#one thing about me: I’m gonna be dramatic in a windowsill | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

90stvshowgoth · 3 years

Text

— BREAKING & ENTERING

—ch.1 —ch.2

summary: dabi is on the run from the cops when you just happened to leave your window open.

tags: drunk sex, creampie, overstimulation, dubcon but not really,

wc: 6729

a/n: this is my first dabi fanfic so i’m worried i might’ve made him a bit too ooc but tbh i don’t care. soft dabi is what i want and soft dabi is what i will get. huge thanks by the way to @a-monsters-love who beta read this story and made it a lot less sucky!

my requests are open by the way!

What woke you wasn’t the explosions or the screams, but the sirens. The mechanical moans echoed through the streets of Musutafu, and that sound pulled you up out of bed, looking out your window in a bleary state of half-asleep fear.

‘What was going on?’ Goosebumps ran up your arms as you peered out your alleyway view window, overlooking the fire escape to the siren that had recently been installed in your neighborhood a few months back. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you tried to recall when the Pro Hero Association had brought it, and that same chill sank to your bones as you remembered just what they were for.

A villain had attacked the prefecture. A dangerous one.

You tried to calm your breathing, slowly walking backwards from the window to think rationally about the situation.

‘There’s no reason for somebody to attack a random apartment building, they’re off fighting heroes,’ The reasonable side of your brain said.

Despite that the siren was still wailing across town and it began to set you on edge. You certainly weren’t falling back asleep any time soon. If you couldn’t go back to bed you thought you’d might as well make some tea to calm your frigid nerves. You smiled when you saw your well-loved cardigan hanging next to the door and hugged it close, otherwise wearing nothing but your bra and leggings.

When you stepped into the main room you breathed in the warm scent of the candle that you’d accidentally left burning. Cursing yourself for your lack of fire safety, you shrugged and used the wick to light your path to the counter. After filling up the kettle under the sink you left it under the lit stove to boil, taking a moment to admire how the burner’s low flames were almost purely blue.

From here you could see the small television beside the couch and with a press of a button it came to life before you. The harsh glare made your eyes wince before they adjusted to the unfriendly light.

You were drawn to the red index near the corner that blinked the words ‘breaking news.’ This made your sleep-addled brain finally connect the dots between the sirens and the reporter. The screen cut to a newsman outside of what used to be a ten-story building when all that remained was a smoking husk. Hesitantly, you increased the volume to hear what happened.

“—before fleeing the scene. We have reports that say the hero fighting him was put into critical condition following the attack, and is currently being taken to the hospital. A video was taken by a nearby woman who sent it to the authorities. We believe this clip to be of the suspects,” the journalist paused, and a low-quality film began to play. Whoever was recording had badly shaking hands so It was difficult to make out. Your eyes widened at the sight of the building you walked by every day for work, the Shishido hero agency, razed by a torrent of blue wildfire.

Escaping from the crumbling building were four or so figures, too far away to see with any accuracy, but each had an unmistakeable silhouette. The League of Villains.

They were something of a modern socratic dialogue. Whenever someone brought up their name or the hero killer Stain’s it was always just to be a contrarian towards whoever was on the opposing side. Fanatical opinions would spark heated arguments online but you tried to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Although, if you’d have to pick a side, you would choose the League’s. After Stain’s video had spread through Japan you dug deeper into the shady histories of some of the Commission’s most well-respected heroes. Whatever standard you held those pros to crumbled into dust under miles of ‘collateral damage,’ and omitted crimes that were swept under the rug by police. So when the faces of the league went up on the screen you couldn’t help but smile at their victory.

The whistle of the kettle pulled you from the television. You rushed to take it off the stove before it could get any louder, and routinely began to fix the tea just the way you like it. You hummed, smiling as the first sip of the warm brew spread down your body, fending off the cold.

You threw the remote onto the couch that sat across from the small kitchen. Moving back to your bedroom and getting cozy with the tea, you reveled in the way that the mug loosened the frozen joints of your fingers. But before you could relax and block out the sirens with some music, you noticed another chill rush through the small room. Groaning over-dramatically, you set the tea down to retrieve another blanket from your pile; but your eyes widened when you tracked down the source of the cold.

Your window was open.

That caught you off guard. You were absolutely sure you closed it before bed knowing how low the temperatures would drop, though with growing panic you noticed how you specifically don’t remember locking it. There’s only two ways it could’ve been open now. Either you simply misremembered earlier that night and forgot to close it...

Or someone else broke in.

The tea’s warmth was long forgotten as you reached shaking hands to close the window. But before you could slide the panel shut a calloused hand clawed itself around your mouth so you couldn’t scream.

Fear gripped your lungs as you struggled to breathe, thrashing desperately against the second arm your assailant had snaked over your waist to keep you still. Your leg banged painfully on the side of the windowsill as you struggled but it didn’t deter you from opening your mouth wide enough to bite down on the attacker’s hand.

“Fuck!” He cursed when your teeth drew blood around his thumb and practically threw you to the ground. As you were about to use your newfound freedom to scream for help, the man lunged towards you with one outstretched hand.

His flesh was suddenly engulfed in a hissing blue fire and you winced at the wave of heat that flared so close to your face. From here you could easily make out the assailant’s features from the illuminating glow of his flames.

He had deep scars circled under his eyes using what looked like piercings to hold the tattered skin together. His lips quirked after realizing he’d caught you for good, making his charred skin pull against the metal in his cheekbones. Panic hadn’t altered your memory, you knew exactly who was standing over you. Dabi of the League of Villains.

Before either of you could make another move someone banged on the front door. You turned to look towards the sound but the heat close to your reddening throat kept you from doing anything stupid.

“Ma’am this is the police, open the door.” You and Dabi stared at each other from the implications and you could already see a plan forming behind his eyes.

He leaned far too close, keeping his lit hand still hovering over your neck as he whispered his words into your ear, “Listen to me nice and close, doll,” you couldn’t bring yourself to breathe underneath the searing tension. “You’re gonna answer that door. You’re gonna smile and say that nobody’s home. And if you give away fuckin’ anything,” Dabi’s flames somehow stoked themselves, the heat so intense that your teardrops evaporated before they could leave your eyes, “I’ll set your hair on fire first. So you can feel your brain cooking.” He spoke with a dripping malice that made your blood run cold despite the flames creeping up his arm. You nodded, too terrified to form words as he pushed forward; telling you to get up.

The brief walk from your bedroom to the front door had never felt so long. Your legs felt like the static emanating from the television, all shaky and unstable. Once your hands curled around the handle you decided not to spare a glance back.

‘What do I do?’ You didn’t want to die, at least not by immolation of all things, so you’d have to play along. You cupped your feverish face in your hands and took an unsteady breath. ‘As long as I can fool these cops, I’ll be fine. I can do this,’ At least, you hoped.

Opening the door caused the hallway’s lights to flood through your darkened doorway. Once your eyes flinched with discomfort you saw the unmistakeable uniforms of two police officers, both middle-aged and looking much more disinterested than you would’ve thought.

“Is there a problem?” You could lie smoothly enough but your voice was still feeble from Dabi’s strain on your neck.

The one who had called out earlier answered your question, “A member of the League of Villains was seen climbing in through a window to this apartment building, but the witness didn’t remember exactly which floor or room. Is anyone else with you?”

You feigned confusion, going so far with the act as to tilt your head slightly to the side. “No, I’m sure I’m alone, sir.”

At that moment a painfully loud squeak echoed from your bedroom and your eyes widened at the audible gap in your story. There was a loose floorboard right beside your bookshelf that creaked under even the slightest weight. You’ve learned to avoid it over time but Dabi had no idea.

That bored expression on the cop’s face shifted and you scrambled to come up with a explanation. “I thought you said you lived alone?”

An idea popped straight from your brain to your mouth, “My cat! His name is—“ you thought of the old, lovable house-cat your family had kept while growing up, “Byron. He like to get into my plants.”

“...Alright then, Ma’am, just keep yourself safe.” It seemed to just barely convince them.

You almost couldn’t fight back the elation as you waved off the oblivious pair, heeding their words by locking the door behind them in a rush. Pressing your back against the wood, you tried to settle the adrenaline pounding through your chest. Unfortunately as soon as you started to calm down, Dabi strode from the bedroom with a curious look in his eyes.

“Not bad, lady. Didn’t think you’d give it your all like that,” he must’ve kicked himself for making that noise and thought you would’ve used it as a way to give him up, “especially for a villain like me.”

The tension in the air had noticeably lessened, and you started to think you had a good shot at surviving the night. “I mean, I didn’t want them to find you either.”

Dabi paced around the living room, turning on one of your floor lights in his path towards the couch, “And why’s that?” He asked, flopping unceremoniously onto the secondhand loveseat.

Sure, you were still half pissed at the guy for breaking into your apartment and threatening to kill you, but it was clear that everything he did wasn’t personal. He just needed to escape from the police, but since they were gone what would happen now?

“Because...” you wanted to find the right words to convince him, “because I hate heroes too.”

Under the dim glow of the lamp you caught a glimpse of a half-handsome smile from that answer. Now that there was none of the malice from before you could appreciate just what he looked like under the warm lighting. Especially his eyes, which turned out to be a truly stunning shade of blue.

He kicked his feet onto your coffee table and patted the seat next to him. You’d have to deal with whatever dirt or soot he’d tracked inside tomorrow morning, but for now you found yourself accepting his invitation.

“Lucky me, huh?” Dabi asked rhetorically, and you found yourself almost smiling back at him. The couch was still cold underneath you but you painfully realized that Dabi was emanating heat like a goddamn generator.

‘It must’ve been from his quirk.’ you thought bitterly, shivering despite yourself.

Dabi drew a pack of Newports from his coat pocket and slid a cigarette out with his teeth. Instead of using a lighter a thin blue flame ignited on his index finger. He held it to the tip and drew in a deep lungful of smoke.

“So, what’s your deal, anyways? You got a thing for villains or something?” He wondered out-loud, teasing another blush onto your face as you shook your head.

“No, I just— I mean not like that,” From the look on his grafted face you could tell he wasn’t convinced. “The Hero Commission is corrupt, I agree with the league on that at least. Stain’s video kinda affected me, you know?”

Another small grin graced his lips and a small part of you decided that you wanted to see that expression more often, “What’s your name, doll?”

The question put you at ease; When he repeated it back, rolling the syllables over his tongue, you couldn’t wait to hear him say it again. Wordlessly, he extended his hand towards you, offering the lit cigarette between his fingers. When you took it all you could focus on was how warm his hands felt against yours for those brief seconds.

Wisps of smoke danced in the air as you inhaled, coughing a bit after the dry tang started to sting the back of your mouth. He smirked at your reaction before taking the cheap cigar from your fingertips.

Dabi saw the remote you left laying on the couch and mindlessly turned on the TV across from you. The news station was once again playing, this time an interview with one of the heroes who fought at the scene. This hero in particular was an older man with a receding hairline and an honestly ridiculous outfit that looked somewhere between a scuba diver and a 70s golden-age comic book character.

Beside you, Dabi groaned at the sight of him, “This fuckin’ guy...”

“Were you the one that fought him?” He nodded without breaking his attention from the screen.

“His quirk was such a pain to deal with. He controlled all the oxygen in the room— made it hard to set his ass on fire.”

There were a surprising lack of injuries on Dabi as far as you could see, aside from a few scrapes alongside the bruised scars that crawled below his loose shirt. You couldn’t help but wonder how far down they went, but quickly turned your attention back to the screen to ignore those ideas. The hero he fought looked far worse for wear, skin marred with fresh burns that singed holes into the costume; His legs shaking similarly to how yours were just fifteen minutes ago. Dabi seemed to have that effect on people.

Before you could ask him how he’d won his fight he was off the couch and walking towards the kitchen. He casually searched through your apartment with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

You sighed, a bit annoyed at how he helped himself to your fridge, “Dabi, if you’d tell me what you’re looking for I could show you.”

“Nah, already found what I wanted.” He dug open one of the drawers and smirked as he pulled a chill bottle of wine from the fridge.

Dabi tracked down two nearby glasses and a corkscrew before returning to your side and started to twist the metal tip into the pliant seal. It pulled loose with a soft pop and he filled each of your cups with the cherry wine you had been saving for a special occasion.

As you raised the rim to your lips and breathed in the fermented smell you paused. Were you really about to drink wine with a villain? A wanted criminal who broke into your apartment? His hand had been around your throat as he whispered about how he would burn you alive less than half an hour ago. There had to be something wrong with you to even consider it. Beside you he nearly emptied half the glass in his first sip before going back to enjoying his cigarette and you found your resolve crumbling at his lazy half-smile. Making possibly one of the dumbest mistakes of your life, you followed his lead and took a long swig from the bittersweet drink, intent on letting the alcohol relax your nerves.

The effects were slow to come, it was only wine after all, but as the night carried on and the two of you kept drinking you started to notice the effects taking hold. At the very least, conversation between you flowed easily, trading questions about each other that never grew too inquisitive. He didn’t try to pry too deeply, he didn’t even ask for your last name, and you were sure to never bring up his scars. You talked for what must’ve been hours, and as the bottle emptied, the space between the two of you grew smaller.

Dabi could handle his alcohol, but you couldn’t, clearly. To be fair, he was tipsy, but the way you unashamedly leaned your head on his shoulder when you grew tired was anything but sober.

“So, doll, got a boyfriend or something?” He asked, testing the waters. You leaned up and sighed at the question.

“No, nothin’ like that... I haven’t had the time.” You tipped your glass back but the wine never reached your lips. You groaned at the sight of the empty cup and leaned up to grab the bottle from the table. Unfortunately, Dabi’s hand held onto yours before you could reach the vice; You felt him pull you back towards the couch by your wrist until you lost your balance, falling back against his shoulder. If he minded he didn’t show it as his arm rested around your hip.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” The condescending tone in his voice was annoying but it wasn’t enough to make you move from his comfortable grasp.

You scoffed, messing with your hair to avoid looking at his face, “God, who are you, my dad?”

A shit-eating grin stretched across his face, “Oh, so you’re into that Daddy shit, huh?”

The comment took you so off-guard that you broke into a fit of giggles that did nothing to temper the blush returning to your face. Dabi loved how much of an effect he had on you; the simplest words turning you into a flustered mess.

“Nah, not my thing-“ ‘Unless you’re into it,’ You barely kept yourself from saying that second part out loud. From this angle Dabi had the perfect view of your tits pressing against his chest and he stared shamelessly. You barely noticed, too focused on how warm he was while holding you close to his side. It almost looked like something a boyfriend would do, but you knew better.

It was a strange feeling, to be so under Dabi’s influence. Every lingering touch, every heated stare... It was driving you crazy. And he knew it. He was toying with you and you couldn’t believe how much you loved it.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a chill running down your spine, only realizing that you were so caught up in your time spent with Dabi that you forgot to close the very window he had snuck through. As the night carried on it somehow got colder and you cursed the thin cardigan you found yourself wearing that did nothing to shield away the biting air.

“You cold, doll?” Dabi was surprisingly perceptive, noticing the trail of goosebumps that ran down your arms. Although, perhaps it was the sensation of his hand trailing over your skin that caused it rather than the wind.

Nodding hesitantly, he wasted no time in wrapping his hands around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You couldn’t have held back the relieved sigh that left your lips if you tried. Because when Dabi wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you to his chest, it felt like heaven to your frigid bones.

As you curled into the embrace he couldn’t ignore how you felt on top of him. The pressure of your ass sitting on his dick drove him crazy, and it took damn near everything in him to not push you down face first and take you then and there.

“Dabi, you feel amazing,” His eyes widened, your slurred words almost making him lightheaded, “so warm...” You trailed your hands up and threaded them through his coarse dark hair. The faintest of groans left his lips as you got comfortable and accidentally dragged yourself down the front of his jeans.

All at once he took hold of the skin of your thighs, stopping you from moving and damn near shaking with effort to keep still. “Doll... cause’ you’re drunk, I’ll ask you this one time—“

“—Please, Dabi,” You didn’t budge under his bruising grasp or struggle like before, instead holding eye-contact, resolve heavy in your voice, “I want this- want you so bad,” It was enough for him, and he didn’t hold back.

He was ravenous when he finally pressed his lips to yours, leaving you tongue-tied and moaning into his mouth. The alcohol only added fuel to your desire, easing the tension on your clit by grinding against him. He broke the kiss in a choked gasp, his hands cupping you around your ass and fondling you through the thin material. When he stood up from the couch gravity somehow felt heavier, but it must’ve been from the wine. His hands still held you by your thighs and while he backed the both of you towards the bedroom his lips never left yours, even when he went to rip your cardigan off your shoulders, leaving it behind along with his coat, you in only your bra and leggings.

The loud bang from Dabi kicking the door open startling a squeak out of you and he chuckled into the kiss, running a stapled hand through your bedhead and pulling hard enough to make you keen into his touch. Rather unceremoniously he threw you onto the bed, briefly disorientating before you could make out Dabi’s alluring figure ridding himself of his clothes. Once he pulled over his shirt you saw his maimed chest covered in taught muscles and scars. As he broke your gaze to turn his attention to his jeans, fumbling with the cheap zipper, you couldn’t help from crawling towards him slowly on your knees before whispering, “No—“ He looked up from his trance, wondering if you’d changed your mind before you quickly perished the thought by pulling him towards you by the loops on his jeans. He raised an eyebrow at your show but didn’t make a move to interrupt the adorable way you took care of him.

So you began, looking into his eyes as you kissed down his deformed chest. It seemed a miracle he was even standing before you, with haphazard staples barely holding him together. You couldn’t resist giving the seams of his wounds special attention, pressing light kisses to the metal as you made your way down.

You unhooked his jeans easily, eagerly reaching to feel him through his boxers. His nails dug into your scalp when you finally eased his shorts off, breaking your eyes away to look between his legs and—

You couldn’t’ve stopped the needy moan from your lips if you tried, too attracted and nervous about the shiny bridges of metal through his dick. “Fuck, Dabi...” he had the most cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face as he watched you salivate over him.

“What’s wrong, baby? Never had a guy with piercings before?” You didn’t even hear him, instead responding with a dazed shake of your head; far too tipsy on the sight of him towering over you, reddened head leaking against his stomach.

He pretended to come to a decision, “Guess I’ll have to take my time with you before fucking that cute pussy,” his words sent heat straight to your core, slick pooling in your ruined panties, “but then why am I the only one naked? You’re gonna make me embarrassed you know.” The amused look on his face put you at ease and you laughed a bit at the idea.

“You? You’re the most shameless person I’ve ever met.” The smile he brought out was enough to ease the nerves that came with being so vulnerable to a man like Dabi.

The foe-offended look on his face wasn’t any less ironic, “You wound me, doll,” when his attention fell back to your clothes he didn’t hesitate to snake his hand below your arched back and unclasp your bra. Before you could think of covering yourself he’d already raised your arms up and thrown the lace material into some corner of your room.

He was on you in an instant, biting and sucking on the plush skin of your tits with abandon, enjoying every small tremor it brought from your shaking lips. To him your body was a blank canvas just begging for him to bruise, and he would take his sweet time carving teeth marks into your chest.

But while he had his fun you had yours, running your hand along his collarbones and carefully worrying the stapled hem of skin. You weren’t sure how the stitches would hold up otherwise. But before you could worry about it too much you felt him pull away, a deep hickey left in his wake.

“You don’t have to be gentle with them,” he looked up at you with an unexpected sincerity.

With that there was nothing to hold you back from dragging your nails down his chest, the villain groaning as you felt his solid stomach beneath you. From a distance he looked like a patched rag-doll that was barely holding itself together but up close the wiry muscles that clung to his calloused body couldn’t be ignored. Dabi practically hissed when he felt your soft fingers wrap around his cock, only spurring you on further. The piercings weren’t as rigid as they appeared but they were scalding to the touch.

His breathing stuttered around you as you picked up your pace, the heat of his breath pulsing on your cheek as you took in every sinful expression on his face. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut at the pleasure. You stared unabashedly, taking note of how peaceful he looked above you. Like for the first time that night his body wasn’t wrought with chronic pain.

When you pulled your hand away his eyes shot open. “I didn’t tell you to fuckin’ stop.” He sounded pissed but before you could lose confidence you shifted your weight to the side, locking your arms together behind his to roll him over, leaving you on top.

“I wanna make you feel good, Dabi,” Thankfully he seemed to be curious as to what you had planned, letting you stay on top for now. You crawled down his body until you reached his painful hard-on. Wrapping your hand back around him you gave him the most doe eyed gaze you could manage before taking him into your mouth.

