Wait, I'm getting off track - I can't believe I've had not one but two tangents in writing. I promise these notes aren’t usually this nerve-wracking, but this letter carries considerable weight; so much so that I am delivering it myself (again, a bit redundant, but I like to think it adds to the charm).
If there is one thing I may ask of you, it would be to please not think of me any differently.
Because of last night, an internal cauldron that I have been carrying for quite a while has finally boiled over. It had been brewing ever since you shook my hand across the library table, but the last evening simply pushed it over the edge. Everything about it seemed tailored to pull me to that realization; from our journey in continuing to find out which key belonged where to chasing those discoveries to the water wheel outside.
We didn't trade many words sitting on that ledge, but I'd never felt closer to somebody. I know I've told you I’m not one for physical affection, even avoiding an embrace or two from you, but I regret it immensely. Goodness, I think that plant from so long ago had held you longer than I ever have.
However, I have reason to believed that has all changed. Because of you, I've found out why people hug, why friends link arms, why a single pat on the hand can be important, why a brush on the shoulder can linger for hours. Yesterday, and so many days before, I felt, well... received, I suppose. I couldn't play with the Zaun children, I couldn't travel with the academy students, but I don't have to with you - because there's nothing else I want to see.
I felt like with my arms around you, I never had to leave that spot, never had to pick up my cane again, like I could merely drink in your happiness and live forever.
Above all, you've stirred the heated coals of my lost faith in myself and my scientific proficiency into a renewed smolder; that aspect heated the cauldron before I even saw your face. A little drop of dreams can only go so far, but you've turned both yours and mine into a river.
And I don't plan on building a dam anytime soon. Like we have all these months, I still want to dodge flashlights in the dark with you, to formulate increasingly outrageous excuses when they inevitably land on us, to ensure that you get more from this academy than an assistant job and a metal brace. To put it simply, I'm sure you've heard of the term "Cupid's arrow". In my case, he must've used a rifle - and he's a terribly good shot.
Perhaps this is all a bit forward. I hope you are not uncomfortable or feel obliged to be mutual in this, anything but that. I just felt it was only right to tell you. After all, are we not for progress?
By botanical (though maybe not scientific) terms, the tree of my life had become barren, and I could barely remember when my potential was a promise instead of a regret. When you came to sit under its branches they not only bore fruit, but also more types than I could ever imagine. I’m not certain of much in this world, but I know indefinitely that you are beautiful and that I want us to pick every fruit on that tree until the only thing left for us is to touch the stars.
I don't know, I may be overcomplicating this. In the end, I only have to use a few words to describe how I feel.
I love you.
♥ Viktor
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#signed viktor#arcane viktor#viktor/reader#viktor x reader#viktor#viktor x you#viktor arcane#viktor league of legends#arcane#arcane x reader#arcane fic#arcane fanfic#arcane league of legends#netflix arcane#league of legends x you#league of legends x reader#league of legends#league of legends fanfic#viktor the machine herald
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@aphfrainweek
I am very sorry this is late, i hope you still accept late entries.
This is a mix of days 2,4 and 5. Garden/Friends to lovers/ Historical, i did lay on the shit a bit thick ngl
"Antonio, your garden is very beautiful, how did you get everything to flower like this?" An awed France said as he walked around, it was messy and overgrown, but in the best way, there were plants everywhere, emitting some of the best scents he had smelled, the flowers were bright and colourful, some larger than he ever thought was possible naturally, old creepers climbing up the sides of the house with red and yellow flowers, large and fresh, despite the plant being perhaps hundreds of years old.
Spain flushed, he really liked when people admired his plants, he put so much work into raising them and it felt nice to have his work acknowledged, most people called him lazy for his garden being so wild and untamed, but he liked it that way, why should he keep his plants in a small box and not let them flourish to their full potential, they were meant to be wild not tamed? "I just water them and give them good sun that is all!"
France puts his hand on Spain's waist as he admired the garden, its fragrances and beautiful sights, being much like how Francis viewed Spain himself, beautiful and, not graceful but wild and untamed, like the wild mess that was his garden. Beautiful, chaotic and so very interesting to talk to.
France was usually one to flirt with everyone and anyone, it was his whole vibe, but with Spain it was different, it had always been different, even since they were younger and under the command of the mighty Roman empire, back then, neither had been too sure about themselves, I mean who would be, they both had just been conquered and forcefully brought into some semblance of unity, France had always admired how Spain fought, even back then, with a gladiolus too big for him yet defeating all but France himself.
In the 1500s when Spain had started to grow powerful, greedy and power-hungry, while France was still a backwater of Europe, fighting its neighbours (mainly England) like cats and dogs, back then Francis admired the courage and power of Spain, and he was starting to realise that this wasn't just platonic.
In the 1700s, France was growing more powerful by the day, a new wave of imperial scum as China had called it, while Spain, by no means weak, but no longer at its peak, tried to hold on to power with a white-knuckled grip, marrying into all sorts of royal families to keep his power, the balls and all the weddings.
The 1800s rolled around France admired him even then, even as he could tell his power was dimming, but to him, Spain was still the greatest and most powerful empire he had known, the scourge of the seas and his heart, never leaving it be, for each time they looked at each other, each time they danced with each other, all he could think of was how beautiful and wild he was, dancing a lively waltz in starched up clothes and talked quietly into the night on the table, debating on many things, Law, history, philosophy, he ignited a spark in France that nobody else ever had and he doubted ever will again.
After the 1950s the two had become good friends, with the occasional romp in bed, leaving both extremely satisfied, but Francis was tired, the man had had control over his heart for centuries, long centuries of pining and waiting for the right time to strike, but he always thought that maybe, just maybe he could wait some more.
Waiting, Waiting, Waiting.
Was this all his life was to become now?
Waiting for the right moment to confess his undying love for a man he had been admiring from afar for years, for centuries, and now he was closer to him than he had ever been before, he wanted to confess, with all the soul he had left, but he didn't want to ruin what they had right now either. He didn't want to ruin the soft trust that had emerged between the two, the friendship and allyship so hard to find in nations, many being hard heated from years and years of war and fighting, but they had a bond, hard to break and even harder to forge, and Francis wanted not to ruin it.
It hurt.
It hurt so much seeing France like this, there always seemed to be a cloud over him, throwing him deep into his thoughts when near Spain, there was always such longing on his face, so potent and pure that Spain never knew what he was thinking about, and today, today he decided to ask.
"France, Mi amigo, what are you thinking about?"
The earnesty in that voice, it made Francis hurt.
"Oh, it's nothing Antonio." France said breathily, most people he could deceive with such an act, but he could feel that Antonio wasn't buying it by the way he looked at him, those olive green eyes searching him, like they used to all those moons ago in the fancy Balls of the 1800s as they danced, bodies close and intimate during the slower nocturned and etudes, and flying about eachother in the fast paced, high energy waltzes that were mandatory for their kind back then.
"No, no, youre thinking about something, tell me Francia?."
France sighed, maybe now was the right time, maybe, maybe, maybe.
"You know when you really love someone, in a romantic way, but youre close friends with them, and you are scared, scared that admitting your love for them will break the fragile friendship that you took so long cultivating, and it just weighs down on your soul for years and years, until it becomes a deep rooted part of whatever bastardized soul we have, the years go by and you grow slightly less hopeful each time, but the flame still burns strong, no mtter how much you tell yourself it wouldn't happen?"
Antonio nodded, not seeing where this was heading.
Francis had a pained look on his face "I-I...feel this way about you Antonio. I really do."
He looked so sad, so utterly distraught that he let his treacherous heart admit it to the very man he loved.
But instead of, as he feared, Spain yelling, or telling him off or something.
Nothing of the sort happened, instead Spain crashed his lips against France's without warning, and hugged him tightly, Spain noticed two small wet patches on his shoulders where Francis's head lay, and his body shook and trembled under Spain’s grip.
"I love you, Francis, I love you too,"
#aphfrainweek2022#fbdjsn yes i only made on entry im sorry#frain#the heam writes#France has simped for spain since lord knows when
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Nuts and Dolts Week DAY 7 - Reunion
Day 7 of @nuts-and-dolts-week, and look another AU version(though who knows maybe it might come true...please CRWBY🥺)
Anyway hope you’ll enjoy the story and are ready for the finale tomorrow.
Penny was extremely nervous, checking her hair and makeup again in the mirror. A small part of her brain told her that this was just the panic talking to her. However, a larger portion kept telling her that something was amiss, and she just didn’t see it.
“Penny!” her father called out, “are you coming down for breakfast?”
“Almost father!” she responded as she finally just turned away from the mirror. She had numerous plans and backup plans all ready for this day. Already she had crossed off thirty percent of her accumulated plans, and that number was only growing. Swiftly she did a final check of her outfit. It was a lighter style of her normal outfit, the sleeves significantly reduced and much of the fluff of her winter outfits was not present. She also had finally nailed a new swathe of colors for her outfits. The greens and whites where still dominate, but now she had started adding highlights of maroon and silver.
A soft smile teased its way on her face as she looked at her new colors. Ruby had done so much for her, awakening her true self, saving her twice, and even taking her on her first ice cream outing. Yes, that was important and yes, she did enjoy the mint chocolate chip.
“Penny!!” her father shouted again.
“Coming!” Penny shouted as she did a quick scan of her plans, before dashing out of her room.
“Slow down Penny,” Her father Pietro chuckled at his daughter’s exuberance, “We’ve still got plenty of time before they arrive,”
“Forty-five minutes and eleven seconds to be precise father,” Penny chirped, though she did sit down at their small dinner table. Pietro couldn’t help but give her a rueful grin. Sure, she no longer was directly connected to the CCTS but throughout her recovery she had made it a point to regain her old accuracy.
“Right you are,” he stated as he slides a plate of pancakes in front of her. “Just enough time to enjoy your breakfast, with your old man,”
“Thank you, father,” Penny said as she leaned up to give him a kiss. The past year or so had been a wonderful for the two. They had finally had time to properly bond as a family. No military oversight, no classified information being withheld, and nothing to call them away from each other. Sure, her father was busy at times with his projects around Vacuo, but he could easily come back home if she needed him. Likewise, he could check on her when she went exploring and training. In the end the two had solidified their family again, and if Penny was honest, it felt even better.
Penny sighed as she took a bite out of her pancakes. She was never going to get used to these fluffy treats Nora had shared with her. Not to mention the numerous toppings one could put on such stacks added so much potential to a breakfast. Her father turned on the tv, and the buzz of the daily news drifted through. It was this calm atmosphere that Penny had grown accustom to in the mornings, and yet her earlier nerves were coming back in force.
Pietro, having gotten time to know his daughter, could see such signs now.
“It will be fine Penny,” he stated, drawing Penny’s gaze toward him “I doubt your friends are going to be disappointed with just spending time with you,”
“I…it’s just that it’s been so long,” Penny said, a bit of sadness entering her voice, “what if something’s changed—”
“Oh, something definitely will have changed,” Pietro chuckled, earning himself a glare from his daughter.
“Father, you know what I meant,” Penny said annoyed, “It’s just that—”
“That you’re over thinking Penny,” Pietro cut in as he gave a hug to his daughter, “you get that from me,” he said grinning as he spotted a smile on his daughter’s face again. Fortunately, the weather report came up and took Penny’s attention. Some of her plans required specific weather patterns.
Of course, no amount of additional information could change when they had to leave, and soon Penny found herself standing at the entrance of the airship gate, alone. Her father had work, which she had known would happen. Not that he didn’t offer to stay with her. She however needed to do this herself. At least that’s what she told herself.
Seconds turned to minutes and that turned into an eternity for her. She knew the darker thoughts her brain was currently hitting her with was just that, thoughts, but those thoughts were getting louder. She knew she wasn’t full healed from the war, especially considering she had met death twice.
“ATTENTION! ATTENTION! Flight V44092 has landed,” the speakers suddenly spoke and Penny felt her world freeze. Here it was, the moment of truth. Well almost the moment, they had to deboard the airship, get their bags and—
“WOOSH!!”
Penny’s thoughts were suddenly crashed as a bolt of red slammed into her. With a twirl Ruby spun her friend around all the while crying out how good it was to see her. Penny’s mind immediately crushed most of her worries. After all it was hard to argue with Ruby’s hugs, the warmest most comfortable hug that Penny ever experienced.
“Penny?” Ruby’s voice suddenly brought Penny out of her daydreaming and for the first time Penny realized she looked up at Ruby. Her friend had grown at least another three inches, her hair a wild mess of locks, but her face still held that open friendliness that led her to be the Hero of Remnant. “Ah Penny?” Ruby pressed a little worried at the wide-eyed stare her friend was giving her, she knew she was a bit of a mess, but she didn’t look that bad right?
“You’ve gotten taller,” Penny finally said as Ruby set her down.
“Yep, dad’s height finally kicked in,” Ruby declared as she stepped backed and flexed her height. However, she got nervous when Penny simply stared at her. “What? Is there something on my face?”
“No,” and Penny stepped back in to initiate her own hug, and basking in the sense of comfort she had missed from Ruby.
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This is gonna sound odd lol. How would the Haikyu captains react if their S/O was hiding the fact they’re pregnant, how would they find out and how would they react??
Haikyuu Captains finding out their wife is pregnant
Daichi x fem!reader, Oikawa x fem!reader, Kuroo x fem!reader
(ik that’s not all the captains because I’ve been lacking in imagination but if ya’ll want I might make a part two with bokuto, ushi and kita)
premise: you and [redacted] are newlyweds who haven’t even talked about starting a family, so how will they react to finding out you are already pregnant??
genre: fluff, crack, slight angst
warnings: reader is pregnant (not sure if that counts as a warning)
a/n: hello love! I hope I’m understanding your request correctly!! I made it a female reader, and I really appreciate you asking! so sorry for how late this is out, I’ve had this req since the new year ;w; hope you have a great day/night and take care!
he found out when you start to get cravings
”hey Daichi?” “yeah babe??” “do we have garlic?” “um.. why?” “I wanna make french toast”
not long after he has banned you from cooking
“what is going on with you?”
he slowly starts to see other signs that something is definitely not normal.
“hey babe?” he says as he walks into your shared room finding you looking through your clothes
you had started getting bigger as you went into your second trimester and you knew you couldn’t hide it for much longer
”Yes?”
”I know something is going on with you” he said
”oh?”, you replied, “what do you mean?”
”you’ve been getting weird cravings and gaining a lot of weight- I mean you know that I don’t care what you weigh but this is unlike you.”, he states, “are you sure you’re fine?”
you thought for a second before replying “I’m better than fine Daichi, in fact, I’m pregnant“
he stopped for a second then got a bit closer to you before choking out a “what?”
he looked at your stomach and then at you as you saw tears forming in his eyes.
”D-Daichi! are you ok!!”, you worriedly said, “I didn’t mean to upset you..”