“God, that’s fuckin’ good,” He cradled your head and set his own pace, not too rough but far from gentle as you fought the urge to cough. The metal of his piercings were hot against your tongue, the heat unlike any other experience you’ve had before. Wrapping your tongue around him you intentionally hummed, the keening moan it brought from him more than worth the burn. Tears crowded near your eyelashes as he chased his own pleasure, breaking his gaze to crane his head back in ecstasy. His neck bobbed with the effort and the sight made you almost proud.

It was over far too soon and once he pulled away you almost missed the weight of him in your mouth. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you, hear me?” His words made you all too aware of how badly you needed him, but he continued to run his mouth as he pushed you up the sheets and took his place back on top of you, “Gonna fill you so good, babydoll,” He caged you beneath him and you whined at the feeling of his slick cock heavy against your thighs.

His hand cupped your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Tell me, which do you want?” His blue eyes looked black in the feint light, staring at you with such an amused intensity that you didn’t even register what he said.

“What?”

Dabi tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning closer and whispering, “My mouth? Or my fingers?”

You normally wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eye after he said that but liquid courage still ran through your veins and you leaned forward until you could nestle into the crook of his neck.

“Your fingers, Dabi,” You groaned as you felt his grip around your jawline move until his left hand curled around your neck and his right tore off your leggings before slipping below the waistband of your underwear. As soon as he touched you his eyes widened, a feral glint in his eyes.

“Fuck— Doll, you’re so fucking wet,” He squeezed your neck experimentally and the rush of endorphins sent to your head felt divine. It wasn’t to be outdone when you felt him circle your clit with his thumb, rushing into such a fast pace from the get-go. The onslaught of pleasure made a scratchy cry slip from under the grip of his hand. Wrapping your hands around his shoulders, you were almost thankful for the immovable grip around your neck. It served almost like an anchor to ground you underneath him.

He pulled a startled squeak from your throat when his two fingers pushed their way inside. It barely hurt, but the maddening feeling of his long fingers curling and stretching your walls was one you wouldn’t forget. Dabi shushed your eager cries with an endless stream of filth whispered into your ear, “Can’t wait to fuck my cum into you, dollface. You want that? You gonna be my good fucking slut?” He was downright mean as he took his time stringing you like a bow. “You wanna feel me drip out of you like a street whore?”

“Yes, Dabi, I’ll be good, I promise just please—” You were too far gone at that point, grabbing fist fulls of dark hair to yank him to your mouth, the kiss muffling his groan from you pulling on your hair. His index finger curled so slightly into you, the pace on your clit turning soft once he added his third finger. The sound he brought out of you was somewhere between a dying choke and euphoric moan, each sensation coaxing you into his touch. Feeling him move so easily within you was almost enough to bring you over, your whimpers increasing against his lips, only for all of it to be taken away.

Dabi left you grasping around nothing when he took his hands away, no doubt enjoying the desperate way you tried to rock yourself back onto him. Only when you did, you were met with something far bigger than his fingers.

“Come on...” When he called you by your name it brought you back to earth for a minute, “I want you to beg for me,” looking to see his heavy length pressed against you as he rubbed the glistening tip onto your clit. “You’re gonna beg for a villain to fuck you,” The promise of pleasure was so enticing that it was worth lying to the cops, worth risking your safety, and enough to toss your pride out the open window.

Grabbing him by his hair, you forced him to look at you. “Dabi, please, I need you... Need you in me ‘til you cum,” desperation and lust coated every sinful word you said, but Dabi wasn’t satisfied. “I wanna be good for you, Dabi, want you to fuck me, fill me up, ple-“ your words were cut off by the intense stretch of your walls trying to take him in. You’d never screamed someone’s name so loudly before in your life.

“Oh, fuck-! Shit... your pussy’s so fuckin’ tight,” As each inch sunk deeper you couldn’t speak or even breathe.

He wasn’t wasting any time, mercifully toying with your clit as he filled you. The air felt thin in your bedroom, like you were hundreds of feet from the ground, drawing short, shallow gasps beneath him.

“Da-bi!” His hips ground slowly against yours and you were suddenly thankful for his prepping, unable to come to grips with just how full you felt.

An overwhelmed laugh fell from his burnt lips as he slowly pulled himself from your dripping sex, “What’sa matter, babe? Can’t take it?”

The pout on your face only made him grin, the childish indignity adorable to him. But his teasing was starting to push you to your limits. He might’ve been a powerful villain and you a civilian, but it didn’t mean he had to treat you like glass. Hooking your legs around his waist you forced him forward. Dabi’s eyes shot open and both of you choked at the sharp friction. Any trace of playfulness died then and there, his knuckles turning white from the grip on your hips.

He kept your legs tight around him as he surged forward, your mouth caught open in a daze. You weren’t sure what his piercings would’ve felt like inside of you but god, was it good. The metal spokes impressed into your body with fervor, constantly dragging against your sensitive walls.

Tomorrow you might say that the wine was what drove you so crazy for him, but you knew you’d be lying to yourself. He was by far the most intoxicating libation you’d ever tried. The sound of skin against skin was almost deafening, only broken by the dulcet groans from the man above you and the siren that still echoed outside your widow like white noise. In the back of your mind you wondered if they were still searching for him.

Dabi leaned his head into the crook of your neck, revisiting the marks he’d already made. His teeth bit down your chest all the while abusing your aching clit. It was all too much. You couldn’t help clawing at his broad shoulders, leaving inflamed tracks in your wake. When your nails made contact with the scorched seam on his back Dabi moaned, the loud whine in his voice got you to realize something crucial. The motherfucker got off on pain.

His touch turned ravenous after that, pulling you tight against him until there wasn’t any space between your bodies. The rough texture of his skin-graphs and the blistering heat of their staples pushing against your breasts just made his brutal pace feel more intense.

Your voice was higher pitched than you’d ever thought you could manage, squeaking out small moans with every quick pulse of his hips. Your ankles were sore and locked together— he couldn’t have pulled out if he tried. The legs that were still wrapped around him twitched involuntarily as you felt the string inside your core about to snap.

“Fa.. fuck, Da—bi I’m—“ you stuttered against him, crying into his shoulder when you felt his pelvis grinding so perfectly onto your clit while he railed you, screaming his name one more time as he pulled you overboard, being sure to scratch at his back as you thrashed futilely against him.

All at once his teeth were buried into your throat, digging in so hard that you mistook his spit for blood; his bite only sharpening the orgasm that sent waves of heat coursing through you. Against your dented skin he groaned and cursed, his voice coarse but dripping with pleasure as he cursed expletives onto your shining skin. The wetness of your climax dripped down your legs, making him somehow push faster against you, but despite the blinding orgasm he’d thrown you into he couldn’t stop until he’d finished and the overstimulation burned white hot through your entire body. Just as the drive of his cock bordered on painful, Dabi shoved you down onto him, stilling above you and choking on a groan.

Twitching inside your cashmere walls you felt the warm rush of his cum paint your insides as his hips jerked into yours. His heart beat wildly against his chest— you could feel it over yours, his eyes still glazed with pleasure. Dabi was sure to pull out slowly, through the dim glow of your room he could see his cum seep out of your glistening pussy, and he couldn’t help but push his fingers inside you one last time. He might’ve liked pain, but he was an asshole who enjoyed the uncomfortable keen it brought from your trembling lips.

Thin moonlight shone through your window, illuminating the maze of blemishes that razed against his alabaster skin. It might’ve been because of the bleary tears that still half-clung to your eyelashes, but above you, with a winded smile on his torn-up face, he looked half a corpse and half a god.

“Still with me, baby?” He noticed your staring, teasing you by waving his hand in front of your face.

You felt almost high, all drowsy symptoms included, only responding to his question with a feint grin. The wine and the rough sex both made you exhausted in more ways than one, but before you could complain Dabi had shifted his weight off the bed.

“Nooo...” Admittedly you felt a little childish but you couldn’t help but pout as he grabbed his briefs and went to leave your bedroom.

Through the open doorway he’d said, “Just getting a towel, stay put.”

His absence gave you a second to think, staring up at the ceiling with a thousand opposing thoughts bidding for your attention. You just slept with a villain— a murderer. You might side with what he stands for but Dabi was still dangerous. He could’ve killed you tonight, after all. And yet, the only thing you could wonder was what was taking him so long.

Soon he returned wearing his boxers, carrying a heavy towel that he ran under the sink with warm water and took to cleaning the dribbling mess between your thighs. You cooed at his touch, the afterglow of your orgasm cleaned away until Dabi read the alarm clock on your bedside table. 4am.

“You know I can’t stay, right?” He asked bluntly, and you nodded, trying not to let the disappointment show too badly on your face.

“Villain stuff, huh?” You shrugged, curling up into your pillow. Dabi had to continue hunting down the rest of his shed clothes while he mumbled some kind of agreement.

He flashed you a grin while he zipped up his tattered jeans, “Doesn’t mean I won’t break in some other time, doll.” Relief spread through your fingertips once he said that, the weight disappearing from your shoulders.

Your content smile followed him as he threw that thick coat around his shoulders, walking up to your bedside and leaning low. You grinned, leaning forward and trying to catch him for one more kiss, only to be interrupted by the sound of something below you.

Looking down, you saw Dabi slapping a handful of crumpled bills on your end-table, that smug grin from earlier evident on his face. Without bidding you some kind of goodbye kiss he made his way to the open window, sparing you a glance before saying, “Buy some plan B, alright?”

You hadn’t even thought of it, grinning and waving him off as he swung himself onto the fire escape. The sounds of metal clanging against his boots faded away into the distant echoes of the city, and you brought your hand to your throat. Softly you traced the deep blemish his teeth had left behind, your smile turning giddy as you thought about his promise of another visit, but unfortunately the wine was still simmering through you and without Dabi to keep you awake your eyelids started to feel heavy.

Under your plush covers, you continued to cup your hand over the mark he left as you faded off into sleep, the siren that still echoed through the streets acting almost like a lullaby.

#dabi x reader #dabi x reader smut #smut #my hero academia #mha #dabi #touya todoroki #ao3 repost #touya x reader #mha headcanons #lov x reader

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citrinesparkles · 3 years

Text

doctor todd.

jason todd x gender neutral vigilante!reader. 1,875 words. notes: requested by @jason-redhood as part of my hundred followers celebration! this got a lot longer than i intended, oopsies. thanks for requesting- hope you enjoy! warnings: tending wounds, mentions of food.

"y'know, lurking outside somebody's window is a good way to get yourself shot," jason called over his shoulder.

"i'll keep that in mind," you said, voice strained enough to shoot dread into his veins and draw his attention completely away from his work.

he set the gun he had been cleaning on the table and twisted around to find you gingerly sliding through the open window.

"hey," you mumbled, giving him a weak wave after your boots hit the floor. "sorry for not calling, i just..."

you were backlit, the glow of the city making it impossible to see your features from the dining area- but your posture alone was enough to have him shoving his chair back and crossing his apartment.

"how bad?" he asked, stopping a few steps back, now able to make out the tears in your suit and the bruises around your mask.

"pretty sure i sprained my wrist, and there's a poorly-bandaged gash on my leg, but otherwise i'm peachy."

"how bad's the leg?"

"i'm... not sure. bad enough that i think i need your help." you patted the windowsill with a gloved hand. "obviously."

he nodded and slid to your good side, gently resting a hand on your shoulder. "okay. c'mon, my stuff's in the bathroom."

"here." he handed you a pair of shorts and a large tank top. "change into this so i can get to the wounds, okay? i'll be right out here if you need anything."

"you're good!" you called.

he nudged the bathroom door back open and scooped your uniform up from the floor, carefully putting it in a canvas bag and tying the handles together before setting it in the tub to deal with later. "alright," he sighed, turning back to face you.

his clothes looked way too right on you, he realized, a wave of emotion he would vehemently deny surging through his chest and pushing heat to his neck and cheeks.

"alright?"

"okay. alright. uh-" he jerked a thumb at the counter- "up here, i guess, so i can see your leg."

you propped one foot on the toilet lid and braced your good hand against his shoulder, his hands instinctively coming up to hover around your waist as you pushed yourself up and settled next to the sink.

the grateful smile you gave him was enough to tug his lips into a smile of his own.

"you're up, doctor todd," you teased.

he stepped forward with a halfhearted eyeroll, fingers brushing the cloth tied hastily around your leg. "can i take this off?"

"go ahead."

he tugged gently at the knot, wincing when you inhaled sharply. "sorry."

the scrap fell away, revealing dried blood and an open wound on the outside of your thigh.

"yeesh, that is nasty," he said.

you scoffed lightly. "gee, thanks."

"hey, if you wanted a nice doctor, you probably should have gone somewhere else." he shifted to the side, grabbing a clean cloth and bottle of alcohol. "fair warning, you're really not gonna like me here in a minute."

your quick "i seriously doubt that." was greeted with a grin that felt a little too fond for his liking.

he told himself it was for your benefit.

...yeah, that sounded good.

he could live with that.

he made quick work of cleaning the gash, doing his best to distract you by making stupid small talk about the horrible movie he'd sat through that morning because the tv remote had been out of reach and the mediocre new coffee shop with dry blueberry muffins.

"was the coffee okay, at least?"

"okay, yeah, but not 'five-dollars-fifty' okay. if i hadn't been falling asleep in line i probably would have left when i saw the price."

"there's a nice one up by my place, they make the best blueberry muffins ever."

he hummed. "i'll keep that in mind, next time i'm over that way." he leaned back, studying your cut. "i think stitches would probably be smart."

you groaned. "of course they would."

"i'm okay to do them- i do them on myself- but if you want i can give you a lift to a hospital or something."

"no. if you can, i want you to do them. i trust you."

he sat with that for a minute, searching your face for any hesitation. when he found none, he nodded. "okay."

as you both expected, it sucked.

to make things worse, he was rapidly running out of mindless things to talk about.

how many times could two people really argue about pizza toppings before it got old?

"alright, done."

"holy shit, finally." you slumped back, leaning on your good hand for a moment before your head snapped back up. "no, not like- i meant thank you, you did great, i'm not being an ingrate-"

"i know, relax." he nudged your knee with a goofy smile. "here, gimme your wrist."

you pouted (which, yes, that was also adorable, much to his dismay), carefully stretching your bad arm out.

he took your hand gently, scooping it up in one of his and bracing your forearm up with his other. "it's actually not too bad, considering you hit hard enough to tear your glove. i'm gonna clean the scrapes here up, though, okay?"

"do i really get a choice?"

"it's your body, so, yeah."

you sighed dramatically. "fine, if you insist. go ahead, clean my wounds for me."

he was quiet this time, focusing intently on removing bits of dirt and stuff from your raw palm with a set of tweezers.

trying to ignore the way your eyes seemed to linger on him now that he was looking down.

he set the tweezers aside, glancing up at you to find you smiling at him thoughtfully, and dropped his gaze just as quickly as he had lifted it. "what, you enjoying making me do all the work?"

"you could say that, yeah."

he scoffed. "well, you're going to enjoy it a lot less in a second. time for the alcohol again."

"ugh."

he managed to dig up an old wrist brace in the back of his sock drawer. a little big for you, but it would work for now, he figured.

"may i?"

you nodded and held your arm back out for him to loop the brace over your thumb and tuck the velcro strap under and around, pulling it snug against your skin before sticking it to itself.

"last one, tough stuff." he pointed at your cheek, where a small patch of dried blood stained your skin. "ready?'

you nodded tiredly. "let's just get this over with. this counter isn't as comfortable as it looks."

he chuckled, dampening the softest cloth he had and wringing it out. "sorry, i didn't think i needed to get an apartment with counter cushions." he raised his left hand up, hovering an inch or so below your chin. "uh, can i..?"

your eyes widened, glancing at his hand. "oh, uh, sure. yeah."

he moved slowly, raising it to cup your chin softly with his middle and forefinger on one side and thumb on the other. "this okay?"

"mhm." your eyes slid shut and he could almost believe that you sank into his touch.

if it wasn't absolutely insane, anyway. his touch wasn't exactly the kind people sank into- much less people like you. people that good, that caring, that stunning? yeah, no.

he tilted your head to the side slightly, rubbing gentle circles across your cheekbone with the cloth and watching as the blood faded.

"so, who did this?" he asked softly, casually.

apparently not casually enough, though, because you snorted at him. "why, you think you need to go avenge me? defend my honor or something?"

"no! i'm just curious. just... making conversation."

your eyes opened, amusement dancing in them and threatening to hypnotize him. "good. i shouldn't have to tell you who won that fight, jay."

"well, i mean, you are missing a chunk of your thigh."

"aw, is the big bad vigilante worried about lil old me?"

he squeezed your face gently, pushing your cheeks up and forward into a goofy fish face. "it's rude to tease the guy tending to your wounds, babe."

he definitely didn't imagine your breath hitching. "babe, huh?" you asked playfully.

"shut up," he grumbled. "don't make me regret helping."

"alright, looks like that's the last scrape. you're all cleaned up."

"thanks, jason." you smiled up at him, soft and warm and genuine. "i really appreciate this."

"yeah, yeah." he squeezed your jaw again. "try not to make it a habit."

"mhm." a moment passed quietly before you spoke quietly. "so, you gonna do something here, or can i have my face back?"

he froze.

your mouth- which he was really trying not to look at- shifted into a confident smirk, a challenge written clearly in the angle of your lips.

your eyes, bright under the harsh lighting, told a different story. one of vulnerability, and want, and something close to fear.

"do you want me to?" his voice was hoarser than he'd intended, and he swore you could hear his heartbeat echoing in it.

your gaze dipped to his lips. "would it make everything super weird?"

"you just came crawling through my window in the middle of the night in a mask and kevlar. i think things are already weird."

he felt your hum under his fingers. "then why not?"

"do you really want me to answer that?"

"jason, will you please just kiss me already?"

"well, you did say please." he leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to slip away or yell 'sike!'

all you did was bring your good hand up to his collar and pull him towards you.

your lips were soft and gentle, and the way they pulled upwards slightly when his hand slid from your jaw to cup your cheek was something he'd be thinking about for weeks.

when he eventually pulled back, it took him a moment to open his eyes. he was half convinced that if he did, it would be to his bedroom ceiling, the past half an hour all a dream.

instead, he found your fond gaze.

"finally."

he let out a huff of laughter, thumb running over your cheek. "you should stay here tonight."

"w-"

"not like that," he clarified quickly. "you have stitches, you shouldn't go leaping across rooftops tonight. i can take the couch."

"hm." you smoothed out his shirt collar, the barely-there brush of your fingers against his shoulder almost tugging a whine out of him. "or i can take the couch, and then you can take me home in the morning and let me treat you to an actual blueberry muffin."

"are you asking me out?" it was a teasing comment, paired with a tiny smirk meant to fluster you.

but it was also a reality check.

you seemed to catch the second meaning. "yeah, i am. would you, please, let me take you out on a date?"

"i'll have to check my calenda-"

"you're so full of it."

"yeah, probably."

"is that a yes?"

he laughed, bringing his other hand up to squeeze your knee. "yeah, i can let you take me on a date. i could use a good muffin."

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idontblushsrry · 3 years

Text

Request fic

Anon asked:

Would you do a Hiei from YYH fic where Hiei and the reader are in "will they won't they" stage since they clearly like each other but she's not going to push Hiei and Hiei wants to ignore his feelings but he can't once he gets blatantly jealous when Shishiwakamaru makes a comment about her during the Dark Tournament after she turns him down for "not being her type"?

A/N: I kinda messed with somethings because I haven’t seen Dark Tournament in a hot minute.

Word Count: 1624

“Hiei, you’re glaring again.”

“Shut it Kurama. I’m not glaring, merely observing.”

An exasperated Kurama smiles at his friend who despite, verbal assurances that he was “merely observing” seemed to be growing increasingly irritated. Demonic aura rolling off his friend in waves as Hiei’s hand twitched to grab his sword.

The object of Hiei’s ire stood there completely unaware of the death looming over his head. Or maybe, he was all too aware. Shishiwakamaru had no issues when it came to taunting his rival team. You were no exception, the fact that you happened to actually catch Shishi’s eye was nothing more than icing on the cake.

The fact that Hiei looked ready to turn him into a sword sheath made this interaction all the more sweet.

All the while, you were caught in the crossfire between the 2 demons’ mind game/ ego contest. You continued your conversation with Shishiwakamaru out of pure politeness, every question he asked, you answered bored and disinterested, each answer getting shorter and shorter as time stretched on. To be truthful, you’d rather be back at the hotel, you were wasting the team’s precious training time by being here. You tried to shoo them off but Kurama insisted for the sake of being a gentleman and Hiei stayed because he wanted to “scope out the competition”.

Now the competition had more than ended and neither of them had any real valid reason to remain here, demons long gone, any stragglers you’d be more than able to avoid on your way back to the hotel. But you figured the same reason you were still here was why Hiei stayed around. Kurama probably just stayed behind to make sure Hiei didn’t add any extra charges to their long list of crimes.