“No no honey I’m not upset”
”you’re not?” you asked
”not at all, I’m really happy”
your face lit up in slight surprise, “y-you are??”
”of course I am sweetheart, I love you so much” he said as he slowly rubbed your stomach.
he notices when you start gaining weight
now don't get me wrong, this man would love you whether you are 90 pounds or 290 but he still notices
you have a hard time doing menial tasks like putting on your socks or even standing up
as you grow larger he keeps getting more worried
then one day as he watches you having trouble get up from the couch he decides to ask you about it.
“hey honey?” he asks as he helps you up
“yes toru?” you say sweetly. he doesn’t know how he’s gonna tell you this without you taking it wrong but he continues.
“well I just.. you’ve been… eating a lot more and.. gaining a lot more… weight- not that that’s a problem! you know I’ll love you no matter what you look like I’m just.. worried that something might’ve happened.”
when you see the panic on his face to the fact that you’ve stayed quiet you let out a giggle.
”im really fine toru” “are you sure?” “yes I am”
”…but“,you continue, “there is something I wanna show you”
he tilts his head in confusion as you grab his hand to lead him into the bedroom.
you sit him down and turn to open the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a small yet long box. “I was gonna wait until our anniversary in a few weeks to show you this but.. I think I want you to see now”
he gives you a look of confusion before reaching for and grabbing the box, when he sees the contents his jaw drops.
it was a pregnancy test with a positive result on it.
”I’m pregnant”
he stands up and looks at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.
he reaches out to you with shaky hands and grabs your shoulders. “is-is this a dream?” he says as his voice starts cracking
“t-toru! are you upset?”
”upset.. upset?” wh-why would I be upset?? it’s mine right???”
you giggle “of course it’s yours toru. I was just worried that you had wanted to wait”
“well I wasn’t expecting for us to be having one this quickly, I mean we’ve only been married for just under a year, but.. I’m happy, I really am.“
”you’re gonna be an incredible father”, you say.
you smile as he kisses you on the forehead “and you’ll be an amazing mother amore”
he found out when you started to get mood swings
you were used to him joking with you but now that you were pregnant.. it just hit you differently
you became a lot more conscious about your size, and when he would tease you it wasn't funny anymore
it hurt your feelings
although of course he didn’t realize that until he took it too far
you were crying. that was new. you never reacted like that when he teased you before
he knew he had made a mistake so he tried to apologize
you were saying things, he couldn’t understand them though because of how hard you were sobbing
“baby, I’m so sorry”, he said while holding your shaking figure
you tried pushing him away but he held your body close “no, please don’t go. I didn’t mean it”
he picked you up and carried you to the bedroom, setting you on the bed. at this point you were clinging to him and didn’t want him to let you go. ‘shes sure changing her mind a lot’ he thought
as your crying slowed he asked you what happened to make his joke affect you that much. “Its just- I have been gaining weight and I’ve been getting more self conscious about it..your joke just made me feel like you didn’t think I’m pretty anymore…”
he couldn’t believe he hurt you like that. “angel… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I think you’re beautiful and that will never change, ok?”
you sniffled a bit, “ok”
he was so glad that you weren’t mad at him. “um..tetsu??” he heard you squeak. “yes angel?” “do you wanna know why I’ve been gaining weight..?” “…….ok…”
you turned to him, taking his hands in yours as you leaned closer to whisper in his ear “its because I’m pregnant”
his face went from confusion, to shock, to fear, to joy “really?” he said, voice cracking.
you chuckled a bit, tears welling up in your own eyes, “really”, you said kissing his rooster head.
I hate how I ended that last one but oh well
mutuals: @love-dove-noora @winning-fox @secretsmorphingintoacatboy @drattention
people who idk if they like this kinda stuff but are really sweet: @circe-writes @vincewrites @hangesidekick @mrskenmakozume
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© urmywaifuu 2022 — do not repost any of my work on any format, this includes translations
#daichi x fem reader#oikawa x fem reader#kuroo x fem reader#haikyuu x reader#urmywaifuu#anon#haikyuu#haikyuu captains#pt 2?
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Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Part Two)
Series: Undercover Hotch fic/series™
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader
Word Count: 4,408 | Rated: T | Warnings: swearing, discussion of domestic abuse, possibly compromising positions(?), an almost kiss
Tropes: bedsharing, fake married, mutual pining
Chapter Summary: after holding hotch's hand for a few minutes, it wouldn't be a problem to hold it for most of the morning? because now the retreat gimmicks begin as the two of you search for information while dealing with the events.
A/N: sorry for the delay on part two -- had some family things going on this month <3. look out for part three :) Thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera for always letting me bounce ideas off of her and generally being amazing.
“Where do we start?”
The retreat lodge was larger than you imagined — with sprawling grounds that weren't just limited to the main lodging area where the couples stayed — but extended beyond to woods, hiking trails, and beyond. Hell, you glanced out the window at a nearby mountain, you wouldn’t be surprised if they owned a mountain as well.
“I have no idea,” you murmur, your arm intertwined with Hotch’s, as the two of you stepped into the lobby for the patented mix-and-mingle with the other couples before breakfast. Not only mind-numbing, soul-churning mingling — but with other couples with marital issues -- exactly what every vacation needs, “this place doesn’t seem big on technology — I haven’t seen a single computer or cellphone,”
“The front desk only has paper logs,” he shakes his head, “I asked about the lack of technology in the rooms. A noted policy of no tech — including the employees. I don’t think we are even allowed our cellphones after this breakfast.”
You scan the couples beginning to shuffle down now, “If there’s no tech here, where do you think they keep their guest and employee files?”
“I don’t think breakfast is ready yet, sweetheart,” he replies, as your gaze snaps to his cheeks burning, as you realize a couple approaching your six, “but I’m sure you won’t have to wait too much longer,”
“I’m right there with you,” the husband winks at you, his stomach shaking as he laughs even before he jokes, “if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to lose one of my only reasons for coming to this place,”
And something tells you it isn’t much of a joke either.
“But not the reason for coming here, isn’t that right, dear?” his wife assumedly smiles at you, icily, “Molly Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and you are?”
You introduce yourself, forcing a straight face on as you manage to say your alias, offering your hand, “This is my husband, Thomas,” as Hotch introduces himself to Molly’s husband, Harry, who claps your boss on the shoulder.
“So,” Harry leans in, almost clandestinely, “what are you two in for?”
“Harry!” Molly chastises him, but her eyes hook onto your expressions, her lips pursed in disapproval if only to hide her smile.
“Well, if it helps, me and the missus here need some help communicating,” he crosses his arms, shaking his head, “never learned much about that growing up,” and he elbows Hotch, “but I’m sure you can relate — we’re practically in the same generation,” And you nearly snort, trying and failing to hide your smile — which Hotch notes, as you see him shoot a small glare your way.
Harry and Molly don’t notice, too busy reprimanding her husband again, before she sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose, “It’s just as well, we are all going to find out about each other’s problems anyway,”
And you furrow your brow, “I saw group therapy on the itinerary — is it mandatory?”
“It is,” Molly nods, “Dr. Rosen, the therapist who helped design the program, insisted on it — otherwise it would just be a vacation, not a couples retreat,” and she raises an eyebrow, “didn’t you read that in the paperwork when you signed up?”
“I did most of the paperwork,” Hotch intercedes, his fingers intertwining with yours, “my love here was busy wrapping up some loose ends for work so I ended up taking the lead on it,”
“Oh well now I know what’s wrong with you two,” Harry chuckles, as Molly elbows him again, half-heartedly, as he gestures to you, coffee in hand, “you wear the pants in the relationship, got that one wrapped around your finger, now don’t you? Not surprising, with the age gap and all--” as he looks you up and down, winking at Hotch, as you gape at him, “nicely done, sir.”
Your blood begins to boil, several insults picked out and fine-tuned on your tongue as you open your mouth, “Well—”
“We’re working on it,” Hotch clears his throat, jerking his head toward the now ready breakfast buffet, “Harry, it looks like—”
“Food’s on!” and he’s scurrying away to the table, as his wife follows suit, giving both of you a nod, as you glare at his retreating back.
“Food fucking saved his life,” and your eyes slide back to Hotch, as he gestures for you to head over to the breakfast table, “and so did you,”
“Well, I figured you murdering someone on our first day here would attract some unwelcome attention,” he steers you away from the direction of the Chapmans, his hand now slipping around your waist, and you do your best to ignore the flip of your heart, focusing on the fancy finger foods the retreat put out for breakfast, until you feel Hotch’s fingers drum on the small of your back, “do you see that?”
You glance at him, following his gaze until your eyes fall on a door that says ‘Employees’ Only’ around the corner, the manager slipping through the door, locking it behind him. You glance away nonchalantly, helping yourself to some mini-breakfast sandwiches and some fruit, “Do you think they keep the employee files?”
“Maybe,” he breathes in your ear, as he reaches over your shoulder to grab some food, making you shiver at the closeness, “but how do we—”
“Welcome!” a voice booms from the foyer, sweeping arms as he steps forward cutting through the dining room, “Please everyone take a seat. Help yourself to some breakfast.”
You both make your way to a table, and Hotch pulls out your chair for you, giving a small smile, as he takes his seat beside you.
“I hope you all are beginning to get to know each other, but that is not all you will be getting to know today,” he clasps his hands, he bared his teeth with his fake white smile, “I am Richard Rosen, and I will be guiding you through your time during this six-week retreat, where you are not only going to learn about our facilities, about mindfulness, and about yourselves,” his eyes scan the crowd smiling, “you’re going to learn about each other.'
Oh, how wonderful.
You had read up about this guy last night — went to Harvard — Harvard College in Indiana, and got his certification in Psychology after four weeks of surely intense training. After that, he opened his own practice in New York City, which folded after several complaints ranging from sexual harassment to fraud. Unfortunately for his clients (and fortunately for him), there wasn’t enough evidence to get his lack-luster certification yanked. He then moved from city to city, learning from his mistakes, and never stuck to the same city for long enough for someone to catch onto his treatment packaged charade. Until eventually, he settled upon White Mountains Retreat, where he was allowed to stay in one place, but with a revolving door of patients.
He was one of your suspects — no record, but had easy access to the couples, and intimate knowledge of their relationships.
"But our time will begin together tomorrow,” he beams at all of you, “Right now, I'm going to pass it over to the man who you will be coordinating your incredibly list of daily activities during your stay here — the man responsible for all the wonderful memories you will make — Mr. Brock Hillen," Rosen steps aside, welcoming Hillen to take over, and he doesn’t wait a beat, checking his watch before disappearing down a hall.
“Where’d he go?” you murmur, and Hotch shakes his head.
“I don’t know,” Hotch murmurs, lips barely moving, “but do you see that?”
And you spot cuts on Brock’s arms before he tugs the sleeve of his shirt down to cover it, “Could be consistent with causing those injuries our victims,”
And Brock Hillen was no less suspicious than Rosen — with a criminal record to match. With two charges of domestic assault, Hillen already had a history of violence with his ex-wife, but since she divorced him, he has had no other charges. Yet, because of his record, he went job to job, until he found himself as the Activities Coordinator of White Mountain. Could it be that his rage over his wife leaving him led to the murders? Maybe something in the last few weeks that triggered it.
“Hello all!” he greets, holding his arms out, his fake blonde hair nearly blinding under the bright light of the chandelier that hangs above him, “thank you Richard, for that all too kind introduction,” he begins his spheal on the healing nature of the resort, the efforts of his team in coordinating the next six weeks for them, and you begin to lose interest around his third sentence with the word “enchant” in it.
And your eyes can’t help but slide to Hotch a moment, whose arm rests on your lower back still, the metal of his watch gently pressed against your shirt, and you swear his thumb brushes against your spine. You almost want to brush it away, his touch is so gentle, so sweet, so intentional, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t.
“For our first event,” and now you’re blinking back to Brock — to the reason you were here — to catch a killer, “I’m going to have you do one of the very things that Richard mentioned — an activity that will allow you to you learn more about yourselves and each other,” and he gestures around you, “as well as the grounds themselves,” Other employees start handing the couples a clipboard, “your task will be to get each of your stamps from around the retreat — this obviously includes our grounds and other facilities, including our spa, chapel, gardens, and so on.”
“Seems like a perfect opportunity to look around,” you murmur — as Hotch takes the clipboard, flipping through the scavenger hunt -- at least there wasn’t some cheesy shtick to this activity.
“To symbolize the journey you all will be embarking on together as couples, you must complete the task hand-in-hand,” Brock brings his two hands together, “please, there will be staff all over the facilities, if you need a hint, feel free to ask, and I will be here as well to provide any assistance,” he gestures to employees behind the couples, “now, at the sound of the gong—”
At the sound of the what—
And then a loud crash fills the air, rattling your eardrums, making you jump, “Take each other’s hand, and begin!”
Couples begin scattering about, pulling each other along — you spot Molly dragging Harry away from the breakfast table.
And Hotch rises beside you, offering you his hand, clipboard in his other hand, “Ready?”
You glance from him to his hand.
Probably not, but— your fingers intertwine with his, his calloused fingers warm, and the cool metal of his band brushing against your skin—
“Ready.”
What other choice did you have?
~~~
“How many more do we have?” So far, the first few stamps have taken you all around the other facilities — the spa, the garden, the sauna — but none inside the retreat center itself. Not a single one had given you a change to find where the files were kept in this place.
“Two more left,” he murmurs, “I assume the last one will take us back into the main building, so the other must be—”
“At the chapel,” you glance at the map of the place you were handed by an employee who took pity on you two after you had wandered around the grounds — completely lost, “at least we don’t have to bother figuring out the riddles now,”
“You mean you don’t need to bother,” you shake your head, “i’m sorry, I’m just—”
“Are you okay?” he asks, as the two of you stroll towards the chapel, everyone else out of earshot, “the first day can be—”
“No, it’s not that,” you look around the grounds, and you resist the urge to flex your fingers, but he notices you tense — and you know he would drop your hand but he can’t, so he steps away a little, “It’s not you—”
“But it’s you?” he chuckles, as you bite your lip, “I know it’s a lot,” he sighs, as you two reach the chapel, a relatively small building built on top of a hill. It’s a white marble building, its one spire splitting the sky above it asunder, practically gleaming in the sunlight. The double mahogany doors are drawn open for the couples, another just leaving as you two arrive. You watch him stare up at the chapel, “it is for me too.”
You frown, as the employees at the entrance greet you, and direct you to sit near the front together for a few minutes — to take solace in the quiet before you receive your stamp. Hotch hands them the clipboard as you both wander down the aisle together.
The aisles are lined with white pews, light streaming through beautiful stained glass windows. Your footsteps echoed against the stone floor. You step and sit into the pew beside Hotch, sitting back a moment. The chapel itself had no denomination — it was clear it was made for the sake of religious and non-religious functions — likely an intentional choice not to exclude any religion or atheists for that matter.