“If you’re done wasting oxygen, Shishi, we’d like to head back now.”, Hiei, fed up with Shishi’s persistence speaks.

“If you’ll excuse me, your presence is no longer required. I can escort my Y/N back to the hotel if you’re that busy.”, Shishiwakamaru was all too aware of the underlining irritation in Hiei’s voice, more potent than his usual cadence.

That seemed to be the tipping point for Hiei because he grabbed his sword and nearly lopped off Shishiwakamaru’s head if it weren’t for Kurama placing a hand on his shoulder with a look that said ‘save it for the arena.’

Alright, this had gone on long enough, “Actually Shishi, I was thinking of heading back with them, it’s getting kinda late and I don’t wanna be here at night with just you...”, you mumbled the last part out a little awkwardly and gestured towards the exit where Hiei and Kurama stood.

Your “excellent” moderator skills seemed to have worked though because Shishi didn’t put up a fight. He smiled at you before gently taking your hand in his and placing a kiss on the palm of it. “Until we meet again Y/N, you hold my heart in your hands.” With a final smile directed at you, ignoring the way Hiei’s glare intensified, he walked away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of his actions.

The aftermath being one pissed off fire demon named Hiei.

As you all made your way back to the hotel, you could tell that Hiei was very pointedly, ignoring you. He trailed behind you and Kurama before completely disappearing into the trees going who knows where.

The walk back with Kurama was silent but not unpleasant. You were mainly lost in your own thoughts, Kurama offered you a sympathetic smile but otherwise didn’t bother you. Any advice he could’ve given you would be repetitive, the both of you being closest to Hiei and knowing how he operates.

Upon coming back to the hotel, you note with nary a concern that Team Urameshi’s common room was completely empty. Fine, you needed to be alone with your thoughts anyways. All you wanted was tea, after that, you’d leave.

It did not appear that the universe was on your side as Botan appeared by your side with a cattish grin that said she’d found a new piece of drama to prey upon.

“So, Y/N, me and the girls were playing truth or dare. Since everyone else is out, we were wondering if you’d like to join us?”

She said that all too innocently, it seemed she was either trying to lower your guard or she’d finally put her paws away. It did sound nice though, hanging out with Keiko, Yukina, Shizuru, and Botan in a situation more relaxing than hoping your boys don’t die every time they go out to fight.

“I’m sorry, I have to say no. I’m feeling a little tired from today and honestly, I’m just gonna pass out on the nearest surface, preferably a bed.”

She looked a bit disappointed, but understanding. “It’s just that I wanted you to see that Yusuke’s spirit beast had finally hatched.”

“Oh, good for him, but I’m sure I can see it tomorrow. Aren’t the best things worth waiting for?” She looked a bit confused at your usage of the quote and you took that as an opportunity to leave. As interesting as Yusuke’s spirit beast sounds, you honestly were hoping to wait up for Hiei so you could talk to him about today.

Mind made up, you sped to your room, catching the faintest sight of a black puff of hair atop a blue...blob, before closing the door. You set your tea down to let it cool while you changed into your sleepwear. Pacing all the while and triple checking that your curtains were pulled back and your window was open.

“Why do you look so nervous?”

The sound of Hiei’s voice causes you to jump up in fear, tea cup almost spilling and dropping to the floor as a result. You turn around and see Hiei, perched on the windowsill, as dramatic as ever but also as serene as he’d ever been.

“Hiei, y-you’re here.”, a little caught off guard, you beam at the sight of him.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?”, he states that as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, the implied affection doesn’t go unnoticed by you either. He jumps down from the window and enters your room, but that’s it. He puts his hands in his pocket and makes no moves to get closer to you beyond that.

Is he-? It’s faint but if you squint and the moonlight hits him just right, you could swear he was blushing. Hiei? Blushing?? You must be more tired than you thought because in what world does Hiei blush?

He opens his mouth to say something before closing it and you’re reminded, this is the world where Hiei blushes. The same world that forced him to compete in a tournament that could cost him his life. And the same world where he cares for you and you him but neither of you acting upon it.

“Hiei I-”

“Y/N look-”

At that you both laugh, feeling some of the tension in the room ease a bit after doing so. You try to urge Hiei to go first but he insists you speak, so you do.

“I just wanted to say that I don’t have any feelings for Shishiwakamaru.”, you figured being blunt would be the best approach, Hiei appreciated it despite him being one of the most roundabout people you knew, “You know I only have eyes for you right?”

At your honest admission, Hiei looks a little guilty, eyes flitting about the room before settling back on you. His blush intensifies as a pout forms on his face, “I know that, I’m not an idiot like Kuwabara.”

Despite him looking like he wants you to finish this conversation for him, you remain silent. He had more that he needed to say to you, even if he didn’t know it.

His eyes took another trip around the room and he fixed you with a glare that said ‘seriously?’. You just smiled innocently and waited for him to continue.

“Listen Y/N because I’m going to say this once.”, he clears his throat, standing up straight and removing his hands from his pockets to point at you. “I find that you’re more tolerable than others. If I let my guard around you...I trust that you’d watch over me.” As soon as he finished, he looked away and plopped onto the floor, legs crossed.

You tensed the slightest bit, this subject was new to both of you, before forcing your body to move and making your way across the room to Hiei. You sat in front of him and placed a daring hand atop his.

To your relief, he didn’t seem opposed and even tangled his fingers in yours. Now both of you were staring into each other’s eyes, waiting for someone to make a move or say something.

An unrestrained smile broke out across your face as you savored the feeling of Hiei’s hand in yours, the warmth of his calloused hands sending a fresh stream of butterflies up your arm and into your stomach.

Hiei smiled too, a smaller one than yours but the happiness in his eyes more than making up the difference. It seemed like the two of you would sit there lovesick forever until Hiei, in an unprecedented show of boldness, leaned in and placed the gentlest kiss onto your lips.

It was clumsy, too firm at one point and angle a bit awkward, but it was so remarkably Hiei. The kiss was so brief that you were left dazed and wanting for more.

Hiei didn’t oppose when you pulled him in for another kiss, nor did he oppose the many that followed.

#yu yu hakusho imagine #yu yu hakusho imagines #yu yu hakusho x reader #hiei x reader #hiei imagines #hiei imagine #yu yu hakusho hiei #yyh hiei #x reader #x black reader #idontblushsrry

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 3 years

Note

please please a part 2 of that gamer!geralt au, them doing something like Q&A

Nonie, I hope you know what you signed up for. This got out of hand lmao. like 2.4k of Q&A kind of out of hand.

Warnings: swearing, talk of drinking to excess, kinda spicy questions, lil kisses, idk how but I meant for this to be goofy and horny and it got kinda soft? what’s new?

____________

“Holy shit,” Geralt sat staring at his phone as he mindlessly stirred pasta.

“I swear to god, if you found a way to burn noodles-” Jaskier turned away from the blender to wave a wooden spoon covered in pesto puree.

Geralt shook his head and held his phone up to him, scrolling through the replies to a tweet as he did, going on for ages as Jaskier’s jaw slowly got closer to the floor.

“What are those for?!”

“I put up a poll for a boyfriend Q&A or a game review and not a single person has voted for the game review.” Geralt was still scrolling through questions people wanted answered as he watched Jaskier’s face go from shock to confusion to a smug grin.

“They love me,” he sang, kicking his heel up as he turned back to the pasta sauce.

Geralt rolled his eyes and started screenshotting some of the less invasive questions, shaking his head and muttering, “Course they do.”

Geralt pressed record, waited a moment, and heaved a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, “You guys literally didn’t even give me a choice on this one,” he reached off frame and scruffed Jaskier, plopping him down on the couch with him.

Jaskier didn’t stay where he was put for even a moment, using his momentum to bounce up onto Geralt’s lap with a shit-eating grin, “Oh? Are we rolling?”

Geralt dropped his forehead to Jaskier’s shoulder, stifling a laugh, “This is gonna be a long one.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jask agreed, then turned to the camera, stroking Geralt’s hair, “My fans want more!”

“OH-kay,” Geralt manhandled Jaskier to sit next to him which earned him a pout and a leg draped over his lap as he continued his intro, “I’ve got a bunch of questions from twitter. I didn’t even have to confirm which video we would do, you guys just went straight for the kill. I picked a few, Jask picked a few, neither of us knows which ones the other picked.” he turned to see Jaskier wiggle his eyebrows at the camera, “Why am I thinking you picked the raunchy ones?”

The brunet pretended to be offended before he smirked, “Only a few.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he nudged Jask with his shoulder and opened up his phone to his screenshots, “Okay! First up is AdamSandlersBitch, nice name. They asked what Jaskier’s favorite gaming console and game to play is.” he turned to Jaksier with raised eyebrows.

His boyfriend cringed, “My.. my phone? I don’t know? I play a lot of Candy Crush while I listen to podcasts?”

Geralt smiled sweetly, “Wait what about Stardew Valley? I thought you started that?”

“I did!” Jaskier brightened up for a moment before he deflated again, “But I got confused and then the ADHD made me bake cookies.”

“Those were good cookies. I’ll play with you if you want?” Geralt’s normal ‘streamer dude’ persona melted away while he played with the rips on Jaskier’s jeans.

Jask leaned forward and kissed his temple, “I’d love that.”

Geralt blushed, even after years, Jaskier’s affection still caught him off guard.

“Mkay! My turn!” Jaskier flashed his devilish grin and read, in his most obnoxious voice, “Dwn2Clwn said ‘do you two live together? Have you said ‘i love you’? And who tops?’”

Geralt’s mouth twisted into an upside-down U as he stared at Jaskier in muted surprise, “Honestly, not as bad as I expected.”

Jaskier looped his arm around Geralt’s, “I’m starting off easy.”

Geralt let his mock-disapproving gaze linger just a bit before he answered, “The living together is kind of new-like a few months. This one said ‘I love you’ on, what? The fourth date? Fifth?”

“Fourth.”

“No, it was the fifth, Eskel locked himself out on the fourth. Remember?”

“Shit you’re right,” Jaskier gave the camera a stern look, “In my defense, we’d been friends for a good four years before this. I wasn’t just confessing my love to a tinder date - though I have done that before.”

Geralt nodded, “That was very amusing.”

Jaskier tapped his nose, “Don’t avoid the last part, darling.”

Geralt huffed and stared down the camera, and, in the most matter of fact tone possible, said, “We switch. Compromise, folks. Can’t have one person doing all the work all the time.”

Jaskier nodded sagely, patting Geralt's chest, “We got a pow-”

Geralt clamped his hand over Jaskier’s mouth, 100% sure he was going to say ‘power bottom pillow princess’, “Nope. I’ll get demonetized for that.”

“But not who tops?” Jaskier asked through Geralt’s fingers.

He just shrugged, “I don’t make the rules.”

Jaskier tapped his phone and raised his eyebrows, telling him to move to the next question.

“Mis- Mischanication? Shit I hope I said that right, Mischanication asked, ‘would you ever get a pet together?’ We did! Her name is Roach and she’s a little shit! I told Jaskier not to feed her, but he did, now we have the snuggliest, crankiest cat I’ve ever met!”

Jaskier had gotten up to pluck Roach from her perch on the windowsill when Geralt had read the question and plopped down with her as Geralt finished his proud speech, “She’s not a little shit! She’s just delicate! Isn’t that right, darling?”

Geralt scratched under her chin and cooed, “You are a nasty little dragon baby, aren't you?! Just a little garbage child! Yes, you are. We love the tiny demon beast.”

“Geralt!”

He snickered and kissed Jaskier’s hair, “Next question, love.”

Jaskier grumbled something about positive reinforcement as Roach scampered back to her cat tree and he unlocked his phone for his next tweet, “This darling wants to remain anonymous,” Geralt gave him some serious side-eye at that, “they said ‘I think I’m in love with the flower twink, where can I find one of my own?’”

Geralt frowned at the camera and pulled Jaskier onto his lap, holding him close and snuggling into his chest, almost growling, “Hands off.”

Jaskier giggled, brushing Geralt’s hair out of his face as he talked to the camera, “You heard the man. Unfortunately, I was not mass-produced and I’ve been spoken for.”

Geralt looked up at him with what could only be called suspicious puppy eyes, “You picked that one just to sit in my lap didn’t you?”

“Yes. And because I want to change my socials to ‘flower twink’.”

“Do it,” Geralt kept Jaskier on his lap as he swiped to his next question, “Eggsfuckingsuck - heh, my dad hates eggs- Eggsfuckingsuck says, ‘what is the most embarrassing thing you’ve caught each other doing/saying?’ Oh boy, do I have a story for you!”

"Oh I couldn't say the thing but you can tell this story!?"

"...you have a point... Check my insta stories. I'll put it there after I post this."

Jaskier nodded, ever so pleased, and turned to the camera, "Our dear Yennefer of sorceryglammour once beat Geralt at trivia night when the theme was 'video games'."

“We did shots before we went to the bar and she goaded me and Lambert into a chugging competition before the round started. I’m telling you, she planned this. Yen is ruthless.” Geralt desperately tried to justify his defeat but Jaskier was having none of it.

“She’s mostly harmless, plus I have video evidence from that night. You weren’t that far gone.”

“Pull it up! Let’s settle it.”

Jaskier patted Geralt’s head like one would a toddler, “I’d have to get my old laptop out. Later, darling.”

Geralt had a smug look on his face, “That means he doesn’t have it anymore.”

“Next question!” Jaskier squeaked, not at all changing the subject.

Geralt shrugged, “If you admit I won that one.”

“It’s not a competition!” Jaskier laughed, looking down at him with that stupidly smitten look on his face.

“Hmmm…” Geralt tilted his chin up defiantly, “if you say so.”

Jaskier kissed him, lingering a little bit more than could be considered chaste, “I do.”

Geralt looked up at him, batting his eyelashes, “Fine then, next question.”

Jaskier handed him his phone and he read it off leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder, “CountryBumpkin42 asked if we play any instruments. I play the recorder very poorly, but Jask plays everything.”

“Not everything, but yes, I could cover a Trans Siberian Orchestra song if I had a pedalboard with enough loop settings.” Jaskier preened.

“And more,” Geralt added, counting on his fingers as he spoke, “In this house alone he has two pianos, three different types of guitars, a drumset, a violin and fiddle, a flute and piccilo, an oboe, a mandolin, a lute, bongos, saxophone, clarinet, tambourine, trumpet, and xylophone. Did I get them all?”

Jaskier glanced from side to side with a guilty look, “Ah… no, I bought a bass sax that showed up last night.”

“Oh, did Thursday at 3 decide they wanted to switch after all?”

“Yeah! She got the third chair as a freshman on a loaner instrument! I’m very proud!”

Geralt seemed to remember they were recording and turned back to the camera, “J teaches music at the university and does private lessons.”

“It’s how I can afford such a pretty trophy boyfriend,” Jaskier teased, ruffling Geralt’s hair and earning a little chuckle.

“Mkay, what do you have next?”

Jaskier smoothed Gearalt’s hair back down as he read the next question, “3R4108F6!J asks if we have any cute nicknames for each other.”

Geralt’s eyebrows nearly flew past his hairline, “J has a new one for me almost every day.”

“Its true,” Jaskier nodded, “I am a slut for cute nicknames. This morning was Ger Bear, one of my faves. I called him Thumbs for a bit, I lovingly call him Dumb Fuck rather often.”

“And he is Dip Shit, it’s balanced. I usually just shorten names? Jask or J is usually it, right?” Geralt asked, shifting so Jaskier was sitting on the couch between his legs and they were both turned out toward the camera but very much still cuddling.

“And when I’m being childish I get Alfie. But Geralt is much more deliberate and specific with his nicknames. It’s a bit of a friendship level up when he uses nicknames.”

Geralt frowned at him, “I do that?”

Jaskier giggled, “You never noticed?”

He tilted his head, giving Jaskier a quizzical look, “Not at all.”

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheek, “You’re so cute.”

Geralt blushed again, leaning into the touch just a tad, “Who’s turn is it?”

“Yours,” Jaskier hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Okay,” Geralt blushed even more, “I had this one as an alternate, but uh, Yen asked what we’d name our first kid?”

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s shoulder and hummed as he thought for a moment, “I always like Blake or Spencer, but I seem to remember you saying something about old world traditional names?”

Geralt nodded, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, “My grandma was hoping each of us boys would be a girl and wanted mum to name us Cirilla every time. I quite like it, but I’m rather open as long as I don’t know someone with the name. I really like Eric?”

“Oo, I like Eric.”

“But you like the neutral names.”

“I do, but it’s your hypothetical kiddo too.”

Geralt gave him a little squeeze, “There’s time for that later. What’s your next one?”

Jaskier snorted when he looked at his phone, “What are your guys’ love languages?”

Geralt just looked down at Jask, completely entangled in his arms, then up to the camera, “I’m gonna hazard a guess at physical touch.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a safe bet,” Jaskier giggled, “I haven’t taken the quiz in years, but I was that and gifts.”

“Oh, yeah. Physical touch and words of affirmation. I got like a 0 on acts of service and gifts, but I really like giving gifts.”

“Mhm, yes you do,” Jaksier wiggled his eyebrows, then turned to the camera, “I also had no idea you could have different giving and receiving languages till I met this one.”

Geralt nodded then turned to him with a slight frown, “you know I really thought your questions were going to be more graphic.”

“Oh, honey I saved the best for last,” Jaskier winked.

“Fuck me,” Geralt grumbled before reading off his last question, “Cali852 asked what we did for Pride.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up, “Oh Pride was fun. We watched the parade, of course, then Yen did our makeup and… and where did we go after that?”

Geralt looked like he’d been waiting for this, “We went to a club, where you ordered three kamakazis, knocked them all back, danced for twenty minutes, then I took you home.”

“N-no… we went to the beach, didn’t we?”

“That was the year before. We were going to go to the drag show at our regular bar too, but someone had just finished grading finals and went a little too hard.”

Jaskier grinned, “Speaking of finals, time for the last question. I had a different one in mind but if the thing I cant say from earlier would get this demonetized then that defintitelyi would. So we’re going with ‘what is the wackest placy y’all banged?’”

Geralt snorted, “Shit who knows anymore?”

“Well there was the boat?”

“Or the train?”

“Nah, too standard. What about the cabin?”

“Heh, no I think your o-”

“I don’t have tenure darling,” It was Jaskier’s turn to slap his hands over Geralt’s mouth, “The answer is a dilapidated structure my parents still try to call a cabin out in the foothills.”

Geralt laughed and pulled his hand away, “Okay, that can be the answer.”

“Is that it? Now we just say bye?” Jaskier looked between Geralt and the camera.

Geralt shrugged, “Yeah. You wanna say the thing?”

Jaskier wiggled with a little pride and excitement, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe! Bye Fuckers!”

They both waved for a couple seconds before Geralt got up and turned the camera off. He popped out the memory card and was going to immediately start loading it onto his computer but Jask hooked his finger through a belt loop as he walked past and tugged him back down.

“I’m tired. Snuggle with me.”

Geralt hummed, “We just snuggled that whole time.”

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh, “I know and this is exhausting. I don’t know how you talk to a camera all day.”

Geralt stretched to set the chip on top of his laptop before collapsing back on top of Jaskier who had stretched the length of the couch, “Are you making fun of me?” he teased.

Jaskier cupped his face between his hands and pulled him up for a deep kiss, “Oh never.”

#geraskier #gamer geralt #streamer geralt #teacher jaskeir #noob jaskeir #geraskier boyfriends #geraskier fluff #soft geraskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier fic #geraskier modern au #the witcher modern au #look this is so self indulgent i hope yall still like it #lmao

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xxxtrouvaillexxx · 3 years

Text

Let’s Strike a Deal

A/N: This is late, I know. If you have not realized from before, I’m really bad at meeting deadlines. Well, at least deadlines that I’ve created for myself to follow because I like to procrastinate things and frankly… what am I gonna do to myself? Band myself from tea until I’ve written a chapter? I don’t have the self control for that! And life is hectic. But you know, enough with my excuses and onto the story. Hope you enjoy. I always love feedback so please be sure to leave a comment! ALSO I wanted to give a TRY (key word) to first person. If I don’t like it... I might change it, idk. I should never write anything at 3am as per evidence below, especially without editing lmao

Pair: CEO!Tom x Reader

Synopsis: Y/N, the small town of Hawkshead girl trying to make her way in the big city of Westminster, London. Not as easy as she thought. When things start to take a turn for the worst one afternoon and only one man in the crowd of hundreds decides to help her, she does something rather uncharacteristic and gives her savor her number in case he could ever use help of his own. Course, she never expected for him to actually call her out on it.

Masterlist

Warning(s): none… yet. Cursing?