After all, money was money in their eyes.
You two are quiet a moment, your hands still interlaced for the sake of the employees still watching the two of you, “I think for me,” your voice low, “it’s just weird to be this close with anyone,”
“You mean physically or?” you shrug.
“It’s part of it — it has been a while since I’ve shared a bed with someone,” you purse your lips, “but like you said, it’s hard for me to let someone see me, like all of me,” and you glance at him, “and it’s hard when you’re literally the leader of a team of, you know.”
“I know,” he leans against the back of the pew, “it’s impossible to hide things from the team even when when we don’t spend every minute with them, and now that we’re spending the all of the next six weeks together--”
“There won’t be much we can do to hide,” you nod, looking down at the floor.
And that was what scared you the most.
The employees hand you back the clipboard at that moment, excusing you both back, and the two of you step out of the chapel, “I just want you to know,” you say, as the two of you reach the bottom of the hill, “you don’t have to hide anything from me,” and he raises an eyebrow, as you add, “if you don’t want to.”
“Do most people hide anything because they really want to?”
“No I meant,” you chew your lip, “This is probably hard for you, and I don’t want to act like I know what you’re going through — I don’t,” you would never deign to think you knew what it was like to lose your the love of your life, your best friend, and mother of your child in one fell swoop, “but you don’t have to pretend,” not with me, you want to add, but you don’t — you can’t.
He blinks a moment, eyebrows raising only for a millisecond, before he sighs, “It’s easier to pretend,” he presses his lips together, as another couple approaches, “and that’s what we’re here to do,” and he begins to walk forward, gently pulling you along, as your cheeks burn, your head fixed on the ground, until he adds, “but I appreciate it,” and you meet his gaze, several emotions in his eyes, before he tears it away, “thank you.”
You don’t get to respond, as the two of you step inside to find only most of the couples still hadn’t returned yet — still collecting the last of the stamps, and most of the staff floating around the grounds to corral and nudge stragglers along. And their absence left an opportunity.
So you glance around, before tugging a distracted Hotch along, wandering around a corner, “What—”
And you grab him by the shoulder, pinning him to the wall, cheeks burning all the while, not daring to meet his gaze, but its just the same because you hear the small gasp of your name that leaves his lips in a whisper, and his body tenses against your palm.
You lean up closer, before slowly craning your neck around the corner, “We’re a couple at a retreat looking to sneak away,” you murmur, lips barely moving, as you lean closer, nose brushing his neck — god he smells good — but you refuse to let your lips brush against his skin, “or that’s what it will look like to anyone.”
His tenseness melts away, and he’s pliable to your touch, as your fingers graze his neck now, your thumb resting against his cheek, as he stares down at you — so adoringly as you tug him by the shirt away from the wall, following you with such ease.
You’re next to the employees only door — your fingers reach for the knob, turning — “It’s locked,” you murmur, and his brow furrows, as you cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to the lock.
And he’s spinning you around gently so that you’re pressed to the wall, your breath catching in your throat, as he looms over you, his fingers cupping your chin. His arm around your back, pulling your lower half close to him, but he’s holding the door knob in place while he tries to pick it with his other hand.
Your cheeks burn as he looks down on you, his gaze freezing you in place, far too close — his breath warming your lips, taking the breath from your lungs and replacing your blood with lava. And you can see so clearly — the cut of his jaw, the soft lines of his face, and the curve of his lips—
And then the lock clicks open.
He’s turning the knob, as you spare one glance over your shoulder to see if anyone sees either of you, but then the door is shutting behind you. You feel the wall for a light switch, and you flick it on, while you hear the click of the door locking again.
And you blink, a glorified break room — a few tables and a basic refrigerator stuck in the corner, a worn couch stuck against a wall, and a sink stuck in the corner with a subpar dish rack — far from the accolades that were in each guest’s room — but then again, the employees weren’t paying through the nose for the rooms.
You two stay close, as your eyes scan for anything that could be a camera — even one that isn’t obvious — placed in a smoke detector or lamp shade, “No cameras,” he pulls away, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat, tucking away the embarrassment to dwell on another time (likely right before when you’re trying to sleep).
But then again, the guests weren’t the ones working 18 hour shifts on their feet.
Hotch calls for you, pointing towards a few file drawers stuck in the corner, and the two of you head over, running your finger down the label on the drawers, “These are all client records — administrative, financial — nothing on the employees.”
“They must keep the employee records somewhere else that employees don’t have access to,” and you’re rifling through the folders, for something — anything.
“I haven’t seen any other employee areas,” you shut the drawers, and then you glance around, your eyes falling on another door in the corner of the room — “unless—”
“It must be Rosen and Hillen’s offices,” you walk over, reading the placard — Administration Offices, “locked?”
“This isn’t something that can be picked easily,” Hotch shakes his head, “it has a bump guard — it prevents—”
“--lock bumping,” and Hotch looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll tell you my reason if you you tell me yours,
He snorts, “I learned it sometime between 6th grade and military school,” and it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, “my father — he—”
“You don’t have to—” you shake your head, “unless you want to—”
“I’ll just say, it wasn’t a good childhood,” he raises to his feet.
And you can’t help but give a small smile, “But look at how well you turned out,” and he’s shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Hotch,” you make him meet your gaze, “you’re a good man — don’t doubt that.”
His eyes meet yours again, warm, as he looks away to the floor for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching, “Thank you,” he breathes, and he’s stepping forward, “I—”
And then the doorknob is jiggling. Your heads snap to the door, before looking back to each other.
Shit.
Before you know it, his wrist is around yours, and he’s tugging you to the couch, as you fall backwards onto the soft cushions. He’s halfway kneeling between your legs, his body draped over you, and he’s leaning closer, murmuring an apology as he lips draw close to yours, “Hotch—”
And then the door is opening, as his lips nearly brush yours, “Hey!”
An employee stares at the both of you, as you both stumble to your feet, adjusting your clothes, “This is employees only — what are you—”
“Sorry!” you yelp, jumping to your feet, “so sorry,” and you brush past them, Hotch following at your heels.
And the two of you find your way back to the lobby, your heart still in your throat, as you tug on your clothes, “Thanks for the —” your cheeks burn, “I mean, good thinking—” you shake your head, "you know what I mean."
He snorts, his fingers finding yours again, giving them a slight squeeze, "Anytime," and your heart oh-so-helpfully skips a beat, tongue-tied, but luckily you don't have to response as Hotch glances at you, "you never did tell me how you learned about lock picking."
You shrug, “I have a checkered past,”
“That’s not much of an answer,” and you shoot him a half-smile.
“I have to keep you interested somehow don’t I?” you reply right as Brock begins to speak again.
The event wraps up with another talk from Brock — who has an employee approach him towards the end of his talk, whispering in his ear, and he nods, waving him off, “and one last thing — I know you all came to rejuvenate your marriages and partnerships through this retreat and we fully encourage you to do so but—” you swallow thickly, realizing just which employee must have whispered in his ear right then, “please refrain from doing so in restricted areas that are not for our guests.”
You cannot even bear to look at Hotch, keeping your gaze straight ahead, grabbing a drink on the tray, and sipping at it — and you wondered if you were masking your mortification well.
Probably fucking not.
~~~
Brock then adjourns them for the rest of the day — not wanting to “overwhelm them” on day one (or rather padding their time here with nothingness) — welcoming them to have their meal in the dining facilities or up in the rooms.
Most people head off to their rooms, while others linger in the lobby — chatting amongst themselves — he spots Harry rushing off to the dining facilities, his wife in tow.
The rest of the day goes off without much to-do. Hotch glances around — not a single thing of note learned about the guests or the staff. The other couples are all sociable to some extent — some more reserved than others, but none of them fit the unsub’s types so far — placing you two directly in the paths of the unsub.
By the time it’s time for bed, his body is aching for nothing but sleep — and it looked like you had the same idea. Already slipped under the covers, you’re curled up, half-asleep as your eyes flutter heavy with sleep.
Neither of you felt the need to stand guard in the room — the doors were securely locked for each of the couples, and the team was monitoring the situation at the local precinct. But you both kept your weapons close by — concealed in case someone happened to find their way in.
“Are you asleep?” Hotch whispers, and you mumble, shaking your head, turning to glance at him — your shoulders tense and brow furrowed.
“Is something going on?”
And he shakes his head, “No, sorry,” and you relax back in bed, but your lips still pursed, “I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier,” and you tilt your head — and he almost smiles at your sleep-induced confusion.
“Earlier?” and then it floods back to you — as you blink, glancing away from him, “oh—”
He shakes his head, “I just don’t want you to think I was—”
“Hotch, I know you weren’t,” you slowly sit up, “if you hadn’t done that, I think we would have been on our way home on our first day,” you chuckle, “and I know you wouldn’t take advantage — especially when we have a job to do.”
Right, a job, he chides himself, It was a job.
“If you want to sleep—”
“I’m not having this conversation again,” you yawn, turning around and getting comfortable again, “good night, Hotch.”
And he looks at you, a small sigh parting his lips — until he finally settles in bed beside you.
His arm resting across his forehead, he glances at you again. He had spent so much of today holding your hand, his fingers nearly flexing at the memory. It had been so long since he had held someone’s hand, so long since he had worn a ring on his finger, so long since he called someone his partner.
It felt so nice.
Nice — not only because he hadn’t realized how much he had missed having someone, someone beside him, someone there — but because —
Because it was you.
And he knew that because — he didn’t want to let go of your hand.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner imagines#criminal minds#criminal minds imagines#hotch imagines#hotch#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch fanfiction#fic: undercover
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Well, here is the stupid thing I was alluding to. It’s mostly a filler chapter, but yeah.
Harley’s Plea for Help, Chapter 3
“Well, that took a while,” a relatively deep female voice smoothly drawled. The plants placed right next to the window pulled away, no longer blocking the pathway inside. The two figures who were perched right outside the windowsill took the invitation and climbed inside, the shorter of the two looking at the woman who had spoken and smiling widely.
“Auntie Ivy!” Marinette happily exclaimed, making the redhead across from her grin back.
“That’s me. It sure is nice to actually see you in person, little Marigold,” she held out her arms for a hug, which Marinette instantly ran in to accept. “Video calls are never quite enough, are they? You’re so tiny! Are you sure you eat alright?”
“Auntie Ivyyyyyy,” Marinette whined, knowing full well that Ivy was just teasing her.
“So, what took you all so long?” Ivy asked Red Hood, even as she kept her arms wrapped around her soon-to-be daughter in law. “Usually you bats are all about getting back on the streets to punch people, we didn’t think you’d be bringing her in at almost one in the morning.”
Hood shrugged, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Your little garden fairy nearly gave us the slip. Went straight out the back exit instead of doin’ anything showy like we half expected and we almost missed her.”
“I stopped as soon as I noticed who they were, I swear!” Marinette pulled away from Ivy, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t expect Momma to send them to babysit me before our first full day being in Gotham. In hindsight, though, I really should have.”
“Yeah, you should’ve,” Ivy agreed with a smirk, ruffling Marinette’s hair and making her pigtails go a little crooked. “And I know for a fact that you’ve done some stunts off your balcony back in Paris, so at least I know you can be responsible and hold yourself back from doing the same here. Must get that from me, because we both know it doesn’t come from Harley.”
Marinette and Hood both had to laugh at that. Being responsible was definitely not a trait that Marinette could have inherited from anybody in her family tree, that was for sure.
“Are ya makin’ fun of me in front of my daughter?” the comically scandalized voice announced the arrival of one Harley Quinn, who walked into the room in white onesie pajamas with a poker print on them. All of the “joker” cards were crossed out heavily with red sharpie, and a few of them had black-sharpie devil horns and handlebar mustaches vandalizing them. Marinette even caught one such card with a googly eye on it, the matching eye having fallen off and leaving only a small circle of since-dried hot glue where it used to be. “If you guys are gonna be that way, fine! Ivy dyes her hair!”
“No she doesn’t,” Marinette deadpanned, clearly fighting against a giant grin. The corners of her lips gave her away, they never stopped twitching with repressed mirth. “But you do. I got the pictures to prove—- aah!” Harley tackled her daughter to the ground, attacking her with tickles immediately.
“Take it back! My hair is naturally blond!”
“Yeah, naturally— hahahahaha! Sandy blonde! You— hahaha! Have just as much brown— stop I can’t breathe! hahahaha!— as yellow!”
“Hmph,” Harley finally backed off, crossing her eyes and looking away from Marinette with an exaggerated pout. “How dare you reveal my darkest secret?”
“I was a natural redhead even before I got my powers,” was all Ivy had to say, looking all too amused at this turn of events. “Your original costume completely covered your hair.”
“Don’t worry, Harley,” Red Hood butted in, reminding the three girls that he was still here. His tone suggested that he was definitely smiling under his helmet. “We found out about your hair dye years ago.”
“I just cover up the brown parts! It’s not like I’m changin’ much,” she argued before standing up again. “Thanks for gettin’ my cupcake back safely, little birdie. Oh, that's right! I made cupcakes! Hang on, lemme grab one for your trip back!” with that, she span on her heels and ran back further into the apartment. Marinette dashed over to Hood, immediately shoving him to the window.
“Quick, save yourself! Momma can’t bake for her life!” she whispered urgently. “I’ll say you were called away for an emergency, just hurry!”
“It’s not even a lie, getting away from Harley’s baking is an emergency,” Ivy agreed, waving as the vigilante took their advice and fled. It was only three seconds later that Harley slid back into the room, nearly falling due to the feet of her onesie having pretty much zero friction. Her face immediately fell when she saw that her victim was gone, leaving her standing there with a cupcake that was about twice as much frosting as actual cake, covered in sprinkles like a kid’s craft project that was smothered in glitter. The frosting was also shapeless, just heaped on the cake like a half-melted scoop of ice cream. She sighed in despair.
“There goes my chance of giving a bat diabetes. You guys warned him, didn’t ya?”
They both nodded shamelessly. “We’re not that cruel, Harley,” Ivy defended, getting up from her spot on her cushioned armchair and wrapping an arm around her fiance’s waist before she kissed the top of her head gently. “Hood got our little Marigold back safe and sound, and he’s even started a garden at his apartment. He doesn’t deserve to be poisoned by you.”
“I thought you said he got a single cactus at the flea market last month,” Harley deadpanned, making Ivy shrug.
“Might as well be a garden for him, and it’s something he’s not likely to kill so that’s a plus to me. He’s actually taking really good care of the little baby.”
“Speaking of garden!” Marinette gently took the sad excuse of a pastry away from her mom and sat it down on a side table before ushering both of them over to the living room and onto the sofa. “My garden back home is growing so big, I don’t think I can keep everything much longer. I barely have room to walk on the terrace, with all the vines and leaves and branches. Got any ideas of what I can do?”