Word Count:

My time was limited. There was nothing left that had to be done here or anything left to pack. Everything I’ve ever owned sat in a car on the way to my new apartment and last of the suitcases were in the bed of my brothers pickup at this very moment while I sat on the floor of my room. There wasn’t anything left for me here, I knew that, but it was still difficult to say goodbye to the place that carried so many of my favorite memories and the imprints of my childhood that still were splayed around the surrounding room.

There were two dents in the wall right in front of me from when I was ten and hit my head after tripping on one of my toys, thumbtack holes that littered everywhere above the bed from forts that I would make with my brothers and friends, nail polish that was spilled on the carpet from times when I was too distracted with talking than keeping the bottle up straight, my engraved initials on the windowsill. The memories that I had made in this room were countless and they were all absolutely priceless.

“Y/N!” I heard your mother call from the living room, her voice was slightly hoarse from held back emotion and it broke my heart to hear her like that. “You got to get going, dear! You’ll miss your train if you wait much longer to head out.”

Taking a deep breath and slowly standing from the, now old, bed I made my way toward the door, feet dredging behind me and scuffing the floor as I walked out. “I know, Mama. I’m just-” the words caught in my throat and I was at a loss. “I’m really going to miss you guys so much.”

“Oh stop it, you’re gonna make me cry if you keep on like that,” She said giving a tight hug before pushing me out the front door. “You are going to love it in London so much you’re not even gonna be thinking about us here, so get goin’. Your brothers already waiting for you in the car.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her antics, “I love you Mama! I’ll call you when I get there!”

Jumping into the passenger seat of the truck, I waved final goodbyes from the window, dramatically blowing kisses as the car started to drive away.

“You better!” She exclaimed, watching as we pulled out and down the road.

“She is going to be a mess when I get back home. I can’t believe you’re going to leave me to deal with that alone!” Christian, stuck driving you to the train station much to his dismay, gave you a mocking glare. “After all the things I’ve done for your, this is how you choose to repay me? I’m pretty sure I’m getting the short end of the stick here,” he laughed humorlessly.

“Ahhh~” I cooed and smiled, “You’re only saying that cause you know you guys’ are going to be missing me so much!”

“Miss you?” He scoffed, “Yeah right. What we’re going to be missing is your baking. It’ll be the greatest blow our family has faced since 1824.”

I gave a scathing look, “And what, if I may ask, happened in 1824?”

“Don’t know, but something bad probably.”

»»-——————————————-««

I have never been so sore getting off of a bus in her life. The cheapest route to get to Westminster from Hawkshead was a train and 8 bus stops, totaling up to 10 or so hours in and out of vehicles. I groaned and stretched when my feet planted on hard asphalt for the first time in what seemed like forever. But, for all the soreness, I had made it to my destination with time to spare.

It was louder than I had imagined, crowded with traffic from all directions and people running any which way to get on with their lives. It was bustling and busy. Lively. Not exactly what I was used to which made me smile.

Wide.

I made it.

I only had a suitcase with me, the rest of her belongings would be delivered in a few days to the new apartment.

My apartment.

I was positively giddy at the thought.

It took a lot of self control to keep from skipping down the side walks while I somehow navigated the new scenery, but I managed to keep my excitement under wraps for the time being. Arriving an hour early gave me a bit of time to take in the bigger sites near by, like the Ferris wheel, the clock tower Big Ben, and my personal favorite- Westminster Palace and abbey. It was a dream of mine since I was little to see it in person, and now here I was standing mere blocks away from the grand building, elated and amazed.

Vibrating caught my attention and I barely managed to turn my eyes away from the sites in front of me to my phone, Kyra’s name popping up on the screen. My best friend and now room mate, Kyra Bardou, who was probably wondering where the hell I was now.

“Hey,” I drawled with an obvious grin I couldn’t even hide in my voice.

“Hey yourself! I’ve been waiting at the stop for 15 minutes with no sign of you only to learn you’re already in town and didn’t even bother to tell me!” She spoke so quickly I was shocked she didn’t run out of breath and laughed.

“I’m site seeing, sue me!” I turned and started making the slow walk back, “I’ll be back in a couple minutes, I promise.”

She only grunted in response and let me walk in a comfortable silence, letting me continue to take everything in while simply enjoying her presence on the line. It was the last few moments I’d get now, the last bits of my old life slipping through my fingers like sand in exchange for a new one.

And the chaos that comes with a big city.

Like robbers.

I couldn’t even let out a cry as I was shoved to the ground, my phone forced from my hand and my suitcase caught up in a strange mans arms. It took me a whole 5 seconds to get my bearings enough to yell at the man and give chase, shouting for help though no one so much as looked our way, just moved out of his.

“Stop!” I screamed, running but quickly losing him as he bobbed and weaved through the crowd skillfully. “Stop! Someone stop him!”

And this time, someone moved to action, running past me at an alarming rate and quickly gaining ground on my assailant before they both rounded a corner and I lost sight of them.

My heart dropped and I picked up speed again, hoping that I didn’t let them get far enough away for me to lose them completely, it would have been easy for them to get away from me here.

But when I turned around the block, I found the man on the ground with the track star of a man on top of him, already on the phone with I assume the police. I finally caught up to them and without thinking, hugged the man on the phone, a silent thank you while he spoke to whoever was on the line, before I gathered my things and hugging them close to me.

He smiled kindly, finishing the call and turning to me properly while still pinning the thief to the ground. “Are you alright miss?”

“Yes! Thank you so much, I’d have been completely lost without this,” I gestured to my luggage. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me get it back. I don’t even know how to get around town yet.”

He laughed and nodded. “So new to town then. It was my pleasure to help, though I was really just doing what anyone in my position would do,” he responded kindly.

Furiously I shook my head, “No, you didn’t. I don’t believe I saw a single soul other than you move to help. Unless you did but beat them to it at the last minute. Not that that it implausible, you are seriously fast on your feet.”

He laughed again and I noticed what a nice laugh he had, it was contagious and I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle of my own now that my adrenaline was fading bit by bit. “Yes, well- I do enjoy the sport.”

“Dually noted,” I grinned, jumping a little when my phone started to buzz in my hands. Kyra’s name popping up on the screen again. “Shoot!” I exclaimed and answered. I wasn’t even able to put the phone to my ear before I heard her shouting my name on the line. “Kyra-”

“Oh my god, Y/N! What the heck happened, I heard you shout and then the line went dead! Are you okay? Did something happen? Where are you?” She was speaking so loudly I had to hold the phone away from my ear a safe distance as she spouted one question after another at me without reprieve.

My rescuer across from me chuckled, overhearing my frantic friend. “I’m fine, someone tried to steal my stuff on my way to meet you. Luckily someone came along and helped me catch him, otherwise I’d have lost everything. But everything is okay now, we are-” I looked around and realized I have no idea where we were.

He seemed to catch on to my newest distress and whispered, “Tell them we are on the corner of Tufton and Bennett’s Yard.”

I nodded and mouthed a thank you, “ Tufton and Bennett’s Yard,” I repeated and she said she’d be here in a 10 minutes and to sit and wait before hanging up the phone.

I slouched on the wall of some building, letting myself relax. “Not to be repetitive or anything, but thank you.”

He just shook his head, “No need. You’re friend sounded pretty worried about you, it wouldn’t do well to let her stew in that worry longer than needed.”

“Yeah, it’s been a few years since we last saw each other. She’d be pretty upset if something bad happened before I could even move in,” I laughed, though it didn’t quite sound right even to my ears. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” I introduced and stuck my hand out.

He took it and gave a firm shake, “Tom. It’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N. Even in these less than optimal circumstances.”

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you.”

“Y/N!” Someone yelled, and we both turned our heads to see Kyra sprinting full speed around her car and at me. I stood and braced myself for the collision of her, and fell back against the wall with the force of her body.

“Holy shit, girl! You scared the hell outta me, you could have died! This is why I told you to call me when you first got into town, you always manage to get yourself into trouble like this. What would I have told your parents if something happened, huh? Huh!?”

I grinned and pulled back to get a proper look at her. Her black hair, normally frizzy was sticking out in every direction and her honeyed eyes wide as she scanned me over, running her hands over my arms for injuries. “I’m fine, Kyra. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, you’re right.”

“I know I’m right!” She shot back with a glare, “That doesn’t make me feel any better!”

“Well, there is a first for everything after all.”

Tom laughed hard at our back and forth, making us both jump a little and look down at him. Before I could even say anything, Kyra was down on his level with the thieves shirt in her fists and a scowl that would scare the devil himself on her face.

“Is this the bastard that did this?”

“Let go!” I shrieked and pulled her off, albeit with a little effort. “Tom called the cops and they’ll deal with this properly. Not you,” I said sternly. She just let out a huff of a response and pushed herself back enough to look at Tom properly.

She gave him a once over and held her scowl in place, “So you’re the one who saved Y/N/N?”

He gave a small, hesitant nod and gave me a nervous glance. I just laughed and stood back up, as Kyra launched forward to give him a hug. “Thank you,” she murmured a few times and pulled back.

“No worries,” he said, and looked far less distressed now that Kyra didn’t look like she wanted to gut him. “I was there at the right time is all.”

“Yes, well- That doesn’t mean what you did was anything less than amazing. My whole life is in that bag and in that phone at the moment. Seriously, if there is anything I can do for you in return it’s yours. Ice cream, some roller skates, a kidney. Just ask.”

Everyone laughed at that and he nodded with an obviously sarcastic “sure”, just as the police arrived to take the culprit and our statements. Kyra mumbled something about them being slow and went to the car for a few minutes to be out of the way.

15 minutes later, everything was settled and they took the man away. Leaving Tom and I alone on the side walk again while I settled everything in my case to be sure I didn’t miss anything and quickly scribbled on a stray notecard.

“I meant it when I said I owe you one,” I said and handed the card with my name and number to him. “Just give me a ring if I can ever be of any help at all and I’ll come running. Though, probably much slower than you did.”

He tried to decline the offer only once, but after some persistence he took it with another smile, “Thank you, Y/N. Hopefully this will not be our last meeting. And hopefully never again under such pressing circumstances,” he held out his hand, and I took it, returning his earlier shake with a firm one of my own and I agreed.

“Until next time then,” he said and left.

I barely was able to take my seat in the car before Kyra grasped my arm with a devious smile, “Y/N/N- Did you just give that guy your number?” My silence was answer enough and she laughed, “Girl! No way!”

No way was right, I thought with a small smile of my own as we pulled away and started home.

»»-——————————————-««

TAGS: open

@drakesfiance @dumbgopher1 @kewlbeans-22

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baepsaetan · 3 years

Text

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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tintinwrites · 3 years

Text

dulce periculum | Demon!Max Phillips x Reader | Part One

A/N: I know this is a unique AU but that is what I must do!! Thanks so much to @wheresthewater for helping me brainstorm this fic as well as reading it for me!! Cori is always a gem to interact with. ‘Dulce periculum’ means ‘danger is sweet’ in Latin.

Rating: T

Warning: AFAB!Reader. Demon!Max. The big, big warning that I want you to pay attention to is that the beginning of this fic can be very frightening; Max kidnaps the reader, and though his intentions aren’t necessarily malicious, it’s from Reader’s POV and they have no idea what he’s doing, so they’re very scared and intimidated. Max makes a couple of threats. Naughty words. Max is a pervert, as always.

Word count: 4,556, apparently!!

Summary: You’re on your way home from work when you’re kidnapped by a mob boss who wants to hide out in your apartment. He turns out to be more annoying than he is frightening.

GIF credit: thewaythisis

Tags: @zombieaurora @strangelittlenobody @chattychell @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @beesting77 @thefandomimagines @softly-sad @phoenixhalliwell @hopplessdreamer @buttercup--bee @honeymandos @artsymaddie and open!

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It was late as you made your way home, the damp sidewalks lit by street lights and signs for late night establishments. There were still cars driving by seeing as it was a big city, though fewer than usual, the sounds of their tires splashing into puddles accompanying you on your walk.

Any other people you saw were going home as well or looking around to see if anyone was watching them as they stepped into the seedy strip club. The building sat between a questionable deli and an adult video store; the girls inside were as beautiful as any other strip club, but the owners were sketchy as hell.

These were all things you mused to yourself so you would be occupied.

You agreed to stay at work way later than usual — four hours later, to be exact — and your phone was on about ten percent battery by the time you left. Since your apartment building was only a few blocks away and you didn’t want your phone to die, you were just observing the city streets as you walked.

Everything was rather quiet aside from those puddles being driven through and the muffled, pumping music you could hear when passing by certain buildings.

And yet, you were almost uneasy. You always felt safe in the city, both where you lived and where you worked, but there was something about this particular quiet night that made you tense whenever someone walked by you.

You’d been overworking yourself, that was all it was, right? You needed a good nap and a drink because this was the fourth night you’d stayed later. That was bound to affect anyone’s mental wellbeing.

You kept trying to reason with yourself each time the people passing you didn't so much as spare a glance at you, but you just couldn’t.

You would’ve gotten an Uber or hailed a taxi just to sate your paranoia if it weren’t for the fact that you were only a block away from your apartment. You could see the building and you were just psyching yourself out, it would’ve been silly to have someone drive you the short distance.

There was no reason to be afraid; you were safe, you were capable. The apartment was within sight and you were about to be home.

Movement up ahead at the mouth of an alley made you stop in your tracks, breath hitching like you needed to hold it so no one would know you were there.

When a stray cat ran out of the alley and scampered across the street with some food in its mouth, your shoulders immediately dropped.

You were being paranoid.

It took a moment for you to gain your composure before you continued walking, almost amused at yourself for being scared by a scrawny cat just hunting for food.

Just as you were about to completely pass the alley, there was a tight grip on your arm and you were yanked between the buildings.

You didn’t even realize what happened until your back was against a brick wall and there was a hand completely covering your mouth; then all that paranoia seemed to be logical and you let out a not-very-intimidating squeak as you attempted to shove the person off.

They didn’t try to pin you down more than they were, but they didn’t even budge despite the way you were hitting and shoving at them. When you changed your tactic and grabbed onto their arm to pull their hand away, you couldn’t move it half an inch.

“You done?” a deep male voice asked boredly.

You were tired from working so much and from how hard you were trying to fight him off, your adrenaline quickly fading as you realized you couldn’t get him away. You went limp against the wall and looked at him with fearful eyes, figuring you could at least get a good description of him.

Unless he murdered you.

He was partly obscured by the darkness of the alley, but you could see half his face from what little bit of the streetlight reached him. His eyes and hair were dark, average height, slim, and...he was wearing a suit. Was this some business man who moonlighted as a mugger or something? Did you want to know what he did as a day job?

“Okay, good. Now, do everything I say and I won’t hurt you, okay?” He explained this to you with an oddly lighthearted tone like he was telling you about his hobbies, and you furrowed your brow as you reached for your wallet. “No, no, no. Not that. Do you live nearby? Tell me the truth, I will know if you’re lying.”

The man switched from jovial to threatening so quickly that it terrified you into quickly nodding; you didn’t want to know what he would do if you lied.

He flashed you a smile that might’ve been charming if he didn’t have you pinned against a wall at the moment. “Good, good. Now we’re gonna walk together and, uh...let’s say I’m your boyfriend and you’re taking me to your place, so you don’t have to ask anybody for help.”

What the fuck did he want? You closed your eyes, but opened them when he shook you lightly to get your attention.

“I’m gonna take my hand off now and you’re going to walk me to your apartment. Can you do that for me, slugger?” The name only made you more perplexed by this man, but you nodded in agreement to his instructions.

He pulled his hand from your mouth very slowly to be certain you weren’t going to scream. All you did was pant softly as you stared at him, knowing that no one would come quickly enough if you did try to scream.

Satisfied, he wrapped his arm around your middle and quickly pulled you against his side as he walked out of the alley. He paused to wait for you to take the lead, letting you take a moment to gather your bearings.

You were shaking as you slowly started walking him in the direction of your apartment, trying to think up a way out of this.

Your phone was underneath his hand in your jacket pocket so you couldn’t sneakily try to text anyone. Being at your own apartment would work in your favor because you knew where everything was, including anything you could use as a weapon.

Could you run into the kitchen and grab a chef’s knife? Maybe the vase on your windowsill in the living room could be used to hit him over the head?

A bit of hope sparked within you when you saw one of your neighbors was standing outside, smoking a cigarette; he knew you were single, he knew you didn’t have a boyfriend to bring home.

“Evening,” he drawled as he looked at you, before his gaze moved to the man who was tightening his grip on you.

“Hey,” you said levelly so the man wouldn’t think you were raising suspicion, but you did your best to show terror in your eyes.

Your neighbor regarded him for a long moment before chuckling and shooting him a wink, obviously assuming this was a hookup or something. “Guess I should keep my ear to the wall tonight, huh?”

You wanted to cry as the man at your side led you into the building, looking back desperately until he pulled you into the elevator.

“Which floor?” He shook you when you didn’t answer him, and you reached out to begrudgingly push the number for your floor.

The elevator ride seemed to take forever as you panicked about what he intended to do to you.

He expected you to lead him towards your apartment and you did, pulling out your key and unlocking the door with shaking hands. He shoved the door open and yanked you in as soon as it was unlocked, surveying the room before shoving you towards the couch.

“Sit down.” He walked away as you practically fell onto the couch from his manhandling.

You were supposed to be grabbing a weapon, but you seemed to be frozen in terror as you watched the man peer through the blinds out to the street. “Are you going to kill me?”

He lifted his head and looked at you over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised like you were insane. “Kill you? Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic.”

“—you kidnapped me.” You just stared at him as he turned to face you, putting his hands into the pockets of his pants as he shrugged.

“Is it really kidnapping if it’s in your own home?” He started walking around, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket to touch your knick knacks and things.

“Okay, you’re...holding me hostage then.” You watched him warily and with a hint of bemusement at his antics.

“Listen, pal.” He plopped down on the couch and, able to move now, you slid away from him. “I need a place to hide out. Sorry I scared you or whatever, but let’s be honest, would you have listened to me if I said I needed to stay with you?”

You would’ve brushed him off as someone looking for a hookup or a person to sponge off of if he asked to stay with you, but that didn’t mean he should’ve kidnapped you.

“I’m not letting you ‘hide out’ here.” You let out a gasp when he immediately grabbed onto your face and forced you to look at him, his eyes dark.

“I’m not going to kill you, but you should know that I can.” His voice was deeper when he was threatening you, but then he went right back to a beaming smile as he let you go like he hadn’t done a thing. “Anyway, I’m Max. What’s your name?”

Years of politeness had you stuttering out your name despite this ‘Max’ guy being an actual fucking madman. Now that you could see him in the light, you were almost certain that you’d seen him somewhere before…

He seemed to notice the curiosity in your eyes as he leaned back into the couch, looking rather smug. “Max Phillips.”

It took about seven seconds for you to connect his name and face with the articles you read and the stories you heard; you moved off the couch so quickly that you tripped over your own feet and fell to the floor.

You immediately turned onto your backside and scrambled away from him. He regarded you with a raised eyebrow.

“So you’ve heard of me.” He rolled his eyes as you backed yourself into a wall, not even moving to stop you.

“You’re the mob boss!” You were stating the obvious since he was him, but you were too horrified to be intelligent.

He was ruthless. You heard what he did to people who went against him or people who didn’t do what he wanted, read the articles of gruesome things that were suspected to be because of him.

Now he was in your apartment. And he wanted to stay with you.

“I know, I know. I am incredible.” He grabbed a book you’d been reading off the end table beside the couch, making a face at it before putting it back down. “You know something else about mob bosses, though?”

“That you’re fucking sadistic?” Your voice shook and you cowered slightly as he stood up.

He crouched down in front of you and just stared at you silently for a long moment before finally saying, “You only get hurt if you’re on their bad side. And being on their good side has...benefits.” His eyes roamed over you hungrily at the mention of the word ‘benefits’ before he looked at your face. “So what do you say? Are you gonna let me stay or do you really wanna kick me out?”

As you stared up at this man and understood the very meaningful look on his face, you supposed that you really had no other choice.

“—you’re not sleeping in my bed.”

-------------------

Once you had a bit of time to calm down and think over what Max wanted, you figured you were just going to have to deal with it.

You couldn’t really retaliate against a mob boss, so it was best to just keep him happy until he was done hiding from whoever was after him.

This meant you were pretty much on autopilot as you set up a bed for him on the couch, thankful somewhere in the back of your mind that he didn’t insist on sleeping in your bed.

He plopped down on the couch the moment you fit a baggy sheet onto the cushions, bouncing a few times before he laid back and looked up at you. “Where’d you find this ancient thing anyway?”

“Thrift store,” you mumbled as you handed him a pillow.

“Oh.” Max made a face and sat up to remove his suit jacket, folding it and moving to put it on the coffee table, only to pause. “Everything here is from a thrift store, isn’t it? I bet you’re renting this closet of an apartment from a thrift store.”

That took you off autopilot for a second as you turned to glare at him. “Need I remind you that I’m letting you hide out in this closet?”

“Ooh, claws. I like it.” He looked you over like he hadn’t threatened you into letting him stay when you sassed him before. “I think we should have angry sex.”

“I think I should go to bed and lock the door.” You didn’t know whether to be afraid of him or annoyed by him.

He was incredibly intimidating when he would threaten you, but then he was mostly just an obnoxious pervert otherwise from what you could tell. He seemed to rely on a sexual, jovial sense of humor.

“Thanks for doing this,” he called after you as you walked to your bedroom, too loud like he wanted you to acknowledge and appreciate his gratefulness. “Sleep tight, and hey! If the mood strikes, I’d be happy to sleep in your tight—”

You slammed the door shut before you could hear the rest of his suggestion, deciding that you could be scared and annoyed.

Mostly, you were just tired from working so much and dealing with Max, so you fell into bed with the hopes that he would leave in the morning.

--------------------

He didn’t.

As a matter of fact, you were woken up bright and early by the sound of music blasting from your living room.

You thought for a moment that everything that happened was a dream until you stumbled out of your bedroom, half dressed since you didn’t even take off all your clothes before falling asleep, and you saw Max flipping through a photo album.

You made your way over to the speaker where the overtly sexual music was blasting from, smacking at the buttons blindly in your attempts to turn the volume down.

When you finally found it and turned it down to barely a whisper, you sagged against the table in relief and closed your eyes. “Did you have to turn it up that loud?”

He didn’t answer you at first and you opened your eyes to find him taking a picture out of the album, looking it over with a whistle. “Did anyone ever tell you that your great grandma was sexy?”

“No,” you said flatly, walking back towards your bedroom. “Please keep the music down. I’m going back to bed.”

“Aren’t you going to make breakfast?” His question made you stop in your tracks and walk backwards to look at him.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I don’t know my way around your kitchen or how to use things properly, and I’d hate to break anything.”

You could tell by his fake innocent smile that he was being a brat and vaguely threatening you again. You wanted to just go to bed anyway, but you also wouldn’t put it past him to actually go and start breaking things in your kitchen.

With a roll of your eyes and a grumbled insult towards him, you made your way into the kitchen to start making his breakfast.

“I like my eggs scrambled with a little salt and pepper!”

As you stood there in the kitchen with your head in your hands, you remembered what you’d been wondering the night before.

You were more annoyed by him than you were scared of him, and you weren’t certain if that was a good thing or not.

---------------------

Max Phillips had been staying with you for nearly a month now and you had to admit that...it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be.

In the beginning, you’d seen an intimidating mob boss who was forcing you to let him take residence in your home, and you had no idea what he was going to do to you during his stay.

Now you knew that, though he could be threatening and you had no doubt that he could do damage to you if he wanted to, he was mostly just an obnoxious, perky, lascivious frat boy who loved attention.

But he still let you go to your job and live your normal life, and though he liked to make a lot of perverted comments, he’d never once actually touched you or done anything to you.

So you guessed it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been to have a mob boss staying at your apartment.

Even if he always asked for the same thing for breakfast and would complain if it was slightly wrong, and between that and every stupid, sexual joke he made, you wanted to serve him a fried egg covered in sugar just to annoy him.

There were also times where you were almost certain his eyes were red or he had horns or something, but you chalked that up to your dislike of him and how you’d been tired or on your second glass of wine when you saw that.

He never actually hurt you and your apparently very low standards were thankful for that.

You also would never admit it, but you’d been lonely and having someone to come home to who filled the silence was...nice. It could be annoying as all hell depending on what he was talking about, but sometimes he was funny.

Sometimes he’d ask about your day, make a comment about how he could ‘take care’ of someone for you or turn the way you phrased something into a sex joke.

Sometimes you would laugh at a joke or you would have a genuine conversation that made you forget he was who he was.

Then he would invite himself into your bed like he did every night and that would be the temporary end of your camaraderie, as well as your reminder that he was an annoying jerk.

But it was nice on occasion. To not be alone.

There were times you thought you could even like the man if it weren’t for the situation and the fact that he’d always ruin any pleasant conversations you had. Maybe there were times that you did like him, or at the very least tolerated him.

You guessed that was why you were almost disappointed when he told you that his men had settled everything and he could leave. You were going to be alone again.

You were going to miss when he would actually start helping you fold clothes and he would just be quiet for a minute as he listened to you talk about your day.

But you weren’t going to miss the way he would ask if you wanted him to eat you out to help you relax, so it was easy for you to focus on your relief that he was leaving.

You could deal with loneliness if it meant he wasn’t going to be there, staring at your ass and saying anything he could think of to rile up.

“Don’t look so sad about it, angel face.” That was a nickname he’d taken to calling you every time he pissed you off; you supposed a way to mock your angry expression or something.

“I’m not...sad.” You scoffed, though you knew that you were a little bit, way deep down. You hadn’t hid that in your eyes quickly enough before you were relieved at the idea of him leaving.

“Whatever you need to convince yourself that you don’t totally want me.” He straightened the jacket of yet another suit, and sometimes you wondered when he took the time to grab more of them. “I understand if you need a goodbye kiss. Maybe a good fuck.”

“And that’s why I’m glad you’re leaving. Let me get the door for you.” You turned to walk over to the door, but Max’s grip on your arm had you looking back at him questioningly.

His eyes were serious for once; no humor, no lust. He was looking at you like he did the times you would have a brief, real conversation. “I’m indebted to you. Let me do something for you.”

You were momentarily taken aback by his sincerity, but you gathered yourself after a moment and smiled at him. “Leaving me alone forever will suffice.”

“Seriously.” He pulled you back when you tried to walk away again, making you roll your eyes at him. “I have connections. I can give you anything you want.”

“Anything?” You raised an eyebrow, a little convinced considering he didn’t mention how he could even give you something sexual if you wanted it.

“Anything.”

“I want a million dollars.”

“Okay, done.”

“No, wait!”

He had started towards the door like he was genuinely going to go off to get you that million dollars, and now you were the one grabbing his arm and pulling him back. You looked at him for any hint of a joke, biting your lip.

“You’re serious?” you asked slowly.

“I’m serious. Name it, it’s done.”

You stared at him and before you could stop yourself, you said, “I want my dream job, but there are never any openings and everyone beats me to it when there are and— and what am I saying? You’re a mob boss, you’re just asking if there’s anyone you can kill for me.”

You supposed you mentioned it because you hoped he had connections in your industry and could pull strings, but…

Max took hold of your chin and tilted your head up from where you were looking at the floor, smirking at you. “Done.”

You just looked at him with your brow furrowed and your mouth in an O shape, torn between asking him if he could actually do it and thanking him. You were just about to do the latter when there was suddenly a piece of paper in front of your face.

“I just need you to sign this contract!” He was back to his normal obnoxious self, pulling the paper away before you could even blink and setting it down on your dining table.

“Where the hell were you keeping that?” You hadn’t seen him take it out of any pockets and even if he had, the paper would have had to have been folded up to fit.

It was perfectly pristine, not a single mark on it, so where…

He then procured a dip pen and an inkwell from a place you decided you didn’t want to know about, then he guided you over to the table and shoved you down in a chair. “Just sign your name on the line there, cursive or print.”

“What is this for?” you asked once you’d wrapped your head around what he was asking you to do. You picked up the contract to look at it, but he quickly plucked it out of your hands.

“Oh, you know, standard. I can’t be held liable if it doesn’t turn out exactly how you want it, blah, blah, blah.” He set it back down and dipped the pen into the ink, forcing it into your hand. “Sign it.”

“Give me a minute!” Your eyes scanned over the contract to find that it mostly was just about liability and binding the agreement, but you needed to get closer to read some fine print at the bottom.

“Can I have a glass of water?” Max’s face popped up between you and the paper, making you jump back.

You just blinked for a second before gently pushing his face away so you could read. “Be my guest.”

You just started to read the fine print again when Max started humming. The music was familiar and you realized it was a tango, but you tried not to let it distract you from reading.

Just when you managed to make some headway on reading the first line, you were yanked out of your chair and pulled up against Max’s body.

Before you could even ask what he was doing, he gripped your hand and thrust your arm straight out with his as he began a rhythmic stride across the room, humming the music all the way.

“What are you doing?!” You let out a yelp as he turned around jarringly and started to step the other way.

“You’ve never tangoed before?” He spun you out and made you crash into the chair you’d been sitting in, only saved by his hand in yours before he twirled you back into his chest.

“I’m trying to read your contract!”

“You sign it and I promise you, the job you want is yours. You just have to sign it!” He dipped you right by the table so the paper was in your peripheral vision, panting slightly. “Sign it.”

He pulled you back up and stepped away from you, as you stared at him in a daze because he actually just made you tango with him.

But then his promises that you would get the job sank in. You looked at the contract for a moment and, as your desire for your dream job won over your curiosity about the fine print, you grabbed the pen and signed it.

You stumbled back with a gasp when the contract immediately went up into flames and disappeared from the table. “What the fuck—”

Max grabbed you again, but this time he spun you around and slammed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. You raised your hands to push him away at first, only to slowly grip onto his suit jacket when you found that he was a good kisser.

Your eyes closed as you kissed him back, forgetting about how annoying he was or the few threats he’d used on you, forgetting about his work, just letting yourself get lost in this.

For the briefest moment, you were mad at yourself for never giving in to any of his obnoxious offers to join you in bed.

He pulled away from you and you just stood there with your eyes closed for a moment, lips still parted like you wanted him to continue his work.

“Max,” you gasped out when he didn’t say anything or move to kiss you again, reaching out to pull him back.

But when you opened your eyes in search of him, he was gone.

#max phillips x reader #max phillips imagine #max phillips fic #bloodsucking bastards imagine

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dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

Of Starlight

A/N: The last two chapters of this story (19 and 20) are currently being written y’all. I wrote this book faster than I thought I would...

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, death/dying, sexual assault

Word Count: 2176

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Chapter 4: Moved On, Too

“Okay, but just so we’re clear on the finer details,” Klaus started as he and Five exited the latter’s room, gaining the attention of (Y/N), who was in her own bedroom. “I just gotta go into this place and pretend to be your dear old dad, correct?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” Five answered as (Y/N) joined them in the hallway.

“What’s our cover story?” Klaus questioned, looking between the two teenagers. Five furrowed his brows and shook his head a little in confusion.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I mean, was I really young when I had you? Like, sixteen? Like, young and…,” Klaus dramatically placed his hands over his chest. “terribly misguided?”

“Sure.”

“Your mother, that slut. Whoever she was. We met at…” He trailed off in thought. (Y/N) thought to humor them a little.

“The disco?”

“The disco! That’s, good, (Y/N)! Okay? Remember that,” He excitedly agreed, Five muttering a ‘you’re unbelievable’ to the girl as Klaus continued on with his story. “Oh, my god, the sex was amaaaazing.”

“What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain.” Five began walking away. (Y/N) followed him as Klaus stayed back in thought.

“Wait, what about (Y/N)?” He asked, the two turning back to him. “Who is she gonna be?”

“She’s my friend.” Five plainly answered, Klaus gasping.

“Or girlfriend.”

“No.”

“Oh, you two don’t have to kiss! We gotta sell it and you two have way too much chemistry to be just friends.” He pointed between the two, (Y/N) and Five rolling their eyes in irritation. She’d be lying if she said she disagreed, and it wouldn’t have bothered her to pretend to be Five’s girlfriend, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Especially not now.

Huffing, Five looked to his brother again. “If I say yes, will you shut up and come on?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At Meritech Prosthetics, the three Hargreeves were sat in front of the executive’s desk. Well, (Y/N) and Klaus were sitting, Five was standing in between them, his jaw severely clenched as he listened to the man speak, “Like I said to your son and his girlfriend earlier, any information about the prosthetics we build is strictly confidential. Without the client’s consent, I simply can’t help you.”

“Well, we can’t get consent if you don’t give us a name.” Five grit his teeth as he leaned forward.

“Well, that’s not my problem. Sorry. Now, there’s really nothing more I can do, so-”

“And what about my consent?” Klaus suddenly spoke up, the three turning to him with furrowed brows.

“Excuse me?” The executive questioned.

“Who gave you permission… to lay your hands… on my son?” He took a shaky breath and pointed at Five. Both the executive and the boy let out a ‘what?’. “You heard me.”

“I didn’t touch your son.”

“Oh, really?” Klaus stood up from his chair, and (Y/N) knew what he was going to do next was not going to be good. “Well, then how did he get that swollen lip, then?”

“He doesn’t have a swollen-” The man was cut off when Klaus struck Five in the mouth. The boy grunted on impact and (Y/N) quickly stood, in total shock. Did Klaus really just hit his brother across the face? The Seance turned to the man and leaned forward against the desk.

“I want it. Name, please. Now.”

“You’re crazy.” The executive pointed up at him, receiving a chuckle in response. (Y/N) went to Five’s side and silently checked his lip. It wasn’t bleeding too bad, but he definitely had a mark from it. He gently placed a hand on her wrist to let her know that he was fine.

“You got no idea,” Klaus then picked up a snowglobe that was sitting on the desk and smiled at it. “‘Peace on Earth’. That’s so sweet.” He remarked before smashing his head through it. Everyone jumped as glass shattered and fell from his bleeding head, a piece getting stuck in a strand of his hair. “God, that hurt!” He groaned.

The man quickly picked up the phone. “I’m calling secur- What are you doing?!” He exclaimed as Klaus snatched the phone from him and held it up to his ear, a gasp leaving his lips.

“There’s been an assault… in Mr Big’s office, and we need security, now. Schnell!” As he hung up the phone, the man could only stare up at him in fear. Klaus sighed and seemingly shook off the pain in his head. “Now, here’s what’s gonna happen, Grant.”

“It’s… Lance-”

“In about sixty seconds, two security guards are gonna burst through that door, and they’re gonna see a whole lot of blood, and they’re gonna wonder ‘what the hell happened?’,” (Y/N) glanced over at Five who, despite his bleeding lip, was smirking at Lance. “And we’re gonna tell them that you… beat the shit out of us,” And just when they thought he was done, he quickly grabbed (Y/N) by her wrist and yanked her to his side. “And that you inappropriately touched my son’s girlfriend.”

“What?!” Lance and (Y/N) exclaimed. Klaus gently pushed her behind him and patted her head.

“It’s alright, sweetie, you can say it…” He gently spoke. It was silent for a minute and Lance was frantically glancing between her and Klaus. Eventually, she cleared her throat.

“I-I told him to stop.”

“Oh… You’re gonna do great in prison, Grant. Trust me, I’ve been there. Little piece of chicken like you. Oh, my god, you’re gonna get passed around like a…,” Klaus circled his hips. “You’re just- You’re gonna do great. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Jesus, you are a real sick bastard.” Lance shakily spoke as he looked around at the three. Klaus simply nodded at him.

“Thank you.” He whispered, spitting a glass shard out of his mouth.

It was safe to say that Lance was convinced to give them the information they needed. He led them to a desk and started going through a drawer, occasionally glancing up at Klaus, who was sitting on the desk and sweetly smiling at him. (Y/N) was sitting on the desk on the other side as Five simply sat in a chair in front of him. Finding the folder he needed, Lance started looking through it. “Oh, that’s strange.”

“What?” Five frowned.

“Uh, the eye. It hasn’t been purchased by a client yet.” The executive explained as Klaus hopped off the desk and got in his personal space.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, uh, our logs say that the eye with that serial number…,” He trailed off and was clearly uncomfortable by Klaus stalking behind him. Lance frowned as he scanned the information. “This can’t be right. It hasn’t even been manufactured yet. Where did you get that eye?”

Five sighed and locked eyes with (Y/N), whose were staring back in concern.

As the three walked out of the lab, Five and Klaus started to get into an argument about why the eye was important, but (Y/N) couldn’t have been bothered to listen at the moment. She was wondering how Michael and Jada were doing. Have they eaten yet? Of course, they have. Mom’s taking good care of them. Well, what about Michael? Is he getting homework done? I really hope he isn’t slacking off...

She stopped when she noticed Klaus and Five weren’t walking with her anymore. She turned to see them on the stairs in front of the lab.

“Hey, you know, I’ve just realized why you’re so uptight,” Klaus gestured towards his crotch. “You must be horny as hell!” He laughed. (Y/N) contemplated whether or not she really wanted to listen to this, but joined them anyway. “All those years by yourself. It’s gotta screw with your head, being alone.”

“Well…,” Five started quietly. “I wasn’t alone.” This caught both their attention. Klaus raised a brow.

“Oh? Pray tell.”

“Her name was Delores,” He told after a second of silence. “We were together for over thirty years.”

“Whatever happened to the clone I sent after you?” (Y/N) questioned. “Did it get left behind before you jumped? I told it to look after you.”

“Must’ve left it in 2002… It was just me and Delores throughout the apocalypse.”

Delores. That name again… sounded so familiar. (Y/N) was honestly very happy for Five. Happy that he wasn’t alone, happy that he’d moved on from whatever they had as kids. She’d done it, after all. So, she couldn’t have asked him to not do the same. Though, she couldn’t help the pit that formed in her stomach at the thought of it. She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard Klaus yelling about his money. Only then did she notice that Five had left in a cab. (Y/N) rolled her eyes and took her wallet out of her jacket pocket, handing a twenty to her brother.

“Buy yourself something pretty.”

“You are a saint, sister dear.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Returning to the Academy, (Y/N) found Allison in one of the upstairs rooms, sitting on the windowsill and smoking a cigarette. She tilted her head with a smile before silently walking up to her. “Hey, Ally.”

“Oh, shit,” Allison jumped and turned to her sister. “Jesus, (Y/N), you can’t do that.”

“May I?” She held her hand out for the cig, Allison raising a brow before handing it over. She watched her sister take a long drag as she sat beside her on the windowsill. (Y/N) raised a brow at her. “What?” She exhaled the smoke.

“Nothing… It’s just that… I thought you were trying to quit.”

“Yeah, Anthony would’ve wanted me to… but I really need it right now,” She heavily sighed before staring up at the night sky. “I miss my babies…”

“That makes two of us,” Allison shook her head and took back the cigarette once it was handed back to her. “God, what I would give to know how she’s doing…”

“Why don’t you call?”

“Because Patrick is being a grade A asshole… He wouldn’t let me speak to her.”

“What an ass,” (Y/N) shook her head. “If Anthony and I had ever split up, I would’ve never kept the kids from him… What’d you ever seen in him?”

“I don’t know…,” Allison leaned her head back, eyes sliding to her sister. “Speaking of rocky relationships… What’s going on with you and Five?” Her question made (Y/N) quickly sit up. “Oh, come on, you two were smitten when we were kids! Everyone knew it.”

(Y/N) shook her head and plucked the white stick out of Allison’s hand. “We’re not starting with this, Ally. Nothing is going on. We’ve both moved on from that shit.”

“That shit? That ‘shit’ was love and it’s still there. Neither of you truly moved on.”

“Well, Five definitely did. Told me about a woman he was with for years. Delores…”

“Oh, Delores… You think she’s cute?” Allison teased, receiving a shove. She laughed and shoved (Y/N) back. “I’m being serious!”

“You know she is, Five wouldn’t go with some hag, even if she was the last woman on Earth… Probably a babe, even at fifty-eight…”

“You sound… so jealous right now.” There was a long silence between the two, Allison waiting patiently for her sister to respond, but she laughed at what she said next,

“Piss off, Allison.”

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The wind howled as Five spun his body around, still taking in what was left around him. Right by his side was (Y/N)’s clone, seemingly observing the current state he was in. Its eyes moved all around his face, then to his current line of vision. A single hand stuck out of the debris not too far away from him, holding what looked to be a bloody eyeball. Quickly moving forward, Five bent down and pried it out of the dead hand and wiped off the blood before looking to who the hand belonged to. His stomach dropped when he got his answer.

Luther -- or who he assumed was Luther, older and dead, crushed under rubble. Moving around the area, he found Allison, Diego and Klaus in the same state. All older, all buried under remains, and all dead. He had been staring at Klaus’s lifeless body when he heard rustling from a little ways away. Turning in the direction, he saw the clone moving some bricks around. Five made his way over to it, and what he saw made him collapse to his knees immediately.

There was (Y/N). His (Y/N). Bleeding from her mouth due to the rubble that was once crushing her, now moved away by her own clone. She was the same age as their siblings, the light from her (e/c) eyes slowly draining as her fingers slightly twitched. Right as Five went to hold her hand, her body gave one last twitch before going completely still, her eyes devoid of any light they’ve ever had.