“Of course! Do you have pictures, Marigold?”
—*—*—*—*—*
Slipping back through her hotel window at six in the morning was risky, since it involved climbing the wall and hoping nobody saw, but her classmates were so unpredictable that it was the only way she could be sure nobody would find out that she had violated curfew and snuck out. Of course, having Red Robin waiting outside her mom’s apartment’s terrace to escort her back helped. At least she knew that no street cams would record her comings or goings, and his grappling hook made the whole scale-the-hotel-wall business much more efficient.
Once she was inside, she sighed happily. “Thanks, now—“ her apology was cut off as Red Robin held up a finger to tell her to wait.
“Hold that thought, be right back. Don’t move.”
Thinking, rightfully, that something was wrong, Marinette obeyed. She watched Red Robin leap off of her hotel balcony and disappear into the streets. Immediately, she began a search to make sure her room had been left untampered— everything important had been packed in the backpack that she had taken to her mom’s place, but still. Could never be too careful. By the time she finished checking for bugs or any signs of snooping, Red Robin landed back on her balcony.
“Here we go.”
Turning to face him, Marinette opened her mouth to ask what the problem had been— only to tear up a little and walk over to the vigilante.
“Oh, my hero. Truly, my one and only savior. Knight in shining red Kevlar. I’m running on two hours of sleep and you have read my mind!” The pigtailed drama queen eagerly took the coffee that he offered her, and he sipped from a larger cup that looked like he had grabbed it from the same place. Marinette almost instantly sighed in gratitude when the hot drink lightly scalded her tongue. This. This was the elixir of life.
To his credit, Red Robin was able to restrain himself to merely an amused smirk. Probably because he was running on just as little sleep as she was. “Sorry it’s only a small, I figured it was best to have something you could finish quickly and easily hide the evidence for. If you need more caffeine, I happen to know that Wayne Enterprises has a very good coffee shop in their main hall. You’ll be touring there today, right?” He asked, taking another sip as he waited for the answer that he already knew.
Marinette nodded absently, drinking in the euphoria of her coffee as she tried to both savor it yet finish it as quickly as safely possible. When she came up for air, she said; “Yeah, that’s right. We’re touring Wayne Enterprises for most of the day, having lunch there, and leaving for dinner after the tour. Then we have a visit to the Gotham Museum of Fine Art, and we’ll stay there until about eight-thirty before heading back to the hotel.”
Red Robin nodded, then turned and looked out the window at the slowly rising sun. Sunrise was always a bit later in Gotham, partly because of the abundance of high-rises and partly because of the thick cloud cover and ever-present fog on the edges of the city making everything seem darker than it should have been. He had to be at work soon himself, which is why he had been chosen to escort her to the hotel in the first place, but that meant that he had to be heading off.
“Alright. We arranged for a bodyguard we trust to keep an eye on your class during the WE tour, but he doesn't know who you are or that we’re the ones who asked. We’re still in the process of arranging someone to shadow you after the tour, but we’ll tell you about that once it’s solidified. Until then, follow the usual self-defense procedures if you suspect anyone of following you. You have the panic button we gave you?”
Marinette nodded, gulping down the last of her coffee and carefully putting it in her room’s tiny trash can. “Got it. Thanks, again. Seriously,” she met his eyes— or, probably did since they were hidden behind that weird white film that the whole Batfam had covering the eyeholes of their masks. “I mean it. For listening to me, for listening to Mom. It means a lot. I’ll keep the panic button on me, and I’ll use it if I think I can’t handle a situation on my own. I’ll cooperate with the people you get to watch over the class, and I’ll do my best to not get into any trouble. No promises, but I’ll do my best,” she maintained eye contact until Red Robin nodded, hiding his expression behind his coffee cup. After a second, he cleared his throat.
“Well then. We’ll contact you once we have anything to say about your intel. Until then, I gotta go. And by the way?”
Marinette tilted her head curiously as Red Robin paused for just a moment on her balcony railing, aiming a smirk back at her. “Yeah?”
“Welcome to Gotham.”
And if she couldn’t help but smile widely as he grappled off into the fog-veiled sunrise? Well, only she had to know. She wasted no time closing and locking the glass balcony door, and pulling the curtains over it completely. Once that was done, she couldn’t help but do a little shimmy of Joy. She was caffeinated, she met Auntie Ivy in person for the first time, she got to sleep next to her momma— and she was in Gotham! Technically her hometown— or town she was conceived in? Didn’t matter. Point was, even with the chaos and dark energy clouding the very air, she couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in that city. Like that was where she was always meant to end up, where she could thrive and the environment that she was made to thrive in. The environment that she was born to start fixing.
She beamed at herself in her bathroom mirror as she gave herself one more once-over. Yeah, so far her visit to Gotham was going much better than she could have hoped. Now, she just had to make sure it stayed that way.
Three businesslike raps sounded against the door to her room, just in time for Marinette to feed Tikki one more cookie and straighten her purse on her shoulder. Madame Mendelieve’s voice called out from the other side of the door in her usual no-nonsense bark;
“Dupain-Cheng! Room check! It’s time to get up, we’re meeting down in the lobby in ten minutes.”
Marinette ran up to the door, not quite able to contain her energy, and swung it open with her trademark large, beaming smile.
“Way ahead of you, Madame Mendelieve!”
Her science teacher blinked, adjusting her glasses on her nose as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
“Ah. You’re already awake and ready?”
Marinette giggled and nodded. “Yup! I was so excited for the tour that I could barely sleep! Does the hotel breakfast include free coffee?”
—*—*—*—*—*
The hotel breakfast did, in fact, include coffee. What it did not include, however, was free coffee that Marinette could reasonably stomach. Especially after the heaven in a cup that Red Robin had gotten for her earlier, the watered down motor oil in the hotel lobby had been unbearable. She had barely managed two sips before regretfully throwing the rest away. Which is what brought her to stand in line at the very same coffee shop that Red Robin had mentioned was in the main hall of Wayne Enterprises, as the rest of her class mingled and waited for their teachers to check their tour group in and their tour guide to arrive.
“Hmm. Sorry, this is my first time ordering here,” she apologized when she reached the counter, gaining a slight lopsided grin from the barista at the register. “Um, I usually like strong coffee, with a lot of caffeine, but I also like something sweet. I don’t need anything too complicated though, do you have any recommendations?”
The barista gave her a customer service smile that seemed just a tad softer at the edges than usual. “Sure! So, we can add an extra shot or two of espresso to any of our drinks, to make it stronger and give it an extra kick. If you’re looking for good sweet flavors, the classics are our white chocolate or caramel. But we also have a seasonal syrup right now that I personally love, which is our cinnamon butterscotch. Did you wanna try that?”
Marinette smiled widely. “That sounds delicious! Then, if I could have your largest size café latte, hot, with… two extra shots and that syrup? Does that sound good?”
The barista actually let loose a soft laugh, already keying in the order. “If you’re a coffee lover and a sweet tooth at the same time, then you’ll love it. If not, come back during your tour’s lunch break and I’ll make you something else.”
Marinette made a little more small talk as she handed over the proper cash for the order, and grabbed her drink after just another minute’s wait. She turned around, taking a sip of the unsurprisingly heavenly coffee and started off to join her class.
Only to realize none of them were where she had left them. She sighed, starting to reach into her purse to see if anyone had texted her about where they were going, but a heavy presence stopped her. She could feel him approaching from in front of her, slightly to her right, but she couldn’t hear him at all. On guard, she straightened up and turned to observe the potential threat.
A security guard. Marinette blinked, running over what she had been told earlier that morning. Was he..?
He seemed to notice her instinctually defensive posture because he raised his hands to show he meant no harm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” he apologized. “I’m the guard that was assigned to your tour group. I offered to stay behind until you got your coffee while the rest of your group went ahead and got the run-down on all the boring rules and whatnot of the tour. Figured you’d already know everything they had to say anyway, you’re the class president right?”
Marinette relaxed her posture, nodding and sending the man a relieved smile. “Yeah, that’s right. Well, that explains why they left without me then. Usually Madame Mendelieve is strict about following rules though, how’d you convince her to go on without me?”
The man chuckled, jerking his head to show that she should follow him as he began to lead the way to a side door. Marinette kept her guard up just in case, but wasn’t too worried. If nothing else, she was still in the middle of a super crowded building and the other security guards around didn’t seem concerned. She could easily yell for help if she needed to.
“Well, can’t you tell it was my devilish charm?” He teased, grinning. He waited until she rolled her eyes to continue; “but really, I’m like a second tour guide. She made me show a lotta proof that I’m actually assigned to you guys and not just faking it, not that I can blame her. Eventually she saw the logic in my suggestion and agreed. See, there they are,” he pointed casually ahead of them in the large side hallway they had entered. Sure enough, near the end of the hallway was her class at what looked to be the tail-end of a standard rules-and-guidelines speech from the tour guide. “By the way,” the guard spoke up again, holding his hand out. “My name’s Jason. You’ll be seeing me more often, since I’m supposed to guard you guys for all of your visits to the Tower. Call me if you need help with anything, ‘kay kid?”
Marinette grinned, now positive that this guy really was the guard that Red Robin had said was assigned to her class. She switched the hand she was holding her coffee in so that she could properly grab Jason’s hand for a shake.
“Got it, Monsieur Jason. Let’s both hope I don’t end up needing your help though, I think that would be easier on both of us,” she joked, earning a chuckle from the large man. And— yeah, now that she was relaxed, he really was big, wasn’t he? Then again, Marinette didn’t always realize when people were a bit larger or more buff than they should be. Living with her dad had seriously skewed her perception of the normal size of an adult male (which, she learned when she was seven, most definitely was not almost seven feet tall and muscled enough to make a pro wrestler jealous). But she would like to think she had gotten better in that aspect, and Jason was definitely a big guy. A little over six feet tall, she thought, and though the guard outfit hid a good portion of his physique, she could tell he carried enough muscle to do serious damage if he wanted to.
With a wave, she left him to join her class and sipped at her latte. She had figured that the Bat Clan’s criteria for civilians that they would put to guard her class had to be high, but now she had to wonder just how high. Most police officers or security guards were fit, sure, but not like Jason. Casting a quick glance back at him, she confirmed that he had quite a few faded but visible scars. Again, more than your average officer even for Gotham. Who had they tasked with her class’ safety, exactly?
An elbow in her side distracted her from her thoughts, forcing her to blink and stop her cup from going back to her lips. The grin of none other than Adrien Agreste greeted her when she snapped out of her own head long enough to pay attention to her surroundings. He jerked his head to indicate that the class was already starting to move off.
“Come on, Mari or you’ll get left behind again,” he teased. She grinned back at him, rolling her eyes but falling into step beside him as they followed at the back of their class. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gonna marry that coffee. You haven’t zoned out that badly in years,” his tone was light and cheery, but Marinette didn’t miss the concern in his emerald eyes. She sighed, gently bumping her shoulders against his in silent reassurance.
“I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all. But this really is good coffee. Elixir of the gods,” then, just to provoke him, she took a giant gulp of the still steaming hot drink. Adrien grimaced in pained sympathy even though Marinette didn’t seem affected at all.
“Oww, Marineeeeeeeeeette,” he whined. “Don’t do that, my throat hurts just watching you guzzle hot coffee like that,” he complained, rubbing at his neck to make his point clear.
“Wimp,” she teased, unrepentant. Adrien just groaned dramatically.
“I’m not a wimp, you’re just concerningly used to burning your throat from the inside out,” he accused. “Anyway, how’d it go?” He was being deliberately vague, but it was obvious to her what he meant. He was only one she had told about visiting her mom, after all, just in case she needed a quick getaway.
In fact, he was the only one of her friends that she had even told about her biological parents. Alix knew too, but only because of time shenanigans. Marinette was fine with it now, but still.
“It went great,” she smiled widely at him, keeping her voice low but casual. “If I have a chance, I’ll introduce you sometime during the trip. I have a feeling you’ll love Auntie Selina, but I have to meet her first. All I have so far are stories.”
“Fair enough,” Adrien agreed easily. “But you don’t have to, you know that right? I’d love to meet your family, but I’m also fine just being your pseudo-brother like I have been up until now. I know it might be a bit… uncomfortable, for you.”
“Nah,” Marinette shrugged. “Nerve wracking, maybe. But that’s also about half the things that I do in my life period, anxiety is no joke. I’ll catastrophize for a while, but I know you’ll love them and they’ll love you.”
“Sounds like they have paw-some taste,” he didn’t even miss a beat with his puns, earning a playful glare for his efforts.
“Never mind. You’re a heathen. Disowned. Who are you?”
“Mariiiiii,” he whined, causing them both to laugh for a while before focusing on the tour.
So far, so good, Marinette thought.
—*—*—*—*—*
Part 1 Part 2
@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman @deathssilentapproach-blog @user00000003 @frieddonutsweets @blur-of-colours @prettylittlebutterflie @ladyqnoirr @a-star-with-a-human-name @mizzy-pop @laurcad123 @dorkus-minimus @chocolatecatstheron @tazanna-blythe @golden-promises @literaryhiraeth @asrainterstellar @hewantedbeefintheparkinglot @miraculous-trinity-leo @missanalysis @lovelyautumnsunflower @lolieg @ann0631 @whitetiger1249 @meow-now @toodaloo-kangaroo
#maribat#ml x dc#mlb x dc#soulmate-game#marinette x damian#damian x marinette#damimari#dc x miraculous#dc x mlb#bio!mom harley quinn#eventual daminette#probably#daminette#platonic jasonette#platonic timinette#platonic timari#platonic dickinette#platonic brucinette#Joker can choke on a cactus
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are you afraid of the dark? | charlie weasley
summary: Part of a new series where I write about Harry Potter characters helping/reacting to the reader and their fears. This is about Charlie and the reader back at The Burrow for the first time in years. Reader has hid her fear from him but finally has no choice but to talk about how she’s scared of the dark.
pairing: Fem!Reader who is a Dragonologist x Charlie.
word count: 1.6k
warnings: None besides the fear of the dark and mentions of food.
A/N: This is my first fic here! Please Tell me what you think!
*
It seemed foolish – having one of the most feared jobs in the wizarding world yet being afraid of the dark. It was something you hid well, no one ever picked up on the fact that you always had a light on when the sun went down. And, if they ever were to ask a question, you were able to cover it up with a little white lie. It wasn’t something that posed you as a real issue until Charlie Weasley entered your life. You two had been friends during your time at Hogwarts, in the same year and both loving magical creatures. As the years went by you two found yourselves smitten with one another. He, just like you, was enamoured with the scaley, temperamental beasts that were dragons. It took a bit of persuasion from Hagrid (who insisted his two favourite students would make a perfect pair) but Charlie asked you to Hogsmeade and the rest was history. You two got accepted as apprentice dragon trainers in Romania together and after years the spark of infatuation you two felt grew into genuine and strong love.