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Taglist: @melinda-hargreeves @43sparrows @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom

#the umbrella academy #tua fanfic #tua x reader #umbrella academy x reader #tua five #five x reader #number five #number five x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #of starlight #umbrella academy #tua

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

The Oncoming Storm Part 13: Worry

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Liu Kang knows exactly what he's doing. Like, exactly what he's doing. Send help. Plz. Next update on Thursday! Gonna go for the double again this weekend. Thank you, as always, for reading! Appreciate you guys!!

Part 12 Part 14 Chapter Index

Meditation brought you no peace. Even as you laid down, you knew you couldn’t sleep. In moments like this you would normally wander about the temple to take your mind off your racing thoughts. But you were exhausted, and the idea of walking around was unappealing, to say the last. You needed rest but your brain wouldn’t allow it. It’d been cruel to you all day long. Maybe you should go and find Chen and see if she still wanted to meet up with some of her friends and have a drink. You could joke and have a drink under the watchful eye of someone who would take care of you if it made you sick. Then again, if you found Chen, then you would also be teased. That and she would expect to hear how your afternoon with Kung Lao had gone. You still weren’t sure how it’d gone so discussing it seemed out of the question.

Chen wanted you to make the kind of mistakes that you had been incredibly careful to avoid since your early twenties.

Avoiding that dangerous train of thought, you returned to your afternoon with Kung Lao. He’d been weird. Reflective and pushy, but still kind and confident in you in ways you had never expected. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that you’d done so poorly. Your confidence had been shattered. It would come back, you were sure, but the vision you’d had and the fact that you’d hurt Liu Kang had really set you back. You were grateful, in hindsight, that Kung Lao had forced you to push beyond your limits.

Before you’d had no limits and since that night, you’d given yourself limits without realizing.

“Ugh.” You got up and pulled the top drawer of your desk open to find the small and delicate flower that Kung Lao had given to you. Seated on the edge of your bed, you admired the wilting and precious thing. It wouldn’t live for much longer, but it didn’t make it any less beautiful. You’d forgotten what it had looked like while alive over the years and the reminder was nostalgic and touching.

What had Kung Lao been doing today? Yes, you knew you were practicing, and he was encouraging you to push beyond you limitations but there was something else beneath that. A motive. You couldn’t say that he hadn’t been himself because the Kung Lao you knew had been ten years old. Still, he’d been weird for half the session. Besides that, you were certain that he’d considered kissing you several times and had hesitated- waited for you to make that leap. You had thought about it, of course, how couldn’t you? But it was different when you considered you had both thought it.

You set the flower on the wide windowsill, watching the wind slightly jostled the withering petals.

What did any of it mean? What were your heart and brain doing? They certainly weren’t working together.

Liu Kang had kissed you.

You brushed your fingers over your lower lip and shivered at the memory. It had been more than a kiss; it had been world-shattering. Okay, maybe you were being dramatic. But it had made everything else disappear. Nothing else had mattered. Not your vision. Not the mark on your back. Nothing.

Even though you’d been terrified and exhausted when it’d happened, it had been perfect. Even thinking about it made your chest ache.

You hadn’t seen him since then.

You’d spent so much of your time together that it almost felt like withdrawal to not see him for that long. Reaching again for the flower, you moved to your desk, afraid that the wind would blow the precious thing away. You rested the flower atop the journal.

You needed sleep but your brain wouldn’t turn off.

You hoped that Liu was okay. That in whatever way you had attacked him, you hadn’t done any damage. You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if you had. You also hoped that Kung Lao was okay. His behavior had worried you. You didn’t have the words to ask him what was going on. You had, in fact, asked him exactly that and he’d had no answer for you. He’d been evasive and you didn’t know him well enough to know if that was normal behavior for him. Maybe feelings made him uncomfortable. They certainly made you uncomfortable.

You recalled that even as kids he’d avoided uncomfortable conversations with humor. Back then, you’d done the same. Other than that, you hadn’t been able to shut him up. He’d told you everything under the sun that he could think to say. You smiled at the memory but shook it away as quickly as it had come. You had to get it out of your head that they were the same person. Yes, they were but there were twenty years of distance between them. He was different and so were you. He’d died and you had grown to love his memory.

You remembered him in reverence, but you had to put that aside if you had any hope of knowing the man that he’d grown to be.

Before you knew it, you were waking up to the sound of a knock on your door. Your back ached and your arm had gone numb from falling asleep on top of it. Wiping your eyes of sleep, you sat upright and scooted back in your chair. There was a second knock on the door, a polite and soft knock. You stood and half-expected to find a monk checking in on you. Instead, you found Liu Kang. He seemed tired. The sky was dark beyond the window in the hall behind him. You’d slept through the evening.

He greeted you with a nod instead of words. From the look of his thoughtful eyes, he seemed to have a lot on his mind. “Is everything okay, Liu?” You had a thousand other questions to ask him. Was he okay? Where had he been? Did you hurt him? How had you attacked him? You wanted to ask him what that moment between you had meant but you pushed that all aside. For now, the one question would do. The other answers would come with patience.

“Yes, everything’s fine.” He smiled as if realizing that he had worried you by not doing so. “I wanted to see you, that’s all.”

“Oh.” That was sweet, was what you wanted to say, but you didn’t.

“Can I come in?” He gestured toward the room and you stepped aside to allow him entry. He walked into the room and sat on the edge of your bed. You closed the door behind you and then joined him. “I’m sorry that it’s been so long.”

“Oh? Don’t be. It’s okay. I know that you have a lot of responsibilities here.” You smiled. It really had been some time, but you understood that he was busy. At least the distance hadn’t been in your head.

“I’ve been doing some research through the archives for Raiden. It’s been busy and tedious work. Trust me, I would have rather been here.”

“Research? About anything fun?” You brightened up, hoping to get him to talk about his day. He had listened to you many times and you were happy to repay the favor. Liu Kang averted his eyes and his prayer beads shifted nervously from his wrist and into his palm. His index finger tapped against the beads and your stomach dropped.

“Not so much fun, but interesting.”

“Oh. It’s about me. The research was about me.”

“Yes,” Liu turned to face you. “About what you’re experiencing. Nothing personal.”

“Well, did you find anything?” You wanted him to be honest with you even if what he’d found wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Liu softened. Sometimes it seemed to you that he could read your mind.

“No. In truth, it’s difficult to say what we’re looking for. We need to know more about what you’re experiencing and that could be…”

“Uncomfortable.”

“Invasive. Seers are rare, Y/N, but many have stayed in Raiden’s Temple over the years. I mostly went through files of old predictions and afflictions suffered around the same time. Nothing lined up of any note. I didn’t honestly think that it would, but we had to check.” Liu Kang tried to catch your gaze, but you kept your eyes turned downward. “Raiden wants to see what you saw using his magic if you’re up to it. I’m not sure when, I just know that it’ll be soon.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. If he thinks that it’ll help and can do some good then, that’s fine. A little discomfort isn’t going to kill me.” You smiled but it faltered. The gravity of the things you’d left unsaid was weighing you both down.

“Y/N?” He turned toward you as if he had something important planned to say but you stiffened up. You didn’t want his pity or his worry.

“I miss studying with you.” You interrupted. It wasn’t what you had wanted to say but he seemed to understand your meaning. You missed him. “Everything seems so complicated now. Part of me is missing those first few weeks, even as sick as I had been.”

“We can’t live in the past, Y/N.” He rested his hand on your cheek and urged your gaze up to his. You held your breath. His fingers brushed from your cheek, over the line of your jaw, beneath your ear, and then down beneath your chin. “When you said that you suffered an illness in your childhood, you didn’t mean that you were sick, did you?” You stiffened up. Of all the things you’d expected to talk about with Liu Kang that night, it hadn’t been that. You supposed it was important.

“I…” His hand was still on your chin and as you opened your mouth to speak his hand moved with you. He searched your face and then carefully dropped his hand. You were grateful that he had. The overstimulation had been insane. The air between you when you were that close was so thick that it was often difficult to breathe, nonetheless talk. With his hands on you, it was only that much worse. “Yeah, that’s… I was still sick, but it was because I saw things. So, if what you’re asking is if this was the first time that I saw something like that? Then no. When I was a kid, it came on very suddenly.”

“Same symptoms? The clotting? Passing out?”

“Yeah. It was something I dealt with then but when I turned twelve it went away and… I haven’t thought about it in years before this.” You felt suddenly nervous. His face was flooded with concern and he was the one to now avoid your eyes. Your stomach twisted into knots made of guilt and frustration.

“Were you not going to tell me? Or… anyone? The doctors in the infirmary had no idea.”

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t avoid the blame. It hadn’t been on purpose. You would have brought it up if you had thought it were a possibility. “I hadn’t thought about in so long that when I started having issues here? I didn’t think of it immediately. When Kung Lao’s hat tore up my side? Yeah, it briefly crossed my mind. But Liu, listen.” You scooted closer to him, closing the small gap between you. You took his hand where the beads were wrapped around his palm and held it between both of yours. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, Y/N.”

“Yes, I do.” You insisted. “It was stupid and selfish of me. It’s going to sound silly, but I felt that by saying something about it, it would be like willing it into existence.” You let go of his hand and felt your chest ache with guilt. “And yet… here we are. And here it is. Back. I should have said something. I just kept hoping that it was anything else.”

“Words only have so much power,” he whispered.

“For three years of my life, Liu, I saw things beyond my control, beyond predictability. It made me so sick that I thought I would never recover. I couldn’t go to school; my parents wouldn’t even let me stay at home anymore. I felt hopeless. Powerless. I was foolish to think that not saying anything would change the truth and I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset with you, Y/N. I’m just worried.” He urged you again to look up at him, finger hooked again under your chin. Worry was still very much present in his eyes, but so was determination. That was better than just the one. “You aren’t powerless. And you aren’t a child. You’re strong. No one is sending you away. You’re not alone anymore.” He urged his hand over your jaw and rested it against your cheek. It was warm and you couldn’t resist leaning into his touch. “You have me.”

“I do.” You closed your eyes. Each of his fingers were placed with purpose, his thumb carefully brushing over your cheek. “And Kung Lao.”

“And Kung Lao.” Liu said so with a sigh. You caught his gaze. There were volumes he didn’t say but you couldn’t argue that he had secrets. You had a thousand things you weren’t saying either. Things that you weren’t ready to say. Maybe he felt the same way. You almost asked him what was happening. Should you be putting a stop to this closeness? Or to Kung Lao’s obvious flirtation? Should you focus on figuring out what the tug between you meant or sorting out your mixed-up feelings for Kung Lao? Instead, you stayed lost in his eyes and savored the touch of his strong hand on your cheek.

Before you said anything you had to at least sort out your thoughts. It wouldn’t be fair to put that on Liu to decide for you. you had no idea what was happening in your head or your heart and now with the added trauma of your childhood illness returning more dangerous than ever, you owed it to them both to figure it out yourself.

“Y/N?” He asked with some concern in his voice. His other hand rested on your other cheek and his dark eyes searched yours with worry. His eyes traced over your face and returned to your gaze. You exhaled, not realizing that you had been holding your breath. You really had to stop getting lost in your head like that, especially since Liu Kang no longer seemed shy about touching you. You rested your hand over his on your cheek. Your hands were dwarfed in comparison.

“Are you okay, Liu?”

He laughed in surprise and his worry faded. “Me? Really?”

“Yes, you!” You took one of his hands away from your cheek and grasped it with both of yours again.

“I’m fine, Y/N. You spaced out and I’m starting to worry that the blood loss may be worse than we thought.” He teased, his heart-shaped lips curving into a smile.

“I heard you tell Raiden that my arcana attacked you.”

“It did.” His smile didn’t fade. He almost seemed proud of it. “Knocked me clear across the pit. Nearly lost consciousness.”

“What?” Your stomach dropped.

“Yes, but I’m fine, Y/N. It was mostly impressive.” He smiled reassuringly but you were still horrified that you’d hurt him so terribly without knowing. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine, really.”

“Did you get it looked at? Are you sure that you’re okay? I can’t believe that I attacked you.”

“I did, of course. It would be hypocritical of me not to. It’s just a bruise, I promise.” He assured you. “And I don’t think you were attacking me, Y/N. I think that whatever you experienced, your arcana was trying to protect you from it. Raiden thinks that it’s whatever shadow that has been cast over your gift. Your arcana lashes out to keep you safe, but it cannot attack a shadow, so it attacked me.”

“Just a bruise? You promise?”

“Yes, I promise. I’ll give you proof if you need it. You were really this worried about me?”

“Yeah, well, a little bit.” You were a terrible liar and Liu cocked an eyebrow in amusement that you’d even tried to lie. You’d been dwelling on his well-being since you’d heard him tell Raiden. “Fine, it’s been eating me alive. Happy?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Y/N.” He touched your cheek again and then sat upright and untied the red sash around his middle. You turned your gaze away from his hands immediately. He set the sash aside and pulled open his shirt so that you could see the purple and blue bruising on his stomach, spreading over his side and under his arm. You covered your mouth and gasped in horror. You’d done that? He laughed in surprise at the look on your face. “No! It’s fine, Y/N, this was supposed to comfort you, not make it worse. It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Liu, that’s the biggest bruise I’ve ever seen.” You almost touched it but then retracted your hand. You didn’t want to make it worse. Instead, you peered around him to see how far it extended over his side. He lifted his arm to show you. It stopped there, thankfully. Liu Kang then grasped your hand and very gently placed it against the bruising over his ribcage. Your breath caught in the back of your throat. He didn’t even flinch.

“It’s fine, really. It’s not as bad as it looks.” He stiffened up and watched your fingers. You brushed them just over the outside of the bruise, tracing the shape of it over his muscles. Then you pulled your hand back and held it close to your chest. Gently caressing his muscles was something you definitely didn’t mean to do but you had done it. Your heart was practically beating through your chest. There was that overstimulation again. You’d hurt Liu Kang, so much so that he had the ugliest bruise you had ever seen on another human being, even in old action movies. Then he had basically stripped just to show you that he was okay. Then, you’d kind of felt him up, fascinated by the bruise and his physique. He hadn’t been shy about his body, so it probably didn’t bother him. He’d made it quite clear that he was comfortable shirtless. “Y/N, I’m fine. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I could have killed you.”

“Not easily.” Liu smiled and you looked aside, embarrassed. “Really. I only showed you to try and relieve your worry. If it had done any real damage then my ribs would be broken, Y/N. It’s superficial. I wouldn’t tell you that I was fine if I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Trust me, Y/N.”

You did. You trusted him and so you would convince yourself that, while you had attacked him, he really was okay. You owed that to him. “Okay, Liu. I’m still sorry that I hurt you, but I trust you to know your own limits.”

“Y/N, if I hadn’t been there then who knows what would have happened to you? A little bruise is worth that.” He left his shirt hanging open and then gestured to the desk, but you interrupted him.

“That is not a little bruise. It is, in fact, the biggest bruise that I have ever seen in my whole life and I was a martial arts teacher before this.”

“It’s fine. I promise.” He laughed and grabbed the book and journal they’d been writing in. You caught sight of the flower falling to the side. “Are you up for studying? Or… does that seem trivial in comparison?”

“No!” You said too quickly and then laughed at yourself. “Honestly, I was thinking earlier how much I’ve missed it. So, I would like that. Very much.” It did seem a little trivial but not in a bad way. It was a good and simple thing to do. A simple grounding thing amongst all the complicated nonsense.

“I’m glad.” He seemed relieved and slipped further back on your bed, resting his back against the wall just below the window. You scooted back to join him, taking the journal from his hands. He opened the book and read from where you’d left off, stopping every so often to describe something with more clarity or to share a story. You asked questions when appropriate and every so often you made a terrible joke and stopped to laugh and share a personal story of your own. You took notes but mostly held the journal in your lap and listened. His careful, calm, and kind voice was familiar and comforting and you had missed it.

You shivered and Liu took the blanket from the bottom of your bed and draped it over your legs and his own. He scooted just a tad closer to you and much to your surprise, he slipped his arm right around your shoulder, hand brushing over your other arm to warm you. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you smiled but avoided his eyes that were boring a hole into you all the while. He returned to reading quickly, arm still around you, hand on your shoulder, thumb gently caressing your skin.

You rested your head on his shoulder and listened, abandoning your quest to take notes in the journal. His voice reverberated through his body and into yours and it gave you the shivers again.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, resting a finger on the page to mark his spot. You lifted your head from his shoulder and offered him a sleepy nod. He was already close, but his eyes searched your face, and he drew ever closer. His fingers brushed over your jaw and down the side of your neck. You held your breath as he seemed to consider words and then abandon them. Instead, he returned your tired nod. You caught his gaze on your lips, his own parting just slightly, the corners tugging into a soft smile before he turned back to the book.

Oh yeah, he definitely knew what he was doing but you didn’t mind it either. He went back to reading, pushing half of the book into your lap as he did. You held the left corner of the book for him on instinct. You’d read books this way with your sister, but never with anyone who made your heart race the way Liu Kang did.

You closed your eyes to focus only on the melody of his voice but drifted instead to sleep.

#liu kang x reader #liu kang #mk liu kang #mortal kombat movie #mortal kombat 2021 #liu kang/reader #liu kang/you #liu kang x you #kung lao x reader #kung lao/you #kung lao #mk kung lao #fluff #romance #angst #slow burn #fanfic #fanfiction #send help

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pedros-mustache · 4 years

Text

mr. grinch

summary: javi was never going to be the all-out-for-the-holidays type, was he?

word count: 2.7k

warnings: borderline soft!javi (the heart wants what the heart wants), specifically related to the christmas holiday, a disgusting amount of fluff, x fem!reader

a/n: wrote a post about this concept and decided that wasn’t enough. my forte is angst and pining, not fluff, so forgive me if this is trash.

also: this will be repeated in the future, i’m sure, but if you have at all interacted with/commented on/reblogged/liked any of my previous fics thank! you! i would reply to each and every comment however that would require exposing my main (as this is a side-blog) and that’s not gonna happen. please know that i see and feel your love! xoxo!

you long for the day after thanksgiving more than thanksgiving itself.

sure, you enjoy the november holiday; it’s not like you hate it. especially since getting married, since having kids, you find thanksgiving means a little more to you now than it did prior to adulthood.

you enjoy packing the kids up and traveling across town to your mother’s house for thanksgiving breakfast and then packing the kids up again and going to javi’s father’s house for thanksgiving dinner. you enjoy sitting beside your husband, your hand on his thigh, as you watch your children play with their cousins or be passed around by distant aunts and uncles. you enjoy knowing that you’re safe, that javi’s safe, that the babies are safe. you enjoy knowing that you’re loved.

really, thanksgiving is nice, a good reminder of all that you have to be thankful for. but it’s just that: nice.

the day after thanksgiving, though... that’s when the real fun begins.

since childhood, your family has waited to decorate for christmas until the day after thanksgiving, and you’ve brought the tradition to your new household. javi tells you that your excitement for christmas overshadows thanksgiving, and maybe it does, but you really don’t care. not when christmas is ten times more cozy and festive than thanksgiving could ever dream of being.

this year, you rise early on the appointed day and wake javi with a firm shake to the shoulder. he groans, rolls over to his stomach, and slips his head beneath a pillow.

“too early,” he mutters.

you exit the ensuite bathroom, rubbing your lotioned palms together as you prepare for a long day of unwrapping dusty boxes and fragile decorations. with a grin, you tap javi’s foot beneath the bedcovers. “get up before i sic the kids on you.”

he mumbles something under his breath, but the weight of the pillow muffles his words, so you leave him to his sulking. he’s never been a morning person, not in all the years you’ve known him. in a few minutes he’ll be up; you just have to give him time.

you find your son, tomás, awake and raring to go. six and a half years old and responsible as ever, it is his greatest joy in life to make his father proud. and though javier is a man of few emotional words, there’s a soft spot in his heart for both his children. today marks the first year tomás is old enough and capable enough to help his father with the outdoor decorations, and he’s already halfway dressed, his small feet shoved in tiny boots and his unruly hair snug beneath a baseball cap.

leaning against the doorframe, you watch as tomás struggles to get his arms through the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “you’re up bright and early,” you say, arching an eyebrow.

“wanna”—he bites his lip in concentration—“wanna help daddy today.” he drops his head with a heavy sigh. one elbow in particular remains stuck in the sleeve of his shirt, caught at a ninety degree angle.

you cross the bedroom to kneel in front of him and gently tug on his shirtsleeve. the arm once stuck at an uncomfortable angle flops to his side, and you smooth your hands over his narrow shoulders. “i’m sure you’ll be a big help, tommy. you just have to promise to do as daddy says.”