Your fear of the dark was never a topic that came up. Working with dragons meant being awake during their most active hours – the night. Their fire lit up the darkness of the sanctuary and when you two finally got the time to sleep, it was daytime, the sun provided all the light you needed to have your fear dissipate. The only time, after years of being together, Charlie noticed you acting strangely about the topic was the winter of 1995.
It was the first year you were spending Christmas at The Burrow, having such a hectic work life meant you and Charlie opted to spend most holidays in Romania. Molly trusted the two of you not to have any funny business go on and let you share Charlie's childhood bedroom with him (despite the no girls in the bedrooms rule that was put in place years before). After working the night shift for so long the pair of you welcomed a warm home, comfy bed and a hardy nap with open arms. Molly hated to wake you two up but hours later she came in to let you two know dinner was ready whenever you two wanted it.
"Morning." Charlie joked as he stretched his aching limbs out.
Evening was coming closer and as you looked out the window you saw that the last moments of sunlight for the day were illuminating the bedroom in a golden stream of light. Charlie Weasley looked utterly ethereal from his spot next to you. His tangerine coloured hair rested ever so gently across his forehead from where he'd decided to let it grow out. The constellations of freckles speckled his face almost perfectly despite being so randomly placed – It was as if the sun had personally come and kissed them upon his skin. Photos were pinned around the room showing him both before and during his time at Hogwarts and looking at the man in front of you now your heart swelled. He had grown into such a wonderful human. His jaw filled out and was stronger as if a symbol of the confidence he felt in himself. Charlie had grown up but lost none of the boyish charms he had when you fell in love with him. He donned a couple more scars than when he'd left England all those years before but he still fit into The Burrow like a glove.
He ran a calloused hand through your hair and pressed a kiss to your forehead before sitting up and cracking some of his bones in an attempt to wake up more. You hummed contently and kissed him softly before putting on a signature Weasley sweater (gifted from Molly after only dating Charlie for 2 months).
"Well, looks like Sleeping Beauty and (Y/N) are finally awake." Fred teased from his spot at the kitchen table.
He and George were tinkering with what you assumed was another invention of theirs as Charlie lovingly smacked the back of their heads. You smiled at the brotherly moment before taking a seat and having plates mounted with food placed in front of you just as quickly as you blinked. It was delicious, just what you needed to start a much-needed vacation. The cosiness of The Burrow mixed with a full tummy had you lulled into a sleepy stupor. Charlie continued chatting with his siblings, most of which were home from school for the holidays, as you leaned into his side. Between the couch beneath you two, the muggle Christmas song playing somewhere in the house and him stroking your shoulder: it felt like home.
After a few more stifled yawns from Charlie, Mrs Weasley sent you both back to bed in hopes tomorrow would bring more family time. Coming back to Charlies room felt different. The curtains were still open but with only the waxing crescent moon in the sky to provide light it was eery. You tried to remain calm despite feeling your fear rising in your throat. Charlie was around and surely that would give you enough comfort to fall asleep without a hitch, right? You slipped off your sweater knowing Charlie produced heat like a campfire and slid into bed in hopes of a quick and dreamless sleep. The Burrow, despite how strange it seemed, was silent. You assumed someone had cast a silencing charm on the room for you two to rest peacefully but right now it only fuelled your fear more. You laid motionless for the most part, Charlie snuggled up as usual with his arm around your waist as you stared at the ceiling. You were tense and after a few kisses to your neck from the boy didn't gain your attention he sensed something was off.
"Goodnight my love." He said trying to gauge your reaction before mentioning something.
He pretending to sleep, listening intently to your breathing and analysing the tenseness of your body beneath his arm. You, on the other hand, paid him no attention. How could you when fear clouded your vision more than the darkness itself. You felt as though the room was filled with evil beings and creatures just waiting for their moment to attack. It sent a shrill fear down your spine and your breathing picked up dramatically making Charlie frown and sit up. With the flick of his hand, he wandlessly cast a charm to turn on his bedside lamp.
"Hey..." He muttered softly to get your attention.
Your eyes were wide and glazed over, you were on high alert and even as you looked around the room and saw it was only old Quidditch merchandise around and not monsters you didn't relax. Charlie held your hand ever so gently making your eyes snap down to him where he gave you a calming, reassuring smile. It wasn't a very different look than what he'd give to a wounded animal.
"Hi..." You replied trying to seem normal.
"Are you alright?" He asked as he looked around the room in an attempt to see what had startled you so much.
"Yes, just thinking-" You tried to reassure but he only furrowed his deep brows at you in disbelief. He could easily tell on your face that you not only were lying but something was most definitely worrying you.
"C'mon, tell me, Princess." He said with a frown. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
You sighed knowing you couldn't hide your secret much longer. You felt more at ease now that the light was on but as you stared at it you wondered what Charlie would think once he knew your secret. "'S nothing." You shrugged but he once again wasn't having it.
"You're a terrible liar." He teased trying to lighten the mood but when you didn't give him so much as a smile, he knew it was serious. Sitting up straighter and clearing his throat he held both your hands in his larger ones. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" He asked as you bit your lip and ducked your head in shame.
His head followed yours and he tried to meet your eyes again which made you smile slightly as he resembled a child wanting answers. "I'm afraid of the dark." You finally muttered.
He tried to hide his shock but couldn't help but let out a surprised giggled which only made you pout more. "You said you wouldn't make fun..."
"I know and I'm sorry for laughing but-" He shook his head in disbelief. "You work with arguably one of the scariest animals in the world but you're scared of the dark?"
You fiddled with the hem of the blanket as you tried to think of a way to explain it. "It's not so much the dark itself that scares me." He leaned down in bed again and rested his head on his hand to give you his undivided attention. "You and I know better than anyone what kind of stuff hides in the shadows..."
He nodded and stroke your hair back away from your face once you laid down with him again. "You should have told me earlier. You know I wouldn't mind sleeping with the light on. Hell, we do it every day considering how messed up our sleep schedule is." He said referring to your night shifts.
"I didn't want you to think I was silly." You said with a shrug.
Pecking your lips softly he turned over and flicked the light off again before grabbing his wand from the nightstand and casting a nonverbal spell. Before your eyes, a baby dragon sprouted from the tip of his wand and was glowing a gorgeous warm white. It flew around the room exploring, not much different than the babies you work with on the regular.
"Ronnie used to have trouble falling asleep so I would make these little guys for him." He explained.
You didn't feel scared anymore. Between the light that the dragon illuminated as it pranced around the room and the strong arms of Charlie around you, you felt sleep calling your name.
"I'm always going to be here to protect you from whatever hides in the dark," Charlie said just above a whisper as the baby dragon settled gently on the bed between you two. "Even if it means a little light in my eyes." He teased making you smile and peck his lips as a wordless form of showing your love.
It didn't take long for you to fall asleep, then the dragon, and lastly Charlie. He watched over you to make sure you were safe and comfortable before resting his eyes. By the time you woke up the sun was out, the dragon was gone and your tangerine haired boyfriend had you protectively in his arms. You had no fears when Charlie was around.
#charlie weasley x reader#charlie weasley#charlie weasley fanfic#charlie weasley oneshot#the burrow#weasley family x reader#harry potter#why didn't they put charlie in the movies :(#phobia series
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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
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i saw your post about Charles and what his personality past and part in the story line so i was wondering if u could do the same for vlad? :)
Ah, well, I can at least let you know what I’ve seen so far? I haven’t delved too far into Vlad, and some of his general impressions can be confusing, so I’ll do my best to make it sensible and unbiased! Here you go lovely <33333
Fair warning, there will be mentions of a lot of JPN app content since Vlad and his boys aren’t around much in the ENG app yet.
My general sense of Vlad is basically discount vampire Sasuke Uchiha.
What I mean by this is to say–according to what I’ve read so far–his clan/family were murdered by vampire hunters in cold blood when he was just a young boy. Presumably as a result of that traumatic event, he harbors a sizable enmity towards humanity and kind of lashes out on them in weirdly specific moments of violence. Another aspect of his motivation is something that’s mentioned within Comte’s route; which is that Vlad went through the timespace door on his own one day and allegedly saw a devastated future, where nothing remains of life on earth more or less.
I guess the reason I find him to be so perplexing is that he speaks about his actions in terms of efficiency, while most of the things he does just feel like unhappy outbursts (v often a product of unresolved trauma symptoms, I’d wager.) I also say this because he appears to have no larger pattern to his fury beyond the original event of his loss. Most of the human beings he attacks aren’t much of a threat to him and hurting them really doesn’t bring him any dividends beyond revenge.
For instance, he insists his disdain for humanity and insistence on controlling them is for the sake of ensuring they do not destroy the future–the horrifying wasteland he witnessed when he traveled through the timespace door. However, I’m not really sure how his current movements really speak to that goal? I mean sure, maybe he’s relying on Faust to create an immortal human so that humans will be forced to care because it will be their future too, but he doesn’t allow Faust to draw his pureblood blood for experimenting. (One can most certainly argue this was more about a lack of trust, and perhaps for plenty reason: Faust is vindictive enough to try to turn the tables and exert control over Vlad, or act on his own whims with his findings.) But if that’s the solution he’s waiting on, turning the rivals of the men in the mansion doesn’t really bring him any closer to that vision either? I mean, what good does it do to bring back Gilles de Rais–a prominent French serial killer? How would unleashing him on the populace help humanity “realize the error of it’s short-sighted and wasteful ways” and move to a brighter future?
Can’t help it, I ask these questions as I read.
In Comte’s main story, Comte hammers home that Vlad is not somebody to be taken lightly. One day when MC goes out to buy flowers, Vlad poses as a human florist to sell them to her–which is how Comte finds out he’s in France, and that he’s made contact with MC. When prompted, Comte describes him in a very particular way; and I think people really overlook this when they talk about their relationship. He says that Vlad is frighteningly pure in terms of the way he thinks and acts. The way I understood his description (given what I’ve seen of Vlad) is that Comte really does mean it point blank: Vlad is very simple in terms of why and how he does things. The issue with this is that nuance and context are lost on Vlad as well–and that’s where the problems start to flood in. Vlad is angry at humanity for what they’ve done to him. Baseline? That’s fair, they killed his damn family. However, Vlad thinks that by extension he has the right to decimate the general public and attack people completely uninvolved in his hurt.
And that isn’t right either–it’s ignoring so many factors here. He’s ignoring how much vampires use and toy with humans as pawns, it’s ignoring the massive power imbalance between him and his victims (this really isn’t a case of self-defense most of the time, nobody but Comte/Leo is a sizable threat to him), and he’s ignoring whether or not a person even did anything to deserve his retributive violence. While murder is never okay, it is perhaps more understandable when we see Jeanne’s frenzied and violent belligerence in response to a man who murders a boy’s mother for the sake of his own amusement/convenience. Vlad literally sees almost every single one of the rivals he created begin to heal/improve and murders them in cold blood because they are no longer of any use to him. That’s uh……..that’s a little messed, not gonna lie to you chief.
While part of me understands the efficiency here–he doesn’t want to leave any traces of his involvement, he doesn’t want any loose ends–it’s also just kind of foolish and cruel ultimately. From my understanding of the narrative, all the people he turned had some visible sign that indicated their origin to Comte. So even if he claims it was for the sake of concealment, it was more likely about his personal convenience. Which…..also yikes.
[Comte clearly does not trust Vlad to be reasonable, and I think there’s plenty of good reason enumerated above, but I actually don’t sense quite so much hatred? I think he’s just given up on the idea of Vlad growing up, even if he doesn’t like giving up on people. And considering Vlad’s behavior, I think it’s overkill to say that Comte just abandons him because he doesn’t care lmao. Even when Comte expresses real anger at the end of his own route, it was more because Vlad was fine with endangering MC’s life just to get back at him. I think Comte’s unhappiness with Vlad has more to do with Vlad’s treatment of human life as meaningless and worthless. It’s fascinating but also kind of sad? Vlad’s traumatic experience results in behavior that is a direct exacerbation of Comte’s trauma, and as such--no matter their potentially fond history--they can’t stomach each other.]
In Comte’s route, Vlad also has Shakespeare abduct MC and take her to the cathedral. Later on in the castle, we see an immediate display of Vlad’s shocking powers: he has the ability to manipulate people’s desires/thoughts. I’m not exactly sure how this works, but he is able to give MC visions of the mansion and Comte coming on to her–which shocks her into realizing it’s all just a dream. It’s not reality; it’s all manufactured by Vlad.
After that...weird introductory note...Vlad gives MC the rundown on his life together with Comte, which as always is subject to a question of bias. My assumption is that he did not lie, only because he was trying to convince MC that he was “right.” Furthermore, he does not omit the most damning evidence of his erroneous judgement, which suggests a continued inability for him to see where he went wrong.
We get a series of three flashbacks. The first is them as young kids. I don’t know if Vlad had already experienced the horrors of his family being destroyed, but this particular flashback focuses on Comte. His parents, in an effort to teach him that vampires and humans have no ability to co-exist, send away all of his teachers/mentors/nannies/the servants--pretty much everyone and anyone he was closely bonded to. Think about it this way: we can see that Comte is very sociable and affectionate by nature. He was living in a house full of people, all of whom cared about him and looked after him in their own way. Now the house is entirely empty. Naturally Comte is very very upset, and Vlad appears to try to cheer him up with little success.
[When I look back on this scene I don’t think I initially registered the sheer dissonance of Vlad’s reaction, versus Comte’s catatonic misery. There was a very solemn feeling to that memory, and the correct choice in terms of extending comfort is to hold his hand believe it or not. There is a sense that he feels very alone. When young boy Vlad enters one can argue that it was the proper thing to do; he was trying to cheer up his playmate and friend. But at the same time, I think I need to double check. Because I’m beginning to wonder if I was wrong. What if Vlad was happy to see someone as alone as him, and that joy is accordingly dissonant for that reason? He can’t see what Comte needs or how he’s hurting because he’s so glad he isn’t alone anymore in a way.]
The second flashback is the war nurse scene that I have spoken at length about. The important thing to focus on here is Vlad’s surprise that Comte would opt out of turning her out of respect for her wishes. The way Vlad frames the situation is starkly different from Comte’s. Comte sees himself as an outsider, somebody who invaded her life as a result of the timespace door and therefore has no right to suddenly change the course of her fate. He had no idea if she even wanted to live (considering the horrors she’d have to cope with and remember) or leave that time period at all, for that matter (considering the only thing keeping her going was helping the wounded/victims). Comte really was listening to everything she had to say, and he was taking her concerns and motivations seriously.
Vlad simply says: if you want her, take her. It’s as simple as that for him. And in one way that’s not entirely wrong--assuming Comte would have every intention of looking after her and actually cares a lot about her. But what’s being ignored here is her agency and the fact that they really don’t know each other that well? Something like that could begin and be rocky, if it doesn’t end in complete disaster. Worse, I get the feeling Vlad is perfectly fine with the notion of turning her and if things don’t work out, just kill her or get rid of her. Again, the simplistic thinking comes into play here: it ultimately comes down to Vlad being self-centered. He’s thinking only in terms of satisfying his needs, he doesn’t seem to have any concept of a larger pair or group feeling. There’s an inability to bend/be flexible for the sake of maintaining a greater harmonious feeling.
[For the record, I don’t think this makes him irredeemable? Only that it makes it very hard to live with him or love him, probably. There’s an inability to live at a joint pace? It’s always answering to what he wants without room for anything else most of the time, which to me is not living and it’s not love ;;;;]
Following their escape back to their own time, Vlad explains how he wants to use the door to turn geniuses and control humanity. He eventually wants to create a surveillance state, which would mean everyone is forced to move with his explicit approval, more or less. (He almost reminds me of Louis XIV, can’t tell if that’s what they were going for.) I have my doubts that his abilities could extend that far, but human history shows us that we are plenty susceptible to fascist and totalitarian rhetoric. In a shocking display of anger, Comte draws the line at controlling humanity and forcing them into a regime in which, and this is Vlad’s description not mine, “we (purebloods) would be like kings.” There’s definitely a concept of evolutionary superiority at play here, which echoes what I mentioned earlier; vampires seem to have this awareness that they’re apex predators in a sense, and enjoy the power that comes with that. Unfortunately, that probably makes for a fairly toxic/uncomfortable larger species culture, which is exactly what Comte and Leo hate lmao.
Vlad does not seem to find any issue with this sort of outlook, and asks MC to decide which of them--Vlad or Comte--is right. Who is more realistic, who best understands the future? As expected the MC replies that it's Comte, and Vlad goes from beseeching to big mad at record speed. He's p much that gif of the teddy bear that smacks its head down on the tables and then has the angry eyebrows.
This is where Comte intervenes, firing a warning shot that grazes Vlad's cheek and demanding he let MC go. In response, Vlad shoves MC into the turbulent timespace door--p much guaranteeing MC's death. (Essentially timespace is a void of sorts, a human being could never survive in that environment for long. Vlad fully knew this, and yeeted her anyway.)
So uh, yeah. Disagreement? Death. Moving on? Death. Nuanced approach to reality? Death. Beginning to think he doesn't really have a lot of patience or open-mindedness or any other kind of problem-solving approach.
He raises flowers and gardens like a fiend, and he openly plucks any single flower with a blemished leaf. Even if a single petal is slightly damaged, it will be removed and destroyed. So one could argue his extremism reflects a kind of perfectionism as well. No room for errors or troublesome dissent. No ugliness of any kind. I mean in all of his interactions with Faust and Charles this is the overt undertone. Don't ask more of me than I'm willing to give. Behave like good children, mommy's busy. Is that insubordination? boss music begins
One thing I actually don't understand very well is his decision making in Dazai's route. Dazai finds out about what Vlad's doing in a nanosecond when he senses MC is in danger, and yet Vlad makes absolutely no move to eliminate Dazai? He just watches from the shadows. Even when Dazai grills Charles about his loyalty to Vlad, no retribution.
My best guess for this specific situation is that Vlad does derive some level of satisfaction thwarting the future of human beings/former humans. Dazai--being somebody with no great desire to live, no rivals to speak of as far as we can tell, and no larger aspirations--is a life that is easily extinguished. There's no satisfaction in it. When Vlad's clan was murdered and he saw the future decimated, it could be that he felt humans had invaded and eradicated every potentiality that was important to him. Where he might have lived happily with his family, that future was ripped from his grasp. Where he might enjoy his flowers and the creation of an immortal for the rest of conceivable time, that too was ripped from his grasp with a desolate future.
So much about who Vlad is is about control, so it's very possible his lashing out is an extension of that. Dazai does not awaken any of the disdain he feels, and he does not succeed in overthrowing Vlad's control over Charles, so Vlad simply lurks in silence.
And last but not least, I've seen the preview to Vlad's newest birthday event story. The contents are incredibly revealing, in that MC wishing him a happy birthday and offering him a gift has him saying that it was "the best birthday ever." Granted idk if that’s sweet or just...beyond sad, but here we are. It’s only compounding my curiosity about the wound on his chest--I really do wonder if he was attacked and locked away by vampire hunters or hostile human beings or something. I say that only because that line speaks to a lot of isolation, and given how little he seems to care about turning people/subjecting them to his whims it feels odd. Why the isolation or lack of people who care about him? Is it a perceived lack where his actions alienated all the people who wanted to be close to him, or is it a more involuntary lack?
When she says let’s celebrate again next year, he seems a pleasantly shocked by the notion, and remarks “Ah yes, it’s a promise c:”. The preview was also mega horny: “You make me feel so loved, I don’t think I can be gentle with you tonight. If you enjoy it so much, then I won’t stop. I want to see you completely lost for me. I’ll teach your body what it means to be loved by a pureblood.” Aaaaaand pretty sure the CG was alluding to him licking the good stuff from her basement, though not entirely sure given it was only the preview.
The brief POV they give us is also very revealing:
“You always keep your promises, and I think I underestimate all the time how much you saved me. You are good, only you are good in this world.”
“Will we continue to make promises to each other in the future? Well in that case--you will always, always be mine, my vampire.”
Tbh he’s...v sweet? In his own way? Honestly he feels like a crabapple that is just so sick of the world and wants softe wife to take comfort in. While granted that’s not really my thing, I know a fanbase appeal exists for these types--so if that’s your thing, have at it!
So now that we have reached the end of my ridiculously long analysis (when am I ever brief, I’m so sorry. If you made it all the way here you deserve a cookie at the very least, if not the right to chase me with a bat) perhaps it’s more clear why I said discount vampire Sasuke Uchiha? “My clan is gone, every other second I’m going to be in retraumatization insanity, when I’m not I’ll be seeking power/hobbies, planning the demise of people who wanted the best for me, building a team to my advantage and unquestioned control, and eventually settling for a lifelong love who sees the best in me despite my more difficult moments and perceived hollowing loneliness. Not the most ideal comparison, but I will say if Vlad was not already named the historical figure, would have pointed and yelled Uchiha.
That’s all from me folks, hopefully this was a fun way to get introduced to him? And again, hope I didn’t alienate--I fully respect what people do and don’t enjoy o7
#asks#ikevamp#ikemen vampire#ikevamp meta#ikevamp vlad#ikevamp comte#ikevamp saint germain#ikevamp leonardo#ikevamp faust#ikevamp charles#ikevamp dazai#i hope this was helpful!#i had too much fun writing it jkahlgkjhgdf i love meta#but thank you for submitting <33333#oh discount vampire sasuke uchiha we really in it now#rambles#not incorrect quotes
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Game Night
** Hi everyone here is my first imagine in a while and it is pretty long and there will be a part 2!
Synopsis: Luke and you broke up 6 months ago. Ashton invites you over for game night.
Luke Hemmings x reader
Warnings: None
Please enjoy and let me know what you think!!
*not my photo*
“Come on Y/N you have to come see us! We’re traveling across the country just to see you!” Ashton whined through the phone.
“Well I didn’t ask you too Ash. I can’t risk seeing him-”
“He’s not coming, he’s staying here with her. Hell I don’t even think he knows we left.”
You sighed, “Who exactly is ‘we’?”
“Me and Mikey,” you could hear the smile in his voice. You had always been the closest to him and Michael. Not that you and Calum weren’t close, it was just different.
“What about Cal?” you asked.
“He’s staying back so you know who doesn’t get suspicious about the three of us all leaving for a weekend.”
“I don’t know Ash,” you sighed again. “I have work and stuff. Plus I was supposed to see the twins this weekend, and I wanted to go to Target…” you trailed off as you rattled on with excuses.
“Oh please, you know you miss us just as much as we miss you. It’s been six months Y/N, just come hangout for the night. I promise it’s not gonna be anything big. Just you, me, Mike and Crystal. We’ll just do pizza and play some games. Please Y/N, we’re already at the airport and if you don’t come willingly we got your new address from Lacey.”
You mentally cursed your best friend, she knew you specifically didn’t give any of them your new address for this very reason. You were out of excuses and you could hear Ashton’s smirk through the phone. He had you cornered and he knew it.
“Fine. Text me your Airbnb info and I’ll come over tomorrow when I’m done work. But you better be getting the good pizza, and there better be drinks.”
“Yes she’s in!” you heard Mikey yell in the background. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread over your face.
“Bye boys, safe flight.”
You hung up the phone and put your head in your hands. While part of you was very excited to see Ashton and Michael again there was still a part of you that was worried. There was too much history between you and him so of course they all knew about it. They tried not to take sides during the break up but everyone knew he had Calum and you had the other two. It was part of the reason that you had moved back home instead of trying to find a place to stay in L.A.. You could feel the tension that was building between the four of them and the last thing you wanted to do was ruin their friendships or their band. It was all way more important than you.
You hadn’t really spoken to any of them much other than the casual ‘how are you’ texts here and there. But from him it had been radio silence for six months. Now here you were, five minute after speaking with Ashton and you were already more stressed than you’d be in week. What did you get yourself into?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was nearing 6:15 and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull up to the house, you had been circling the block for almost 20 minutes and every time you were about to stop you told yourself one more lap. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you, you knew it was only Ash, Mike and Crystal and yet just the thought of being around his friends was enough to make you sick.
“Fuck it,” you muttered, finally pulling into the drive. You grabbed your bag, and although you hated to admit it, you were excited to see your old friends.
You walked up to the door and hesitantly knocked on it. As soon as your knuckles hit the wood you could hear yelling and footsteps running up to the door.
“Y/N!!!” Ashton yelled engulfing you in a massive hug.
“Can’t breathe…”
“Oi sorry, I’ve just missed you lots.”
“I missed you too.” you grinned at him, wondering what you had been worried about all day. It felt like no time had passed.
“Well let her in the door man,” Michael spoke up from behind.
You smiled as you entered the house and walked over to Mikey hugging him hard.
“It’s been too long,” he muttered as he let you back.
“Well yeah, that kinda happens when there’s a global pandemic and I move across the county.”
You could tell Michael was going to tell you off for moving but Crystal came in the room then and thankfully saved you from talking about him.
She wrapped her arms around you giving you a quick hug, “It’s so good to see you, I’m glad you made it!”
“Me too, though if I didn’t come willingly I knew you’d show up on my doorstep.”
“You got that right,” she laughed, “It took all my energy to keep them in the house all day.”
“Well I appreciate it, I had a lot of work to get through today figuring I’ll still be hungover on Monday from this weekend.”
It was fitting that as soon as I mentioned being hungover we walked into the kitchen to a full stocked bar.
“Man I forgot you guys really go all out for game nights,” you couldn’t help but laugh at some of the fond memories.
“Okay so what game are we playing first?” Ashton asked as he handed you a drink.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two hours later and you really didn’t understand why you were so nervous to come. It was one of the best feelings catching up with your old friends and thankfully they didn’t bring him up once. You were in the middle of an intense game of charades, Crystal and you were kicking the boys asses.
“Alright do you guys want to give up yet? You’re never going to beat us so why not save yourselves the embarrassment.”
They both looked annoyed at how the game was progressing, “Well maybe if Mike could draw anything other than stick figures we would’ve stood a chance.” Ashton grumbled.
“And now you see why I always make sure someone else gets stuck with him,” Crystal laughed as she dodged the pen Michael threw at her.
You all laughed as you cleaned up and you went over to the stack of games, contemplating what you wanted to play next. You guys had made your way through a few different games and a few rounds of drinks and honestly you were exhausted. Since moving back home you didn’t hang out with many people other than Lacey and you forgot how much energy it took to be around people. You were tired but it was the best kind of tired.
“Can we just watch a movie now? I’m tired of losing,” MIchael whined from the couch.
“That’s exactly what a sore loser would say,” you shot back.
Michael just smiled and shrugged his shoulders looking at you, “At least I know it, but I so call picking the movie.” He picked up the remote and started searching through Netflix looking for a good comedy that everyone would watch.
“Anyone up for another round?” Ashton asked and you nodded following him into the kitchen to help. It was silent as he rummaged through the alcohol looking for something new to drink. You hopped up on the counter waiting to see what he would make.
“So how have you really been?” he asked, breaking the silence.
You looked up at him, startly by his question and you could see him looking at you intently and knew exactly what he was talking about, or more so who he was talking about.
You chewed on your bottom lip as you contemplated what to tell him. “I’ve been fine.” you answered shortly.
He scoffed at your answer, “Come on Y/N, I know you better than that and as relaxed as you seem, there is still a part of you that is on edge. You ghosted us all when you left and it was like we lost a member of our family. So tell me the truth, how are you really?”
His answer startled you, and you blinked to keep the tears at bay. “Ash I really don’t wanna ruin the night and talk about him. Can we just table it for now and go back in there with Mike and Crystal. I really don't wanna bring the mood down.” You stared back at him and there must’ve been something in your eyes because he dropped it. He handed you a drink and the two of you went back into the other room.
“Hey what were you two talking about?” Crystal asked as you sat next to her on the couch, a knowing look in her eye.
You elbowed her subtly, “Debating if Mikey was gonna pick a shitty movie or not,” you laughed.
“Don’t hate until you see it, it’s a good one you all like.” He pointed to the TV and you saw Shrek was on. “Also you could say thank you I ordered a pizza and it should be here in about 30 minutes.”
“Didn’t you just eat a plate of buffalo chicken dip and mac’n’cheese?”
He shrugged, “If it’s a problem Y/N then you can’t have any.” He stuck his tongue out at you.
You held your hands up in defense “No, no. Just asking, I’m for sure eating that pizza.”
“That’s what I thought,” Michael replied smugly.
You just rolled your eyes at him and sat back to begin the movie. Not even 10 minutes later and there was a knock on the door.
“Y/N since you were so judgy you can go answer the door.”
“Fine, fine. Though you suck at telling time Mikey, this was way less than 30 minutes.”
You got up from the couch and made your way to the door excited that the pizza was here much earlier than anticipated. There was another knock on the door as you were opening it. You froze when you saw who was there.
Luke.
He must not have been expecting you either because he had a dumbfounded look on his face, and his fist was frozen in mid knock.
“Y/N?” he breathed, his eyes boring into yours.
It was silent and you both just stood there and stared at each other. It had been six months since you had seen him and although there were some noticeable changes he was still the same Luke who broke your heart all those months ago. His arms were larger and his shoulders slightly broader. His hair was longer, his roots growing out which somehow suited him more. He had shaved his quarantine beard but the stubble was growing back. His eyes were the same blue that you fell in love with, but they were missing the usual mischievous glint.