“yeah, i promise.”

with a squeeze to his arm, you cock your head to the open bedroom door. “go run downstairs and pour yourself some cereal while i get your sister up. daddy will be down soon.”

boots heavy around his ankles, tomás dutifully makes his way to the kitchen, his steps slow as he descends the steep stairs. his shoes clomp on the hardwood, and you hesitate, waiting to hear the cabinet doors open and shut, before moving to wake your daughter. you know by now that, though tomás thinks himself a fully grown boy, his legs often move faster than his brain, and you’ve had one too many tumbles down the staircase to show for it. the last thing you need today is a split forehead or bonked chin.

like her brother, julieta is awake when you enter her dimly lit nursery. she gives you a gummy smile when you reach down to lift her from the small mattress, and she gurgles happily as you change her diaper and dress her for the day. her arms flap against her sides in joy as you enter your bedroom and place her on your bed. with practiced effort, julieta crawls her way up the bed and presses her tiny fists against javi’s shoulders.

“come on, javier,” you say, pulling the covers away from your husband’s body. he groans in response, head still tucked beneath his pillow. “tommy’s already downstairs waiting for you.”

with a huff, javi turns to his back, drawing julieta with him, one broad hand splayed across her entire back. “getting up this early the day after thanksgiving is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“no—you’re just dramatic.”

“i think i ate too much pie yesterday.” he sits up with a frown. “i’m gonna have a beer gut like my uncle before you know it.”

“maybe, but i reckon you’ll still look cute.” you grab his wrist and tug him out of bed. he keeps julieta firm against his chest as he moves. “you know i don’t like to waste time, so please move that cute ass of yours downstairs. it’s past eight-thirty already.”

javi tosses a surprised look over his shoulder as you shove him out of the room, plaid pajama pants and all. “you think i have a cute ass?”

“shut up,” you grumble.

tomás sits at the kitchen table, bowl of cereal on his plastic placemat. he grins when javi enters the room, and a line of milk dribbles down his chin, which you are quick to wipe away with a stray napkin.

“hi, daddy.” rising to his knees, tomás swivels in his seat and braces his hands on the back of the chair. he watches as javi deposits julieta in her high-chair then sets about making his morning pot of coffee. “we’re gonna put the lights up outside today?”

without turning away from the coffee maker, javi nods. “yeah, champ. but, you know, i was thinking.” his eyes slide to yours as he shuts the coffee maker’s lid and flips the on button. “what if we did something... different this year?”

you still. julieta makes grabby fingers for the half of the banana that still hasn’t been sliced for her, and she kicks her legs against the high-chair. “different?” you narrow your eyes. “different how?”

“oh, i dunno.” javi leans back against the stove and crosses his arms over his chest. he has all the air of nonchalance, but you know this is a calculated attack. if you know anything about your husband, it’s that once he gets an idea in his head, he’ll work his way forwards and backwards to bring it to fruition. “just different.”

“so no lights?”

javi shakes his head in reassurance for both you and your son. “no, tommy, we’ll still have lights. just different lights.” for the crescendo of his argument, javi crosses the kitchen and crouches beside your chair. he squeezes your thigh, his brown eyes soft and pleading. “come on, mi vida, let’s spice it up a little bit. i’ve got it all worked out, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

you toss your head back on a laugh. “oh, i’m sure i won’t!”

“trust me, baby,” he whispers, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, and, for a moment, focusing more on the patterns of your face than his end goal.

you feel your resolve soften. how can it not? javi is decidedly undomestic, even with a wife and two kids. oh, he loves you; he adores his children. but it’s been a long time coming to get to this moment—him on his knees with his own holiday decoration plans. you’d be a fool to turn him down.

you shut your eyes and give him a nod. “okay, fine. i trust you.”

javi pops to his feet with a loud clap and equally as loud, “alright!” he points to tomás. “finish your cereal, kid, ‘cause we got work to do.”

dropping a kiss to the top of your head, he makes for the stairs. his socked feet slide on the linoleum, which causes to tomás to laugh in amusement, but you’re too stunned by javi’s sudden change of mood that you can’t help but feel like you’ve been duped.

spice up christmas decorations? you can only pray that whatever he has in store won’t get you a stern letter from the homeowner’s association.

***

before beginning his mysterious outdoor decorating project, javi pulls all the boxes labeled christmas down from the attic. he helps you assemble the artificial tree in the corner of the living room, and he, though with a good measure of grumbling, adjusts and readjusts the garland draping the front door.

but as soon as you give him the go ahead, he pushes you inside, makes you promise not to peek until he’s finished, and, like schoolboys up to no good, hurries away with tomás.

as the door slams in your face, effectively cutting you out of the fun, you glance at your daughter and roll your eyes. “men,” you say, and she coos in agreement.

it’s easy to get lost in your work for the remainder of the afternoon. there’s tens of ornaments to put on the tree and the little village to set up along the front windowsill. julieta follows as you move throughout the house. she crawls, or scoots on her bum, or rolls behind in her baby walker. she’s primarily a happy baby, and after tomás and his terrible twos, you’re thankful for a reprieve from the incessant crying and surly attitude.

christmas tune after christmas tune drifts from the record player in the foyer, and you bump along to the music, finding the work of unpacking boxes and artfully arranging decorations is not so much work with a good playlist and a giggly baby on your hip.

after pausing for lunch, you resume with the finishing touches. the house looks cozy, you have to admit. the tree sparkles in its corner, and the quaint ceramic village display on the windowsill reminds you spending the holidays with your grandmother as a child. there’s miniature, stuffed snowmen in the kitchen that tomás made in school and papier-mâché carolers that javi’s aunt crafted in the hall. an advent calendar hangs from the back of the closet door, and a spring of faux mistletoe dangles over the dining room doorway.

you’re proud of your work, but more than that, you’re proud of the life you’ve made alongside your husband. when he’d proposed all those years ago (a dreadfully unromantic proposal of a ring simply slid across the table at a restaurant), he’d promised life with him wouldn’t be easy. he hadn’t been lying. still, you’ve made it this far, and you wouldn’t go back on your vows for the world.

it does surprise you that you haven’t heard a peep out of the boys for most of the day. tomás hasn’t so much as run inside to use the bathroom or grab a drink of water. either javi’s spicy christmas decorations were more labor-intensive than he’d originally planned, or he’d jaunted off to his father’s house to escape the responsibility, taking tomás with him. you can’t decide which possibility you’d prefer.

before you can pick up the phone to call your father-in-law, the garage door opens. javi sticks his head into the hallway, a wide grin on his face when he sees you.

“okay, we’re ready.”

you put a hand on your hip. “are you sure?”

“yeah, i’m sure.” he steps inside long enough to lift julieta from her place in the bouncy walker. he sets her on his shoulders, and she squeals as she grabs fistfuls of his hair. “i thought you trusted me?”

you place the phone on the receiver and grab your jacket. “don’t throw my words back at me, javier.”

he taps your ass when you brush past him into the garage. “you’ll love it,” he says. “but you have to close your eyes.”

“really? just how different are these decorations?”

“oh, it’s like nothin’ you’ve seen before, hermosa. now shut your eyes!” with an exaggerated sigh, you close your eyes. javi squeezes your shoulder, and you start to walk forward into the driveway. “tomás, keep a watch on your mother. make sure she doesn’t peek.”

javi maneuvers you until you feel the driveway beneath your feet give way to soft grass. he places julieta in your arms then squeezes both of your shoulders. you can feel the excitement in his fingers, feel it in the way he practically bounces with anticipation behind you. you have entirely no idea of what to expect, but if putting up christmas decorations has made javi this excited, no matter what the decor is, you’ll let him do it every year.

“ready, tommy?”

“ready!”

javi presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his arm winding around your stomach to pull you back against his chest. he is firm behind you, the solid foundation on which your family stands. “ready, mi vida?” his voice is low, and even after all this time, it still sends a shiver down your spine.

in lieu of answering aloud, you simply nod.

“okay. tomás, in three... two... one.” he squeezes your hip. “open your eyes.”

the air in your chest leaves in a giant whoosh as you take in his decorations.

“oh my god, javier,” is all you can say as you stare in dumb-founded shock.

javier laughs—a real, hearty laugh—as he watches your face. “isn’t it great?!”

it—it being a wooden cutout painted to look like dr. seuss’s the grinch.

it being that cutout pulling down a strand of illuminated colored lights from the gutter.

it being the most half-hearted christmas decorations you’ve ever seen.

“where on earth did you get that?”

“eddie from two streets away. i saw it in his yard and knew i had to have one, so he got another from his guy and gave it to me.” he shakes his head as he looks on in pride. “best forty bucks i ever spent. it’s been in the back of my truck for weeks!”

“you are so lucky that i love you, javier.”

he laughs again, squeezing you tighter against his chest. “hey! i put lights on the bushes for you. that’s gotta count for something?”

dropping your head against his shoulder, you nod. “it does. and the more i look at the grinch, the funnier it is.” you hold up a finger. “but i’m not laughing yet.”

you glance at your neighbor’s house, at the cookie-cuter lights lining the frame of their two-story, at the mechanical reindeer bobbing their heads up and down. you look back at your... grinch, at his twisted smile and tip-toed stance and the sad string of lights wound from his hand to the gutter. you snort in amusement.

“i’ve got to hand it to you—this is the most javier peña thing you’ve ever done. i’m almost proud.”

“i knew you’d love it.”

turning in his arms, you shake your head. “no, i just love you.”

javi smiles and lowers his head to kiss you softly. it’s his way of returning the sentiment, and you preen under his affection.

but then you pull away with a frown. “wait a minute.” laying a finger against his chest, you tilt your head toward tomás. “where have you been all day? this set-up couldn’t have taken more than half an hour.”

javi cringes and glances at his son. he rubs a hand across the back of his beck. “yeah, about that...”

tomás appears from his place plugging in the outdoor extension chords. “daddy took me to the shooting range!”

gaping, you sputter to form a coherent sentence. “you what?!”

“tomás,” javi whispers, swiping his palm over his son’s hair. “you weren’t supposed to say anything.” he looks up through his lashes with a wry smile. “we did—yeah, we did go to the range for a bit.”

“oh, javier peña, you are so lucky i love you.”

javi grins, captures your chin between his fingers, and kisses you again. “yeah, i am.”

***

taglist: @insideafictionaluniverse @ladytrashbird @generaldamneron

#javier pena x reader #javier peña #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier peña x reader #x fem!reader #pm writes

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constantlydiscombobulated · 4 years

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charlie weasley x reader fic - a weasley christmas:

The third Christmas after the Battle of Hogwarts was different, the first two were hard. The first was so soon after the events which occurred, the second held a bit of distance and the third, this Christmas, is when people had finally let themselves relax and get back to normal. Since the war you had returned to your training to be a healer, in fact you had completed it. You were getting a couple of years’ experiences before jetting off to do something spontaneous with your skills.

Your Christmas had always been the same, you were one of the many bodies at the Weasley abode; a background character and accomplice of Charlie who you shamelessly flirted with to make his face turn the beetroot shade that you were highly entertained by. He was a ginger so of course he easily blushed.

So, this year, when you appeared outside the warm, familiar home in which you would spend the next few days you could finally feel the tension behind your shoulders relax. You were eight years older than Ginny, seven years older than Hermione yet you knew it was tradition you would be in quarters with them.

You and Charlie kept things long distance, which in hindsight wasn’t the best choice but when the second month of next year finished you were transferring to the Dragon Sanctuary in Romania to work as head healer, coincidentally where Charlie worked, yet none of the Weasley clan knew of this yet.

You had sent a bag of things to the burrow the night before, so you assumed someone had stowed it away where you were sleeping for the next few days. It was Christmas eve and as per usual you were the last to arrive. It was just shy of 8pm when you left St. Mungo’s as each year you drew the short straw and did the second to worst shift.

Your feet crunched against the moist yet crisp grass below your feet. The winters always hit the burrow hard, a feature you loved the most. You stepped over a couple of sleeping gnomes, before glancing up at the stars – they always shone so brightly, something unusual for the location of the house. You opened the unlocked door and slipped right in.

As tradition plays, the Weasley’s would be drinking eggnog, sharing stories of the year and blasting obnoxiously loud Christmas music. So, when you entered, you weren’t even noticed, barely and not immediately by Charlie. He looked up after he frowned at his watch, you presumed it was because you were a little later then you had informed him. He slipped from the crowd of gingers and noise to meet you in the kitchen.

You still wore your scrubs and white jacket with your name embroidered on the pocket. You had charmed a small embroidered dragon onto it last week when there was a quiet spell at mungo’s. you smiled underneath the dim light in the kitchen, seeing a plate of food on the table.

‘y/n’ it read in molly’s cursive scrawl. You smiled at the gesture, it dawning upon you that you were indeed starving. Charlie kissed your forehead before sitting across from you. He had been in England for a few days, but you had pretty much worked back to back shifts in order to get this time off over Christmas.

“how was your day, love?” he asked, you had just taken a huge bite into a sandwich from the plate, chewing and swallowing with haste in order to reply.

“busy, the bags under my eyes are darker than your soul”

“didn’t think I had a soul” he retorts, you smirk at him. Charlie was always in favour of a well-timed ginger joke, “they’re torturing you because they know their best healer is ditching in a couple of months”

“yeah, ditching for a Weasley of all people” you joked, he mocked offence before sinking back into light conversation.

“you might be tired but you’re still the most beautiful girl this side of Europe” he comments, sipping from your glass of pumpkin juice.

“if the other beautiful girl is Sofia, I’m going to kick you in the shins”

“she’s a dragon love, you are the most gorgeous human” he adds, laughing a little on the end.

“I’ll forgive you if you stop drinking my pumpkin juice.” He chuckles, drinking the rest from the glass before placing it beside the plate you were eating from. “you’ve got more scars” you notice, gesturing to his hand.

“don’t tell mum but I’ve got a couple more inked dragons too” your face smiled in delight; he had told you in letters he had planned to, but you hadn’t had much time to write these past two weeks.

“as long as your bedroom door is unlocked tonight and I can slip in, I’ll promise you the world” he rolled his eyes but nodded.

“how is Sharon?” he asked, “the battle-axe”

“she’s off my case now the festive season has been bestowed upon us. She didn’t want to get me in secret Santa again after last year”

“what--?”

“I gave her some of the wizard wheezes, the custard creams I think.” You laughed, your connections to the Weasley’s almost gets you excluded from secret Santa every year. “I got you a present” you claim, changing the subject. His ears perked up at your comment, he hummed in response, “a date. March 25th. We’re gonna elope.” You stated, your voice quiet not wanting to be overheard. Charlie beamed at you, about to take your hand in his when a nonchalant voice filled the room.

“late as usual” George calls, tackling you in a hug as you chewed the remainder of the sandwich in your mouth. You hugged him back briefly, Charlie, jealous at the hug, watched the exchange. “why didn’t you shout?” he quizzed.

“was Hank Marvin, Weasley, Charlie just sat down to pester me” you teased, “anyway, I’m showering soon, I’m still in my scrubs” you complained, gesturing to your clothes.

“still a fine piece” Charlie joked, this obnoxious flirting had been apparent since you met Charlie, Bill had originally asked you home for Christmas seven years ago. You had spilt fire whiskey over him in the three broom sticks and you were instant friends.

“oh Charlie” you cooed, dramatically holding your head against your head, “you spoil me with your sweetness and love” you had put on a love-sick voice which only made the men in the room snort. “Char, sort the shower for me. I don’t wanna find a gnome or a Weasley in there when I’m starkers” you asked, he smiled politely and nodded. You followed him upstairs picking up some things from Ginny’s room to use in the shower or drop off in Charlie’s room.

He sorted the bathroom out for you, surveying it for ghosts or gnomes. You walked in changed from your work gear, dressed in a silk, high rising gown, barely tied around your body. His gaze glanced at you and quickly back to the shower, his hand beneath the running water to check it was at your preferred temperature.

“this is new” he stated, you nodded shyly shutting and locking the bathroom door behind you. You hung the gown on the hook on the back of the door, he sat on the closed toilet seat your pyjamas on his lap. He watched your every move as you stepped into the shower. His face was flushed, his body language restraint.

“you can come in you know” you called, to which he followed through on quicker than the speed of light. His body pressed against yours, he just hugged you from behind nuzzling his face into your shoulder. You continued your actions of showers, trying to disturb Charlie as little as possible.

“stop doing that” he whined, you were confused you were shaving your legs and putting some soothing shower gel on them to prevent a rash. You hadn’t realised you had been creating friction. You turned to face him, he looked like he did in his most pure form. His glasses had been discarded on the windowsill by the shower, his long hair stuck to his wet form. You kissed him, begging to just hold him.

Charlie had visited ‘home’ a month ago, but the first few nights he was back was always the worst; you both were clingy, sleepy and horny for each other. The con of long distance, I guess.

Things escalated quickly, he had you against his chest, legs wrapped around his waist and against the tiled wall. It was antics like this which would get the two of you caught but you couldn’t find it in yourselves to care.

Once the deed was all said and done, you rinsed yourself off and got out the shower. Charlie borrowed the towel you had brought in to dry his body with before putting his tartan pyjamas and Weasley jumper on; he only wore this arrangement as you loved it on his so much. You slipped on a pair of shorts and one of Bill’s old Weasley jumpers dating back to his time at Hogwarts. He had donated it to you the first year you spent here so you would feel like you belonged here.

The year you met Charlie.

You engulfed Charlie for one last hug before sneaking out the bathroom separately. You had disapparating into the girl’s bedroom to put some things away when you spotted the hickey on your neck. You audibly groaned, readying yourself to playfully punch Charlie on the arm when you next saw him – yet, it was nothing a glamour charm couldn’t hide. Over the years you had become quite skilful at this charm, the thing was you sort of liked the thrill that came with being with Charlie without his family knowing.

It meant three things: one, that it was private and yours – his family couldn’t meddle, two, the sex was fantastic when you had to slip it in wherever you could and three, he could come home for a few days and not have to see his family which meant your whole house smelt of him.

You slipped downstairs, intending on getting a mug of Molly’s famous hot chocolate with the bit of baileys in it served only at Christmas. It was the highlight of your day – what got you through the shift.

When you appeared downstairs, everyone cozied up by the fire there was an empty seat next to Bill and Fleur, a full and steaming mug of hot chocolate waiting for you. When you sat down, Bill dove in for a hug.

“how’s my favourite short arse?” he called, watching as you brunt your tongue on the hot chocolate.

“I’m great” you sighed contently. He smiled, “any news?” you asked him, he shook his head.

“nothing exciting. I spoke to you last week.” He joked, “I think I’ve got a new case in Chad in the new year. Gotta do a risk assessment and see if it’s worth relocating for three months or handing it over to another curse breaker.” He replied, “someone with less to lose” you nodded.

“I got my final date” you offered, he looked intrigued, “end of February. don’t know where I’m getting off to though” you added, smirking to yourself a little.

“anywhere you thinking?” Charlie asked, butting into the conversation.

“France?” Fleur joked, “you would ‘ate it there” she laughed.

“I was thinking Romania, Charlie needs someone to annoy him 24/7 and I would have complete access” you teased, Charlie scoffed. Bill and Fleur just smiled, looking at each other knowingly.

“oh, come on y/n, how long you keeping this gig up?” Bill laughed, but said it softly enough to avoid other listening ears, “you can’t act like there’s nothing going on here”

“why?” You asked, knowing full well why not.

“why?” Bill cackled, “because when I visited you randomly three months, I walked in on you shagging my brother on your couch” he whispered, “I saw way too much, the idle gossip would’ve been enough.”

You blushed a little, Bill had indeed walked in on you and Charlie. It was hours after Charlie had arrived in the country; he hadn’t told his family of his return, specifically wanting to spend the long weekend he had off with you.

You were originally just catching up with a couple mugs of tea but as things did, one thing lead to another and Charlie was balls deep in between your legs barely dressed when his brother walked in saying,

“wotcher y/n/n, was in the area thought I’d stop in!” Bill had seen what was happening and it only took him a fraction of a second to work out what was happening. Of course, the hair indicated it was one of his brother’s, but it was the huge scarring and dragon tattoo that told him it was the sibling that was supposed to be halfway across the world.

You both scrambled apart, not getting the satisfaction you so craved. Charlie pulled a pair of jogging bottoms on; you pulled a pair of knickers on and his t-shirt down. He sat beside you on the couch, his hand rested on your bare thigh.

“I honestly have no words” Bill laughed as he sat on the arm of the armchair in your flat. “how long has this been going on?” he asked, clearly amused by the whole ordeal. You shrugged, working it out in your head, but Charlie answered first:

“16 months” he called; it had warmed your heart that he knew.

“so, what is it? You dating or just hooking up?” Bill asked, amused at your mortified look.

“dating” you replied, your voice small. “fucking hell Bill. I’m kind of glad it was you and not anyone else in your family” you laughed, as if you didn’t laugh, you’d be in despair.

“who else would it be?” Charlie asked amused, unaware of the drop in visits his family often made.

“your mother.” You called; his face paled at the thought. He could imagine the lecture; he could imagine the hurt.