“Luke why are you just-” Calum was caught off walking up behind Luke, his face lighting up when he saw you. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? It’s so good to see you!” He squeezed past Luke and pulled you into a tight embrace.
You had no words as you hugged Cal back, you were still in shock at them being here and you couldn’t take your eyes off Luke,
“What the hell is taking so long?” Ashton came around the corner and froze when he saw the new additions to the party. “Oh you guys are early…” he trailed off.
At his statement you felt the rage building in your veins, you pushed Calum off of you turning to Ashton the anger seeping out of you. “I’m sorry what? They’re what Ashton?”
He looked sheepishly at you, “Surprise?” he shrugged his shoulders, with a slight smile on his face.
You couldn’t believe this. It was all a setup. The whole night was a trick for you to see him again when Ashton knew more than anything that it was the last thing you wanted. You were at a loss for words, as much as you wanted to yell, you didn’t have the energy anymore.
“Look we can explain…”
You held your hand up cutting him off, “Don’t Ashton, just don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I’m leaving.”
You stormed into the other room, to get you things. MIchael was trying to look busy but the guilt was written all over his face. Crystal was sitting next to him with her arms crossed glaring at her fiance, she looked up when you walked in.
“I am so sorry Y/N, I had no idea or I would’ve never let them pull this stunt.”
You gave her a weak smile, “I’m just going to get my things and go.”
Michael turned and looked like he was going to say something, but one look from Crystal silenced him.
“Thanks for the fun while it lasted, but please don’t reach out again,” you heard footsteps behind you and knew the others had followed you into the room. “I thought maybe I could be friends with some of you,” you pointedly looked at Luke, “But if this is the shit you are going to pull them I am out. I’m sorry but I cannot go through this again. I just can’t.”
With that you grabbed your bag and all but ran out of the house. As you sat in your car you were thankful that you didn’t have too much to drink and were able to drive yourself home. The thirty minute drive seemed to take forever. All you wanted was your bed and to be distracted by Netflix. After what felt like an eternity you pulled into your driveway and walked into your house. You threw your bag on the table and couldn't believe the night you had. You knew Ashton and Michael had wanted you to talk to Luke when you first broke up, but that was six months ago. You never thought that they would pull this shit tonight. It was almost more painful this time as you realized you had to cut all of them out of your life and not just Luke.
You hadn’t expected to see him tonight and it really messed you up. You had spent the last six month erasing him from your life, as much as you could. You put everything he gave you into a box that was hidden in your basement. You tried to throw it away but it felt wrong somehow. He was too big a part of your life to completely get rid of. Lacey once asked you why you didn’t get rid of it all and you knew she thought it meant you still loved him but that wasn’t it. You just couldn’t bear to part with everything that had once brought you so much happiness. You hadn’t opened the box since you moved back home, as you went downstairs to bring it to the kitchen, you knew it was going to hurt more after seeing him tonight, but you couldn’t stop yourself.
You spent over an hour looking through all the memories the two of you had made during your time together and you were a mess sitting on the floor with tears rolling down your face. Maybe it was from the exhaustion that raked your body or the alcohol that was still in your system but you left the contents of the box sprawled over the island and slipped on his old Nirvana shirt before going to your bed and finally falling asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next thing you knew you were being jolted awake by a banging on your door. You looked at the clock and groaned when you saw it was only 8:00am. Who the hell would be here so early. Hoping it was just a package you rolled back over and tried to fall back asleep, when the person knocked again.
You signed as you rolled out of bed and trudged downstairs in nothing but the old shirt you fell asleep in. Rubbing your eyes as they adjusted to the brightness, you opened the door and had to squint to see who was there.
“Y/N, you uh forgot your phone and I wanted to make sure it got back to you safely.”
You hated that your heart skipped a beat as your name rolled off his lips, your eyes focused on him and the events of last night came back to you instantly.
“Luke.”
#luke imagine#luke hemmings#luke hemmings imagine#ashton irwin#michael clifford#calum hood#5sos#5sos imagine#ashton imagine#michael imagine#mikey#cal#calum imagine#luke hemmings preference
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word count: 1182
warnings: dubcon, choking 18+
a/n: just another kirishima thirst post fkdkenwk i think i like him more than i like to admit 😐
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ok but imagine: kirishima nii-chan.
you two aren’t really related. you are a close family friend whose parents work abroad half of the time so you live with the kirishima family. overtime everyone just accepts you as their own. heck, eijiro even introduces you to others as his sister. it’s easier calling you his little sister than actually explaining the living situation, people usually never buy the story anyways. you are his sister, his little sister to be exact and he’s your older brother. your older, stronger brother who is also a full fledged pro-hero. it’s a mouthful to brag about to your friends, you always talk about him. how he always manages to save the day no matter how bad the situation is, how he is always on magazine covers. he is your older brother and you love him. your friends are always jealous, some even ask for you to pair them up but you always deny. you know eijiro doesn’t have time to waste over dating– it’s what he has told you.
he also loves you. he loves you so very much. he cares for you with all of his heart but it’s still not the love you feel towards him. you see him as a beam of sunshine who is always ready to listen to your worries, guide you to the right direction when you are in the wrong. he’s your bestest friend, you couldn’t ask for anything more. but he could.
but he knows the feeling is one-sided, he is in love with you but you don’t love him back, he knows. his heart aches and guilt pools in his heart everytime he sees you, as his heart beats faster seeing your beautiful smile when you are around him; he is reminded of the cruel reality that he is in love with his little sister which he could never have but all the guilt and self pity vanishes when he is sniffing your panties and pumping his hard cock, imaging it was your velvety, tight cunt instead of his large hands. his sense of shame vanishes whenever he brushes his hands over your ass or how his fingers linger closer to your tits everytime he has his arms wrapped around you “platonically”. just siblings hugging, nothing to see here.
don’t get it wrong. eijiro cares about you too, he loves you but his love for you runs a little deeper. it crosses the platonic border which you have set up, it breaches through it. his love for you encompasses his entire body, mind and soul. he sees you as something more than his sister, his lover– his everything. his only.
you are oblivious, all the time. you never notice his lustful gaze or the way he stares at your tits. your naive, little head could never think of something like that. never. even when you feel uncomfortable from his super long hugs, you swear you can feel his graze his lips over your neck yet you never doubt him.
so, you never thought it would be a big deal if you dated his best friend.
you had met bakugou katsuki when kirishima had brought him over with a bundle of friends. out of all the energetic puppies, katuski caught your eye. he was different from the others, you couldn’t help but fall for him. luckily, he was into you too. it was not long before you two started dating.
for a while, you kept it hidden from the world and eijiro. it purely because you and katuski did not want to find yourselves in any scandals, but slowly you decided you would tell your close friends and family about your relationship. eijiro was the first to know, you were so eager to tell him. you were sure he would be so happy for you but alas, you were so wrong.
eijiro was furious. what do you mean you were dating katsuki? out everyone in the world? him? the thought of losing to his best friend snapped something in him. all of a sudden he was no longer the kind, gentle teddy bear you had known all your life. his eyes turned darker looking down at you with vexed, angry slits. you shuddered in fear as he hardened parts around his eyes, the loud cracking noise making you a step back.
“what’s wrong, eiji-nii?” it was ridiculous, both of you had grown out of that age but you still referenced with a “nii” at the end of his name. “what’s wrong? you tell me, [y/n].” you are left speechless. he has never said your name with such dread, ever. you gulp nervously saying nothing, breathing with the silence, “you–” his now quirk activated hand slams on the wooden table, creating a hole the size of his fist on the surface. “you whore.”
your eyes are blown out of your sockets, why would he call you that? tears prick at the corner of your eyes, you don’t want to cry but seeing him be so angry at you manages to fuck you up.
“eiji, why would you say that?” you begin, your voice meek and shirl, “y–you lying, ungrateful whore,” you don’t know what is making him like this but you move a step back as he takes one towards you, trying to maintain some safe distance from him. eijiro on the other hand only seems to grow more and more angrier, you gasp as your back hits the wall behind you. eijiro closes in, trapping you between his large body and the cold, grey wall. his left hand rests are the side of your head, sharp and hardened fingers digging into the wall while his other normal hands close around your neck. “you lie to me and go behind bakugou fucking katsuki? why?” the last word he speaks sounds weak and pathetic. there is a sadness in his voice about which you couldn’t care less about as he cuts off your air supply. your hands automatically claw at his arm, trying to pry it off you but it’s all in vain. he is much larger, taller and stronger than you. you couldn’t stand a chance.
you feel yourself slip out of your consciousness as you hear him spit angry curses, “all these years, i have loved you and go for him? you whore. it should be me. i should be the one making you happy, your favourite older brother. it should be me. you must be mine,” he continues with his ramble looking at your panicked face, relishing in the fear that dances across your eyes.
he lets you go, watches with glee as you fall down to your knees and cough trying to catch your breath. “break up with him. you are mine.” he groans, watching you with grim eyes. you nod desperately, not wanting him to hurt you any further.
a wicked, sinister smile crosses his face as he calms down, deactivating his quirk. he looks down at your pathetic form: glassy eyes and a dribble of drool falling past your lips. he is so proud. his little sister is finally his.
#yandere kirishima x reader#kirishima eijiro x reader#yandere kirishima#kirishima imagines#kirishima x reader#kirishima x y/n#bnha eijiro kirishima#kirishima smut#my hero acedemia#my hero acdemia x reader#my hero academia fanfiction#bnha fanfiction#bnha kirishima eijirou#yandere writing#yandere fics#yandere smut#tw: noncon#← the collective 📚
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14
“Just a short little prompt fill” I said to myself. “Something to work on in my downtime between longer fics.” Oops I made a whole au and I’m attached to it now, lol.
14: “Good news! I brought you a friend.”
CW: Pet whump, creature whump, fantasy au, restraints, referenced conditioning, child whumper
---
“More tea, Daisy?” Matilda asked, holding up her porcelain teapot. Daisy eyed her for a moment, and Matilda giggled. “You can answer, silly!”
“Yes please, Lady Matilda,” Daisy said immediately.
“Here you go!” Matilda said, tipping the pot forward to mime pouring. “One lump of sugar or two?”
“Two please, my lady,” Daisy said, and Matilda nodded primly, picking up a small set of tongs.
She mimed dropping two lumps of sugar into Daisy’s cup, then one into her own. She put the cup to her lips and pretended to drink, grinning when Daisy did the same.
“I have to say, Daisy, your wings are looking particularly ex-quis-ite today!” Matilda chirped, slowly sounding out the larger word she’d often heard her mother use at grown-up garden parties. “I love how the light catches them just so!”
An expression Matilda couldn’t quite read flashed through her fairy’s eyes for a moment, but before she could figure it out Daisy’s smile was back, wider and brighter than before.
“Thank you, Lady Matilda.”
“You’re welcome!” Matilda said cheerfully, swinging her legs a bit as she pretended to take another sip of tea. “Oooh, ooh, guess what!”
“What is it, Lady Matilda?” Daisy barely had time to ask before Matilda launched into her story. Mother often said she talked too much for polite conversation, but that was part of what was fun about playing with Daisy, Matilda didn’t need to be polite!
“Father will be coming home today!” she said, clapping her hands. “And that means I’ll get a present! He always brings me a present when he comes home from trips, and I hope it’s something really nice, he’s been gone for so long this time…what do you think he’ll bring me? Maybe a new dress, or a box of sweets...do you think he’ll bring something for you, too Daisy? Oh I’d like that, maybe a new satin cushion for your cage, or a set of gold combs for me to put in your hair, wouldn’t that just look so beautiful with your leash and collar?”
“Matilda!” her mother called sharply, interrupting Matilda’s musing about her presents. “Time to put your toys away now, your father will be home soon.”
“Aww, but Mother-”
“I won’t tell you twice, Matilda,” her mother warned, and Matilda sighed.
“Fiiiine.”
She got to her feet and quickly scooped up the dolls and teddy bears she had set around the table to make up the rest of the tea party’s guests. She dropped them into her toy chest, then walked back to where Daisy was sitting, unhooking her leash from the brass loop on the side of the table.
“Come on, Daisy,” Matilda said, tugging on the leash, and Daisy quickly scrambled to her feet. When Matilda had first gotten her last year, Daisy had stood a few inches taller than her, but Matilda had grown a bit since her eighth birthday, and now she was about the same height as her pet.
Matilda led Daisy to her cage, which took up the entire corner of the playhouse. Her father had ordered it to be custom made just for Daisy, and it reminded Matilda of a bigger version of the parrot cage she’d once seen at a party at her cousin’s estate. Daisy slipped inside, waiting patiently by the door as Matilda made sure the lock was secure before reaching through the bars to unclip the leash from the shiny golden collar she wore around her neck. She hung the leash on a hook on the cage door, then grinned, waving at her pet.
“Bye Daisy!” she said. “I’ll come visit you again after supper, alright?”
She skipped out into the garden, where her mother was waiting to close the playhouse door behind her.
“Did you remember to lock the cage, dear?” Mother asked, and Matilda rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Good. Now, come with me. Your father will be home any minute, and he has a surprise for you.”
A grin stretched across Matilda’s face. She couldn’t wait to find out what it was!
---
Matilda was not an unkind little girl. She was sweet, polite, and as far as Lorrella could tell, never hurt anybody on purpose.
This, of course, did little to soothe the chafed skin beneath Lorrella’s collar or the ache for freedom in her heart.
Matilda did not seem to realize that her beloved fairy was a prisoner in the opulent playhouse her father had built her on the grounds of their family manor. She never registered Lorrella’s discomfort, though that was mostly because Lorrella took great pains to hide it from her. Matilda was bound to become upset if her pet wasn’t acting happy, after all.
And rule number one was Don’t upset Matilda.
So Lorrella couldn’t really blame the girl for not realizing when she was uncomfortable, but Matilda still didn’t seem to think twice about leading her around on a leash like a dog or locking her in a six by six foot cage whenever they weren’t “playing together.” She certainly hadn’t been interested in learning Lorrella’s real name, content instead to dub her “Daisy” because it sounded pretty.
Daisy was a dress up doll, a hair model, an audience for impromptu storytimes and a companion for tea parties and garden outings. Whatever Matilda wanted for as long as she wanted, that’s what Daisy had to be. Lorrella was allowed to exist only in these quiet moments when Matilda left her here alone; when nothing was wanted of her and she could whisper her name into the empty room so that she would not forget it.
The most frightening thing was that while Lorrella longed for such a reprieve when she was with Matilda, whenever she was alone, she’d begun to find herself wishing for the girl’s company. Lorrella was nobody, did nothing, belonged nowhere when Matilda was gone. Daisy, at least, had something to do, had something to be, even if that something was little more than an object to be shaped and molded by someone else.
Daisy belonged to Matilda, but Daisy had a purpose. Lorrella belonged to no one, but her life had ceased to have meaning altogether.
The door to the playhouse suddenly burst open and Lorrella jumped in surprise as Matilda darted into the room.
“Daisy!” she cried, running up to the cage and grinning from ear to ear. “Good news! Father brought you a friend!”
Lorrella blinked and tilted her head, a silent question. Matilda reached through the bars and patted her on the head, then grabbed her collar and pulled. Lorrella suppressed a wince at the sudden jerk of movement and leaned forward so that Matilda could clip the leash on.
“Come on, come on, you have to see it!” Matilda said. As soon as she had Lorrella out of the cage, she dashed out of the room, and Lorrella had no choice but to follow as quickly as she could.
Matilda hurried through the grounds and Lorrella stumbled after her, biting back a yelp every time Matilda ran too fast or turned too suddenly for her to keep up. Her neck was already growing sore, and she’d tumbled over enough times that her knees would be bound to have an angry smattering of fresh bruises by morning. She desperately wanted to call out for Matilda to slow down, but she held her tongue.
Rule number two was Never speak unless spoken to.
Matilda finally skidded to a halt outside the family stables, and Lorrella let herself fall to her knees beside her, gasping for air.
“Father!” Matilda called, knocking on the stable door. “I brought Daisy to come see it too! Can we come in?”
Lorrella stared at Matilda incredulously. All this fuss just to meet a new pony?
Matilda’s father appeared at the door, and Lorrella shrank back, casting her eyes downward.
“Yes, my dear,” he said. “But you must remember to move slowly, alright? It is still quite wild, and not used to people yet.”
Matilda nodded solemnly, and her father opened the door wide, allowing her to pull Lorrella inside. They passed through most of the stable and Matilda occasionally paused to wave at a favorite horse, but they didn’t stop moving until they reached the end of the row of stalls. The stall at the back was open, and as they approached, Lorrella could hear the stable hands muttering to each other.
“Shit! Hold the damn thing still, will you? I can’t buckle these straps tight enough when it’s squirming so much!”
“I will thank you,” Matilda’s father said coldly,” to not swear in front of my daughter.”
The two snapped to attention instantly, twin looks of apology on their faces.
“Yes, Lord Tracey, sorry Lord Tracey,” said the one who’d cursed, ducking his head.
“Can I show Daisy now?” Matilda asked, and her fathers face softened as he looked down at her.
“Of course, my dear. The creature is secure?” he added to the stablehands, and they nodded quickly.
“Yes, my lord. Took a fair bit of wrangling, but it shouldn’t be a problem now.”
They stepped aside, revealing the animal in the stall, and Lorrella was unable to stop herself from gasping. She froze, glancing up at Lord Tracey, but he only had eyes for Matilda, who was staring at the creature with a wide grin
It was not, as Lorrella had first assumed, simply a new pony; it was a centaur. Their upper body was wrapped up tightly in a harness that forced its arms behind its back, and their face was partially covered by a bitted bridle, the lead of which was tied to a hook on the wall.
Lorrella had never seen a centaur before, and she was no expert on horses either, but even she could see that the creature was only a child. Judging by the face alone, one not much older than Matilda herself, or at least whatever the centaur equivalent was to eight years old. The poor thing was clearly terrified, too; they were trembling slightly and pawing at the ground with one of their front hooves.
“Daisy, this is Coco!” Matilda said happily. “Coco, this is Daisy! The two of you are gonna be the best of friends, I know it! What do you think, Daisy, isn’t she just the greatest present you ever saw?”
The centaur flinched when Matilda spoke, and Lorrella glanced back at Lord Tracey, who was watching the whole exchange with what on the surface looked like a bored expression. She swallowed, and shot the centaur what she hoped was an apologetic look before answering.
“Yes, Lady Matilda,” she said quietly. “She’s perfect for you.”
#whump#whump fic#creature whump#fairy whump#centaur whump#pet whump#nonhuman whumpee#child whumper#matilda's playhouse#my writing
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Pen Pals
soul mate /ˈsōl ˌmāt/
noun; a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.
✒️ Pairing: Taehyung x reader
✒️ Genre: Fluff
✒️ Word Count: 2.4k
✒️ Warnings: Swearing
A/N: This is my first fic pls be nice AKSDK
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Tomorrow was your 21st birthday, the day your soulmate connection would be revealed to you. You’d heard stories from your parents, family friends, and even some of your friends that were a year or two older than you about the different connections. What if you got one that would make it damn near impossible to find them? What if your soulmate was older than you, and already knew, but gave up since you were too young? You sighed and laid flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, giving up on your futile attempts at a decent night's sleep, your mind hot with the different scenarios baking within it.
The next morning, you groaned and begrudgingly swung your legs over the side of your bed, stretching as you opened the curtains, the mid morning sunlight flooding into your room. You cringed slightly at the brightness, your eyes struggling to adjust. Yawning as you walked into your kitchen, deciding on a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Scrolling through your phone as you ate, you smiled as you read the birthday wishes from your friends and family. After replying to as many as you felt like doing, you opened Twitter to see what fresh hell awaited you on your timeline. Surprisingly there wasn't really anything bad being mercilessly tweeted about.
The one thing that caught your eye was the lovely photo on your screen, tweeted a couple hours ago, staring back at you. It was embarrassing how infatuated you were with a certain man by the name of Kim Taehyung. He was the perfect man, in all honesty, by your standards at least. He was devilishly handsome yet charmingly adorable from the tip of his nose down to his toes, the smallest details all adding to the things that caused him to worm his way into your heart.
You smiled as you saved the picture to your camera roll before setting your phone down on the table. Your smile quickly turned into a surprised squeak as you felt an oddly ticklish sensation on your wrist, and you stared down at it in shock. Appearing on your skin before your eyes was writing, but it wasn't just any writing. It was a greeting.
“Hello?”
This must be it, your soulmate bond. You didn’t know anyone personally with this particular bond, but you’d read about it through your countless nights of curiosity and excitement driven research.
You nearly tripped on your own feet as you scrambled to find some kind of writing utensil, eager to respond to the stranger. Not just a stranger. Your soulmate. You felt your heart rate quicken just at that thought. You found a pen on your counter, quickly scribbling a response below their message.
“Hello!” You wrote back. Not 30 seconds later, you felt the tickling sensation again, impatiently tapping your pen on the counter as you awaited their response.
“It’s you! You’re finally getting my notes!” You smiled to yourself, your late night suspicion confirming itself. They were definitely older than you, but hopefully not by much. You’d hate if you left your soulmate waiting for too long for you.
“How long have you been trying?” You wrote, a little smaller this time near the ditch of your elbow, so you wouldn’t take up too much valuable space on your skin. You bit your lip as you felt your skin tingle again, hoping it wasn’t too bad-
“Four years” Four years. Four whole years they’d been writing on themselves with no response. You sighed, feeling awful. Well, at least you knew how old they were. Twenty-five, twenty-six tops, if their birthday was coming up sometime soon.
“I'm sorry you waited so long… today is my 21st birthday” you wrote back, twisting your arm at a slightly awkward angle as you did this. You smiled softly, growing familiar with, and anticipating the feeling as they wrote.
“Happy birthday :)” Was written there. You smiled and wrote your thanks, not really sure how to proceed with finding them. You’d read that there were specific guidelines when it came to the different connections, things you weren’t able to do, since that would make finding your soulmate too easy. Things like their exact location, names, things of that nature. The catch is, you were able to reveal that when you were in the same vicinity. As if trying to find them wouldn’t be hard enough.
Over the next month or so, you’d learned that your soulmate was a man that was born in South Korea (you didn’t know how you’d ever be able to swing a trip there, or vice versa). You learned that he enjoyed drawing, painting, photography, singing and dancing. He was fun to talk to (at least until there wasn't any more space on either of your bodies for more ink). He had a pretty time consuming career from what he told you, but he still liked to draw you pictures to wake up to, or write you little good morning messages. You found yourself becoming incredibly fond of him, even without ever seeing his face.
One day, you found yourself staring at your laptop and phone screens, focusing excruciatingly hard on trying to score tickets to see BTS in your city. After nearly missing the opportunity, and a decent amount of money you’d surely have to pull quite a bit of overtime to make up for, you scored a decent seat for their show in a couple months. Eager to share the news with someone, you wrote on your arm.
“I just got tickets to see BTS!!” You wrote with a shaky hand, your already poor penmanship suffering even more. This would be your first time seeing them, seeing the man you’d had your eyes on for so long.
~~~~~
Taehyung smiled when he felt you were writing or perhaps drawing something for him. He loved reading your short messages about your day, getting to know you. Over the past months he was growing more and more impatient, half tempted to fly to the States and wing it. His heart nearly thudded out of his chest when he read what you wrote.
“I just got tickets to see BTS!!”
Holy shit. This was good. This was great, actually. Now he knew you were a fan. Jimin looked over when he saw the stupid grin plastered on his bandmate’s face.
“What is it, Taehyung-ah?” He asked. Taehyung didn’t answer verbally, just angled his arm so Jimin could see what you wrote. He broke into his own smile. “Oh this is good! Maybe you're closer to meeting her than you thought.” He said, patting the younger man’s back. Taehyung smiled with a nod, you being the only thing occupying his mind at the moment.
~~~~~
It was the day of your concert and you could barely contain your excitement. You barely slept the night before, knowing you would be exhausted, but couldn't find it in yourself to care all too much. You’d been waiting for what seemed like forever for this day, and weren't going to let anything, not even your lack of sleep, ruin it for you.
The day seemed to drag even longer than usual, before you figured it was a good time to start getting ready. You got dressed in an outfit that you purchased specifically for this event, a more affordable version of the Dior outfits Rap Line sported during their performances of Tear, and you put on your TaTa headband as the final touch. You know, so everyone knew specifically who you were there for. You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time, smiling and letting out an excited squeak as you grabbed everything you would need, before you made your way to the venue.
The venue was absolutely packed. There was no way you’d be able to even get any merch without missing half the concert standing in that line. You sighed quietly to yourself and went to your seat, busying yourself with syncing your lightstick so it would light up with everyone else's. You looked around from your seat, in awe about how many people were here. Crazy how many people could fit into one space.
While you waited for the concert to start, you decided to write him a message about how excited you were, and that you would keep him updated throughout the show. You decided to draw a small heart on your hand, in the space between your pointer finger and thumb, just because. You smiled when you saw his words appear on your arm.
“Have fun <3”
Oh, you would. You would have the time of your life. Little did you know, in more ways than one.
~~~~
Taehyung knew you had to be here somewhere. You just had to be. He ran a hand through his perfectly groomed hair, effectively rendering his stylist’s hard work useless. He couldn’t help it. Not when he knew his soulmate was in this building. His mind started to race. What if you didn’t want to be with him? What if you liked one of the other members better than him? What if you couldn’t deal with his lifestyle? He was pacing now, and everyone but him seemed to notice.
“Taehyung-ah, relax. I’m sure everything will work out fine.” Namjoon smiled reassuringly. Taehyung nodded and let out a breath, sitting down. They were called to start getting into position, and Taehyung knew he had to do it, now or he wouldn’t have time, and you would slip through his fingers. He pulled out his pen, writing one word on his forearm in larger than usual letters. He put his pen in his pocket, heading to where his microphone and earpieces were waiting for him, hoping you would see his message.
~~~~~
When the concert started, you could barely focus on anything else other than the men on stage in front of you. You felt the familiar tickle on your arm that your soulmate had written you, though you ignored it for the time being. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of Taehyung, witnessing his incredible stage presence and the massive amount of fan service he was giving was mesmerising, to say the least.
When time for the intermission came around, and the VCRs played on the big screens, you took a moment to see what your soulmate wrote to you. You gasped when you saw the big, capital letters spread along the length of your forearm.
“TAEHYUNG”
There was no way. Absolutely no fucking way. Kim Taehyung was not your soulmate. You had to have been some sort of saint in your previous life to deserve such treatment from the universe. You stared at your arm for a few more seconds in complete disbelief, before taking your pen out of your pocket, writing your name under his on your arm. A minute later, you felt him writing, and you anxiously chewed at your lip as you awaited his response.
“Where are you?”
You hurriedly scribbled your section and seat number, your brain barely able to process what was happening.
Within 5 minutes, there was a man approaching you, asking you to confirm your name. When you did, he told you to come with him, you did without asking any questions. The man led you backstage, and you looked around, frantically trying to find the familiar face in the crowd of stage hands.
When your eyes finally met his, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Was it anxiety? Excitement? A spicy mixture of both? You couldn’t really tell, but there were some things you needed to see. His long legs effortlessly closed the distance between you, until you were standing toe to toe. You looked up at him and he looked down at you, neither of you truly believing you were here at this moment. You studied his face for a moment, then without a word, you took his hands, inspecting them. There it was. You brought your hand up and compared, the tiny heart you drew on your hand matching the one on his. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the messages you’d written to each other throughout the day.
“Y/N…” He said quietly, only loud enough that you could hear. “I finally found you. You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”
“I can’t believe it’s you.” You said as you looked up at him, tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes. He smiled and brought his hand to gently cup your cheek, his thumb lightly brushing against your cheekbone.
“Are you disappointed?” He asked with a chuckle, his tone teasing. You shook your head, letting out a quiet laugh.
“Not even a little bit.” You reassured him, smiling softly. He gave you a toothy grin before leaning down and closing the small space between you, and you couldn’t help but melt when his lips finally met yours. The kiss was soft and careful, as if he was testing the waters. When you pushed slightly against his lips, he deepened the kiss just a little more.
He was the first to pull away, seemingly remembering his surroundings, and you caught the faintest tint of pink creep onto his face. It was almost time for him to go back on stage, and he rested his forehead against yours for a moment, his eyes locked with yours as he intertwined your fingers with his.
“Wait for me? I plan to talk to you for hours, now that I can finally hear your voice.” He said, and you nodded without hesitation. He smiled widely before pressing a kiss to your forehead, jogging off to wherever it was he was needed. You sat on the couch that was there for the members beside the stage, running a hand through your hair. Never in your wildest dreams did you think something like this could happen. Not to you, at least. You felt him writing again, and this time, you paid full attention to the words appearing along your arm.
“I love you.”
Your heart skipped a beat as you read those 3 words, pulling out your pen and writing your response.
“I love you too.” You wrote, carefully, easily readable. Never had you meant something more in your life. You couldn’t wait for him to come back to you, for him to execute his plan. After what felt like a very long time, you couldn’t wait to finally begin your life with the man you happily called your soulmate.
#taehyung x reader#taehyung fluff#taehyung x you#taehyung#Kim taehyung#taehyung fanfic#taehyung fanfiction#bts fic#BTS v#bts#bts fanfic#taehyung fic#kth oneshot#kth#soulmate!au#soulmate!taehyung#taehyung au#bts au
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