“don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell anyone. Fleur will find out though, she always does.” Bill mused, “but this, this is brilliant. Just don’t tell mum until you’re ready for the marriage conversation.” He joked, smiling.

“you staying long?” Charlie asked, taking a sip from his cold tea, “make you a cuppa if you want” he added.

“I was gonna stay for lunch, but you guys seemed busy” he laughed, “I can’t believe I’ve just seen it. Oh merlin, my eyes.” He whined, but still laughing. Bill stood up to leave your flat, this time with Charlie following behind to lock your door, although Bill would not be coming back.

“we’ll pop round later?” Charlie asked, Bill nodded, “we’ll send a Patronus we don’t want this to happen again” he joked, his brother hugged him briefly, before patting him on the back.

“it’ll be sweeter if you wrap your peter” he sang, “don’t want any grandkids do we” he teased before disappearing, Charlie scoffed before getting back to what was interrupted.

Once you had been greeted by everyone, most made their way up the wooden hill. Bill and Fleur had helped to convert the attic, so they had somewhere to sleep without Charlie being present. You hugged Molly and bid her a goodnight, promising to catch up properly tomorrow while helping her with the dinner. After last year, Hermione was not allowed in the kitchen. You watched as Charlie and Bill walked up the stairs, Charlie sending an obvious wink your way. George watched from his door across the hall and grinned. The dynamic you and Charlie held almost created as much chaos as Fred did just by breathing. It wasn’t truly Christmas until you and his strange older brother flirted senseless.

You disappear behind the door, the two significantly younger women lay in their beds, idly chatting about their boyfriends. It amused you had petty their chatter could be.

“so, y/n, anyone new on the scene”

“nothing new, still the same old thing” you comment, avoiding their question. “I’ve started meditating so if you don’t see me when you wake up, that’s where I’ll be” you bluffed, but they seemed to buy it. That was an advantage of being so much older; the younglings didn’t suspect a thing, all except George and that is only because last Christmas he had spotted the mud on Charlie’s knees and made one off hand joke that stuck with you. You tuck yourself into bed, waiting for the shallow breathing from the women before sneaking out. You tiptoed quietly, having learnt which planks not to stand on over years of experience, you crept upstairs – past Percy’s room, before opened the door to Charlie’s room which was left ajar.

“was starting to think you weren’t coming” he whined, you scoffed taking off your layers and climbing into bed with him – quickly settling under the covers.

“they kept gossiping about Harry and Ron” you started,

“please don’t tell me about my brother and sister sex life. They’re still babies to me” he whined, nuzzling his face into your hair. The single bed you lay in wasn’t ideal but with you being so small in comparison to Charlie ‘lanky fuck’ Weasley it worked well enough.

“I didn’t listen in long enough, pretended to sleep so they couldn’t interrogate me.” You sighed; you had watched the golden trio grow up.

The following morning Charlie woke you by accident, you knew he would. It was 6 am, he was on Romanian time, so he was wide awake. but him waking you by pressing soft kisses on your neck and collar bone wasn’t something to get you complaining.

“mornin’ love” he called when he felt you stir beneath him. You lay like that for another ten minutes; he rested his head on your chest listening to your slow heartbeat. “Merry Christmas” he added, whispering to make sure you weren’t heard.

You climbed out of his bed, putting a jumper back on. “we’ll continue this tonight” you told him leaving the room before anyone else awoke. You hopped downstairs knowing Molly would be down soon to begin the food preparations.

You were mixing the ingredients for home-made stuffing when a pair of familiar arms wrap themselves around your torso, a warm face against your neck. They squeezed you when you moved on to make a cup of tea. This was a usual routine in the mornings you spent with Charlie. He sprung away from you settling in a chair by the table when he heard the creaking of the stairs.

It was Molly, who was yet to come around and realise the two bodies in the kitchen, when she did, she sat with the cup of tea you had just poured for her. She was talking with Charlie as you filled the sink with warm water to peel the potatoes; you tried to grab the paper bag of potatoes off the ground, but you couldn’t seem to get a good grip and continued to drop it.

You hadn’t noticed Charlie come over to help you, until his hand grazed behind you to move you and do the heavy lifting for you.

“didn’t realise I was getting a gun show this morning char- “you comment, your usual flirting wasn’t acknowledged by Molly.

“I usually charge for private shows, but for you – they’re free” he said and winked.

“if you wanted me in your bed Charlie all you had to do was ask” you retort, his cheeks red after his bark of laughter.

“what you doing tonight, say, 2 am?” he snorts, knowing his mother is listening.

“I’ll be waiting for my secret lover in the garden” you tease, “he’s tall, ginger, athletic and dashing”

“sounds a lot like me” he flirts, grinning.

“shame I’m meeting Bill. He knows how to treat a woman” you joke back, biting your lip wondering what he’s gonna say.

“that why you’re wearing my jumper” he snorts, you look down to see that you had indeed picked up the wrong jumper when you dressed in the dark.

“I can take it off if you preferred?” you ask, pausing for a second or two, “might need a little help with that, any takers?” you asked. He was searching for something to say but instead came closer, peering at his mother who had tuned the two of you out and busied herself with meaningful tasks.

“you need to stop” he whined, his tone barely above a whisper. “between the flirting and you dressed like that— “he comments, blushing blood red.

“and miss you blush? Not a chance.” You push against his bare chest, “see you round boy wonder” he frowns, before disapparating upstairs.

The festivities fill the day, between gift giving when everyone made it downstairs and fire whiskey in the evening it was a success. As per usual, the Weasley clan congregated around the open fireplace, eating mince pies to sober up slightly.

You sat and watched the room, there was always something going on. right now, for instance, Hermione was in the process of hitting Ron. You didn’t know why.

“Ronald! If you do that again I will—”

“you’ll what ‘mione?” Called Ginny, loving to tease the couple.

“Ron I’d pack it in if you want her to jingle your bells” you comment before Hermione could reply. Her face went red not expecting that comment from you of all people. Ron and Hermione were new to sneaking about; somehow Harry and Ginny had the art down but the other two had not – and when they snuck off someone always walked in or asked them if they had a good time.

Hermione had a smart mouth – something she had learnt from spending too much time with Ginny, yet she didn’t have a smooth comeback, just a flustered look on her face. This made everyone roar with laughter.

“this is why I love it when you and Charlie come home” George laughs, “you know you can come alone you don’t just have to come with Charlie”

“if I don’t come with Charlie who am I going to flirt with? I tried Percy last year and he fainted” you chuckled. You turned to Charlie and asked, “I’m getting a candy cane from the kitchen, you want one?” he shook his head.

When you returned from the kitchen you ran into Charlie who had been changing the vinyl on the gramophone. The whole house cheered from their seats, initially you were puzzled. You laughed when you realised you had been caught under the mistletoe. You didn’t object but rolled your eyes. You had been caught a few times with a few of Molly’s boys: the first time was with Bill and he kissed your forehead, the second with George who kissed your cheek and now with Charlie.

“come ‘ere then” he muttered and pulled you close to him, giving you a chaste kiss. The fire whiskey flavour lingering on his lips. You pulled away and laughed, you and Charlie returned to your seats with no change in your behaviour. George looked at you from across the room holding an unsure look.

You demolished your candy cane when a few people decided to turn in; Charlie went first, a usual routine, then Percy, then George who was sick of being a singleton in the room, then the youngsters. Bill, Fleur, Molly, Arthur and you remained. You began to put away the dishes that had been left to air dry so no one would have to do them in the morning. You had sent everyone else up, promising to blow out the candles when you headed up yourself.

On the way up you successfully got to the third floor; Molly and Arthur’s room on one side of the hall and Charlie’s on the other. You walked into the hallway between the two when Molly caught you.

“y/n dear, are you alright?” she asked, on her way to the bathroom.

“yeah, just heading to the balcony for some air before bed” you replied, hoping she’d leave you to it.

“nonsense dear, you’ll catch a cold dressed like that.” She cooed, making it a mission of hers to escort you back to your shared room. You told her you didn’t need her to assist you, being 27 and all, but she dismissed you. Once she was sure you were settled in bed with an open window, she closed the door and turned off the light in the hallway.

You could hear her footsteps for another half an hour at least knowing that there was no chance of sneaking up tonight. You had fallen asleep in wake of waiting for her to sleep but that chance never came in your consciousness.

You had only realised the lack of sneaking around the following morning when you awoke at the crack of dawn. On your bed however was an old black hoodie, it was singed around the cuffed sleeves and when you brought it to your nose it smelt it you realised that it was Charlie’s. he must have snuck in when you didn’t come, leaving it behind when he saw you sleeping. His cologne was all over it, not too much that it smelt like a tart’s handbag, but enough for you to notice. It was the complete contrast to his usual honeysuckle and grass smell, the exact opposite to his natural aroma. You slipped it on in replacement of his Weasley jumper and pulled on a pair pyjama trousers with obnoxious reindeers on them with matching red fluffy socks.

It was an acceptable time to head downstairs for your last full day you were staying here. You had a shift in four days so wanted to be back in your usual routine before you went back to work. Charlie planned on staying with you for a few days before having to return to his duties in Romania.

You pop the kettle on and turn the radio on to a low volume, it is some wizard Christmas song you’re not familiar with being the muggle born that you are. You hum along when the familiar arms wrap around you – of course it was the usual suspect.

“what’s up hot-stuff” you chime, in case anyone else is also awake and about – keeping up appearances and that.

“I missed you last night” he hummed as he kissed your neck gently.

“you’re just horny” you retorted.

“well y/n, you know what my two favourite things are” he toys.

“dragons and sex, the ordering varies” you replies, having heard the remark previously. You finish making two teas and turn around to face the man clinging to your body. In one swift motion he picks you up and puts you on the kitchen counter.

“sexy trousers” he comments, smirking at the attire. “could help you take them off?”

“sexy bedhead. could help you learn what a hairbrush is?” you bicker, smirking back at him. He leans in and kisses you; it was needy and hot. He stands between your legs, his hands making their way underneath the hoodie where your naked flesh sat- his thumbs rubbed against the bra you had on. your hands were a cliché, knotting in his long-tangled locks. His body pressed against yours, no room for the holy spirit, yet somehow wrapping your legs around his waist brought you even closer.

“turns out I really fucking missed you” he comments as you take a breather. You roll your eyes as you pounce for him, he grabs you with ease lifting you up properly.

“why is your room so far away” you comment, not expecting a reply. But when he disapparating you both there in an instant any sign of doubt or fear of getting caught went from your mind.

“we should tell your family” you sigh as he works on getting your bra and hoodie off.

“you wanna talk about this now?” he asks, his hands playing with your breasts. You nod, apparently you did. “we tell them when we go downstairs” he huffs, taking off his own layers and pulling off your seasonal trousers.

Two knocks sounded at the door.

“Charlie?” it was Bill.

“go away” he called, continuing his actions and your body wasn’t complaining.

“are you guys---” He began but you couldn’t focus on that, Charlie pushes in, more voices erupt outside.

“yes” Charlie shouts back. The door handle wriggles in the same moment. You exhaled shakily, both from the internal feeling but also from relief that the door was locked.

“mum he’s busy leave him alone” Bill called, there was no stopping Molly on a warpath. Charlie had knocked a lamp from the table when moving his arm so he could cover your mouth.

“what’s he doing in there? Charlie!” his mother shouted, but Charlie didn’t stop. He couldn’t and you certainly didn’t want him to. Charlie ignored his mother’s persistent calls until the last time she raised her voice.

“Charles Weasley? What on earth are you doing in there?” then a little silence before Charlie spoke.

“my fiancée” he yelled, his hand firmly over your mouth as he kissed your torso everywhere, he could reach.

“your what!” Molly called, the door unlocking with Molly’s use of alohomora. She was yet to open the door.

“mum don’t come in!” he shouts, this time with a sense of urgency, “I’m having a wank” he tries. But you give the game away with your laughter. Charlie’s use of wandless magic locked the door again as you both came to the end of your tether. “what’s so funny about me having a wank?” he asks, lying on top of you to catch his breath. He pulls out when he settles over you. You don’t answer him just lean up and kiss him.

“Charlie!” she shouts through the door, “unlock this door, right now”

“can’t” he exclaimed, messing with his mother. You scramble out of bed together redressing. You disapparating downstairs almost crashing into George as you land.

“moooorning” he calls, his tone implying he knows something you don’t think he does.

“hi George!” you called cheerily, picking up your now tepid mug of tea.

“anything wrong with the stairs?” he asked amused by the sudden use of apparition.

“no, this was more efficient” you inform him.

“I think, you don’t want to be in the middle of the ruckus upstairs.” You cough at his inference, “I think that my dearest mother almost walked in on you and my brother at it like rabbits and you had to escape.”

“how—”

“you’re subtle, but I’m brilliant at spotting things in the background. It’s a talent” he jokes, smiling at the end. “thought something was up last Christmas, and I was right” he chuckles after. No teasing came, no snide comment.

“is that why you’re leaving mungo’s?” he asked, you nodded.

“we’re engaged” you inform George, he is the only one around and it’s a hushed conversation.

“that’s brilliant” he huffed, engulfing you instantly. “no ring?” you shake your head.

“didn’t need one” you state, drinking more cold tea. “we’ll get wedding rings. We’re eloping though” you continued. George nodded, understanding simply.

“does this mean I can’t flirt with you anymore?” he asked hesitantly. You snorted, barking with laughter. Bill walks in with confusion on his face.

“George, if you ever stop flirting with me Charlie will lose his touch” you joke, “and I like to keep him on his toes”. Bill puts two and two together. He hugs you, kissing your forehead.

“congratulations y/n. not the way I would’ve announced I was getting married, but you know Charlie---” he confesses, you chuckle in his grasp.

“well that wasn’t how I wanted to do it either, but we were—” you caught yourself, “I’m not gonna finish that sentence”

Charlie walks down the stairs behind a red-in-the-face Molly Weasley dragging him by his arm. She looks pissed off, and you feel the tension build in your shoulders. George being the closest to you nudges you and smiles, letting you know that it would be okay. You smiled weakly at him.

Charlie is dragged in the garden and you can hear the distorted shouting between himself or his mother. It brought up a feeling inside your body you didn’t understand but you felt like you wanted to cry. You didn’t like angry shouting; it always kind of scared you, you swore to never surround yourself with it, yet your actions had caused it.

What happened next confused you, it was Percy and Fleur coming in, seeing you look a little like a dear in headlights. Fleur took your hands while Percy just walked by your side as Fleur led you to a secret spot.

“Bill used to bring me ‘ere when it got too much” Fleur admitted, you took in your surroundings, it was a quiet and slightly maintained balcony just outside the newly converted attic bedroom. Fleur sat to one of your sides, Percy the other.

“I figured that you and Charlie, were well – you and Charlie” Percy stated softly, “and I understand the distaste to her shouting. I could never stand it either.” You took his hand squeezing it.

“and you know how it was when Bill first brought me home. they all thought he was gonna marry you” Fleur added, “but I knew, he was like your older brother. You love each other but not zee way Molly desired” you sniffed.

“we kept things quiet because we didn’t want to have a big deal made. Charlie never dated someone seriously ‘til me, and I never talked about dating people because I didn’t really have the time until I met Charlie.” You complained, “when me and Charlie got together, neither of us wanted to get married. Originally it was a very casual thing but then we realised we worked together so well. we realised that if we survived the war, we would need each other”

You brought your knees up to your chin, “Charlie knows – I think. I was always scared about telling his mum. Scared she would react this way. You are the closest thing I have to a family and I can’t lose you.”

“y/n. you would be stupid if you thought that Charlie would drop you like that because his mother asked him to.” Fleur offered; you took a little solace in it. “we became great friends because we like to get away when Molly goes red. It scared me a little at first”

“this is your spot?” you asked, you felt small. They both smiled and nodded.

“Fleur has been teaching me French for three years.” Percy admitted, “it’s what we do when one of us needs some space” you nodded, not relaxing at all. “the only thing that matters is that you and Charlie love each other.” He adds after a few minutes of silence. The shouting below is no longer audible, but you can’t face going down just yet – your kind of just want to go home. You want to sit on the couch with Charlie and your best friend, b/f/n, and laugh over a bottle of red. You don’t bother sharing that with Percy and Fleur; it’s not necessary. You haven’t liked shouting all your life.

The day sets into the midday sun, you hadn’t said much more yet listened to Fleur try and teach Percy some new French. Bill brings up some snacks and a book for you to read if you want it.

“you wanna see him?” Bill asked while the other two were in conversation, he beckoned you to stand and talk with him. You didn’t respond straight away.

“was it bad?” you asked, regretting it as soon as you asked. Bill only nodded; his expression was solemn. You put your head in your hands, your mind whirring and heart going ten to the dozen. Bill pulled you in for one of those big brother hugs.

“I know you don’t like shouting and I promise he’s not gonna shout. If he does, I’ll get Ginny to bogey bat hex him.” Bill ushered you indoors to talk properly. You smile a little at him, but the dread still in your eyes. “she’s hurt. But she doesn’t realise she can be overbearing sometimes, that’s why Charlie had to get away to Romania or she would’ve forced him into some office job.” You nodded, knowing this.

“is he mad at me?” you ask, your eyes not lifting from the floor, bill rumbled with laughter, it was quiet as he knew that shouting overwhelmed you and he didn’t want to overwhelm your senses. You took his laughter as your answer.

“he could never be mad at you. you make him kinder”

After a little while of Bill just sitting with you so you could work up the courage to deal with Charlie and by further extension Molly, you gingerly turned the bronze doorknob seeing Charlie sat on the ground outside the door. He looked exhausted, his cheeks red as if he had been crying. When he saw you, he rushed to his feet, almost losing his balance in the process.

“I’m sorry” he said at the same time as you. “why are you saying sorry?” he queried, you shrugged you just felt like you should say it. “y/n/n this is all my fault. I should have told her before you came. I should’ve been more careful and most importantly I shouldn’t have shouted. I know you don’t like it and I’m sorry.”

“Char- “you called, taking his hand in your own, “are we breaking up?” you ask, he looks flabbergasted. In fact, he’s so in shock that he laughs.

“hey, you got me to propose. I’m never letting you go.” He jokes cuddling you, stroking your hair – something he knew comforted you when you were anxious. He took your hand and brought you to his room. You sat on the bed, cross-legged and faced each other. “let’s talk, love” you nodded, mustering the courage to ask what you really wanted to know.

“what did she say?”

“she said lots of things, she’s angry and upset we didn’t tell her. Which I understand but I told her we’re engaged and that we’re eloping. That our relationship is nothing to do with her, that she can like it, or she will have to pretend she does.”

“oh” you smiled, “I didn’t know whether you’d still wanna get married”

“there’s not a moment I don’t wish I had asked you sooner, god I feel like I’ve loved you my entire life.” You grin at his confession. These tender moments are the only times you saw Charlie this gentle. He was soft and quiet, he pondered on his thoughts before he said them. It was a side only you got to see, and you felt honoured.

You must have fallen asleep as when you woke a few hours later, Charlie had transfigured Bill’s bed into an armchair and pouffe and was reading his over-worn dragon encyclopaedia. You felt mentally exhausted, ready to just go home and return to normality.

When you felt able you got dressed, still wearing Charlie’s singed hoodie of course, and walked downstairs to the kitchen hand in hand with Charlie. Today had been a rollercoaster and you had decided that if Molly chose to shout at you again that you would grab your things and disapperate to your flat. Your grip in this thought had tightened on Charlie’s hand who had decided to stroke small circles with his thumb to soothe you.

When you enter the room, you’re beamed at from every angle. Ginny and Harry pat, you on the shoulder; Hermione smiles graciously, the others smile as they did when you told them but when you got to Molly and Arthur their reactions were different to everyone else’s. Arthur hugged you both, no words were exchanged but the gesture translated into a thousand words.

You dreaded turning to Molly, she offered a tight-lipped smile.

“I was disappointed you didn’t marry my Bill, but then I decided that having you as another daughter was something, I shouldn’t take for granted. I can’t say I like the way you went about hiding the relationship for so long from us, and I can’t say I understand why. I don’t like that you’re eloping nor do I like that you have snuck into his bed every night and had sex under my roof—”

“mum. We are 27 and 28 years old, the worst thing that happens is an unplanned pregnancy but we’re old enough to cope with it. Leave it out” Charlie replied, his chest puffed out, “if you’re gonna lecture us we’re gonna leave.” He told her; his voice was stern.

“but most importantly, despite those things, I am happy you found each other.” She finished after being told off by her son. “anyone for a cup of tea?” she asked, deflecting the tension.

You and Charlie curled up together by the fire, his arm wrapped around you.

“I fucking love you” you confessed, reaching up to kiss him. He meets you in the middle, innocently kissing you for a few moments.

“if you shag right in front of me, I’m gonna have to throw a molly-Weasley-level fit” George retorts grinning.

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